“Welcome to womanhood.” The words and endorphins in her brain, the fading effects of tortured tits and intense orgasms, convinced her she would never be the same. It was not her wedding night, the way she had supposed it would be. She was strapped to a table in a dungeon, yet she felt strangely happy. How had it come to this? She tried to remember. It was only weeks ago. She had gone through a door and…

The dean was, perhaps, in her forties. She stood straight and trim, and was dressed in a sort of uniform, a white, short-sleeved blouse with some sort of insignia on the shoulders, a black skirt, a belt with a brass buckle with the letters AMA. “Welcome to the American Military Academy,” said the dean. “You realize, of course, we are not in the United States, and the academy has no connection with the American military.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Tell me why you decided to enroll here.”

“It was that or prison.”

“What was your crime?”

“It’s all there on the forms. Giving alcohol to a minor, and manslaughter.”

“Tell me how it happened.”

“My senior year in high school, after I turned 18, my father had to go to Europe on a business trip, and he took my mother with him. Since I was then an adult, they left me in charge of the house. We had only recently moved, and I felt so left out at school. I mean, all the popular girls already had their friends, their cliques, and I didn’t fit in. So, one Saturday, I invited six of the most popular girls to our house, for a swimming party. I thought, you know, that they might like me better then. Well, after a while, guys started showing up. I said that I hadn’t invited them, but, of course, they wouldn’t go. Someone got into my parents’ liquor cabinet, and the party got pretty rowdy. When I threatened to call the police, my ‘girl friends’ tied me to my bed, with my own stockings.”


“They pretty much trashed the house, had a wild party. Of course, I couldn’t see what was going on.”

“They just left you there, tied up?”

“Oh, they’d check on me from time to time, and some of the boys came in and looked me over, teased me about how they were going to…to have sex with me in my own bed.”

“How did you feel about that?”

“I was frightened.”

“Of what?”

“Frightened that they really would rape me.”

“It didn’t thrill you a bit to contemplate that? Don’t you enjoy sex?”

“I’m a virgin. I’m not ready for sex.”

The dean wrinkled her brow, as if perplexed. “Weren’t you even a bit aroused?”

“No. I was scared. I couldn’t help it. I wet the bed.”

“So, who did you kill?”

“I didn’t kill anyone! After a while, when it was dark out, things quieted down. One of the girls loosened the knots that held my left hand. They had me stretched out, you see, with my wrists and ankles tied to the bedposts. It took me a while to get loose, and by then everyone had left.”

“What did you do first, after you got free?”

“I went to the bathroom. And then I took a shower.”

“And then?”

“I got dressed in my sweats and tried to clean up the house. I changed the sheets on my bed and got rid of as much of the mess as I could.”

“Where does the manslaughter charge come in?”

“In the morning, I saw a boy, naked, drowned in the pool. I didn’t even know his name. I called the police, of course, and they took me to jail. My “friends” lied, said I’d got him drunk and took him out to the pool, after dark, saying I wanted him to…to have sex with me. The prosecutor said I could get fifteen years in prison. My lawyer said my life would be ruined if I went to prison, but that if I would plead no contest, he might be able to arrange some kind of probation or something.”

“Your lawyer was Mr. Solomon, who contacted us.”

“Yes. The judge agreed to a ‘rehabilitation plan.’ He would suspend the sentence if I enrolled in a college, outside the country, and earned a four-year degree. Then I could apply to have my record cleared. If I fail to adhere to the plan, I go to prison. It was all arranged, even before my parents got home.”

“You understand the terms of your enrollment? As a scholarship student, if you accept the work-study conditions, you are obligated to stay here for six years or until you earn your degree, whichever comes first.”

“Yes. Mr. Solomon explained that I have to earn my tuition. My parents couldn’t afford to pay. At least, I’d never ask them to pay all that money for my mistakes. I understand the terms of my probation.”

“As a member of the Corps of Cadets, you will be subject to military training and discipline. We’re strict here: no smoking, no drugs, no slacking off. You understand? Once you sign the papers, you can’t change your mind. There’s no court you can appeal to, saying you didn’t know what you were signing.”

“Yes, I understand.”

