Good Little Piggy - Chapter 5
By Swizzington published June 21, 2018
[Author’s Note]: I am relieved to bring this tale to its conclusion at last. Apologies for taking so long to get it finished. I must confess, when I wrote the first chapter of this story, it was designed to be a standalone piece. I had not fully mapped out where it would go and I realize some people were disappointed with the direction the story took. But still, I figure if even one person enjoys this chapter than it was worth writing. Thanks for reading!
Dover, Delaware. April 11, 1972 - 5am.
Willis woke up to the sound of the alarm clock ringing in his ear. He slowly opened his eyes as the world swam into view. He slapped an arm out sluggishly in the general direction of the noise, feeling around until eventually locating the button. Silence restored.
He groaned under his breath. It felt early.
He glanced at the clock. 5am.
Yep, early. He wondered to himself why he always set his clock so damn early.
Willis reluctantly sat up in his bed and came to his senses, letting out a long, lazy yawn and casually scratching his shaved head. He did not realize then that these were the last fleeting moments of free will he would have for the rest of day. If he did, he may have used them more wisely
And then a moment later, as it did every morning, his programming kicked in. His body straightened, his eyes went wide, and a broad grin emerged on his face. He hopped out of bed eagerly, his morning malaise entirely forgotten. Work time!
He hurried down the corridor and began his normal routine. He showered first, then climbed into his police uniform. It had undergone some change since the leadership at the station changed a few years ago. First, Willis started by sliding in his department-mandated butt plug, before pulling up his white briefs and the tight navy blue shorts that fell several inches short of his knee cap. He buttoned up his tight, white uniform shirt and neatly tucked it in, before pulling up his shiny black boots, buckling his belt and straightening his tie. He looked at himself in the mirror with satisfaction. A good-looking police officer, if Willis did say so himself.
He moved downstairs, grabbed a frying pan and began to prepare an elaborate breakfast. A few times his belly rumbled with hunger, but he ignored it. He soon assorted a collection of eggs, sausages, bacon, toast, and several other breakfast items, and then hurriedly carried the tray upstairs to the house’s other bedroom. He knocked politely and then let himself in, knowing the man inside would not be awake quite yet.
Willis moved inside the room with the meal in his hand. The room was dimly lit – the curtains drawn. He stepped towards the bed and, in a gentle tone that he never used until a few years ago, he quietly said, “Good morning, Boss.”
He did not need to explain what he was doing there. This was a typical part of the morning for both men.
Boss woke up slowly, groggily sitting up in bed.
“Alright, mate?” Boss said drowsily. “Gizz it ‘ere then.”
Willis handed the tray over to his superior and then took a slight step back.
“What would you like me to make you for dinner?” Willis asked in a meek, submissive tone that would have seemed quite unlike him to anyone who knew him in his previous life.
Boss paused for a second, ostensibly deep in thought, before shrugging, “Dunno. I’ll let you decide, alright?”
Willis nodded, unconvincingly. He was not accustomed to making many decisions of his own these days.
"Alright,” Boss said, looking up at him, “On your bike, son.”
Willis gave a little bow and turned on heel, heading out of the room. He had no doubt Boss would eat the food he had prepared and then go back to sleep.
He glanced at his watch and slid on his hat as he headed out the front door. It was 5:58am. The sun was just starting to creak up from behind the houses in the distance.
Willis strode down the pathway of his front yard until he reached the sidewalk, where he immediately came to a stiff attention, hearing only the sound of morning birdsong.
There, he waited stoically. When he had began this routine a few years ago, he had had a few comments from concerned neighbors regarding his behavior. That had since stopped, they were used to it now.
Two minutes later, his transportation arrived. It had previously been a school bus, repurposed for use by the Dover Police Department and repainted a deep blue. It had been one of the reforms of the new Chief of Police. Staff were no longer allowed to drive to work, they had to ride the bus.
Sure, it took a long time for the bus to collect every officer, and it meant many of them were now having to wake up far earlier each morning. But no one complained. They were all happy to comply. You had to be, if you wanted to work for the police department these days, and the academy - to which even veteran officers were intermittently being sent for ‘refresher courses’ - made sure that you stayed that way.
The bus rolled to a heavy stop in front of him, the doors swooshing open. Willis dutifully climbed inside, being greeted by a wall of smoke as he did. It hardly phased him, he was used to it. He enjoyed it, in fact. He took in a deep, satisfied breath and felt the erection growing in his pants.
