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Escorted naked to Dr Velour’s private suite by Missy, the tall brunette, who had supervised Mr Whisker’s inspection of my person, I crossed over linoleum floors passing by open Hospital wards where people — should I call them patients or inmates? — were listlessly going through calisthenics. “Personnel,” I noted, “are naked — like me.”

White frocked Humanitarian Services personnel monitoring the exercises, very much unlike my own Gunnery Sergeant Abbey Meyers, my boss, were more apathetic than the people undergoing training exercises. Some — maybe many or most of these eh — trainees were sitting on their rumps chatting ignoring instructions. Here and there I did pause to watch a trainee a female so enthusiastically performing sit-ups that she flattened her boobs against the floor on the downswing allowing them to pop out as she pushed up away from the floor.

Stopping with me to comment, Missy indicated, “She’s probably so bored by sitting around, she participates in the drills with such exuberance to pass the time away.”

Exactly who were these people? What was their status, patients, detainees or inmates?

I knew what I was. I was a prisoner taken along with Sergeant Meyers when we delivered a group of rejects from the Induction Center. Where was my Sergeant? I had to keep faith and trust. My duty was to escape. But first I had to find Sergeant Meyers.

As I passed down the long, waxed corridor, I was carefully looking around — there must be an avenue of escape somewhere. Escape that’s my assignment.

This morning after a meeting with the Marine Captain in charge of the Induction Center where I was assigned, I was informed that I had one final test before my release to return to school to study Industrial Psychology: survival, escape and evasion. “Circumstances,” my Sergeant Donna Meyers informed me, “require an adaption of our usual drill dropping you off naked in the wilderness with a comrade to escape capture and find the way for you and your companion to return to home station. This exercise might be tougher. It’s an integrity test of faith and trust.”

Taken effectively as a prisoner I now found myself on the 6th floor of ominously titled SSM, St Steven Martyr’s Hospital Complex. Codes are needed to enter a room, the elevator or a stairway. Monitors were everywhere. Escape was seemingly impossible. The eyes of white frocked Humanitarian service personnel, surveilling comings and goings, followed me as I passed by. Were they as vigilant as I might have imagined or simply curious?

What did my husband Jerry now returned to the Marine Corps teach me? Nothing is impossible. Remember the tale of Alexander and the Gordian knot. To break through the paradox, you must attack the problem from a different and unconventional perspective. “`Play by their rules you lose; to succeed you must detach yourself from their pre-ordained rules and your own preconceived ideas. Making your own rules gives you a chance.” Good advice! But what could I do six stories off the ground, tie 60 feet of bedsheets together and rappel myself to the ground?

Stupid thoughts come to mind at such times: how would bedsheets support short, squat Donna Meyer’s weight? I’m sure Sergeant Meyers would try if that were the only alternative. So, I had to find her.

Proceeding down the corridor, in my arms I carried my newly – issued Humanitarian services uniform which had been presented to me at the QM shop (supply section). “It’s a simple white frock, cheap white sneakers and — underpants,” Missy explained.

Holding up the underpants, I questioned, “Boxers — for guys?”

“It’s a uni — sex uniform,” Missy reproved me, “intended to accommodate a multiple of gender identities. Women who prefer more eh — feminine undergarments have to buy them.” With a smirk, Missy added, “You probably should wait till we have our shower to try on your eh — new clothes. You might need to be douched.”

That was an unpleasant reminder.

In the course of physical inspection, Mr Whiskers a declared trans — man, growled a command, “Relax! Processing you will go much easier if you simply ease up.”

Bent over as Whisker’s thumb wiggled its way into my rectum and his forefingers reached for my vagina, I protested the unwelcome contact. “Should I pretend a bi-manual penetration is a friendly touch?”

Forcing my feet further apart, Whiskers cuddle up to my smooth butt to launch his dart inside me. “I never let any man enter me other than my husband!” I screamed.

Whiskers cooed, “I’d hate to have you wait around for your guy. I aim to please.”

Standing by ignoring Whisker’s raping me, Missy busied herself consoling her co — worker Red over imposition of restriction to hospital, “You have idea how Dr Velour could make a bad situation worse. So, keep your private affairs to yourself,” Missy warned Red, “You never know when Dr Velour might just pop up. Wait it out. She’ll lift your restriction when it’s up in 30 days, a month. Then…”

I closed bahis siteleri my eyes to await Whisker’s poke. At that I heard a deep “Ah — hem.” Whiskers broke off contact, but his cum sprayed the back of my legs.