“In lieu of the academy fees, $27,000 a year, you will work to pay for your tuition and keep. You will work at whatever job you are assigned to, which could include military combat. At first, it might be cleaning toilets, or waiting on tables, or almost anything, but as you learn new skills, your working conditions will improve. You want an education, to prepare yourself for a career. We need you prepared to earn good money, or we couldn’t afford to keep you here. Both you and the academy benefit.”

“Yes, I know college isn’t free. But I will get a diploma, a degree.”

“Yes, as long as you work hard and do as you are told. You must obey every order, without question. Should you fail to do what you are told, you will be subject to military discipline, which may include corporal punishment. Quite frankly, you are selling yourself into slavery, but you will get out of here with a college degree, instead of a prison record. Are you ready to sign the forms?”


After the formalities, her enlistment witnessed and notarized, Cadet 6409-F (for female) was led to the medical office, where a nurse took her temperature and blood pressure. “Recruit,” the nurse said, raising a stethoscope, “take off your dress and bra, so I can listen to your heart and lungs.” She went through the routines, then told the half naked recruit sit on a table to have her reflexes checked and give three vials of blood for the lab tests. “6409, remove your shoes and panties.” 6409 hesitated just a moment. It was so strange, to just take off all her clothes in front of another person, even in a nurse’s office. “Quickly, now. You’ll learn to hop to it when you are given an order!” 6409 hastened to get naked. The nurse made her stand with her feet apart and press her chest against the padded examination table. 6409 heard the snap of latex gloves and felt a cool gel being applied to her labia. “No, please! I’m a virgin.”

“Silence, recruit!” A slippery finger probed 6409’s vulva, making her grunt. “Yes, she likely is a virgin,” said the nurse. “Very tight.” 6409 turned her head to confirm her suspicion; the dean was there, peering at 6409’s exposed crotch. The nurse forced her finger through 6409’s anus and swept the tip around inside the rectum. “No contraband that I can feel,” she said, matter-of-factly. “So often they think they can bring drugs in with them. OK, 6409, this way.” In the next room, 6409 was posed on a rotating stand, while a camera recorded her from every angle. They measured her height, weight, head size, bust, waist, hips, wrists and ankles. Then she was issued 8 white cotton T-shirts with AMA and 6409-F stenciled across the front. She was given 8 pair of black nylon shorts, like running shorts, with 6409-F in white across the back. The nurse had her try on black, canvas, rubber-soled slip-on shoes, and, when she found a pair that fit well, she marked the insoles, 6409, with an indelible felt-tip marker. They put a strange sort of bracelets on her wrists, black and rubbery, with some sort of metal latches. When the ends were pushed together, there was a click, and the joint was practically invisible. Blackened metal rings came out of the rubber. There were anklets, too, which also had metal rings. Finally, they gave her a chain necklace, almost like a dog collar, with 6409-F on it. “You may dress now.”

“I have no underwear.”

“Cadets do not wear underwear. For one thing, it is unhealthy in this climate. You’ll be sweaty enough without underwear. For another thing, it’s too easy to conceal things in underwear.”

“How will I hold my Kotex in place, without panties?”

“When you need them, you will be issued tampons.”

“I can’t wear tampons.”

“You’ll learn.”

“No, I can’t. I tried. I’m too tight. It hurt when I tried to put one in.”

“Show her,” said the dean softly.

“OK, 6409,” commanded the nurse, “assume the position.” When 6409 looked baffled, “Press your tits against the table and spread your legs!” When 6409 complied, the nurse put on another glove and held a pink plastic applicator in front of 6409’s face. Then the nurse approached her from her rear, pulled her shorts down, and spread 6409’s labia again.

“OW!” cried 6409 as the plastic invaded her virginal vagina, and there was some pushing. In a moment, the applicator was pulled out, leaving something strange and foreign filling 6409’s vagina. She could feel the string, dangling against the inside of her thigh. She felt as if she had been raped.

“When did you have your last period?”

“About two weeks ago.”

“You address superiors as Ma’am.”

“About two weeks ago, Ma’am.”

The nurse noted that on a form. “Sit here.” Before 6409 even realized what was happening, the nurse had run dog clippers right across 6409’s scalp. In moments, the recruit’s long, blonde hair tumbled to the floor, leaving her entirely bald! The nurse handed her a black beret, tested the fit, and marked the inside white label with a black 6409. “Now, get dressed. You may not wear your shoes. Cadets do not wear shoes unless told to.”

