Seek Him What Made Them Seven Stars
Waddie Greywolf

Chapter 99
When any government, or any church for that matter, undertakes to say to its subjects, 'This you may not read, this you must not see, this you are forbidden to know,' the end result is tyranny and oppression no matter how holy the motives. ~ Robert A. Heinlein

After the exchequers for the Retikki Prime domain paid those of the orchestra who were under verbal contract to follow Master Billy to their world, the orchestra members began to leave through a gate in the garden to return to Captain Nick's ship. There, they would leave through another gate to Uncle Tom's cabin and on to their homes. Surprisingly, the chorus of cowboys, cowgirls, Watchers, Golden Bears, and soloist received the same amount on an equal scale as the orchestra and other musicians. The question, whether they would receive payment for their efforts, came up during rehearsal one afternoon and Vox Humana didn't have an answer for them. Vox asked Billy, but he didn't know. Billy told Vox if the Grigori didn't remunerate them for their effort, he would see to it they were rewarded. Most weren't concerned. Only recently they received notice of their monthly allotment from their master and were quite pleased. A little over thirty minutes passed since they were gone, but it was still Sunday morning on good old Terra Firma when they returned.

Due to the awkwardness of converting gold coins into American cash, most of the orchestra members left their payment in the hands of the Daniels family to put into their Grange Credit Union account. Billy made arrangements for Dorcus and Dociean to be waiting on Captain Nick's Ship when they returned to take any deposits anyone wished to make and the representatives of the GC Union would give them a receipt. They didn't have any way of knowing the exact exchange amount which would be the total of their final deposit, but the Money Management Union gave them receipts for the number of gold coins and promised they could check their accounts on-line Tuesday morning to find the sum of their total deposit in negotiable cash. Their gold expert, Mr. Ernest Pennywise, wouldn't be in the bank until Monday morning to assay the gold and give an accurate account for each coin. They could either deposit the complete amount or retain some raw coinage to leave in their own personal private safety-deposit boxes; however, to utilize their safety-deposit box they would have to come to the bank in person to open the box Monday morning.

Only a couple decided to retain some of the gold to place in their safety-deposit boxes. They each expressed they wanted to keep a couple of coins as memorabilia tokens from their wonderful time on another world. A couple, more dangerously took their sack of gold coins with them, only to return within a day or two when they couldn't find anyone who would make the exchange, and those who expressed interest, they weren't sure they could trust for a fair conversion. They didn't want to take the chance. With Master Billy's people, they knew their money was safe.

The average citizen holding a rather large deposit of pure twenty-four caret gold bullion was almost unheard of, and inquiries about how they came to have so much gold produced suspicion and probing questions. In a so-called 'free society' it should have been no one's business but the depositor; however, the big banking corporations wanted to know everything about such a transaction. It was like a red flag thrown in the face of a raging bull. They would harass the individual by illegal interrogation and other nefarious means to generally make their lives miserable. It just wasn't worth the trouble to take the risk, but some folks insist on learning the hard way. Fortunately, no one lost their earnings to scalpers or ruthless con artist.

* * * * * * *
Most of the orchestral members departed for their homes, but a few continued to linger to socialize and enjoy some refreshments. Clara Mae Bastiaen was enjoying the time she spent with the Daniels family and being close to Molly in particular. Clara became Molly's big sister and was like a mother hen to her during their trip to Retikki Prime. After they returned, Clara didn't seem too anxious to return to her home, but it was fine with the Daniels. They enjoyed her company and came to look upon Clara Mae as part of their extended family. Clara never met a group of people with whom she felt more comfortable, who always seemed to be there when she needed them the most. The family's empathy and encouragement meant a lot to a mature single woman.

Ruth Rutherford and her mother-in-law, Evelyn Rutherford, chose not to go to Retikki Prime because of the baby, but they were there when everyone left and remained in their rooms for the half-hour or so while they were gone. Foreman Ram Snoddy and his Ramrod, Billy Bob Banes, accompanied Randy and Kayla to Retikki Prime. They returned safely with the children. Ruth and Evelyn were thrilled when they discovered Randy and Kayla were paid for their talents and almost overwhelmed by the estimated large amounts the gold coins might be worth. There was much talk about their experiences on Retikki Prime, how Randy and Kayla and several of the other young people of the extended Daniels family sat in conference with Master Billy, his visiting military men, and representatives from several other worlds to discuss possible futures for Earth. Randy was wise enough not to discuss particular plans, but he gave his family enough to make them proud of their children.

They left late in the afternoon on Retikki Prime, and the wee young bairn, Oran Augustus Daniels Junior, was hungry and decided to visit his surrogate dad's snack bar. The General was still morphed into his giant Watcher form, and he was playing host for the child. He could have easily passed the babe to Baug, but his parental instincts just wouldn't let him. He knew he was going to have to leave with his staff later in the evening, or the following Monday morning, to get ready to go back to duty and face the powers that be. General Heavy-Drop just wanted the comfortable feeling of playing dad for a while longer.

The General saw his return to D.C. and his plan of action as a life changing event for many. He and his staff took advantage of the cloud chambers and boned-up on history and the many documents written about the possibility of change if the current administration or regime became so unruly and criminally motivated from what was once a well balanced democracy. It also told them how to go about achieving such a drastic change as was sorely needed in their present governing body without falling into the hands of the enemy by claiming their takeover of the government was illegal. The General planned to spend several more hours sitting under the cloud chamber with his staff before the evening meal. Then they would relax and gate back to their lives the following morning.   

General Royce Boynton felt the baby stir and headed for the dungeon to lay back on one of the padded tables Master Billy and his men used for making adjustments. Major Langstrom and Lieutenant General Halfablap were right behind their giant beast. They quickly adjusted the table to a forty-five degree angle so it wouldn't be so difficult for the babe to navigate his trip up and back. Everyone followed to get a good look at the baby. Since Ruth Rutherford and her mother-in-law, Evelyn, were in their family apartment in the tower most of the afternoon, they missed Master Billy and his posse's visits back to the dungeon to save the royal baby and to make adjustments on the Pharaoh and his wife. The rest of the ladies knew what took place, but it was all so new, they wanted to see the baby, and welcome the child to their world.

There were many oohs, aahs, and hen chortling from the ladies as the men smiled and rolled their eyes in amusement. General Heavy-Drop swore young Gus gained weight in a short period of time. “What is that gold thing on his arm, Billy?” his grandmother Kate asked.

“It's an Ankh – a symbol of royalty which can mean anything from the gods of Egypt or similar deities from the planet where he was born. It also means the eternal flowing waters of creation which represents everlasting life. It can also be a means of marking a royal-born child with an I.D. chip, like them false NSA men were forced to wear. The strangest thing is, we were warned it can't be removed without doing sever damage to the child; however, that remains to be seen,” Billy said.
   
“Wouldn't that mark him or set him apart when he comes of school age? What's he going to tell the other children?” Zelma asked.

“Depends on several things, Aunt Zelma – what we tell him it means, and why he was chosen to wear it,” Billy replied.

“So much for living a normal life on our planet as a cowboy,” Kate said and the other ladies laughed. “How many cowboys you know got a golden Ankh tattoo?” she asked.

“I think we should play this one by ear, Grandma. It ain't something we have to decide right away. For his sake, I don't want him to know he comes from royal blood born to other folks on another planet who, for political reasons, couldn't keep him and raise him as their own. What he don't know won't hurt him none. I'm hoping he will be loved so dearly within our family, it wouldn't make him no never mind if'n he was to accidentally discover his past on his own,” Billy said.

“I think you got a good scald on that one, Big Brother. He's got us older brothers to convince him he's legit,” Randy said while hitching up his wranglers. Several of Billy's other men agreed.

“Aww, Hell, if it's that important, I'll find me a good tattoo artist in a reputable establishment and have them put a gold Ankh on my arm jes' like his and tell him he's got one 'cause I's the one what give him life, and I wanted ever' body to know he's ma' boy. It wouldn't be no lie, neither. He's also got me and my Brigadier General's DNA in him – probably more'n what he got from Bubba Ho Tep,” Major Langstrom said. Billy and the other men agreed without a doubt.

“You certainly did give him his life, Son! 'At's an indisputable fact! Ain't nobody what can gainsay that! Besides, we done got videos of it if push comes to shove. If my Major gets his'self a gold tattoo, you can bet chore' ass, I'll have 'em put one on my arm 'cause the boy carries my name!” General Hank declared.

“Then if I'm to be a Halfablap-Langstrom-Boynton-Daniels son, I want one, too, when I come of age,” Lem said.

“Count me in!” Lieutenant Roy Boynton declared holding up his hand.

“Me, too!” shouted Cowboy Jack.

“Hell, I'll even get me one,” said General Heavy-Drop, “And I'll get me some rope and an old wheelbarrow to haul old Tater-Puss's ass to the closest tattoo parlor to get him one too,” he added and everyone laughed.

“Might as well. I probably absorbed enough of General Heavy-Drop's DNA into my poor old body over the years, I could easily qualify as his bastard child,” General Tate said and got a laugh from everyone.

Before little Oran was finished suckling his uncle's sweet milk, there came a great flash of light and a gate appeared in the dungeon. It didn't startle anyone because they were used to gates opening for coming or going, but it was so bright, it was almost like a flash bulb on an old newspaper reporter's camera. Boraz and Zarob came through the gates and asked to speak with Master Billy. Billy welcomed them, and told them they were welcome anytime they needed to come to him and had their master's permission.

“We need to borrow your Cowboy-Angel-Warriors and Watcher-Protection team for a few minutes, Master Billy. We got some loaded, heavy-duty transfer platforms we need help moving into your space. It was some hush-hush secret stuff left with our masters by Pharaoh Ho Tep's guards on the down-low, so's his religious faction wouldn't find out. There's a good number of containers with the name of the individual for whom they're intended written on the front,” Boraz explained.

“And have you got another couple of slave chow sacks and nutrient biscuits for our masters? They didn't save any back from their guests, and they're hungry for more,” Zarob asked like he was embarrassed.

Billy laughed. “They ain't come after your stash, have they?” Billy asked.

“Naw, sir, Master Billy, but it would be selfish of us not to offer them some,” Boraz replied.

“I think we can help you, my Brothers. Where is our team?” Billy asked his posse.

“Where do you think, Master Billy?” Lem asked in reply and giggled.

“Damn, do them men ever leave that gym?” he asked and laughed.

“Only to eat and go to bed,” Roy said, and everyone laughed.

“You don't care if'n they's naked, do you?” Billy asked the two huge Watchers, and they grinned.

“I didn't think so,” Billy answered his own question.

“Would you fetch them Cowboy-Angels-Warriors and Watcher-Protectors for us, Lem?” Billy said.

“My pleasure, Master Billy,” Lem said and was away with Cowboy Jack, Randy, Pard, and the McMartin boys.

“How many sacks of slave chow can we afford to let go?” Billy asked his two main men, Hank and Buck.

“Ten easy. Fifteen to twenty will be cutting it close, sir,” Hank replied.
 
“Ah, Hell! That's it! I've had it! I been pine'n ma' heart away all weekend for Claude and Clifford. Ain't no doubt in my mind, we're gonna' need them truck drive'n cowboys. Let's send our uncles twenty bags of chow with five bags of nutrient biscuits if we got 'em, and somebody get in touch with Claude and Cliff,” Billy barked, “Tell them men to quit their job, ASAP, find a new trailer – not some used and broke down one neither – let us know the price, and we'll buy it for them. As soon as they get it, send them on a run to the slave chow depot, and we'll have the order paid-for when they get there. Load their trailer, then haul their asses back to the Hill Country like they's doing a green apple quickstep. They'll be on our payroll from now on,” Billy said, “Oh, yes, and let's go one step further. Have my staff do some snooping to find out what we would have to know to go into competition with the company what makes the slave chow, and if we can get their recipe. If not, see how they fare on the market and see if their company is interested in selling,” Billy said and Bart agreed to take care of both.

* * * * * * *
The eight Cowboy-Warrior-Angels and their eight Watcher-Protector husbands stopped what they were doing and followed the young cowboys back to the dungeon area. Lem told them not to bother with clothes. They wouldn't need them. They were only going on a quick away-mission to Retikki Prime and would return almost immediately. By the time they got there, Billy and his men managed to load twenty sacks of slave chow and five sacks of nutrient biscuits. He explained their mission and after Billy told the two slaves, Boraz and Zarob  they were welcome to come through the gate to visit anytime they could get away, his platoon followed the twin brothers, Boraz and Zarob through the gate to Retikki Prime pushing their load of slave chow and nutrient biscuits.

Billy's platoon returned right away pushing six huge, four by eight, heavy-duty, anti-gravity platforms loaded with small chests which looked like Saratoga humpback trunks with a gold Ankh embossed on the top. Names were written across the front in gold letters. There was one for almost everyone in Billy's immediate family, including the Garretts, and each of the military men who sat in conference in the Great Hall with the other military men from several other worlds hosted by the Lord High Chancellors. Several others were remembered including a number of the children. Randy and Kala found trunks with their names on them. So did the McMartin boys, Rory and Calhoun; Pard; Lem; Cowboy Jack, and his cousin Jenny. There were chests for the ladies who participated in the rebuilding of Momma Ho Tep. Most of Master Billy's close family posse were also remembered.

Some of the trunks were so heavy, they asked the Watcher-Protectors to help remove them from the platform. Billy commented he was pleased to see his platoon of Cowboy-Warrior-Angels and Watcher-Protectors were taking full advantage of the workout area and his investment in the finest, most up-to-date exercise machines were being used and appreciated. The beefy platoon exerted only a little of their massive energy capabilities handling the very heaviest of the trunks. They were looking good, and they knew it; however, while they strove for professionalism and respect, they remained humble and eager to help when needed. There were definite signs the four smaller of the Cowboy-Angels were growing by the day and would soon stand as tall and rival their largest team members. The rest of their bodies were filling out proportionately as well, and their larger team members never saw them more actively interested and dedicated to their work. They noted their increased self-confidence which made it easier and more comfortable for them to bond with the others of their team.
 
It seemed the more they were around Master Billy and his family the more impressed and empathetic they became with his mission. At the same time, they came to better understand their own self-worth and how they fit into the larger picture of Master Billy's expanding family. It became abundantly clear to them, such a questionable, rag-tag, military unit they originally presented to Master Billy and his family were at best ill informed and questionable. They painfully understood they never would have blended well with other military units on their home planet, but on their new world, they found reason, a new home, and a new family whose purpose they could identify with, which made them feel like they truly belonged.

They gave credit where credit was due. Their overseers, military and civilian bosses gamboled such an awkward group just might fit in with a somewhat unique, amusing, boisterous, sometimes clumsy, yet humble young aspiring leader, who would inspire them and remake them into the team he wanted and needed to protect his budding family. They were graciously welcomed and admired on their home planet when they accompanied Master Billy and his family to Retikki Prime. They received many compliments and accolades for their coming together as a well trained and cohesive military platoon. Their original overlords were most pleased with them.  

* * * * * * *
Everyone was stunned. There was a trunk for almost every main member of Master Billy's family. Everyone looked on them in awe wondering what in the Hell they might contain. Rather than rush the trunks, they looked to Billy as their leader to comment. “Talk about your awkward moments!” Billy exclaimed, slapped his knee, laughed loudly, and got a nervous laugh from everyone in the dungeon. “To put it crudely in cowboy-talk, it's sort of like having somebody sneak-up behind you when ya' ain't look'n, they caught ya' with your pants down, they grab yore' balls, and take a big-old yank or two!” he declared. Everyone laughed again.  

