Simply lie on the mattress and attempt to sleep through the remaining hours

Futanari Fortress, Barracks Cell Three, at 11:37 AM on Monday March 13th, 2024.

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You sink into the stained mattress, exhaustion pulling at your consciousness like weights dragging you underwater. Your eyes flutter closed, and for a brief moment you feel yourself beginning to drift—the buzzing fluorescent light fading, the ache in your used holes becoming distant background noise.

The metal door clangs open.

Your eyes snap wide as Supervisor Kamiko steps into the cell, her gray eyes cold and clinical. She's holding a tablet, her cropped silver hair catching the harsh overhead light.

"On your feet," she orders flatly.

Your body obeys before your fragmented mind can process the command. You stand on trembling legs, cum still trickling down your inner thighs, your massive tits swaying heavily. The glowing violet womb tattoo pulses softly above your cum-soaked pussy.

"Change of schedule," Kamiko announces, tapping her tablet screen. "Command has authorized early access for premium soldier morale purposes. Your shift begins at thirteen hundred hours instead of eighteen hundred."

The words take a moment to penetrate your exhausted brain. Thirteen hundred hours. That's... one PM. You glance at the small digital clock mounted above the door. 11:37 AM.

Less than ninety minutes.

"Additionally, your shift duration has been extended to twelve hours instead of eight. New schedule is thirteen hundred to zero one hundred hours." Kamiko's tone remains utterly neutral, as if she's discussing inventory management rather than your body being used for half the day. "Approximately seventy-five soldiers have requested access. Queue management will prioritize efficiency."

Seventy-five soldiers. Twelve hours. The mathematics swim through your clouded mind—that's more than six soldiers per hour, one every ten minutes or less. Except they won't be evenly spaced. Some will overlap. Some will take longer.

"You're new stock," Kamiko continues, pocketing her tablet. "Fresh modifications, confirmed fertile, masochistic conversion. Command determined soldiers deserve extended access as morale incentive. This is standard protocol for high-value additions."

She steps closer, her fingers gripping your chin and forcing you to meet her cold gray eyes.

"You will perform to maximum capacity. Complaints will not be tolerated. Resistance will result in tentacle pit reassignment for one week minimum. Do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," you whisper automatically, the words coming from that compliant, broken part of you that's replaced your personality.

Kamiko releases your chin and moves toward the door. "You have eighty-three minutes. Use the sink to clean yourself minimally—soldiers prefer evidence of use but not excessive mess. Remain in your cell until I retrieve you."

She exits without waiting for acknowledgment, the metal door clanging shut behind her.

You stand frozen in the center of the tiny concrete cell, trembling, staring at the rust-stained sink in the corner. Eighty-three minutes until seventy-five futanari soldiers begin rotating through to use your body however they want.

Twelve hours straight.

The small part of your mind still capable of panic screams silently, but the broken obedience smothers it like a pillow over a face. When Kamiko returns, you'll follow. When the soldiers penetrate you, you'll accept it. When they fill your fertile womb with load after load, you'll thank them.

Because you have no choice anymore.

You stumble toward the sink on unsteady legs.