by Emily Tilton
“Yes, sir,” David replied, looking into Georgia’s eyes so intently the heat in her cheeks blazed up. “Yes, sir. I do.”
* * *
In the master sergeant’s quarters, Georgia Jones did indeed have her debriefing, after she had been allowed a few hours’ sleep. The master sergeant sat in his desk chair, and he made Georgia stand between his thighs with her hands on his shoulders. His face, on a level with hers or even a little higher, wore a grave expression.
She had on a white t-shirt with no bra above her fatigue pants, and as he looked at her seriously and spoke to her gently, his fingers began to play with the lower hem of it. The feeling of the fabric rustling against her skin, and the sight of his big fingers there, clearly getting ready to begin the process of removing her clothes, sent a shiver through Georgia’s limbs.
“I have a feeling there’s something you want to tell me, Georgia,” he said softly but almost solemnly.
She started, because he had never used her first name before without calling her by her full title, SRD Georgia Jones.
Sexual Relief Device Georgia Jones. Army whore.
Georgia felt her face crumple, and tears well up in the corners of her eyes. She nodded, tight-lipped. For a moment she felt certain David would become stern and demanding, the way a sergeant should be when dealing with enlisted personnel. Maybe he would even decide he had to spank a confession out of her—whip it out of her, perhaps, the way the guerrilla sergeant had tried to whip out of her the story of the pink butt plug.
On the contrary, though, she saw in his chiseled face a patience she hadn’t known he had in him. He still looked very serious, but she could sense what seemed to her like the ghost of a reassuring smile haunting his lips. He did care about her: she had no doubt at all, now. A warmth rushed into her chest at the sudden comfort it gave, and suddenly Georgia realized, at first to her surprise and then quickly to her joy, that she loved him.
“Yes, Master Sergeant,” she said, wondering if she should tell him the other thing—the thing she had just realized, about loving him—before what she had meant to tell him since the moment in the colonel’s office when he had proposed the debriefing.
No, Georgia thought. I’ll save that for later. It’s not really part of the story, is it?
“Call me David,” the master sergeant said. “From now on, when we’re alone.”
Georgia almost told him the part about loving him right then, but now that started to seem almost like a naughty secret, and her resolve not to became even firmer.
“Yes, Master Sergeant,” she said, smiling now as he smiled.
His face grew stern, though. “SRD, I think I gave you an order.” Despite the set of his chin, his eyes sparkled.
“Yes, Master Sergeant David,” Georgia said, feeling a little chastened but also, for the first time since the previous day, a little defiant.
“I think I need to debrief you before I debrief you,” he growled. “You’ll understand your position better once your panties are down. Hands over your head.”
It felt so very different from when he had made her take her clothes off for a spanking, here in his quarters, before. That had seemed, despite the embarrassment, almost impersonal. It had felt like being punished at BGF, when her daddies had carefully disciplined her, and carefully used her sexually, but without affection.
Now to have David pull the t-shirt off over her head, to feel his hands brush against her breasts—to sense he meant to undress her for his pleasure, specifically, rather than the good of the platoon... it made her shudder with need.
And that was before he put his hands to the waistband of her fatigue pants, to unbutton them and pull them down. That feeling of his big, strong fingers inside the fabric, making it tighter, seeming to control that part of Georgia’s body, the whole region between waist and knees, made her clench so hard that she emitted a little cry.
“Yes, SRD,” David murmured, his eyes fixed on that part of her, as if he had already undressed her in his imagination. “We need to get these down as soon as possible.”
His fingers worked at the button, and the tightness of the waistband suddenly eased. Then Georgia’s face got hot anew as David pulled the pants down and with a sharp intake of breath clearly noticed the panties she had put on before coming to his quarters: her favorite lacy red panties from the lingerie issued to each SRD. The panties whose seat, as David now discovered with a hand reached around to take possessive hold of her pert bottom, consisted only of two ribbons of fabric, on either side of the valley between her cheeks.