“Open yours first, Big Bro!” Ramrod Randy demanded.

“Why me, Bossman?” Billy asked and laughed knowing he probably just set himself up for disaster. He heard his surrogate pa groan.

“In case there's a lethal gas bomb inside – the rest of us can turn and run like Hell!” Randy exclaimed and fell over laughing. Randy got everyone in the dungeon roaring with laughter.

“Gee, thanks, Little Bro. That certainly goes a long way to inspire confidence,” Billy replied.

“You told me time and again, if I'm gonna' be a leader, I gotta' take chances. I assume that applies to my Big Bro the same's it does me,” Randy shot back and leveled the dungeon again.  

“Yes, and I also taught you 'him what lives by the sword will probably die by his sword.' The same goes for a sharp tongue, Bossman,” Billy said firmly.

“Naw, ain't no such thing as a sharp tongue, Bro. You's confusing a weapon with a sharp wit. Ain't nobody ever died from a full frontal bon mot; howsomever, I'm pert-dang sure they's a rule what sez you can't go-around mix'n metaphors for very long and live to tell about it,” Randy shot back. The dungeon was awash with laughter.

Captain Nick spoke up,“You never listen to my warnings. The kid's right! Give it up, Kemosabe! Run away while you still got chore' balls attached to your body. Swallow yore' pride, and open the damn trunk!” Nick exclaimed laughing, and he was backed up by the rest of the men.

Billy grinned, and nodded his head, indicating he agreed. He conceded his surrogate dad was right. He slowly unlocked and opened his trunk. The experience was not unlike Anesadora when she opened the forbidden box; except, this time, for all the evil metaphors one could conjure or what brilliant analogies with which the contents might be compared, 'hope,' in all its beauty, simplicity, humility, and strength was allowed to come forth and reign supreme, overshadowing loneliness, hunger, illness, despair, grief, and woe. From a close nether region only a frog's breath away from common-cowboy reality, Gargantua and his beloved son, Pantagruel looked upon the scene with impotent envy and cursed the day they were created.

They agreed they would give anything to become Master Billy Daniels most humble slaves to serve him with all their might and worship at his feet. (Yes, Virgina, even super-giants can fall in love with cowboys which may develop into strong boot fetishes bordering on the spiritual.) The giants wondered if they might insinuate themselves within the two truck drivers, father and son, Master Billy spoke about earlier? They gathered great quantities of 'hope' unto themselves, and when the enormous giants were sated to the point of a rare form of peaceful intoxication, which they were told, was a dual form of affection and addiction, they left the dungeon to find Clifford and Claude to seek their permission to bond with them.

* * * * * * *
A hush came over Billy's family as he looked into his trunk. There were several papyrus documents which lay on top of everything beneath. Billy took them out and carefully placed them in the lid of the trunk. When he looked again, he almost wet his wranglers, and so did several other cowboys who were looking over his shoulder. There was a base of gold coins on the bottom with six gold bricks which weighed approximately twenty pounds each. They were not Troy Pounds either. The gathered crowd were blown away by the wealth contained within the small trunk.

“Bubba, you done seen your gold-slave give guesstimates. You got any idea what this might be worth?” Billy asked.

“Just off-hand, I'd say it's probably worth a nickel more'n King Solomon's Texas Hold'em Stash, Bro, but just from the weight of one of them bars, I'd guess each one is easily worth half-a-million of our money,” Bubba replied, “And them coins is probably worth another half-mil – maybe more,” he added.   

“Do you think Bubba Ho Tep overdone his appreciation?” Billy asked.

“Some men got different outlooks than others, Little Brother. What would you offer a man and his family what saved yore' life and that of your son, who agreed to take on your deformed infant to refurbish, offer him a comfortable home-life, and a considerably better future than he would have living on the down-low with deaf and mute peasants for parent; and, rather than be discarded as a defective family member, your child will be sound and healthy while living, loving, and growing into a good man among a solid family what can teach him the cowboy way?” Bubba asked.

“Good point, Big Bro. Well said!” Billy replied. “Wonder what these documents say?” Billy asked as he reached for them. The first was a short note expressing thanks and explaining the sumptuous gifts as a token of appreciation and an offer of a continued friendship without demands. The second document was a bit more mysterious with numbers and figures written in a column of twelve lines. “Take a look, Bossman. J'ever run across cryptic figures like these?” Billy asked Randy.

Randy giggled, “E'aup, Big Bro, ever' damn day!” Randy replied, “Them figures are coordinates. Old Bubba Ho Tep done give you a dozen planets in twelve different galaxies,” Randy said and laughed. Everyone laughed with him.

“No!” Billy shouted, “You's shit'n me, Cowboy!” Billy bellowed and laughed like he was nervous at the thought.

“Go easy, Bossman. He's a slow learner,” Captain Nick admonished Randy and everyone laughed.

Randy continued, “I'll accept Captain Nick's plea, Bro. 'Airs-zonly one way to prove my answer. We open a gate and walk through. If we ain't eaten by monsters on the other side, we'll know it's a decent planet. Besides, you know I wouldn't shit chu' none. You's my favorite...Bro,” Randy said with solidarity, and the cowboys grinned. They knew the Bossman chose a more suitable answer than the moment provided.
 
“I left myself wide open, Bossman, and you showed your brother compassion. I agree with your sister, you're definitely showing signs of growing up,” Billy said gently.

“I don't know about that. I just remember the day you tried to teach me how to play tennis down to the school yard. You said if a player sets you up, always take advantage, and slam it back into his court for the win. Remember?” Randy asked.

“I remember. I did tell you to play it that way. What made you back off?” Billy asked.

“They's a difference between winning a game and biting the hand what healed you,” Randy said.

“That's right. I'll be more careful with my advice from now on,” Billy added and smiled.

“Just remember, it's easier to let the cat out of the bag than it is to get him back in again,” Randy replied with another pseudo-homily and everyone laughed.  

* * * * * * *
The others began to open their trunks to see what Santa Ho Tep left them and they were amazed. Major Bart Langstrom got many gold coins and five gold bricks, but one particular thing in his trunk caught his eye. It was a golden Ankh embossed on a small piece of papyrus just about the same size proportionately as the tattoo on Baby Gus's arm. He held it up to show the crowd and asked if anyone else got one. Everyone replied they did. “Anybody care to venture a guess what it's about?” he asked, like he was testing the water.

“Think, Son!” General Heavy-Drop exclaimed, “If all else fails, read the instructions on the back,” he added. Everyone laughed.

Bart turned it over and read a warning not to apply the Ankh to skin unless the bearer plans to wear it for the rest of his or her natural life as it cannot be removed without extreme damage to the person. “I got a good idea what it might be about, but do you think it means if we decide to wear it we become an extension of the Ho Tep family?” Bart asked.

“I'd be willing to bet ma' boots on it, Son,” the General said and several others agreed with him. “It probably would also be advantageous to wear one if we decide to go gallivanting to explore them twelve planets,” the big military man in Watcher mode added.

“I wouldn't have thought of that, but it makes sense to me. I need some time to think on it. I wonder if a gold tattoo might work just as well,” Bart said.

“Just a plain old gold Ankh may not be made of the same properties, Son. The Ho Tep Ankh might contain some advanced micro bio-electrical mechanisms fueled by our bodies we don't understand. It might send and receive coded protection properties we know nothing about,” the General replied.

“You been bugger'n Seth, General Heavy-Drop?” Bart asked and grinned.

“Ever' chance I get, Son. Me and old Seth become buddies. We's on a first-name basis. My new friend has a way of making the most difficult concept easy to understand by us less gifted pilgrims,” the General replied and grinned, “He ain't never steered me wrong, and I don't reckon he ever will. I just wish't I had closer access to a help-mate like him,” he added.  

“With them gates we got, I don't see no problem, General,” Bart said.

“I don't want to wear out my welcome, Son,” Royce Boynton said quietly.

“I doubt you could ever wear out your welcome with our family, sir. In the short time you been among us you already contributed more'n I have. Besides, you done knocked up one of our family's major players and started another family among us. You's a major part of the Daniels greater family now. Why, them folks would suffer a major conniption fit if they knew you felt that way,” Bart challenged his General and laid it on the line.

“You think so, Son?” the General asked like a little boy looking for approval.

“Of course I do! Gimme' a break, you big, handsome, Ji-reen lunkhead,” Bart laid it on him, “I was stunned when that big Lizard bastard offered me the rank of Captain in the Corp. I thought, 'What the fuck, somebody's got to stand up and look after General Heavy-Drop's big ass, and I didn't see nobody rush'n to fill the job.' Hell fire, if'n it weren't for my love for you and Roy Junior, do you think I'd ever entertain the idea of becoming a Marine?” Bart put it to him with heavy disgust on the title 'Marine.' Then Bart laughed at the stunned look on the General's face.

“I'm gonna' tell your husband to fuck the holy crap out of you tonight, you brilliant little monster! I don't care, you little shit! I need you Major Langstrom, and I don't care if you know it! I need your husband, too. I need both you men's support. I know I can't have one without the other, but I'll be damned if I'll give up either of you. I know it's hackneyed, but our country needs you, Major Langstrom. Help me set that big engine right on the tracks, overhaul it, and ride it on down the line, Son. I promise I'll let you men go when we get comfortably established in the seat of government power, and we set sail to move our ship of state into calmer waters,” General Boynton begged.

“You're really gonna' do it, ain't chu,' General?” Bart asked softly with great awe and respect.

“If I don't take advantage of the discovery of them alien's situation, we may never have another chance as valid as what we got open to us now. I treasure you and your old man's advice, Son. Maybe too much, but every man needs a small group of chosen peers what will cover his back and give him their best and most honest input without a major load of bullshit or ass kissing. I done told ju' over a hun'nert times you could make love to my old ass anytime you felt the need. It might not get you a pay raise, but it certainly will go a long way to bolster esprit de corps. Talk with Hank, Son, and if you men tell me 'no' you can't go along with my crazy idea or you don't want to become a part of it, I swear to you on name of some unknown god and my cowboy word of honor, I will leave everything just like it was before last Friday and concoct some cock and bull story what won't incriminate nobody, but I sure as Hell will take the opportunity to shake-up them son's of bitches in Washington and scare the holy crap out of them,” Royce said firmly.

“I already know what my husband thinks, General. We discussed it thoroughly – several times – and ever' damn time we come up with the same conclusion. If you want to do it, you will have our blessing and our support every step of the way – even if it means I got to wear me a Jarhead Uniform,” Bart said, winked, and laughed.

* * * * * * *
The rest of morning was spent comparing who got what and how much. Jessie Jones got many gold coins and four gold bricks. Randy got the same amount of gold coins and four gold brick. His sister, Kayla, got coins and two gold bricks. She wasn't jealous of her little brother. He participated more and was exposed to the Pharaoh more than she. The away team of Cowboy-Angels, and Cat-Men; Balthazar and Clyde; Locard and Grady got many gold coins and two gold bricks each. They were thrilled. General Boynton got gold coins and five gold bricks. So did Lieutenant General Halfablap. Each of the General's staff got a trunk with gold coins and a couple of gold bars each. It represented more wealth than they probably would earn in several years of service. The financial boost would go a long way to protect them in the future.

The ladies who shared their DNA with the Pharaoh's wife got many gold coins and four gold bricks each. They were thrilled. Cowboy Jack, Lem, Pard, and several others of the younger set got gold coins and two gold bricks. Pard became a more wealthy man than his dad. He discussed it with his grandmother, and they decided not to share the news with his dad, but Pard and his Great Grandmother Eve planned to help the Sheriff of Tall Pine if he needed it. They heard rumors the Sheriff's wife went on a diet and lost almost forty pounds thinking if she could entice her husband into her bed and get pregnant again, she would once again be able to control him with guilt. Unfortunately for her, it wasn't so much her physical appearance – although it added to the Sheriff's disdain – it was her vacant personality which kept him at arms length from her.

When Sheriff Andreeson was away for a weekend with Little Willie Whistlepie, she would tart herself up, leave her children alone, and spend Friday and Saturday evenings in Nellie's Cantina where she would proceed to drink until she made an ass of herself or passed out – which ever came first. Once in a while she would hook up with a truck driver, and follow him to his truck where they would fuck. She managed to get some contraceptive pills to keep from getting pregnant. When she didn't find a trick, she would drink herself into a stupor. Since Nellie and Gower were sharing Nellie's bedroom, they would drag her to the back room where Gower used to stay and let her sleep it off. Needless to say, she was becoming a nuisance, but Nellie and Gower kept her secret to themselves – at least for the time being. However, people in a small town gossip, word gets around, and they were just waiting for her actions to get back to the Sheriff.   

* * * * * * *
“I know we're going back with you to my husband's condo, General, so we can go our separate ways until you call us together, but have you considered, I don't have a Marine Officer's uniform. Will you need me Monday morning?” Bart asked.

“Always with the details, Major! Aside from your husband, Hank, you're more together than the rest of them men put together. Of course you need a uniform. There's an officer's military clothing disbursement center in Houston. I'll have old Tater-Puss put in a requisition for a full sea bag for you. I was going to take Royce Junior with us, and get him reinstated, but I've changed my mind. I know he's a mature man and no longer an invalid. He can make decisions for himself, but I don't want to have to explain his miraculous restoration of his body from being a complete bed-confined cripple to a fully restored, healthy young man. I want him to stay here on the Daniels Ranch for the time being. I know it might seem selfish of me and over-protective, but right now, when the shit is ready to hit the fan, I need the comfort of knowing he's safe and with a family I can trust,” the General said with more than a little concern in his voice and his hard-nosed proclamation daring anyone to contradict him.

It was just the right amount of bullshit pomposity which threw up a red flag on the play for Major Barton Langstrom, and he almost bit his tongue to keep from fogging all over his superior officer. He wasn't going to challenge the huge Watcher-Warrior until he heard a wee voice enter his head. Bard recognized it immediately as his younger brother Roy Boynton Junior, << Sic him, Master Bart! Go for his throat or his fantastic military ass. He won't miss a pound or two, but be sure to save me a goodly portion so's I can make us sandwiches for later. You're my only ticket for a normal future, Master Bart. Please don't forget, I done give myself to you under  universal law and as warrior tradition demands, >> Roy pleaded.

<< I got chu' covered, Brother! >> Bart sent to Ron. “Incoming!” Bart shouted loudly, and got everyone's attention. “Cinch up yore' girdle, General. They's a loaded word-bomb and a new reality about to be dropped at yore' feet, sir!”

Royce Boynton realized he must have stepped on and tripped somebody's mind-switch. The mighty warrior prepared for the worst, “Oh, Sweet Jesus, I pray on the name of some unknown god it's powerful enough to take me out quick,” General Heavy-Drop groaned and rolled his eyes. “Show me what chu' got Major, shake them monkeys out of yore' tree!” he exclaimed and got a laugh from everyone in the dungeon.

