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“I’m betting Russian. But wherever the new intel is coming from, it’s reliable,” Jim says and shrugs.
“That’s a lot of submissives.”
Weapons and Dominants are easy to find. Most governments trash defective Dominant soldiers because they’re too dangerous to be kept and can’t be controlled. Plus, there are a lot of Dominant soldiers. Every man who joins the military wants to be a Dominant.
Submissives are rare and valuable. If a submissive soldier has difficulty functioning in the world, they are usually put into stasis until science and technology has improved enough to help them. Finding submissive men who’ve been stashed away for years is not uncommon.
“They got another one, and they called you, huh?” Jim gives him an up-and-down glance, though Sam isn’t sure what the man is looking for. Maybe he’s looking for a hard-on.
Fortunately, Sam does not have one.
“Apparently. It’s becoming annoying.”
Jim rolls his eyes. “You have my deepest sympathies,” he says, tone making it clear he feels nothing of the sort. “It’s gotta be tough having your choice of willing submissives all the damned time.”
Sam says nothing because he doesn’t want to explain himself.
Jim sighs. “Find someone you like and are compatible with, and medical will leave you alone.”
“I don’t know why they keep bothering with me, frankly. There are other men who need submissives, too.”
Jim laughs. “That’s bullshit modesty. Until you find one, you’re willing to collar, you’ll keep being top of the list, and you know it. Because you’re not an asshole, and you can control yourself. Let’s face it, a lot of these Dominants are never coming off suppressants,” he says. “They’ll never even get to touch a real submissive because they don’t have enough control. It’s just gonna be hormone-scented jerk-off slick and silicone sleeves with a potent and likely toxic dominance suppressant chaser for these poor bastards until they can’t get it up anymore. Or until they get the snip because they can’t stand the frustration of being alone.”
He shoots Jim a look to keep his voice down. Jim’s not wrong, it’s just fucking grim.
Jim isn’t paying attention. Maybe the deprivation is getting to him, after all. “It’s hard to stay high-functioning when they’re close to a needing submissive, even if they’re not close to the start of their cycle. The fact that you’re not on suppressants, stay relatively sane no matter where you are in your cycle, and still understand the word ‘no’ even when a submissive is dripping through their zipper puts you in a rare category, my friend. You get close to your cycle, and you’re just an asshole, but that’s nothing,” he says, waving his hand.
“Language,” Sam snaps because this close to his own cycle, tired from this fucking exercise, he doesn’t need to be distracted by the idea of a dripping submissive. A submissive, so turned on their cock is dripping with arousal, is a beautiful thing that any Dominant would find hard to resist.
Sam tries to stop imagining a submissive who is ripe and ready for him. That’s one of his favorite moments. When a submissive bends over and lets him see how needy they are. Or when he gets to touch, a gentle grip to part a submissive’s cheeks and their desire is revealed. Flushed pink around their hole, swollen with the need to be fucked.
Great. Now heisgetting a hard-on.
He’s typically very even-tempered and calm under pressure, even when he’s close to his cycle starting. But it’s more difficult than usual to keep his thoughts on track.
“Sorry about the coffee,” he mutters in apology. Jim doesn’t deserve him being a dick at this point in the mission.
Jim chuckles. “Don’t worry about it. I do it just to annoy you.”
Sam tries to focus on the mission before him. “Delphi company is in position. Why haven’t they gotten a move on? They’re five minutes behind schedule.”
Jim pulls up the on-ground cameras, flipping through the various feeds until they find D Company. Their leader is just going through a final check, issuing orders via hand signals, and then he tries to check in. He taps his neck communicator, but at this point in the mission, they’re on their own. Communication has been cut. What sort of decisions can he and his men make after thirty-six hours of no food or sleep and a mission to complete?
“Oh fuck, look at Felix,” Jim says, pointing to another screen where a man has stumbled and hit his head on the way down. Felix is submissive and hasn’t connected with any of the Dominants on his team, and that can make it harder for him to endure extended missions with harsh conditions.
“Rotate him out. This group isn’t working for him,” Sam decides.
Jim makes a note on his data pad.
The training area is ten blocks wide, half covered and half exposed to the elements, with enclosed battlements running all along the top so that the simulation can be watched and monitored. Two hundred men are down there at the moment. Fifty have been removed, either hit or just haven’t been able to handle the mental strain of deprivation.
That’s the sort of information they need to know.
It drags Sam’s attention back to where it needs to be.
The new submissive will have to wait.
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