“Georgia,” he breathed. “What do you need to tell me?”
Chapter Twelve
Georgia gave another little cry—a softer one, more of a whimper—as if at the way David held her whole bottom in his big hand. She closed her eyes, and then opened them again. David did everything in his power to keep his face locked into its sergeant’s stern expression.
He knew at some point he would find the moment to let his face go, to show how much joy he had in his heart to have saved her—for which the colonel had already told him he had a medal coming. Even calling her by her first name, for the very first time, didn’t seem to represent the proper time, though. He sensed Georgia had to say whatever she held in her heart to her sergeant, as a sergeant.
“The guerrilla who was... you know, whipping me? When you came in?” Her brow had knit, and she looked deeply into his eyes as if desperate for David to understand.
“Yes, SRD?” he said, only stopping himself from saying sweetheart instead of SRD at the last moment.
“I think he was probably a... a sergeant. I think they called him sargento or something like that, once or twice.”
David nodded, feeling his own brow furrow as he tried to grasp what Georgia meant him to understand from the story.
“That’s the Spanish word for sergeant, sure,” he confirmed.
Georgia drew her lips into a tight line and gave a quick nod, seeming to gain a little confidence. The sheer prettiness of her face seemed to make his hands rove over her mostly naked body. He hadn’t finished debriefing her even in the nontraditional sense of the word: her fatigue pants remained bunched around her knees and her red, lacy, seatless panties remained on, covering her sweet pussy and not covering the pert bottom it seemed two sergeants had whipped the previous day.
She bit her lip, a deep crease appearing on her forehead, as he fondled her both in front and behind, telling her wordlessly what he at least had meant by a debriefing: when he finally took those panties down—or chose to leave them on—he meant to make clear that SRD Georgia Jones belonged to her unit, and to its master sergeant, completely. With his left hand he cupped the lace-covered slit between her creamy thighs, while with his right he parted her bottom-cheeks and laid his middle fingertip on the wrinkly little hole between them.
“Oh...” Georgia sighed. “Oh... God, I... David, please...”
“Go on, SRD,” he said. “The man who whipped you was the sergeant.”
She nodded, much more slowly this time, her lower lip once again caught between her teeth. David kept up his gentle caress, wanting her to understand that from now on he would touch her as he chose and when he chose. Georgia spoke with evident difficulty, but also with clear submission to her sergeant’s lewd, pleasuring fingers.
“He wanted me to tell him how the plug got into my bottom,” she breathed.
David’s chin went up in surprise. He had wondered why the guerrillas had left the plug inside Georgia. Frankly, as he had organized the rescue operation he had in his anxiety pictured a wild, even a violent scene in the guerrilla camp. They would, he had felt sure, have taken out the plug so that they might use Georgia’s backside as they pleased.
He supposed he had the sargento to thank, and perhaps the captain as well, that nothing of the kind had happened. As he remembered the scene in the cave, which he had only glimpsed for a moment before his squad’s presence had changed it completely, it seemed like the guerrilla sergeant had taken a different
tack, and now David thought he might have figured out some of what Georgia needed to tell him.
“And what did you tell him, SRD?” he asked, keeping his face impassive even as he increased the wantonness between her thighs so much that even through the lace he felt her pussy lips contract delightfully against his rubbing fingertips.
“I... I didn’t tell him, Master Sergeant. I didn’t want him to know that I was a bad girl who didn’t shine my sergeant’s shoes, and got a whipping in the barracks and got a plug in her bottom, but... but I was... Oh... oh, David...”
David had worked his middle finger inside Georgia’s anus as she made her confession. In front, he had tugged aside the gusset of her naughty panties, too, so that he could spread some of her wetness up to her clit and rub her firmly, the way he knew would make her hips buck. Her bottom squirmed onto his invading finger, and she began to ride his hands, moving helplessly, bouncing up and down in a greedy search for pleasure.
