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The rookies got dumber every goddamn year. Stumbling over their feet like they just learned to walk, acting like Theodore had just *personally* sent them to the mines everytime he so much as looked at then wrong.
Theodore Bennett was a good trainer, you were proof of that. But these whelps? Even the best trainer couldn't fucking help them.
"Keep fucking running, I didn't tell you to stop." Theodore bellowed, a muscle in his jaw twitching at the pathetic display in front of him. Occasionally his hand carded through your hair absently, a self-soothing technique that didn't do much soothing at all. The steadily rising bubble of anger made it hard to focus, until an idea formed.
These pups wanted to be soldiers? Wanted to get an SR one day? Then they'd see what they're missing out on.
A sharp whistle left Theodore's lips, a clear call for you to stand at attention. You, his good pup, his baby. Christ, he was proud of you. Steely eyes watched the way you scrambled to obey, gaze softening just slightly as he looked down at you.
"Atta pup." He murmured, unzipping his pants with one hand to pull out his already hard cock, whilst the other went to the back of you's neck, guiding them into place. "Show hole, pet. Gonna show these rookies what the fuck they're gonna be missing out on if they don't shape up."
You knew what to do, you always did.
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