I turned to see Whiskers behind me. His naked hairy body was still convulsing spreading ejaculate over the concrete. Blond, shapely Dr Velour in her white lab coat festooned with colonel’s silver leafs stood arms crossed over her breasts, upbraiding Missy and Red, “You’re assigned to chaperone. You’re supposed to be in charge. This conduct is unforgivable. 30 days additional restriction of liberty with denial of connubial privileges, both of you.”

Red grabbing Missy’s arm to forestall a protest, whispered, “It’ll only make it worse.”

Turning to Mr Whiskers, Dr Velour sternly upbraided him, “you’re a declared trans — man, but,” A disgusted look appeared on her face, Velour screeched, “Ick, with your seed spread on the ground I have ample evidence of `toxic masculinity’ that needs to be addressed.” To me, Dr Velour asked, “Satisfied?”

“When the accoutrements of toxicity are excised,” I replied.

“I’ll consider that when I review the situation,” Velour promised. “For now,

“Whiskers, you’re relieved of duties as my aide and placed in hospital status for observation.” Turning to me, Dr Velour observed, “Now, I have a slot to fill. I’ll request you and your Sergeant be transferred to this facility.” To Missy and Red, Velour calmly ordered, “get Warbler a uniform and escort her to her new quarters in my rooms. She can shower privately there.”

As I was escorted by Missy to Dr Velour’s quarters, I reminded Missy, “At least it ended worse for Mr Whiskers than for me.”

“Shall we be on our way to that shower?” Missy pointed the way down corridor.

As we passed down the corridor, Missy explained, “This floor is reserved for newly received personnel. They’re here for training and testing,” Missy explained, “much like the Induction Center where you’ve been stationed.”

“You mean the rejects like the people my Induction Center shipped to you guys eh — the Humanitarian Services?” I asked.

“As the lowest priority, Humanitarian Services deals with the worst of the worst, uncooperative rejects from Induction Centers, deserters brought here by the police, court – martialed members of the Armed Forces, and we have to mold them into a shape fit for the whatever purposes Dr Velour in mind,” Missy looking around, “At least, the folks you send us from the Induction Center are cleaned.”

“And Sergeant Meyers?” I asked.

“All quasi — military institutions, especially Humanitarian Services which enjoys the lowest priority, have to scrounge for personnel and equipment they need,” Missy justified having taken me and Meyers prisoner.

“What purpose are these people trained for? Is there any purpose,” I asked, “or are they just warehoused? For what purpose?”

“I don’t concern myself with such matters,” Missy with bitterness creeping into her reply as we were buzzed into Dr Velour’s tiled outer office brilliantly buffed and polished sending a blinding glare from the lights reflecting off the floor into our faces, “I’m grounded 30 days–Remember. But for Dr Velour coming by as Whisker’s sprayed you, you’d be among the bodies warehoused on one of these wards placed in storage–on ice–they used to say.”

“I guess Meyers is stashed somewhere on the wards,” I tried to prod Missy.

“I suppose.” Missy replied shrugging her shoulders with disinterest, “Be glad Dr Velour rescued you from that fate and requested your reassignment here — for whatever reasons known to her.”

“Bad news for Mr Whiskers,” I commented as Missy nodded to the secretary at a desk in front of a frosted door. Saying nothing, Missy entered a code to open the door to admit me. I pointed to her booty–my new black boots securely tucked under her arm. “Enjoy the boots.”

When Missy walked away, I breathed a sigh of relief. The opportunity presented to me by Sergeant Meyers and the Captain to be released from the call — up to return to school was purely fortuitous. Meyers wanted to earn a degree with a title which would elevate her into the Officer Corps and to give her time away from the Corps to have a child. I promised to help her with both ends she had in mind.

Our Commander had too many people assigned to the Center. We were being pigeon — holed out of Ms Front — Hole our Commandant’s hair.

“The pols pass laws to create full employment and feel good about theirselves. My superiors equate more people with power, but they give me people faster than they give me space to house them and uniforms to dress them in. I have to keep inductees naked during qualification for want of clothing,” said the Captain, as she signed the request to return me to school. “Now you’re one less headache. Sorry to put it that way. Chances are the fervor will die down and you’ll never be required to serve the 10 years you’ve obligated yourself to — canlı bahis siteleri Or if it doesn’t, I’ll have Q.M. (supply) scrounge up a couch so I can lie down and spill out all my problems and lay them onto you.”

