#kion

Chapter 1

The air inside the S2 Entertainment common room was thick, sweet, and cloying, heavy with the scent of buttered popcorn, spilled soda, and the metallic tang of adrenaline. It was a suffocating cocktail of festivity, a grotesque carnival atmosphere that permeated every corner of the lavish space. Banners emblazoned with patriotic slogans and the agency logo hung crookedly from the ceiling, fluttering in the draft of the air conditioning. Cameras ringed the perimeter, their red recording lights blinking like the eyes of impatient predators, capturing every micro-expression for the "reaction content" that would undoubtedly flood the internet within minutes.

On the massive, wall-mounted television screen, a montage played on a loop, the image sharp enough to cut glass. It was footage from the previous year’s "Special Enlistment." There was Jang Wonyoung, the nation’s sweetheart, glowing with an incandescent, almost artificial radiance. She was dressed in a flowing, maternity-style hanbok, one hand resting delicately on the undeniable swell of her pregnant belly. The caption beneath her beaming, beatific face pulsed in time with the triumphant orchestral score: *Living National Treasure.*

Natty sat curled on the edge of the plush velvet sofa, her knees drawn up to her chest, trying to make herself as small as possible. She was a vision of casual dorm comfort in an oversized hoodie that swallowed her petite frame and a pair of tiny denim shorts that left her long, golden-tan legs exposed to the cool, recycled air. To the untrained eye, to the managers and the staff buzzing around her, she looked the picture of an attentive, nervous idol. But beneath the polite, mask-like smile she wore, her stomach was churning with a cold, corrosive rot.

She watched the screen, watched Wonyoung accept the adulation of millions, and felt nothing but a profound sense of revulsion. *Living National Treasure?* The phrase tasted like ash in her mouth. They paraded her around like a prized heifer at a livestock show, celebrated not for her vocals or her dance, but for her womb, for her biological utility to the state. It was degrading. It was humiliating. And Natty wanted absolutely no part of it.

Around the coffee table, the staff chattered animatedly, their voices rising over the TV’s audio.

"It’s so much better this way," a manager declared, stuffing a handful of chips into his mouth. "Last year, everyone cried foul about favoritism. Said the big agencies bought the spots. But the lottery? The pool system? It’s pure democracy. The troops submit their favorites, and the computer picks a name. It’s fair. It’s patriotic."

"It’s genius marketing," a stylist added, fluffing a pillow. "The soldiers feel involved. They feel like they have a say. The engagement numbers for the nominations were insane this year."

Natty tuned them out, her fingers digging into the fabric of the sofa. *Democracy,* she thought bitterly. *A lottery where the prize is your own body.* She was Thai, a foreigner in a land that demanded absolute assimilation. She had navigated the complex, often suffocating hierarchy of the Korean industry for years, smiling when she was supposed to smile, bowing when she was supposed to bow. But this? She felt a detachment that bordered on safety. She wasn't Korean. She didn't hold that burning, ingrained sense of national duty that the locals seemed to have. The idea of becoming a "freeuse cumdump"—the term whispered in the darkest corners of the internet, now practically mainstream slang—for a bunch of sweaty, nameless soldiers was repulsive to her core.

*They wouldn’t pick me,* she reassured herself, the mantra looping in her mind. *I’m not Korean. It doesn’t work that way. I’m safe.*

"Unnie, are you nervous?" Haneul bounced on the balls of her feet beside her, eyes wide with manic energy. "I bet it’s someone big. Maybe Aespa? Or Le Sserafim?"

Natty forced a smile, tilting her head in that practiced way that made her eyes crinkle sweetly. "I think anyone would be lucky, Haneul-ah. It is… very big honor."

It was a lie. A smooth, practiced lie. Internally, she was rolling her eyes so hard it hurt. *Honor?* It was state-sanctioned gang-rape dressed up as patriotism.

Julie, sitting on the armrest next to her, elbowed Natty in the ribs, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Imagine if it was one of us, though. The fame alone would be insane. Did you see Wonyoung’s CF deals after she came back? Every brand wants a piece of the 'Mother of the Nation.' It’s iconic."

"An icon who got gangbanged by a squad," Natty thought, her inner voice sharp and biting. She kept her mouth shut, offering only a shy nod. "That would be… very intense, Julie-unnie. I don't know if I could be that brave."

The room erupted in giggles and speculative whispers. Natty felt a cold prickle of sweat break out along her hairline. She smoothed the fabric of her shorts, focusing on the rhythmic thumping of her own heart.

The TV screen flickered, cutting to a live feed of a large, ornate auditorium. The room fell silent instantly, the air crackling with electric tension. A stern-faced spokesperson in a crisp dress uniform stepped up to the podium, a large transparent container beside him filled with thousands of swirling white balls.

"Citizens of the Republic of Korea," he began, his voice booming through the surround sound system, deep and resonant. "Today marks the sixth installment of the yearly Special Enlistment Program. In response to the overwhelming desire of our fighting men and women, we have implemented the new Troop Nomination Pool."

Graphics flashed on the screen—bar charts climbing higher and higher. "Over the past month, every active duty soldier was invited to submit the name of their favorite female idol. The response was historic. Millions of nominations flooded our servers. Today, from that pool of desire, one name will be chosen by the hand of fate itself."

Natty watched, detached, almost bored, trying to focus on the lint on her hoodie. *Just a formality,* she told herself. *Just a show.*

The spokesperson reached into the container. The camera zoomed in, capturing the slow-motion turn of his wrist. He pulled out a single white ball. He cracked it open and unfolded the paper inside.

A hush fell over the common room. It was so quiet Natty could hear the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchenette.

The spokesperson adjusted his glasses, his face breaking into a wide, rehearsed smile. "The next idol selected for Special Enlistment… representing S2 Entertainment… from KISS OF LIFE…"

Natty’s breath hitched in her throat, a sudden, inexplicable coldness spreading through her veins, freezing her blood.

"…NATTY!"

Time seemed to warp and bend. The sound that followed wasn't a cheer, but a sonic boom, a detonation of pure noise. The room exploded. Julie screamed, a high-pitched sound of delight, grabbing Natty by the shoulders and shaking her violently. Belle was crying, covering her mouth in shock, tears streaming down her face. Haneul was jumping up and down, shouting something that Natty couldn't process through the high-pitched ringing in her ears.

Every head in the room snapped toward her. The staff, the cameras, the other idols. Every eye was fixed on her. Natty sat frozen, her hands gripping her knees, her knuckles turning white. Her smile was frozen in place, a rictus of horror.

*Impossible.*

*My name is Anatchaya Suputtipong. I am Thai. I am not Korean.*

"Wait, what?" she whispered, the words barely escaping her throat. Her Thai accent, usually a soft, endearing lilt, sounded thick and clumsy to her own ears.

The manager was already on his phone, barking orders with frantic energy. "Cancel the schedule for next week! All of it! Call the PR team! We need to prepare a statement immediately! Get the medical team on standby for the pre-enlistment physical!"

Julie hugged her tight, squeezing the air out of her lungs, the smell of her perfume cloying. "Natty! Oh my god, Natty! You did it! You’re the chosen one! The soldiers picked you!"

Natty felt like she was underwater, the sounds muted and distorted, the world swirling in sickening colors. *Chosen?* No. *Hunted.*

"You’re gonna be famous like Wonyoung!" Belle beamed through her tears, reaching out to squeeze Natty’s hand, her touch hot and clammy. "Everyone is going to love you."

The implication hung heavy in the air, a suffocating blanket. They wanted her. Not for her voice. Not for her dance covers. They wanted her body. They wanted to use her until she was dripping with their cum, just like Wonyoung. The thought made her gorge rise.

Natty’s stomach churned violently, the popcorn she had eaten threatening to come back up. The room was spinning. The flashing cameras felt like searchlights hunting her down, exposing her, stripping her bare before she had even taken off her clothes. The congratulatory smiles on her group members' faces looked like masks of madness. They were happy for her? Happy she was being sent off to be a communal toy?

She had to get out.

She had to get out *now*.

"I… excuse me," Natty mumbled, standing up abruptly. Her legs felt weak, like jelly. "I need… air. Just for a moment."

She turned and fled.

She moved blindly, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird, frantic and desperate. The hallway of the dormitory stretched out before her, a long, narrow tunnel of sterile white walls and polished floors. Staff members passed her, offering thumbs up and shouts of "Congratulations, Natty-ya!" but she didn't see them. She only saw the exit.

Her bare feet slapped against the cold floor, the sound echoing in her ears—*thud-thud-thud*—a frantic rhythm. She could hear the chatter fading behind her, replaced by the rushing of blood in her own head. The distance to her room felt like miles, the door a sanctuary that refused to come closer.

*I am Thai,* her mind screamed, a desperate, repetitive mantra. *I don’t belong to them. I don’t belong to this country. This is a mistake.*

But the announcement played on a loop in her head, taunting her. *The troops have spoken.* They didn't care about her passport. They didn't care about her heritage. They had nominated her, thousands of them. They had voted for her ass, her legs, her pretty face. They had thrown her name into the hat with the sole intention of fucking her.

