Georgia couldn’t figure out how she could possibly have forgotten to shine the master sergeant’s dress shoes, but she knew the consequences wouldn’t be too severe. Come to think of it, she had the slightest, most niggling kind of suspicion that she might have forgotten because the consequences wouldn’t be too severe—and because they would include not just the usual trip over the master sergeant’s knee but also the usual pounding over his cot, with his incredibly taut hips spreading the heat from her punished bottom to her needy pussy.
During those times in the master sergeant’s quarters, when Georgia paid the price for her rather frequent forgetfulness, she felt like all nineteen-year-old five feet four inches of her could fit in the palm of his enormous hand. Certainly when the master sergeant put her into the position he desired, whether for spanking or for fucking, she felt that small. When she looked up at him after he had told her to take off all her clothes, her blue eyes fearful despite her thorough understanding of her position and of what would happen next, she felt like she couldn’t be larger than a little girl who needed to learn a lesson in her duty to her elders.
Master Sergeant David Heath, she knew, would never hurt her. Nor would he ever let any of the other men of First Platoon hurt her. Georgia had arrived at this South American forward operating base, called a FOB, six weeks before. Here the Rifle Company B of the elite First Tactical Battalion had been deployed to guard vital mineral resources from enemy action. In her role as First Platoon’s SRD—Sexual Relief Device—she had been passed from hulking private to hulking private, fucked daily and nightly in the little room they called her quarters, at the end of the platoon’s barracks, except on her weekly day off.
When the platoon went out on maneuvers, she took care of some of their housekeeping chores. Shining the lieutenant’s and the master sergeant’s dress shoes for the weekly inspection of the company by the colonel represented the most sacred of these chores. Once before she had forgotten to do it. Georgia had also, twice, left the door of the barracks open so that a swarm of biting insects had entered and made life miserable for a day.
In all three cases the master sergeant had conducted the discipline session she had earned. The third time, after being brought to Lieutenant Stevens’ office for a brief lecture on her duties, the handsome thirty-year-old officer had said, “Master Sergeant, you will impose consequences.”
Master Sergeant Heath had said, “Yes, sir,” and then, “Follow me, SRD Jones.” Then Georgia had walked behind the solid, precise step of his huge, looming frame to his private quarters in the platoon’s barracks. With the door closed, the master sergeant had pulled out the sturdy folding chair from his desk and sat in it. Georgia still, despite the master sergeant’s seated position, found herself looking up at him, so much taller did he stand than she.
“Take off all your clothes, SRD,” the master sergeant had said in the deep voice that seemed to shake Georgia’s body from the ground up and to send a terribly ambiguous thrill through all her limbs. “I’m going to teach you a lesson I hope you won’t forget.”
Georgia had come from the Bad Girls Facility where these days they trained Sexual Relief Devices for the Army as well as high-priced concubines for billionaires. She had gotten used to having to take her clothes off—especially for the frequent punishment sessions her BGF daddies had imposed. Still, when the master sergeant told her to do so, Georgia always protested.
“Can’t you do it over my fatigues?” she had asked petulantly, half expecting that the tall man with the ramrod spine would tell her she had just earned the strap, rather than his enormous hand, on her bare backside.
“No, SRD,” he had said steadily. “You know you get disciplined in the nude, just like the regulations say.”
The regulations. Since the Army had started deploying SRDs to units all over the world—there were four other girls here at Forward Base Lightning Justice alone, each assigned to her own platoon—Army Regulation 1135-18 had governed all their lives. In particular, AR 1135-18-7 read:
Any SRD found to have violated any regulation or standard shall receive corporal punishment upon her bare buttocks and upper thighs, according to the appended schedule, as modified at the discretion of the officer or NCO administering such discipline. She shall undress completely to receive this disciplinary action. The officer or NCO who administers punishment shall, at his discretion, use the SRD’s mouth and/or vagina and/or anus after punishing her.
Georgia had twisted her mouth to the side and looked at the master sergeant skeptically when he referred her to the regulations that way. He had inclined his head and raised his eyebrows. That little lift of those dark eyebrows always made Georgia’s tummy flip over.
“Do I need to get the MPs, SRD Jones?” he had asked. “They’ll take your fatigues off for you, if you can’t do it yourself. Then you’ll get twenty more spanks.”
Georgia had frowned, looked down, and started to take off her pants. She always pulled down her panties inside them, so that she wouldn’t have to stand there in front of the master sergeant just in her underwear, which seemed to her somehow worse than being completely naked.
