The daily routine seemed to go on, with Sundays like any other day. RATs got no free time. It seemed every moment during the day was programmed for eating or sleeping or work or training or academics at the computer terminal. Older cadets would sometimes come and take the girls away, in small groups, for exercises and drill or to work in the kitchens or at the hotel. Curiously, some of the drill involved dancing, or training as a waitress. Seldom was there any chance to talk to the other cadets; it seemed as if it was every girl for herself, even though they were supposed to work as teams, and they might all get points if one girl screwed up. The only time they could relax, as a group, was sometimes before bed, when they would be shown “training films”. Often these were videos of old military training films, “Elements of Field Sanitation”, “First Aid for Fractures”, “Camouflage and Concealment”, but, after the captain had retired for the night, the sergeants would substitute the most outrageous porno videos. Lean women with augmented breasts would perform every sex act imaginable, with both men and women, and a few acts 6409 couldn’t imagine. Some of the videos, like “Dungeon of the Mistress De Sade”, involved bondage and sadism, but, somehow, it didn’t seem real. Most the girls seemed to enjoy these, and they would whisper surreptitiously about them, as if they were circus acts. Over the next few days, more RATs joined the company. All the RATs got basic rifle training. 6409 was pleased to get a high score. They were issued new uniforms, “black pajamas,” which they ware during field exercises.

There was one strange event which seemed to mark the passage of time. The cadets were issued tampons, and then almost all the cadets in the platoon had their period within a day of each other. 6409 had heard of such a thing, women who live together gradually getting into menstrual synchronicity, but this seemed too perfect. She wondered if, perhaps, one of those morning meds wasn’t a birth control pill. Then they were given contraceptive implants which would last five years and most likely suppress the menses. Since they weren’t allowed to see the male cadets, it must mean….

Weeks went by, with more military training and long marches and learning to spend the night in the jungle without freaking out. Two of the girls just couldn’t take it, lying in an ambush position in the jungle at night…claustrophobia or something. They couldn’t help talking. When they disobeyed a direct order to be silent, they were made examples of. Both were stripped naked and their wrist bracelets were wired together so they were hugging tree trunks. Then a sergeant administered twenty whacks with a cane, and they were left there the rest of the night, bound to the trees, prey to insects and other critters. Any noise, any whine or whimper or sob, was answered with additional strokes of the cane. “You will go fearlessly into battle, because you know the penalty for disobedience will be worse than death.”

After a few more weeks, during which no one had a period, there came the event they had been waiting for, graduation from basic training. One night, after the silent evening meal, the training platoon was assembled in formation, and the captain addressed them. “Recruits, you have finished the first phase of training. You have earned certain privileges, like being allowed to talk during meals. Don’t lose them by misbehaving.” She passed down the rank of recruits, receiving a salute from each girl. The captain shook each girl’s hand and handed her hat brass, an AMA pin for her beret. (It would, of course, have to be kept polished, and any blemish, real or imagined, was reason for awarding points) “Attention to orders,” she announced. “By order of the commandant, recruits 6398 through 6425 are hereby promoted to E-2, Private. Get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow, you will be up late.” The new privates were then assigned to one of three platoons in F Co.

After the usual morning run and breakfast, they spent the morning at their keyboards and, after lunch, they were marched to the hotel, or, more accurately, to a sort of annex, which contained a restaurant, with dance floors, some meeting rooms, and corridors which apparently had special guest rooms. The new privates spent the afternoon practicing their dancing and serving skills in the restaurant under the direction of more senior cadets. Toward evening, 6409’s platoon was fed in one of the unused rooms and then taken to a sort of locker room complex. There they got proper showers, with soap and towels, and the new E-2s were issued their “formal” uniform. They each got a wig — 6409’s was long and blonde — and high heeled shoes. There was a black halter top, pretty much one-size-fits-all, which consisted of triangular pieces of cloth and string-like straps which tied behind the neck and behind the back. The cloth was adequate to cover 6409’s breasts fairly well, but some of the big girls, like 6403, could hardly conceal their nipples. There was also a black skirt, slit up the sides to the hip. On the shorter girls, it reached almost to the floor, but on 6409, it was mid-calf length. It was really just rectangular panels with ribbons at the top, so on the more petite girls, the edges met at the waist and the skirt rode low on the hips, but on poor 6403 several inches of pale hip and thigh were exposed by the inadequate skirt. Of course, they wore no panties, but the uniform was “street legal,” respectable enough. The girls were allowed some minimal make-up and perfume, and it was the first time in weeks that some of the girls had seen themselves in a mirror.