She finally reached the door to her private room. Her hand shook so violently she could barely grip the handle. She shoved it open, stumbled inside, and slammed it shut with all her strength.

The heavy wood clicked shut, sealing her in silence.

She scrambled to lock it, her fingers fumbling with the deadbolt, the metal cold and unforgiving against her skin. *Click. Click.* It was secure.

Natty slid down the door, her back scraping against the wood until she hit the floor. She pulled her knees to her chest, burying her face in her hands, trying to block out the world. The fabric of the hoodie scratched against her face, smelling of laundry detergent and fear. She could still hear the distant, muffled cheers from the common room, the sound of her own doom being celebrated.

Her mind was completely blank. There were no thoughts, no prayers, no protests. Just a vast, terrifying emptiness. The silence of the room pressed against her, heavy and suffocating. She sat there in the dim light, her chest heaving, staring at the blank wall, waiting for the world to make sense again. But it didn’t. It never would.

Chapter 2

The pale light of the laptop screen was the only illumination in the room, casting a ghostly blue pallor over Natty’s face. She sat cross-legged on her bed, her back pressed against the cold wall, staring at the pixelated faces of her parents in Thailand. They were thousands of miles away, yet the worry lines etched around their eyes felt close enough to touch.

"Nat," her mother said, her voice thick with sleeplessness. "There must be a way. The embassy… can they not do something?"

Natty shook her head slowly, the movement heavy, like her neck was made of lead. Tears tracked silently through her makeup, staining her cheeks. "I call them this morning, Mom. They say… nothing. Because I accept the idol visa, I agree to the 'cultural integration' clauses. It is mandatory now. The law… it change last night."

Her father, usually a pillar of stoic strength, looked defeated, his gaze dropping to his hands. "But to send you to… to those men. It is not right. It is not our way."

"If I say no," Natty whispered, her voice cracking, the Thai accent thickening with her distress, "they cancel visa. Deport. Blacklist. I never come back to Korea. I never sing again. Career… over."

The silence on the other end was deafening. It was the silence of people who had raised their daughter to be a star, only to watch the sky fall on her. The guilt was a physical weight, pressing down on Natty’s chest, making it hard to breathe. She wasn't just a victim; she was a burden.

"We will pray for you, Natty," her mother whispered finally, tears welling in her own eyes. "Just… survive."

The call ended with a abrupt click. The screen went black, and Natty was left alone in the dark with the echo of her mother’s fear.

Before she could dissolve into a sob, a sharp knock rattled the door.

"Natty-unnie?" It was Haneul’s voice, muffled but bright. "Open up! Please?"

Natty scrambled to wipe her face, the rough sleeve of her hoodie stinging her damp skin. she took a shuddering breath, forcing the mask back on—the polite, smiling idol the world expected. She stood up, her legs shaky, and unlocked the door.

As soon as the latch clicked, the door pushed open, and the rest of KISS OF LIFE tumbled in. Julie, Belle, and Haneul. They were a blur of pastel loungewear and frantic energy.

"Jesus, Natty," Julie exclaimed, enveloping her in a hug that smelled of vanilla body wash and expensive perfume. "We were so worried! You’ve been in here for like, sixteen hours."

"We thought you were sick," Belle added, brushing a stray hair from Natty’s face, her eyes wide with concern. "Or… or hiding."

"I am okay," Natty lied, her voice raspy. She stepped back, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Just… needed rest."

Haneul sat down next to her, taking her hand. "Is it the comments online? Because people are being so weird about the foreigner thing. They’re saying the troops voted for you because… well, you know."

"Because I look exotic," Natty finished dully. "Because I am Thai."

"They’ll get over it," Julie said firmly, pacing the small room. "It’s just noise. The important thing is the opportunity. But that’s not why you’re hiding, right?"

Natty looked at them—at their bright, eager eyes, their genuine concern. They were her sisters. But they were also part of the machine. They were looking at the situation through the lens of the industry: fame, exposure, scandal management. They weren't looking at it through the lens of a human being about to be stripped of her dignity.

She couldn't hold it in. The words tasted like bile, but she had to spit them out.

"It is not the comments," Natty whispered, staring at her knees. "It is… the program itself."

The room went quiet.

"You think I want this?" Natty’s voice rose, trembling. "You think I am happy to go… be a toy? A 'freeuse' doll for soldiers? It is disgusting. I am Thai. I do not care about Korean military. I do not want to be… bred by strangers. It is humiliating. It makes me feel like… meat."

She looked up, expecting shock, expecting solidarity. Instead, she saw three faces scrunch up in confusion, followed quickly by pity.

"Oh, Natty," Belle sighed, reaching out to rub her back. "You’re overthinking it. You’re looking at it the wrong way."

"Wrong way?" Natty repeated, incredulous.

"It’s not about being meat," Julie said, crouching down so she was eye-level with Natty. "It’s about power. Think about it. Wonyoung went in a girl and came out a queen. She controls the narrative now. She’s the *Mother of the Nation*."

"It is just one week," Haneul chimed in, squeezing Natty’s hand. "And okay, yeah, the sex part is… intense. But we’re idols, Natty. We sell sex every day. We wear bikinis, we dance on tables, we do sexy concepts. This is just… the ultimate version of that. It’s just performance art with real dicks."

Natty stared at her, mouth slightly open. The logic was so twisted, so absurd, it left her speechless.

"Think of the doors that will open," Belle pressed, her eyes shining. "The 'Pregnancy Decree' reward alone is enough to set you up for life. And the fame? You’ll be the most famous person in the country. Foreigners everywhere will look up to you."

"You’ll be a bridge," Julie said, nodding vigorously. "Cultural ambassador. Plus… you get to sleep with hot soldiers. Is it really that bad? It’s just sex. You’ve had sex before."

Natty felt the walls closing in. The peer pressure was a suffocating blanket, smothering her resistance. They weren't hearing her pain; they were hearing a marketing problem to be solved. They were reciting the company line, the national delusion, with terrifying enthusiasm.

"But… I don't want it," Natty whispered, a last, feeble protest.

Julie grabbed her shoulders, shaking her gently, a manic grin on her face. "You don’t have to *want* it, Natty. You just have to *do* it. And when you come back, with that belly full of glory? You’ll thank us."

The three of them descended on her, hugging her, laughing, talking over each other about outfits for the press conference and "pregnancy glow" skincare routines. Natty sat in the center of the tornado of affection, her body stiff, her mind blank. She looked at the lock on her door, then back at her group members. The agency, the visa, the law, the fans, and now her own friends.

There was no way out.

The fight drained out of her, leaving her hollow. She felt a strange detachment, as if she were watching herself from the ceiling. Natty nodded slowly, a puppet with cut strings.

"Okay," she whispered. "Okay. I'll go."

The girls screamed in delight, tackling her back onto the bed in a group hug. Natty stared up at the ceiling, a fake, plastic smile stretching her lips until her face hurt. She felt nothing. Nothing but a cold, creeping dread that settled deep in the marrow of her bones.

* * *

The next morning, the noise was deafening.

The military headquarters in Seoul was under siege. Not by enemies, but by cameras. Thousands of press personnel, fans, and curious onlookers packed the square, a writhing sea of humanity held back by barricades and riot police. The air vibrated with the roar of the crowd, chanting her name.

"Nat-ty! Nat-ty! Nat-ty!"

She stood backstage, the makeup artist applying one last layer of gloss to her lips. Natty looked at herself in the mirror. The agency had dressed her carefully—modest enough for the "respectable" press conference, yet undeniably sexy for the troops. A tight, white silk blouse that strained slightly against her chest, a high-waisted black pencil skirt that hugged her hips and ended mid-thigh, and sheer black tights.

But the worst part was the necklace. Around her neck, gleaming under the harsh backstage lights, hung a pair of silver military dog tags. They were cold against her skin, heavy, a constant reminder of her ownership. *Property of the ROK Army.*

"You look perfect, Natty-ssi," her manager said, giving her a thumbs up. "Just remember the talking points. Honored. Excited. Ready to serve."

"I know," she said softly.

"Showtime."

She walked out onto the stage.

The flash of cameras was blinding, a wall of white light that obliterated the world. The roar of the crowd hit her like a physical wave. She walked to the podium, her heels clicking on the polished wood, the microphone stand adjusted perfectly for her height. She gripped the edges, her knuckles white, and pasted on her dazzling idol smile.

"Annyeonghaseyo," she said, her voice ringing clearly through the speakers. "I am KISS OF LIFE’s Natty."

The applause was thunderous.

The press conference began. The questions flew fast and hard, shouted by reporters straining to be heard.

"Natty-ssi! How does it feel to be the very first foreign idol selected for the Special Enlistment?"

Natty leaned into the mic, her expression one of demure gratitude. "Honestly, I feel… very honored. It is big surprise for me. But to be chosen by the brave soldiers… it make me feel like I am truly part of this country now. I am… very happy."

Inside, she was screaming. *Part of this country? I’m a breeding sow for you.*

"There has been some controversy regarding the inclusion of foreign nationals in the program," another reporter shouted. "Do you think this represents a new era of acceptance for idols like yourself?"

Natty nodded, her long black hair swaying. "I think so. The military… they show that love for K-pop and love for Korea is for everyone, not just Korean people. I am grateful to be a bridge between cultures."

