The Bonobo Experiments 3
THE BONOBO EXPERIMENTS - 3, Rev.
Copyright 2009, 2012 by Carl Mason
All rights reserved. Other than downloading one copy for strictly personal enjoyment, no part of this story may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, except for reviews, without the written permission of the author. However based on real events and places, "The Bonobo Experiments" is strictly fictional. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Further, as in real life, sexual themes unfold gradually. Comments on the story are appreciated and may be addressed to the author at carl_mason@verizon.net
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This story contains descriptions of sexual contact between males, both adults and teenagers. As such, it is homoerotic fiction designed for the personal enjoyment of legal, hopefully mature, adults. If you are not of legal age to read such material, if those in power and/or those whom you trust treat it as illegal, or if it would create unresolvable moral dilemmas in your life, please leave. Finally, remember that maturity generally demands safe sex.
CHAPTER 3
(Revisiting Chapter 2)
In all truth, the seriously depleted bottle emptied quickly, as did almost all of the snacks on both silver trays. (Knowing this age group, who would have expected anything else? Let it be known, however, that Patterson and Captain Irwin did their duty, fully enjoying snacks that were not their usual party fare!) Still completely bright eyed and bushy tailed, the young Russians eagerly looked around as if they wondered if anything else liquid or edible were hiding. In any case, after a short break, Patterson quickly directed them back to using German and clearing their minds for the business of the evening. Just as they were settling down, their spirits seemed to spike perceptibly when a goodly selection of beer was brought into the room by food staff.
(Continuing Our Story: A Perilous Mission)
Briefly mentioning current developments, the Commander reviewed American interest in the Siberian acquisition proposal advanced by the Russian Government. He also noted that this interest was coupled with our desire to avoid getting involved in a Russian civil war...or a major Russian backlash against American "involvement". He then admitted that a perilous mission was being considered wherein, with the help of new German developments in lighter-than-air, an American team (integrated with the German crew) would join the giant new Graf Zeppelin III for a flight across European Russia and Siberia as far as Tokyo. (Thus, it will recreate part of the original Graf's Around-the-World-Flight of 1929, revised to allow for brief stops in the major Siberian cities.) The need is for feet-on-the-ground intelligence on how far 1) the Siberians are willing to go in supporting a determined push for autonomy (if there is major resistance to the Russian government's desire to sell Siberia to the U.S.), and 2) how far the Russian military are likely to go in resisting efforts towards Siberian autonomy...or even a greater degree of independence. Brief stops for intelligence gathering were presently planned in Moscow and the major Siberian centers of Yekaterinburg, Omsk, Novosibirsk, Irkutsk, and Vladivostok.
With his audience handing on his every word, Randy explicated what he saw to be sources of peril facing the lieutenants if they chose to take part in this mission, e.g., 1) The need for quick information complicated by the short stops, the need to identify sources of information, and the need to actually make field contacts, 2) possible Russian perceptions that the lieutenants were "American agents" and, hence, traitors to their uniform and their country (That is, it was bad enough for officers of the Russian Navy to seek asylum. Going so far as to aid a foreign power would surely be treated as quite another matter!), 3) a possible German backlash if they decide that American Naval Intelligence has its own list of priorities regardless of U.S. assurances. That is, if they decided the their major priority was to obtain data on their lighter than air program and/or the Graf III, they might also see the young Russians as "American agents". This could result in charges of industrial espionage - if not worse.
Although he noted that the United States would provide asylum and protection against Russian retribution no matter what they decided, he also sketched the benefits that might face those who joined in the mission. For instance, in the future they might desire to return to their homes in a Siberia whose political status had been revised - or they might desire to become American citizens. In either case, their specific needs for assistance would be determined. If desired, for instance, efforts would be made to secure commissions for them in the Armed Forces of the United States. While he was completely sympathetic to the problems they faced in coming to a decision, he noted that he had to have their individual decisions promptly. Everyone would depart for Washington tomorrow. Those who could not take part in the mission would continue their asylum debriefing without penalty. Those who elected to join the mission would be involved in additional planning and receive intensive training.