She hadn’t known how she could still feel the slightest bit of modesty about nudity, that third time—especially after everything she had gone through in the past year, from being picked up on the street for solicitation, to her time at BGF, to her sexual service to the soldiers who fucked her daily. Nevertheless, something in the master sergeant’s calm but stern eyes made Georgia blush, and she had tried to cover herself when she had everything off and had to stand before him.
The master sergeant, she knew, could explode at his men like a volcano. Once Georgia had seen him scream for five solid minutes at Corporal Kelly for exposing his squad to enemy fire. The corporal had done pushups until he could hardly lift his arms, with the master sergeant standing over him, his hand hooked in the man’s belt to make him do more pushups, shouting the whole time. Georgia had wiped away tears, and she could hardly believe the corporal, a kind lover who kissed very sweetly, hadn’t cried himself.
She had wondered whether, if she refused his gruff order to come to his side as he sat on the folding chair, he might yell at her that way, throw her over his knee, get the punishment strap from his desk, and start whipping her. Maybe he would whip her with the strap until she couldn’t sit down for a week. The other men would see the bruises the master sergeant had left, when they came to fuck Georgia.
Only a split second later, though, while the terrible idea still lingered in her mind, making her heart beat fast, the master sergeant had simply reached out his long, muscular arm and pulled Georgia right over his left knee, spreading his thighs so that he could clamp his right leg over both of hers. Naked over his thick, camo-covered thigh, she had cried out and grasped the smooth metal legs of the folding chair.
For a moment, then, Georgia had felt his strength controlling her. The terribly confusing mixture of shame, fear, and need that her BGF daddies had started to teach her about would flood her senses. She had whimpered a little, at that point, as she usually did. The sound arose despite her best efforts, thanks to the wayward action of her bare pussy, waxed by order of the Army and lewdly visible, Georgia had felt sure, to the master sergeant between her slightly parted thighs. She had clenched down there, too, just like usual, as she waited for the awful consequences of her failure to do her duty, as if somehow the painful spanking she would now get were actually something else entirely.
Master Sergeant David Heath had not wasted any time lecturing his platoon’s SRD, once he had her in position for her punishment. Whether because he had wanted to get the spanking over with for Georgia’s sake or because he had meant her to understand that when she misbehaved she must expect swift retribution, he had begun to spank Georgia’s upturned bottom with his huge hand immediately. Hard and fast, he had spanked the little cheeks poised over his knee, in an unvarying pattern just as regimented as the inspection of the platoon he carried out every morning: right cheek, left cheek, right thigh, left thigh.
From the very beginning, Georgia had sobbed and wailed, as she always had. She had learned, since she had begun to receive old-fashioned discipline at BGF, the value of that release both to her receiving a lighter punishment than the tougher girls got and to her psychological wellbeing. Screaming and struggling over the master sergeant’s knee, she had thought of the men in the barracks relaxing, of how they could undoubtedly hear Georgia getting punished.
The terrible pain in her bottom—the master sergeant spanked very hard indeed—meant that the warmth in her pussy had vanished almost as soon as he started in on her bare-bottom lesson. The feeling of being held in place by his powerful limbs, though, and the idea of the rest of the platoon listening to her helpless cries, had seemed to tune her body to a frequency of sexual need that Georgia had learned not to push away but to welcome. She had thought of the master sergeant’s handsome face, his square chin and the neatness of his buzz-cut blond hair, and imagined him looking down with satisfaction at how terribly red he had gotten Georgia’s little bottom.
It had seemed to her that at just about that moment, in this third spanking she had received from the master sergeant as in the previous two, he always stopped spanking her. Georgia’s cheeks had run with tears and her back had heaved with sobs. Her bottom had felt as hot as an oven.
The master sergeant’s hand had returned to her backside, to rub gently; first the middle of the right cheek, then the middle of the left one. The transformation of discomfort to intense, raging need had seemed instantaneous to Georgia. She had whimpered, desperately trying to keep the sound from becoming a moan.
Georgia had no qualms about letting the master sergeant, the lieutenant, and the men of the platoon hear her cry out under the master sergeant’s punishing hand—she even felt like it probably helped morale, which she knew represented her most important role in her deployment. Having them know about how deeply and troublingly their SRD responded to punishment, however, seemed to her a very different matter.