Dazed, 6409 stepped into a pair of shorts and pulled on a t-shirt. She didn’t mourn the loss of her hair, for she was pre-occupied with the strange sensation of a foreign object inside her and that silly string hanging down, the tip visible below her shorts. In a few minutes, it seemed, she had gone from being a middle-class high-school senior to being a frightened and confused nobody, simply a number, in some strange unfeeling “corps” of cadets. Still, she rationalized, it wouldn’t be as bad as prison. She had heard stories of torture with cattle prods, and prisoners being raped by bull dykes and sadistic prison guards. This wasn’t a prison. It was a school. The nurse handed her a toothbrush. “Pick up your uniforms and wait for orders. You are a RAT, 6409, Recruit At Training. A RAT does not speak unless spoken to. She does not do anything unless ordered to, and she obeys instantly and without question.”

“Attention!” A girl, much like herself, but with dark hair about an inch long, barked at her. “Stand straight, RAT!”

“Corporal, take this RAT to the Foxtrot RAT barracks and show her what to do.”

“Through that door, forward, march. Left foot, RAT! You step off with the left foot.” She was marched along a sandy path, hot from the sun, almost burning her bare feet. “Your feet will toughen up,” volunteered the corporal. “You never want to leave the paths. First, because it’s against the rules, second, because there are thorns and poisonous weeds and scorpions, and other things that will make you wish you hadn’t. Even with shoes on, you wouldn’t get very far. We’re on an island, and the water is full of sharp corals and stinging cnidarians and spiny fish and, a bit off shore, sharks. Escape, as they say, is impossible. Any questions, RAT?”

“Do cadets want to escape?”

“Some. Some people just can’t take discipline. Girls are smart enough not to try. Sometimes a guy will, though. They never make it, and they always regret it.”

“There are men here?”

“Lots. Most of them are paying students. You probably won’t meet any, unless The Academy wants you to. Actually, nothing around here happens unless The Academy wants it to. ”

“So, if a person tries to escape, they are punished?”

“Oh, yes. A few days in the hot box, and sometimes worse, after that.”

“Hot box?”

“It’s a little iron shed that gets really hot in the sun. No food, nothing to drink, nothing to do but sweat, really uncomfortable. They shove a hose up your ass and keep you hydrated, so you don’t die of thirst.” Seeing that 6409 was frightened, the corporal added, “That’s just for serious offenses. Most the time, when you screw up, the punishment is just enough to make you wish you hadn’t. It could range from a swat on the ass by a sergeant to maybe an extra work detail. I hate it when they make you clean out the grease traps in the kitchen. Sometimes, it’s a period of restraint. They give you ‘points’, and if you get too many, too fast, then the punishment is more severe, like a public whipping. Don’t worry, they’ll find something to punish you for. You just have to learn to take it. It’s part of your training. Like having to walk barefoot on hot sand, it toughens you up. This is a military academy. You’re supposed to learn to take anything that comes your way. That’s the secret of success. Never give up. Take whatever they give you and live to graduate.”

The Foxtrot (for female) RAT barracks, like so many buildings in the academy complex, was a one-story, windowless, concrete block building with a corrugated iron roof. Openings above the floor and below the eaves let in light and air; there was no mechanical heating or cooling, and no interior walls. There was no one there when 6409 and the corporal arrived. “Welcome to Foxtrot Company. Your bunk is there, number 6409.” The corporal indicated the first unmade bunk in two rows down the center of the room. The mattress was covered with plastic. The bed had folded sheets and a pillow, but no blanket. “The temperature here averages more than 80 degrees, Fahrenheit, warm enough that you can sleep in the nude. We all do. I’ll show you how to make the bed. You have to get the corners just right, and the sheets tight. It’s easier to keep your bed ready for inspection if you just sleep on top of the top sheet. This shelf is for your toothbrush and uniforms and shoes. The mesh bag is for your laundry. I’ll show you how they must be arranged. If they are not right, or your bed is not tight enough, you get points. Now there is your study station.” There was a metal chair, a computer monitor and a keyboard. “Most your academic lessons are conducted electronically; so you have no need for pencil or paper, and RATs are not allowed to have them.”

“Can’t I write home, Ma’am?”

