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This is the retelling of the epic "Flight Of The Burkey" of olden times.

Ben stood upon the main observation deck of his Javelin, giggling as the Dissidents formed a blockade around the undock point. A few frigates were still trying to escape, he noticed. Cowards. Traitors. Faggots. Ben turned away and, muttering to himself of cowards and faggots, screamed for another “burkey” (The burkey was something he had devised himself, and that he was particularly proud of: A whole turkey, wrapped in bacon, then deep-fried. Ben had touted it as the most delicious foodstuff known to man and had attempted to market the idea in 'verse, although rumours of it being produced via slave labour destroyed any potential customers in the mainly white region.)

Chris watched as Ben tore into the turkey, licking the outside first to ensure none of the delicious grease fell onto the floor. His face was a mask of indifference, though on the inside he seethed with disgust. How, he thought to himself, did I end up working for this brute. I mean, I’ve got the brooding look, the black clothes, that special cast to my eyes that makes me look sneaky. How the gently caress did I end up here? None of his turmoil was apparent on the outside. He stayed at the window for a few more seconds, wishing that he could see the silhouette his dashing, black-clad figure cast against the infinite void.

Derek and Wulf lay entwined on the massive 4-poster bed in Derek’s sleeping quarters. They were aboard Derek’s Battlecruiser, the Warlord, and with little to do during the long journey they had fallen back on their favourite pastime – kink. Derek rubbed his hand down Wulf’s back, marveling at the feel of the smooth leather gimp suit. Wulf shuddered in ecstasy as Derek’s hand rounded the curve of his buttock, tracing patterns into the leather with his fingers. “Please, sir” grunted Wulf, “discipline me again. I have been a naughty, naughty boy. Yiff.” Derek smirked to himself, pleased that he would again exert his will on another. He rose to his feet beside the bed, and wrapped Wulf’s choke-chain around his hand. He smiled lovingly at Wulf for a second, then in an instant he was pulling viciously at the chain, seemingly seeking to choke the very life out of his gimp. Wulf was dragged out of bed and across the cold, metal floor. Derek liked nothing better than to drag his bitch around the room for a while, to ensure that Wulf knew who was in charge; who it was that led, and who it was that followed. His manhood grew harder as his ardour rose, Wulf’s every gasp echoed in the throbbing of his love muscle. Finally he stopped, and dropped his trousers. “Suck”. Wulf was desperately trying to loosen the chain around his neck, and was a second too slow in engulfing his master’s member. Derek fist crashed against the side of Wulf’s head, knocking him to the floor in a daze. Derek leant down and placed his cock in Wulf’s mouth, thrusting it further and further down his helpless slave’s throat. Finally Derek found his release, shuddering and then falling still. He removed his dick from Wulf’s mouth, gazing down at the lifeless body of his companion. Smirking, he rose to his feet and opened his cabin door. “Somebody come and get this piece of trash, it’s cluttering up my floor” he shouted into the corridor. Immediately two goons stepped into the room, hoisted the limp body of Wulf between them, and left again. They had done this many times, and knew well that their master punished inefficiency. “Oh, and inform the clone bay that we need another Wulfie!” called Derek to their hastily retreating backs. He turned and gazed out of the porthole at the station suspended in the distance, reflecting on the circumstances that had brought he and his fleet to this backwater constellation. One of Ben’s officers had publicly made a joke about one of Derek’s acquaintances. The man had taken some mindflood and a handful of blue pills, and had then piloted his pod out into the industrial shipping lanes, without ensuring his clone was up to date. A passing freighter had crushed the man like a bug. Derek had shed no tears, for he hardly knew the man and inwardly thought it fitting that such a stupid action was so harshly rewarded. However, it was the justification he needed to ensure that this oaf Ben and his fleet of backers would rise no higher. They had begun to shake the pillars of his Industry’s foundations, and that could not be tolerated.

