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Subject: {ASSM} 6409 02/03 {Libertine} (M+F+ force oral anal voy toys enema bd sm tort)
Date: Sat,  5 Apr 2003 00:10:03 -0500
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"6409" - part 2
    by Libertine
 

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?"

"Gone."

"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 in part three here in this newsgroup --


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