He strode down the aisle between the seats, unconcerned with the huge tent burgeoning out the front of his shorts.
Willis glanced at the glassy-eyed officers on either side of him. Each one wearing identical uniforms - the short sleeves of their shirts gripping tightly against their well-shaped biceps - eacg with the same identical goofy smile on their faces, and each sitting totally still and silent, like human-sized dolls. Each was sitting in the exact same position, their boots together flat on the floor, their hands on their knees, their backs straight. All of them doing nothing but sitting bolt upright in their chairs, deeply inhaling the smoke emanating from the bus’s vents. And each clearly with sporting a large erection.
Willis took up his seat, the same seat he always took – next to Officer Higgins. Higgins had benefited greatly from his enslavement, in Willis’ opinion. Without any free will it had been simple for him to eat appropriately and maintain a strict exercise regime. The overweight, disgusting Higgins was long gone. Now he was as lean and muscular as the academy recruits.
The two men did not speak, did not even acknowledge each other. Willis took up the position, making sure his back was ramrod straight while sliding his heels together. He took a deep breath and relaxed as the bus pulled off.
This was, in truth, Willis’ favorite part of the day. Here he could sit, relax, and simply enjoy the smoke for a little while. The noise of the bus, the force as it turned the corners, the bump of the potholes – it all faded away into nothing. Even though his eyes remained wide open, his brain had entirely shut off. Willis, like every other man on the bus, simply allowed his mind to become totally blank.
Somewhere an hour outside Dover, Delaware. April 17, 1967 – 2:35pm
“You don’t want to do this, Peach,” Willis said, a slight quiver in his voice, which annoyed him. He needed to be strong if he was going to get out of this situation.
“You’re right, sergeant. I don’t want to, but I must,” Peach replied. His voice sounded strange to Willis’ ear. He was unusually robotic, as if he were parroting some boilerplate statement. “As one of Mr. President’s employees, it is my responsibility to fully comply with all instructions.”
“Employee?” Willis scoffed. “I must have missed the part where he slipped you a paycheck.”
“The President does not need to provide me with a salary to retain my services. I am happy to work on a volunteer basis. It really is a pleasure to serve him,” Peach said flatly. He did not, in Willis’ mind at least, seem to be experiencing much of the pleasure of which he spoke.
Willis inhaled slowly and fixed his vision on the fat man in front of him. “So what now?” he asked with a grave expression.
The President smiled smugly, “Now you will be escorted by Mr. Peterson to the orientation room for training. I am sure that, with a little convincing, you will make a fine employee too.”
Willis audibly gulped hard.
Dover, Delaware. April 11, 1972 – 7am
Willis joined several other members of staff in shuffling through the office in a neat, orderly line until he reached his desk. He took his seat and began sifting through the day’s reports. His day-to-day tasks had changed significantly in recent years. No longer was he needed to patrol the streets and protect the citizens.
In fact, that was a rather redundant task in a place like Dover these days. Instead, the police force had become committed to facilitating the importation and distribution of the wildly popular ‘S’ brand cigarettes. Willis’ task was to make sure every store and merchandiser in the city limits sold S cigarettes at the mandated price, and – more importantly – that they did not sell any other brand of cigarette under the table.
Willis understood, like all officers at Dover PD, that maintaining the S brand’s monopoly was paramount. It had become their primary focus. The more people that could experience the total bliss of its smoke, the better.
“Sergeant Willis?” said a voice from over the sergeant’s shoulder.
Willis turned in his seat. Standing awkwardly at attention beside his desk was Brandon, one of the newer recruits. Willis had recruited the boy himself just a few months earlier. He was fresh out of high school and looked a little uncertain.
He was apparently still having a few doubts about allowing his erection to strain so visibly in public against his skimpy uniform shorts.
“Yes, Brandon?” Willis replied.
“Chief Peterson wants you to report to his office, immediately,” Brandon stated.
Willis gave a short nod, “Of course.”
He stood up and quickly made his way towards the chief’s office. There could be no delay. When the chief told you to report to his office, that’s what you did.
Willis rapped his knuckles politely on the thick oak door and waited. He had to admit, it still seemed a little odd that Peach was now his commanding officer, but he knew it was something that he just had to accept. Mr. President wanted Peach in charge, so that’s how it had to be.
“Come in,” said a muffled voice from the other side of the door.