When almost the whole company, including the older veterans, was assembled in the restaurant, the captain addressed them. She had changed into a tuxedo and high heels. “Those of you who are experienced know what to do, and many of you have your assignments already. However, for many of you, you new E-2s, this will be your first experience with a job of this nature. I am sure, however, that all of you will be able to satisfy our clients and will earn your keep. If, however, any of you should be the cause of complaints, you will be given points, as appropriate, and punished as required. Should any of you earn special commendation from your client, points may be removed from your record. Rest assured that every one of our clients has been screened and is disease-free. You need not worry about getting pregnant. You have seen enough training videos that you should know what to do. Try to enjoy your work. Our clients, tonight, have already dined at the hotel, so you will be serving drinks and dessert, dancing with them, engaging in conversation, if they so desire. Tonight, you will have no assigned table. Circulate around, from table to table, so they can all get a look at you. It is in your best interest to be selected by a client who finds you attractive.” The awful truth shook 6409. She really was expected to be a whore! She’d never even been French-kissed. How would she cope? She resolved, however, that whatever happened, she would handle it. Survive and graduate. She waited, with the others, noting that the air-conditioned room was cooler than she was used to, and her nipples seemed to poke through the soft fabric of her halter top.

The first of the “clients” entered the room, men from 20 to 60, she supposed, and women, too. Some were dressed up, tuxedos or evening dresses, but most of the men were dressed in business attire, which, in this climate, was a fancy white shirt and dark trousers. A lot of the women were casually dressed, some in shorts or trousers, a few dressed, 6409 thought, as whores themselves. Before she knew it, 6409 was taking a drink order. After she delivered it, the man wanted to dance, and 6409 did her best. The recorded music was mostly slow and romantic, and she felt very awkward, being held by a stranger and steered around in the unfamiliar high heels. Her third order was from a woman, who also wanted to dance. The woman danced very close, pressing her breasts against 6409’s, and at one point, 6409 felt her sliding her hand over 6409’s mons veneris! “I’m sorry,” 6409 said, as she stepped back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend…” By then, the woman had let 6409 go and was looking at another cadet. 6409 wondered if she had just earned some points. She quickly sought out another client, an older man, who declined her offer of a drink but asked her to sit and talk with him. Before she knew it, she was telling him the story of her life, even though some little voice in the back of her head kept telling her to be cautious.

At one point, the captain stepped to a microphone and called for attention. “Will Cadet 6403 please come to the stage?” The big girl excused herself from the man she had been dancing with and almost eagerly went up to the stage. “We have some additional entertainment, tonight.” She gestured, and a young man and the woman 6409 had danced with stepped up behind 6403. “6403 has accumulated too many punishment points, so she is going to entertain you for while.” The two clients grabbed 6403’s arms and held her, so she couldn’t move. The captain reached behind 6403 and released the bow knots of her halter straps. The black cloth fell away, revealing her large, pink areolas and prominent nipples, a centimeter long, it seemed to 6409. Quickly, the captain plucked at the ribbons of the skirt, which fell away, exposing 6403’s dense, black bush of pubic hair. 6409 shuddered, in sympathy. She had seen 6403, who had a bed near to 6409’s, naked every night and every morning, when they exercised and showered, but this was different, being naked in front of all these men, in front of strangers. Four chains were lowered from above, and the captain snapped one to each of 6403’s ankle and wrist bracelets. As the clients stepped away, there was a whirring sound, and 6403 was lifted off the stage, suspended by her wrists and ankles. The captain orchestrated some adjustments, and 6403 was displayed to the audience, her arms above her head, her ankles lifted and spread far apart, so 6403’s vulva and anus were displayed, about shoulder high, to anyone who cared to look. The captain looped two little chains around 6403’s fleshy, upraised thighs. From them dangled little pliers or forceps. “I invite you all, whoever wishes, to participate in 6403’s punishment. In particular, please do not bruise her or draw blood, for she has work to do later this evening, but it would please me if, by the time we move on to other activities, her pubic hair had been plucked out.” 6403, who had remained silent, had a look of horror on her face, as she looked between her ample breasts at her upraised pubic mound. “6403, under the circumstances, you are permitted to vocalize, but please, do not offend our clients, or you will thereby earn more points.”

