Comfort Girl

M+f, non-con, bondage, gangbang, degradation, humiliation, misogyny, slavery
The table I was strapped to was padded, for which I was grateful, but there wasn’t much else to be happy about. The only things I wore were a blindfold and a thick collar with my service number.
My arms were secured by my sides, and I could feel my tits spilling across my chest as I was wheeled down a long hallway. My ass damn near hung off the lower edge of the table, and my ankles were secured in leather, almost touching it. I must have been quite a sight, naked, knees bent open and inviting, and my exposed cunt at the perfect height for anyone to just walk up and use.
The squeak of the wheels, the echo they made, told me the hall was tiled, probably polished to a high sheen like most military buildings were. Only occasionally did I hear the guffaws of young men, and then the tramp of booted feet dashing off ahead of my gurney. I could only imagine that they liked what they saw and were dashing ahead to be first in line.
There were names for my Military Occupation Skill… 69 X-ray, Intimate Relief Specialist. One way to get young men to sign up for combat roles was to promise them access to sex. And that’s where the 69s came in.
My thoughts came to a jarring halt when I heard double doors open loudly in the direction I was being rolled. I could hear men, a lot of men, talking, joking, being the pricks they usually are. They all quieted, not all at once, more like a wave of silence as I was wheeled to the front of what I imagined was probably a cafeteria.
The gurney stopped, and I was turned. Turned so that my spread open and tied legs were facing an audience of men I couldn’t see. With my ass half hanging off the padded edge I knew exactly what they could see… Everything. My cunt was wide open to them…
*****
The square-jawed hulk staring at me looked like he’d rather be snapping necks in combat than sitting in a recruitment office. He scanned my paperwork up and down, but I suspected he had no idea what the pages actually read.
“Sorry, miss… uhhh..”
“Stanton,” I said cooly, taking no comfort in the fact that I was correct about his difficulty reading.
He looked up at me, and his gaze drifted down. I could feel him peeling away the t-shirt, imagining what my girls might look like totally bare. Another time and place, I might have enjoyed his big, calloused hands all over them. Right now, though, I was out of options. Student loans had dried up, and the military was the last place that would ensure college payments.
“Right, Miss Stanton,” he said, dragging his eyes off my tits as if his gaze had been anchored there. “Given your ASVAB scores, the only things I could find for someone in your position…” his eyes drifted back down to my tits again, “Are the new Intimate Relief Specialist roles that President Thorne has introduced.”
He looked back up at me with a shit eating grin. I tried to remain calm while absolutely fuming inside.
The military, like many of the other institutions, had been reviewed by Thorne’s DOGE programs. Their summary was that recruiting problems could be cheaply and efficiently resolved if the backbone of the military, young men, were guaranteed sexual relief on a routine basis.
Those findings alone, and their publication, shot recruitment through the roof. Every new soldier was promised a good balls-emptying as part of their service to the country.
Emarrassingly enough, there were some women who signed up… I can't even imagine why. But there was no way these sluts were enough for the entire military. The military had resorted to buying every indebted indentured servant, or debt slaves, they could get their hands on. Luckily, I wasn’t one of those.
On one hand, the fantasy of being delivered to a platoon of horny Marines was hot, but to actually go through with it? Repulsive.
I’d been told my whole life that strong women were needed to end the utter fucking the world had gotten under millennia of patriarchy. I went to school and educated myself… well, almost. I still had 2 more years and another $100k in loans to go.
It was insulting that this lunkhead saw all my schooling, my great grades, good SAT scores, and wanted to try and convince me that I’d bombed the ASVAB for military placement. All he could offer me was a position as a uniformed whore. I stormed out.
Not before trying to grab the printouts of my application and school history. He simply put his hand down on it while I tore a corner away, saying, “Sorry, miss, that’s government property… Intimate Relief Specialist, say it a few times, try it on.”
That’s when I really stormed out. And all I’d gotten was a piece of paper with my name, address, and social media accounts. My ReadIt handle stared back at me, and I was glad it wasn’t my alt account handle.
When I got home, I was still livid. Furious at President Thorne, the idiots that voted for him, and how we were marching towards some fucked up fascist nightmare.
One thing that comforted me was knowing there were plenty of real men out there who would console me and send me little gifts. Not school loan level types of gifts, but even free lingerie these days felt like a victory. And best of all, men got nothing but some boob pics and blue balls for their troubles.
A few naughty pics and posting minus my face later, and I was feeling better as the upvotes poured in. I was still steaming, thinking about the moron recruiter who thought I’d be an actual whore. I wallowed in the electronic validation.