The problem had gotten much worse a moment later, because the master sergeant had said, “Good girl,” in that low, almost gentle growl of his. Georgia had known at least that a certain degree of salvation was about to happen: the master sergeant had reached to his desk and gotten the Army-regulation lubricant that he kept there for the occasions when the SRD visited his quarters.
Georgia had her own supply of the stuff, of course, in her own tiny quarters. When the men of the platoon came to fuck her, after all, they had the right to choose her anus for their pleasure, and they often did.
The master sergeant, however, always used the lube on Georgia’s pussy after he spanked her, because—she felt certain though he never said anything at all besides ‘good girl’ at this point—he meant to fuck her there according to the regulations. Georgia felt sure the master sergeant did this because he presumed something that wasn’t in fact true: that she wouldn’t be wet enough to take his huge cock comfortably without a thorough application of Army lube.
Now on a daily basis Georgia felt as grateful for the invention of personal lubricant as she imagined the next girl did. But her gratitude had become all the greater at the end of her third spanking, when she felt the master sergeant roughly apply it to her pussy lips and her clit, and work it inside her on two fingers as she cried out as ambiguously as she could. After all, it meant that he hadn’t detected the gushing need already in her pussy from simply having his rubbing fingers on her bottom-cheeks after the spanking.
“Get up, SRD,” he had said then. “Go to the cot and bend over it. “ He had released her from his restraining leg, and helped her up. Shaking all over from the overwhelming mixture of sensation and emotion, Georgia had obeyed, putting her palms on the crisp white sheets of the master sergeant’s bed, devoid of any blanket because of the sweltering heat here at Base Lightning Justice.
She had heard his fatigues drop to the cement floor. She had looked back over her shoulder to see him approach, to get a fleeting look at the massive tool in his hand, at how hard he had gotten while punishing her.
Then, with unerring accuracy, the master sergeant had simply entered her, putting one hand and then the other on her hips and fucking her like a jackhammer from the beginning. Georgia’s back had arched and her head reared back, and she had cried out loud as her whole body shuddered.
Had the master sergeant known she had just come, uncontrollably? Had he known that she always just kept coming as he pounded her bottom with his hips, renewing her punishment that way?
It hadn’t taken him very long to come himself, spurting his seed inside her IUD-protected pussy so copiously that it ran out of her and into her panties for a good ten minutes afterward.
He had said, “Good girl,” one more time, and then he had said, as he pulled his hardness from inside her, “You’re dismissed, SRD Jones.”
Master Sergeant David Heath regarded his un-shined shoes with a good deal of consternation. Frankly, the idea of even bringing dress shoes to a forward operating base still struck him as ridiculous.
“The SRDs need something to do, Master Sergeant,” Captain Wentworth had explained to the assembled NCOs of the battalion, back at Fort Bragg.
“Couldn’t they learn to knit?” a first sergeant from another company had asked. The idea of a weekly formal inspection while the battalion was deployed in Africa didn’t sit well with any of the NCOs.
The captain had smiled a very thin smile. “While it might be nice to have a toasty warm hat or a soft scarf, First Sergeant,” he said, “while serving in the tropics…”
A ripple of laughter had gone through the men.
“…these girls need as many tasks as possible that teach them their place in their platoons.”
David had frowned at that, and raised his hand. He had only met SRD Georgia Jones that morning, when all the SRDs assigned to Company B had arrived on base. He had responsibility for all five SRDs, as the master sergeant of the company, but SRD Jones would serve First Platoon, David’s own platoon, and so he had of course paid extra attention to her. David felt perfectly comfortable exercising his authority with his men—you didn’t get to the rank of master sergeant unless you could provide effective military discipline. The idea of doing the same for pretty nineteen-year-old Georgia Jones, however, didn’t come naturally.
He believed in firm-handed, loving discipline for wives and girlfriends, of course. David had taken his last girlfriend, Sandra, over his knee on several occasions when she had used foul language or had gossiped, and she had admitted that her spankings had improved both her behavior and their relationship. The notion of mixing that kind of intimate bare-bottom guidance with the orderly running of a barracks, however, gave him pause.
