by Emily Tilton
When the privates had her next to the footlocker, they stepped back on the master sergeant’s command, and loomed over her from two feet away. Georgia looked around at the rest of the platoon, trying and failing to keep herself from pleading uselessly with her eyes—as if these soldiers would intervene in their NCO’s just punishment of a naughty girl.
“‘Ten-shun!” the master sergeant called. Georgia turned to see that Lieutenant Stevens had entered the big room. All the men snapped a salute, and she did the same, though her hand trembled. She had never had to salute her commanding officer wearing only her panties, and somehow it felt more humiliating even than having her clothes taken off by the privates.
“At ease,” the lieutenant said, and the men relaxed, though when she dropped her salute she found that her hands hovered in front of her naked breasts in a gesture of warding, as if she could push away whatever terrible lesson she seemed on the verge of learning.
“Men,” said Lieutenant Stevens, “this morning we received a new order about the SRDs. Unfortunately, because SRD Jones here chose today to neglect her duty again, we need to put that order into effect immediately, here and—”
“Sir?” Georgia asked.
“Silence, Jones,” the master sergeant thundered. “Your commanding officer is speaking!”
To her horror, he reached out for her and took hold of her upper arm. Effortlessly he turned her toward the footlocker and bent her over until she had to put her hands on top of the metal surface so that she wouldn’t fall over.
Only then did Georgia notice that at some point—maybe even before he had come to her quarters—the master sergeant had gotten the black punishment strap that had never moved from his desk in all the time the unit had been here at Forward Operating Base Justice Lightning. He had it in his hand, she saw as she turned her head over her shoulder, but now it moved almost too fast for her to see. She cried out in fear as the master sergeant raised it, and then she cried out in agony when he brought it down across the gray cotton seat of her Army-issue panties.
Chapter Four
David knew he had one chance to set the tone for the rest of Georgia’s service. He had to do his best to thrust his feelings about the girl aside, for her own good and for the good of the unit. He had enough intelligence to recognize that Central Command and their civilian partners had the real expertise, where SRD Georgia Jones was concerned: he might love her, but they understood her—for now at least—better than David did.
The look in her eyes as he had taken hold of her arm and begun to turn her toward the footlocker had confirmed the fact for him. Wide and staring in obvious fear, they had also for just a millisecond seemed to tell him that he should have used a firmer hand with her from the beginning.
To judge from what the new orders said, after the second spanking over his knee, he should have taken sterner measures. Or maybe he should have seen from the start that Georgia simply needed stricter discipline than he had ever used with his girlfriends, whose behavior had always improved after an old-fashioned bare-bottom hand spanking and a long, dominant lovemaking session.
“Sir,” he asked the lieutenant in as level a voice as he could manage, “should I keep whipping her?”
“SRD Jones?” Lieutenant Stevens asked calmly, “are you prepared to remain silent when I am speaking?”
“Yes, sir,” Georgia sobbed. Her blonde ponytail had fallen across her right shoulder. David noticed that some of the hair had come free with the turning of her head, to float free around the tearstained face she turned to look back over her shoulder. He had the distracting urge to brush it back, and to stroke her cheek.
“Let her up, please, Master Sergeant,” the lieutenant said, and David obeyed, releasing his grip on her arm, which seemed to draw a sob from deep in her chest and to send a shudder through her nearly naked body.
Georgia straightened slowly, and David’s NCO instinct took over for a moment.
“Come to attention, SRD!” he shouted in her ear, part of him wondering as the words emerged, reflexively, from his mouth, whether Georgia would come to detest him if he had to keep treating her so roughly.
The effect of his words on Georgia, however, seemed electric. She snapped upright and turned to face the lieutenant with her hand to her forehead in a crisp salute. For an instant, too, David thought he saw her forehead crease, almost as if his command had taken effect more deeply inside her than he had imagined it might. Georgia’s soldierly posture and the attentive look on her face made him think that his sergeant’s instincts might serve him better than he had at first supposed, when dealing with a bad girl.
The pink stain on her cheeks, too, satisfied him: Georgia seemed quite conscious of the embarrassment a girl should feel to salute her commanding officer dressed in nothing but her panties. Her little breasts heaved, their nipples rather distractingly stiff. David looked around the men of the platoon, standing at the ends of their cots, and though he had no inclination toward jealousy he couldn’t suppress a flash of heat in his blood at just how closely they observed Georgia’s almost-naked salute.
“Thank you, Master Sergeant,” Lieutenant Stevens said, his calm demeanor as always differentiating him from his NCO, the sign—David thought—of a true officer. “At ease, SRD.”
Georgia dropped her salute crisply and put her hands at her sides less crisply, obviously suppressing a moment’s urge to try to cover her breasts. Her face worked for a moment in an apparent effort to get herself under control. David suppressed a frown of his own as he watched her, wishing he could know what lay in the lovely girl’s heart and mind.
“I was saying, men,” the lieutenant continued, “that we’re here for the unfortunate reason that SRD Jones needs a more effective lesson in Army discipline than she has yet received. That lash the master sergeant gave her was, I’m afraid, only the beginning, SRD. Private Garmin and Private Thompson, you will hold the SRD down over the footlocker while the master sergeant whips her. Then she’ll receive a nice thick plug in her butt, and wear it for an hour.”