“I was going to tell him. And I didn’t try to get away... when they came into the barracks. I didn’t. I didn’t struggle. I didn’t want them to... to take me... and to use me, but...”
Georgia fell forward, against his chest, her face buried in his neck. To David’s delight, she was kissing him, on his clavicle, his neck, his jaw. He felt the wetness of her tears, but her hips kept up their needy motions and the wetness of her pussy flowed into his cupping hand.
“Shh... shh, sweetheart,” he said, giving in at last to the impulse. “Shh. It’s okay.”
“I’m a bad girl,” she whispered. “I’m such a bad girl. Oh... oh, God... I’m going to...”
“Are you going to come, little Georgia?” David asked softly. “Are you going to come for Daddy?” He used the word without thinking about it: something in him remembered that she had come from a facility where she had had daddies, and had sensed, maybe in the way she had sobbed with need and pleasure at the word little, that Daddy might be even more of a magic word for her.
Georgia cried out into his neck, kissing and kissing him there, and he felt her come in an instant, impaled on his finger behind and caressed firmly in front.
He made his hands less insistent, but he kept his fingers moving, very gently. The wish to make certain Georgia understood that he meant to be her daddy from now on came over him, somehow increasing his love for her though he had not thought that possible. He could tell how deeply her heart had responded to his decision to claim her not just as his platoon’s SRD but as his own little girl, and it felt like his veins had filled with light.
“I...” she whispered. “I... kind of wanted them—the guerrillas—to, you know, use me?”
Georgia pushed back from him with her hands on his shoulders, and looked into his eyes, as if scanning them for signs of anger.
“Why, sweetheart?” David asked, fairly sure that he knew the answer but also sure that she needed to tell it to him, in her own words.
She closed her eyes, then buried her face again into the soft spot between his clavicle and his neck. She said something softly that David couldn’t quite understand though its tone left him in very little doubt about the words’ basic meaning and the vibration of Georgia’s voice there felt delicious.
“What, Georgia?” he said softly, using his hands between her legs and her bottom-cheeks to make her shiver. “Look at me and tell me.”
He delivered the last sentence in a more severe, more sergeantly tone, and it made Georgia shiver in a very different way. She pushed away again and stood up with her eyes still closed and a deep crease in her brow. Then the blue eyes opened, looking very troubled but also at the same time rather petulant, as if Georgia meant to experiment with maintaining some veneer of willfulness.
“Because you were so mean to me,” she said.
David couldn’t help it. He smiled. To his delight, the trouble vanished from her eyes and the petulance—the mock petulance, he could tell—grew.
“You whipped me in front of all the men, and you made me suck the lieutenant’s cock, and you put the... the thing in my butt. It hurts!”
He found himself playing innocent, then, simply because he sensed that she needed a little more space to talk it out. With his hand behind her, he worked his middle finger deeper into the orifice in question as he asked, “Is that all? Does it only hurt?”
Georgia’s mouth twisted adorably to the side even as the crease in her forehead returned.
“No,” she whispered. “But... but that’s why... that’s why...”
David had begun to move his fingers more firmly and more quickly.
“I think I need to debrief you fully, SRD,” he said softly. “I’m very glad you chose these panties for me, to make it clear that you understand that I’ll be your daddy from now, and that your daddy is in charge of your bottom, but it’s time to take them down.”
“Yes, Daddy,” she breathed, closing her eyes again.
David kissed her then, because he couldn’t help it, and he kept kissing her as he pulled down her panties until they met her fatigue pants, then stripped everything down together. At her ankles, he met her socks and her boots. Georgia giggled into his mouth, and he broke the kiss.
“Stand back, sweetheart,” he said, urging her away from him gently. “Daddy’s going to take off your boots.”
She giggled again, and David realized that even though being a master sergeant and being a daddy actually involved a lot of the same skills and feelings, a good daddy generally had to speak a good deal more gently.