Yes, David knew that the purpose of the SRD program lay in improving morale through giving soldiers a much needed sexual outlet. So the sexual aspect of the discipline these NCOs were being asked to provide to these girls obviously represented an essential part of the plan. Thinking about Georgia’s pretty, heart-shaped face and the way her blue eyes had gone wide at the sight of David looming over her, he had felt the beginnings of a qualm: a master sergeant had to administer impartial justice to all the men—and, now, the women—of his company. He would try, to be sure, but just as he would object strenuously to a plan of engagement that seemed to expose his platoon to flanking by the enemy, he had felt the need to question Captain Wentworth more closely.
“Shouldn’t they know that already, sir?” he had asked when the captain had nodded to him.
“They should, Master Sergeant,” the officer had replied. “But they don’t. I’m assured that command has implemented the policies that govern the SRD program with all due care, but these girls are bad girls, as sweet and pretty as they may seem. They’re coming to us from a special facility for rehabilitating bad girls the only way that will work for this particular kind of bad girl—that is, with strict sexual discipline.”
A few chuckles from the sergeants and corporals had made Wentworth curve his lips again into his tight smile.
“I know it seems… unusual,” he said. “But it’s our duty—our highly pleasurable duty, command hopes—to complete these girls’ rehabilitation. The experts at the Bad Girls Facility tell us that the more menial tasks we give the SRDs, and the more consistently we impose consequences for a girl ‘forgetting’ to do them, the better. That burden, such as it is, men, will fall principally on you. Your commanding officers will most often assign the correction of an SRD’s misconduct to you, and you will carry it out in accordance with the new regulations.”
David had indeed, on three occasions now, corrected Georgia. He had more or less reconciled himself to guiding her by unconventional means—for the military, anyway—to a better understanding of her place in the Army and, later, in society, as he had decided the role he played in the girl’s life should do.
His misgivings hadn’t gone away, though—if anything they had increased, because the slight catch in his breath he had felt that first time Georgia had looked up at him had blossomed during the battalion’s deployment to Forward Operating Base Lightning Justice. Master Sergeant David Heath had fallen in love with SRD Georgia Jones, and he couldn’t let her know.
He thanked heaven that because of the special nature of her role as a Sexual Relief Device, jealousy didn’t play any role in his feelings for her. He watched his men come and go from her quarters, and he heard Georgia cry out sometimes, as they fucked her. David felt a good deal of satisfaction that Georgia seemed to scream louder under his own pounding hips than she did for any of the other men, but even if the contrary had been true, he told himself sometimes, he wouldn’t mind—he would simply spank her harder and fuck her harder the next time she broke a rule.
Therein lay his real misgiving, because David understood as he considered the hypothetical possibility that he probably couldn’t maintain his impartiality as he should. Worse, he knew he wouldn’t actually be more severe with Georgia, even though he almost certainly should.
Indeed, when he did actually punish Georgia, he knew he went easy on her. He couldn’t help it. Yes, she got a thorough spanking and a hard disciplinary fucking from behind to put her in her place, but each time David had imposed consequences on the SRD, on behalf of the platoon, he sensed himself sparing her the full measure of discipline she had earned, in a way he would never do with his men.
Now, as he looked down at the un-shined shoes in his footlocker, he had that same worry, but multiplied. The new order from divisional headquarters concerning the SRDs meant that the master sergeant would have no choice but to give SRD Georgia Jones a very rude awakening to the requirement that she become more consistent in the performance of her duty to her platoon.
Special Order 875-3
Purpose: To ensure that Sexual Relief Devices (SRDs) assigned to Task Force Lightning maintain requisite standards of military conduct.
- Statement of military purpose and necessity: The SRD program, despite its clear success in building morale, has introduced a level of laxness into Task Force Lightning that Central Command deems unacceptable. In consultation with the civilian partners in liaison for the program, this order addresses the challenge with clear measures.
- Punitive order: Paragraph 3 of this order is punitive. SRDs found to fall below the standards set out in paragraph 3 shall be subject to corporal punishment according to the guidelines set out in Paragraph 4.
- SRD conduct: a) SRDs shall maintain a high level of attention to their menial duties in barracks; b) SRDs shall salute properly; c) SRDs shall not be permitted to wear clothing other than their Army-issue lingerie while indoors, except on their days off. If an SRD’s commanding officer prefers, she may be kept nude at all times.
- Disciplinary consequences: At the recommendation of civilian partners, Central Command does not remove the discretion given to officers and NCOs in punishing faults in SRD conduct. However, from the date of this order’s effect, all punishments must be logged in detail and sent to division for review. In general, the following guidelines are to be observed, and failure to enforce them may result in disciplinary action for officers:
- a) An officer’s bare hand is to be employed on an SRD’s bare buttocks on no more than two disciplinary occasions before moving to a more severe punishment.