Hours later, my front door exploded, and a half dozen yelling men burst in. I was so startled that I couldn’t even sort things out until we were at the police station and I was being charged with indecent and unbecoming moral turpitude.
The court-appointed lawyer, a man, saw me that night and suggested I plead. The police had my IP history, they knew all my alt accounts, had a stack of snapshots of me showing off my ass, and worst of all, they had my main ReadIt handle from the exact same IP.
I explained that I wanted a different attorney. He mansplained to me that if I turned him down as a public defender, I’d be on my own. I stupidly thought that would be better than letting an ape try to get me to accept a plea deal. The trial was over lightning fast the next day… Hooray to President Thorne for clearing up the judicial backlog by throwing everyone in jail.
The fossil of a judge, a man, of course, banged his gavel and pronounced me guilty of violating a whole host of new decency laws. I was a little worried until I discovered I couldn’t be jailed for indecency, just fined.
Given the number of years I’d been posting faceless naughty pics, the judge threw the maximum sentence at me, $100k. And wouldn’t you know it, that with my school loans made me eligible for the Debtor's Indentured Act, Amendment 39 of the Constitution.
Once Thorne had gotten into office, he played every dirty trick in the book to not only win the midterms for his team, but to stack Congress so heavily in his favor that they passed fascist amendments one after another. The Debtors' Indentured Service Amendment allowed the government, in severe cases of debt obligation, to revoke a person’s freedom until said debts were paid. Corporations, private individuals, and even government departments could buy their contracts and put them to work doing nearly anything.
Now, with over $200k in debts, the judge moved right into declaring me an Indebted Indentured Servant. My mind was blank; my whole world was crumbling… and the sad thing? They’d warned us. The dissenters, when Populist Thorne was elected, screamed from the rooftops, from the streets, from the classrooms. They’d known, and most of us hadn’t believed them.
No, that’s not right… Half of the country had believed them and secretly wanted it.
“Unless there are any present in assuming Miss Stanton’s public debt, we can begin a motion to have her delivered to the Bush Processing Center for…”
“Your honor!” a voice called out. “If I may?”
The judge looked off to the side of the well of the court, just beyond the Prosecution Table, to a newly designated area where Sentence Proxies sat, waiting to purchase debtor terms.
“Ahh, Sergeant Whitmore, you are the Custodial Purchaser today?”
“Yes, your honor. Miss Stanton has recently completed her military placement test, and we’ve determined that she would be an excellent addition to the Armed Forces of this great nation.” The lunkhead from the recruiting office said with a wink at me.
“She is indebted $200k. Is the US Army willing to take on the full debt?”
“Yes, your honor. I’ve personally recommended two tours of service covering that full amount.”
The gavel banged. I wasn’t sure if this was justice or an auction.
*****
And here I was. What I would have given to be a 69 Echo… Intimate Officers Liaison. Those girls serviced the officers, usually at the base officer’s club, not in a cafeteria like meat.
The men who wheeled me in locked the rollers down, making me jiggle a little. I’m sure the guys enjoyed seeing my boobs quake like plates of Jello. I pulled on the restraints one last time just to make sure there was no way out of this mess.
The murmuring started, hushed whispers. These were new recruits, I decided. Veterans would already have walked up and shoved cock in my throat. There was some nervous twittering and the clinking of silverware. Then I could hear a set of boots coming across the tiles, coming up to me.
My nipples were so hard they ached in the cool air. When calloused fingers gripped one, I shook, moaning. The fingers were snatched away as if they’d broken something, and someone else further off laughed. The hands returned, this time in multiples. My tits were crushed in the vice-like grips of horny young guys who had just spent weeks in basic training. I might very well be the first reward they've gotten in training so far.
Now that a couple of them were feeling up my tits, the flood gates opened wide. Hands descended on everything. Eager to explore, there were hands on my thighs, my sides, face, neck, in my hair, and in all my holes.
Horny young guys with a pass are not gentle. Fingers jammed up in my cunt, soon followed by more in my asshole. My mouth wasn’t spared either. There were so many hands it was like being covered in a wriggling blanket of hot, hungry flesh. I tried to tell them to be gentle, but the fingers in my mouth choking me made that impossible.
The movement in my cunt got more frantic and demanding, and then one yelled out, “She’s fucking wet!”
The quiet was swept away in a roar of laughter and catcalls. It was bad enough being naked and at their mercy, but this shame made my skin flush with brilliant heat. Not only were they no longer being gentle with me, but I could also feel them jostling and shoving each other to get their hands on and in me.