Willis turned the brass handle and let himself into the large office. He made his way into the middle of the room and came to attention, his gaze directed straight ahead out of the window behind the chief’s desk.
He heard the ‘ping’ of an oven timer to his right. He did not turn to look.
“Good morning, Sergeant Willis,” Peach’s voice chirped cheerfully.
“Morning, Chief Peterson,” Willis replied calmly. The nature of this conversation would have seemed strange to Willis a few years ago, but he was used to it now. He did not look down at the chair when addressing Peach because he already knew that the man sitting there was in fact, not Peach.
He heard footsteps behind him and lowered his gaze from the window for the first time to see the chief of police brush past him and gently place a tray with a pie and a pot of tea on the desk in front of them.
Willis glanced at his boss, blond hair slicked neatly to one side, wearing a dainty apron over the top of his shirt sleeves and shorts. His police badge was missing from his chest, giving him an appearance somewhere between a schoolboy and a butler.
“Cheers, boy,” said Daddy smugly from the chief’s chair.
Peach straightened up and clasped his hands behind his back, his erection visibly straining against the front of his tight shorts.
“My pleasure, sir,” Peach twittered with an enthusiastic smile, “Is there anything else I can get for you?”
Daddy looked down at the pie, steam visibly rising from its top. He pulled a long cigarette out of the carton on the desk before directing his gaze at Willis and saying, “The President wants another recruitment drive. You and Peaches here gonna head down to the high school and find some new boys.”
Willis frowned momentarily and looked at Peach - the one technically in charge of this situation, “But sir, we were only pulling recruits a few weeks ago? We don’t need anymore.”
Peach shrugged hopelessly. “I don’t pretend to understand it, Willis, that’s just how it is.”
Willis turned back to look at Daddy. “Didn’t you explain we got all the fresh meat we need? We don’t even have enough patrol cars for all these boys. What are we gonna do with them?”
“Never you mind about that, Willis. We don’t pay you to think.”
“You barely pay me at all since my salary was cut,” Willis grumbled in response.
“What was that?” Daddy asked, eyes narrowed menacingly.
“Nothing,” Willis muttered sourly. “I just don’t think this is the best use of the police department’s time.”
“Peachy,” Daddy started, his fiery gaze still fixed firmly on Willis. “Would you kindly explain remind this mouthy cunt about the policy YOU set?”
“Certainly,” Peach nodded nervously, unsettled by the awkwardness of this disagreement. “The policy I have laid out is quite clear, Sergeant Willis,” the chief said, clearing his throat and trying to insert a form of pseudo-authority into his voice. “The entire Dover Police Department, including its chief, serve at the pleasure of the President. We are all to carry out any instruction that he passes down without hesitation or complaint. Is that clear, Sergeant Willis?”
Willis averted his gaze, feeling like a teenager being scolded by his parent, “Yes, sir…” he said, glumly.
A smile returned to Peach’s face. “Excellent, then we let us go to the high school and pick out some new recruits.”
Somewhere an hour outside Dover, Delaware. April 17, 1967 – 2:43pm
Together, Rufus and Peach secured the straps around Willis’ arms, holding him firmly to the chair. Willis tested his strength against the restraints, and quickly understood overpowering them would be impossible. He just had to remain calm, he told himself, and wait for an opportunity to escape.
They were sitting in the orientation room, but the video was not playing. Instead, Rufus was ushered out of the room by Boss, who stepped inside, Daddy following closely behind. Peach took a step back, getting out of their way.
Both Brits had sick grins on their faces.
“I’m gonna fuckin’ enjoy this,” Boss said.
“Think you’d waltz in ‘ere and be the hero, did ya?” Daddy joined in, chest puffed out. “You fuckin’ idiot.”
Boss stepped forward and ripped open Willis’ shirt, revealing the sergeant’s hairy chest.
“Know what happens now?” Daddy continued.
Willis stared back defiantly, assuming the question was rhetorical.
“Now we fuckin’ break you,” Boss growled, putting a particularly unnerving emphasis on the word ‘break’.
Boss and Daddy met each other’s knowing gaze, and then both men pulled cigarettes out of their pockets and lit them. Willis could not help but eye the sticks hungrily.
Soon enough the room was full of smoke, the two men exhaling large plumes of fog into the air. The effects were as potent as ever, and Willis quickly succumbed to his addiction. His eyes began to flutter as he slipped back down into the blissful trance state to which he had become accustomed.
And then he was jolted out of it. Pain.
