Disclaimer: This story is fictional and thus explores a slightly different world than ours. Any similarities to real-world people or events are purely coincidental. The story is also not meant to be social commentary.

Author's note: This is part 2 of an ongoing series. Your feedback on what you liked or disliked about the story is appreciated and helps me refine and fine-tune my writing. Comments and suggestions are welcome at [email protected]

7. Earth, Fire, Water

Two weeks after the Elden takeover, Commander First Class Belfario's garrison had almost doubled. If he had been able to convert the base staff into trained soldiers as easily as he was able to convert enemies into allies, his squad would have tripled. Alas, it was not to be. Technology only went so far... for now. He still didn't know exactly how it worked, nor did he need to.

As the day drew to a close, he and his soldiers filed into the communal showers in the basement, exchanging foul jokes and snappy comments about the day's work and each other's supposed flaws. To think that only a few short weeks ago, half of these men would have killed Belfario and any of his original squad without hesitation... The thought was both very real and very abstract in his head. He got out of his uniform without giving it a second thought, and his squad followed suit. He looked around and saw a diverse group of young men, all fit because of the job, some more muscular than others due to paying visits to the gym. He saw them all as equals in his care, but he couldn't completely erase from his head the knowledge that one half of them had trained together with him at Homeland HQ years ago, and another half had only just joined, having been trained at one of the enemy's compounds, likely having had families and friends there. Belfario lowered his gaze for a moment, then shook his head and marched into the showers. It was no use thinking about it.

'Good work today, men,' said Belfario and took his position under a showerhead, with two of his subordinates at his side - showering in threes had proven to be the most efficient way to conserve water and heat between the whole squad.

He opened the valve and let the water hit him in the face. He ran his fingers through his beard and then his blond hair, his eyes closed. He scrubbed his pits and splashed some water over his shoulders, breathing deeply and enjoying the warmth. The Elden base was situated in an area rich in hot springs; the showers were built into the basement so as to easier make use of them. The heat never went away, but the water level rose and fell and the heat changed from lukewarm to searing. There was a sweet spot between 9 and 10 at night when there was just enough hot water to take care of the whole squad, and so they all showered jointly at that time.

Belfario opened his eyes as he felt hands on his stomach. He saw the man to his left looking up at him and extending his arms towards him, felt his hands scrub his abdomen and then his torso. He was shocked the first time it happened, but he'd gotten used to it since. The man was black and had a gymnast's build, a layer of well-defined muscle covering every part of his body, following its natural shape. His name was Carver; he was an engineer with a passion for gymnastics prior to enlisting and had a wife and daughter waiting for him back home. As the commander scrubbed himself between the asscheeks, the brown-eyed soldier scrubbed the commander's crotch; as the commander shampooed his blond hair, the soldier did the same for his chest hair and let the water just run down his own body, paying no attention to himself.

A week ago, Belfario had fucked this soldier's asshole and dumped his seed into him. Prior to that, he had been an enemy, and now he felt obliged to help Belfario out in any way he could. The soldier to Belfario's right, an old comrade who'd fought alongside the commander in many battles, struggled not to look at what was going on, single-mindedly focusing on scrubbing himself down and finishing up.

Belfario thought back to the day he was changed. Grand General Maden had asked him to come in for a consultation with him at a Council meeting. Belfario had assumed it was for a promotion. He wasn't vain, but he was aware of his track record. He had led more successful operations than almost all of the other Commanders Third Class combined. He thought it strange, however, that it was the Grand General, and not his father, who extended the invitation. General Belfario and his son had always seen eye to eye on matters and were very close, so the young Belfario wondered why he hadn't heard any talk of his promotion from his father, a Councillor and Hand just like the Grand General.

Upon entering a small conference room, he saw the 8 generals seated around a large table, the Grand General traditionally at its head and general Belfario the first one on his left.

'I'll cut straight to the chase, commander,' said the Grand General with some degree of formality in his deep, usually friendly voice. 'The Tenth Council has reviewed your record and, in light of your capabilities, we've decided to promote you... to Commander First Class.'

'Sir!' said Belfario, saluting. 'Thank you, Sir! But, if I may be so bold... I'm only Third Class now. I haven't heard of officers skipping a rank before...'

'That is none of your concern,' said the Grand General, reprimanding him, but then added in his normal relaxed tone, 'but you're right. The thought process was that you have been performing at Second Class level for a long time now and a promotion hasn't found its way to you yet only because the Council has been busy with other matters. We thought it appropriate to acknowledge the reality of your abilities in light of this and assign you the position you deserve, rather than one dictated by bureaucracy.'

'Sir! Thank you, Sir!' said Belfario, eyeing his father, expecting some sort of reaction from him, but his eyes were fixated on the table.

'There is one other matter, commander,' said the Grand General, and Belfario saw his father perk up. 'The Three Hands have suffered a loss recently, as I'm sure you're aware. General Traffao lost his life defending the eastern border, and for that we are indebted to him. However, we must press on, and there are always three Hands for a practical reason. In light of this, we hereby name you a Hand of the Republic.'

Belfario's father looked at him now, pride and worry mixed in his eyes. The young soldier was stunned. The Hands were the elite of the military; there was no higher rank. To his knowledge, one had to be a general to be drafted into the Hands, but he wondered if that was simply another bureaucratic demand that the Council opted to ignore in his case.

'Th-thank you, Sir... I... have to be honest and express my doubt at whether my abilities are enough to -'

'It is ours to assess your abilities, commander, and our assessment is positive. However, this is the first time family members will be Hands concurrently, and you need to be ready for some backlash in that regard. We guarantee you that no nepotism is at work here. In fact, general Belfario was the only one who voted against this decision.'

Belfario expected his father to look away from him at this revelation, but his eyes remained fixed on his son. It only took him a moment to realize that his father hadn't voted 'no' because he thought his son couldn't handle the job. The paternal love in his eyes explained his vote: he was worried about something, something inherent to the position of Hand.

