Erika Aschenbrenner, Luftwaffe Pilot

There was something to be said for having the freedom to choose.

There wasn't much of that in the Stadt no matter where you looked, unless you were a Party Member; a card carrying worshipper of the Great Leader. But there were places, few and far between, where someone born to "lesser" stock, could rise and make a name for themselves. For men that mostly meant suicidal bravery somewhere on the Moscow Front, or being dropped behind enemy lines across the Atlantic to attempt sabotage on the Yankee war machine. For women, those places were mostly on their knees or with their legs bent behind their heads, popping out children for the sake of Party ladies whose carefully cared for figures would be all for naught if men actually got them with child.

Yet for all it's rhetoric about the Stadt itself and the glorious longevity of both the Great Leader and Party apparatus, The Party was not stupid. If they had been, the war would have ended a decade and a half ago, instead of continuing as it has. No, they knew well enough that blind, slavish loyalty to their ideology was a poor fit for everything they needed. A factory worker on the lines, her belly fat with her ninth child, didn't need more than basic education and a lifetime of propaganda to keep her docile. A Landser, a conscript soldier out in the wastes of the East, needed even less; just the knowledge of how to work the bolt on his obsolete rifle while he died in place of the real soldiers. But some jobs needed specialists; smart, capable people who could perform a role competently and consistently, regardless of their beliefs or loyalty to the system that leaned on them.

And that was where one of the few true freedoms found in the Stadt lay. The freedom to choose how you served.

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DANZIG MILITARY OCCUPATION ZONE
STADTKOMMISARIAT POLAND
TIME: 1733 DATE: [REDACTED BY ORDER OF OBERBEFEHLSHABER DER LUFTSTREITKRAFTE]

The bus rolled as it clipped a pothole, settling back and forth on it's suspension as it plowed on through the evening light, following the steady red tail lights of the armoured car ahead, an older model Puma that still served the needs of the rear echelon. The interior of the bus was poorly lit, dim red light to protect the vision of the passengers at least a little, but more to prevent some plucky Red long range turboprop night-fighter from making the 27mm AA gun on the bus' armoured roof use any of it's ammunition.

In the back, Erika groaned. Not from motion sickness, nor from pleasure. This time was from discomfort, bordering on pain.

Beneath her, perched on the edge of the bench style seat and with his cock firmly inside her, was a man she had never met before. She didn't know his name, what his voice sounded like, or even the colour of his eyes. She knew his cock, though. It was a big one, girthy in all the right ways and just long enough to tickle her insides properly. Or it would have been, had it not been lodged firmly up her arse.

Such an act was normally an affront to the Stadt, to the war effort and to the place of men and women within it. However, standing Luftwaffe orders forbade "sex with procreatory risk" during transfers between duty stations, due to the unknown nature of follow on orders. A female pilot getting pregnant ahead of being selected to command a Jagdstaffel was a bad look for the organisation if an officer couldn't lead from where she meant to. Female personnel were expected to manage this personally, in any way they could. Even if it was a virgin, untouched hole, you gave it freely to your male kameraden. Thankfully for Erika's sake she was no stranger to such use, but given the rapid nature of this transfer she was woefully underprepared to manage such an intrusion, only able to use the spit from her mouth for some meagre lubrication before she had to settle herself down and perform her duty.

The unknown man, an Oberleutnant if his rank badges were to be believed, squeezed his hands tighter on her hips, lifting her bodily up the length of his cock with a grunt, before loosening his grip and pawing at her skin where her pulled up uniform skirt exposed the slick latex of her regulation, non-porous underwear where it sat pushed to the side and the sheer belts that held up her stockings. The way down was her task, her high heels gripping desperately at the rubberised flooring of the interior to avoid an unseemly drop, instead focusing on lowering herself smoothly, thighs burning with effort.

The rest of the bus' interior was similar, in a mundane way. Some amongst the gathered pilots and groundcrew slept, some stared out windows, yet more fucked to alleviate the boredom. To Erika's right was the sleeping form of a young fuel technician that she had been sucking off when the Oberleutnant decided that he needed her specifically. She could still taste the young man's seed on her tongue, salty, warm and dissolving slowly into her saliva with every moment, lessening the taste with each slow, steady bounce, the smooth parting of her insides around his penetrating flesh no more remarkable than the sunset. This would continue for a while longer, long enough that Erika's thighs started to tremble not with need, but with agony. Damn this bastard and his stamina!

An NCO she could see very little of shouted from the front on the bus.

"Five minutes to disembark!" The bus went silent for a moment. Then it filled with the loud slap of flesh on flesh, the muffled moaning of women being used. The man with his cock in Erika's arse was no different. He shifted his hands, grabbing higher and shunting her bodily sideways, pressing her clothed top half against the sleeping technician from before as he began to thrust with the focus of a man intent on achieving his orgasm before he was forced to abandon the pursuit.

Lost in the pain of underprepared anal sex and the mental pleasure of being taken as she was born to be, Erika scrabbled at the collar of the sleeping technician, her carefully manicured, red painted nails digging into the fabric and the skin around his collarbones. He stirred, but did not wake. Behind her, driving himself into her rear passage with the wild abandon of an animal, the Oberleutnant slammed his hips against her firm lower cheeks in a staccato, poorly paced rhythm. He didn't last long after that, maybe thirty seconds before he rammed himself as deep as he could reach and grunted. His convulsions lasted a pleasing amount of time, the little quivers and micro thrusts that signaled each warm, sticky spurt sending involuntary shivers down Erika's spine. She closed her eyes to enjoy at least a little bit of the sensation.

When she opened them again, triggered by the staggering withdrawal of the thick shaft filling her rectum, the technician's eyes were open. To his bleary gaze, she must have looked like a propaganda poster. Blonder hair pulled into a flowing bun just shy of her collar, grey eyes lidded with lust, fair skin rosy with effort and burgundy painted lips panting from the sensation of her partner's rapid exit. Her Schirmmütze, her officer's peaked cap, lay gently across his lap, tilted slightly to one side the early signs of yet another erection. Erika briefly considered helping him with that, her fingers gently creeping towards the technician's lap, but instead she grabbed her cap and settled it back on her head, where it belonged to showcase an officer's dignity. The nails on her free hand scraped along his jaw, the light stubble of a teen turned man evident to her touch, before she turned his face and lightly kissed him on the mouth.

"Two minutes to disembark, kamerad." She whispered breathlessly against his lips, pulling away as the young man tried to follow.

"I hope you can find someone to finish that for you." Standing in one smooth motion, Erika pulled her regulation latex underwear back into place. It sealed the seed inside her, preventing leakage as was intended. Her black skirt followed suit, being pushed back into place, falling to just above her knees. Her jacket, black with brass fastenings, graced her shoulders again. All around the bus, the quiet flurry of activity was evident. Cocks being wiped off and tucked away, uniforms straightened, makeup being checked and corrected. The uniform standard was one of the many things that separated the Luftwaffe from the conscripts of the Heer and the rigorous and unwavering adherence to it allowed a military mindset to flourish.

The gentle warmth inside her underwear let Erika know that she needed to do more exercise. No time to worry about that.

The bus stopped and Leutnant Erika Aschenbrenner made her dignified, if slightly bow legged, way off the gargantuan machine, along with nearly two hundred other transferees, wondering what this sudden change of duty station might mean.