by Emily Tilton
Even the master sergeant, the only man in the unit who had truly dominated her the way her BGF daddies had done, hadn’t received Georgia’s full commitment to her duty. She had accepted those screaming climaxes after her spanking as if he owed them to her, when she had learned at BGF that she must thank her daddies when they allowed her pleasure.
The pain from the master sergeant’s last lash built in her backside. She shuddered under it. She heaved a sob from the depths of her chest.
Georgia closed her eyes, and made her body do what the master sergeant had commanded: she arched her back under his hand and she bent her knees. She pushed out her naked, already very sore bottom, for her terrible lesson.
“Oh, yeah,” one of the privates said, behind her, as if he couldn’t help himself.
“That’s it,” the lieutenant said. “Men, go ahead and let this bad girl know you like seeing her whipped. We’re going to put a plug in that ass, soon, too, so there’s going to be a lot to cheer about.”
Georgia whimpered at the officer’s humiliating words, at the ripple of applause that went around the room in response.
Morale. He’s building morale, she thought, trying to close her eyes tighter. I couldn’t do it, so he’s going to use my whipping for the purpose.
“SRD,” the master sergeant demanded, “are you ready to take your punishment?”
Did she hear in his voice, despite the military severity, a bit of tension? As if the lieutenant’s words hadn’t pleased him very much?
“Sir, yes, sir,” Georgia sobbed, her bottom bouncing a little despite her best efforts to keep herself still. The pain of the last lash had started to fade a little, and to her dismay the bouncing, which she had meant to soothe it, if only slightly, made a new heat begin to build, further forward.
Biting her lip, she opened her eyes, because suddenly she found she couldn’t keep them closed. She needed to see those big cocks in the soldiers’ hands. When she saw them, all of them, up and down the rows of cots, she felt her mouth start to water, and another sob welled up inside her because of how very bad a girl she was.
“Give her twelve more, Master Sergeant,” Lieutenant Stevens said.
“Yes, sir,” the NCO responded. Georgia felt his hand move a little on her back, to grip her waist and keep her in place, and then her whipping began in earnest.
All the arousal that had begun to gather in her pussy vanished at the first lash. Helplessly, Georgia writhed against the controlling hands of the men, screaming in agony as the master sergeant delivered the terrible lesson to her bare bottom-cheeks and her upper thighs.
“Please... please...” she cried, but the strap came down at a steady rate, once a second for twelve terrible seconds. No matter how she writhed, the strong hands held her there so that each lash fell precisely where Master Sergeant David Heath wanted to place it on Georgia’s poor little bottom.
“Oh, no... oh, no... oh, no,” Georgia whimpered now, because she heard the strap drop onto one of the cots, and she felt fingers on her punished bottom-cheeks, opening them and putting something cool and viscous between them.
She had worn a butt plug at BGF sometimes, like the other girls. Anal training had represented an essential part of the regimen there. Some of her fellow inmates had been made to have one after a public paddling, but Georgia hadn’t undergone that humiliation herself. That would just have happened in front of the other inmates, though: now, in front of her platoon, she would know degradation of a kind she had never guessed at before.
“Hold on, Master Sergeant,” the lieutenant said abruptly. “She’ll suck my cock while she gets the butt plug.”
“Yeah, Lieutenant!” one man said.
“Woo!” came from the other side of the barracks.
Clapping came from everywhere, and Georgia’s face felt like it had caught fire.
“Yes, sir,” said the master sergeant. His left hand still held her waist, and the fingers of his right were between her whipped bottom-cheeks. Georgia whimpered as she felt them move, gently, against her smallest, most private place. Did the master sergeant know that he was touching her that way? She heard a whine come from her throat as in a flash all of the arousal the strap had driven away seemed to return in a rush: even at BGF she had never responded this way to a man’s touch on her anus, and it made the blood in her cheeks burn even hotter.