“No. If your parents or the court want to know, the company commander will give them a progress report. You can’t get any mail, either, unless it’s something really important, like from your lawyer. As far as you are concerned, there is no world outside the academy, and you have no friends or family except us.” The corporal laughed. “Now, log on with your cadet number and study your RAT facts, the rules and regulations and commands. Memorize them. You are not allowed up to use the toilet until a break bell sounds. You get five minutes every hour. Don’t goof off, because the computers monitor your responses, and if you take too long to respond, you get points. Remember, if anyone comes in, you can’t speak unless spoken to, but you should stand at attention awaiting orders. Don’t, whatever you do, leave the building until you are ordered to.” She pointed to a small surveillance camera high up on an end wall. “Being AWOL, absent from your post without leave, is a serious offense.” The corporal left 6409 sitting at her screen, reading and responding to the programmed instruction.

6409 wanted to pee and to remove that awful tampon, but the bell wouldn’t ring. The toilets, she could see, were out in the open along the end wall of the building, along with a trough which served for washing. Nowhere was there any privacy. At last, the bell rang, and 6409 sprinted for the toilets. She was sitting there, with her shorts around her ankles, when several RATs came in, led by a woman who looked as if she lifted weights. 6409 recognized the sergeant’s arm bands and baton, a length of bamboo as long as her arm. Hurriedly, she stood at attention, her shorts around her ankles.

“Ah,ha! I spy a RAT. Welcome to Foxtrot, RAT,” said the sergeant. “Carry on with your business.” 6409 was just wiping herself when the end of break bell sounded, and all the RATs lined up at attention. The sergeant walked down the line inspecting them and stopped at 6409 Suddenly, she grabbed 6409’s T-shirt and pulled it up over her head. “Initiation time!” A dozen hands grabbed the helpless 6409, who couldn’t see, pulled down her shorts, and they held her bent at the waist. The bamboo baton whistled in the air and smacked 6409’s bare bottom. She screamed.

“No, RAT. You mustn’t scream. AMA girls are tough. If you scream, we have to start over again.” There was another loud whack. 6409 jerked reflexively, but she gritted her teeth and merely grunted as the searing sting of the cane was replaced by the deep ache of the bruise. Each girl, it seemed, at least a dozen, took her turn Some gave only a token whack, like the spanking at a birthday party, but enough put their muscle into it that, when she was released, 6409 could hardly stand. She pulled her shirt down over her breasts, so she could see, and she bent to raise her shorts. It hurt as the elastic waist band slid across her tortured ass.

When she was ordered to return to her keyboard, she chose to work standing up. The initial lessons explained the organization of the academy and the basic rules Cadets live by. Cadets do not lie, cheat, or steal, nor do they tolerate those who do. Failure to report wrongdoing makes one an accomplice in the misdeed. There were long lists of rules, things a cadet must not do. One thing that was forbidden was for a female cadet to go near the male barracks or to be seen in the company of a male cadet or even to talk with a male about anything except academy business. There was a shorter list of things a cadet must do. 6409 mentally summed them up. The mission of AMA is to train cadets, and that involves anything the Commandant wants it to. A cadet is, in fact, a slave, and must obey promptly and without question all orders from a higher ranking cadet. Any cadet with hat brass outranks a RAT. All orders, however unpleasant, must be executed correctly, with vigor and enthusiasm. There were instructions about marching and saluting. The academy mainly trained male cadets, who, upon graduation, might find employment with any of several “third world” armies or with mercenaries. Those who chose to return to civilian life would be well educated and self-confident, with a strong character and leadership skills suiting them for executive positions. Alpha, Bravo, Cocoa, Delta, and Echo companies, all male, and Foxtrot company, the females, plus a Battalion Staff, made up the Corps of Cadets. Each company had a training platoon, for RATs, and there was a special retraining detachment, where cadets deficient in character or discipline could receive special attention (punishment). For certain training and military operations, individuals from Foxtrot Co. might be attached to one of the other companies. All non-commissioned officers, NCO, and officers, the Company Commanders and Staff, were cadets who had earned promotion. There were only a few permanent employees, mature adults, such as the Dean, the Commandant and the medical staff.

While she was studying, two new RATs arrived, and 6409 surprised herself by participating in the initiations. She would never have hit someone in her former life. Already she was learning to conform without question.