He opened his eyes wide again in shock and looked down to see Boss firmly planting the end of the cigarette into his bare chest.
Willis let out a yell of pain and surprise.
Daddy laughed. “Don’t want you enjoying yourself too much now, do we? The big man wants us to reprogram ya, and we’re gonna do it proper this time. No more screwin’ about, no more playin’ games.”
“Yeah,” Boss smirked. “Play the video, Peaches.”
Peach nodded and hit a switch, turning the video on.
“So,” Daddy said, leaning forward, getting up close to Willis’ face. “Ready to submit?”
“Fuck you,” Willis spat between clenched teeth. “You ain’t getting shit from me! I’ll not listen to you again, not anymore. The cigs ain’t worth it this shit.”
Daddy chuckled again, “We’ll see about that, you yanky little fuck,” he leaned forward and planted his own cigarette directly onto Willis’ nipple.
From the other room, the President listened to Willis’ scream of agony.
Dover, Delaware. April 11, 1972 – 8:47am
Willis closely eyed the three boys lined up in front of him. It had only taken a few minutes to identify the best (and most handsome) candidates from the school’s senior class. They stood awkwardly, looking nervous, unsure why they had been plucked out of the group by the officers. Occasionally they would glance over at the school principal, who stood passively by the door and watched the scene unfold.
Willis got up close in front of the tallest boy’s face, their noses no more than an inch apart. “Ever thought about serving your country before, boy?”
“Not really,” the boy said with a slight, awkward shrug.
The sergeant feigned a scowl. “Then what,” Willis said, slowly - menacingly. “Do you have planned that is so much of a better option?”
The kid shrugged again. “I wanna go to college. Be a marine biologist.”
Willis straightened up and guffawed with exaggerated amusement. He looked over at Peach, who was witnessing the conversation from the door. “Can you believe this guy?” Willis said with a laugh.
Peach stepped forward. “A marine biologist?” he asked in a skeptical, almost jeering tone.
Suddenly Willis lunged back into the boy’s face, his expression one of cold steel, his jaw rigid. “Now what’s a big, strong fella like you doing dreaming of science shit? Let’s be real bubba, ain’t gonna happen. Only type of biology you’re fit for is scrubbing toilets!”
The kid frowned. The other two seniors watched on, quaking in their boots.
“What’s your name?” Willis asked the boy, pulling a cigarette out of his shirt pocket and lighting it.
“R-r-reggie Johnson,” the boy stammered, throat dry.
Willis inhaled, the smoke inflating his lungs as blood simultaneously inflated his penis. Then he exhaled, blowing the fog straight into Johnson’s face. He took care while doing it not to be overly aggressive. He had done this many times before. He eased the smoke down the student’s throat, letting its tendrils of fog caress his lungs and gently cradle his thoughts.
Willis watched with satisfaction as the smoke started to take hold, started to fog the boy’s mind.
After a few moments, Willis asked him again. “Ever thought about serving your country before, boy?”
“Err,” Johnson replied, his voice sounded distant, his eyes cast downwards. He was struggling to think coherently. Beside him, his classmates were also starting to be affected. Willis took note as their shoulders began to slump.
“Struggling to think?” Willis asked. “Let me help you out. The answer you’re looking for begins with the letter Y.”
“Y-yes?” Johnson offered hopefully.
“Yes, what?” Willis shot back sternly.
Johnson paused for a second, uncertain, until he took another breath of the smoke and his eyelids fluttered. His youthful features flattened into a neutral expression.
“Yes, sir,” he said quietly.
A triumphant smile set upon Willis’ face. This would be easy.
Somewhere an hour outside Dover, Delaware. April 17, 1967 – 6:17pm
“Ready to submit?” Daddy asked once again.
“Like hell…” Willis exhaled, a bead of sweat dripped off the tip of his nose and hit the floor.
Peach stepped forward for the first time, a sympathetic look on his face.
“Sergeant Willis, please,” Peach said pleadingly. “Don’t put yourself through anymore of this. Just give in. Just submit. Honestly, it’s so much easier this way. I promise.”
Willis looked up at Peach, disgusted by the younger man’s capitulation.
“Really, Peach? Easier? Fuck, it probably is easier, not having to think for yourself. But what’s the fucking point? Just bein’ the lapdogs for the British. What kinda life is that?”
Peach shifted uncomfortably but stood his ground. “They’ll win in the end, Tom. They will. You might as well just give it up now, save yourself the suffering. I don’t want to watch you get treated this way.”
