The Time War

Chapter 40: The Ordeal

It was supposed to be a routine scouting mission.

"Barack Obama? What an odd name! Who is that?" Calle asked.

"A politician who ran for President of the United States in the year 2008," said Sarah. "He campaigned on a promise of socializing health care. If elected, he would have started down the road of outlawing private medical care."

"So?" said Calle.

"Our timeline indicates that he lost the election," said Sarah. She pointed to a holomonitor. "But

this

seems to indicate that he won."

"Seems to?"

"This one says he did," she said pointing to one holomonitor. "But this and this and this says he didn't," said Sarah, pointing to other monitors. "John, we so hate anomalies like this here at the Continuity Service. Could you be a dear and dash back to the past and find out who won the election of 2008? I'll even cook dinner for you, if you get back in time."

They both smiled at each other knowingly.

********

Barack Obama campaign headquarters was like a morgue on election night. Everyone was depressed as the results started pouring in. Obama wasn't just losing, he was losing in a landslide. Everyone looked glum.

Except for one woman who smiled at Calle, looking very pleased.

"You look happy," Calle commented.

"I am, John Calle," She said, raising a compression pistol.

********

Heat

.

That was the first thing Calle felt as consciousness slowly leeched back into his brain. The feeling of the intense light of the sun beating down on him.

"Time to wake up, John Calle."

Calle stirred on the hot desert sands. He blinked and opened his eyes. It was bright. As his eyes focused, he saw blue. An ocean. He looked around.

He was on a tiny island, perhaps 40 feet long and thirty feet wide. There were exactly five coconut trees on this island, and nothing else.

Nothing except a tall bearded man with a compression pistol, smiling at him.

"Welcome back, John Calle," said the man.

Calle slowly got up. "Who are you?"

"My name is Maria Jefferson," said the man.

Calle's eyebrows shot up.

"Ah, you've heard of me."

"You're the leader of the Temporal Social Justice Warriors," said Calle slowly.

"Quite a mouthful, isn't it? We're much better at dispensing justice than logos and branding, I'm afraid."

Calle nodded, not really listening. Suddenly he looked down, and noticed he wasn't wearing any pants. Or underwear. What's more, he was now wearing some kind of metal basket around his waist. It shone in the bright sun. "What is this?" he asked, running his hands along it. It seemed smooth, except at the bottom, where there were tiny holes. It covered his groin in front, and attached in back with a metal strap. It was quite solid, and quite firmly attached to him.

"That will become self evident in time," said Maria. He looked out at the ocean. "Lovely view, isn't it?"

Calle looked out at the ocean. "Nice."

"Peaceful," said Maria. "I often wished I had the time to just kick back and go to a deserted island and lie in the sun. I envy you, John Calle, because you are about to live my fondest fantasy."

Calle had a sinking feeling in his stomach. "What do you want?"

"What does anyone want, John? Justice and equality for everyone."

"Those words mean different things to different people," said Calle, his eyes narrowing.

"They can only mean one thing to those who truly seek social justice," said Maria. "I want justice, John Calle. Justice for blacks. Justice for Spanish people. Justice for Superior Americans, for Laquintans, for women, for lesbians, for trisexuals, for every category of oppressed persons on the planet Earth."

"It sounds like you've got your work cut out for you. I wish you luck with all that," said Calle warily.

"Oh, you're going to do more than wish us luck, John Calle. You're going to help us. You're going to work for us."

"I don't think so," said Calle.

"Not yet, anyway," said Maria. He gave Calle an odd smile, and activated a gateway. He stepped through it, and disappeared.

*********

Calle tried to hide under the shadow of the bushiest coconut tree. Without pants, his legs would burn easily in the sun. Unfortunately the shade kept moving. He tried to sleep, but woke up with the sun on him, and he constantly had to move.

It didn't take him long to find the packet of food and water. He looked at it suspiciously for a long moment, and then realized he had little choice.

The food was sandwiches and water, nothing special. But after he ate and drank, Calle started to feel... different. Agitated. Aroused, even.

Packets of food and water mysteriously appeared once a day, enough for two meals, not a tremendous amount of food, but enough to keep him alive. But as Calle ate more and more, his sexual arousal only increased. Soon it was at an intolerable level. He had to get release.