Captain Irwin, who had unobtrusively slipped out of the room at some point, returned and spoke privately with Randy during a short break. He indicated that he would support the Siberian lieutenants on the Commander's recommendation. Also, the Department of Defense had heard from Germany. The Germans were most interested in bilaterally monitoring the Siberian matter. The junior American officer's presence in their newest airship, together with a small supporting staff, was viewed as an acceptable price. The flawed German line on Patterson, by the way, was that he was frustrated due to the U.S. having thus far refused to commit to major involvement in lighter-than-air. Further, however bright, he was still a young junior officer. Thus, it was unlikely that he had extensive influence on the Navy's "power structure". Irwin left immediately for Washington.
Following the break, brief discussion ended when Dima requested the floor. Standing at rigid attention, he announced rather emotionally that he saw taking part in the mission as the best way to fulfill his obligations to his native land and maintain his personal honor. Igor rose immediately in agreement. The way in which Evgeny leapt to his feet and pounded them on the back left little doubt as to his agreement. After looking into the eyes of each man, Jiri stood, saluted, and said that he pledged the unanimous support of the Siberians to "the mission and 'their captain'". Accepting their decision with thanks - as well as their personal confidence, Randy directed them to return to their quarters and make ready for tomorrow's trip. He did ask Jiri to remain for a few minutes.
(Scars and Glory)
Sitting down over steaming cups of black coffee delivered by a Navy steward, Randy turned to the Siberian lieutenant and spoke of the confidence he had in the brothers and their promise for accomplishing an important mission. He then sat back a bit and reflectively added an explicit comment about his faith in Jiri. He wondered if Jiri would consider serving as his XO (Executive Officer) or #2. He rather underestimated the effect of all this on the young man, who had to employ all of his energies to regain full emotional control. Though shaken, the big redhead said that he would be honored to fulfill this responsibility.
Noting that Navy protocol required him to ask one more question, he asked Jiri if there were anything in his background that would bring dishonor or even embarrassment on the Navy were he to serve openly in this position. The boy's hands and lips trembled as he attempted to deal with this query. Finally, he looked up at the Commander, his eyes shiny with moisture, his face tense with concern. "Sir," he said in a voice that was barely audible, "I was created by the Russian Government. Since my conception, I have been used. Every aspect of my behavior has been conditioned...every day, every hour, every minute. It is impossible for a slave - even a well rewarded slave - not to have scars on his body...and on his soul. I shall freely answer every question you may have...truthfully and with as much detail as you require. Perhaps it is enough for this moment, however, to restrict my answer to two points. First, I have never done anything of my own volition that would bring dishonor on the United States. You should know that I personally desire to become an American citizen and pursue a career in your Marine Corps. Secondly, I pledge complete loyalty to you and to the mission. Believe that you will never have a more active or trustworthy subordinate."
"That is an acceptable answer, Jiri," Patterson said, using the lad's first name for the first time. The redhead choked, shivered, and then forcefully relaxed. Sweat was pouring down his face, but the Commander pretended not to notice. "Well, I guess I could ask you a third question," he continued in an informal tone of voice. (It came across as being forced, no matter how hard he tried.) "I shan't because I think I already know the answer. Accepting this leadership position shouldn't cause any insurmountable problems with your brothers, for you already are accepted as their leader." "No, sir," the redhead responded firmly, his chin tight, his tone without guile. "You are our captain."
It was Patterson's turn to fall silent. Yawning, despite his best efforts, he finally looked up and asked, "Anything else, Jiri...comments, questions...whatever?" All of a sudden the adrenalin on which he had been working for days (if not weeks) departed and he felt weak, dizzy, confused.
"Yes, sir," the mission XO (Executive Officer) replied firmly. "Before I return to my brothers, I've got to help you hit the sack. We need you tomorrow." Before his alcohol and emotion-laden brain could protest, Randy found himself stripped down to his skivvies and manhandled into the head. As he sprawled naked and dazed on the pot, the redhead threw off his own clothes and adjusted the water in the shower. Again, he manhandled Randy into the shower and began soaping his muscled body. The Commander returned to the threshold of consciousness as an unending torrent of hot water lashed his upturned face. Though still dizzy and initially wondering if the ship had sunk, he finally realized...vaguely...that someone was standing behind him, soaping his back and skillfully massaging his muscles as he worked. The sensations were absolutely mesmerizing. He stood as if in a stupor.