“Well, sir, ain't a person of any reason in this room what don't appreciate your primitive chest-beat'n caveman routine to protect your bairn. Ain't nobody here what ain't got a shit-load of empathy for you and your love for your only son; howsomever, if you insist on deleting Roy Junior from your roster of good military men because of your parental paranoia, you're gonna' suck the new-found joy of life out of that boy and destroy his faith in you. I know my buddy too damn well, General, to let you get away with a half-ass inspection of his and your situation. I slept in the bunk next to him day out and day in for damn near three frick'n years. 'At's long enough to learn how your brother lives beneath his skin from the marrow in his bones down to the bunions on his butt. I'd wager the gold in my trunk, I know more about your son, Roy Junior, than you have ever learned about him.

“He's a good man, General, and his only goal in life was to excel as a soldier and make you proud of him; unfortunately, he never got the chance. In any war zone for any reason, the odds of disaster are fifty-fifty. It t'weren't Roy's fault our platoon got ambushed, and he was bushwhacked in that Afghan village. While I can appreciate, empathize, and understand your obsessive need as a parent to keep him out of harm's way, it's my decided opinion you're being irrationally overprotective and in essence you will be cutting your son's balls off if you stubbornly deny him his opportunity to become a part of an important moment in time. If we can pull it off, what we're about to do, will be nothing short of a major historical event of biblical proportions to rival the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah, but your first instinct to include your handsome son as a mature adult was the right one, sir. You can't deny, it would be just as easy for General Tate to put in two requisitions and assign Captain Roy Boynton Junior to Lieutenant General Halfablap's staff under Major Langstrom.

“You once called me into your office when I was little more than a green recruit. I wasn't even a Jarhead. I was a Corpsman in the Navy under your command assigned as a medic to your son's platoon. You scared me half-to-death, ordered me to drop my pants, bent me over, and shoved the fear of God and your rank up my ass so far I didn't eat nothing but communion wafers for a month. You made me promise and swear on the forfeiture of my immortal soul, I would watch after your boy and make sure he came back alive. What my butt ate as bitter herbs that day, turned out to be the sweet tender for a rose garden inside a small, insignificant piece of Hell. Young Roy and I got along like peas and carrots. I was a few years older than him, and he come to look on me like I was the big brother he never had. The more I learned about him, the easier my job became, and the closer we became. Our very souls conjoined fraternally until that fatal day we were tested. Upon the name of the same God I swore on in your office, and all them unknown ones out there in the universe as witnesses, I kept my word to you as best I could under extremely unfavorable, dire circumstances.

“I Mother Hen'd your boy and our platoon like a hundred and eighty pound Mother Clucker in that God forsaken land for damn-near three horrible years. Aside from my bond with the men in my platoon, I hated every minute of it, but I knew I belonged to that moment in time. I wanted to make the best of it; however, at the last – I don't know how – I somehow managed to pull a rabbit out of my butt, saved Roy's life, and several others. I never gave up on them. I ran out of options and made a huge gamble I weren't sure would payoff; but it did, and I brought them men back alive. You never qualified Roy had to be in perfect shape.

“Since then, I come to realize from my exposure to many other societies, if I saved your boy's life, our military or social codes notwithstanding and trumped by universal law and ancient warrior traditions, Roy Junior should have become my recognized slave, or at the very least, you should have come to recognize me as his surrogate Earth-father what successfully bartered him a second chance at life. Your boy understood the concept way back when we were together in that unholy land. I have in my possession, rye-cheer in this Castle, a USB drive on which Roy Junior, while he was still in recovery in Hawaii, done give his'self to me as my slave for life. I ain't never thought much about it beyond thinking it was the sweetest notion and compliment my buddy could bestow on me – until now. Like the Devil on the last day of judgment, I'm calling in Royce Boynton Junior's sweet heroic soul and handsome, refurbished body as is my due, supported by them ancient universal laws and eons of warrior traditions. Therefore, General Heavy-Drop, I'm a' draw'n a line in the sand, Buckaoo! I double-dog-dare you to deny that boy belongs to me as much or more than he belongs to you, and at the very least my word should certainly be considered with equal weight to yours!” Bart finished firmly.

“Way to go, Major Langstrom! Your slave will never deny you, sir!” Roy Junior yelled at the top of his voice.

“Is he telling the truth, Son?” General Boynton hollered like a ship firing one last volley after the enemy won a decisive victory.

“You know better than to question my Warrior Master's word, sir. You already know he wouldn't lie to you, but to drive a stake through the heart of your argument, and put the final nail in the coffin to bury it, why do you think I refer to him occasionally as Master Bart? I though you would have caught-on by now and asked me about it. I ain't tried to keep it no secret,” Roy Junior said firmly.

General Boynton stood with a stunned look on his face for several minutes looking back and forth from Bart to his son, Roy, like he was surrounded by a pack of hungry wolves ready to go for his throat. From his neck up, he was turning bright red like an over-heated boiler about to explode, and his eyes began to move quickly from one of Bart's eyes to the other looking for the slightest hint of insincerity or a chink in his armor; however, the Major stood tall and returned his gaze more solid than a key corner-stone block in the Great Pyramid of Cheops. Not a muscle in Bart's face betrayed his sincerity or his fortitude. He reeked with a sweet, pungent fragrance of a powerful man whose system was working overtime in protective mode, to produce an exceptionally strong, highly masculine, hyper-testosterone rush as if he was standing within arms length of a grizzly bear what was about to attack his sweet bairn hiding behind him.

The General was so overpowered by Bart's pungent masculine odor he imagined himself ripping every shred of clothes off the young man and simply devouring him like a delicious dessert. His huge watcher penis became engorged, popped out from his hairy hedge-row like it was about to make an announcement, and at any moment he might throw his Major to the floor of the dungeon to nail his impertinent young ass until Bart hollered 'Calf-rope.' Finally, when he realize it wasn't an argument he was going to win, the General exploded with laughter. “God damn it, Langstrom!” he growled in his deep watcher voice, which would make an ordinary man shake in his boots, but Bart didn't move and inch,“I done told you before, and I'll say it again, you're the only man on this planet who would have the balls to stand up to me like that to speak your truth to my narrow vision, and that's precisely why I need you! You're right, of course! Ain't no doubt about it! Loved the bit about shoving the fear of me and God up yore' ass. My only regret is I didn't shove something else up there, too. I remember. You're right! I did do them things, but I ain't sorry I done it. You became the man I wanted and needed you to be; however, that man, and what I instilled within him, grew up, matured, and come back to bite me in my older and overly pretentious cowboy butt. You just done went and nailed my Heavy-Drop ass to the barn door, but you were well within your right to do it. I also know, you're fully aware there's a price to be paid for every heroic action especially when awarded a new position for uncommon bravery under stress. From now on you will be known by our intimates as Major Mother Clucker!” he declared and roared with laughter. He got a huge laugh from everyone gathered in the dungeon.

“Let me assure you, General, it's a cognomen I can live with and be proud to wear,” Bart replied and joined him in laughter.

“Then we got us a plan what sounds solid to me. Without further elaboration, or any more over-anxious, hand-ringing, parental-anxiety on my part, make it so, Major! What about some more of them dog whistles, Son? I want one for my own, and I want my boy to have one. How come you didn't give me one with the rest of them men?” he asked, trying to change the subject as quickly as possible.

“I bought exactly enough for them men what come to us to investigate our alien encounter. I knew I could trust them. Besides, if I was to give you one, it was just too big a chance to take, General!” Bart said firmly.

“How's that, Son?” Boynton asked.

“I didn't know if they would work with hot air, sir!” Bart replied with a straight face.

A few of the men around the room tried to stifle their laughter but weren't very successful. General Tater-Puss was the worst and got everyone in the dungeon laughing with him. It took the General a full minute to think about his Major's reply, and then doubled over with laughter himself. “So I'm full of hot air, huh? I guess I deserved that one, Son,” Royce Boynton said laughing.

“Naw, you didn't, General. You threw me a slow pitch, and save my soul, it was just too damn tempting not to swing. I apologize. I's just being a smart ass. You got my full respect with a shit-load of affection, sir, don't never doubt it,” Bart said firmly.

“I never have, and I never will, Son,” the General replied then continued, “The same men you gave them whistles to will be at our meeting with the President and his staff. I'd feel a lot better if we handed out a few more to several others we know who are loyal to our team and will back us. Fuck stunning them bastards, if we run into any more of 'em bastards, I want them dead!” the General inquired.

“When do you plan to schedule the meeting, sir?” Bart asked.

“As soon as possible after we get back to D.C., but you know how slow government scheduling can be. I plan to call an emergency meeting with the White House and the Chief's of Staff. Tuesday morning at the earliest and Wednesday at the latest. 'Cause after I drop my bomb on them and do my indignant mad-bull ranting and raving number, they're gonna' wanna' know what our hubbub is all about,” General Heavy-Drop said.

“Good, that will give Hank, me, and Roy time to shop several pet stores. I already planned to order in bulk from a manufacture and provide each of our kids with one. If it catches on, there might be a run on them by the public or them Lizards might try to pull them off the market,” Bart said.

“I'll leave the details to you, Son. I know you won't let me down,” the General replied.

“Never, sir!” Bart said, came to attention and saluted his General. General Heavy-Drop while morphed into a giant Watcher looked funny standing at attention returning his young officer's salute.  
 
“I hate to give him up, but I think I'm gonna' let my Sweet-Meat Baug carry Baby Gus for the rest of our time. Hell, I promised him he could have Sundays anyway. Talking with you reminded me I need to get some other things done without the comfortable distraction of playing Big Watcher Daddy. Besides, I need to change back to my Heavy-Drop persona before I conveniently forget how to morph,” General Royce Boynton declared, and they shared a laugh.  

Roy Junior walked through the crowd and stood before the assembled body of Cowboy-Angels and Watchers, the twelve prisoners, the Daniels family and the Joint Chief's of Staff. He stopped right in front of Major Bart Langstrom, looked him in the eye, and smiled. “Permission to pay homage to my Master's boots, sir?” he asked loud enough everyone in the dungeon could hear him.

“Permission granted, my handsome young slave,” Bart replied and smiled.

Roy Boynton fell to his knees and proceeded clean the dust from his master's boots with his cowboy bandanna and make love to them like he found his own personal grail and his action was the most holy thing he ever did of his own sacred volition. There was no doubting the love which passed between the two men until Roy was satisfied he did a good job displaying his homage to his master and sat back on his boot heels to admire his token of obeisance for one of the most important men in his life.

“Rise, Slave! You have pleased your master. Come to your master's arms and share your love with him,” Bart said quietly extending his right hand to grasp Roy's left hand to pull him up into his arms. Roy rose into Bart's big-brotherly arms and the men kissed until they began to shed tears together. The other men in the dungeon were overwhelmed by the love which passed between them. A great light began to form around them and radiated out into the gathered crowd to physically share and feel the strength of their conjoining. Many began to weep in empathy. There was nothing left to doubt. Roy and Bart were playing for keeps. Their bond was strong and powerful.

“Hosanna!” Billy shouted and started applauding for them.

“Hosanna, in the highest!” the rest answered and began applauding with the others.
 
General Boynton fought back his tears, but he was no match for the bonding he witnessed. He knew the time had come to set his son free to chart and sail his own ship, and he couldn't imagine a better group of people for his only son to join than the Daniels family. He came to accept Hank Halfablap as Oran Augustus Daniels Senior and Major Langstrom as his husband and slave. He already accepted Master Billy's proclamation slaves could own slaves within their family group, and while he was new to the concept, Royce was not beyond understanding such bondings could be the strongest known to man. His own strong draw and unmistakable bond to Hank's surrogate father, Baug, and accepting him as his own shared slave-mate was about as convoluted as one might imagine, but somehow, it just seemed to work for this group of men. On the up side, as long as they were happy and content with each other and kept their other responsibilities to their main family group, no one in the Daniels family spent much time analyzing its relevance or whether it should require a doctrine of necessity.

General Royce Boynton, morphed as a giant Watcher-Protector, walked over to Bart and Roy Junior and surrounded them with his huge arms and seemed like he was attempting to hold time-tight within the bright aura of his embrace. Their united auras grew even brighter until they were lighting up the darkest corners of the dungeon. It was a phenomena no one in the Daniels family ever saw before, but they experienced similar unexpected surprises. It was like an extra blessing for the three men and their strong bond with each other. Hank Halfablap followed his General's action and joined them. The light grew brighter. One by one the rest of the Daniels immediate family and slaves joined them until they were completely surrounded with the same light.

The twelve prisoners of the Faux NSA group were in awe at what they were witnessing and deeply moved. Several noticed the Gray aliens in the other half of the large cell turned their backs to the great light as if they were fearful, agitated, and disturbed. They made small unintelligible chattering sounds which gave the impression from their personal angst they perceived these humans as superior to them, and they were very much afraid.

* * * * * * *     
After one last feeding, the General transferred baby Oran Augustus Daniels Junior to his giant Watcher-Mate Baug. Royce complained to his comrades he never experienced such an empty feeling as he did when he gave the babe over to his partner. He equated the sensation as he imagined one might experience from the loss of a limb. He swore he could actually feel baby Gus like he was still residing within his pouch. Even when he morphed back into his human form he claimed he could still feel a 'ghost-babe' riding on or about his gut. It got so bad, his whole body ached to feel the wee bairn within him again, and he knew he would never feel whole again until he returned and could share fatherhood with his mate. Seth diagnosed his condition as a strong form of Watcher postpartum depression, and as long as the child still depended upon living in a surrogate Watcher-Dad's pouch, Royce and those who provided him shelter and food with their bodies would experience the pangs; however, once young Gus Daniels Junior came of parting age, his surrogate parent's craving would slowly dissipate until little Gus didn't need them anymore. In his current state, General Heavy-Drop feared the worst. He couldn't imagine he would ever give up the wonderful feeling of needing to be the babe's Big Daddy and protector.

* * * * * * *
After a light lunch, the General and his men spent several hours under the Cloud Chambers for any number of programs to help them better understand how the current military and different branches of the government worked, and they pointed out the programs which were major flaws in the system. They learned a lot about the criminality of the current players, and the way they used the current government's loop holes, and manipulated Law Enforcement and the Military to subjugate the common folks. They also learned how their power could best be used to strong arm those in power who kept a criminal stranglehold over the people and then cut off their supply lines like severed arteries.

They came to realize, there was no question, their government was no longer a functioning democracy. The military and police were only tools to enforce the despotic regime which currently occupied the White House and those of the major information gathering departments. The worst part was, the Military were rarely told the truth and were expected to do what they were told like they were giant ominous mindless beasts. Like the people themselves, the military had absolutely little or no power to make decisions regarding the governing of the people and seeing to their well being. The Joint Chief's of Staff balls were severed by the Goldwater–Nichols Act in 1986. The conservatives of that time took away their operational command authority. They could no longer operate individually nor collectively, and the chain of command left them out of the major player's loop.

The chain of command was rerouted to go from the President to the Secretary of Defense, and, from there to the Commanders of the Combatant Commands. The Goldwater–Nichols act also created the office of Vice Chairman, and the Chairman was designated as the principal military adviser to the Secretary of Defense, the Homeland Security Council, the National Security Council and the President. The Joint Chief's of Staff were reduced to little more than figure heads with lots of stars and bars on their uniforms. After several grueling hours of endless government boondoggles aided by inherent flaws in the system, the military men were exhausted and somewhat depressed; however, somehow, over a good evening meal and the pleasure of spending one last evening at the ranch raised their spirits to return and do what they must to protect themselves and the people they had come to love.       

* * * * * * *
During supper, one of the prisoners, Orin Sawin spoke up, “Have you men caught any of the news channels lately?” he asked.