He tried to touch himself, but he couldn't. The metal cage around his waist wouldn't allow him access. He could urinate through the small holes in the bottom, but that was all. He tried in vain to get the device off him, but it was too tight. He felt combination cylinders on the back of it, and spinned them fruitlessly, but couldn't get it to unlock.

Calle's penis was erect all the time now, pressing painfully against the inner walls of the metal cage. Calle thought about sex day and night now. He desperately needed release. He tried rubbing his cage against the desert sands, hoping to get some desperately needed friction, but it did no good.

And that's how Marion found him, two days later.

********

"Well, look at the fine mess you've gotten yourself into."

Calle blinked. He had been alone for almost two and a half days. He turned his head slowly and saw her.

Marion.

He gasped. "Marion? Is that you?"

"Who else would it be, my love?" She sauntered over to him, wiggling her hips. Calle slowly and painfully stood up and embraced her. She hugged him back. He tried to kiss her, but she pulled back. "I see you've gotten yourself into a little difficulty, my love," she laughed, touching the outlines of his metal cage.

"Marion?" Calle's mind felt confused. The drugs that were causing his arousal were also doing something else to him, he sensed. Something which didn't let him think clearly. But he tried anyway. "Marion, you died."

"Yes, dear," said Marion. "I died. Past tense. These wonderful people saved me. They pulled me out of the car right before the crash, so I could live again. To be with you." She leaned forward to give Calle a kiss. Calle leaned forward to meet her, but then fell on his face when Marion pulled back at the last minute.

"Oh, dear," She laughed, getting down her knees to help him sit upright. "What a fine mess you've gotten into!"

"Marion... why are you here?"

"To help you, dearest, of course," said Marion.

"Help me?" Calle blinked. "To escape?"

"Eventually," Marion nodded. "Once you admit your crimes."

"My... crimes?"

"Of racism. Sexism. Assophobia," said Marion.

Calle shook his head. "I'm not guilty of any of those things."

"Of course you are," said Marion. She smiled at him. She had the same beautiful high cheekbones, the same thick dark hair, the same sexy green eyes. "Let's start with something simple, John. Tell me you're a racist."

"I... no," said Calle.

"John," Marion said, in a warning voice, as she rubbed the outside of his crotch cage. "If you want to be released, tell me you're a racist."

"I...." Calle's mouth dropped open. Then his resolve hardened. "No! I am not a racist."

Marion sighed, getting up and brushing sand off her pants. "I didn't want it to be like this, dear. I really didn't. But you seem to demand everything be done the hard way." She pressed the recall device in her hand, and a gateway appeared.

"Marion, no!" Calle cried struggling to get up.

Marion blew him a kiss, and was gone.

********

Calle's level of sexual arousal only increased further, if that were possible. His balls, which were brimming with unreleased sperm, were positively painful. He had been stimulated for four days and hadn't been allowed any kind of release. He desperately, futilely scrabbled against the cage imprisoning his rigid shaft.

He heard the sounds of feminine laughter. "That won't help, dear."

He turned to see Marion again. She looked so sexy in a white shirt and tight white pants. Every outline, every contour was visible.

She walked to him slowly, wiggling her ass with every step. In Calle's crazed mind, every wiggle of the hips, every flirtatious look was a sexual provocation. Marion put her hands on his shoulder. "How have you been, my dear?"

"I've... I've been better," said Calle, in a hoarse voice.

"I'll bet," Marion said, smiling at him seductively. "Are you ready to admit you're a racist?"

Calle shook his head. "Why would I be a racist? I have never oppressed anyone."

Marion caressed him with her hands. "But it's in your DNA, dear. For untold centuries white people have oppressed black, brown, yellow and pink people. It's what their DNA programmed them to do. You share the same DNA as your ancestral oppressors." He felt her hand rubbing his arms. It felt so good. Her lips were so thick, so red.

"But I don't feel racist."

Marion shook her head. "You don't have to. It's unconscious racism. You don't even realize it."

"Then how do I know I have it?" said Calle.

Marion laughed as she ran her hands along his back. "Because you're white, dear."

"No," said Calle. He shook his head. "No. I'm not a racist because I'm white. If I were a racist, I'd know it."

"Would you?" She smiled at him.

Calle's penis was aching. "Please, Marion, I need your help."

"And I want to give it to you, my darling," She said, her eyebrows lifting compassionately. "But first, you have to at least give me

something

. Say you're a racist. Come on, just say it."