She wanted to vomit. A bridge between cultures? Is that what they called a gangbang lottery now?

"And finally, Natty-ssi," the lead reporter asked, a predatory gleam in his eye. "The ultimate reward. The 'Living National Treasure' status. Wonyoung-ssi famously returned with a child. Are you and your family hoping for a similar outcome? Are you aiming for the military pregnancy?"

The crowd held its breath. The cameras zoomed in, capturing every micro-expression.

Natty paused, pretending to be shy. She looked down, then up, her eyes glistening with fake emotion. "Well… that is… very personal. But… if it happen, it would be huge honor. I know the soldiers… they work hard. To give them that gift… it would be dream come true."

The crowd erupted in cheers. "Natty! Natty! Natty!"

She kept smiling. She waved. She bowed. She stood there on the stage, bathed in adoration and light, while her mind dragged her down into the dark. She could feel the phantom weight of hands on her body, dozens of hands, rough and demanding. She could smell the imaginary scent of sweat and gun oil. She could feel the ghost of a cock forcing its way into her throat, choking her, while the nation watched and cheered.

She stepped back from the podium, the applause ringing in her ears, and walked off stage. As soon as she was out of the spotlight, the smile dropped from her face, leaving her pale and trembling.

She had fourty-eight hours. Forty-eight hours until she was delivered to her misery. She touched the cold metal of the dog tags against her chest, a shiver racking her slender frame. The game was over. The enlistment had begun.

Chapter 3

The dawn over Seoul was gray and unforgiving, a cold mist clinging to the asphalt of the military headquarters. The air smelled of diesel and impending rain. Natty stood by the heavy iron gate, the collar of her coat turned up against the chill, though the cold she felt was bone-deep and had nothing to do with the weather.

Her manager stood a few feet away, checking his watch, his face a mask of professional indifference. Around her, the three members of KISS OF LIFE were a whirlwind of pastel puffers and frantic affection.

"You're going to be amazing," Julie whispered, squeezing Natty so tightly her ribs creaked. "Just remember what we said. Own it. You're the queen in there."

Belle was crying, her mascara already smudging slightly. "We'll be waiting for you. Every single day. Call if you can… or, well, just come back to us."

"It's just a week!" Haneul added, her voice trembling with forced cheerfulness. "Then you're back, and we'll have the biggest party ever."

Natty nodded mechanically, her lips stretching into a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I know. I will be okay. Don't worry."

Her parents weren't there. They were in Bangkok, helpless and grieving over a video call. She was alone. Truly alone.

"Time to go," the manager said, tapping his watch.

Natty disentangled herself from the group hug. She picked up her small duffel bag—her only luggage for the week—and turned toward the gate. It loomed above her, a spike-topped monstrosity of black steel. She took a deep breath, held it, and stepped across the threshold.

*Clang.*

The heavy metal gate slammed shut behind her. The sound was final, like a tombstone sealing. The laughter and goodbyes of her members were instantly cut off, replaced by the sharp, barking orders of drill instructors and the rhythmic stomp of boots on pavement. She was inside the belly of the beast now.

The processing that followed was a blur of bureaucratic indifference. An officer, his face blank and eyes dead, led her through a series of grey corridors. They stopped at the Enlistment Office for papers—forms signing away her image rights, her medical data, her bodily autonomy for the duration of the service. Natty signed them without reading, her hand moving on autopilot.

Then came the medical examination. It was a sterile, white room that smelled of antiseptic and latex. A female doctor, middle-aged with sharp features and no-nonsense hands, instructed Natty to strip.

Natty stood on the scale, then against the wall for height measurements. The doctor poked and prodded, measuring her bust, waist, and hips with clinical roughness, calling out the numbers to a nurse scribbling on a clipboard.

"Blood," the doctor commanded, gesturing to the chair.

Natty sat, rolling up her sleeve. The needle pinched, and her dark blood filled the vial. Ten minutes later, the doctor was reviewing the results on a tablet. She frowned, looking over her spectacles at Natty.

"You are on hormonal contraceptives," she stated. It wasn't a question.

"Yes," Natty said softly. "Since… long time. For skin, and… cycle."

The doctor’s expression didn't waver. "Strictly prohibited under Article 4 of the Special Enlistment Act. TKne of The goal of the program is maximum fertility. You cannot have synthetic hormones interfering with the troops'… objectives."

Natty felt a chill crawl up her spine. "Oh. I… I stop now?"

"You stop now," the doctor confirmed, typing something into the file. "Your system will flush itself out within 24 hours. Given your age and health, you should be extremely fertile by day three. Be aware."

She handed Natty a small paper cup with two pills. "These are multivitamins and folic acid. Take them daily."

Natty swallowed them dry. *Fertile by day three.* The words echoed in her head. She had clung to the secret hope that her birth control might offer a sliver of protection against the "Pregnancy Decree," but that hope was now dead. They wanted her bare. They wanted her open.

She was ushered out of the medical wing and into a waiting military transport vehicle—a windowless van with bench seats. The ride was thirty minutes of suffocating silence. The van bumped over unpaved roads, taking her further and further from the city, from the lights, from civilization. When the doors finally opened, the air that rushed in was crisp, pine-scented, and heavy with the silence of the mountains.

This was Camp Mujo.

Natty stepped out, her boots crunching on gravel. The camp was a cluster of low-slung buildings nestled in a valley, surrounded by dense forest. It was isolated. Inescapable.

A line of men stood at attention in the central courtyard. They were dressed in combat fatigues, their boots polished to a mirror shine, their stances rigid. This was her squad.

Natty walked toward them, the officer who had driven her standing silently behind her. As she approached, the Captain stepped forward.

"Attention!" he barked.

The men snapped their heels together.

"At ease." The Captain’s eyes locked onto Natty. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with a face that was handsome in a cruel, arrogant way. He had a jawline that looked like it could cut glass and a smirk that suggested he knew exactly how much power he held.

"Welcome to Camp Mujo, Ma'am," he said, his voice booming, echoing off the mountains. "I am Captain Kang Dae-hyun. This is Squad 4-2. We are… honored to be your hosts."

He didn't sound honored. He sounded like a wolf looking at a cornered lamb.

"Introduce yourselves," Kang commanded.

One by one, they stepped forward, their eyes raking over her body, undressing her before she had even taken off her coat.

"Sergeant Kim Ji-hoon." He was older, his face stern, eyes cold and calculating. He didn't smile. He just looked at her with an intensity that promised rough, efficient use. No talking, no feelings, just business.

"Corporal Lee Min-seok." He was younger, with a charming, boyish face and a glint of mischief in his eyes. He winked at her. "We've been waiting a long time for you, noona."

"Private Park Seung-min." He looked like a high school student, baby-faced and slight. But when he looked at her, his blush was matched by a hunger that was pure and unfiltered.

"Private Choi Hyun-woo." He was sneering slightly, his lip curled. He radiated arrogance, his eyes darting over her chest and legs with a possessiveness that annoyed her immediately.

"Private Jang Soo-bin." He didn't speak, just nodded. He was a mountain of a man, thick-necked and broad, his muscles straining against his uniform. He was the brute force, silent and terrifying.

Captain Kang waved a hand dismissively. "That’s enough. You know the drill."

The officer who had driven Natty handed Captain Kang a clipboard. Kang signed it with a flourish, not even looking at the paper. The officer saluted, got back in the van, and drove away.

Natty was alone. Truly alone.

"Private Park," Kang barked. "Show the guest to the barracks. Get her settled."

"Yes, sir!" Park Seung-min snapped to attention, then turned to Natty, his face breaking into a shy, eager smile. "This way, noona. Come on."

He led her across the courtyard, the other five men watching her go, their gazes burning holes in her back.

"It's not much," Park said as they walked toward a long, low building. "But it's home. Here's the mess hall—that's where we eat. And that's the training field over there. We do most of our PT there."

He pointed to a smaller, separate building. "Shower block. We have specific times, but… for you, I think you can go whenever you want."

They entered the barracks. It was a long room with rows of bunk beds on either side. At the far end, however, was a single bed, neatly made, separated from the others by a small partition.

"That's yours," Park said, gesturing to the single bed. It had fresh sheets and a pillow that looked slightly fluffier than the rest.

"Thank you," Natty said softly, putting her duffel bag down on the mattress.

Park stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame. He looked at the bed, then at her, a nervous laugh escaping his lips. "You know… it's a nice bed. Really comfortable. But… you’re probably not gonna be sleeping in it much, noona."

Natty froze, her hand resting on the strap of her bag. "What?"

Park’s face turned red, but he didn't look away. "It's just… this is our first time. Getting a Special Enlistment. The guys… we've all read the reports. We know what happens. We’re just… really excited. We’re gonna want to be with you. A lot."

He stepped closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "There's a rule. For the first night… it belongs entirely to the Captain."

Natty’s stomach dropped.

"He likes to… break things in," Park continued, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "Just… don't deny him anything he orders. If you listen, if you're good, he's actually decent. He can be generous. But if you fight him… if you make it difficult… he can be a real pain in the ass. And the Sergeant… he doesn't like drama."