“No, Son, we been too busy doing other things like building a data base of egregious government atrocities over the last fifty years and getting ready to gate back to our homes tomorrow. Why do you ask?” Admiral Armitage asked.

“It seems everyone in the government is looking for you men. Nobody's heard a word from you since your meeting on Friday. Neither has the Chief of Staff, Five Star General Shylock and his two attaches been located. They have videos of you men going into the meeting room, and they show you leaving, but the Chief of Staff and his men never left the chamber,” Sawin replied.

“Good, maybe it will shake up some of them blood suck'n bastards in the White House. I say let them worry until tomorrow morning. What do you think, General?”  Admiral Sparks asked.

“I agree. Ain't there another exit from that room, Admiral?” Royce asked.

“Yeah, there's two doors what go into a small chamber and another door at the back of it. I think there's a stairs behind it in case of emergency,” Admiral Ben replied.

“Fuck 'em! Let them bastards wait. I'll call tomorrow morning when we gate back to Hank's condo to report in, and if they trace the call, my alibi is I spent the weekend with Hank at his ranch and invited you men to come along. We spent our time on the ranch deer hunting and camping down by the river. They don't need to know any more. If you get questioned, just tell them our little weekend get away will be explained in our next meeting,” General Boynton declared.

“You plan to meet at the White House?” Ben asked.

“Lord no! We need to set this up to our advantage on our turf. We got the video equipment to show the demise of Shylock and his men, and we got the other clip of them Gray bastards in the cell over there in action at Camp Air trying to kidnap children courtesy of young Josh. I'm inviting the major news media to show the American people what we're up against and how they've been lied to for damn near a hundred years. I plan to become enraged and read them bastards the riot act. I want to know why they ain't kept us apprised of the alien threat, and why they chose to appoint an alien bastard over me what was promoted three major jumps in rank to make him qualify? If they ain't got a damn good answer, I'm gonna' accuse them of rigging the system for their benefit, being traitors to their country, and cooperating with two alien species to take over our government. I ain't got me no problems threaten them sons of bitches with an attempt at a major insurrection,” General Boynton said.

“Yes, that's all very well and good, but talk's cheap, Boynton. I want to know if you really will do it, draw a line in the sand, challenge those on our side, and follow through with your threat, General?” Brigadier General Lewis asked.

“Not without a solid vote from my staff. I ain't rowing this boat alone, Gentlemen. I'm gonna' need everyone of you men and your most trusted members of your military family and staff. I remember in 2016 when Bernie Sanders dropped out of the running and backed Clinton when he could have run as an independent and won. The game was heavily rigged and it was rumored, them big corporation boys threatened Bernie and his family with their lives should he entertain any thoughts of running as an independent after the primary. It was said Hillary Clinton Family Foundation paid a major portion of Trump's expenses for running as a loonie tunes, witless, neo-Nazi, bad-hair, clown-candidate.

"What the whore of Wall Street didn't take into consideration was how unfavorable her husband's tenure as President and NAFTA which all but destroyed our middle class weighed heavily on the average voter, and her own war mongering, Neo-con ideas which didn't include any help for the poor or relief for a rapidly declining middle class, came back to bite her in the butt. The Bernie crowd wouldn't vote for her and didn't, but neither would they vote for the Orange Clown. Forty-five million people were so angry and disillusioned they stayed home and refused to vote. We all know what happened after that. It was like a bad night on bald mountain. Any demonic soul with any political power rose up like bats from a cave at sundown to kill the notion of democracy, including the righteous rangers religious loonies riding shotgun pushing their beliefs in the final war of Armageddon. Let's be honest, you men don't work for the American people, you work for the likes of Walmart and them radical God Bots,” Royce Boynton replied.

“You got your main men and strongest backers here. It would be easy enough to take a count of support. There's no pressure. Show of hands, Gentlemen?” General Lewis asked holding up his own hand. Every member of General Boynton's Staff raised their hand without hesitation. “That's fine. Excellent!” Lewis said firmly, “Just make damn sure you men got your houses in order. Get your immediate families to safety A.S.A.P. on the down low so they can't be made to disappear. There ain't no way we can predict the outcome, but once we make our stand, we're each an equal member of General Boynton's posse. We could be looking at a second O.K. Corral dust-up. We either win together or we could be facing a firing squad. Are you men feeling lucky?” he asked and grinned. They all answered positively.        

“The way I see it, we may be damned if we do, but I got a greater feeling we'll be even more damned if we don't stand up to tyranny,” the Admiral said.

“Hear, hear!” the other men said in agreement.

"If need be, can we make make arrangements with your family to shelter our loved ones and keep them undercover until we gain control, Master Billy?" General Lewis.

"No problem. We'll build extra quarters if we have to. How could we say 'no,' General? We done stepped in this mess up to our boot tops," Billy replied firmly.

"Hosanna!" shouted Billy's Uncle Nate in agreement and held his fist in the air.

"Hosanna, in the highest!" shouted the rest of the men and raised their fists in solidarity.

* * * * * * *
The military men of the Joint Chief's of Staff decided to wait until after breakfast to gate back to Hank Halfablap's condo with General Boynton, his right hand man, Lieutenant General Tate, and the others who joined them at the ranch over the weekend to enjoy the hospitality of the Daniels family after their harrowing encounter with the Lizards. Even though several of them carried in their possession a CD and a USB file of General Shylock and his two alien cronies losing their morph and finally falling over dead, they were even more comfortable knowing the three alien bodies were safely hidden at the Daniels ranch. No one could whisk their bodies away and say they only imagined seeing aliens. As far as they were concerned, their psyches were pumped by a large amount of male testosterone. The old refurbished Warriors were loaded for bear. Since they lived close to each other in Houston and D.C. areas, it didn't take long for the General, Hank, and Bart to drive them back to their personal quarters after gating back to Houston.

Hank and Bart decided to gate back to the ranch for one final night with their family, and they knew without asking Royce Boynton and General Tater-Puss wanted to join them. They told them to meet back at Hank's condo, and they could gate with them. General Heavy-Drop made a joke about him and Tater-Puss delivering all his 'chicks' back to their nests. A little humor was sorely needed. It was still early evening and the men retired to their quarters. Roy Junior joined them. He was offered several places to reside, but he decided to make camp in the servant's quarters attached to the new Daniels clan quarters which was like a small apartment unto itself. The bedroom wasn't as big as the others but contained a large king-size bed. His new apartment provided several nice features the others didn't. It contained a small private bathroom, a small sitting area with a large holo-vid screen, and it's own private patio garden with a spa on the deck.

The complete Boynton, Tate, and Halfablap (Daniels) family group were sitting around, relaxing and talking. Cowboy Jack, Little Jenny, Big Jennifer, Royce Boynton Junior, General Boynton, Barg, Lem, and Hank were there. Everyone but Bart. They were drinking Texas Tea, talking, and exchanging stories about their weekend experiences. Bart excused himself and disappeared into the bathroom. He didn't return for sometime and Hank was beginning to be a little concerned. He looked across to the General. Boynton read the look and motioned for Hank to go check on his mate. Hank got up and walked to their private bathroom and saw the door ajar. He walked in and saw Bart with his shirt removed looking into the huge mirror with the golden Ankh sitting on the sink top.
 
“Bart? Son, what's going on in here. What have you done?” Hank asked quietly.

“I ain't told you everything about me, Master Gus. The time has come to cross the Rubicon,” Bart said on the verge of tears.

“What? That you hear voices and talk with them ancients in your sleep?” he asked.

Bart looked at his bonded mate like he was stunned, and then he smiled. “I should have known better. I couldn't keep my secret from you. Have I disturbed your sleep, Master?” he asked.

“Oh, Hell no! They's like one of them old-time RKO Radio news reels they used to show at the movies. It gives me a preview of coming attractions and what to expect from you. Besides you're a man of few words. You're a man of action, but that ain't a bad thing,” Hank said and grinned.

“My voices told me to get the Ankh from my chest and read one of them papyrus scrolls what come with it. They told me I must wear it to D.C. as a protection for me and my family. It was so powerful a draw, I experienced a deep desire to wear the Ankh, not only for protection, but as a symbol of family unity for our child, Gus Junior. Unfortunately, I was going to do as I always have done in my life before our bond without concern for anyone's input or opinion; however, the closer I got to doing it, the greater my conscience collided with my stubbornness and wouldn't let me go through with it. Another part of me refused to participate with them voices and shut down my stubborn streak. My conundrum boils down to this: I can't do it without my Master's permission. It would be destroying everything I want us to become. My more positive inner voices tell me if I had a strong man I respected above all others, a master like you to talk sense with me eight years ago before I got on that slobbering bull from Hell, I wouldn't have spent them years as a cripple. I never had a strong male in my life who I would consider more of a man than myself, until I met you. I don't want to do anything to jeopardize what I hope to have with you, Master Gus,” Bart said like he was vomiting his guilty soul out to his master.

“Did your voices tell you it's something you must do, Son?” Gus asked.  

“Yes, sir,” Bart replied.

“I'm glad I came in here. You're right about our relationship. If I'm to become your master, I will expect you to consider me and my choices for you; otherwise, there ain't no reason for us to continue a relationship. I lived in a relationship for damn near forty years, in which I had little or no say. I became little more than a steady paycheck and a proven bull who was brought in from the pasture three times to do what a bull's suppose to do, and then I was put back out to pasture to be ignored. I will never accept that life again. We both been given a second chance, but I hope you don't underestimate me or my commitment to a different life where I'm in complete charge and demand to call the shots, Son. You have opened new doors of possibilities for me, and while I'm willing to share my world with you, I will demand your total loyalty to not only become my husband, but also my devoted slave, and I expect you to bring to our life together only the very best you have to offer. I've had time to think and observe the other couples who have strong and active master/slave relationships, and I done come to the conclusion the pendulum of my bonding tolerance has swung back, and it's stuck the other way to demand a total commitment from you.

"I know I won't be happy or comfortable with anything less. I'm throwing my gauntlet down, Son, and it's either yours to accept, pick-up and return to your master as your sign of obeisance, or ignore it and walk the other way. If you choose to become my slave, you will obey me without question and no matter what them damn voices tell you, I will be your master, not them! You will bring to me any message they might send. While they may have guided you in the past, you can't depend on them to fill your void, keep you warm in the night, and take from you what you so desperately need to give to a man stronger than yourself. You will come to me first for any major decision. I may or may not agree with your voices; however, to be honest, they have a pert-damn good track record so far. I'll be honest with you, I saw this coming. Nevertheless, I hope you realize, you've forced my hand and placed me in a precarious position, Slave?” Master Gus asked.

“Yes, Master Gus, and I'm sorry. I apologize. I realize I was on the brink of disaster, but you found me and pulled me back. I promise, it will never happen again. I will gladly pick up your gauntlet and humbly return it to you, sir. I can't imagine a future without you, Master Gus,” Bart said and his voice broke.

“Pay homage to your master, Slave!” Gus demanded. Bart fell to his knees and took his time displaying his hungry need to become the slave his master needed. When he was finished, Master Gus called him to his arms and Bart wept. “Beyond a shadow of doubt, do I have your total commitment and complete understanding, Slave?” Master Gus asked.

“Yes, sir, Master Gus, I swear on my word of honor as a cowboy, I have no more doubts, you have my total commitment, and I completely understand your word will be obeyed in all matters, sir,” Bart replied.

“Good! Now, if anyone in our family is going to be the leader, it will be your master,” Master Gus said, “What did the instructions say?” he asked.

“All hair around the area where the Ankh is to be placed is to be removed, either by close shaving or a depilatory. Once the Ankh is attached to the arm, the initiate, as they call a new bearer of the symbol, will notice his hair will start to fall out in a couple of days until he has no hair on any part of his body. He will remain that way for thirty days. Then, within a day or two, it will start to grow back, but if your beard was light colored before, it will grow in much darker and heavier than it was previously,” Bart replied.

Master Gus shook his head he understood and started taking off his Western shirt. “You got a sharp razor and a good strop? he asked.

“Yes, Master. I keep them in top condition,” Bart replied.

“The left arm you say?” Master Gus asked.

“Yes, sir, the left,” Bart replied.

“Lather me up, and let's do it. If the boy is going to carry my name, his dad, and his dad's slave who saved his life should bear the same sign,” Master Gus said.

Bart did a fine job and when he applied the Ankh and removed the papyrus, it started to glow a bright golden color like it was activating itself and settling down into the flesh become a permanent application to Master Gus's body. They no sooner got through when the rest of his family barged into their bathroom and saw Master Gus shaving his slave's left arm. Gus's arm was still glowing brightly.

“What the Hell are you men doing?” General Heavy-Drop bellowed.

“I decided someone in our family needed to wear the Ankh, and my slave asked if I would include him. That's why I'm shaving his arm,” Gus said and smiled.

“I'm next! I'll go get my from my chest, Master Gus,” Royce Junior said.

“Then I'm next. I ain't about to be left out. I'll go get mine,” the General said and left.

“I got one in my chest, Granddad. Can I join the family?” Cowboy Jack asked.

“Think you can keep it from your family, Son?” Master Gus asked.

“You, Bart, Baug, Lem, Jenny, Jennifer, Master Billy and his family, General Boynton, and his boy Royce are my family, Granddad. I don't belong to them others no more, sir,” Jack said. The young cowboy almost broke Gus's heart.

“I agree. Go get your Ankh, Son. Ever' cowboy should have a least one tattoo, but I can assure you very few have a royal Ankh,” Gus said and Cowboy Jack was away in a flash.

“I'm going to get mine,” General Tater-Puss said, “Like I done said before, I've absorbed enough of the General's DNA in my gut, he can't deny I'm family,” he added and left the room.
 
“What about me, Master Gus,” Lem asked.

“If we're gonna' to do your dad, his slave, your brother Roy, and Cowboy Jack, I don't see why we should leave you out. After all, we accepted you into our greater family as one of our boys, Son,” Master Gus said and Lem was away to get his Ankh.

“What about you, Fuzzy Butt?” Master Gus asked Baug.

“I don't want it applied while I'm carrying the bairn. Once Master Royce gets his, we'll transfer, and I'll be ready for mine. Do me last, Master,” Baug said and Gus agreed.

“One thing we didn't consider, Slave. Will it keep us from morphing?” Gus asked Bart.

“Good point, sir! I don't think so, Master, but I'm just speculating. Jesus, I hope not or we're up a creek. Them voices assured me it wouldn't interfere with any of our body functions and morphing is part of it,” Bart said and began to morph into his Kagoli demon form. He didn't seem to have any problem except the Ankh didn't appear on his shoulder. He tried morphing into Master Billy because Bart had his DNA stored in his growing file. While his morph was successful, he didn't have the gold Ankh on his left shoulder. He also recalled his master's DNA and proceeded to morph into General Halfablap, but this time the gold Ankh did appear. He found it puzzling, but not beyond understanding. If his hunch was right, it was family specific, which meant, if need be, he could teach young Gus Daniels how to hide his Ankh if a situation called for such an action. Bart also carried General Boynton's structural information within his DNA bank and morphed into him. They had not yet applied his Ankh and again Bart didn't have one on his shoulder upon his morph into the big Marine General.