"No!" said Calle.

"Say it." He felt her hot breath on his ear, and he shuddered. She whispered, "You don't even have to mean it. Just say it. No one will know. No one will care."

Calle looked at Marion. She was as beautiful as the day he met her. He felt such desperate need. His lips trembled.

"That's right, my love, you can do it," said Marion with a smile.

That smile. He would do anything for that smile.

"I... I...."

"Yes, yes?" She seemed excited.

"I... I am a racist," said Calle.

"Oh how wonderful!" Marion exclaimed. For the first time she pressed her lips against his. Calle grinded eagerly against her plush lips, wrapping his arms around her. He unconsciously began to rub his metal cage against her groin, up, and down, up, and down.

And then Marion pulled back.

"Please, get this thing off me," Calle said, with a note of desperation as he ran his hands frantically against the metal cage around his aching organ.

"Oh ho ho, not so fast, my love," said Marion. "You've only just begun."

********

Thus began a pattern. Marion would visit him every day. His arousal kept building and building. Marion would kiss and fondle him, but wouldn't allow him release, not yet, not until she was satisfied.

"What more do you want me to say?" Calle asked, frustrated. "I'm a racist! I'm a racist I'm a racist I'm a racist!"

Marion giggled and gave a brilliant smile. "That's only the beginning, my love. Tell me, why are you a racist?"

That stopped Calle cold. Since he

wasn't

a racist, he had no idea why he would be one.

"Because...." He started. Then he stopped. He really didn't know why.

Marion looked into his eyes. "Because you only like people with white colored skin."

"Yes," said Calle reluctantly. "I only like people with white colored skin. Can we have sex now?" He pressed against her. She kissed him as a reward, laughingly, then pushed him back again.

Marion pressed him to say it again, in different variations.

"White skinned people. I only like white skinned people," said Calle. "People of other races, I don't like them."

"And why don't you like them, darling?" said Marion, smiling and fluttering her eyelashes at him.

"Because... they have different color skins," said Calle dully. It sounded hollow and insincere, even to his own ears.

But then Marion smiled and laughed and Calle knew he was on the right track

. But the track to where?

Soon Calle found himself incriminating himself more and more. "I am a racist, I have negative thoughts about people of other races, all because they have different color skins," said Calle.

Suddenly he notice Marion had put her hand in her panties. She was openly diddling herself to Calle's confession. "Go on, dear," she implored him.

"I do not like black, I do not like brown, I do not like yellow or pink. White, only white skinned people are the ones I like." Calle felt like he were reciting a script, almost a poem or a song, even.

"Ooohh," Marion groaned, as she fondled herself. "Keep going, darling, you're almost there, I can feel it."

"Skin color is the most important thing in the world to me," said Calle. "I hate diversity!"

"Oh!" Marion cried, as she diddled her clitoris in tight circles.

"I love prejudice!"

"Ah!" she cried, her body trembling.

"I love racial inequality!"

"Aaaaaaah!" Marion gasped, and suddenly she flew into Calle's arms. She smothered him with kisses and hugs. And then he felt her, reaching behind him, turning him around, adjusting the tumblers on the lock. And then with a joyous click, it opened!

Calle's jaw dropped in shock as the metal cage fell to the island sands.

He didn't remember taking off the rest of his clothes. He didn't remember taking off Marion's clothes. His mind was so desperate with need, a need which had been artificially nurtured, stroked, and heightened for days. Suddenly he found himself between her legs, pounding into her.

It only took a matter of seconds. He exploded inside of her. But that was not the end, far from it. He pounded into Marion again and again, having multiple orgasms within the space of several minutes. Then he must have passed out.

********

Click!

Calle vaguely came back to consciousness. He found Marion, standing above him, fully dressed.

And his metal cage was in place once again.

"What are you doing? Where are you going?"

"It's time for me to leave, dear," said Marion, brushing the sand off of her pants.

"Don't leave me!" said Calle pitifully.

"Oh, you'll be coming with me, when you're ready."

"When will that be?" Calle asked.

"We still have some more work to do here," said Marion, smiling slyly at him.

"What more do you want? I said I was a racist!"

"That's just the beginning, John," said Marion. "Only the beginning." She pressed a button, and a gateway formed. She stepped into it. John got up and tried to run after her, but the gateway immediately vanished behind her.