'My duty as head of the Council and as spokesperson for the Hands has been fulfilled,' said the Grand General, stood up and approached Belfario, offering him his hand. 'I congratulate you and wish you all the best, to serve your country well and to be as wise and responsible with your new power as your father has been.'

Belfario shook the Grand General's hand, his heart aflutter at the sight of his smiling face and the sound of his caring words. Immediately afterward, he realized how rare it was for someone to get to shake the great man's hand, and he quickly defaulted into a standard salute, adding a 'Sir!' to seal the deal. The Grand General kept smiling and saluted back, retreating to his seat.

'I swear I will do you and the Republic proud,' said Belfario, unsure if he was expected to say anything. After a pause, he rather reluctantly asked when he would officially ascend to his new rank.

'There is no public ceremony, if that's what you mean,' said the Grand General, 'but there is a private ritual to officially induct you into the group and to give you the knowledge and abilities required of the position. Your father has been given the honor of inducting you and it will be done forthwith. Our functioning has been hampered by General Traffao's absence for too long and we have need of you as soon as possible. To that effect, you and the Council are hereby dismissed.'

The sound of chairs scraping the floor rang out through the room as Belfario unconciously began walking towards his father. The two were very much alike, or at least became so after Belfario finished puberty and developed into a man. Both men were very light-haired, taller than average and slim by nature, with extraordinarily blue eyes. As Belfario approached his father, however, he was reminded that the man had changed. He was taller than before, and his muscles were bigger; his skin younger; his hair fuller. The change happened during a week that Belfario had spent on a mission, and his father would later dodge questions about it using humor. With time, Belfario got used to it. But now, as he approached his father, a head taller than his son and bigger than ever, he had an odd thought that he was surprised he'd never had before: that week, his father had become a Hand.

8. Calm

'I haven't told you this and I... but I want to tell you,' said Thomas with a hiccup.

Three weeks had passed since he and the general first worked out together in the general's private gym, the secretary in laughably oversized clothes and the Grand General naked. That it was a surreal day for Thomas would be putting it mildly: pumping iron with his hero, the savior of the nation, throwing around jokes and talking about the most mundane things as they both gave it their all to work their muscles to exhaustion. He was a bit freaked out by the nudity at the start, but quickly relaxed as he saw how chill the general was about it. He was clearly no stranger to exercising in the nude; it was his private gym, after all.

Thomas had also been worried that he would underperform because he'd already gone to the gym earlier that day, but the general didn't seem to notice anything. He spotted Thomas several times, his strong muscles easily dealing with the weight that Thomas worked with. He even didn't seem to mind the sweat Thomas had worked up in his clothes: when Thomas apologized for it, the general just gave a rumbling laugh, raised an arm, smelled his own pit and recoiled in affected terror.

When they were done, they hit the shower. Thomas had been expecting a communal shower, but then realized that building that would obviously have been a waste of time and money since the gym was only meant for the general. Instead, a decent-size shower cabin lay beyond a door in the corner of the locker room. Thomas worried that things would get awkward in there for two men at once and told the general that he could go first, trying to subtly suggest that they should shower separately. The general just shook his head and expressed how he saw nothing wrong with showering with another man, even in close quarters. 'We're all brothers in arms,' he said. The shower went surprisingly smoothly. Thomas appreciated the general's build from up close, his chest and legs bulging more than usual because of the workout, the water drawing clear lines in the creases between his mounds, his large member hanging between his legs, the foreskin revealing some of his cockhead. Thomas was worried that he'd be sporting wood from cleaning himself, but his dick didn't react. He observed his own body, smoothly athletic and almost hairless, and felt accepted by the general when he noticed him giving Thomas and his equipment a quick once-over while they showered.

Over the next few weeks, the general had invited Thomas to the gym again a few more times, when he felt like having company. Every workout was comfortable and relaxed, and the two quickly started talking about real-world things between sets or in the shower or the locker room, all while shooting friendly insults at each other like equals rather than subordinate and superior. Then, after work finished early one day, the general asked Thomas if he'd like to have a drink. The soldier was quick to accept and suggested a bar nearby where he and his friends usually went to unload, but the general countered his offer.

'Why don't we go to my place?' he said casually. 'It's calmer there. Besides, I have bottles upon bottles of good whiskey and no one to drink them with.'

'Sounds good to me,' said Thomas, already used to omitting 'Sir' from his speech after work.

The general's apartment was modern comfort combined with a retro 'cabin in the woods' style. There were sprawling sofas and matte futons, carpets on hardwood in the living room and cold tiles in the bathroom, a gaudy chandelier in the kitchen and a series of unintrusive lamps spread throughout the place. It was designed by someone with too much money and not enough taste, but the general seemed fond of it when he gave Thomas the tour.

'Yeah it's rich-looking,' said the general as the two sat down on a pair of futons on opposite sides of a coffee table, a large bottle of whiskey and two glasses between them, an artificial fireplace burning nearby, 'but it has its small charms. The government paid for it, but I put in some personal touches, like that, uhh, broken wooden chair over there. It's like that by design. Postmodern, you see... is what I tell people. In truth, I just failed to build a simple wooden chair!'

The general laughed and Thomas with him, each relaxing in his futon and enjoying the atmosphere. The two men were comfortable with silence and exchanged friendly smiles in longer pauses to let each other know that they weren't bored and that they were still having a good time together. The whiskey helped to get the conversation going and soon enough they were laughing their asses off over the most random things, general and secretary on equal standing, just two men and some alcohol between them.

'You told me you had a twin who goes by Tom, right?' said the general, downing a glass. 'What's going on with him? Is he in your life?'

'He, uhh... I don't know, to be honest. He's kind of in my life but also kind of not. We speak over the phone every so often, but he has his own thing going on. He's always been the layabout and I the disciplined one - not to toot my own horn...'

'Toot away, mate,' said the general and laughed. 'You've earned it.'

'Well, whatever. He's traveling now, vagabonding around, taking the occasional job and, uhh, not being very adult. He mentions a new girl every time we speak. It was Leslie last time. Big, uhh,' he started and looked at the general, feeling the heat from the whiskey in his head.