He looked at her with wide, earnest eyes. "Just survive tonight, noona. After that… we’ll take care of you."

With that, he gave a quick salute and turned, leaving her alone in the quiet of the barracks.

Natty stood in the center of the room, the silence ringing in her ears. She looked at the bed, then at the empty room. She could hear the distant sounds of the camp—the clang of metal, the shout of an order.

She took a deep breath, trying to steady her trembling hands. Her mind raced, flashing images of the men she had just met.

Captain Kang. The arrogant prick who thought he owned her already. She could feel his phantom hands gripping her hips, bruising her.

Sergeant Kim. The cold one. He would use her like a tool, efficient and merciless.

Corporal Lee. The charmer. He would want to play games, to tease her until she begged.

Private Choi. The loudmouth. He would want to humiliate her, to show off.

Private Jang. The brute. He would simply take, regardless of what she wanted.

And Park. The baby-faced pervert who acted like a friend but would probably be the roughest of all.

She was surrounded. Trapped in a valley of wolves, her fertility artificially boosted, her birth control gone, her body no longer her own.

"Just one week," she whispered to the empty room, the lie tasting bitter on her tongue. "Just smile. Just survive. And get out."

She walked to the narrow window and looked out. The sun was setting over the mountains, casting long, dark shadows across the camp. It looked beautiful. It looked like a prison.

Chapter 4

The mess hall was a cavernous, echo-chamber of steel and noise, filled with the clatter of metal trays and the low, rumble of masculine conversation. Natty sat at the long table, feeling like a small, exotic bird that had accidentally flown into a cage of wolves. The air smelled of boiled cabbage, cheap meat, and the unmistakable musk of sixty men living in close quarters.

She picked at her food with her fork, pushing a limp piece of radish around her tray. Her stomach was a tight knot of anxiety, making eating impossible. Across from her, the six members of Squad 4-2 were devouring their meals with the voracious energy of men who spent all day training.

"So, noona," Private Choi Hyun-woo said, his mouth half-full of rice, leaning forward with a grin that was all teeth. "Is it true what they say? That idol food is specially prepared by nutritionists? This stuff tastes like wet cardboard compared to what you're used to, huh?"

Natty forced a polite smile, her hand trembling slightly on her fork. "It is… different. But I am okay. Thank you for asking."

"She's polite," Corporal Lee Min-seok chimed in, winking at her. "Captain, you think they teach manners in those fancy agencies, or is she just naturally sweet?"

Captain Kang Dae-hyun sat at the head of the table. He didn’t look at her. He just ate, his movements precise and efficient, radiating an aura of bored impatience. He wiped his mouth with a napkin and tossed it onto his tray.

"Enough," Kang said, his voice cutting through the chatter.

The table went silent.

"Natty," he said, not looking at her, staring at the empty spot on the table. "Finish up. You’re coming with me."

A ripple of excitement went through the squad. Private Park Seung-min choked slightly on his water. Private Jang Soo-bin, the brute, stopped chewing entirely, his eyes widening.

"Yes, Captain," Natty whispered, her appetite vanishing entirely. She put her fork down, the metal clinking loudly in the sudden quiet.

"Get it, Captain!" Private Choi shouted, pumping his fist.

"Shut your mouth," Kang snapped, his eyes flashing dangerously. He stood up, towering over the table. "You have PT at 0500. If I hear a single peep out of this barracks before then, you’ll all be running until you puke."

He turned and walked out, the heavy door swinging shut behind him.

Natty stood up slowly, her legs feeling like lead. The squad watched her go, a mix of envy and raw lust in their eyes. She could feel their gazes burning into her back, tracing the curve of her ass in her regulation shorts, imagining what was about to happen. She walked out of the mess hall into the cool night air, following the path to the Captain’s quarters.

The room was separate from the main barracks, a small, private cabin reserved for the commanding officer. It was sparse but slightly more luxurious than the bunks—a real bed, a desk, a chair. A lamp in the corner cast a warm, dim light over the space.

Kang was already inside, unbuttoning the top of his fatigue jacket. He gestured to the chair in front of his desk. "Sit."

Natty sat. She clasped her hands in her lap, squeezing her fingers until they turned white.

Kang took his time, shrugging off the jacket and hanging it up. He turned to face her, leaning back against the edge of the desk, his arms crossed over his broad chest. He looked her up and down, not with admiration, but with a critical, assessing eye, like a mechanic inspecting a used car.

"You're nervous," he stated.

"Yes, Captain."

"Don't be. It's just protocol." He sighed, running a hand through his short, cropped hair. "I’ll be honest with you, Natty. My pick was someone else. Blackpink Jennie. You know the type? Classy. Korean. But HQ doesn’t care what I want. They sent me you."

He pushed off the desk and walked over to where she sat, stopping just inches from her knees. Natty had to crane her neck back to look at him.

"But," he continued, his eyes dropping to her chest, "I’m not complaining. The boys have worked hard this year. They deserve a reward. And frankly, looking at you… you’ve got a body made for this. Better than those stick-thin girls."

"Thank… you?" Natty whispered, unsure how to respond.

Kang chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. "You're not very talkative for an idol. I thought you people were trained to entertain."

"I am sorry, Captain. I am just… tired."

"Tired." He smirked. "Well, you’re going to be a lot more tired when I’m done with you."

He reached out and hooked a finger under the collar of her shirt, tugging gently. "Stand up. Undress."

Natty’s heart hammered against her ribs. This was it. The point of no return. She stood up slowly, her legs trembling. She reached for the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head, folding it neatly despite her shaking hands. Then came her shorts. She stepped out of them, standing before him in just her bra and panties.

Kang let out a low whistle. "Jesus. Look at those legs."

He reached out, his rough hand sliding up her thigh, gripping the soft flesh of her hip. His touch was hot, possessive. He turned her around with a firm tug, inspecting her.

"Ass is fat, too," he muttered, giving her right cheek a squeeze that made her flinch. "Good. The guys like something to hold onto."

He spun her back to face him. "Take the rest off."

Natty unhooked her bra, letting it fall, exposing her perky, dark-tipped breasts to the cool air. Then she slid her panties down, kicking them away. She stood naked before him, vulnerable and humiliated, her golden-tan skin glowing in the dim light. She tried to cover herself with her arms, but he knocked them away.

"Don't," he commanded. "Hands at your sides."

She obeyed, forcing herself to stand tall while his eyes roamed over her most private places.

"Hips are wide," he noted clinically. "Good birthing hips. You Thai girls really are built for breeding, aren't you?"

The comment made her want to vomit, but she bit her tongue. *Just let it end,* she told herself. *Just let him finish.*

Kang unzipped his pants, letting them drop to the floor. He kicked them aside. He was already hard, his cock jutting out thick and angry. It wasn't the biggest she had ever seen, but the sight of it made her stomach churn with dread. It was a weapon. It was the instrument of her subjugation.

"On the bed," he said. "On your back. Legs open."

Natty crawled onto the narrow bed, the springs creaking under her weight. She lay back, spreading her legs as ordered, staring up at the ceiling, trying to detach her mind from her body.

Kang climbed on top of her, heavy and suffocating. He didn't kiss her. He didn't ask if she was ready. He just lined himself up and pushed inside.

Natty gasped, her back arching off the mattress. There was no foreplay, no preparation. He stretched her open, the sudden intrusion burning and sharp.

"Fuck," he groaned, burying his face in her neck. "Tight. You're tight."

He began to move. His thrusts were hard and rhythmic, selfish. He wasn't trying to make her feel good; he was chasing his own release. His hips slapped against hers, the sound lewd and loud in the quiet room.

Natty lay there, her hands gripping the pillow above her head, her eyes squeezed shut. She felt like a piece of meat. Every time he pushed into her, she felt a jolt of humiliation. But her body… her body was betraying her. Weeks of nervous anticipation, the biology of her fertility flushing out her system, the sheer physical friction—it was all conspiring against her. She felt herself getting wet, her walls slickening to ease his passage, her nipples hardening against his chest.

"Ah," she let out a small, involuntary moan, quickly clamping her mouth shut.

Kang heard it. He laughed, his breath hot in her ear. "You like that, huh? You act shy, but your pussy doesn't lie. You're soaking wet."

He grabbed her legs, pushing them up toward her chest, folding her nearly in half. The new angle allowed him to go deeper, hitting a spot inside her that made her see stars despite herself.

"Look at me," he commanded.

Natty opened her eyes. His face was flushed, sweat beading on his forehead. He looked wild, animalistic.

"Who owns you this week?" he grunted, pounding into her.

"You… Captain," she whimpered.

"Damn right."

He flipped them over suddenly, grabbing her waist and pulling her on top of him. "Ride me. Move those dancer hips."

Natty hesitated, unsure. He slapped her ass, sharp and stinging. "Move!"

She began to rock her hips, sliding up and down his length. Her dog tags, which she had forgotten to take off, bounced against her chest, jingling softly with every movement. The sound was mocking, a cheerful little chime accompanying her degradation.

Kang lay back, his hands behind his head, watching her. He watched her tits bounce, watched his cock disappear inside her, watched the flush spread across her golden skin. He was using her like a living fleshlight, enjoying the view, treating her like a performer in a private show just for him.

