A lesson in how not to dress

Eva woke up drooling on her desk. She remembered letting the two unruly recruits go, not wanting to waste her limited free time on two numbskulls. Afterwards she apperently fell asleep. She made a mental note of getting to bed earlier from now on. Squinting through her heavy eyelids, the Seargent checked her wristwatch.

"08:30? I need to get ready." Eva pulled up a practical hand mirror from a drawer in her desk. She just got a really good idea of how to teach her no-good class.

The clock on the wall read 08:55 when Eva finally arrived at classroom 5A. Her troop had already found their seats and had been chattering amongst themselves. They became silent as she entered the room.

"Rise up!" she shouted, causing every recruit to jump to their feet as she made her way to the blackboard in the front of the room. "Sit down. From now on I expect you to stand up like that whenever anyone of higher rank than you enters the room." She received nods of understanding from around the room. "I also expect you to have finished a head count and be ready to rapport it to me the minute I enter. You are thirty man total. Get to it."

Eva took the time to examine her troop while they rushed to count who was present. They had managed to correctly put on their uniforms, at least as well as one could expect from complete novices. There were still small mistakes here and there. That is what this lesson was for.

A curly haired brunette took the lead in rapporting the final tally. Her nametag read Viksdottir. "Seargent, we count 29 present. We believe we are missing Newland, mam."

"Understood, I will deal with her later. Good morning recruits. Welcome to your first lesson in military etiquette." Everyone was watching her intently. Some had noticed something off about her appearance and had confused expressions.

Eva grabbed some chalk and began writing as she spoke "Lesson 1: How not to dress." She turned to her class. "I can see you've made an effort too present yourself in a manner fitting a soldier. Good. But you are far from perfect. This lesson will help you notice all your small mistakes and bad habits by looking at them from the outside. I will lead by example. I am to be the model for today's experiment. Your task is to point out every detail wrong with my current uniform. Understood?"

A somewhat unison, "yes, Seargent," was given, and several hands were immediately raised.

Eva decided to give first go to Viksdottir, the brunette who took the head count. "Seargent, your boots' laces are undone. The boots themselves are also covered in dirt."

Thorsdottir nodded, "Correct. Your boots are bound to get dirty when you're out completing missions, but that is no excuse to look like a slob. You have all been handed shoe polish and brushes to shine your shoes. I suggest some of you try them out."

Everyone in her troop quickly glanced under their desk at their boots to see if they were in the danger zone. Thorsdottir meanwhile stepped out of her dirty boots and moved them to the side. Several more hands raised as a response. She pointed at one of the new hands and said, "Notice something, recruit?"

"Yes, your socks. They're not the same as the ones we were given, mam."

Thorsdottir looked down at the bright yellow silk socks that contrasted terribly with the green of her pant leg. "True. You all wear thick woollen socks. It might be tempting to switch them for something lighter, but they are given to you for a reason. Normark is a cold country and you need the heat when out in the field. They also prevent blisters on your feet when marching over long distances. What else?"

This time a the word was given to a tall guy with the nametag Bearson. "Seargent. Your face and hair also."

Thorsdottir put a finger to her firetruck-red lips. Her other hand twirled one of her pigtails. "What about my face and hair?"

"Well, it's kinda... you know, not very military looking. You look more girly, erm Seargent." The male recruit said, careful not to insult his superior.

"I look like a big bimbo! Isn't that right, recruit." Thorsdottir said adamantly, causing many to have to muffle their own laughs. They did not expect those words to leave their Seargent's mouth.

"Erh, yes. I mean, no, Seargent! Or, I mean not you personally." He was blushing now.

"Let's make one thing clear," Thorsdottir addressed the whole of the room. "I've noticed that many of the women in my troop like to flaunt their hair and cover themselves in makeup. I'm sure that made you real popular in high school, but that's not how we do it in the military. Your hair should be braided as per regulations or kept in a bun. This goes for everyone with hair past their uniform collar." She shot a glance at a guy with long flowing hair. "You boys will all get a very short haircut, and have to shave daily. You girls will only use minimal makeup. Anything else and your peers will see you like–"

Thorsdottir grabbed a pigtail in each hand and pulled them taut out to the side. Her eyes, covered in green eyeshadow, crossed mindlessly. Her mouth opened wide to let her tounge hang out. Spittle slowly drooped off. She held this pose for a silent moment, bofore reverting back to her usual stern self. "A big bimbo. Am I understood?"

Thorsdottir heard varying levels of enthusiasm in the following "yes Seargent"s. Some of the females showed eagerness and wrote notes. Others rolled their eyes. All the guys were showing great interest in their Seargent's lesson for a different reason.

There were fewer hands to pick from now, so Thorsdottir ended up picking Viksdottir once more. "Seargent, you haven't buttoned your jacket all the way up. The top two buttons are undone. The t-shirt underneath is also ragged. I can see a tear in the fabric."

"I was inspired by recruit Newland's earlier mistake. Although you are wrong about the t-shirt. It is brand new." Thorsdottir unbuttoned her jacket. The t-shirt underneath had been cut by scissors into a crop-top. Her smolderimg abs were plainly visible. Similar damage was done to the chest region, where a heart shaped hole was cut to showcase her firm cleavage. Two nubs pushed out against the fabric of her t-shirt. That and the constant jiggling made a lack of bra obvious.

She heard a catcall.

"You see, some recruits always think it's a good idea to modify their equipment and clothes. I assure you they are made the way they are for a reason. Try making your own alterations and you are–"

Thorsdottir grabbed her nipples through her t-shirt and pulled. She let out a moan as her voice escaped like a porn parody, "Aah! Nothing but a shameless, shameless slut ummmf aaa!" She quickly reverted back to normal, "And of course you need to wear a bra. Understood?"

Her class was openly laughing at her now, unable to take her seriously any more. Thorsdottir continued on as if unaware.

She removed her jacket entirely. There were still one lesson left. There were no longer any hands in the air.

"We are not done yet. Class isn't over before you find every mishap. Is anybody able to tell the last thing wrong with my current wardrobe?"

She heard "too sexy" and "too many clothes" being thrown out as suggestions, but neither was right. Then a hand was raised from the back of the room.

"Yes, recruit. What is your guess?"

Berg smirked at her as if the answer was obvious. "I think it must be your underwear, Seargent."

Thorsdottir turned around and bent over by the waist. Her troop cheered as she presented them the shape of her incredible ass. "Correct, recruit. The most common mistake new recruits make is wearing their own underwear. Just because it can't be seen dosen't make it correct. You should use the underwear given to you by the organisation."

Thorsdottir loosened her belt and grabbed the hem of her pants. "If you can't even do that you're nothing but–" She pulled down her pants, revealing her bare ass cheeks covered in nothing but a g-string. "A bitch of a Seargent! In need of a hard fuck!"

Thorsdottir blinked. Her troop waz really making a ruckus behind her. She vaguely remembered holding a lesson on wearing a uniform and...

She felt a cold breeze run over her behind. It was really cold in here. Someone should turn up the heat. Wait...

Thorsdottir jumped from her bent over position. She could feel the eyes of every recruit drilling into her exposed behind. She quickly turned around, struggling to pull up her pants. Only to realise the movement had a dynamic effect on her for-some-reason unrestricted boobs. They all but leapt from their confinement, briefly flashing nipples from underneath the makeshift crop top.

Thorsdottir grabbed her jacket and covered up. Her face was as red as her lips as she yelled.

"Dismissed!"