- b) The Army-issue punishment strap provided to NCOs when their unit’s SRD arrived is to be employed for repeat infractions of the same misconduct without exception. The new guidelines from civilian partners specify that the young women chosen for the program may need to be whipped to the degree that they must be restrained to receive punishment. It is recommended that whippings from the date of this order’s effect take place publicly in the barracks or the mess hall, with the SRD restrained by the men of her unit over a footlocker or a table.
- c) As recommended by civilian partners, SRDs shall receive simultaneous use by whole squads on a weekly basis (‘gangbanging’). Gangbangs shall be carried out in particular after public punishments, to enforce discipline and to boost morale.
- d) As recommended by civilian partners, SRDs shall receive frequent anal discipline. Each SRD arrived with a set of anal plugs for this purpose, but reports have reached Central Command that these plugs have not been employed with any regularity. Civilian partners emphasize that anal discipline represents an essential element in an SRD’s rehabilitation.
Note: Remote monitoring of sexual arousal in SRDs by civilian partners is ongoing. This monitoring ensures that SRDs disciplinary sexual use is consensual at the fundamental level. Refer to Army Informational Briefing 875-A for further advice and specification.
David had fucked SRD Georgia Jones after her spankings, and so he understood what he had read in Briefing 875-A as more than a list of eye-opening facts about the girls chosen as Army SRDs. Georgia—and presumably Rian, Martha, Wendy, and Janice, the other four SRDs of Rifle Company B—needed a kind of sex that David had frankly never thought he might experience the way he had always wondered about.
Briefing 875-A, however, did give a very helpful summary of the factors that contributed to Georgia’s evident need for a hard, disciplinary pounding over a sergeant’s cot. SRD Georgia Jones, like the other SRDs, had broken the law. The circumstances of her offense had been expunged from her personnel file, but the briefing made clear that although she had committed no violent crime she had demonstrated a deep-seated tendency to act out in antisocial ways.
Moreover, the briefing indicated, the available data showed that Georgia and the other SRDs had developed that tendency as a direct result of their difficulty in acknowledging the submissive nature of their sexuality. At the Bad Girl Facility from which Georgia had come, her daddies had begun her rehabilitation with strict discipline and a demanding regimen of sexual training.
Here in the Army, as the briefing emphasized, the intention was to complete that rehabilitation. Once their officers expressed satisfaction with her conduct, Georgia would receive training in an administrative capacity, and might even begin to move up the ranks. Her history, though, and her proclivities dictated that she must receive the strictest of discipline, and be guided with the firmest of hands.
Special Order 875-3 made perfectly clear that David hadn’t done his own duty by her in that regard. He took a little comfort in the knowledge that Central Command wouldn’t issue an order for the purpose of dealing with the failings of a single master sergeant. Other NCOs and perhaps even commissioned officers clearly had similar difficulties in meting out the kind of bare-bottom punishment and disciplinary sex Georgia and her fellow SRDs needed—and, in David’s experience with Georgia’s general attitude toward Army discipline, richly deserved.
“Master Sergeant?” Lieutenant Stevens called from his own adjoining quarters. “You there?”
“Yes, sir?” David called back.
“Could you come in here a moment, please?”
David gave his un-shined shoes a final look, certain that he would be looking at a similar pair of the lieutenant’s in a moment, and straightened. He took a single breath to compose himself, shoulders back and chin high, going through the ritual his own drill officer had taught him of turning his fatigues into a dress uniform in his mind. Then he walked swiftly out the door of the tiny room, turned the corner on his heel, took one step, turned the corner again, and entered Lieutenant Stevens’ quarters with what he knew appeared that indefinable air of the experienced NCO who is somehow ramrod straight even while at ease—which he was not, of course, when entering a room containing an officer.
“Master Sergeant,” said the CO of First Platoon, “at ease. We have a problem.”
“Yes, sir,” David replied. “The shoes.”
He looked Lieutenant Stevens in the eye for the first time since entering, after having seen that indeed the officer had an index finger pointing at the dress shoes in his footlocker.
“The shoes,” the lieutenant confirmed. “But, obviously, more than that. The consequences.”
“Yes, sir,” David replied.
“I believe,” Stevens said with a frown, “that we’re going to have to whip and then gangbang the SRD in the mess hall.”