Dr Velour’s request for my re — assignment and Meyers’ to Humanitarian Services would suit the same end f reducing overcrowding at the Induction Center. I faced the worst of both worlds. Of course, I’d lose my exit ticket, but the 10 year extension would remain in effect. 10 years — attached to this whorehouse which fancies itself a hospital was worse than everything else I’d lose. The stakes were high. I had to escape. The faith and trust required by Meyers, the Captain, my husband Jerry and the rest of the Corps demanded no less. I was committed to bust out with Meyers. Where was Meyers? First, I had to find her.

In the short run to accomplish my mission, I reasoned as I entered Dr Velour’s private suite, I had to play a double game with Dr Velour. What type of double game was Velour playing with me?

Unlike the tiled anteroom, Dr Velour’s private suite was handsomely carpeted in a medium sandstone grey plush carpet footed to dark sandstone grey wainscoted walls. The subdued lighting gave a plastic sheen to the white furniture of a living room. A master bedroom with a canopied bed boasted of an impressive private spa. “All the comforts of home,” I declared to the empty rooms. “If war is hell, we might as well make the most of it.”

As I placed my issued clothing on the fluffy bed, I felt eyes falling upon me following my every move. “If a show they want, let’s make it a bravura performance,” I vowed as I entered the glass paneled octagonal shower. Jets attached to each facet of the wall sprayed comforting warm water in every direction at my body.

Leaning my head back to luxuriate in the warm droplets from the overhead spigot streaming through my scalp, I mused why should I want to escape? Are you nonetheless confined if the lure Is the comfort of the trap? I was unsure of the exact time I spent self — indulgently in the shower. Although rising steam fogged the panes of the shower, I frankly didn’t care.

My body was tilted to align my open mouth with the spray when I felt long narrow fingers grab my hips soft breasts planted in my back, the warmth of her bush brushed up against my butt. Dr Velour whispered in my ear. “Relax, Amy, it’s been a tough day.”

Though averse to her touch, I had to summon all my acting skills, every ounce of guile to locate Sergeant Meyers and break out. I forced myself to seemingly melt in her hands.

“You were married I recall,” Dr Velour asked, “What became of your husband?” Dr Velour’s hands reached up to my breasts, as she added, “Jerry, was it?”

“In the massive call — up,” I, though tempted to remove the hands caressing my breasts, I reached nether to allow my fingers to dock in my love port to stimulate myself. With I sigh, I reminded Dr Velour, “that was supposed to cure the economic downturn — yours was one of many `service sector enterprises to fold — I found myself out of a job, subject to call — up and drafted into Support Services. Jerry was prior service. He was shipped out sent back to the Marine Corps.”

“Oh, yes,” Dr Velour planted her face on my shoulder, “I heard of your parting with Jerry at the Induction Center. Your conception of a romantic attachment has become legend. To prevent specious issue, you promised to stick to women, if Jerry would limit himself to anal sex with women.”

“I don’t want him screwing other men,” I snickered, “Men aren’t clean enough. For me, women are a safe bet, no risk of pregnancy. To make women safe, Jerry has to dock in the wrong port.”

“I was delayed listening to Mr Whisker’s explanation of his conduct,” Dr Velour pulled herself closer. Velour paused to try to draw a response from me. When nothing more forthcoming than cooing as I stroked myself more furiously, Dr Velour prodded me, “Whiskers claimed you threatened to have your husband would castrate Whiskers if you didn’t enjoy it. Your husband had enough respect for Sergeant Meyers to allow her to watch.” Again, I chose to wait Dr Velour out. After a pause, Dr Velour continued, “Whiskers thinks you have a relationship going on with Abbey Meyers?”

“That would be against regulations.,” I truthfully responded, without answering the question, “Meyers lived by Marine Corps regs and traditions. It was her Bible.”

“I intend to request your transfer from Support Services to attach you here,” Dr Velour advised me, “I need a capable assistant who can be entrusted with authority and won’t abuse it. And I need someone to crack the whip.”

I should be flattered to think Dr Velour had regarded me as a capable assistant, but she didn’t really say that. Her guile was superior to mine. I had to tread carefully in my opportunism. Her previous assistant had been an opportunist. Perhaps, one she allowed him his excesses while she awaited a convenient excuse to rid herself canlı bahis of him / her/ it. If a better alternative availed itself, the opportunist takes it.

Luck had provided a more attractive alternative than a 10 year indenture to Dr Velour. Why should I alter my plans? Dr Velour’s bait of a comfortable situation might be part of the test. I had to find Sergeant Meyers and plan our way out.