"Faster," he ordered.

Natty obeyed, her thighs burning with the effort. She felt the pressure building inside her, a coil of heat low in her belly that had nothing to do with desire and everything to do with mechanics. She was disgusted with herself. *How can my body enjoy this?* she thought, tears pricking her eyes. *I am disgusting.*

"You Thai girls are flexible," he groaned, sitting up to suck on her nipple, his teeth grazing the sensitive bud. "I bet you can do all kinds of positions."

He grabbed her hips and took control again, slamming up into her. The bed was squeaking loudly now, a rhythmic *squeak-squeak-squeak* that surely could be heard through the thin walls.

"Gonna cum," he grunted after what felt like an eternity. "Where do you want it?"

"Inside," Natty whispered, the rules echoing in her head. The goal was pregnancy. The goal was breeding.

"Yeah? You want my soldier cum inside you?" He was getting close, his thrusts becoming erratic.

"Yes," she lied, her voice hollow. "Please."

"Take it then."

He let out a loud, guttural roar, his grip on her hips bruisingly tight. He thrust up one last time, burying himself to the hilt, and held himself there. Natty felt him pulse, hot and thick, filling her up. The sensation was intense and overwhelming, a sudden warmth flooding her insides. It triggered something in her, a small, unwanted shiver of pleasure that rippled through her limbs.

She collapsed on top of him, panting, her body slick with sweat.

Kang lay there for a moment, catching his breath. Then, without a word, he shoved her off him. Natty rolled onto the mattress, landing on her back. She felt a wet trickle of cum slide out of her, running down her thigh, pooling on the sheets.

Kang stood up, pulled on his boxers, and flopped into his side of the bed. Within seconds, his eyes were closed. He didn't cover her. He didn't say goodnight. He just started snoring, a deep, rattling sound that filled the room.

Natty lay in the dark, staring up at the shadows on the ceiling. Her body ached. Her heart felt like it had been hollowed out. She could feel the mess between her legs, cooling and sticky, a physical reminder of what she had just become.

She thought about her parents in Bangkok. She thought about her group members cheering her on. She thought about the thousands of soldiers who had voted for her, who saw her as nothing more than a vessel for their pleasure.

She blinked, and a single tear rolled down her temple and into her hair. She was Natty, the idol. Natty, the dancer. Now, she was just the Captain's cum dumpster.

And outside the door, five other men were waiting.

The week had barely begun.

Chapter 5

Consciousness returned to her not with a jolt, but with a heavy, suffocating drag, like rising from the bottom of a deep pool. Natty blinked, the morning light filtering through the thin blinds of the Captain’s quarters stinging her eyes. She was alone. The space beside her was empty, the sheets rumpled and still holding the faint, sour scent of Kang Dae-hyun’s sweat.

She shifted, a dull ache throbbing between her thighs, a persistent reminder of the night before. She was still completely naked, the cool air raising goosebumps on her golden-tan skin. The dog tags—the cold steel weight of her indenture—still hung around her neck, resting innocently against her collarbone. She stared at them, the metal glinting mockingly.

Voices drifted through the thin walls, shattering the morning silence. It was the squad. They were right outside, gathered in the courtyard for the morning briefing.

Natty froze, holding her breath.

"How was she, Captain?"

The voice was Corporal Lee Min-seok—teasing, eager.

A low, arrogant chuckle followed. Captain Kang. "She was alright. A little stiff. Probably scared of the new environment. Or maybe..." He paused, and Natty could picture the smirk on his face. "Maybe she was scared of getting ruined by all of us on day one."

The squad laughed. A chorus of deep, rumbling amusement that vibrated in Natty’s chest.

"Honest though?" Kang continued, his voice dropping, taking on a boastful edge. "That body? Fuck. It’s built for this. I’ve fucked a lot of women, officers and civilians, but that Thai pussy? Tightest, wettest thing I’ve ever had. It’s like she was molded for us. Now I get why they say Thai girls are the best in the world. I can’t wait to bury myself in that little cunt again tonight. It’s addictive."

"Gotta give the rest of us a chance, Captain," another voice piped up—Private Choi, the loudmouth. "You can't hog the recruit."

"Don't worry," Kang said dismissively. "She’s here for a week. We’ll all get a turn. Just make sure you respect the chain of command. I go first, then Sergeant Kim. You rookies get the scraps."

Lying there in the bed, Natty felt something inside her shift. It wasn't a snap, but a slow, grinding crack, like a tectonic plate settling into a new position.

She listened to them talk about her like she was a piece of equipment, a new rifle to be passed around the firing range. *Best fuck.* *Thai pussy.* *Scraps.*

She waited for the anger to come. She waited for the humiliation to burn hot enough to make her cry, or the nausea to make her run to the bathroom. But it didn't come. Instead, she felt a strange, cold numbness settle over her. The fight drained out of her, leaving behind a hollow vacuum.

*Why fight?* a voice whispered in her head. It was a dangerous voice, seductive and smooth. *This is what they want. This is what you are here for. Why pretend you’re an idol? Why pretend you have dignity? They won. The lottery won. The Captain won.*

She looked down at her body, at the dried cum flaking on her inner thighs. *I am meat,* she thought. The realization didn't disgust her anymore. It liberated her. If she was just meat, meat didn't have to worry about pride. Meat didn't have to worry about shame. Meat just existed to be consumed.

And if she was going to be consumed… she was going to enjoy the feast.

The voices outside faded as the squad broke formation and marched off toward the training field. Silence returned to the room, heavy and expectant.

A few minutes later, a sharp knock sounded at the door.

"Come in," Natty called out, her voice raspy but steady.

The door opened and Private Park Seung-min stepped in, balancing a metal tray in his hands. He was blushing furiously, his eyes darting around the room before landing on the bed.

"Good morning, noona," he stammered. "I brought you breakfast. The Captain said to make sure you ate."

He stopped dead.

Natty was sitting on the edge of the bed. She hadn't covered up. She was still completely naked, her legs slightly parted, her golden skin glowing in the shafts of morning light. Her hair was a messy dark halo around her head, and the Captain's release was still visible, a stark white contrast against the soft brown of her inner thighs.

Park stared, his mouth falling open slightly. The tray rattled in his hands.

Natty looked at him. Really looked at him. He was young—her age, maybe younger. Baby-faced. But beneath that shy exterior, she saw the hunger. She saw the way his pupils dilated as he traced the curve of her breasts, the flat plane of her stomach, the damp junction of her legs.

She stood up.

"Noona?" Park squeaked, backing up until his heels hit the door frame. "I… I’ll just put the tray on the desk."

"Put it down," Natty said.

He hurriedly placed the tray on the desk, the silverware clattering. He turned to leave, but Natty was already moving. She crossed the small room in two long strides, her dancer’s legs eating up the distance.

She grabbed him by the lapels of his uniform and shoved him back.

Park stumbled, his back hitting the wall with a dull thud. "Noona, what are you—"

She kissed him. It wasn't a sweet kiss. It was a collision. She bit his lower lip, hard enough to draw blood, tasting copper. She felt him freeze, then melt, his hands coming up instinctively to grab her waist.

"Noona, the Captain," he gasped against her mouth, his voice muffled. "If he finds out—"

"Fuck the Captain," Natty growled, the Thai accent thickening her voice, making it sound exotic and fierce. She grabbed his belt buckle, her fingers working with frantic, practiced speed. "I heard them. I know what I am. I know what you want."

She yanked his pants down. His cock sprang free, already half-hard. Natty wrapped her hand around him, squeezing tight. He was hot and heavy in her palm.

"I want to eat," she whispered, looking him dead in the eye. "And you’re breakfast."

Park’s eyes went wide, then rolled back as she dropped to her knees. She didn't tease. She didn't play the innocent idol. She took him into her mouth, deep, her tongue swirling around the head, her hand pumping the shaft. She sucked him hard, wet, and loud, determined to get him ready.

"Jesus," Park hissed, his hands tangling in her hair, his hips jerking forward involuntarily. "Noona… your mouth…"

She pulled away, a string of saliva connecting her lips to his cock. She stood up and dragged him toward the bed.

"Lie down," she commanded.

Park obeyed, scrambling onto the mattress, lying on his back, his cock standing straight up like a flagpole. He looked terrified, but he wasn't stopping her. He couldn't stop her.

Natty climbed onto the bed, straddling his hips. She hovered over him, her knees sinking into the mattress. She reached down, guided him to her entrance, and sank down in one fluid motion.

They both groaned. Natty threw her head back, her neck arching beautifully. He filled her up, stretching her, the sensation mixing with the dull ache from the Captain to create a storm of sensation.

"Fuck," Park whimpered, his hands coming up to grip her thighs. "You’re so tight… and wet…"

"Shut up," Natty breathed. She placed her hands on his chest for leverage and began to move.

She started slow, rolling her hips in a circle, a dancer's grind. She used her core muscles, clenching around him, milking him. She felt powerful. For the first time since arriving at this hellhole, she was in control. She wasn't a victim lying on her back taking it; she was the rider. She was the one dictating the pace.

She picked up the tempo, bouncing on him, her ass slapping against his thighs with a wet, rhythmic *thwack-thwack-thwack*. Her dog tags jumped and jingled against her chest, a frantic metronome.