David’s eyes had locked on Georgia’s face as the lieutenant had begun to lay out the punishment they had agreed on, in the lieutenant’s quarters. He kept his face rock steady when Georgia turned her eyes from the lieutenant’s face to David’s, a plea in the blue orbs very different from anything he had seen there before, even when commanding her to take her clothes off for an over-the-knee spanking.
Georgia’s lip went between her teeth, and her nose twitched. Her eyebrows knit as she looked at David, but he stared straight into her eyes as, he knew, only a sergeant can do, and revealed nothing to her except his absolute intention to carry out his commanding officer’s orders.
“After that, men, we will gangbang the SRD here in the barracks. She will serve every cock here until I am satisfied she has learned her place in this unit. Take those cocks out now, if you feel like it, and get them ready while you watch our bad girl get her whipping.”
A sob broke from Georgia’s chest, then, as her eyes moved away from David’s face to take in the ten privates she could see to either side of her. They all had their hands at their belts, eager to follow the lieutenant’s suggestion, and they were looking at one another with hungry smiles on their faces.
“Master Sergeant, carry on,” the lieutenant said.
David carried on, without hesitation. “SRD Jones, turn around and kneel in front of the footlocker.”
Georgia looked at him one final time, as if to make absolutely sure he didn’t mean to rescue her somehow. Tears of fear had started to trickle down her cheeks. She turned, and with a sob, she knelt on the concrete floor.
“Put a blanket under her knees, Private Garmin,” David said, hardly thinking about it. “We don’t want her hurting herself.”
As Garmin obeyed, Georgia looked at him, and then at David, with fearful eyes. Garmin had his fly open and his hard cock out, and David saw Georgia’s eyes go there, too, and her cheeks get pink at the sight.
The lieute
nant said, “Good idea, Master Sergeant, thank you. You may take down the SRD’s panties now.”
Georgia’s shoulders shook visibly. For a moment, the twin forces of love and lust vied in David’s heart, seeming almost perfectly balanced. Love said that even a dominant man like Master Sergeant David Heath treated the girl of his dreams with respect. If she had to have her panties down for a spanking, he would tell her, firmly but nevertheless kindly, to lower them for him.
Lust said that David absolutely needed to show the woman he loved that he meant to take charge of her. Pulling down her gray cotton briefs, whether she wanted them down or not, represented only the trivial tip of the masterful iceberg. He might be one man out of the many the Army had assigned her to satisfy, but as the platoon’s—and the company’s—highest-ranking NCO he had responsibility for SRD Georgia Jones in a very special way. It hardly mattered whether she could love him or not: more than any other man’s in the room, David’s hard cock had the right to the pleasure a dominant man gets from erotic discipline.
In his head, as this battle was joined, and as it began to rage, a third force, duty, ensured that despite the welter of thoughts and feelings down below the master sergeant didn’t hesitate for an instant. Stooping slightly, he thrust his right hand into the waistband of Georgia’s briefs and pulled them down to the middle of her thighs.
She cried out as she felt herself bared, and her head moved from side to side, her delicate shoulders swinging slightly. From behind her David couldn’t see the expression on her face, but he felt certain he imagined it correctly: desperate, welling blue eyes, pleading for mercy from soldiers who had their cocks out to enjoy watching her get what she had earned for her dereliction of duty.
Suddenly, to David’s surprise, the motions of Georgia’s nearly naked body seemed to change: she stiffened, and she turned her body so that she could look almost directly behind her—straight at him.
“Fuck you, Master Sergeant,” she said.
He wondered if he had seen a similar expression on her face, once or twice in the presence of the lieutenant when Georgia had received the reprimands for misconduct that had resulted in her spankings from David. Even if he had seen the flinty, defiant look in her eyes then, it had lasted only an instant, and he hadn’t connected it, as he did now, to the fundamental idea he felt certain lay behind it. Georgia Jones truly was a bad girl: for the first time David saw the fact clearly, and almost despite himself he loved her even more for it.
The new order made a good deal more sense to him than it had before. David, as a master sergeant, had learned how to deal with men in need of real discipline: rough men, violent men. As a boyfriend he had provided loving discipline to naughty girls. He hadn’t seen it in Georgia before, presumably because of her training at the BGF detention facility. Though she had no real violence in her, however, he could see she still possessed a healthy level of rebellion and defiance—one that rivaled the tough cases with whom David had dealt in the units where he had served as an NCO.
He met her flinty look with a steady gaze. Though his heart rate had increased a little, he spoke in a calm voice to the privates standing on the other side of the footlocker.
“Garmin, Thompson, bend her over and hold her there.”
Georgia struggled like a wildcat now, but the privates got her into position easily. Watching Garmin and Thompson carry out his order, David realized something about Georgia’s conduct—both here in the barracks and more generally since her arrival in the platoon—that he hadn’t recognized before. Although SRD Georgia Jones had come to their unit to provide them with the sexual release so many soldiers need so badly, she had not truly given her all to the Army the way every man in David’s platoon did on a daily basis in the field.