“Oh really?!” Willis shot back, almost incredulous. “Suddenly the backstabber is interested in my wellbeing? Shoulda thought about that when you betrayed me back there.”
“Please, Tom. There is freedom in servitude. I’ve never felt more liberated. You’ll see soon enough. I just want you to be free.”
“Eat dirt, asshole.”
“Alright that’s enuf chattin’!” Boss exclaimed. He stepped forward, pushing Peach out of the way, and squatted down in front of the police officer. He grabbed Willis’ face with one hand, squeezing his cheeks together hard.
“I can already picture the scene,” Boss with a smirk. “You comin’ in each mornin’, bringing me breakfast, right before you head off to work and earnin’ me my pay like the good piggy you are. Then you’ll come back in the evening, make me dinner and then I fuck ya brains out. How’s that sound, coppa?”
“Yeah, when hell freezes over, you piece of shit,” Willis shot back defiantly.
“Why you gotta go makin’ it so difficult for yourself, mate? ” Boss asked, slightly exasperated, shaking Willis’ head violently from side to side. “You should listen to your friend ‘ere.”
The sergeant promptly spat in the Brit’s face.
Boss paused, momentarily surprised. Then he grinned his wicked grin and slowly wiped the saliva from his cheek with the back of his hand.
“You dun’ it now, mate…”
Dover, Delaware. April 11, 1972 – 8:58am
The three high schoolers had surrendered their free will easily enough. At that age the brain is not fully developed and is typically more susceptible to the smoke’s nefarious effects. That is what made them such effective recruits. Willis wasted no time introducing the young men to the military-style discipline that would now govern their lives.
He had them standing stiffly at attention, their t-shirts tucked into their jeans, their eyes locked straight ahead, the tentacles of the trance wrapped tightly around their minds.
Willis strode up and down in front of the boys, feeling triumphant. He would not admit it out loud, but really, he did enjoy this. There was a certain satisfaction to be gained from transforming naive young men into servants ready to obediently serve the Master’s agenda.
He approached the student in the center of the three and looked at him closely. His name was Robertson, Willis had learned. He had not put up much of a fight. He had large, distinctly pale blue eyes. They had caught Willis’ attention immediately. The kid had a mop of fairly long blond hair. That, Willis thought to himself, would have to be cut much shorter.
“Ever smoked before, boy?” Willis casually asked the young man.
“No, sir,” Robertson replied blankly. He had been nervous, virtually terrified, when Willis first got in his face. The soothing nature of the cigarette smoke had since calmed and subdued him, bringing a veil of tranquil docility over his mind. His body, once fidgety with anxious energy, was now relaxed and serene. His piercing blue eyes stared vacantly off into the distance.
“And why’s that?” Willis probed, eyeing the kid closely.
“Mama says it’s bad for you.”
Willis gave a small smile. “Mama was misinformed, son. You make sure you’re smoking plenty from now on, okay?”
“Yes, sir,” Robertson replied.
“Good boy,” Willis said with a smile, ruffling the kid’s hair condescendingly.
“Now!” Willis shouted firmly. He straightened up and started to pace back and forth in front of them again, very much like a drill sergeant. “Who here wants to serve their country?”
“We do, sir!” the three boys responded loudly in synchrony.
“That’s what I like to hear,” Willis stated, nodding his head. “And can anyone here think of a better way to serve their country than by being a part of their local police force?”
The three boys in front of Willis did not take any time to ponder this question. There were undoubtedly several better ways that they could think of to serve their country – if they thought about it. But they didn’t. They couldn’t. The trance they were in - and their new compliance programming - did not allow it. Instead they all shouted, “No, sir!”
“Good. Then follow me to your new lives, boys,” Willis commanded. He gave a triumphant nod to Peach and then turned and left the gymnasium, the three teenagers marching mindlessly behind him.
The chief of police turned and smiled at the principal. “You can take these three off the roll, Mr. Stevens. They’ll be working for us now.”
The principal thought briefly about protesting. He was still a little uncomfortable with this arrangement. Something about it felt…wrong. He kept his mouth shut, however, and allowed Peach to step closer and slide the packet of exclusive cigars into the breast pocket of his suit, “Yes, Chief,” the principal said softly. “Thank you, Chief.”
“Don’t worry,” Peach said, sensing Stevens’ reluctance. “They’ll get all the training they’ll need to serve admirably.”