“My best guess would be, they're individually family specific to one's DNA, but it's also capable of mirroring the DNA from one to the other as long as it's reflecting the same information. What protective capabilities the Ankh might have will also cover the morphed clone – perhaps several. In a way that's good, but I ain't so sure it was originally designed for that reason. I'm not sure how or why right now, but perhaps we'll discover other possibilities later. It could be we're trying to overthink and read too much into its significance. It could be something simple. Say, if we were invited to visit Bubba Ho Tep's planet as a family, and we dutifully applied our Ankh's. If everyone was wearing an Ankh, it would call attention away from Gus Junior as being just another one of the Daniels family. I need me some time to do some think'n on it, but I don't see it as a great threat,” Bart said as he changed back, “It's probably going to take some experimenting and study to understand the Ankh's greater purpose, but for right now, I'm not overly concerned,” he added.

Bart then morphed into his Cowboy-Angel form for a short jump from one part of the large room to the other and was successful; however, once again, he didn't carry the gold Ankh. He was convinced it didn't interfere with any body functions he possessed prior to the application. He didn't know why, but his discovery brought him a modicum of comfort. Bart even tried morphing his sexual druthers like he did to please his master, but the Ankh made no difference. Bart also wondered about the coordinates to the twelve other planets Bubba Ho Tep gave the Daniels family. Were the gold Ankh's permanent passports to those worlds? You would think they would provide a better, more thorough instruction manual; however, one should never look a gift horse in the mouth. On the other hand, perhaps the full purpose and instructions were lost to antiquity, and the Ho Tep posse were only aware of a small number of its capabilities. It deserved some investigating, but Bart knew it would be an interesting challenge for his buddy Seth.

* * * * * * *
With Bart and Gus both working to 'Ankh' everyone who wanted, it came time to go down to the dungeon area to join the other men in the spa. Baug didn't join them. Master Bart installed his Ankh for him while the General took Baby Gus back from his husband. Baug was concerned about losing his hair, but what the men didn't know at the time was, the complete loss of hair thing only applied to human DNA. With Watchers, only the fur and hair around the Ankh never grew back. Most of the time, unless they kept a watcher's hair trimmed around the Ankh, it remained buried beneath his lush forest of fur. They also discovered, it worked to protect Baug and both his bairns as well as it did the other members of his family.

Grand-Uncle Gus's clan were the last to join the others in the spa and they caused a minor hubbub with their new golden Ankh symbols on their left arm. None of the others considered applying their Ankh at the time. They became the center of attention and the other men were hanging on their every word. They were most interested and attentive to hear about Bart's investigation into the unusual effects of morphing after his Master applied his Ankh and possible explanations why it carried over sometime and not others. Bart expounded on his experiments and possible reasons why one morph carried the Ankh, and the other didn't. Billy was fascinated by Bart's conversation and conjecture the Ankhs might serve several purposes; one being a passport to the twelve planets Bubba Ho Tep gave Billy and his family. Billy supported Bart's opinion Seth might have a few ideas.     

* * * * * * *
The family didn't remain in the spa very long. They began to breakup and make their way back to their apartments about the same time the younger men would have to leave for pre-puberty curfew. When General Boynton got back to their rooms, he got out his laptop computer and used Skype to get in touch with his dad and mom. He and Roy Junior planned it so his son would be sitting next to him with his arms and the rest of his body hidden from view. They agreed Roy's grandparents were not ready to see him completely refurbished. They would leave that shocker for them to experience if or when they might catch a glimpse of young Roy with the General's Military Posse in the meeting of the Joint Chief's of Staff with the President and his Cabinet.

Royce Boynton's dad answered the Skype hookup. The General smiled seeing his dad's face and spoke, “Hey, Buzz, what's up?”

Royce could see a look of surprise cross his dad's face, followed by a big frown, and then his mouth exploded, “Oh, my God, it's Royce and Roy, Dianne!” Steve 'Buzz' Boynton hollered to his wife. “Where have you been? How could you do such a thoughtless thing like that, Royce, without taking us into consideration? You liked to scared us to death. We didn't know if Roy might be kidnapped. You didn't say where you were taking him. We were left in the dark. I called your offices and no one's heard from you in since Friday. You'r actions are simply unforgivable,” he said angrily.

“Nice to see you, too, Buzz,” the General said.

“Don't be rude or a smart ass, Royce! I taught you better than that. While we may not agree on many things, and you never call me 'dad' anymore, the fact remains, I am your father, and you will show me proper respect,” Buzz said angrily.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say. Ain't nothing I ain't heard before, Buzzy Bee. You wore out that poor old horse, and he died a long time ago. Respect works best when it's mutual; unfortunately, you live on a one-way street with no turn-around. It wouldn't have mattered how I handled the situation, you would have found fault no matter what I did. I didn't have time to argue with you about taking my boy with me. I got in and out. No mess. No fuss. You should be pleased. I saved everyone a truck load of hateful words. I didn't call to get into a verbal fight with you. Neither do I plan to let you get away with the same old crap you fed me until I got my chance and escaped the nest. I called to say 'hello,' touch base with you folks, and to let you know we're okay,” Royce said.

Buzz ignored Royce and spoke to his grandson. “Are you okay, Roy? When you coming home, Son?” he asked.

“I'm fine Granddad, but I won't be coming back to Virginia unless it's for a brief visit. Dad found me another home on a big ranch in Texas. I'm gonna' become a cowboy, Granddad,” Roy said and watched a look of horror come across his Granddad's face like great gray clouds were gathering and his world was coming to an end with one giant thunderbolt.

“What are we suppose to do?” Buzz Boynton said sharply, thinking only of himself and his wife.

“Continue living on the ranch. I'll still send you trickle-down money for living expenses and upkeep over and above your Socialist Security which you fought against for so many years. Money is the kind of respect you understand best, Buzz, but only for the elite. You swear trickle-down economics worked for your God, Reagan, I'm sure it will work equally well for you and mom,” Royce said.

They talked for thirty minutes or more, but it was uncomfortable on both parts. For Royce and Roy, it was like talking to people on another planet. After visiting the Daniels ranch and Retikki Prime, the idea of going back to Virginia to live with his Grand-parents was a major downer for young Roy and totally unacceptable for the future. “When are you going back to D.C., Royce?” his dad asked.

“I will return to Houston early tomorrow morning and fly to D.C. from there,” Royce said without much detail.

“There's talk they can't find the Chief of Staff and his men. Do you know where he is?” Buzz asked.

“Not really. He didn't tell us where he was going after our meeting on Friday. We just assumed he would be returning to D.C. After he listened to his staff about what they discovered about aliens, and testimony from a highly intelligent rancher, he called an abrupt halt to the meeting and probably left by the back stairs. He might have gone undercover. Besides it's classified to talk about his movements, so I couldn't say nothing if I knew. I can't anyway, because I ain't got no clue where they might be,” Royce dodged his dad's question.

“We been seeing a lot on the TV about aliens and a possible invasion. Do you know anything about it?” Buzz asked.

“That's classified info, Buzz. I cain't talk about it. We had a meeting with the Chief of Staff and his men last week. Against some compelling footage and solid testimony made by concerned citizens, our Chief of Staff assured us there weren't no such thing as aliens. All them excellent home videos were fake, and solid personal testimonies available from scores of good folks what witnessed their encounter, he deemed as so much hogwash and bunk. I wouldn't worry none about it if I was you. If Five Star General Shylock says it ain't so, his word is as good as your old hero Dick Cheney's when he told his buddy he was sorry he got drunk and shot his face off 'cause he mistook it for a covey of quail. I think the President and his men are calling a meeting for next week at the Pentagon. Perhaps we'll learn more about it then. I hear tell they might Televise the hearing to calm people's fear,” Royce said. “You might tune in, and if you see me scratch ma' balls, you'll know I'm sending you a big-old Texas shout-out 'Howdy' to you all,” Royce added and grinned wickedly. Roy Junior laughed, but Buzz didn't think it was funny. They chatted a bit more and signed off.  
 
Royce and Roy sat in silence for a minute. “Thanks, Dad,” Roy said quietly.

“For what?” Royce asked.

“For getting me out of there. I don't never want to go back to that place. It would bring back too many bad memories. I'd rather you take out your service revolver and shoot me in the back of my head to put me down like a good old cow pony,” Roy said.

“You got my word, Son, as yore' cowboy brother. I'll never take you back there for more'n an overnight visit. Are you happy with our relationship, Boy?” Royce asked quietly.

“Why? You got some fear of us becoming like you and Granddad?” Roy asked.

The huge cowboy-warrior sort of shrugged his big shoulders and screwed his face up like he didn't have an answer to his boy's question.

“You ain't like Granddad, Pa, and you never will be. There ain't no comparison between you. I don't want to live in Buzz's hyper-conservative narrow view of the world no more. All I want is to be a part of our other family and become a good Cowboy-Angel. Here, in this big castle on the Daniel ranch, I understand what Dorothy Gale felt right after the tornado moved on when she opened that door and realized she weren't in Kansas no more,” Roy said with great sincerity.  

“Do you love me, Boy?” Royce asked.

“I hate it when you ask me a silly question like that. I feel like you're testing me, but if your serious, I'll play along. You want the Reader's Digest version or the complete novel?” Roy asked and grinned.

“You know I always grab the last pork chop on the platter. I'm a greedy man, Son. Gimme' both!” Royce replied and laughed.

“The condensed version? Yes, I love you. The end. Now, the extended version: Chapter one: If you can't tell how much I love you from the way we relate to one another, then I must be doing something wrong; however, to shore up any leaks of personal doubts in your psychological-logjam, to keep an even flow and pressure, in order to avoid possible hurt feelings equal in proportion to a second Johnstown Flood catastrophe, let me firmly state: Of course I love you, you big buffoon! Sometimes you remind me of Daffy and Chloe. You got so much love inside yore' big, clumsy body and big heart, you fall all over yourself to share it with others you care about. I love you more'n all them stars in our galaxy, and every time you ring that Star-bell, my love and respect for you only grows bigger and brighter,” Roy said and grinned.

The General interrupted, “Fuck Reader's Digest! Remind me to always ask for the 'extended version!' God knows I already done got volumes of the great “Cow Eats Cabbage” series read to me by Langstrom. I ain't never thought of myself the way you just described, but you know what? You're right. It makes a lot of sense. I see my alter ego like I'm a big-old clumsy dog what nobody never told him he ain't no lap dog,” Royce replied, and the cowboys shared a laugh. “Ain't chu' gonna' ask me if I love you, Son?” Royce asked sort of disappointed.

“Goodness no! After what you done for me this last few days? I don't need to ask. Why would I? I watched my very own dad, my old man, a man I've worshiped and whom I have striven unsuccessfully to be as much like as I could, rebuild my inferior body. You poured enough of yourself from your own body into mine to completely remake me in your image. In a word, it was pert-damn spectacular. I don't think God did that for Jesus. You done gimme' a second chance at life, a larger, stronger body, a bigger cock, and you got official permission to ring the Daniels family Star-bell to mark the hour of my coming together in a re-birth, then took my first seed to celebrate my second birth. After sampling my DNA, Master Billy and my second surrogate dad, Meat, told me I was damn-near ninety percent the man I spent my life trying to emulate.

“I'm totally comfortable with my new burf-day-suit and my presents. My cup done runneth over with your love, and it's likely to stay that way for sometime. I don't know what I done to deserve it, but I plan to do my damnedest to use it in the same manner of goodness, love, and compassion for my fellow man as my maker worked hard to show me the real meaning of the Cowboy Way. Ask me again in about twenty years, General Heavy-Drop; unless, of course, you need a little more patchwork on that huge dam of love you got locked up in that big heart of yorn,'” Roy said and smiled.

“Definitely the extended version! I swear I'll never read another Digest, Son. Damnation! The way you're learning to use words reminds me of another Officer what hauled my big ass over the coals recently. So much for cowboy songs about riding off into the sunset with your favorite butt-buddy singing 'Happy Trails.' Stand at attention Marine Captain Royce Boynton Junior!” General Heavy-Drop ordered his son. Roy snapped to attention. “Let's seal our bond as warriors with a big-old wet, sloppy kiss, Captain, and it better be a good'un! Don't chu' dare hold nothing back from your superior Officer,” Royce growled menacingly which immediately caused Roy to pop a boner and go weak in the knees, but he was sure his dad was holding him so tight, the General would never know the difference. After the men had their fill, they broke off their kiss and stood holding each other enjoying the afterglow. They were also enjoying a sense of an easy freedom between them like they never experienced before. They were stealing kisses while feeling each other. “Have you given much thought to your virginity,” Royce asked.

“What makes you think I'm a virgin, General?” Roy asked in reply.

“I know you, Boy. You ain't never come right out and said it, but I knew after you lost everything it was your greatest sorrow never having shared sex with another human. I come to know you so well as a boy, I knew you would grow up to prefer men. At least I done prayed to what gods are out there you would. Now don't take that as a put-down from your dear old Dad! Mark my word, Son, ain't nothing further from the truth. I know it might sound crazy to you, but it was a relief and a comfort for me when I was sure you were going to like your vice versa. I done thought about it a lot, and the only thing I could come up with is, I could more comfortably imagine sharing your love with another man, but it would have been much more complicated and problematic for me to share you with a woman.

“Now, before you say anything, I'll admit it was selfish on my part, but my rationale was, you were the only son I was ever gonna' have, and while I could agree to share you, I would never be able to let go of you altogether. I was relieved because I knew I would never have to worry about you considering marrying a women just because you thought it was the right thing to do, and it was what I expected from you. I never tried to influence you or tell you this before now, but now I can tell you, I would never have allowed it to happen. I wouldn't stand for it! Plan A was, I would have boldly confronted you, and laid all my cards on the table about Tater-Puss, and a couple of other of my male peccadilloes, got down on my knees, and begged you to reconsider. If that didn't work, there was plan B. I would have overwhelmed you, secured you, cleaned you out myself, and made such sweet love to you I would leave no doubt in yore' mind you could never experience what we shared together with a woman.

The General continued, “I imagined myself to be the only 'boo-rah' hard-nosed dedicated career Marine Corps Officer in history who secretly hoped his boy would turn out to be a man's man. Notice I didn't say gay, homo, cocksucker, Nancy-boy, queer, fag, or my all time back-teeth grinding appellation I learned to hate with a passion; my old man, your Granddaddy, our dear old Buzzy Bee, used to refer to men what preferred sex with other men who took it up the ass as corn-holers. God, how I hated that nasty and imperfect cognomen. I would cringe ever' damn time he used that term. It was like he took his finger-nails and scraped them across a blackboard while I bit into a bitter lemon. It was probably the fork in the road what made me start to reevaluate my old man's ideas, how petty and vicious his outlook on life was and anyone who didn't quite fit in his small world. By the time I was ready to leave home, I knew I never wanted to be like him, and we never agreed on anything after that. We still don't. To this day, I still suspect he's an old closet queen, and for all his false religious ideas which he don't bother to live by, the real truth of the matter is, Buzz Boynton is terminally jealous of men like you and me,” the General said completing his explanation.  

“I think you may have something there, General. I thought it odd, Granddad would never allow the woman who bathed me as a baby and changed my diapers to do the same for me as an adult. He absolutely forbid Grandma or Mrs. Adams from taking care of me. It either had to be Buzz or Mr. Adams, my other male caretaker. Sometimes they wouldn't be around, they'd be doing a job or out hunting. I'd have to wait for hours for them to come home and take care of me. I never understood what difference it would make, but I knew better than to confront him and be forced to listen to another one of his endless mega-sermons,” Roy said and shook his head like he was remembering the horror of lying in his bed alone, unable to do anything for himself.