Georgia heard footsteps behind her on the concrete of the barracks floor and felt Private Thompson, on her right side, shift a little to let the lieutenant by. She heard the officer unzipping his fly, and she opened her eyes to find his hard penis right in front of her face. Georgia swallowed hard, and turned her eyes upward to look at the lieutenant, looming over her, his cock in his left hand and his right just coming to rest on the back of her neck.
Each of the enlisted men of the platoon got to fuck Georgia once every two weeks. The lieutenant and the master sergeant appeared on her duty roster every Saturday, though because both the platoon’s officer and its NCO were very busy with actual administrative matters, she had only had a single ‘intimacy session,’ as the regulations called it, with Lieutenant Stevens, and none at all with Master Sergeant Heath despite the fucking he had given her after her spankings.
When she had gone to the lieutenant’s quarters for her intimacy session, he had treated her with great respect. They had shared a bottle of wine, and kissed for a long while on his cot. He had given her a blue baby doll nightgown to wear, and asked her not to wear anything under it. Once, during their session, she had seen the fire of dominance in his eyes, when, after fondling her little breasts through the lace for a long time, he had told her to lie down and spread her legs.
Georgia had complied with a casualness that seemed to drive the dominance from the officer, which had—she suddenly realized now, confronted by the purple head and the long hard shaft of his manhood—represented exactly her intent. Everything she had done as the platoon’s SRD had been meant to distance herself from the needs her bad-girl training had brought to light. Looking up into the lieutenant’s brown eyes, she saw the return of that dominance, and felt her hips buck with need against the master sergeant’s grasp.
“Open that mouth, SRD Georgia Jones,” said the master sergeant. “Put out your tongue.”
She shuddered at the sound of her first name in his deep voice, as much as at the little push he gave with a fingertip at her bottom-hole.
“Get your eyes down,” the lieutenant said, his voice thick with arousal. “Don’t look at your commanding officer without permission.”
With a little sob Georgia lowered her eyes to the rigid cock in front of her, and opened her mouth, curling her tongue over her lower lip as her daddies had taught her at BGF. For the first time since coming to First Platoon, she felt like she might have new daddies now, even if they were called master sergeants and lieutenants and even privates.
Chapter Six
David’s middle finger between Georgia’s warm little bottom-cheeks spread the lube around the tiny, puckered opening of her anus a little more, pressing more firmly with each circle. She moaned around the lieutenant’s penis as he enjoyed himself in her mouth, thrusting in and out more deeply as the pleasure of the face-fuck grew greater.
Georgia’s whole body shook underneath David’s left hand, and he found himself stroking her there, much more tenderly than his sergeant’s instinct told him he should. A deeper instinct—the one that lay underneath what he had learned about being a sergeant, really—told him to keep going. Master sergeants did a lot of screaming, yes, but they screamed because they cared.
He took the big pink butt plug from the cot where the lieutenant had put it. Garmin, still holding Georgia’s left shoulder though David could see that his grip had slackened to a reminder that she must stay in place and learn her lesson rather than a forceful restraint, whistled. One of the privates behind David hooted with anticipation, and another laughed.
Georgia cried out as Lieutenant Stevens used her mouth with his hardness. H
er bottom moved as if she had no way to control it, her wonderfully smooth pussy seeming to beg without words for David’s fingers on her needy clit. If he had harbored any doubt as to whether this bad girl should receive the sort of degrading discipline the new order specified, it would have flown out of his mind at the muffled but unmistakably submissive sound of Georgia’s cry and the wanton motion of her hips.
“Let’s get that plug in there,” the lieutenant said, pumping his hips as he cradled Georgia’s head in his right hand. He had lifted his shirt with his other hand so that he could watch his cock go in and out of her lips, and his fatigue pants had fallen to his knees. “I want to give this bad girl a pearl necklace.” The officer looked around the men of the platoon. “You all go ahead and come on the SRD too, whenever you feel like it.”