Stevens simply nodded, smiling a tight-lipped smiling. They walked out together, Peach sliding into the passenger seat of the police cruiser. Willis was already in the driver’s seat, the three recruits sat stiffly in the back.
The principal waved them off, counting the seconds until their car turned the corner out of sight. Then he immediately whipped out a cigar and lit it, his erection immediately coming to attention. He let out a long moan of satisfaction and allowed himself to completely forget about the three boys he had just sold out.
Somewhere an hour outside Dover, Delaware. April 17, 1967 – 8:12pm
A large bead of sweat rolled down Willis’ forehead. He was panting hard. There were small burn marks peppered across his chest. The room was immersed in a thick fog of smoke. The orientation video played somewhere in the mist - the sound was low, barely audible – patiently repeating its message over and over.
Daddy placed a finger on the sergeant’s chin and forced his head upwards until their eyes met.
“How ya feelin’?” Daddy said with forced cheerfulness.
“Oh I’m havin’ a ball,” Willis retorted sarcastically.
“Ready to submit?” Daddy said.
“Fuck you. I-” Willis started to speak, readying another indignant reply. But then his voice cracked. Something happened. He scrunched his eyes tight for a moment.
He let out a long, slow exhale… and then the old Willis ceased to exist.
It was an interesting process, from a neutral perspective. The mind is a funny thing. It did not happen how he expected, it was not even a conscious decision. It just happened in an instant. Something had snapped inside him. The hours of painful abuse, toxic cigarette fumes and orientation propaganda had built up. All of a sudden, like a burst dam, his resistance vanished, and they had suddenly taken their toll all at once.
He opened his eyelids to reveal a blank, lifeless gaze. His face flattened out, his shoulders slumped.
It was over. He had been broken.
“I am ready to submit,” he announced softly, in a voice quite unlike his own.
Daddy and Boss looked at each other, grinning.
“What was that?” Boss said cockily, cupping his hand behind his ear and leaning forward theatrically.
“I am ready to submit,” Willis repeated quietly, his eyes staring blankly at the floor in front of him.
“Lovely,” Daddy said, rubbing his hands together with glee. “Now, right now you might be feeling like a bit of an empty husk. But don’t worry, mate. We’ll have your new personality installed in no time,” Daddy turned towards Peach. “Peachy, get that video off the shelf, would ya? The one labelled number two. There’s a good lad. Pop that in the machine would ya?”
Peach did as he was told, inserting the video into the player.
“Right, we’ll be outside,” Daddy said, gesturing towards his companions to exit the room. “We’ll be back in a bit to check up on ya. Just watch the video now, alright? It’ll give you some nice new thoughts to think.”
Willis did not reply, he simply stared at the television screen.
Dover, Delaware. April 11, 1972 – 11:03 am
“Well that’s, that,” Willis said proudly, arms folded. He stood alongside Peach, and together the two men watched as their three new recruits pulled their uniform shorts up over their erections and secured the belt buckle in place. They had been fully registered and had their uniform fittings. Now they would be sent off for more thorough training at the academy.
“More recruits to serve the President’s regime,” Peach stated, nodding happily.
Realizing their task was complete, Willis remembered his own training. He turned sideways and came to attention in front of his superior.
“Will that be all, chief?” he asked stiffly.
Peach pondered him for a moment, as if he were confused why Willis would address him in that manner.
“Yes,” he said after a few moments, remembering he was the chief of police and technically in charge. Sometimes he had to remind himself of that fact. “You may return to your regular duties.”
“Yes, sir,” Willis said, following up with a slight bow of deference. Then he turned on heel and started to walk away.
“Oh, and Tom?” Peach called after him.
Willis stopped in his tracks and turned back around.
“Sir?” he enquired.
“Daddy wants to invite Boss over for some fun and games tonight after work. He wants to share toys again.”
Willis smiled, knowing full well that when the Brits referred to their ‘toys’ they meant Peach and Willis themselves, “I’ll let him know, sir.”
The sergeant turned and marched back toward his desk. As he made his way through the corridors he frequently passed other officers. He had to say, as work environments go, his was a pretty good one. He was surrounded by handsome men, all of whom were as completely devoid of any free will as he was, dressed in the same tight, revealing uniform, and all with stares as blank and glassy as he imagined his must look.
He wondered what ‘fun and games’ would entail. If it was anything similar to last week, he figured he would enjoy it very much. A wistful grin came across his face as he imagined the possibilities. Life was good.