"Look at me," she ordered.

Park looked up, his eyes glazed with lust. She looked magnificent—sweat already beginning to sheen on her brown skin, her breasts bouncing with every thrust, her head thrown back in ecstasy.

"Is this what you wanted?" she asked, her voice breathless. "Is this what you voted for?"

"Yes," he groaned. "God, yes."

Natty smiled, a wicked, genuine smile. She spun around, keeping him inside her, turning to face his feet. She leaned forward, planting her hands on his knees, and began to ride him reverse cowgirl. This angle allowed her to take him even deeper, the head of his cock brushing against her cervix.

"Ahhh," she cried out, a long, broken moan. It wasn't forced. The pleasure was real, blooming in her lower belly, radiating out to her fingertips. Her body didn't care about the context. Her body just loved being filled.

She moved her ass like she was on stage, twerking on his dick, the muscles rippling. She reached down between her legs and rubbed her clit, the added stimulation sending sparks flying behind her eyelids.

"You're so big, Private," she lied, but it sounded good. "You're bigger than the Captain."

"Don't say that," Park gasped, but he thrust up into her, harder, spurred on by the dirty talk.

"It's true," she moaned. "Fuck me. Use me. I'm just a hole for you, right?"

"Yes," he hissed. "You're a hole. You're our little Thai fuck doll."

The words, so filthy and degrading, only pushed her higher. She accepted them. She embraced them. She *was* a doll right now, a toy, and she was going to be the best toy they ever had.

She rode him furiously, the bed squeaking in protest, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room. Sweat dripped down her back, pooling in the dimples of her spine. She could feel herself getting close, the coil tightening, the heat rising.

"Harder," she demanded.

Park grabbed her hips, his fingers digging into her flesh, and slammed up into her. He was fucking her back now, matching her rhythm, their bodies colliding with violent force.

"I'm gonna cum," he warned.

"Do it," Natty gasped, her fingers flying over her clit. "Cum inside me. Fill me up."

With a strangled cry, Park exploded. Natty felt him pulse, hot and thick, flooding her insides for the second time in twelve hours. The sensation triggered her own orgasm. Her back arched, her toes curled, and she screamed, a high-pitched, keening sound that echoed through the barracks. Her walls clenched around him, milking him for every drop, wave after wave of pleasure crashing over her, drowning out the world.

She collapsed forward, panting, her face buried in the sheets. Her body twitched with aftershocks.

For a moment, the only sound was their ragged breathing.

Then, Park shifted underneath her. He pushed at her shoulder gently. "Noona… get up."

Natty rolled off him, landing on her back beside him. She stared at the ceiling, her chest heaving, a satisfied smirk playing on her lips. She felt filthy. She felt used. And she felt amazing.

Park scrambled up, fumbling with his pants, his face pale. He looked at her with a mix of awe and terror.

"You… you can't tell anyone," he stammered, his hands shaking as he buttoned his fly. "Please, noona. You can't tell the Captain."

Natty turned her head to look at him, her eyes half-lidded and lazy. "Why not?"

"Because the Sergeant… and Corporal Lee… they're next in line," Park whispered, glancing at the door as if they were listening. "If they know I jumped the queue… if the Captain finds out I got sloppy seconds before he even had breakfast… they'll kill me. They'll make my life a living hell."

Natty laughed, a low, throaty sound. She stretched her arms over her head, luxuriating in the soreness.

"Don't worry, Private," she purred, running a hand through her sweat-dampened hair. "Your secret is safe with me."

She watched him exhale a breath he didn't know he was holding. He grabbed the tray from the desk, though the food was surely cold now.

"Eat your breakfast," he mumbled, avoiding her eyes. "I… I have to go."

He fled the room, leaving the door ajar.

Natty lay there alone again, the morning light fully illuminating the room. She felt cum leaking out of her, a warm, sticky reminder of her morning exercise. She thought about Park's fear, about the hierarchy of the squad.

Sergeant Kim. Corporal Lee. They were next.

She smiled, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. She was just meat. But tonight, she was going to be the most expensive cut of meat they had ever tasted.

Chapter 6

The afternoon sun blazed over Camp Mujo, turning the air into a thick, suffocating blanket of heat. But inside the barracks, Natty felt a different kind of fire. She stood before the mirror, her fingers tracing the silver dog tags that lay cold against her flushed, golden skin. The reflection staring back was not the terrified girl from the morning. Her eyes were dark, heavy-lidded with a predatory hunger. Her lips curled into a smirk that promised sin.

"Two down," she whispered, her voice a silken purr. "Four to go."

The fear had evaporated, incinerated by the realization that if she was to be meat, she would be the most exquisite cut they ever tasted. She would not lie there like a corpse; she would be the conductor of this symphony of filth. She would be the pro Thai meat they fantasized about, a succubus in army green who drained them dry until they were the ones begging.

She left the barracks, the heat of the day hitting her like a physical wall. Her first target was predictable. Sergeant Kim Ji-hoon.

The supply shed was a cavern of shadows, smelling of stale canvas, gun oil, and dust. Kim stood by a stack of crates, his posture rigid, checking inventory with the intensity of a man trying to ignore the world. He didn't turn when the door creaked open.

"Sergeant," she called out, her voice soft, melting in the humid air.

He stiffened. "Natty. You should be resting."

"I rested," she lied, stepping into the pool of light beside him. "But I realized I haven't fulfilled my duty to you yet. A good soldier serves her superiors, doesn't she, Sir?"

Kim turned, his eyes cold and assessing. He was a man of discipline, of order. He didn't want a mess. But Natty could see the pulse jumping in his neck. She walked closer, invading his space, until she could smell the soap on his skin.

"I want to serve you, Sir," she whispered, dropping to her knees on the concrete floor without waiting for an order. She looked up at him, her hands resting lightly on his thighs, her eyes wide with feigned innocence. "Use me. Please. I need to be useful."

Something in the Sergeant’s stoic mask cracked. He looked down at her, at the way her shorts rode up her thighs, at the full, parted lips. It was an offer too tempting for a man who had been in the field too long.

"Open your mouth," he commanded, his voice low and rough.

Natty obeyed instantly, tilting her head back, exposing the long, graceful line of her throat. Kim didn't hesitate. He unzipped his fly and pulled himself out, already hard and straining. He fisted his hand in her hair, not gently, and thrust into her mouth.

Natty took him. She suppressed her gag reflex, breathing through her nose, relaxing her jaw to accommodate his length. He set a brutal rhythm, fucking her face with the same efficiency he applied to drills. It was devoid of romance, purely mechanical, but Natty moaned around him, the vibrations traveling down his shaft.

"Take it," he grunted, his hips snapping forward, the sound of his pants slapping against her face echoing in the quiet shed. "All of it."

She hollowed her cheeks, suctioning him hard, her tongue dancing along the sensitive vein on the underside. She was a vessel, a wet, warm hole for his pleasure, and the sheer depravity of it made her slick with desire. She looked up at him, tears pricking her eyes from the intrusion, watching his face contort with pleasure. She controlled him, even as he choked her.

"You're a natural," he growled, pulling out abruptly, strings of saliva connecting them.

"Only for you, Sir," she rasped, her Thai accent thickening the words into a sweet, filthy melody. "My pussy is yours to use."

He didn't wait. He yanked her up, bent her over a wooden crate, and tore her shorts down her legs. He entered her from behind in one swift, punishing stroke. Natty cried out, her fingers scrabbling against the rough wood of the crate.

"Yes, Sir! Harder!" she screamed, meeting his thrusts, her ass rippling against his pelvis. "Use your little Thai slut!"

He fucked her with a silent intensity, the only sounds the wet slap of skin on skin and the creaking of the crate. When he came, he buried himself deep, gripping her hips so hard she knew she’d have bruises. He filled her up, a low groan escaping his lips.

As he pulled away, zipping up with trembling hands, Natty stayed bent over the crate for a moment, catching her breath. She stood up slowly, pulling her shorts back into place, a satisfied smirk gracing her lips.

"Thank you, Sergeant," she said sweetly, walking past him toward the door. She felt his gaze burning into her back, heavy and confused. He had used her, but she had claimed his focus.

An hour later, the air was thick with steam in the shower block. Corporal Lee Min-seok was leaning against the tiled wall, waiting for his turn under the spray. He was the charming one, the playful one. Natty intended to break that composure.

"Corporal," she purred, stepping into the mist.

He grinned, pushing off the wall. "Natty-ssi. I heard you've been busy. You're quite the motivation for the squad."

"I'm just doing my patriotic duty," she teased, closing the distance between them. "But I heard you like to play games, Oppa. Are you good at them?"

"I'm the best," he challenged, his eyes flicking down to her body, clad only in a damp towel she had grabbed on the way in.

"Good." She dropped the towel.

Lee’s eyes widened, raking over her golden-tan skin, glistening with moisture. Natty moved with the fluid grace of a dancer, stepping into him. She pushed him back until he sat on the wooden bench in the center of the room. She straddled his lap, facing him, but didn't let him enter her yet.