For a moment, though, he put his master sergeant face back on as he surveyed his almost-naked SRD. She looked so damn sexy with her pants and her red lacy panties bunched around her ankles and the rest of her buck naked. Her tiny nipples stood out like berries on her little tits, and the cleft of her pussy, with the tiniest hint of glistening coral lips peeping out, made his cock stand up hard between his thighs.
“What?” Georgia asked when she realized her daddy had decided to look at her in this embarrassing way. She moved her hands self-consciously, clearly with the intention of putting them over her breasts and her pussy.
“Nope, SRD,” David said, managing to keep the smile off his face. “Now that you’re debriefed, I’m going to inspect you—as your master sergeant and as your daddy—for as long as I want.”
“Oh, God,” Georgia breathed, her hands going to her sides and making little fists as her brow furrowed anew. She closed her eyes as if to shut out the sight of him looking her nude, nubile body up and down.
When David bent down and began to untie and unlace her boots, she started.
“Daddy!” she said. “What...”
“Shh,” David said, not lifting his head from his task. “Daddy is going to take off your boots so he can have you in your birthday suit, the way he wants.”
He heard a little whine come from above him, and he felt her whole body shake. Georgia stayed silent and still for the rest of the unlacing process, and then David said, “Go sit on my bed.”
Leaning back now, he watched her, red-faced, shuffle across his quarters the little distance that brought her to his narrow bed, from which he had taken all the covers before she arrived. When she turned to sit, she looked at him with her lips drawn into a tight line. The lower one crept adorably between her teeth, and she chewed on it for a moment as she gazed into his eyes. David kept his sergeant face on, now, regarding her as impassively as he could, waiting for Georgia to show her readiness for what would happen next.
“Like this, Daddy?” she finally asked.
Chapter Thirteen
When David smiled his daddy smile again, Georgia felt a balloon of joy start to expand in her chest.
“Yes, sweetheart. Just like that.” Every time Master Sergeant David Heath called Georgia sweetheart, it made her nipples tingle and her pussy clench. She would never have thought such an old, overused, familiar word could do that. Several of the BGF daddies had called her that, and she had more or less gotten used to it even though at first it had
seemed annoying.
When she heard the word come from the NCO who had always treated her so sternly and had never called her anything but SRD Jones until today, it made every part of her warm. Even at BGF, Georgia suddenly realized, she had never known what it meant to have a daddy—not like this one, anyway.
He stood up, then, and loomed over her, his eyes fixing on hers for a moment before they roamed down her almost-naked body. The panties and the fatigues and the socks and the boots made the whole picture of herself much more naughty, Georgia thought as she followed his eyes downward. A new rush of heat went to her cheeks when she glimpsed the bare cleft of her pussy between her thighs.
He’s debriefed me. My daddy took my panties down, and now he’s going to take them all the way off, so... so he can...
She had thought sex didn’t mean all that much to her, especially after BGF. The daddies there had certainly proven to her that she needed a lot of it, and she needed to feel dominated to experience the full power of pleasure that a firm hand unleashed inside.
But between BGF and the Army, Georgia had started to become blasé, she supposed, even about the daily pleasures of regular submissive sex. Her platoon fucked her in rotation, and she came—though never so hard as after David had spanked her.
Now, though, as she watched him take off his fatigue jacket and then his t-shirt to reveal his powerful chest and the rippling muscles of his arms, sex seemed new, wicked, and forbidden. The thought of what David would do with her after he had undressed her completely made her whole body respond as if she were an animal who had just come into heat: she felt her hips jerk and her knees tremble.
Their eyes met again, once he had the t-shirt over his head. His sheer handsomeness, the sharpness of his cheekbones and the tightness of his jaw, made a whimper come out of her lips and turned her insides into warm jelly. The expression on his face wasn’t the daddy smile, then: it resembled his sergeant face more closely, but it had something else in it too—the hunger of a wild animal, matching Georgia’s own almost-feral need.