********

Calle felt strong sexual urges the following day. The drugs in his food saw to that. He had no choice. Hunger compelled him to drug himself. It felt as if he hadn't had sex the previous day. When Marion appeared, he immediately hugged her and said, "I'm a racist! I'm a racist I'm a racist I'm a racist!"

"That's good to know," Marion said laughingly, as she gently pushed him back.

"Well?" said Calle, biting his lip and hopping up and down on one foot.

"I'm afraid that won't be enough, my love," said Marion.

"Not enough? I told you I'm a racist. What more do you want?" Calle demanded desperately.

She leaned close, so he could see her gorgeous green eyes. "You must convince me you truly believe it."

********

Thus began a nightmare that seemed to go on for days. Calle tried every combination of words and tones he could imagine. Marion smiled and nodded with each performance, but he could see she was not fully satisfied.

"I'm a racist!" Calle cried. "I think bad things about people with different skin colors! Skin color is the most important thing in the world to me!"

"That's nice of you to admit, my love," said Marion. "But I am still not convinced. Do you really believe that?"

"Yes, yes I do!" said Calle. His penis was throbbing with need. His balls were so tight that they were like painful orbs, about to explode inside his genitals. The discomfort, the need to ejaculate, to get the burning liquid out of his body, was so intense. He needed release, and needed it so badly.

"Marion, I hate diversity! I hate it!" Calle cried. "I hate diversity! I love prejudice!"

"You love prejudice?" said Marion skeptically.

"Yes! Yes! I love prejudice, with every bone in my body!" Calle cried. "I.. I...."

She looked at him expectantly. Calle grasped for the right combination, the right phrases. Suddenly, inspiration struck him. "I... I don't know what I possibly could have done to be racist, but I must be guilty of

something

!" he cried out.

Marion looked startled and gave an enormously satisfied laugh. She reached out and started hugging and kissing him furiously. Calle felt his pulse racing as she worked on the metal cylinders on his metal cage.

**********

Once again, Calle was so much in need that he barely remembered the sex. Only the release. But as he lay next to Marion afterwards, he started to notice things. Little things. Her breasts looked different from how he remembered them. Marion had long, teardrop shaped breasts. But now her breasts looked more compact, more pear shaped. And her hips... Marion had wide, child bearing hips and long muscular legs. But now her body looked...

leaner

.

Calle's confused mind noticed these changes without really understanding them. All he knew was that he was with Marion again.

But when Marion got up and handed him the metal cage, he whispered. "No."

"You must put it on. It is part of your obedience training."

"No," Calle said again.

"If you do not put it on, my love, you will never see me again," Marion said softly, caressing his hair gently.

Calle was practically whimpering as he slid the metal cage between his legs. Marion guided him with her voice. "That's right, that's it, my love, you're doing fine..." And then Marion reached around him and suddenly there was a click. Calle jumped slightly, and Marion smiled. She caressed his cheek. "You're making such excellent progress, my love."

*********

Calle thought that this torture must be at an end, or almost at an end. After all, he had convinced Marion that he believed he was a racist. But Marion wanted more. Marion always wanted more.

"Are you a sexist, John?" Marion asked.

Calle stiffened at this new line of attack. He knew immediately what Marion wanted.

"Yes," he said softly, bowing his head.

"What was that?"

"Yes," said Calle, looking up at her unhappily.

"You think women are merely objects to be used, don't you?" said Marion."To be fucked. To be sex slaves, objects for your sexual pleasure. Isn't that right, John?"

"Yes," he said again.

Marion moved even closer to him. "You think of me that way, don't you, John? Just a cow, to be pounded and fucked. Don't you, John? Don't you?"

Calle gritted his teeth. To him, this was more of a betrayal than branding himself a racist. He wasn't just betraying himself, he was betraying his love for

her

. And Marion knew it. He looked into her brilliant green eyes. His tired, drugged mind couldn't resist. "Yes," he half sobbed. "You're just an object, to be fucked and used and degraded."

And then suddenly his metal cage had dropped the ground, and Marion was pressing her body against him, and in moments they were lying on the sands, having sex again.

But this time Marion prompted him to say things, even while he thrusted within her. He may have been on top, but from her commanding eyes, from her tone, it was clear that she was in charge. She was in command, and this entire operation could stop in an instant if she felt the slightest inclination to do so.