'Big tits?' the general interrupted. 'Well, good for him, I say. He's got it together, off with some big breasted beauty while you're just sitting around drinking with another man.'

'There's worse places to be,' said Thomas with a grin, 'and I'm an ass man myself.'

'You're saying I have a nice ass, soldier?' the general yelled and then burst into a fit of laughter when Thomas recoiled before bursting into laughter himself. 'Well... I don't have tits, but I bet these pecs could fool a man in the dark.'

'Not any man I know. They're too hard, Sir... uhh, hah. Have you ever even felt tits? Soft as a puppy's... I dunno... belly?'

The two laughed at their dumb jokes, opening a third bottle. Both of them went to the toilet a number of times and, when the general returned with his belt unbuckled, he laughed and took it off, unbuttoning his pants before sitting back down on his futon. Thomas followed suit and unbuttoned his own trousers as a sign of solidarity, even though he didn't need to; it made no difference to him, two bottles of whiskey into the evening.

'Ahh, you'll get to that age where your stomach demands space no matter how tight your abs are,' said the general and patted his belly, visibly bulging out of his yellow T-shirt in spite of his muscles.

'We'll see about that,' said Thomas and patted his own stomach, straight as a board in spite of the two bottles of whiskey in him.

'You look really good, though,' said the general suddenly, his eyes sliding over Thomas, half-focused. 'But you don't seem to go out with women much. How come?'

'Too much trouble, I guess,' said Thomas, shrugging his shoulders in his undershirt. The apartment was too hot, but none of the men thought to turn down the fireplace, instead opting to take off their shirts. The general's T-shirt was wet with sweat from his pits and chest and stomach, but he didn't notice; Thomas's undershirt was a little better. 'I dunno. I've been with a couple girls for a longer time, but they always leave because I can't give them something they want.'

'Equipment not performing in bed, eh?' said the general with a smirk. 'Kidding. Your shit looks good in the shower.'

'Uhh... thanks, man... Conner... Yours, uhh... yours too.'

Thomas was mumbling, his mind reeling from trying to recall his past girlfriends in one moment to remembering the look of the general's manhood in the other. The image came unwanted, but it was clear: a long, thick shaft hanging between his muscular legs, supported by a pair of balls bigger than any Thomas had seen, surrounded by finely groomed black hairs. Thomas swallowed and focused his eyes on the general, trying to get back into the conversation, sipping on another glass of the tasteless drink.

'I'm fine with just me and my hand,' he said, trying to make a pumping motion with his right fist and accidentally spilling the whiskey he was holding. 'Hand doesn't need much attention, you know,' he continued, unaware of the accident.

'Yeah, I guess,' said the general, unconsciously lowering his arm to his bulging crotch and fixing himself. '... Starts being boring after too long, though, right? Beating your own meat...'

'I guess, uhh... Actually, I dunno... I'm not bored yet,' said Thomas and reached down to fix himself too. 'Oh, fuck!' he yelled under his breath as he noticed the spilt whiskey over his crotch.

'Don't worry about it, Tom... Heh, sorry. It's hard not to call you that. Just throw 'em in the washer. They'll be done by tomorrow.'

Thomas got up and fell back down onto the futon, laughing with the general as he got back up on his feet. He could hardly hold his balance, but he managed to slip out of his pants and throw them aside before falling back down, not even noticing the precum stain that his dick had produced on his boxers.

'Sorry, I'll... I'll take them to the washer later... okay?'

'No problem, mate,' said the general, closing his eyes for a bit. 'My home is... your uhh... house...'

'Thanks, Conner. You're a real good fr...' said Thomas, before snapping out of his haze for a moment. 'No, wait. I'll go take them now. I shouldn't be littering your place.'

'They're just pants, Tom,' said the general. '... You've got a nice pair of legs there, mate. Runner's legs. Surprised women don't stick around for stuff like that. Probably can't appreciate what they have, huh?'

'I dunno. Maybe. I haven't had a... a girl in a while,' said Thomas, almost biting his tongue. '... You, uh...? You use your junk much? On anything besides your hand?'

Thomas couldn't believe the words had left his mouth, but the whiskey had inhibited his reasoning. There was no reason not to ask whatever came to his mind. He didn't think the general was the sort to mind sharing stuff like that; hell, they were talking about jacking off earlier. He realized for a moment how close to his hero he'd gotten and his heart started pumping harder in response.

'Well, I piss down the latrinemen's throats, if you count that as using my junk,' the general said and burped through his laughter, eyes still half-closed. 'Nah. My hand is the only hole that can handle my shit.'

'Bet I could handle your shit,' said Thomas, not even aware of what he was talking about. 'I'd do anything for you, Conner. I haven't told you this and I... but I want to tell you. You're my hero. You've been my hero for fucking ever. If you hadn't taken Marydon... my family and I would've... God, man. How can I ever repay you for saving our lives? How do you even begin to thank the man who's the reason why you're still alive, huh?'

The general looked at Thomas, half-understanding his words, his heart warmed by his outburst of gratitude. 'You've told me,' he said. 'You told me about that before... and I said I was glad I was able to help... I think. I don't know if you should bother yourself about thanking me. You're welcome. I should be thanking you for keeping an old man company like this and not being bored out of your mind.'

'What are you on about?' asked Thomas. 'I'm having a blast with you. I couldn't ever have... dreamed of getting to spend time with you like this...'

Their conversation was now a series of monologues, with one spilling his guts and the other nodding along, half-there and half-elsewhere, but they were having a great time bonding and unloading. Sometimes a man needs to share his burden with no expectation of help or sympathy, needs to share it just to get it off his chest. Such was their first night together; in a state of some undress, the two men started snoring on their futons almost at the same time, a bottle still open between them, the lights and the fireplace remaining on.