“Have you given thought how you might like to lose your virginity, Son?” Royce asked quietly.

“I have a few ideas, but I wouldn't do anything without taking my master into consideration. Major Langstrom will take care of that for me, sir. It's already in the works. I trusted Master Bart with my life, and he come through for me. I have no fear trusting my master with the matter of losing my virginity,” Roy said and smiled.

“Am I in the running to bust yore' cherry, Cowboy?” Royce asked bluntly and grinned like it was a natural and valid question for a cowboy to ask.

“Afraid not, General. However, that only applies to my virginity and not who my master approves to share me with after that. In his spare time, Master Bart has taught me the basics and morphing techniques I'll need to become a good sex slave for a fine master. I must obey him and do as my master orders, but of course, you know Master Langstrom is not one to be dictatorial. While he can be firm and demanding, he's also a man of no nonsense when it comes to his slave. He will listen and sometime Master Bart will take my druthers into consideration; but only if he asks for my input. I already done got my eye on a master what I think is just about the sexiest male-stud on board this ship and with my master's approval, I will gladly give up my virginity to him and serve him the best I got to offer. I can only describe him as a Master's Master. He has agreed to evaluate my potential for Master Bart, and I'm told if I please him, he might consider training me. As a matter of fact, I think if all goes well this evening, Master Bart's already secured a contract with him to become my training master,” Roy said and smiled like he was really proud of himself. “If you would like me to be your slave for an evening, you will have to take it up with Master Bart, sir; however, you better hurry. He's got a pert-dang long waiting list of admirers who expressed interest in sampling my wares,” he added.

“I understand, but I think we're too much father and son right now. We need to ride separate trails for a while. I think Master Bart's plan for you sounds excellent, Boy. He ain't a man what would make a frivolous decision, especially for someone he loves and has accepted as a responsibility. I will patiently wait until Master Bart and your training master decides you're ready to serve other masters. When they come to me and tell me you're ready, I will I throw my hat in the ring for you to serve me for an evening. Then we will meet on a different playing field where I don't have to worry none about being your dad, and you will feel comfortable serving me like a good slave as you would any other master to whom your master chooses to gift you to.

"Just remember one important thing, even though you have more of me within you than you ever did before, I don't want you trying to emulate me. I want you to become your own man and the best cowboy-slave you can be for a good master. I done give you my best parts with just a touch of bullshit. Ever' cowboy worth the name should have a healthy quantity of cow shit in his makeup to make everything else work smoothly. Just remember, you got the ability to become the best and most sought-out slave on this ranch, and a fine cowboy to boot. If you achieve that status, I will be as proud of you as any father can be of his son. I could care less about your military record, but I know you will succeed with it as well. I know I don't tell you often enough, but tonight's special and marks a new beginning for bow'fus; I love you, Son, and I always will,” Royce Boynton told his boy.

“I won't let you down, Pa. I'll make you proud of me,” Roy Junior said, and they sealed their bonding moment with a goodly kiss.

* * * * * * *
There came a knock on the Master Gus's suite of apartments in the castle. Bart went to the door and opened it to find a handsome young Cowboy-Warrior-Angel Zak and Tank, his Watcher-Protector husband standing before him. “As ordered, sir, we have come to gather your new slave, Master Bart, to escort him to the groomers and then to his Training Master for the night,” Zak said.

“Come in, Gentlemen, my slave is just about ready. I'll go get him in a minute, but before I do, I want to entrust you with this card to give to his Training Master upon delivery of my slave after he's been properly groomed,” Bart said.

“We'll be happy to take it to him, sir. Our orders are to wait for Slave Roy, but would it be inappropriate for Tank and I to ask your permission to workout in the Gym next door until they've finished with him, Master Bart?” Zak asked.  

“No, I don't think it would be inappropriate at all. Just ask the Grooms to notify you when they're through. You have my permission, but once they're finished with him, don't make my slave wait while you shower. I expect you to fulfill your mission first, and after he's delivered to his Training Master, you may go your way, clean yourselves, and return to your quarters,” Bart replied.

“Thank you, Master Bart. We understand and will carry out your orders as you wish,” Zak said.

“Ah, here he comes now...” Bart said as Roy walked into the room wearing only his new cowboy boots followed by everyone in the their branch of the Daniels family including big Jennifer and little Jenny. “Are you ready to begin your voyage as a new slave, Son?” Bart asked.

“I am ready, Master Bart,” Roy replied.

“Is there anyone in our family who would stand against my decision to make Royce Boynton Junior my slave to serve me and those whom I choose for him to serve? Let him or her be heard!” Bart bellowed. One hand went up. “Yes, Lem, what have you to say, Son?” Bart asked.

“While I'm totally for Captain Roy becoming your slave, Master Bart, I have a small request,” he said.

“Let's hear it, Son,” Bart barked.

“May I have a taste of Captain Roy's blood to begin my personal DNA file, sir?” Lem asked and several chuckled at his strange request.

“Is it really necessary before he officially begins his role as my slave, Lem?” Bart asked.

“I'm afraid it is, Master Bart, or I would have waited until later. The universal timing of my slave brother, Roy, who is standing on the precipice of his journey at an extremely important moment in his new life and the time-line of our planet which influences our lives, sir, should and must be recognized. Your slave is taking a giant leap of faith into his future to become educated and trained to live his life as a slave. Some would not recognize its importance to Roy and his family's future and would dismiss my concern out of hand. They would be wrong, Master Bart. The great leader of one of the most important slave rebellions in history was Spartacus. It is a most propitious time to mark the passing of this moment, but unfortunately, the calling of this time-slot for the most excellent success for you and Slave Roy's plans provides only a very small window of opportunity. Your wisdom and cooperation will provided us with the time we need for us to successfully accomplish our goals,” Lem replied.

“You're right, Son. If anyone else ask that of me, I would have rebuked and dismissed them without an explanation; however, I've come to expect the unexpected from you, Lem. Slave Roy, do you have a problem sharing your DNA with our younger brother Lem?” Bart asked.

“No. None at all, Master Bart,” Roy replied

“Give me your arm, Son,” Bart held out his hand, and Roy dropped his left wrist into his master's open palm. Bart took his forefinger and made a tiny cut with a blue light the young Cowboy-Angels were taught to use for cutting new Cowboy-Angel's fledgling wings. It wasn't powerful and only slightly bled. Lem took two finger's worth and moved them to his mouth to taste. From the back of the crowd General Boynton came forth and dipped his fingers into his boy's blood and tasted it.  

“Anyone else? This filling station for vampires is closing in three, two, one!” Bart said like he was bored and everyone laughed. He waved his hand over the cut, and it was completely healed without a trace.

Everyone watched as Lem removed his clothing and morphed into an exact copy of young Roy Boynton. Like Bart said, the family was used to the unusual, but every now and then someone would do something which would be so out of character, they would make the others wonder until they caught up. Lem walked naked over to Roy, took him into his arms, and kissed him hard on his mouth. Roy responded in kind and popped a boner. “May the spirits of them ancient people of unimaginable wisdom and power, bless and keep you safe on your journey through life, Brother Roy. You are now under their protection, and their generous love will surround and support you in all endeavors. Go with the love of your family to cushion you during rough patches. You will be tested, but no harm will come to you,” Lem said and bowed deeply to Roy.

“Thank you, Lem. Suddenly, I have no fear or anxiety. I'm ready to begin my life as your slave, Master Bart,” Roy said to them.

“One final kiss for your master, Slave, and I'll send you on your way,” Bart said. The men embraced and kissed a kiss which was gentle but powerful. There was no doubting the love which passed between them.

“Hosanna!” said Little Jenny.

“Hosanna, in the highest!” the rest of the family answered.

Roy walked between his two Escorts. They offered Roy their arms, he linked his with theirs, Tank opened the door, they passed through together, and they were gone. There was a deafening silence came over the room. The family stood looking at the door like they were hoping it would open again, and the men who left would come back. Bart broke the silence. “Now, Emanuel Bartholomew Boynton, would you care to explain your actions to your parents and the rest of your family,” Bart asked with a grin on his face.  

“I can hold a morph like this continually for forty-eight hours. Longer if I morph back to my pre-puberty state once in a while to recharge my batteries. I must go with you military men tomorrow. It is essential. You will need me,” Lem said.

“Okay, before we even consider your explanation, allow me to ask a couple of questions, Son. How will your morphing affect your normal growth toward puberty?” Bart asked.

“It won't have any affect on the natural progression of the maturity of my body, Master Bart. While I will look mature and capable of fertile intercourse, I will, in actuality remain the same age I was before I morphed,” Lem replied.

“Can you be more specific as to how our men might need you?” Bart asked.

“It comes to me in bits and pieces. Vague... nebulous... added strength... protection... projection... smoke screen... tap dancing in place... status quo... control of mass mind... reason and fear... approval and rejection... conductor needed on this piece. Seth teach Master Bart... a train without tracks... on and on, sir, like a jigsaw puzzle. You know how the picture is suppose to look, but you must gather the pieces and make them fit,” Lem said.

“Do you need to be in uniform?” Bart asked.

“Yes, sir,” Lem replied.

“Any of you men want to jump in here? Feel free! I'm treading water trying to stay afloat,” Bart said like a plea for help.

The General spoke up, “What could it hurt to take the kid along? Twin Captains in your group, Uncle Gus? That should put a major kink in my old man's wazoo if he tunes in to the hearing. Hell, old Tater-Puss can requisition another sea bag. The Air Force and Army can't account for six trillion lost on its books. A couple a' hundred bucks for an Officer's sea bag won't be missed. I'm game for the setting. We may need every man we can muster to our side and one with the promise of protection cain't be no bad thing. Remember whatever we choose to do, this ain't gonna' be no stroll in the park, Gentlemen. Then again, I ain't never seen me such an unusual tribe of men what can pull gold out of a bag of shit. So I say we bend the rules and pack fudge a little.” the General said. “Throw in some eye candy and confusion into the mix, and conspiracy theory just might win the day,” the big man added and got everyone laughing. “C'moan, Sweet Meat, yore' big-daddy Watcher-Protector needs you this e'nin. After tonight, I don't know when I'll get back, Darlin', and I want to leave you with more than just a peck on the cheek and a promise to keep in touch,” General Heavy-Drop summoned his mate.

* * * * * * *  
The grooms were wonderful to Roy. They were the two well-built halflings, Mace and Picard who were able to morph into the big cowboys, Harley-Buck Johnson, and Earl Hickson. They took their time and got to know Roy before they started working on him. They sat him down at a table and offered him some Texas Tea with some special herbal ingredients only the grooms used to relax and add a wonderful sexual high while they worked on them. Roy politely refused, but they gently shared with him, he was under their control, and while they didn't want to be mean spirited, they assured him his master would not be pleased if he didn't cooperate with them. Roy dutifully drank his tea. “Do you want us to work on you as we are, or would you prefer us to morph into them larger cowboys what turned you on so much when we helped clean and refurbish you in the dungeon?” Mace asked.

“That would be wonderful. I enjoyed Mr. Johnson and Mr. Higginbothem the most,” Roy said.

“We can do both them men,” Mace replied and morphed into Orville Higginbothem with his new set of horns and Picard morphed into Harley-Buck complete with his horns.  

“Oh, my God, you men are so hot!” Roy exclaimed.

“Have another mug of our special tea, Son, and we guaran-damn-tee we'll get even hotter,” the image of Harley-Buck Johnson said and growled at him. Roy came close to shooting his load, but he held back.

By the time it came around to cleaning Roy inside and out, he was like a lump of clay in their hands. He was enjoying every minute of it. It took them a little over an hour when they began to get Roy ready to meet his new Training Master. He was sitting up on the edge of the table they used to work on him. Roy was as happy and comfortable as a clam in deep water. “All right, Son. Now we must check a couple of things before we outfit you as a slave. Spread your legs and morph your handsome penis into a corresponding vagina for us. Don't be shy. We's buddies and old Harley-Buck and me done seen it all, Son. We got chore' back, Slave,” Mace said as Orville Higginbothem.

Roy started and slowly managed to morph his penis away, but he began to have trouble making his cunt appear. “Take it slow, Son, you're doing fine. It's them special herbs we gave you in your tea, but you'll thank us for them later. You got the apt, but your connecting power source is scrambled by them special herbs. Now put your hands behind you on the table, lean back, throw your head back, close your eyes, and let nature take its course. Picture what you want to happen in your mind. That's it! You can do it! Easy does it! Now close your eyes, and let it happen, Son. Your Training Master specifically asked for your pussy,” Picard urged him on, “That's it! There ya' go! You got it, Cowboy! Let it happen. You're just about there. A little more! That's it! Way to bake yore' fine penis into a sweet little pussy for your master, Slave! You're done! Good boy! You're gonna' make a fine slave. Way to go, Buckaroo! Mighty fine looking little cunt, Son. Makes me hungry just looking at it. Don't move. Let us check it out. Grab that rubber husband over there, Orville, and let's ease it in for our boy,” Picard said and the two huge men with horns on their heads slowly and gently inserted the small rubber husband.   

“How does it feel, Pod'na?” Orville asked.

“Full, but good. No! Raise that to comfortable. No, no! One more step...ahhhh, wonderful,” Roy said and laughed. The two big cowboy's laughed with him.

“Okay, your new Training Master told us to give you a choice. You can come to him with your cunt already morphed or you can morph back to your handsome penis if you think you can morph before him, but chore' master, Master Bart, definitely wants the Training Master to fuck yore' cunt and pop yore' cherry this evening,” Mace said.

“I don't know. I'm not real good at morphing yet, but I'm sure I'll get better. Any thoughts you men might have would be appreciated,” Roy said.

“Don't fret so, Cowboy. You's over think'n it. It's easy as fall'n off a log. Just remember one thing, your master's wishes always come first, Slave, and your master always comes first whether he chooses to use your pussy, your ass, or you mouth,” said Harley-Buck Johnson firmly.

“You're right, Mister Johnson. If my Training Master wants my pussy, ain't no reason to morph back until he tells me to,” Roy said, and the two big cowboys agreed with him.
 
They ordered Roy to lie back in a padded stirrup chair and brought out one of their smaller rubber husbands. By that time, Roy, was floating so high above the clouds, after the big cowboy gently inserted it up his ass, seated it well, and proceed to lock it into place with his slave harness, Roy let out a sigh of contentment like an old cow after a bull pulled out of her after filling her with his seed. They didn't bother to snap on his cod piece. Roy had nothing to cover. They decided to put the male containment parts in a small bag and give them to his escorts when they came to get Roy. They helped him with his cowboy boots and the slave was ready to meet his master for the evening.

Picard went to get Zak and Tank and quickly returned. Roy was so grateful he shed tears for Mace and Picard and couldn't thank them enough for treating him so well. He hugged and kissed them while they were still in their huge cowboy forms with their wonderful horns. Zak and Tank made over Roy and how good he looked. Rather than being alarmed by his gender morph, they complemented him and bragged they never saw a prettier little cunt. “You're a very fortunate young slave, Roy. I can only wish I could morph like that for my husband,” Zak said and Roy blushed.

“Thank you, Warrior Zak, I rather like the feel of it. I didn't know you couldn't morph,” he said.

“We ain't been given the option, but we're comfortable. It is our hope, if we continue to please our masters, they will bless us with the option and teach us how. They have been so good to us it would be disrespectful to ask for more than we have. Our masters have been very good to us,” Zak explained.