A cheer went up from the men, and Georgia moaned helplessly. David put the rounded tip of the plug at the little button of her bottom-hole, then began to press it firmly into her anus. A shudder went through her almost naked body. Her bottom clenched, as if she meant to try to push the invading toy out, but David stroked her back and pushed the plug deeper into her most private place. A muffled sob came from her mouth as the lieutenant kept enjoying her service there.
“That’s it, Master Sergeant,” the lieutenant said, looking down admiringly. “Thompson, what do you think? Should the master sergeant put that plug all the way in?”
“Sir, yes, sir,” Thompson replied in a voice that had a good deal of sexual hunger in it. The two privates holding Georgia over the footlocker didn’t have the same opportunity to jerk off as the rest of the platoon—like David’s, their cocks must be as hard as iron, without the opportunity to satisfy that deepest of urges.
The pink plug had entered only half an inch, with its round but narrow tip. The widest part lay a further inch and a half up the toy. It glistened with the copious lube David had applied to Georgia’s young anus, but it would be a terrible ordeal nonetheless. With his left hand he stroked her back, quieting her motions and taming her. With his right hand he pushed hard on the base of the plug, his cock leaping as he watched the silicone surface disappear inside Georgia’s smallest hole.
She cried out around the lieutenant’s cock, very loud. Her backside shook, its warm pink surface showing very clearly what a thorough lesson she had already received for her dereliction of duty. The plug, however, represented a much deeper—literally—and more important, a much more intimate form of discipline.
David had never plugged a girlfriend, though he had often considered it. He didn’t know whether that shameful kind of punishment would have proven effective for his previous sexual partners, but he could tell immediately how well it worked on a bad girl like Georgia. She emitted another sharp sob, and then with a submissive whimper that seemed to go straight to his cock she arched her back still further and did as she had to do: her bottom pushed against the in-driving of the plug, and she received its widest part inside her anus. Her tiny ring closed around the narrow half inch of silicone at the base, and the t-shaped base itself nestled provocatively in the valley between her pert, well-whipped little bottom-cheeks.
“That’s it,” the lieutenant said. “Master Sergeant, step back if you would and let all the men come take a look at our little SRD with her ass plugged. Garmin, Thompson, you can step back, too. I think you should have turns in her mouth, since you held her so well. You, too, Master Sergeant. Let’s see what you can do with this bad girl.”
David had just begun to obey, wondering whether he should ask the lieutenant to excuse him since he should rightly be seeing to discipline in the ranks of the platoon during such an important time both for the unit and for the SRD in particular, when there was a distant explosion, and the warning siren sounded outside.
“First Platoon, weapons and defensive stations!” he shouted automatically. “SRD, stay there until the platoon leaves, then go to your quarters. First Platoon, move!”
The lieutenant had his fatigues back in place, as did the rest of the platoon. David felt a surge of pride at how quickly they had responded. He still had his hand on Georgia’s back, he realized, and he saw that she had turned to look at him over her naked shoulder. He rubbed her back one more time, gazing into her frightened, confused eyes. He hoped she could see his love in his face, and hoped she couldn’t, at the same time.
Then he turned and led his men toward the weapon lockers at the other end of the barracks.
* * *
The guerrillas came from the hills to the east of the FOB, where the jungle came closest to the perimeter. They had waited until the light of the setting sun would be directly behind them, so that they could overrun the fortifications at the gate—with heavy losses on their side but nevertheless effectively routing the men of A Company who were manning the posts there.
As David ordered his platoon into a defensive position behind the neighboring barracks he realized that the enemy had almost certainly infiltrated the base. This was going to be a shit show of the first order.
He betrayed no anxiety to his men. Really, he felt no anxiety. He had his duty to do, and he would do it. The need to protect the SRDs who would all, like Georgia, now be in their quarters, represented a fundamental portion of that duty, but so did keeping his men alive and, above all, driving back the enemies.