9. Hand of the Republic

Belfario clenched his teeth and pressed his face into the pillow, his arms hugging the edges of the mattress. He was naked, kneeling on the bed, his torso sloping down, every muscle in him tight and prepared for danger. He had a beautiful chest, wide and not too massive. His lats flared as he hugged the bed, his arms tense and muscles tight. He breathed in and out through his nose, trying to calm himself, but he couldn't help the fear. When he felt the cock that had made him pressing its giant head against his asshole, an area he'd never interacted with, he inhaled sharply and held his breath. He felt it push against him lightly, getting him ready, and he felt that it was wet from something. Precum, probably, he thought and immediately cringed at the thought of his father's juices. Even with his ass cheeks spread far apart and in the position he was in, he felt general Belfario's massive cockhead pressing against a large area of his behind, covering a surface far greater than his shithole. He forbade his mind from wondering how the thing was supposed to enter him.

'Relax,' said general Belfario softly as he placed a heavy hand on his son's lower back. 'It only gets easier if you relax. Remember why you need to do this. Take pride in it. This is as hard for me as it is for you, Mikka, but it's our duty.'

The general was kneeling on the bed behind his son, his massive cock standing at attention, ready to ram the back gates of his only child. The two men were similar, yes, but the general was a beast of a man, hairier and more muscular than his son by several degrees; even through his tall bush of blond pubes, his manhood rose proudly like a marble tower, lacking visible veins of any kind, pure white and shining with precum and some soft cream that he'd put on, knowing the challenge his son would be facing. He swung his hips forward softly, pushing against his son, but his hole still wasn't ready to receive him. Not by a long shot.

'Remember our talk, Mikka,' the general continued, his voice mellow and warm, 'remember it and internalize what I said to you.'

'I can't remember anything with your fucking dick pushing at my ass!' shouted Belfario. '... Sorry. God.'

The general leaned over his son and laid both his hands on him, running them up and down his back, pressing on his tense muscles and urging them to loosen. He massaged his shoulders, his lower back, his sides, and although he was reluctant to do what they were about to do, he couldn't help but be proud of the son he'd been rewarded with. For him, it was only yesterday that Mikka Belfario was a tiny twerp who couldn't tie his shoes and who wailed like a girl every time his dad had to go on deployment; it felt surreal to see him now, spread out before his father, a fit and promising young man, the youngest ever to rise to the rank Commander First Class, not to mention Hand of the Republic. The general thought about how proud he was and his massive manhood twitched, pushing once again against Belfario.

'Stop that!' shouted Belfario again, still breathing heavily. 'Just... Fucking hell, Dad, just give me some time. You didn't use to be that fucking huge...'

Belfario shut his eyes tighter and attempted to concentrate on the talk from earlier. After the Council session, his father congratulated him in front of his peers before leading him out through an inconspicuous door in the corner of the chamber as the rest of the Council filed out through the main entrance. They walked quietly through a narrow hallway down a red-and-gold carpet, the young commander not daring to break the silence, aware that something big was coming. At the end of the hallway was a small waiting room with three unassuming doorways. The leftmost door's plaque read 'Conner Maden, GG, HR, 10C1'; the center one read 'Kaum Belfario, HR, 10C7'; the right one, towards which his father was marching...

'These are the Hands' living quarters,' said general Belfario, his voice heavy and quiet, 'and this was Traffao's room, but, well... I must welcome to your official quarters, Mikka Belfario, Hand of the Republic. Alas, your name will be lacking the Tenth Council honorary for now, as you're not a general.'

'I have to sleep in this dump now?'

The general laughed and finally looked at his son, his bright eyes shining with pride.

'No, you don't. The quarters are yours to do with as you plea -' he started, but then burst into laughter again.

The young Belfario couldn't help grinning at his father. He was glad he was able to break the ice. He felt his father's stern attitude defrosting as he laughed and put his arm around his son, opening the door and leading him in.

They talked for what felt like hours in the modest living quarters of the future Hand, just a bed and a desk and a wardrobe, all painted in a bold auburn, up to the young Belfario to customize as he wished. His father and he sat down side by side on the bed and, after a pause, his father began speaking to him. He told him the short version of the story of how the War was won, a story untold to the public and known only to Hands, out of even the Council's purview.

The Ninth Council had among them a keen scientist of questionable moral values, an unquenchable thirst for knowledge made flesh. A general of modest combat successes, he ascended to the Council due to his contribution to the military's weapons department, having made various innovations in the process of arms production. Upon becoming Councillor, he poured the entirety of the significant funds newly available to him into some of his high-concept research and, come the later years of the war, a practical application was found and it needed testing. He needed test subjects; the army sent out a call and many soldiers of every rank volunteered.

Though thousands of able-bodied men and women in the service were injected with the formula prototype over several months, there were no results. Until, of course, one day there was a result. When general Conner Maden, bereft over the loss of his wife, decided to volunteer for the experiment on a whim, no rhyme or reason to his actions, no one expected a thing anymore. Too much time had passed and too many subjects had been tested to no effect. So, when general Conner Maden entered the scientist Councillor's office a week after taking the formula, taller, stronger, younger-looking, more muscular, more fit and radiating what felt to the Councillor like an aura of concentrated masculinity, the War became as good as won in the Councillor's mind.

'But how did the Grand General's change help him win a war fought with tanks and missiles?' asked Belfario, having been listening attentively to his father's tale.

'Jan-27, as you know, was a battle fought not with tanks and missiles, but man-to-man,' said the general and averted his gaze. 'It was designed to be so. The general became a superior man, yes, but as you said, no man can beat a tank. However, there are always tank drivers, missile control, snipers, hackers... in other words, people who control and make use of these machines of war. Without the people, the machines are useless.'

'And if you can control the people...' said Belfario and paused. 'Mind control? They developed mind control?'

'Hmm, not quite. What you're about to hear is...'

'I understand the implications and the importance and all the other qualifiers,' said Belfario impatiently. 'Just get it out already.'

'Alright,' the general said and sighed. 'As I understand it, there's some not-yet-understood science behind it. Word is that Councillor Themer, the one who developed the formula, came to it either through sheer luck or a deal with the devil, both equally unbelievable explanations, but the fact remains that no one has been able to replicate it yet and Themer died shortly after Jan-27. Conspiracy theories abound, of course, but I won't get into that. In any case, it's not mind control that they developed, but a form of... attraction, I guess. A way to instil an animalistic, pack mentality into humans; one alpha and his subordinates, bound to him and willing to die for him against all reason. The Grand General... and later the other Hands, of course... we are the alphas, able to influence others, able to get even enemies to join us, if not because they support our ideas, then because they support us personally.'