They accompanied Roy down the stairs and out into the night. They talked quietly among themselves and got to know each other better. "How does your butt plug feel, Slave Roy?" Warrior Zak asked in a concerned voice.

"It's a little uncomfortable, sir, but not unbearable," Roy said.

"It's suppose to be a mite uncomfortable. That's the purpose of it. It keeps you aware you're a slave, you have a good master who cares for you, and sees to your needs. After you've worn it for a while, if it gets so comfortable you don't pay it much attention, you must tell your master you need a larger plug. He will see to it you get the next larger one, until you can wear the largest without too much discomfort," Warrior Zak advised him.

"And do you wear a plug, Warrior Zak?" Roy asked innocently.

"Yes, I wear the largest plug our Overlords will allow our master's to place in their slaves. Fortunately, we live in a sane society which doesn't condone excesses beyond set standards of reason in master/slave bondings. They assign monitors to check on us periodically. We're happy and comfortable to live within their limits and we don't see their inspections as an invasion of our privacy. We are, after all, a military unit. The word 'privacy' is rarely used in our world," Warrior Zak explained and smiled.

"I have so much to learn, Master Zak," Roy lamented.

Zac's husband, the big Watcher-Protector Tank, put his huge arm around Roy's shoulder and pulled him close, "Nothing to worry about, Slave Roy. You will be trained by the finest master on this planet, Son. He will expect your best, but he will patiently teach you what you need to know," he said. 

They walked the short way to the village and a little beyond into the lush green country side. They walked until they came to a fine looking cottage about a half-mile from the farthest edge of town and knocked on the door. The door opened and there stood Roy's new Training Master silhouetted by the light in the room. Roy's heart started pumping extra hard, and he almost swooned at the sight of the hyper-masculine, warrior size dwarf towering in the doorway.

“Good evening, Master Ironmonger. We have come to deliver Master Bart's slave Roy, sir. If you will be so kind as to sign our release, we will say 'goodnight' and be on our way, sir,” Zak said.

“Welcome to my humble home. Come in, Gentlemen! Come in, Slave!” Jurgen Ironmonger graciously urged them. Jurgen took the form from Zak, signed his name at the appropriate place on the bottom, and handed it back to the young Angel-Warrior. “Can I offer you Gentlemen some refreshment?” he asked.

“Thank you for your kind offer of hospitality, Master Jurgen. We would like nothing better; unfortunately, we're under orders to return to our quarters immediately after we deliver your new slave, sir. However, I would beg one indulgence if you might allow me to have a word with your new slave. I was also instructed by Master Bart Langstrom to give you this card, sir,” Zak said.

“Thank you, Son. Of course you may say anything you wish to my slave, Angel-Warrior Zak,” Master Ironmonger said.

Zak set the release form on the table, and moved in front of Roy, looked him deep in his eyes, put his hands on the young man's shoulders, gently pulled him to his considerably more buffed body, and held him for a moment. Roy could smell the rich, sweet, hyper-masculine smell of testosterone from Zak's workout with his husband. Zak spoke softly but strongly choosing his words carefully to make them sound like he was about to tell the slave in his arms the secrets of life, “Forgive my crude words, Slave Roy, but I use them to make an even stronger point. You are one lucky son-of-bitch to have a master so considerate and thoughtful he would send you to the Master of Master's for him to consider taking you on to train as his slave. I would not presume to say these words if I had not experienced Master Ironmonger's talents myself.

“Other than my giant Watcher-Protector husband, I have never met a master who has more experience with slaves and has carefully honed his abilities to bring out the best in them. If he decides to train you, never question him, but faithfully give him your best. I promise, you will be glad you did. If you strive hard to please him every day, I guarantee you will get only his best in return. It is me and my husband's deepest wish, you find it in your heart to fling wide the doors to your soul to bond solidly with our beloved master and provide him with the comfort and affection he so richly deserves,” Zak finished, gave Roy a final hug, kissed him on his cheek, and bowed to Master Jurgen.

“Thank you, Warrior Zak. You and your husband are always welcome in my humble home,” Master Ironmonger said. Jurgen picked up the signed form from the table and handed it to Zak. Without further ado, they said their 'good evenings,' turned and left Slave Roy with his new Training Master.

Master Ironmonger stood before his new slave and looked him up and down. He saw Roy before in the dining hall on several occasions, but the moment didn't provide an opportunity to communicate with the young man with little more than a brief encounter, a nod, and an admiring smile from time to time. They saw each other from afar, asked about each other, but were never fully introduced. Their slow dance of circumstance was due to the workload Jurgen took upon himself. He was fast becoming one of the major players in the village and quickly garnered a solid reputation to be an honest, civic minded, community supporting, hardworking businessman. As he looked at Roy, Master Ironmonger milked the tit of admiration and encouraged his thought provoking male-member to more closely observe what a fine looking young human-male his new slave was, and minus a clinical inventory, the young warrior seemed to have every attribute Master Ironmonger found worthy and desirable in a would-be slave. Jurgen's slave-radar was impeccable.    

“Come, Slave! Come to your master's arms,” he called gently, like a faithful shepherd summoning his flock.

“Ain't I suppose to show obeisance and pay homage to you first, Master?” Roy asked quietly like a confused new born colt on shaky legs.

The young man's words told Master Ironmonger more about Roy than the sometimes tedious repetition of rituals, “First lesson, Slave,” he replied, holding up his index finger, to firmly grab his slave's attention, “Obey your master without question,” Master Ironmonger said raising his voice just a bit, to put a strong period at the end of his small pseudo-homily. Roy responded like gold in a prospector's pan and was in his master's arms in a split second. Safe haven for slave – rich pay-dirt for master. It's all good. Roy neither understood what happened nor did he recognize the subtle but powerfully strong draw Master Ironmonger's masculine magnetism held for him, but the young warrior knew without a doubt, at that moment in time, he belonged in the dwarf's massive arms, and there he would find his new home. There was no doubt in Roy's mind which strummed an equal chord in his heart. The young, handsome, novice slave started weeping softly in his master's strong arms.

“Tears for the comfort of your master's arms, Son?” Master Ironmonger asked softly as he stole a gentle kiss.

“I've never felt more at home than I do right now, sir,” Roy agreed while pulling himself together.

“We'll leave protocol, slave manners, and postpone serious training until you return from your job with your military dad and family. Tonight we will take it easy. We will drink some more Texas Tea – a special blend provided by our procurement Cowboy-Slaves Hank and Buck. Then, we will retire to my private spa, and you will attend me while I bathe. I don't expect miracles from you on your first visit, Slave. Besides, we're working on a schedule to get you ready for tomorrow. While it's not an ideal circumstance to begin a master/slave relationship, sometimes the most hectic times are the ones we remember most fondly.

“Besides, our major goal this evening is to come together, to provide you with an entry level overview of becoming a slave, to acquaint you with the power and purpose of male bonding rituals, and to welcome you into the world of masters and slaves by surrendering your virginity to a proven Master-Bull. Don't mistake my previous words of 'coming together' as meaning reaching a climax simultaneously. A master always comes first, and his slave never ejaculates unless his master approves,” Master Ironmonger said and smiled. “By the way, is your harness uncomfortable for you, Son?” he asked.

“No, sir, not really. It's my first time wear'n anything like it. I've admired the other slaves wearing their slave harnesses and experience a deep feeling in my gut for a need for that kind of control in my life, but I think I would better appreciate its purpose, and feel more comfortable, if I wore it with my penis. It seems to be made with a male slave in mind, and it reminds me of a military snafu as it becomes rather superfluous when one is morphed as a female. I feel like a beast of burden wearing the wrong yoke; however, Master Ironmonger, please don't misunderstand my personal observations on the matter, sir, I ain't complaining none. I willingly surrendered my penis, and I'm only too happy to morph my genitals for my Master's pleasure. Along with my mistakes I'm sure to make, I promise I will work hard to understand and learn quickly to make proper adjustments,” Roy said like he was walking on egg shells in a dark room.  

“Strong, but sound reasoning, Slave. I'm impressed. When your master asks your opinion, and he will from time to time, if you answer with the same degree of thoughtfulness, selflessness, and humility, you will garner his admiration. I totally agree with you, Son. Beyond a doubt, it is superfluous. It certainly don't fit the profile, does it?” he asked, but before Roy could answer, Master Ironmonger was undoing the strap on the back and soon, untied his slave's butt-plug leather thong, and easily slipped the harness from Roy's body. “I'll leave your rubber husband inside for a while because your prostate gland is still functioning which will provide you with a slightly uncomfortable stimulus to remind you you're my slave for the evening without unnecessary words to affirm you position,” Master Ironmonger said.

Jurgen fixed them some more special Texas Tea. Roy's new master urged his novice slave to open his heart unto him. They drank and talked quietly like two old friends and got to know each other a little better. Roy wasn't a small man by any means at six feet, and since his refurbishment, he possessed the DNA information to encourage extra growth which could possibly rival his old man. Master Ironmonger was about the same size, perhaps a little taller than Roy was at the present but with the Warrior-Dwarf DNA in his genes, his large body was far more massively developed. Jurgen rivaled some of the more ardent body builders who devoted hours every day to build their bodies even larger. Jurgen's arms were bigger than Roy's legs were at his thigh. A major part of Master Ironmonger's physique was genetic, but his massive musculature was the byproduct of bone crunching heavy labor when he was a younger man.   

When they finished their tea, Jurgen took Roy to his spa area. After he purchased the cottage, Jurgen remodeled and quadruped the expanse of his cleaning area to his own specifications, and it was more like the spa in the ship's dungeon than it was an average bathroom in most homes. Master Ironmonger quietly told Roy what he expected from him in the bath. It didn't seem beyond reason nor unexpected to Roy, and they got to it. Roy helped his master remove his big heavy boots, his leather garments, and finally his leather shirt and vest.

Roy was more than a little impressed by the man's massive body and his large penis. Roy was sure there wasn't an once of fat on his master's body. The young warrior-slave only caught glimpses of Master Ironmonger from afar since his arrival on Captain Nick's ship, but they were enough to grab him by his balls and instill within him a deep craving in his gut to get to know the man. He was almost sure such a handsome man of Master Ironmonger's well-packed stature and social importance, whom everyone on Captain Nick's ship seemed to love and respect, must have his own private stable full of young attractive men who were perfectly happy and content to serve and please their master. Roy was not disappointed by what he saw, he was a bit disillusioned from his expectation. Master Ironmonger lived alone.

* * * * * * *
“To further explain why you were saddled with a male harness this evening, was to acquaint you with it as a male, but since you chose to remain morphed as a female before you left the grooming area, your body became your sea bag so your guards could complete their delivery; however, when you leave here with me in the morning, you will be returned to your master fully morphed as a male, proudly wearing your new harness with your master's plug in your ass. After I turn you over to your other master, Master Bart, he will be responsible for you until we meet again.

Most of the time, perhaps ninety percent or better, while under my yoke, you will remain in your natural state as a male. Less than ten percent of our time together, mostly for your master's pleasure or anyone he wishes to share you with, your genitals will be morphed as female. As you have probably observed, some of your fellow slaves openly choose to leave their genitals morphed to female when they appear with their master or husband in the dungeon spa. They will tell you they appear that way because they don't have to bother morphing when they return to their quarters. Don't believe them. They are lying. They do it as a sign of their devotion for their mate. If we ever join them in the spa together, I will leave the choice up to you; however, I won't allow you to appear in public with a cunt until you convince your master you are mature enough to be granted such an honor.   

My reason for insisting you be morphed as a female this evening is two fold. The first reason is to rid you of any bad feelings or wrong thoughts of punishment, false guilt, castration, or degradation you might feel. In the process of deflowering you, I will remove any doubts or bad thoughts you might have when you're required by your master to morph your genitals. The other reason is more of a personal nature. I'll lay my cards on the table, Son. It's been ten long years since I've found release with a woman. My wife died when my little girl, Felicity, was five years old. Along with our family protector Sylvan Aspidistra, who is a eunuch, my life has been devoted to her. She's fifteen now and growing up much faster than I'd like to admit. Felicity is becoming her own woman. She and our family protector live in another cottage on the other side of the hill. Both residents are owned by our family. My family graciously decided I needed my privacy to pursue my own sexual needs. Beyond a scheduled visit from time to time, they will not disturb us without an invitation. Naturally, that doesn't include emergency situations,” Master Ironmonger said.

Roy sat looking at the huge, massive, handsome dwarf-warrior. He was stunned. The Texas Tea and the extra added ingredients were working overtime. “Ten years, Master?” Roy asked quietly like he found it difficult to believe.

“Yes, Son, I swear on the names of every forgotten god, it has been ten years,” Jurgen confirmed.

“You poor man. Perhaps we have plowed similar ground. When I was refurbished and restored by my father and Master Billy's Cowboy-Angels, my dad, whom I thought was a living pillar of heterosexuality surprised the holy crap out of me. After they were finished with me, he leaned over me, took my newly enhanced cock into his maw, and sucked my first load from my body. Before coming to the Daniels Ranch, I laid in a bed without one leg and no hands or feet for damn near ten years. I would have nocturnal emissions once in a while, but by what standard could one call it sex? H'it just weren't the same. Nothing was shared with another person of either sex. It was like any other body function I had no control over. It would be added to the other waste in my soiled diaper, and my live sperm would be unceremoniously thrown out with my dirty Depends. It makes one wonder, was it for this the clay grew tall? What made fatuous sunbeams toil to break Earth's sleep at all?” Roy asked in a whisper as tears began to roll down his handsome cheeks.*  

Master Ironmonger stood, gabbed the young warrior into his massive arms, pulled him from his chair, and held him close to his naked body. Holding one another tightly, they managed to slowly lower themselves to a kneeling position on the tile floor of the spa as they cried for their remembered pain. After a while, they got themselves together, but they were still holding each other like two lost boys in a dark forest when a warmth slowly surrounded them, and they started to glow like they were being visited by some sacred entity. It filled them with love, joy, peace, and an overwhelming feeling of a conjoining-nature as if their souls came together as one. It was an exhilarating experience, and it moved them to the core of their foundations.

“I think somebody is trying to tell us something, Master Ironmonger,” Roy whispered into his master's ear, “Do you think we hurt one a' them unknow'd god's feelings, sir?” he asked innocently.

“Don't know, Son. Contrary to popular belief, Master's don't have all the answers. Most what claim to be a master don't even have enough knowledge or fortitude to keep a good boy in line and satisfied. They soon become bored with their toy from their own lack of invention and creativity. The better the boy, the easier my job, but an unappreciated boy-toy breaks easily,” Jurgen said and stole a kiss.

“There ain't nothing wrong with us, Master Ironmonger. I got what you need between my legs, and you shore' as Hell got what I need between your handsome thighs and lots of it. I swear on my honor as a cowboy, you got enough between yore' legs to ride my cunt deep and proud; but, the best thing is, we got each other. Let's make it happen, sir,” Roy said like he no longer wanted to be a novice.

“As Master Billy is wont to say, I got me a shit-load of good feelings about us, Cowboy. Jump up here on this massage table. Lie on your back, bring your knees to your chest, hold and spread them with your arms, and pretend you're about to give birth to your Master's baby boy. Once you pop the little bugger out, I'll wrap him in a towel, and we'll move on to our next feature – dining at the 'Y.'  Master Ironmonger ordered his slave.   