Soon 6403 was surrounded by men and women. The pliers were in constant use, as clients pulled out tufts of curly, black hairs. Other clients squeezed the breasts or twisted the nipples. Men and women slapped 6403’s fleshy buttocks and upraised thighs, and one played with the anus, slipping a plastic cocktail stirrer in and out. 6403 did vocalize, not words but cries and whimpers, as she squirmed and swung under the influence of so many invasive hands and the tugs of the hair-plucking pliers. 6409 covered her eyes and turned her head away. Then she said to the gentleman client, “I’m sorry, I have to circulate, you know.” She got up and fled, her back to the stage. In a moment, she felt a tap on her shoulder. “6409, I’d like that drink, now, bourbon, neat. Please bring it to the table, and we can resume our conversation.” She went to comply, and he let her sit with her back to the stage. Still, she could see others watching intently as 6403 was tormented, and she could see other cadets, some who had trained with her and were also here for the first time, who seemed very enthusiastic about their duties. 6407 was “lap dancing”, and 6411 sat on a man’s lap while he played with her breasts.

Sometime later, the captain again took the microphone. Behind her, 6403 hung, tears on her cheeks, looking between her bulging breasts at her now hairless mons. Probably 6403 couldn’t see, but 6409 could clearly see; her outer labia were plucked clean, a blotchy pink from the abuse they had suffered. The inner lips were clear to see, even the clitoris peeping out at their apex. Water dripped from 6403’s anus; someone had inserted several ice cubes into her rectum. “Ladies and gentlemen, since many of our girls tonight are unfamiliar to you, we are going to hold our customary auction. Cadets, to the stage, please.” 6409, and many others of Foxtrot Company assembled on the stage. They were quite a crowd, especially as no one seemed to want to stand near 6403. “First, I present to you 6409, who is, I assure you, a virgin!” The captain took 6409’s hand and led her to the front of the stage. “As you know, under such unusual circumstances, I can only accept bids from pre-approved bidders.” There was more or less silence for several seconds, as bids were placed, silently, electronically.

“Is she truly a blonde?” came a voice from the rear. The captain plucked at 6409’s skirt, which fell away, revealing her sparse blonde bush and pouting labia. 6409’s mind reeled with conflicting emotions. She had been told, years ago, by an indulgent aunt, that first sex is not the big moment in a girl’s life. It is the first time she undresses for a man, that first nudity is the significant event. But here she was, displayed for dozens of men and women. She had not undressed, voluntarily exposing herself to her special man. She had been exposed, like a manikin in a store window, for anyone to look at. That special romantic moment would never be hers. A tear slid down her cheek.

“Judge for yourself,” said the captain, removing the halter and leaving 6409 totally naked, but for her shoes. By force of will, 6409 stood there, at attention, while strangers examined her and placed bids on her virginity. Never had she felt so naked, so exposed, so…violated. For a brief moment, 6409 contemplated trying to escape. Of course, it was impossible. She would never make it to the door, and if she did, a naked woman, surrounded by unfamiliar jungle, with no place to go…. They would catch her and punish her. She knew she must do anything to avoid punishment.

She was almost relieved when the gentleman she had been talking with showed up to claim her. She tried to smile, while still concealing her vulva with her hands. “There, there, 6409, this is no time for modesty,” he said, as he took her hands in one of his. “You should be proud, the star of the auction, an altogether fine specimen of young womanhood. Stand tall. Walk proudly.” 6409 could hear 6412, a stunning redhead, being displayed and auctioned as he led her from the room and down some corridors to a room marked “Dungeon 7.”