'So, mind control pheromones of some sort?' asked Belfario, frowning.

'Well, pheromones have never been proven to work in humans the way they do in animals, but... I suppose, yes. There are differences, and like I said, it's not mind control... but the effect is similar, at least for stage one of loyalty. However, just seeing a Hand can have the effect, even if it's just a photograph. Even hearing a Hand's voice... so, you see, it can't exactly be pheromones. As far as we know, it can't be anything; and yet, it works. The only reason the rest of the Hands aren't worshipped the same way as the Grand General by the public is because we consciously limit the public's exposure to us. It's better for there not to be any competition between us in that respect.'

Belfario looked at his father, golden beard and shining blond hair adorning his head, and had a strange thought.

'Alright. I'll believe it, coming from you. But one thing's bothering me: you said that the formula died with the scientist after the Grand General became what he became. If that's correct, then how did you... how did the other Hands come to be?'

General Belfario nodded to himself, as if to indicate that his son had hit the mark, and continued speaking.

'It can only be transferred by male ejaculate,' said general Belfario, his eyes still aimed at the floor rather than at his son. 'By male semen. It... lots of it has to be absorbed into the body through the mucous membranes.'

'Cum?' asked Belfario, perplexed by what he was hearing. 'You have to... absorb cum?'

'Yes, well... absorb... mucous membranes line the human rectum and the inside of the human mouth... there are other, more exotic membranes, but those have proven inefficient in the transfer. There is also an element of will to it, uhm... the Hand has to want to transfer the formula in order to do it. It can't happen involuntarily. Another bit of mysterious science for you; how does the formula connect to the brain and interpret its electric signals as the desire to pass the formula on? It's fascinating, really...'

'Dad,' said Belfario, staring at his father, short for breath, 'Dad... shut up. What the fuck are you saying to me here? Huh?'

The general inhaled deeply and straightened his back, sitting up on the bed after having slouched the whole time. He looked at his son, his child, who'd only yesterday been 6-year-old Mikka, playing in the sand and kicking girls for fun and promising to marry one of them if she would touch his nose with hers; he looked at his blue eyes, his father's blue eyes, and his blond buzz cut; he looked at his gentle bone structure, masculine but soft, a gift from his mother; he looked into his horrified eyes and spoke.

'Hands of the Republic are carriers of the formula. The Grand General was the first. When I was elected to become Hand after a previous one passed away, the Grand General took me into a room much like this and explained it all... explained that, for both of us to serve our country as best we could, he would have to fuck me and cum into me for the formula to pass between us... for me to become a Hand; a superior man; a perfect leader; an alpha. In a way, the Grand General was kind when he chose me for this duty that I must fulfil today, rather than taking on you himself. I'll try to make it easy for you, Mikka... but you understand now what must happen, don't you?'

For the longest time, Belfario just stared at him.

10. Breakfast

The smell of fried eggs intruded on Thomas's nostrils even before he became aware of it; in his nightmare, it manifested as the stench of dead people, his dead family in an alternate universe where the Grand General never took Marydon base. When he snapped out of it and awoke, he realized where he was and sat up instantly. Too fast for his hung-over brain; he fell back onto the bed with a thud and grabbed his head. He remembered his time with the general and realized that he thought he'd fallen asleep on the futon in the living room. But that wasn't where he was right now. As he shut his eyes to chase the headache away, he realized that what he'd just seen in his moment of consciousness was the general's bedroom, because it was decorated the same as the rest of his apartment. He wondered for a moment how he'd gotten to lie in the general's bed, but then the smell of fried eggs reached him again and made his belly growl. The whiskey had done nothing for his hunger; he'd gone to bed without eating, and now he was starving.

He got up in spite of his throbbing head and limped over to the door, small rays of light entering the room through the keyhole and the shutters on the window behind him. As he opened the door, the morning light almost burned his eyes to a crisp; he quickly raised a hand to cover his eyes and, slowly but surely, started to see again. He saw the living room where they'd spent their evening together, a bottle of whiskey still on the coffee table, the glasses missing. He saw the futons where they'd sat, bent out of shape; the general's more so than Thomas's, of course. And finally, he saw the kitchen through a doorway across the living room, filled with light from an open window. The smell of fried eggs was clearly coming from there.

He took but two steps forward before he saw him. The Grand General - his new friend - stood at the kitchen counter, sunkissed and naked, making breakfast and humming. Thomas had seen him before, of course... but never like this. He was completely relaxed and loose, one hip thrown out as his weight rested on one thick leg, his massive cock semi-erect, probably the aftermath of severe morning wood, lying flat on the counter because the general was tall enough and there was not enough room for its length elsewhere. Thomas stared at it, unable to comprehend how a penis could be so giant. Semi-hard, it looked almost the size of Thomas's forearm, both in length and in girth, the general's balls the size of Thomas's fists. Thomas's head still hurt and he was struggling to see through the light, but that image of the general was something he thought he'd never forget.

'Oh!' said the general, turning around to smile at Thomas, his cock flying off the counter and swinging in front of him. 'Good morning to you too! Why were you just standing there?'

'I was admiring your fucking massive cock, Conner,' said Thomas with a laugh, finally feeling free to be honest. 'Holy shit man, you're packing. No wonder you said women can't handle you.'

The general laughed his honest, booming laughter and turned back to take care of the eggs, unaware of Thomas's eyes still running up and down the length of his dick and observing the way it erupted from the bottom of his ripped stomach, out of a neat forest of black hairs.

'That's mighty praise coming from you, Tom,' said the general as he shook the eggs. 'Sit your naked ass down, mate, breakfast is almost done.'

Only now did Thomas realize that he was walking around naked too, his fit body clearly comfortable being free in front of the general, his dick flaccid amid his pubes. He sat on a high chair at the small kitchen table, his ass pressing against it and enjoying the warm material. The general clearly didn't need to suffer the discomfort of cold seating in his own house.