There was a bugle call for the evening meal, and the cadets formed up for a head count. The mess hall was a huge building, like an aircraft hangar, and the RATs were marched in last. They stood at attention at their tables until they were allowed to go through the serving line. Sitting on her bruised butt wasn’t pleasant, and she had to sit at attention, looking straight ahead, eating with only one hand, not talking. Provosts, sergeants with special red badges, enforced discipline with bamboo canes, applied where they would get the attention of the errant cadet, sometimes right across the breasts. Dinner was beans and rice and some sort of greens, with tepid tea to drink. Afterward, in the gloom of dusk, NCOs drilled the Foxtrot RATs, marching them back and forth, punctuating the marching with exercises, like push-ups and squat thrusts. At bedtime, they sang the AMA song, undressed, and lay on their bunks. 6409, still embarrassed to be seen naked, wanted to leave her shirt and shorts on, but it was made clear to her that such non-conformity would not be tolerated. It was dark, so being naked wasn’t so bad. She lay there, silent, and heard whispers. “You’re masturbating, aren’t you!” “Yeh. I’m horny. I miss my boy friend.” “No sex for a while, I’m afraid.” “When we get our hat brass, there’ll be plenty.” “Yeh? How’s that?” “I heard…” “Don’t tell!” “Well, you’ll find out.” “Hah, the sergeant’s a lesbian.” “Shut up. What do you know?” “Well, I can’t wait to get my hat brass and find out.” Even sore as she was, 6409 slept soundly.

Before dawn, the RATs were wakened by whistles and turned out, naked, for exercises and a mile run, four times around a sandy oval. 6409 marveled that she was running, naked, in public more or less, following other naked women, the dawn sun gleaming off shaved scalps and untanned behinds. She would never have believed it could be, yet it was so. Somehow, in this academy or prison or whatever it was, things were very different than they were at home. As girls tired and stopped to rest, a sergeant would get them moving again with swats of the cane. 6401, a heavy Kentuckian, couldn’t make it and was assessed 10 punishment points. 6409 was staggering the last lap with a pain in her side, but she was determined to avoid punishment, if she could. Panting and wet with sweat, the RATs of F Company filed back into the barracks through a kind of corridor. The weight of the cadets on the slatted wooden floor turned on sun-heated water, which sprayed them from all directions, from head to foot, leaving them reasonably clean. There were no towels. They dressed and marched to breakfast. There, each cadet was given a few pills and made to swallow them while a corporal watched. The food was oatmeal, mostly. Afterwards, they were marched along a path through the surrounding forest for their morning work detail. To 6409’s surprise, only a few hundred yards from the academy was a resort hotel, and the cadets staffed it. She spent the morning cleaning bathrooms and making beds in the hotel rooms, always watched and directed by an older cadet. The cadets were marched back for their noon meal, mostly soup, and their afternoon studies.

Some distant computer dictated 6409’s curriculum. After some programmed drill on the RAT facts, which she was quickly mastering, there was a college-level course on World History, complete with some colorful videos. Then, to her dismay, there was a session labeled “Vocational Training” which dealt with the techniques of sucking a man’s penis! The instructor in the graphic video was a girl, obviously a cadet, though she was out of uniform. 6409 was dismayed; she couldn’t look, and, of course, she couldn’t make the required keyboard inputs which all the instructional programs demanded, to keep the student’s attention. In no time, it seemed, an NCO appeared and marched 6409 out of the barracks to a nearby office. It was there, while standing braced at an exaggerated position of attention, that she met her company commander, Captain 5997.

The cadet captain, in some respects a younger edition of the dean of women but remarkably beautiful, walked in a circle around the immobile 6409. She eyed the RAT up and down while toying with a riding crop. 6409 stood rigid, her eyes fixed on the screen which showed what the surveillance camera saw, her classmates at work. At one point the captain trailed the tip of the whip down 6409’s spine, and then, turning to face her, she gently poked 6409’s left breast, staring at the nipple, which was visible under the sweat dampened t-shirt. “I like to get to know my girl’s, 6409. You may sit down.” She gestured with the riding crop toward an upholstered chair. 6409 sat on the very edge, sitting at attention. “I give you permission to speak freely, 6409, and I expect you to tell me the truth. You know the cadet code, truth and duty and all that.”

“Yes, captain.”

“What did you think of the vocational training program?”

“It upset me. I’m sorry. I know I should have been more attentive, but… ”

“Most girls find it interesting, even exciting. Are you a lesbian or something?”