The concrete block room, lighted only by open flames until the man flicked on the electric lights, was clearly designed to inspire fear. There was a thing like a medieval rack, ropes and chains, a pillory and a whipping bench, as well as a four-poster bed. The door closed with the loud chunk of a sturdy lock. There was no escape. The man turned to her. Automatically, she tried to cover her breasts and crotch with her arms. “Now, now, this is no time for modesty,” he said, softly, soothingly. She backed away from him. “You’ve been displayed to dozens of men, just now, at the auction.” But this man was so close, and she was locked in a torture chamber. She watched as he picked up a whip. “Attention!” he ordered, and she snapped to attention, with her arms straight at her sides. “Parade rest!” She put her hands behind her and her legs apart, as she had been doing daily on the drill field. “That’s better. The academy trains women well.” The man circled her, eying her up and down at close range. She kept her eyes to the front, but she got a good look at him. He was probably older than her father, but he was still lean and muscular, sort of like Clint Eastwood in his later movies. His dress was plain, but he was wearing a Rolex and a big diamond ring. “Men are attractive in direct proportion to the size of their bank accounts” popped into mind. He was holding the whip, it was rather like a leather covered cane, and, as he passed behind her once more, she was sure she would feel the bite of the whip across her behind. She tensed for the blow. Instead, his arm reached around her and his hand grasped her breast, while the cloth of his trousers pressed her buttocks. “You are a skittish one. Your captain warned me that I would have to go slowly with you. It’s going to take all my self-control; you are so beautiful. I like young, slender, girls. I like firm breasts. More than a handful is unnecessary. I could so easily fall in love with you.” His fingers squeezed, and 6409 whimpered, unused to such treatment. “Are you truly a virgin?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Are you hoping I’ll deflower you?”

“No, sir.”

“But you will cooperate if I do.”

“Yes, sir. You have the whip.”

“And the whip frightens you?”

“Yes, sir. And the captain, who will see me punished, if I do not please you.”

“You don’t think you would enjoy submitting to me, being the recipient of my sexual attentions?”

“No, sir. I will do it, but not willingly, sir. I am not yet a whore.”

“You don’t really think you have a choice, do you?”

“Realistically, no, sir. I’m afraid of whips.”

“So you will not, of your own free will, surrender your body to me.” He squeezed her breast again and then released it, walking to stand in front of her and examine her breasts. “No, I don’t think you will. Yet I must be your trainer. Sit on the end of that table.” He pointed with the whip. The table indicated was a gynecological examining table, complete with stirrups. She knew she must obey, but she did so reluctantly. The table had two ends, so she sat on the end without the stirrups. “You amuse me,” he said. He placed a leather blindfold over her eyes and buckled it at the back of her head. He raised her wrists and clipped the bracelets to her chain necklace, so her elbows were raised and her breasts lifted enticingly. He pushed her backward, and she realized he had placed a soft pillow there for her head. She was lying on her back, her legs hanging over the end of the table. Soon she felt her ankle cuffs being raised, and her legs spread apart; her bottom lifted from the table. Her vulva was totally exposed, totally vulnerable. She felt his finger tip slide down the inner surface of her thigh, and she flinched away from it. “I suppose I must,” he said with a sigh, and he placed a belt around her waist, which pressed the small of her back against the padded table and thereby immobilized her hips. Her buttocks hung out over the edge of the table, while her legs formed a wide vertical V. His finger slid down her thigh, traced the crease of her groin, skimmed over the fine blonde wisps of her pubic hair. She could not move to pull away. She was utterly helpless.