'Last thing I remember is the living room,' said Thomas, now admiring the general's sculpted back and hard ass. 'How did I end up in your bed? And where did you sleep?'

'The sofa,' the general said casually. 'I figured a guest deserves the best treatment, so I carried you over to my bed. By the way, so much money went into making that bed as comfortable as possible that this better have been the best sleep of your life or I'll feel ripped off.'

Thomas stayed silent, not wanting to mention his nightmares. Thankfully, the general didn't take his silence to mean anything.

'Thank you for last night, mate,' said the general, bringing the pan with the eggs to the table and sitting on a chair opposite Thomas. 'I bet you're starving, though. Have at it!'

Thomas had the urge to react with surprise at the fact that the general had made breakfast for the both of them, but his hunger stopped him from saying anything. He gobbled up the eggs greedily, watching the general do the same, and felt even more connected to him; last night they drank together, and now they were eating together.

'Why are we naked, though?' asked Thomas while chewing on the general's delicious eggs.

The general laughed and said, 'It looks like I'm some kind of crazy nudist, doesn't it? I'm swinging free because I honestly didn't think you'd wake up so soon and I just came out of the shower. As for you, well... You kind of slobbered all over your pants last night and you spilled my fine whiskey on your shirt as well as your pants, so I took the liberty of throwing them into the washer. Don't worry, it's fast; you'll have the clothes back in a bit.'

'That's alright,' said Thomas. 'Thanks, man. Sorry about your whiskey.'

They ate some more, exchanging the occasional glance and joke, but mostly just enjoying a quiet breakfast. The two men felt at home with each other, more than either of them had felt in quite a while. Thomas had been searching for someone to complete him for a long time, ever since his brother decided to lead his life a little differently and left home. His twin had been everything to him up to that point and they did absolutely everything together, so much so that Thomas never really befriended anyone else at school or otherwise. He made some acquaintances as he got older, certainly, and had fun going out for drinks with them on occasion, but none of them were people he could rely on or talk to openly or feel at home with. He had dated several women, searching for the same kind of fulfillment, but it never came; or they just never gave it enough time. He was as surprised as anyone now to be feeling that sort of primal bond with his childhood hero.

The general had been a lonely man for many years too, after his wife's death, his transformation, his son leaving home. He didn't even realize how lonely he was until he hired Thomas and started talking to him, slowly and business-like at first, but then more relaxed and mentioning things he shouldn't have, like when he talked about Jan-27 to him some weeks ago. He was glad he let himself open up to his subordinate a bit and earn a potential friend, but his secret still bothered him: the fact that he could never tell a non-Hand about what being a Hand meant.

'So, I've been meaning to ask you,' said Thomas, finishing his breakfast. 'Have you always been so big? I mean... You're the most massive man I've ever seen, and I'm sure you've had to work hard for it, but your meat, man... How'd you go through school with that thing without impregnating every girl within a six-foot radius?'

'Who says I didn't?' said the general and laughed the question off.

Thomas fell silent, noticing the dodge, but then chastised himself for expecting anything else. What did he want the general to say? 'Yes, Thomas, I've always been blessed with a fucking huge cock and I've used it to plug countless women's holes?' He smirked subtly at himself, wondering why he cared so much; maybe he was projecting onto the general and wishing he was as big as him? Thomas had always been a bit insecure about his body, not least because he'd often been exposed to the general through the media, but he thought he'd grown out of that.

'I've only ever been with one woman,' said the general after a pause. 'I know it doesn't sound very glamourous, but that's how my life went. We met at a mutual friend's party and immediately took to one another because we were the only people there who felt like talking instead of just dancing around. We sneaked out to a secluded cliff and spent the night talking about the dumbest things, like which constellations we could see or invent. It felt romantic at the time; of course, it seems clich' and silly now, just like lots of other things that make youth so special.'

'That sounds amazing, Conner,' said Thomas, looking at the general with awe. 'I didn't mean to bring that up, I was just...'

'No, don't worry,' said the general with a smile. 'It's been years since she died. Even the biggest pain fades away with time, you know. The memory of her is able to make me extremely happy or insanely sad, but after a time, you stop remembering spontaneously. Of course, it's hard not to remember when you're all alone... so thank you again for keeping me company, Tom.'

'You're welcome, man,' said Thomas, cheering up. 'Like I said, there are worse places to be.'

The two spent a comfortable morning together and, when Thomas's clothes were done, they dressed and left together for the office. It hardly requires mentioning that the fates decided that Emerson would be on latrineman duty that day and that he would see the general and his secretary arriving to work together. Despite all his reason, he was unable to stop that seed of discord called jealousy from taking hold of his heart and, instead of talking to Thomas and learning that he and the general were simply becoming good friends, the latrineman spent that day enveloped in a dark mist of malice.

11. Family Matters

'Think of the tightest pussy you've ever been in,' said general Belfario, kneeling behind his son, his giant manhood leaking all over his airtight asshole and onto the bed. 'Think of how it felt to fuck that pussy, Mikka.'

He felt his son's breathing die down and his ass relax a bit; it opened slightly and kissed his father's dick, bathing in a river of its precum. The general bit his lips, barely able to restrain himself from ramming into his child right then and there. It was sick and something he never could have even imagined doing, but he had to get himself in the zone, make himself want to fuck his son. It was for the good of the country, for the good of them all. His giant balls ached for release and his manhood pulsated with anticipation, pushing into Belfario's asshole with every surge. He felt it relax more and saw that half his cockhead had managed to go inside; he felt the warmth of his son's insides and bit harder on his lips to stop himself from cumming.

'That's it, just keep thinking about stuff that gets you off. It'll be easier if you enjoy it, right? Easier if you think of things you like?'

'Y... yeah,' said Belfario, hesitant to join his father's dirty talk. 'Niena Dollert... was the tightest cunt and most amazing fuck I've ever had.'