Ben’s huge fist slammed into the backer’s face, shattering his jaw and relocating his nose. Blood sprayed across the floor as the backer flew backwards, coming to rest against the far wall. “I wanted honey glazed ham, you loving prick!” screamed Ben, white specks of saliva appearing at the corners of his mouth. “Honey glazed, you human being, not a goddamn roast with apple sauce! On your feet, you loving bitch, and get this abomination out of my sight!” The backer rose slowly to his knees, his arms shaking. He crawled to Ben’s feet and began collecting the various plates arrayed around his master. Ben shook his head, half turned away, then brought his leg around in an arc. The backer barely saw the kick coming, and his weak body had no chance of evading it. Ben’s foot slammed into the poor creature’s stomach, flipping him over and sliding him back again. His tormentor strode across the room and picked up the backer with one gigantic hand. “Leave the roast, you fucker” sneered Ben. “Get your pox-ridden arse back to the kitchens, and bring the loving ham!” So saying, Ben hurled the backer across the room in the direction of the door. The backer slammed into the lintel, and slid slowly to the floor. His eyes unfocused and blood seeping from his ears, he rose slowly to his feet and gave a fearful salute. He then turned and shuffled out the door, swaying on legs twisted and deformed from time in the Brown sea. Ben turned and almost ran back to the spurned meal. He fell to his knees besides the roast and began shoveling it into his great mouth. It took him less than a minute to consume the entire leg of pork.

Two weeks into the siege the silence was broken. Ben was beating a backer with a roast chicken and Chris was sulking, when one of his officers burst into the room waving a shred of paper. “Derek has engaged communication sir, he wants a parley” panted the man. Ben slammed the chicken down on the backer’s face one last time, then waved the officer over. Taking the slip of paper he gazed at it for a second, then scrunched it up. “So, he wants to talk, eh?” sneered Ben. “I will pen the return missive myself”. He slowly turned towards the direction of his quarters, considering what exactly he would say to his nemesis.

Derek gazed curiously at the note handed to him by the Comms Room technician. He cast his eyes once more along the length of the missive:

Dearest Derek

If you want to talk, send someone over here. I am too busy eating beating backers pleasuring myself with pork fat overseeing my empire to waste time going over there in person.

Sincerely, Ben

P.S. BEEP BEEP IM A TRUCK

Derek couldn’t quite puzzle it out. The oaf seemed to be requesting that he send a delegate. The rest of the missive was undecipherable. Very well, though Derek. A match of wits is what the dastard wants, then a match of wits is what he will get. He pushed a button on the console and spoke into the microphone. “Wulf, come to the Comms Room. I’ve got a job for you”.

Wulf’s shuttle glided into the docking bay of the Javelin. He stepped from the cockpit, and glanced around the hangar. Not a soul was in sight. He seethed at the indignity. An honourable man would have ensured there be refreshments waiting for a delegate of such high rank, yet there were none. The despicable cur hadn’t even assigned an honour guard. Wulf strode to the hangar door, stopping to read the note pinned to it.

Sup fag. Me and my homies are chillin on the bridge. -Ben

Wulf was outraged. Never before had he encountered such rudeness. There was nothing for it; he would just have to find the way himself. As angry as he was at the poor reception, he knew that to return to Derek without actually meeting the man would mean pain and yet another awakening in the clone bay. He strengthened his resolve, puffed out his chest, and began searching for the bridge. Hours later, Wulf stumbled onto the bridge. He was tired, dirty, and in no mood for pleasantries. He cast his eyes about the room, searching for the object of his mission. A huge bear of a man stood at the main observation window, holding a whole pig above his bulging stomach while taking surprisingly large bites out of it. Closer to where Wulf stood, a man dressed all in black sat at a small table. The black-clad man spread his hands and invited Wulf to sit. “Finally, some civility. Yiff.” breathed Wulf, settling himself down with visible relief into the cushioned chair. Derek had been rough the night before, and the cushion felt divine against his bruised posterior. “I assume that you are Ben? Yiff.” Chris glanced at Wulf, startled by the man’s speech impediment. Finally he started, realizing that Wulf was expecting a response. “No, I am Chris, Ben’s aid and head of intelligence. The distinguished gentleman you see at the window is Ben” he finished with a touch of disdain. Ben grunted loudly and returned to his pig. Wulf was horrified. Never had he expected the man to be so disgusting. Tossing aside the pig carcass, Ben strode over to the table and offered Wulf his hand. Wulf took it gingerly, attempting to avoid the grease dripping from the brute’s hands. Ben grabbed his hand firmly, and rubbed grease from his left hand onto Wulf’s sleeve. With a smile of perverse pleasure, Ben then released Wulf and sank into a chair at the head of the table. “So, human being, what took you so long?” Wulf tried to ignore the casual insult, but his cheeks were starting to burn. “It appears that someone had removed all the directional signs in the station. I had to find the bridge by exploration. Yiff.” Ben smirked at that, and waved at Chris, indicating that the black-clad spymaster should continue. “What is it that Derek wants?” asked Chris. “We have no resources here that he himself does not have access to in his own regions”. “Derek is angered by your irreverence and wants revenge for your organization’s callous remarks. Yiff.” returned Wulf smugly. Ben slammed his hand down hard on the table, splattering the remaining pig fat across Wulf’s face. “Bullshit! That’s loving bullshit and you know it!” Wulf was shocked, but he gamely tried to struggle on. “With respect, sir, I…” he began, but Ben cut him off. “Burkey! Bring two burkies, one for me and one for our guest!” screamed Ben. Wulf had no idea what a burkey was, and had absolutely no desire to find out. He attempted to voice his objection, but Ben cut him off again. “Quiet, human being. You’re gonna enjoy this”.

