A/N: I wasn't happy with this story, so I rewrote and reposted it. Hopefully it is hotter, more hilarious and more in character now!
One night, in the dead of winter, a terrorist broke into Fort Briggs and tried to stab General Armstrong in her bed while she slept. She killed him immediately. Her staff was alarmed and wanted to implement new security protocols. One of these was posting a guard in the West Tower where she slept.
"It's completely unnecessary," she insisted, "I'm happy to kill another terrorist."
Miles and Buccaneer disagreed.
"Could you at least switch quarters to a more populated part of the Fort?" Miles asked. She hated the idea. Armstrong was a light sleeper, and the busy areas were noisy. She shook her head.
"Otherwise," Buccaneer went on, "All we're asking for is one guard."
She hated when they teamed up on her.
Armstrong's objection to a guard was that she knew it would be the worst assignment at Briggs. Standing alone in an isolated corridor at night for hours, knowing that if your attention lapsed, the one person who would pass by was a very senior officer who could get you into trouble. But she also worried about temptation. She considered herself not just the leader of her men, but their caretaker and benefactor. But she also lusted for them.
"How could someone not?" she wondered at times. They were so sleek and fit, marching at her command in their uniforms. She had a thing for uniforms, they turned her on. Sometimes she watched her men and wished she could just peel those uniforms right off of them.
There were legends of sex parties at Briggs, involving acts that defied the imagination due to the gender ratio, but Armstrong had never participated or even been invited. But she'd heard about them. The first time she'd rode the train to Briggs, a man had joked with her,
"Fort Briggs? There's nothing to do but drink and fuck up there."
Of course, as commanding officer, Armstrong had little opportunity to do either. She treated every soldier professionally and left every party before it got raucous. But she dreamed about those rumoured parties. Every night as she touched herself, she imagined hoards of men pounding her, one after the other, over and over, until she could no longer take it. But deep down she knew it was just a fantasy, she wouldn't actually enjoy a situation where she had so little control. What she really wanted was men who would wait outside her quarters at parade rest until she invited them in, have sex with her while following orders and leave when dismissed. Which was why the guard posted outside her door captured her imagination.
Armstrong did what she always did in these situations: she engaged in self-pleasure. Sometimes she put on lingerie and sexy shoes to set the scene. Knowing that her sex life would only involve herself for the foreseeable future, she figured she might as well do her best to keep things exciting. But now she knew there was that man in uniform outside of her door, maybe feet away.
One night, as Armstrong put her hands between her legs and her desire burgeoned, something snapped in her. She was tired of being deprived, she deserved more, she was going to take one fucking bite. She opened her door and beckoned the man outside. He turned to her, and saw she was dressed in a black lace bra with matching panties, a long open silk robe and stiletto heels. An expression of shock appeared on his face.
The man was a bit reedy and boyish, but Armstrong wasn't in a choosy mood. She read his name patch: Private Burton. Saying his name out loud, she invited him in.
"You mean for sex?" Burton asked as soon as he entered her quarters, with a look of shock, confusion and excitement on his face.
"If you want to," Armstrong crooned, "If it's not your thing, I won't hold it against you."
She could tell by the expression on Burton's face that this was indeed his thing, and walked up to him and ran her hands across the chest of his jacket. She loved the feeling of his uniform against his skin, the quality, the texture, but she also wanted to remove it. Running her hands underneath, she pulled it off and started working on Burton's shirt. He stood with a dazed expression, like he couldn't believe this was actually happening. His mouth opened slightly as Armstrong grasped his crotch and then his rear, and opened his pants, revealing a raging erection. She gave a slight gleeful laugh, and pulled off his pants and his underwear, leaving him standing naked before her.
"Permission to remove your clothes too sir?" Burton stammered after a moment.
Armstrong nodded with a wide grin. He pulled off her robe, and then unhooked her bra, she noticed, with a lot of effort. He stared agape at her breasts as they spilled free, and his hands hovered as if he was unsure whether to touch her. She grabbed both of his wrists, and placed his hands firmly on her bust. His hands cupped her breasts weakly and then more firmly as he gained confidence. He gave a slight moan. She grabbed his hand again and led them to her underwear, which he removed quickly, letting his hands run down her thighs.
Armstrong felt a fire rise between her legs, her desire almost overwhelmed her. She led Burton to her bed, and pushed him onto his back so harshly he nearly fell, and mounted him as quickly as she could. She needed this so badly. Her breath was heavy, and bursts of pleasure seared through her body as she pumped. She drove harder and harder, then heard Burton give off a loud moan.
Fuck.
She tried to keep riding, but it was no use.
Irked, she flipped over and placed Burton's hand between her legs. It pressed harshly and moved all over the place, never quite hitting the right spot. Changing tacks, she pushed his head between her legs, but he drooled all over her, never making any progress.
She wailed in frustration.
"I'm sorry, sir," he whispered, "I've never done this before."
"Yeah, I get that," she snapped, and dismissed him soon after.
After he left, Armstrong finished herself off, angry to have broken her famine with Cheez Wiz. This was the worst idea she'd ever had, she thought. Why hadn't she considered the realities of screwing a random eighteen-year-old? But as she drifted off she had a different idea. She remembered an officer training course she'd attended where the instructor had asked,
"Are they bad soldiers, or are you a bad teacher? If a soldier does something wrong, it is often their commanding officer's fault"
It was an idea that had stayed with her throughout her career, and replaying the night's events in her mind, she decided she could have certainly done better. She needed to devise a protocol for improving a young man's capabilities in this area.
After a few weeks, Armstrong thought she had a five-step protocol perfected.
Step 1 was inviting a young man into her quarters, and making sure he understood what this training exercise would involve and that it was entirely voluntary.
Step 2 was a uniform inspection. While Armstrong supposed this wasn't strictly necessary, she never could resist fondling a man's uniform before taking it off. Never.
Step 3 was assessing the man's current skillset, and strengths and weaknesses. She usually did this by lying down on the bed and letting him fondle her breasts while she asked him questions about what he'd done so far. She was still figuring out what questions led to the most lurid stories (which she found arousing), but standard operation procedure included "have you ever looked at someone naked who didn't know you were watching" and "tell me about your first sexual fantasy"
Based on Step 3, Armstrong would devise a training plan, which made up Step 4. It was always a case-by-case thing. Some of the men were very remedial and others walked in with good foundational knowledge. But the goal was always to get her to orgasm. They almost always succeeded with enough coaching.
In Step 5, she would mount them to reward them for their hard work. While some people would think this was unnecessary, Armstrong knew that rewards and encouragement were an important part of learning.
Overall, Armstrong thought she'd performed admirably in turning a disappointing event into an opportunity to broaden the capabilities of her unit. She was sure that all seven women stationed at Briggs would be grateful. She also had to admit she found this new training protocol exciting. She was doing her duty. What was the role of a commanding officer, other than to prepare her men for bigger and better things?