She began to move. It was a slow, agonizing grind, her hips rolling in deep, languid circles. She rubbed her slick folds against his hardened cock through his uniform pants, teasing him with the heat of her cunt but denying him the friction he craved.

"You're a tease," he hissed, his hands gripping her waist, trying to pull her down.

"Ah, ah, ah," she scolded, tapping his nose with a wet finger. "Patience. A good dancer knows you have to warm up the music."

She arched her back, pressing her breasts against his face, then pulled away just as he tried to capture a nipple in his mouth. She giggled, a breathy, naughty sound. She flexed her hips, bouncing lightly, just enough to drive him mad.

"Please, Natty," he groaned, his playful facade slipping. "Stop teasing. I need to be inside you."

"You want it?" she whispered in his ear, her tongue tracing the shell. "Then beg for it, Corporal."

"I'm begging," he gasped, his hips jerking up involuntarily. "Fuck me. Ride me. Please."

"Good boy."

She stood up just long enough to unbutton his pants and free his straining erection. Then she sank down onto him, impaling herself in one smooth motion. She threw her head back, a moan tearing from her throat. He filled her perfectly.

She rode him with a rhythmic, hypnotic precision. She used her core muscles to clench around him, milking him with every rise and fall. She looked him in the eye, her gaze sultry and mocking.

"Is this what you wanted?" she gasped, her voice laced with laughter. "Is this how you imagined the idol Natty would feel?"

"You're tight… you're amazing," he babbled, his head thrown back against the wall.

She spun around, turning into reverse cowgirl, bracing her hands on his knees. She slammed her ass down onto him, the wet, slapping sound echoing off the tiles. She looked back at him over her shoulder, her hair plastered to her neck with sweat.

"Come on, Oppa," she taunted. "Fuck me back. Don't let the idol do all the work."

He gripped her hips, his fingers digging into her flesh, and started to thrust upward, meeting her movements. It was a wild, sweaty dance, a battle for control. When he came, he let out a loud cry, his body arching off the bench. Natty milked him for every drop, her own orgasm fluttering around him, a sweet, teasing release.

She climbed off him, leaving him panting and wrecked on the bench. "Clean up, Oppa," she said, blowing him a kiss. "You're a mess."

By late afternoon, the sun was dipping lower, casting long shadows across the training field. Private Choi Hyun-woo was in the gym, attacking a punching bag with the ferocity of a man trying to kill something. He was the loudmouth, the arrogant one who loved to humiliate. Natty intended to feed that fire until it burned him.

"Choi," she called out, leaning against the doorframe.

He stopped, breathing hard, and turned to face her. He wiped sweat from his eyes with his forearm, glaring at her. "What do you want?"

"I heard you like to talk," she said, walking into the room, the scent of rubber and sweat filling her nose. "I heard you like to call us names. Foreign sluts. Cumdumps."

He smirked, leaning against the bag. "Yeah. So? It's the truth."

"Prove it," she challenged, stepping right into his personal space. She grabbed his tank top and pulled him down to her level. "Do your worst. Call me everything you want. But I bet you're all talk. I bet you can't handle a real slut."

Choi’s eyes flashed. He grabbed her by the throat, not squeezing, just claiming her. He shoved her back against the padded wall of the gym. "You think you can handle me? You think you're tough?"

"I don't think," she whispered, her hand sliding down to cup his cock through his shorts. "I know."

He snarled, yanking her shorts down and lifting her leg up. He entered her roughly, no prep, no gentleness. Natty cried out, her nails digging into his shoulders.

"Is that the best you can do?" she gasped, goading him. "Call me a whore, Choi. Tell me what I am."

"You're a dirty little Thai whore," he spat, thrusting into her with punishing force. "You're just a hole for us to use. A cheap toy."

"Yes!" she screamed, her head hitting the padded wall with every thrust. "I'm a cheap toy! Use me! Fill me up!"

He slapped her across the face, a sharp stinging blow that made her see stars. Instead of pulling away, she leaned into it, her body convulsing around his cock. "Hit me again! Make me feel it!"

The sex was violent and messy. He choked her lightly, cutting off her air, making her lightheaded. She trash-talked him right back, calling him pathetic, begging him to go deeper, mixing Thai curses with Korean filth. It was a clash of egos, a battle fought with sweat and spit and cum.

When he finally emptied himself inside her, he collapsed against her, his chest heaving. Natty held him tight, her legs wrapped around his waist, a triumphant smirk on her face despite the red mark on her cheek.

"Who's the toy now, Oppa?" she whispered.

He pulled away, looking at her with a mixture of fear and awe. He had tried to humiliate her, but she had taken his shame and worn it like a crown.

There was only one left. The mountain.

Private Jang Soo-bin was outside by the truck, washing the hood with a hose. The water ran over his massive arms, glistening in the fading light. He was a brute, a silent giant. Natty walked up to him, the sun painting her skin in gold.

"Jang," she said.

He turned, his eyes widening as he took in her appearance—flushed, sweaty, smelling of sex and musk.

"I need you," she said, her voice dropping to a growl. "I need someone who won't break."

Jang looked around nervously. "Captain will be back."

"Fuck the Captain," she repeated, her mantra of the day. She walked up to him and grabbed his belt, pulling him toward her. "Right here. Right now."

She didn't wait for permission. She jumped up, wrapping her legs around his waist, and kissed him hard, biting his lip. Jang growled, a sound like a bear waking up, and caught her. He carried her to the hood of the truck and laid her back on the warm metal.

He was enormous. When he freed himself, Natty’s eyes widened. He was thick, veiny, a weapon of mass destruction. She felt a thrill of genuine fear mixed with anticipation.

"Manhandle me," she commanded. "Don't be gentle."

Jang didn't need to be told twice. He grabbed her ankles and spread her wide, folding her in half. He slammed into her, and Natty screamed, a raw, guttural sound that echoed through the camp. He stretched her to the limit, hitting places she didn't know existed.

She became a wild thing beneath him. She clawed at his back, she bit his shoulder, she urged him on with inarticulate cries. He moved her like she weighed nothing, flipping her onto her stomach, lifting her hips to drive deeper. Natty's body bent into impossible positions, her dancer's flexibility tested to the absolute limit. She was impaled, filled, possessed.

"More!" she shrieked, sweat dripping down her face. "Break me, Jang!"

He roared, a sound that shook the ground, and slammed into her one last time. She felt him explode inside her, a hot flood that triggered her own violent orgasm. Her vision whited out, her body convulsing as waves of pleasure crashed over her, obliterating everything else.

* * *

Dinner in the mess hall was a study in conquest.

Natty walked in, feeling like a queen returning from war. Her body was sore, aching in places she didn't know she had, but she felt alive. Electric. She took her seat at the long table, and the conversation died instantly.

The squad stared at her. They didn't look at her with the casual lust of the day before. They looked at her with reverence. With addiction. They looked at her like she was a goddess who had descended to earth and graced them with her presence.

Private Park dropped his spoon. "You're… a goddess," he whispered, his voice trembling.

"Incredible," Corporal Lee muttered, unable to take his eyes off her. "She's absolutely incredible."

Even Sergeant Kim, the stoic, couldn't meet her gaze. He just stared at his plate, his face flushed a deep red.

Private Choi, the loudmouth, was strangely silent, watching her with a mix of fear and respect. And Jang, the brute, looked at her with a possessiveness that was almost terrifying.

Natty picked up her fork, a smirk playing on her lips. She had tamed them. She had turned the hunters into the hunted.

At the head of the table, Captain Kang Dae-hyun watched the scene unfold. He saw the change in his men. He saw the worship. He saw the defeat.

He stood up, the scraping of his chair silencing the room. He walked around the table, stopping behind Natty’s chair. He placed a heavy hand on her shoulder, his fingers digging into her skin.

"Well," Kang said, his voice booming with a confidence that sounded slightly hollow. "It seems the squad is quite taken with our special recruit."

He leaned down, his lips brushing her ear. "I suppose it's my turn to see if the rumors are true. Tonight, Natty. I want to see if this 'new you' is worth all the fuss."

Natty looked up at him, her eyes dark and unreadable. She smiled, a smile that was all teeth and no warmth.

"I look forward to it, Captain," she whispered, her voice dripping with honeyed poison. "I'm going to rock your world."

Chapter 7

The door to the Captain’s quarters clicked shut, sealing them in. The room smelled of stale air and old authority, but Natty walked in as if she owned the floor. She didn't fidget. She didn't look at the floor. She swayed her hips, the golden skin of her legs catching the warm light, her dog tags jingling a soft, seductive rhythm against her chest.

Captain Kang Dae-hyun sat at his desk, a bottle of soju half-empty in front of him. He didn't turn immediately. He took a slow sip, his eyes tracking her in the reflection of the dark window.

"So," he said, his voice low and laced with a dangerous curiosity. "The squad is… buzzing."

Natty stopped in the center of the room, striking a pose that accentuated the curve of her waist and the flare of her hips. "Are they, Captain?"

He turned his chair around, leaning back to study her. "They say you were busy today. Very busy. They say you fucked the entire squad while I was stuck in meetings." He stood up, walking toward her, his boots heavy on the floor. "They say you weren't the scared little girl I had in this bed last night. They say you were an animal."