'Yeah? The pig-tailed Dollert twerp from across the street? Do you remember how it felt when you entered her?'

'Yeah, of course,' said Belfario. 'She was wet as a lake because I'd spent an hour fucking her between her tits and teasing her. And because I'd leaked a lake all over her for the same reason...'

General Belfario's cock twitched and he gave a gentle push, sliding most of his head into his son's asshole.

'Hoooly hell, Dad!' shouted Belfario as he felt the thing spread his hole. 'Is... is that it? Are you in? Holy shit you're huge...'

'Just the head, Mikka,' said the general and patted his son on the back when he gave a desperate sigh. 'You'll be fine. One step at a time, you'll take all of me inside you. I'm sure you'll manage; you've accomplished so much in your life already and I'm so proud of you, kid. What's taking your Dad's cock into your ass compared to being named Hand without even being a general, huh?'

'I guess,' said Belfario reluctantly. 'Does this turn you on, Dad? You've been hard all this time...'

'Yeah, kid... you're fucking hot' said the general. 'Part of becoming a Hand means losing the ability to disciminate between sexes when it comes to getting turned on. It would be a pretty bad formula if its carriers just kept fucking women and cumming only into them. Even if a woman could somehow become an alpha, she could never pass the formula on, so the formula was designed to delete men's limitations on who they can have sex with.'

'Wait, wait,' said Belfario, clenching his ass and immediately regretting the decision as he felt his father's manhood forcibly keeping it open. 'I'm gonna become gay if I do this? I don't want that! I love women!'

'You weren't listening, Mikka,' said the general. 'You will just lose whatever's preventing you from finding men attractive too. You'll still love women; hell, I still do, and I've never fucked a man outside the line of duty. My only romantic partners have been women, as I'm sure yours will continue to be... you will just gain the ability to get hard from seeing other men and the ability to fuck them to pass on the formula or just to make them see you as their superior, which is what being a Hand is all about. How do you think the Grand General got the enemies at Marydon to surrender? It sure wasn't from just standing around them, oozing masculinity. No, he had to get his cum into every single one of them. I still don't know how he managed it, but he the man can clearly be very persuasive. Or subtle.'

'God, this is all so fucked up, Dad,' said Belfario. 'Can we just get this over with?'

'I could,' said the general, grabbed his manhood at the root, unable to get his whole hand around it, and pushed it into his son's ass, getting stuck after another inch went in and Belfario shouted and recoiled, 'but you can't. Haven't you ever fucked a girl in the ass? I need to relax you first, which is why I've been telling you to think of stuff that gets you horny. So please, Mikka... think of that tight pussy. Think of how tight your ass must be for your Dad compared to that pussy and how it's going to feel for me to fuck you.'

'Okay,' said Belfario, 'I'll try... I've almost stopped feeling my ass now, you know, it just hurt when you stabbed something inside me. Am I even gonna be able to shit normally after this? I don't think something so huge was ever meant to go into an asshole...'

'You'll be fine after a day, Mikka,' said the general in a comforting tone. '... Do you want me to fuck you with my head a bit to show you how it feels?'

Without waiting for an answer, the general slid out a bit and then back in, layers of his precum paving the way into his son's back door as the young Belfario inhaled sharply and gripped the bed tighter, letting out a soft grunt which told his father that that felt good, getting his massive cock even harder. The general had stopped feeling bad about having his monster inside his child; he started seeing his son as just another man, ready to get his ass plowed and ready to be seeded. The general started rocking back and forth, plopping his head in and out of Belfario, dying inside every time his son grunted with pleasure as he realized how good it could feel to have a big dick in his ass.

'Do you like that, Mikka?' the general asked over Belfario's loud sighs as he continued to head-fuck him. 'You know, this is how I fucked your mother when I made you. Of course, back then my whole dick was as big as my cockhead is now... You're taking more of me inside you right now than your mom ever did, kid. I'm proud of you.'

'Th-thanks, Dad,' said Belfario, unable to fully comprehend what his father was telling him. All he knew was that he couldn't believe what he was feeling as his dad's massive pole went in and out of him with just its tip, spreading his ass with every ingress, sliding against the walls of his shithole. 'God... I never thought getting fucked could feel so good.'

'I'm just teasing your hole, Mikka,' said the general, 'the way you would tease the lips of a pussy, you know. I have five inches of myself inside you right now, but that's still just my cockhead. But yes, I know it feels amazing... I too was afraid when general Maden started going inside me, but I held on, I gave it my all to receive him like a good soldier, and I did what I had to do for my country. And he's even bigger than me...'

'AHH!' yelled Belfario as the general's thick shaft started tearing him apart after his head was fully inside. 'Ugh... yes... y-yes, Dad, please push it in a bit more. That feels fucking amazing, you're touching something inside...'

'Your prostate, kid. You're welcome for that.'

The general looked down his massive torso and ripped abs at the plowing machine between his legs, its top firmly inside his son's beautiful asshole. Belfario's ass muscles were gripping his father's cock tightly and trying to pull more of it in and, soon enough, he started backing up on it, eager to take more and more of his father inside himself. The general closed his eyes because it was too much to take, lowered his torso over his son's back, put one arm around his neck and forced him down onto the bed, pressing all his mountains of muscle against his child.

'God, Dad... I really can't believe I'm saying this, but it feels amazing to have your cock inside me,' said Belfario as he relaxed in the general's arms and let his pole slide deeper inside. 'I bet no son's ever said that to his father before, huh?'

'I don't know, but it feels amazing to be inside you too,' said the general, flexing his muscles to engulf Belfario in his body. '... Do you think you can take all of me inside, son? No one's ever been able to yet.'

'I... I don't... God...'

Belfario almost uttered a refusal, but as he was about to, his ass clenched around the general's meat once again, sending rivers of pleasure down Belfario's back. A thought suddenly emerged from his subconscious, a curious amalgamation of desires and wants, of childhood memories that he shared with his father, of questions and answers, and manifested into an utterance too forceful for him to control.