Two backers entered the room, carrying plates. Wulf was mortified. He had no idea what this was supposed to be, as it appeared to simply be a mass of greasy meat. He stared at the plate placed in front of him, desperately trying to figure out what he was supposed to do with it. Not eat it, surely. Ben answered for him as he lifted the thing up and bit it entirely in half. Wulf could hear the crunching of bones as the oaf chewed his prodigious mouthful, then he returned his gaze to his own plate. He shuddered. “Sir, I appreciate the gesture but I am afraid I am not hungry. Yiff.” Ben glanced up and smiled, as Chris rose from his seat and crossed to stand by the door. “Oh, you aren’t going to eat it.” Dropping the rest of the ghastly creation to his plate, Ben lunged across the table and slammed his fist into Wulf’s face. Wulf crashed over the back of his chair and hit the floor. He was dazed and hovering near unconsciousness, yet he still managed to rise on unsteady legs and half-run, half-shuffle towards the door. Chris stepped in front of him and delivered a neat straight left, clipping Wulf’s chin. Wulf crumpled to the floor, out cold. Chris glanced at Ben, while Ben strode over to the supine figure and, burying one hand at his throat and one at his crotch, lifted him and carried him to the table. Slamming him down next to his untouched burkey, Ben flipped him over onto his stomach and pulled down the unconscious man’s pants. “Lets get some cold water on him, I want him to be awake for this.” grunted Ben. Chris nodded and called for water to revive Wulf. Water was brought, and Wulf was pulled spluttering from his stupor. “You want to know what I think of your Derek?” breathed Ben, unbuckling his belt and dropping his trousers. Chris moved to Wulf’s head and placed his hands on the man’s back, holding him firmly in place as Ben moved up close behind Wulf and pushed his huge cock into the man’s anus. Wulf screamed and screamed, barely able to stand the torture. His arse, already tender from Derek’s attentions, felt like it was on fire. He wasn’t sure, but from the wetness dripping down his thighs it appeared that his anus had started to bleed. Ben pushed himself further and further inside with every thrust, until he was touching Wulf’s large intestine. Wulf screamed and passed out again. Chris waited for Ben to finish before reviving the man again. After Ben had finished his thrusting, shaking climax, he reached over and grabbed Wulf’s burkey. “Do it” he grunted to Chris. More cold water was splashed over Wulf’s face, and the man slowly came to. Then, pain gripped him again as Ben started forcing the steaming hot turkey up into his rectum. Ben pushed and pushed, ignoring Wulf’s agonized screams as his body was slowly torn apart. He could feel his anus splitting, feel the turkey pass up through his colon and into his abdomen. His stomach bulged obscenely, and his organs ruptured as the turkey was rammed up further and further into his body. He died screaming. Ben pulled his arm from inside Wulf’s body. “Stick this human being in a jetcan and launch it back to them.” he ordered. Two officers gripped the dead man’s arms and swung him down off the table, carrying him towards the cargo bay. Ben finished his burkey and returned to the main window, peering out at the Dissidents’ armada and chortling.

The contents of the jetcan were hauled into the cargo bay onboard the Warlord, where Derek stood waiting to see what they had sent back. He glanced at the still form of Wulf, it’s stomach bulging and fluids leaking from its anus. We can’t intimidate them, he thought to himself. Waving an officer over, he gave instructions to have Wulf’s clone activated again. Then he ordered the room emptied, and stood alone over the body of his lover, considering his next move.

Ben waved his burkey leg to the departing Dissidents in farewell. They would claim victory, of course. They would claim to have broken Ben and removed his followers from space. They couldn’t claim to have shoved a turkey wrapped in bacon up the arse of Ben’s Aide de Camp, though. He smiled at that, and gave the order for his backers to return to the Brown sea. He laughed at the terror on their twisted faces, and whistled a happy tune around his mouthful of burkey.