As the powerful hands reached his glutes and began kneading them as if preparing bread for the oven, his head suddenly cleared a bit further. Unconsciously emitting a low moan of pleasure and need, he felt a heavy hand hook itself onto his traps and turn him about. A deep, melodious voice flecked with laughter chuckled, "We're going to have to get you into the sack, sir, before you wake up! Next time, we may have to hide your vodka." That did it! You don't say ANYTHING like that to any blue-water sailor, who sails any sea on the globe, under any flag. Be forewarned if terminal inexperience or, perhaps, just plain cussedness leads you to tempt fate! Suddenly, one bloodshot eye opened and stared angrily at the perpetrator, but, strangely, the fury died at almost the same moment that it was born. Both eyes open, Randy Patterson stared at the magnificent being who stood before him, the water slowly cascading down his inimitable physique. That flaming red hair, those damned cobalt blue eyes set in a handsome, rectangular face, the burly arms that smoothly morphed into heavy shoulders, classic pecs decorated by a flaring glaze of red, abs and a lower torso made for the gods. Surmounted by a thatch of fire, his equipment was surely not massive, though it was hefty and particularly well shaped. His muscular thighs and calves - again classical in their beauty and not worked into something extreme and ugly - were as near perfect as is allowed to the human being.
The Commander stood for a moment as if his feet had merged with the plastic of the shower floor. Then - though his eyes seemed temporarily to lose focus, his ears rang, and his throat was filled with phlegm - he extended an unsteady hand towards the beautiful youth. The hand moved lightly from the tattoo of a snarling bear circled by Cyrillic letters spelling "Naval Infantry of Russia: Victory follows us!" on his upper arm to his face, caressing the lips, the sharp jaw line and the distinctive high cheekbones. As he moved a step closer and brushed his palm across the muscular torso so heavily freckled as to darken his hide, he felt the boy's prong snap to full erect and press hard into his own. Holding the lad's face between his two hands, he looked into those indescribable eyes, noting the traces of fear mixed with scalding desire. Resolutely, his lips moved onto the panting, moaning, open mouth, where, aided by his tongue, he began to plunder the youth's final reserves of will...and to take full command. For a moment, their bodies straining against each other. Feeling the hot fluids being released by life's ancient dance, he sucked hard. Then, snarling lightly, he reached out with both hands, placed them on Jiri's shoulders, and pressed firmly downwards. Without pause, the redheaded god sank to his knees and remained stationary, his head hanging loosely downwards. His captain pressed down again and, when no action resulted, still again. His hands felt the powerful body tense, shudder...and then suddenly release. The boy's face, illuminated by a faint aura of light, lifted, his eyes closed peacefully, his mouth open and inviting. Without pause, Patterson accepted the tribute. Placing a hand at the back of the boy's head, he thrust his now ironhard tool into the warmth of the moist, welcoming receptacle. Slowly and gently...at least at first...he fucked Jiri's mouth until the convulsing muscles of the young god's throat brought him to a shattering eruption.
When he came to, his lieutenant was standing, holding him in his arms. It was as if every vestige of his physical and mental power had been exhausted. The brawny arms were supporting little more than a drained shell. "Sir! Sir!" the distraught redhead cried out, "Let me sleep at the foot of your bed tonight, guarding your room. I can't leave you. I can't!" "No, #2," his captain managed to gasp. "You've got to return to your men. If my stupidity hasn't cost me everything, come back to me in the morning. I need you by my side." He knew nothing more until he awoke to notice light beginning to filter through the closed drapes.
A naked young figure from a much earlier age stood motionless by the side of his bed. In the murk of earliest morning, his features were unclear. He could have been a Spartan hoplite at Marathon, a Zulu warrior at Isandhlwana, or a burly young Marine on the summit of Suribachi. With infinite care and tenderness, he helped his captain stand and make his way back into the shower. Standing close together, Patterson hooked his arm around the heavy shoulders and whispered in the lad's ear. A little laugh and an eager nod led the Commander to move his hand to the back of the boy's muscular neck, position him against the shower wall, and prepare him for what was to come. As cascading water turned their bodies into a brilliant mosaic, the glorious dance of love...of life...began anew.
(To Be Continued)