Certainly, I rationalized, there was no debt owing to Dr Velour. Before economic retrenchment, I worked for Dr Velour at her Fertility Clinic. As the economy collapsed, Dr Velour hadn’t even bothered to tell me or any of her other employees that we were out of jobs. She took off and found herself a new situation leaving her employees to learn of termination when, one Friday, the checks stopped coming. The call — up notice followed. If my husband Jerry and I had more time, more warning, my Jerry who knew how to navigate the system, would have figured out a way for us to avoid the call — up.

I turned to Dr Velour and planted a Judas’ kiss on the lips. “Let’s not talk business. Use the opportunity to enjoy the moment. Let’s finish what we started here.”

I woke up naked in the canopied bed with Dr Velour. Rousing me with a kiss, Dr Velour playfully flicked her index finger on my nose. “Would it make you feel better, more at home, if I clanged garbage can lids together or blew a whistle like they do at the Induction Center?”

I smiled and said nothing. Why should I correct her misapprehension? After I qualified for Support Services as A Clerical Specialist, I was allowed to live off post in my own house and awoke to the ringing of an alarm clock. My situation was most comfortable. I received a subsidy from the government for housing myself and Sergeant Meyers who lived with me. Did Dr Velour need to know that?

Rising and grabbing a robe under her shoulder, Dr Velour invited me to join her for “a quick rinse — off in the shower or,” she added with a seductive smile, “as quick as we can manage to make it.” Handed the robe, I placed it on her shoulders and followed her. The tails of her robe fluttered as she strutted toward the shower. Pausing Dr Velour pointed to a draw under the canopied bed. “I’ll have Mr Whisker’s stuff removed. The draw is for you.”

I shook my head. “No need! No hurry! All I have is a white shift, a pair of men’s boxers and sneakers,” I replied, “My service support uniform, even my boots and my underclothes were confiscated.”

“Whiskers had a draw full of men’s clothing, money and jewellery,” Dr Velour explained, “Whisker’s’d wear the clothes into town, spend the money and pawn the jewellery in his off — time.” After a sigh, Velour added, “A girl — girl relationship is safe in the sense that accidental pregnancy maybe politically and ideologically conceivable, though a scientific impossibility; a relationship with a trans-man can test the fervor of his identification, as you may be aware.”

“I wouldn’t know,” I quipped, “Jerry had no problem in that regard.”

In the shower, Dr Velour asked me to soap her up. Joining her hands on the back of her head, Dr Velour presented her back to me. Taking a washcloth, I spread a bubbly foam over her shoulders. “Your recorded as Bi with heterosexual tendencies. How does relations with a man differ?”

“I can only judge by one man — I never wanted to be with anyone else,” I replied. “So, if Jerry is like all other men, he preferred catching me by surprise, wrestling me to the ground and whipping my clothes off, tying my hands with my bra and stuffing panties in my mouth.”

As I massaged her neck, Dr Velour commented, “Sounds animalistic, almost like rape.”

“Oh, men and women are wired differently. A sloshy dousing in sudsy water probably activates a woman’s neural circuits sending pleasing tactile sensations in electric waves from the rubbery skin to the brain. The rubbery skin makes penetration less pleasing to the male.” I commented as my nimble fingers kneaded Dr Velour’s shoulders and neck, “Jerry would complain, `I can’t get enough friction entering a soapy snatch.’ How I miss,” I chuckled, “shower sex with Jerry!”

“If Jerry was able to overpower you,” Velour asked, “wasn’t it always done his way?”

“We had certain rules. Jerry called them `Rules of Engagement,'” I recalled as I lathered her arm pits with a sudsy froth teasing the sides of her breasts, “If I ended up on top — occasionally I did — he had to submit to me cow — girl style and couldn’t come until I gave him permission.”

“And if Jerry came too early?” Dr Velour prodded me as I began coating her back in ever-growing circular sweeps down her spine.

Returning to rub the bubbly mass down her spine, I recalled, “He was required to service me until he showed me that he could hold it long enough to satisfy me.”

As I reached the base of her spine, Dr Velour spread her legs and bent over. “Have you thought of what type of punishment for cumming too soon you might impose on — eh — Jerry is it?”

“That’s a hard one,” I giggled at my repartee as I replenished the soap on the washcloth, “Jerry had great restraint when that was required. If he failed, what might I require of him? I have to think on that.”

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