Obediently enter Cell Three through the communal cells door as ordered

Futanari Fortress, Barracks Supervisor's Office, at 11:31 AM on Monday March 13th, 2024.

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You push through the heavy reinforced door, your trembling legs barely carrying your weight. The corridor beyond is stark concrete—fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, three numbered cell doors along the left wall. The air smells of sweat, cum, and industrial cleaning solution inadequately masking bodily fluids.

Cell One's door is closed. Through the small reinforced window, you glimpse a figure curled on a thin mattress—black hair obscuring her face, naked body covered in bruises and dried cum. She doesn't move as you pass.

Cell Two's door stands ajar. Inside, you see a younger woman—maybe nineteen—sitting against the concrete wall with her knees pulled to her chest. Her chestnut hair hangs limp and greasy around her tear-stained face. When she notices you, her brown eyes widen briefly before going dead again. Fresh cum leaks steadily from her gaped pussy, pooling on the mattress beneath her.

"New one," she whispers hoarsely, her voice utterly flat. Then she looks away, rocking slightly.

Cell Three's door swings open at your touch. The space is identical to Cell Two—ten feet by eight, concrete walls and floor, a thin foam mattress in the corner, a bucket toilet, and a small rust-stained sink. A single overhead bulb provides harsh illumination. No windows. No privacy. Nothing soft or comfortable.

You stumble inside and the door clicks shut behind you—not locked, but clearly marking your designated space. The mattress looks barely thicker than a yoga mat, stained with God knows what fluids from previous occupants.

Your legs give out and you collapse onto it, the thin foam doing nothing to cushion the concrete beneath. Cum continues seeping from your used holes, soaking into the already-stained fabric. Your massive tits press heavily against your chest as you lie there, the glowing violet womb tattoo casting faint light across your pale skin.

Six hours until duty begins.

Six hours until approximately forty to fifty futanari soldiers rotate through to use your body however they want.

The small part of your mind still capable of thought tries desperately to process the mathematics—forty soldiers over eight hours means one every twelve minutes on average. Except they won't be evenly spaced. Some will want extended sessions. Some will gang up. Some will be brutal.

But that panicked voice is distant now, muffled beneath the compliant obedience that's replaced your personality. When Kamiko orders you to service soldiers tonight, you'll obey. When they penetrate you, you'll accept it. When they fill you with cum, you'll thank them.

Because you've been broken.

You curl onto your side, trembling, and close your eyes. Your hand drifts unconsciously to your lower belly, where Maya's child is already growing inside your permanently fertile womb. The first of many, probably.

Six hours.

You try to sleep, but your hypersensitive body won't stop responding to every sensation—the rough mattress against your skin, the cool air on your exposed flesh, the phantom feeling of cocks that aren't currently inside you.

Six hours until your new life truly begins.