David hardly even cursed the obviously shitty intel with which the battalion’s officers had been working. Somewhere under the canopy of the jungle, out of view of satellites and drones, these self-designated mineral freedom fighters clearly had a well-organized and well-armed base of some kind. He and his men had searched the jungle for days and seen no trace of it, but the FOB was small, despite the five hundred soldiers it housed, and the forest immense.
“Watch for friendlies!” David shouted. “Do not return fire until I give the order!”
Across the dirt road David made out Second Platoon in the twilight, right where they should be, in the corresponding defensive position with Sergeant Samara and Lieutenant Usher conferring. The crack of rifle fire sounded from the right, toward what David could see, peering around the corner, was the ruin of the FOB’s gate, presumably blown up by several rocket-propelled grenades.
“Sir,” he told Lieutenant Stevens. “Second Platoon is across the way.”
The officer had been concentrating on the radio system Private Thompson had brought out of the barracks in the semi-orderly confusion of the platoon’s exit.
“Battalion, B Company,” the lieutenant tried again, but no one answered. At David’s words, he looked up and peered across the road. He saw Lieutenant Usher and immediately signaled, asking if Usher had communications. When signaled in the negative, the lieutenant turned to David. To the east, an explosion sounded, then more gunfire.
“Master Sergeant, your recommendation, please.”
David let out a breath he had been holding. He hadn’t yet gone into actual combat with this green lieutenant, whose intelligence he respected but who didn’t have the battlefield experience David did. With a junior officer, you never knew until the shit hit the fan whether he would take advice.
“Sir, I would coordinate with Second Platoon over there and work our way around the perimeter.”
“You think they’ve infiltrated?”
“They may have,” David replied.
Lieutenant Stevens grimaced. Into the radio he said, “Second Platoon, First Platoon. Usher, you there?”
Looking across the road, he saw Usher pick up his mic. Well, at least they had got the radios working between the two platoons, David thought with relief. Coordinating their defense had just become a lot easier. They would work their way around the perimeter, keeping an eye on the barracks, and eventually they would repel these fuckers. He turned away from the FOB’s central road toward the track that circled the inside of the barbed wire, and saw two guerrillas looking back at him, their rifles ready.
Then all hell broke loose. Something exploded behind him just as he brought his own weapon to b
ear. No one was going to aim with any precision for a few seconds, with the disorientation brought on by the shockwave. David’s orders to his platoon got drowned out, but his men had figured out at least some of what had occurred. David brought down one guerrilla, and Garmin got the other one.
More of them came around the corner of the barracks. Another explosion sounded behind them. Suddenly, to his horror, David heard a woman scream in fright.
From that point on, the battle took on the strange, automatic quality David remembered from his previous combat, in the Middle East. Calm descended on him despite the noise and despite the gore. He got another guerrilla. Garmin took one in the arm. A Jeep exploded two buildings down.
Battalion got on the radio at last, and from there it was a matter of covering every inch of the FOB and stamping out any remaining guerrilla infiltration. That was when, after conferring with Samara, Lieutenant Stevens had to report to Captain Wentworth that SRDs Rian Brady and Georgia Jones were missing and presumed captured.
The enemy had blown a hole in each of the two barracks, on their east sides. That had done significant damage to a lot of things on the interior, but there didn’t seem to have been any looting.
“They’ve been watching the FOB from the jungle,” Lieutenant Stevens said grimly. “They must have been. They came for the SRDs, as their extra fuck you to us, along with just telling us they don’t mean to stay silent, now that we’re bringing in the mining equipment.”
The lieutenant looked down at the end of the central road, where a one-billion-dollar drilling rig had suffered what David guessed must be millions of dollars of damage.
Much more worried now than he had been an hour before as he calmly directed his men in combat operations, David tried to keep his emotions in check and the anger out of his voice as he asked his commanding officer, “What is Battalion saying about recovering the SRDs?”
“Nothing yet,” Lieutenant Stevens replied. “I think we would just call in an airstrike, if...”