Sticks, that's was what you trained with. Your fellow graduates were in the field with Gauss rifles, with sonic cannons, and plasma charges. But you got a stick. In fact, you did several better than that, because several other sticks had been arranged for you in the vague shape of a person with which your stick was meant to batter and beat. Occasionally, the sticks pivoted, indicating some internal mechanism, but the nature of that mechanism was painfully simple, no digital controls, no electronic whirs, or flex-steel joints. Most likely, it was just a set of sticks set on a couple of metal ball joints that twisted semi randomly as the weights of the other sticks shifted from the impact of your stick.

Still, swinging your stick was a workout. The thing was heavy, and you were given none of the tools soldiers like you normally had to enhance their strength, no armor, drugs, or mental inhibitor chips. See, none of those things were in essence, a stick, and therefore you they were not allowed by your teacher, your master.

Who were you? You were the valedictorian of the military academia, if that term had any meaning anymore. You were top of the class academics, athletics, and more. You had connections, your family might have even had wealth. And see, that was why you had been handed to, the Immortal. This was a prestigious post of sticks, no matter how boring it sometimes seemed. You were a fresh graduate, but it had been centuries since he had been in that position. Rebuilt several times, pumped full of anti-aging drugs, shipped at light speed a few times and his age dilated, the Immortal was a man from a bygone era. "Why, when I was your age, a stick was considered a lethal weapon. Use it like one."

What was the stick supposed to teach you? Well it was supposed to teach many things, supposedly. First, and simplest, it was meant to be a heavy bunt stick that made your muscles ache. Your tight, hard, trained figure struggled after hours of swinging the thing. You were sweaty, you were tired, and you had to change arms because one got tired and grew shaky. Second you had to think about your movements, because the stick bounced, and the dummy of sticks swung oddly. If you missed with the stick, it could throw off your balance, and if you hit hard enough at an angle it could do so then too. So you had to plan around the stick, you had to know the nature of the stick, and if you were given a new stick all of a sudden, you had to gauge it's differences quickly because no two sticks were alike.

"And yet," said the immortal, his low voice, gruff and terse, "you still do not respect it, nor your own body. What good is the power armor, the mental enhancements... if all they let you do is run a little faster, hit a little harder. Are you distracted, girl?" He wasn't a terribly large man, not by the modern marine standards; you and he were about the same height, though he probably did have you in weight and breadth, if only just. He was aged to your great great grandfather, but could have passed with his grey hair and square features as your well aged father, but his eyes were old, and they were shrewd. "You are distracted. What a stupid thing, for a stupid girl."

In an instant, the stick was out of your hands and in his. It clapped you on the bicep, hitting just right to sting but not hurt. It made you flinch, which probably wouldn't have happened if you hadn't been so exhausted first. But then the stick was between your legs, pulled up tight along your crotch forcing you to your toes. "But you have your balance," the immortal told you, bemused. "A girl your age... so much to be distracted by. Be sure, girls were very different when I was young, but on the inside it's not so different," the stick moved slowly between your legs, lengthwise back and forth like some wonderfully-awful saw, "and some places outside too."

The stick you had wielded was between your legs now, and you had no choice but to stumble backward, brace your shoulders against the stick figure behind you; very considerate considering how much you had beat it up. The stick was at an angle now, flattening up against your clit through the thin fabric of your sweaty clothes. It ground and slid, bobbing up and down slowly as the Immortal gripped you around your throat, just enough to show you that you were in his power.

"A distracted girl is worthless to me," he informed you with the cold hard certainty of a man who had a war to fight, and he did; so did you. But then he lowered his voice, and got in close. He smelled of old pine, of male sweat, and of the sawdust that came from cutting the sticks. He was strong, at least as strong as your enhanced body was, or at least it seemed so in those moments the way he gripped your throat and held you fast. "But," he said simply, his face close to yours, almost forehead to forehead so that he dominated your thoughts and mind. "The stick can fix." he said and increased the pressure of the weapon between your legs, rocking your body repeatedly up onto onto your toes, grinding until fresh sweat was beading on your skin, until your breath was coming fast. His hand clamped over your mouth and forced your eyes to look at his. If you looked away he smacked you, then tugged you back until your eyes met his, and when you came his thumb slid between your lips for you to bite even if you drew blood.

Then he released you and flipped the stick in his hand. "Take the stick," he said, handing it over after inspecting it for wetness. "Fight with the stick, and when you are done... you can have the other stick," he smirked wickedly. "Why do you think I only take the girls?" he laughed, wicked and bemused. "They're easier to motivate."

Looking to do a mentor/student sort of setup, older man, younger woman, all that fun jazz. But as always there have to be twists. I have been getting a kick out of strong, muscly women as of late. So I'd like the woman here to be a genetically enhanced super soldier, powerful, but in need of a firm mature hand to keep her explosive personality in line. Primarily, the mentor would be the dominant, but I am a switch that would love to see the dynamic be a bit of a war back and forth for control. She's a super soldier, but he's a centuries old killing machine, so it's about a fair match most of the time.

I have lots of kinks, but to sort of list them always feels odd and I think stories usually lend themselves to some kinks or another. Limits are more important and mine typically float around anything sadistically violent or illegal, or belonging in a bathroom.

Now I also want to write more of a story to this, but I've found that traditional roleplaying really doesn't always work around here, frankly. So I think it'd be more interesting to write a series of one-offs, brainstorming out of character what plot elements have passed by, then playing in character the two of them responding to it before going back to plotting OOC. In that regard, if you're looking to respond you can either jump in with whatever wider story your imagination filled in the blanks with while reading, or if you're so bold, just jump right back into the scene and we can figure that other stuff out later.

As always, I have a decent repository of prompts in my history now. Please do have a look through because if my writing was to your liking but the story wasn't then maybe I have some older prompt that's getting your creative juices (and other juices) flowing faster. I'm also always happy to just chat, bounce story ideas around and generally partake in the "penpal" part of writing online with strangers. Hope to hear from you!