Roy jumped upon the table and did as his master instructed him. He was in position and relaxed for a moment. He looked at his new master and marveled at his size and masculine beauty. While Jurgen's head was almost completely bald he grew a small amount on top which was locked to his other hair in an intricate braid. Jurgen also wore a magnificent reddish-brown mustache and and full beard which was carefully platted in rows to rest upon his unpalatable parts.

“Why is it they call you a Dwarf, Master Ironmonger, when you're taller than me and you're every bit as large as most of Master Billy's Cowboy-Angels?” Roy asked.

“When you come from a planet of giants, anyone smaller than them is called a dwarf. As big as he is, on my planet, your dad would be considered a dwarf, Son,” Master Ironmonger replied, “We'll have time for questions later, but for now concentrate on the job at hand and mind your master. I could pull on the leather thong attached to your anal plug, but I want you to learn to expel it on your own. I have a towel ready to receive little Jurgen Junior,” Master Ironmonger urged his slave, grinned, and winked at him. Roy was in love. He began to see small bits of humor creep into his master's serious 'in-charge' attitude. He would have done anything his master told him. He began to push and before he could say, 'Bob's your uncle' the butt plug pushed open his sphincter and his master caught it with his towel. Master Ironmonger didn't allow much to escape and held it in place for a while. Then he started working it in and out of Roy's ass like he was teasing him. It was a wonderfully sensual feeling for Roy, and he began to moan and groan in ecstasy.

“Oh, Master, that feels so good. Thank you, Master, thank you,” Roy said.

“We'll have plenty time later for that, too, I promise,” he said as he removed the plug and wrapped it in his towel. “Little Jurgen Junior is born. As my slave, you will give birth to many little Jurgen's, Son,” Master Ironmonger said and smiled.  

After Master Ironmonger carefully cleaned the excess lubricant from his handsome slave's ass, Jurgen wasted no time diving in with his mouth, using his talented tongue like a heat-seeking missile which emanated from a warm, soft forest comprised of a gloriously comfortable mustache and a lush cushioning beard to sample the young man's cunt. Roy overheard talk from some of Master Billy's cowboys who all agreed they loved to eat 'they's-selves' some pussy before fucking it, but being a virgin with no experience, poor Roy couldn't imagine what they were talking about. Rather than inquire further about the subject, which might draw attention to his lack of experience or his ignorance of the procedure, if discovered, might cause him to suffer major social embarrassment, he remained quiet and nodded his head in agreement without a clue what they were talking about. It was probably for the best he didn't understand and could experience it for himself. Most every cowboy who fancied themselves a card-carrying member of the pussy posse, also considered themselves high-riding connoisseurs of the fine art of cunnilingus.

Life for the young warrior was happening at a much more rapid pace since his refurbishment, reconstruction, and additional DNA info-dump from several sources. With the understandable confusion of learning new Cowboy-Angel applications to bring him up-to-speed, he never dreamed the wonders he heard about might actually become a reality for himself. Roy was just learning to use his new apps, and particularly morphing his sex organs. He felt his psyche was doing one Hell of a foot race trying to catch up. It seemed to Roy to be more like a ridiculous dream he once read about was coming true; where, after ten years of swimming around in a hopeless pool of tears pondering how many more years he would have to suffer the same condition before he died, some Dodo decided they should throw him a Jim-Buoy Life-Saver Ring to provide him a new life in his own personal always-ever-rarely-ever-never Billy Daniels Cowboy-Angel's-Land; which, as the old-crow flies, is just beyond the second star to the right and on 'til morning. It is not to be confused with a goal-post for rapturous risings, but it is a quite suitable harbor for a riparian repast.

After they pulled him to shore, his saviors formed a committee, and they decided they would throw a Caucus Race to help him dry more quickly. Anyone could join in the fun, but there were no rules. All the participants ran around haphazardly in any direction at their own pace. There was neither a beginning point nor a finish line, but everyone won a prize. Now, here he was with his cock and balls swapped out for a female genital, having his hunky hyper-masculine master make love to his new little cunt with his lips, mouth, and tongue, speaking glossolalia like a drunken barbarian after a fine day of successfully raping, pillaging, and burning another peasant village. Roy was quite sure George Carlin would appreciate his analogy and would work it into one of his routines. He wondered if George met Toby when he left us.

Surprisingly, Roy considered himself a winner. He found the experience with his handsome dwarf master extremely sensual and even more stimulating. He began to consider, if his master's tongue felt so good and appealing, he wondered how exceptional it might feel to have Master Ironmonger's huge cock locked way up inside his body undulating from time to time to stimulate both his master's fine looking penis and the interior unexplored regions of Roy's newly morphed vagina. The most wonderful part for him was, his master would talk to his vagina using one or two incoherent words, short phrases of glee, and individual words of praise and wonder.

However, Master Ironmonger never referred to his slave as a female. Jurgen would remind Roy regularly he was aware of his partner's primary sex by using appellations to address him as 'boy' and 'son' confirming his master understood Roy was a man. A man who was only too happy to share his talent for morphing with Jurgen to provide his master with what he needed and so deeply craved. Jurgen's sensitive reminders only made the young man open his legs wider as he lay back and relaxed while gently rubbing Jurgen's bald head whispering how wonderfully stimulating his master's attention to his freshly morphed cunt was and urged him on to greater heights of pseudo-barbarianism.  
   
After Master Ironmonger had his fill of making love to his new slave's cunt, he took Roy by the hand and led him down a dark stairway to a huge basement dungeon and master-playroom under the cottage equipped with every imaginable sex toy or restraints one might imagine. At the far end of the dungeon, was a large bed covered with black leather, with black leather covered pillows and large square hides of black leather attached to large brass rings hung on brass poles which could be moved to surround the bed to give a greater sense of privacy if desired. Privacy was not on either man's mind.

Roy was amused by Master Jurgen's large penis. It was at total salute and was so hard, once his master pulled back his foreskin, it was permanently locked behind its huge helmet-head. It was dripping lubricating fluids in large amounts as it slapped back and forth as he walked which looked like a slobbering bull's prick in a pasture of fresh heifers as he walked slightly ahead of his slave.

“Lie down on the bed, Son. Grab a couple of those pillows to prop yourself up, and make yourself comfortable. I have a couple of things to get from one of the cabinets. I'll only be a minute,” Master Ironmonger ordered his slave.

Roy did as he was told and thought he could become very comfortable in Master Ironmonger's dungeon. He never saw anything like it and marveled at the thought and work which went into its creation. As dark and foreboding as one might think at first sight, a certain warmth began to wrap itself around Roy's body and shook his sexual psyche to reason what he was experiencing was a shrine to hyper-masculine sexuality, in which, he could imagine all sorts of wonderful, unusual, and unholy activities might take place. It didn't take Roy long to name Master Ironmonger's Temple Of Darkness. He simply called it 'Home.' His personal epiphany was so overwhelming for the young slave he wasn't paying attention to his master returning from his brief sojourn.
 
“Home! Slave R.B. is home,” Roy said like the amen to a great prayer.      

“This dungeon can become your home, Slave. It's not a difficult contract, and the rent is reasonable,” Master Ironmonger said and grinned.

“I ain't a difficult slave, sir, nor am I very complicated. What you see's is what chu' gets, but I know a winning master when I see one,” Roy said quietly.

“Neither am I a difficult master, Son. Now, let's get down to basics and get you fucked,” Master Ironmonger said equally quietly. “Give me your hand, I have some lubricating oil in this bottle which not only acts as a fine lubricating agent, but also relaxes your hymen to allow easy penetration. My family protector and servant, Mr. Aspidistra, is considered a fine healer, but he is also an excellent procurer and purveyor of exotic remedies and sexual lotions to make, what might seem a barbaric act to some, as comfortable and enjoyable for both participants as possible. While I've been sometimes referred to as a barbarian, let me assure you I am nothing of the kind...until I bring a slave to my dungeon,” Master Ironmonger said and grinned as he poured some of the oil into Roy's hand and motioned for him to apply it to his master's slobbering cock.

Roy took his good time and accepted another handful to slick up his master's fine cock and worked it good. Master Ironmonger lay back and relaxed as Roy worked the oil onto his handsome penis. Jurgen began to talk quietly, “The oil which Master Aspidistra originally sold was called 'Formadatidude Oil' which came from a tiny world orbiting a proportionally equal small M class star in the farthest solar system of our galaxy. It was difficult to procure which made it an expensive purchase. Sylvan brought several bottles with him, but they went quickly. I forgot to tell him to set one aside for me because I never entertained the thought I might need it. As ugly and barbaric as I appear to most women of breeding and quality, I never considered I might ever invite a female of any station to my bed – certainly not to my private dungeon. On the up-side, Master Aspidistra managed to find a near perfect analogue to the Formadatidude Oil in a small Australian seaside town named 'Ulladulla.' It's cold-press extracted from a common shrub endemic only to that area and bears the eponymous name, 'Ulladulla Oil.' I find it amazing two such unusual names to identify two nearly perfect compounds found on two different worlds, galaxies apart. It makes me wonder if, perhaps, both names came from a mischievous universal mind,” Master Ironmonger mused and smiled.

“Now lay back, and with your hands, gently open your front door for me, Son,” Master Ironmonger ordered his slave. Roy did as he was told and Master Ironmonger poured several drops of the oil inside and told his slave to remove his hands. Jurgen took his own massive, strong, rough, calloused, leather-working hand and place it over Roy's door to his magic kingdom and gently as a saint began to move his paw in a slow circular motion. Roy lay back, took a deep breath, and let it out like a sigh of contentment. Jurgen continued his vaginal massage and spoke. “Front door,” he said and let the two words sit between them for a moment, “I like that better than cunt, pussy, or even vagina. What do you think, Son?”

“Is this one of them times you spoke about asking your slave's opinion, sir?” Roy asked innocently.        

“It certainly is, Son. Yes, my question would definitely qualify as one of them times. Glad you listened to your master and paid attention. It tells me a lot about you,” Master Ironmonger replied.

“It think it might be looked upon as a magnanimous courtesy on your part to show you have empathy and perhaps even some admiration for a man, a slave, who is only too happy to provide you with the pleasure of satisfying either of your sexual druthers at the snap of your fingers, sir. Would that be too expensive a price to pay for a master what describes himself unjustly as a barbarian, sir?” Roy asked. He winged it hoping he didn't say anything wrong.

“Not at all, Slave, especially for this barbarian. Excellent report, Captain Boynton,” Jurgen replied, “I agree with your assessment of our conversation and commend you for your honesty. I can work with that. We'll work on it together,” he added, “Now I'm going to lie on top of you. You're a country boy, did you ever see the cowboys breeding horses?” he asked.

“Yes sir, many times, Master,” Roy replied.

“Reach down and guide me into your front door while we make sweet love together, Son,” Master Ironmonger ordered.

Jurgen started to gently kiss Roy on his mouth and felt his slave grab his massive blood-filled male organ and guide it into Roy's front door. Once Jurgen felt his penis was inside, he took over and began to gently but slowly work his rod of iron inside his slave's cunt. The more he worked, the more passionate he became with his love making. Jurgen was using his tongue as a sounding gauge corresponding with his entry to his slave's vagina. The more cock he gave Roy the further he would shove his tongue down his slave's throat. Roy was responding to the massive dwarf like a well oiled meat machine and felt like he was being equally filled with his master's affection in both holes. Roy wondered what it would feel like if his ass was still plugged. He made a note to take it up with his master.

The Ulladulla Oil did an excellent job and Roy's hymen easily dilated to allow the rest of his master's cock to pass through and fill his tank. It was a shared moment of an uncommon sense of unity, and they both felt an unusual warmth surround them. It was one of the most exciting and wonderful sensations either experienced. Master Ironmonger broke their silence in a whisper like he was afraid he would scare the feeling away. “Did you feel that, Boy?” he asked.

“Is that usual, Master?” Roy asked.

“Ain't never happen to me before. That was unbelievable. It was like an orgasm without shooting my bullet. I damn near dropped my load, but I didn't want to disappoint you. I'm a Bull-Master with years of experience, and it's my plan to give you my best this evening. I ain't no one shot Charlie what gets his rocks off, rolls over, and starts to snore,” Jurgen replied.

Even more mysteriously, as the two men began to move together, the closer they grew, sharing the experience with each other like they were watching the beginning of a new world. Master Ironmonger took his slave with strength, compassion, dignity, and affection until he could hold back no longer and urged his handsome slave to reach his climax with his master. Roy responded like a well-tuned instrument, and he felt like his gut was exploding while being filled with a Bull-Master's seed. Neither moved for sometime after their successful coitus. It was like they didn't want to part or break the feeling of their bodies conjoined as one. Jurgen was gently stealing kisses from his slave, complimenting him on his first time and how heroically he gave up his virginity to his master. “How was it for you, Slave?” he asked.

“Before I answer, sir, may I ask a question?” Roy asked.

“Of course, we're in your fine little boat together, Son,” Jurgen replied.

“Are you real sure yore' figures are correct about how much time you will require me to morph my genitals to female, sir?” Roy asked.

“Are you afraid it would be too much for you, Boy?” Master Ironmonger asked almost like the kid kicked him in his balls.

“On the contrary, Master Ironmonger. I think you's a might shy on yore' guesstimate, sir. As excellent a fuck as you just gimme' for my first time out-the-chute, I can only hope and pray your figures are wrong. I would humbly submit to my master, for him to reconsider them figures to be some where's in the area of fifty-fifty, sir,” Roy said and grinned.

Jurgen smiled and nodded his understanding, “We were pert-damn good together, weren't we, Slave?” Master Ironmonger asked and returned Roy's conspiratorial grin.

“Since it was my first, I ain't really got no vote in this conversation. My question was my convoluted way of complementing my master for what a damn good job he done, but I do have one small request, sir,” Roy said.

“I'm listening, Slave. So far you got a hundred percent on my scorecard,” Jurgen replied.

“I don't want to let you go. Can you sleep inside me so if yore' fine bull wakes in the night and decides he wants some more of his little heifer's cunt, he won't have to run and find her? I'd feel mighty bad and awful guilty, Master Ironmonger, if he was to come running, looking for me, stumbled, and broke his handsome cock,” Roy said and stole a kiss. “If he sleep's inside me, I'll know he's safe. All he's gotta' do if he wakes up hungry is just set into grazing,” he added.

Jurgen Ironmonger was moved to his core by his slave's words. He choked back tears as he answered, “I think your Bull-Master can oblige his fine slave boy,” Master Ironmonger replied. They drifted off to sleep and enjoyed the most peaceful rest either could remember. There was no discomfort. It felt like they were born locked together. In the wee hours of the morning, Roy felt his master growing large inside him again, and said a prayer he might get to enjoy some more of his Master's Bull prick and his wonderful brand of fucking. Jurgen didn't let his slave down, and it seemed like they bettered their first go-round. Early in the morning, just before sunrise, they fucked again to an even greater release. Jurgen shared with his new slave, he always consider morning fucks to be the best. His young warrior slave agreed, it was a wonderful way to greet the dawn of a new day.


End of Chapter 99 ~ Seek Him What Made Them Seven Stars
Copyright ~ © ~ 2017 ~ Waddie Greywolf ~ All Rights Reserved
E-mail: Waddie Greywolf <[email protected]>
WC = 26,798 
01/21/2017


*A paraphrase of the poem 'Futility' by World War I British Poet, Wilfred Owens.