“No! No, captain.”

“What disturbed you about it?”

“I, I couldn’t imagine doing that. I was taught…I just don’t think I could. I mean, that’s not my vocation.”

“But it is, 6409. You need to earn your keep, the equivalent of $27,000 a year. This is a poor country, with depressed wages. Even if you worked 80 hours a week as a hotel maid, not just mornings, you couldn’t earn that much here. No, your real work is at night, entertaining the hotel guests.” 6409 couldn’t speak. “My dear, you look as if you are ill. Is something the matter?”

6409 hesitated, shaken, yet trying to sit at attention. “Captain, ma’am, I am not a whore.”

The beautiful officer approached 6409 and, with the crop in her left hand, she lifted 6409’s chin, so that she could look down into the RAT’s eyes. With her right hand, she touched, caressed, 6409’s left breast. For several seconds, they gazed silently at each other. 6409 blinked first. “All right,” the captain said, “you are not a whore, yet. You are old enough, but you are not yet a woman, not yet a whore. You will be. It is fundamental psycho-biology. All women are whores. It is our role in life, to find and please the men who will provide for us, who will care for and protect us. A man is attractive in direct proportion to the size of his bank account.” The captain let her right hand fall. “Oh, yes, you will get a college degree here, but that won’t make you happy. You must learn to be a woman. We will teach you. You don’t believe me, do you? You are an ignorant child. Your body does not respond as a woman’s would. Fear not, we will train you. You will become, as they say in the marines, a lean, mean, fighting machine. We will hone your reflexes, train your body, mold your mind. You will thank us for it. I can see it in your eyes. You don’t believe me.” The captain moved back to her desk chair and leaned back, crossing her shapely legs. “Do you think I’m beautiful? No, I don’t mean are you sexually attracted to me. I believe you when you say you are not a lesbian. Do you think men think I’m beautiful?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“When I came here, I was a mess, flabby and heavy and unattractive. AMA made me what I am today. At 18, I had no prospects; I was worthless shit, strung out on drugs, the whole dreadful story. At 24, I am somebody, and when I leave here, I’ll have what it takes to go anywhere, do anything I want, never having to worry about money. Why? Because AMA taught me how to please a man, especially a rich man. You have the raw material. You are a natural blonde, aren’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am. Well, kind of light brown, maybe, honey blonde.”

“And they tell me you are a virgin.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I can believe that. Your nipples tell me that. They are dead, expressionless. When a woman is turned on, her pupils dilate and her nipples harden.”

“You don’t expect me to be turned on by you, do you, captain?” The older woman just smiled. “While I have you here, I have some questions. When did you first start having periods?”

“About three years ago, when I was fifteen, ma’am. I was a late bloomer, they say, captain.”

“Yes, I can believe that. Your type, tall, long legs, often the result of delayed puberty. Men like it, though. Have you had many boy friends?”

“Not many, captain.”

“How many.”

“Well, one, captain, only one that I went steady with. Howard, before we moved.”

“Did you love him?”

“I liked him. I don’t think I was in love, captain.”

“And you are still a virgin. How far did you go with him?”

“I’m not sure, captain, what you want to know. I told you, I’m a virgin.”

“Did he feel you up? Play with your breasts? Finger-fuck you? What did you do together?”

“Uh, nothing, I guess, captain. We used to go for walks, and go to the movies, or bowling.”

The captain shook her head, as if in disbelief. “You are going to require a special training regimen. Like turning a flower into a ripe fruit. Special nurturing. All right, 6409, go on back to your barracks, and pay attention to your vocational training. There will be a quiz.” 6409 stood and turned to go. “Stop!” The captain gently pulled 6409’s shorts down. “I see they initiated you.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“You know they are not supposed to do that, corporal punishment without good reason. You want to press charges?”

“No, Ma’am.”

“Good. It’s a tradition of sorts. Establishes the pecking order. You are at the bottom. Don’t stay there. Stand up for yourself.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

The next night, after lights out, the captain came and took 6409, still naked, back to her office. She handed 6409 a rubber dildo. 6409 licked and caressed it and sucked it, as the girl did in the training video, and the captain seemed pleased. Quietly, 6409 returned to her bed, but it was a long time before she fell asleep. What was she becoming?

– To Be Continued… –