“I’m going in!” a young voice cried, and I could feel them all shifting around my legs as one brave soldier stepped up. He shoved into me hard, filling me as those around him slapped my belly and pussy lips. He wasted no time ramming his prick in and out of my cunt. Others were cheering him on, and thankfully, the fingers came out of my mouth. The assault on my pussy was so brutal that all I could do was moan. He stiffened and filled me with a roar, and the others went berserk, slapping my tits, pinching my nipples, slapping my face, still exploring every inch of me.
Another filled his place and began bucking into me. It was almost as if the first one had never left. I cried out, and they all cheered the new guy on. I pulled on my arms, but my wrists would not come from my sides. I felt someone shove a prick to my fingers. I knew that prick would fuck my well-used hole in the future, unless I could take care of him in another way. I eagerly grabbed it and started stroking him while the young buck inside me hammered away.
I felt the soldier in my cunt stiffen and knew he would be replaced instantly. Warm jizz flooded down my crack when he withdrew, the next soldier sliding easily into the mess. He was what I’d been fearing; he fucked fast and furiously, pounding away inside far longer than the first few. Young men, especially soldiers, are known for their stamina, and this is what they wanted: to last a long time, to make me feel him endlessly pounding into my swollen and sodden hole.
The other men all around me still played with my body, a toy at their disposal. Someone did something to the headrest, and my head fell back. Before I could even finish my cry of shock, a thick cock was stuffed down my throat. I struggled as sweaty balls ground on my upside-down face and nose. Someone else filled my other palm with cock, I gripped it, praying that I could get at least one of the soldiers in my hands off and spare my aching cunt.
Struggling to suck the cock in my throat, I couldn’t completely close my mouth. When I’d been strapped down, a thick wedge had been shoved back against the furthest teeth, preventing me from closing. Even though I couldn’t bite down, the youth in my mouth occasionally scraped himself across my teeth, resulting in a primal scream and a series of hard slaps as he demanded I suck him like a proper whore.
Blind, lost in the pain, and touch, and endless pounding, and stroking, squeezing, and relentless fucking, I started going mentally numb. Thoughts were muddled as every inch of me was used by soldiers only seeking their own climax, with no regard for me, no compassion, no tenderness, nothing but a body to use.
Choking and sputtering and gasping for breath, I felt someone tell his buddies to help out as he clambered up on top of me. I was still being fucked by the man between my legs, and another cock filled my mouth. In a daze, I wondered what the one on top of me was hoping to accomplish.
I discovered soon enough when he pinched both nipples, pulling them savagely. He then slid his cock in the valley, tit fucking me with all his might. His weight on my stomach made breathing difficult. Coupled with another man’s hand around my throat, I began having great difficulty staying focused. None of them cared; the fucking continued, a feeding frenzy of spunk, sweat, grunts, and high fives all around me.
In no time, I was completely bathed in jizz. The men in my hands came splashing my sides. Men using my mouth would withdraw to spray my face. Those in my pussy would flood me, some even withdrawing to splash on my belly when nobody was on me. Some of them, even without a hand or mouth to sink into, would jack off, making meaty sounds as they shot their loads on my tits and chest.
It wasn’t long before someone shoved their prick up my ass. I was grateful that I was so covered in spunk that it was like being completely lubed up back there. They jackhammered furiously, and everyone laughed when my ass made gross noises expelling his spunk. It didn’t stop any of them from continuing to use me.
And against all my wishes, when I came, they all cheered. And attacked me with renewed interest, each one wanting to be the one to make the ganged whore cum again.
When I neared that point where I thought I’d pass out or worse, a whistle would blow. “Time out! Time motherfuckers!”
One of the medics who’d wheeled me in stayed to make sure I didn’t choke to death on cum. The Army couldn't afford to lose comfort girls so carelessly. I’d hoped for words of encouragement, a hug, something to remind me I was a human being and not just a cum rag for these boys. Instead, I got smelling salts and, “All clear! She’s good for use.”
The worst part was that even though my cunt was on fire, aching, sore, that when there was a moment a cock wasn’t buried in my throat, even when I begged them to stop, for mercy, they still made me cum until I was a quivering mess.
I lost track of time… my world was nothing but cocks stabbing into me everywhere. And when I was a good girl, I’d climax and cry out begging them for more, begging them to turn me into the whore I was, it was all I was worth.
Barely coherent when they wheeled me out, stewing in an evening worth of juices, bruised, battered, aching, and on fire, I sobbed behind the mask… This was the most alive I’d felt in ages… And there were another 8 years of it.