“I hope you are not too uncomfortable. You may be restrained like this for a long time, for you must be trained.” Several seconds passed, and then she felt his hands encircling her ankle, below the cuff, and slowly working their way down her calf, massaging her muscles. “Relax. You cannot move. You cannot resist. There is no point in tensing up; you will tire yourself. You must just relax and let what happens happen.” His voice was calm and somehow reassuring. She tried to relax, resigning herself to whatever would happen. Lying there, unable to see, she could not help concentrating on his touch. There was nothing threatening about it. It didn’t hurt. He did each leg, then her knees and thighs, stopping inches from her sex. There was a pause. Perhaps she heard him undressing. She felt his fingers meander toward her breasts, but he stopped short, only touching her armpits and tracing her ribs and drawing his fingertips along the periphery of her girlish hemispheres. He touched her forehead, traced the edge of the blindfold, caressed her cheeks, traced the line of her lips. She felt his breath on her throat, and he toyed with her ears. Only then did he touch her breasts. He sort of snuck up on them. He was sliding along her flanks and just happened, almost, to touch the side of her breasts. He stroked her belly, circling her navel, and then “accidentally” slid along the crease where her breasts rose from her chest. Then, quite deliberately, it seemed, he blew on her nipples, and she realized an unfamiliar feeling as the air rippled past them. Were they standing up? Yes, his fingertips ever so lightly touched the tips of her nipples, moved back and forth a few millimeters, and she felt her nipples bending to their touch. For hours, it seemed, he very gently toyed with her nipples. Yes, they were standing tall, and felt different than she could ever remember. Some times his fingertip would spiral from the crease at the base of her breast up the little mountain until it met the summit, the nipple. Sometimes his fingers would stray to other places, her thighs, or even the fringes of her pubic hair, while he blew on or licked or gently sucked her almost bursting nipples. She seemed frozen in the present, focused on the strange sensations, oblivious to the passage of time. She had never realized…

Then he got rougher, began kneading her breasts, forcing his fingers into their softness until the inner ductwork rippled under the pressure. 6409 began whimpering, seemingly complaining, until she burst into giggles. “You see,” her trainer whispered in her ear, as he squeezed both breasts, “you have wasted these all these years.”

“I never knew.” The training and the giggles went on for some time, until she whimpered and said, “They’re sore, now.”

“Phase two,” he said. A mist of warm water fell across her breasts, and the mist became a drizzle, then a hearty rain. The gentle percussion of the drops seemed to soothe her. He misted her all over, and soaped her skin, and rubbed and rinsed, everywhere, her feet, her legs, her arms, her body, her belly, her breasts, her belly again, her crotch. She felt the water puddling beneath her on the plastic covered padding. She heard it raining on the tile floor. She felt a more vigorous spray pelting her skin. It began to beat on her labia and inner thighs, run sluicing down over her anus, which her trainer soaped and rinsed and fingered. She giggled, so sensitive it felt.

She had little sense of time, but it seemed she had long ago forgotten her anxiety about this stranger having total power over her. He was now an old friend (though she didn’t even know his name) who thrilled and amused her with the things he made her body do, quite without her willing it. She had never had such fun, not water skiing, not riding a roller coaster. It was one surprise after another, the feelings he elicited in her previously inert body. He began again to massage her feet and ankles, then her calves and knees. He applied a creamy liquid with his hands. It smelled and felt like hair conditioner. Gently, he covered her, from her ankle bracelets to her navel, not neglecting to spend a lot of time rubbing it into her raised buttocks. 6409 decided it felt rather nice, though there were moments of anxiety when he kneaded her soft flesh and even fingered her anus. That was such a private place. Yet, somehow, it was exciting, to have this strange man touch her there. Then she felt the razor, starting high up on her elevated ankle. The man worked slowly and gently down her left leg, removing all the fine hairs, and then did the same on her right leg. It took a long time, as he frequently stopped to rinse or replace the razor. Of course, there came a time when the only hair left was her pubic hair. “That didn’t hurt, did it?”

“No, Master.” She remembered the instruction to call clients master, or mistress, as appropriate.

“I’m going to use a straight razor, as the silly disposable will clog. Be very careful not to move.”

“Yes, Master.” She felt the razor just below her navel. It was sharp and well lubricated, so she didn’t feel much discomfort from its scraping. She was, of course, very aware that her pubic hair, which she had prized ever since it began to grow, was being taken from her. It was a very intimate act, but, somehow, it didn’t really matter. He had bought her, and bought her hair. She felt the razor moving in short strokes, until it began to slide over her outer lips. She held very still, and the man was very careful not to nick her. To get the last bits of hair, he had to take hold of one or the other labium and pull it taut, while he made very careful, short strokes with the razor, even, it seemed, around her anus. Concentrating, as she was, on the removal of her hair, it hardly occurred to 6409 that another milestone had been passed. For the first time, a man had seen inside her cleft, her pink slit. Except once, when she had guiltily used a hand mirror, even 6409 had never seen inside her.