'I want you to give me all you got, Dad,' he said and closed his eyes. 'I want you to keep doing what you're doing to my ass... because it feels great... and because I trust you. We've always had this connection, you know. The same way I always trusted you to catch me if I fell or to patch me up if I got hurt... I trust you to fuck me in the ass and give me your everything. If that'll make you happy... If you think it'll make you happy to enter me completely, then do it. It's my job to take it like a man... like your son... and I'll be damned if I don't enjoy my job.'

'Holy shit, kid, you sure can talk up a storm,' said the general as he laughed and slapped Belfario's ass playfully. '... I understand what you're saying, though. I'm glad you trust me; I trust you too. I'm proud that you're taking your duty so seriously, but what do you say we have some fun while we're at it? We're both men, and we both love to fuck. This is just another kind of fucking, right? And you like it? Don't think I think any less of you because you said you're enjoying having a cock up your ass. We're all human and we're all built with similar pleasure centers, and there's nothing wrong with asses. Anyone who tells you differently is just too afraid to admit it to themselves.'

Belfario grinned and voluntarily squeezed his ass around his father, gently pushing against his cock and laughing when the general let out a yelp. 'Are you sure I'm the one who can talk up a storm?'

The general slapped his son's ass again and leaned harder into him, dropping both of them to the bed. As he lay on top of Belfario, he savored the warmth of his son's insides. He started slowly swaying his hips from side to side, letting his manhood explore his son. Belfario in turn started growling softly, pressing his body against the general's as hard as he could and letting his father spread his ass wider with his thick dick. They stayed like this for several minutes, exchanging the occasional comment on how good it felt to be so close. Soon enough, the general started lifting his hips and lowering them back onto his son, his pole sliding in and out of Belfario's precum-lubed asshole. He went slowly, enjoying every second he could spend on top of that amazing man he called his son, appreciating his muscular back, his long neck, his gorgeous blond hair, running his hands along his lower back, ass, and legs, squeezing the tight muscles and pushing and pulling him on and off his dick as he pleased.

'You're so fucking hot, kid,' the general breathed into his son's ear as he started plowing him faster. He spread himself all over Belfario, putting his arms on his son's arms, his legs on his son's legs, letting him handle all of his father's weight. He was surprised that Belfario didn't complain in spite of the weight difference.

'Your cock feels so good inside me, Dad,' said Belfario quietly. 'It's like... I can almost feel it in my stomach or something. Is that all of it?'

'Yeah, kid, most of it. You're taking about 11 inches of me right now, I think. I'm so fucking proud of you, Mikka,' said the general amid his thrusting and the loud rocking of the bed as he fucked Belfario's hole. 'You have no idea how it feels to have so much of your body inside someone else. Although... Fuck, I guess soon enough you will know.'

'I don't know and I don't care,' said Belfario as he reached behind himself and put his hands on his father's stomach, feeling his hard abs and enjoying the thought of being able to handle such a big man. Was the formula somehow acting on him already through his father's precum? Or was he only now becoming conscious of desires that had always lain hidden inside him? It mattered little. He was enjoying taking his father's cock and that was all. The way it spread and relaxed his ass muscles, the way its size made his insides feel full and somehow complete, the way it slid against his ass tissue and sent surges of electricity through his body; the was he could feel and smell his father's sweat on himself, his breath on his neck, his chest on his back, his huge arms on his arms; the way he was getting fucked in the ass by the cock that had made him. He loved it all. The whole thing was so intoxicating, he almost wondered how anyone could not love it.

'Are you ready, Mikka?!' asked the general loudly, panting as he raised and lowered his hips rapidly, slamming into his son without rhythm, like a beast claiming its territory. He felt it rising inside him, felt the coming flood as a surge of emotions like pleasure, happiness and love fired in his brain. 'Do you want my cum, kid? Do you want it?! Do you want me to cum inside your ass? God, your Dad's cumming into you... I'm fucking cumming!'

'Yes! Yes! Fucking yes!' shouted Belfario as he clenched every muscle in his body to try to weather his father's assault. 'Fucking cum inside of me! Oh, God, you're hitting it so hard. God... I'm fucking cumming too!'

'Fuuuuck!' yelled the general as he felt the cum surge through his massive cock, spreading his son's ass wider and exploding inside him. One wave came, and then another, and then another as he kept violently fucking Belfario, feeling his manhood bathing in a pool of his cum inside his son. He kept fucking and cumming and felt his cum start coming out of Belfario, dribbling down his taint and onto the bed. As he felt his son's asshole clench rhythmically while he came too, he kept plowing Belfario's ass with his hard, cum-lubed cock, taking some of his juice out and pushing it back in with every thrust, delivering another load every time he went all the way inside.

'Hooooly fuck, Dad!' yelled Belfario as he felt the river of cum flowing freely into and out of his asshole and felt it forming a pool on the bed just under his ballsac. He already came between the bed and his stomach, but his father kept going. Was he cumming several times or was this just one long session? He had been storing so much juice in his balls, it was no wonder they needed to be that big.

As his father kept plowing him and cumming all over his insides, Belfario realized what had just happened and realized what it meant. He had taken his father's essence inside of him. He'd done his duty. And, soon, his reward would be the status of alpha. What exactly did it mean? The general had given him a relatively terse description of the whole affair. How fast would his body transform? Would everything about it change? He worried briefly that his cock would stay the same size, but then laughed the thought off. So what? It was a good 7 inches anyway and almost as thick as his forearm; he was proud of what his father's genes had given him and it wasn't like the thing would start working any better if it grew larger.

'Do you cum that much every time now?' he suddenly asked his father, struggling to breathe under his relaxed mass. 'It's fucking hot, but it seems like a bitch to clean up.'

'No, not every time,' said the general, breathing heavily. 'You're the first guy to be able to keep his ass tight all throughout in spite of my size, and I can't tell you how good that felt. Have you been working out those asshole muscles in the gym or something?'

'Hah, fat chance,' laughed Belfario. '... But if working out my asshole feels so good, I might just start.'

'Cheeky kid,' said the general and slapped his son's ass again. After a pause, he added: 'You can come work out with me anytime you want.'


John Dean Major

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