He didn’t know, of course, exactly what went on in Georgia’s quarters when the men went to spend time with her there. Certainly no complaints had come into him about any of the SRDs in the company, so all five girls, including Georgia, obviously had sex with the men on their duty roster, two per day.
David himself, thanks to his many duties, hadn’t had a session with her outside her spankings. He had thought she must be growing close to the men as they got to know her, and she them. He understood now, though, both from her defiance and from the way Garmin, Thompson, and the rest of the platoon responded, that the SRD’s attitude had in fact kept her distant from them even as they had sex.
He didn’t pretend to understand exactly what the Army’s civilian partners in the SRD program meant the new order to accomplish, but he could tell that something important had to change for SRD Georgia Jones.
“Arch your back and get that bottom up for me, Jones!” he commanded.
Georgia responded by struggling uselessly against the privates’ restraining arms. David raised the punishment strap and brought it down hard across both cheeks of her creamy backside. Georgia cried out, her back heaving.
“Nothing counts until you do as you’re told, SRD,” the lieutenant said coldly. “Obey the master sergeant, and we can begin your punishment.”
Chapter Five
Georgia had no idea why she had said fuck you to the master sergeant. It reminded her of her earliest days at BGF. Or maybe, said, some part of her brain off in the distance, it would have reminded her, in other circumstances—for example if she could think rationally, something that seemed impossible with the horrible punishment strap coming down across her bare ass.
When her daddies had first put her on the punishment horse in the receiving room at the detention facility, Georgia had shown a good deal of fight. As the master sergeant whipped her, here and now in the dank, South-American heat of the Army barracks, that came back to her not in the form of a memory as much as of a kind of body echo: the tension in her limbs, which had felt new to her that first day at BGF, felt familiar now—though Georgia hadn’t experienced it in the intervening months.
She cried out at the first line of fire across her bottom, at the second, across her upper thighs. She could hardly remember what the master sergeant had told her to do—what compliance she had refused that had brought the strap down with these lashes that wouldn’t count against whatever terrible number the lieutenant had decreed.
The master sergeant’s voice spoke, closer to her ear than Georgia would have supposed. His huge hand—his other hand, the one without the strap in it—came down firmly on her back.
The same way he did with Corporal Kelly, she suddenly thought, feeling her brow crease deeply.
“Bend this, SRD,” the master sergeant barked. “Get that ass up and push it out for me.”
For him? Georgia could imagine Master Sergeant Heath saying that to a soldier: Storm that hill for me, Take out that sniper for me. But had she heard something in his voice that went farther than a simple military command?
Again she thought of BGF, of the way she had supposed she could take whatever those men who had told her to call them Daddy could dish out. Georgia Jones had freely sold her body on the street, and hadn’t minded. She had decided she could deal with a few self-righteous assholes, no matter how tall and well-muscled they might be.
The wooden reform-school paddle had made short work of that idea. She had walked away from the receiving room, to her cell, between two of those daddies sobbing at each painful step. When the time for soothing and penitence had come, the next morning, Georgia had needed fucking so bad that she had begged for their cocks inside her. Never again, at BGF or in the Army, had she received a punishment anything like that paddle. In the interim, it seemed, her bad-girl defiance had recovered.
“Fuck you, Master Sergeant,” she repeated, though the words came out in a sob.
Again she couldn’t say why she had choked out the curse word at the man who had done more to take care of her—and the rest of his platoon—than anyone Georgia had ever met.
The hand on her back tightened, not painfully but so as to suggest to Georgia how thoroughly the master sergeant meant to control her. Through his fingers
she felt the rest of his body shift slightly and she knew he must have raised the strap again. Regret seemed to surge through her whole body, because her backside already felt like it had caught fire. Despite what the rebellious part of her brain told her, she began to bend her back and her knees, her limbs trying to comply where her mind refused.
Georgia heard the leather whistle through the air, and then she heard the crack of it across her bottom, low down on the sit-spot, and she felt the searing pain at the same moment. It hurt so much that she tried to rise from the footlocker. She tried to put her hands behind her, to rub the horrible pain away, but Garmin and Thompson held her arms fast.
Her head snapped back, and she looked wildly around at the enlisted men standing at the feet of their cots in front of her. They all had their hard cocks out, just as the captain had suggested, and they were pumping them in their hands as they watched Georgia’s punishment.
The thought flashed through her brain, How could they? but the question found an immediate answer: Why wouldn’t they?
Suddenly Georgia saw it: this punishment hadn’t come from not shining some stupid shoes. Her misconduct went a good deal deeper. She had fulfilled the basic outline of her duty as the platoon’s SRD: she had sex with the men according to the duty roster. But SRD Georgia Jones’ real mission involved building morale in the unit, and in fact if anything she thought she had lowered morale. The men of the platoon had their cocks in their hands because Georgia had treated them the same way she had treated her tricks on the street, like they were lucky to be allowed to touch her nubile body. Now she was getting her naked comeuppance, the punishment strap across her bare bottom, and how could that not turn them on?