Now the man went back to the spray, and he thoroughly rinsed her from toes to navel, sliding his hands over her wet skin, as he washed away the lubricant and the few hairs which clung to the skin. For some reason, she thought of the Christian doctrine of baptism, the washing away of sins, so one can be born again, innocent. Then the gentle spray changed to a solid stream of tepid water, about body temperature, and the stream played up and down between her legs, one moment washing her anus, the next her mons, and then – she burst into giggles – it spurted between her sensitive, newly naked labia. She felt him place the nozzle — it must have been adjustable, like a garden hose — just at the apex of her labia, and the stream coursed downward like a river in a canyon, racing turbulently over something very sensitive just there at the juncture of her inner lips.

“You like the hydrotherapy,” he said softly, as the water raced over her clitoris. She had never imagined, never realized her clitoris was so sensitive. She felt the sensation build — Giggle! Giggle! — and build again and again, to be released in little explosions of electric excitement. She found herself laughing out loud, and then she went, “Uh! Uh! UH-UH-UH OH GOD!” Her whole body spasmed, but especially her insides, down there, where it felt as if some wild animal was struggling in her belly, and her brain short-circuited. In spite of her blindfold, she saw stars. And then it was quiet, but for her panting breath, and the echoes of an earthquake which slowly subsided. “Did you like that?” she heard, as if from elsewhere, and she nodded her head.

For a while (a few seconds?) nothing happened, as she slowly recovered strength and awareness of where she was. Then she felt something being placed over her wet breasts, a kind of ring, encircling each breast. The strangest thing happened. Her breasts seemed to swell, to tingle, to… whatever. “What’s happening?” she called out.

“Call it sensitivity training. I have placed cups over your breasts. They are such nice, pretty tits, like halves of oranges. I am applying suction, which will stimulate them, improve circulation, and it actually make them grow, in response to the tension, the same way muscles and bones grow under stress. It’s not painful, is it?”

“It’s very powerful but it’s not exactly painful. It feels as if my nipples…. I don’t have the words to describe it.” She didn’t have time to reflect further, for the water, the “hydrotherapy”, had begun again. Suddenly, she focused on the intense sensations in her clitoris and in her vagina, as the water pulsed in and out of the little opening, forcing it to open wider as the hydraulic pressure built up within her. When the stream diverted to her clitoris, she almost screamed, and her vaginal muscles squeezed the water out from within her body. The intense stimulation continued, alternating between her protesting vagina and her screaming clitoris, all accompanied by a chorus of sensations from her expanding tits. She was panting, grunting, babbling, unable to think of anything but the crescendo of sensation, the earthquake, the thunder and lightning, the storm within her pelvis, even more intense than before, if that was possible. Before she could recover, she felt him forcing his way into her tiny vagina. As her whole lower body shuddered and quaked, the penis forced its way deeper and deeper, stretching her, threatening to turn her vagina in on itself. Then the push became a pull and a push and her vagina was moving like a jackhammer! “Oh, so good, so tight, OH God!” she heard through the storm of another earthquake orgasm, and it seemed as if, this time, she blacked out.

She awoke to find her vagina empty, a kind of anti-climax, as if the final curtain had come down, but she wanted the play to go on. And then she realized her breasts were screaming for relief, and she called out, “Please, my breasts.” And, in response, the suction was relieved, and someone removed the cups from her swollen breasts and left them, aching, tingling, to recover. She heard people moving around her, dragging and footsteps. Finally, her blindfold was removed, and as her eyes adjusted to the light, she saw face of Captain 5997. “Are you all right?” said the captain.

“Yes ma’am. Where is my trainer?”


“Will I see him again, captain?”

“No, they’ve taken him to a hospital. A heart attack. I think you have killed him with pleasure.”

“I’m sorry, captain.”

“No need to be sorry, private. You accomplished your mission. It would seem you completed your training, too. Welcome to womanhood.”

– To Be Continued… –