Natty smiled, a slow, curving of her lips that promised everything and nothing. She stepped closer, invading his space, placing a hand on his chest. She could feel his heart beating, steady and slow.

"They are right, Captain," she purred, her Thai accent thickening the words into honey. "I was busy. But you know why? Because of you."

Kang raised an eyebrow. "Me?"

"Last night," she whispered, her hand trailing down his uniform, tracing the muscles of his abdomen. "You broke me. You took away the nervousness. You showed me what I am." She looked up at him, her eyes wide and shimmering with feigned adoration. "You unlocked the real Natty. The men… they were just lucky enough to see the pieces you left behind."

Kang scoffed, but she saw the preening in his posture. He liked this. He needed this.

"Come on," he sneered, though his voice lacked its usual bite. "You expect me to believe that?"

"It’s true," she insisted, her voice dropping to a confidential whisper. "Sergeant Kim? He was rough, yes. Efficient. But he was cold. Just a machine using a hole. It felt like nothing."

She stepped closer, pressing her body against his. "Corporal Lee? He wanted to play games. He wanted to tease. But he didn't have the power to take what he wanted. He was a boy playing at being a man."

She felt Kang’s breath hitch.

"And Private Choi?" She laughed, a dismissive, musical sound. "He likes to talk. He likes to slap and pretend he's strong. But when I squeezed him… he crumbled. He was weak, Captain. So weak."

She looked up at him, her gaze locking onto his, fierce and intense. "And Jang… big, stupid Jang. He has size, yes. But he has no skill. No rhythm. He just pushed and grunted like an animal in a barn."

She ran her hand down to his belt, her fingers dancing over the buckle. "They were all just… practice. Warm-ups. Shadows of the man who truly owns me."

Kang’s ego was swelling, she could see it in his eyes, in the way his chest puffed out. He was buying it, swallowing the lie whole because it tasted delicious.

"Is that so?" he murmured, his hand coming up to grip her chin, tilting her face up. "And what do you want from me now, little slut?"

"I have a gift for you, Captain," she whispered, her lips brushing against his ear. "Something I didn't give them. Something I was saving."

She pulled back and pushed him gently toward the bed. "Sit."

He sat. Natty began to move.

She started with a slow, grinding rhythm, her hips swaying like she was on stage, but the music was the heavy beating of his heart. She straddled his lap, not sitting down, but hovering, teasing him with the heat radiating from her core. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her perky tits against his chest, feeling the rough fabric of his uniform against her sensitive nipples.

"Only you," she breathed in his ear, grinding her hips down against the hardness growing in his lap. "Only you are big enough. Only you are strong enough."

She slid down his body, dragging her breasts over his chest and stomach until she was on her knees between his legs. She unbuckled his belt with agonizing slowness, her eyes never leaving his. She freed his cock, thick and angry, already weeping with need.

"Look at this," she cooed, wrapping her hand around the base. "So much bigger than the others. So much prettier."

She leaned forward and took him into her mouth. It wasn't the rushed, efficient blowjob from the shed. This was worship. She used her tongue like an artist, tracing the veins, swirling around the head, taking him deep into her throat and humming so that the vibrations drove him crazy.

"Fuck," Kang hissed, his head falling back, his hand tangling in her hair.

She worked him for a long time, bringing him to the edge and then backing off, keeping him in a state of agonizing pleasure. Drool coated her chin and his shaft, making the movement sloppy and wet. The sounds were obscene—*gluck, slurp, pop*—echoing in the quiet room.

She pulled away, a string of saliva connecting her lips to his tip. She reached up and pulled her dog tags over her head, then leaned forward, trapping his cock between the soft, mounds of her breasts.

"I want you to feel how soft I am," she whispered, pressing her tits together, engulfing him.

She moved her chest up and down, her golden skin sliding against him. The cold metal of the chain brushed against his shaft, a contrasting sensation to the heat of her flesh. She looked up at him, her eyes dark with lust, her mouth open in a silent moan.

"You like that, Captain? You like fucking my tits?"

"Yes," he groaned, his hips bucking upward. "Just like that."

She smiled, a wicked, secret smile. She had him. He was putty in her hands.

She pulled away and stood up, stripping off her clothes slowly, revealing her body inch by inch. She turned around, bending over the bed, looking back at him over her shoulder.

"I told you I had a gift," she said, reaching back to spread her ass cheeks, revealing the tight, puckered star of her asshole. "They didn't get this, Captain. They only got my cunt. This… this belongs to you."

Kang stared, his eyes wide. "You want me to take your ass?"

"I need you to take it," she moaned, wiggling her hips enticingly. "I need to feel you stretching me there. I need to be full of you. Please, Captain. Ruin my ass."

She climbed onto the bed, positioning herself on her hands and knees. Kang moved behind her, his hands gripping her hips possessively. He spat on her asshole, rubbing the slick moisture around with his thumb.

"Relax," he commanded, pressing the head of his cock against the tight ring of muscle.

Natty took a deep breath, forcing her body to yield. He pushed forward, the intrusion burning and intense. She cried out, a mix of pain and pleasure, as the head popped inside.

"Yes!" she gasped. "More! Give me all of it!"

He didn't stop. He slid in deeper, inch by inch, stretching her open until he was buried to the hilt. Natty felt full, utterly possessed. It was a dirty, primal feeling, and she loved it.

Kang started to move, his thrusts slow and deep. He groaned at the tightness, the heat. "You're so tight," he grunted. "Like a vice."

"It’s all for you," she whimpered, pushing back against him. "Fuck me, Captain. Use my ass."

He picked up the pace, the sound of his hips slapping against her ass filling the room. Natty moaned, her head hanging down, her hair creating a curtain around her face. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and a sharp, stinging burn that only added to the intensity.

"Turn over," he commanded suddenly. "I want to see your face."

Natty flipped onto her back, lifting her legs high, spreading them wide. Kang re-entered her, the angle allowing him to go even deeper. He hooked his arms under her knees, folding her in half, pounding into her ass with ruthless abandon.

"Who owns you?" he growled, his face flushed, sweat dripping onto her chest.

"You do, Captain! You own me!" she screamed, her fingernails digging into his biceps. "Only you!"

She watched his face, watched the ecstasy contort his features. She was giving him the performance of a lifetime, and he was eating it up. She was the idol, the star, and he was just another fan in the front row.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum," he warned.

"Cum inside me," she begged, her voice cracking. "Fill my ass with your cum. Please, Captain! I need it!"

With a final, guttural roar, Kang slammed into her and held himself there. Natty felt him pulse, hot and thick, filling her ass with his seed. The sensation triggered a rush of pleasure through her own body, a warm, tingling glow that made her toes curl.

He collapsed on top of her, his heavy weight pinning her to the mattress. He was breathing hard, his heart hammering against her chest. For a long moment, the only sound in the room was their ragged breathing.

Natty lay still, feeling the sticky wetness between her cheeks, the soreness in her body. She wrapped her arms around him, stroking his sweat-slicked back, playing the role of the devoted, satisfied lover.

"You were amazing," he mumbled into her neck, his voice sounding wrecked. "The best."

"I'm glad you liked it, Captain," she whispered, pressing a kiss to his temple.

She stared up at the ceiling, a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. He thought he had conquered her. He thought he had broken her and remade her in his image. He thought she was his little Thai slut, bowing down to his power.

But as she felt his breathing even out into the rhythm of sleep, Natty knew the truth. She had wrapped him around her finger. She had taken his arrogance, his pride, and used it to make him her slave. He was addicted to her, and she was the dealer.

"Sweet dreams, Captain," she whispered into the dark. "You're going to need them."

Chapter 8

The boundaries of time dissolved, replaced by the rhythmic slap of skin against skin and the guttural symphony of masculine groans. The week ceased to be a series of days and became a blurred, feverish tapestry of sweat, semen, and golden skin. The barracks, once a sterile box of military order, transformed into a temple of debauchery, reeking of musk and lust.

Monday bled into Tuesday in a haze of endless orgasms. There was no downtime. Natty became the center of their gravity, a black hole that sucked in every ounce of their energy. She woke Private Park with her mouth on Tuesday morning, swallowing his morning wood down to the base before his eyes even opened. By breakfast, she had already taken two loads—one deep in her cunt, another painted across her tongue.

The days were a relentless gauntlet of pleasure. During a break in PT drills on Wednesday, she dragged Corporal Lee and Private Choi into the shade of the equipment shed. She didn't even take her shorts off; she just pulled the crotch aside and let them take turns fucking her against the hot metal siding, their dog tags clinking together as they sandwiched her between their sweat-slicked bodies. She made them beg for it, made them thank her for the privilege of using her holes, while the rest of the squad ran laps in the distance, unaware of the filth happening just yards away.

Nights were an endurance test. Thursday was a marathon. She started with Sergeant Kim in the showers, letting the hot water beat down on them as he drilled her against the tiles, rough and unforgiving. She moved to the bunks next, crawling under the thin wool blankets with Private Jang, her legs wrapping around his massive waist, milking him in the dark while his bunkmate slept—or pretended to—just inches away. She ended the night in the Captain’s chair, riding Kang’s face until her thighs quivered and her juices coated his mustache, marking him as hers.

The squad was dehydrated, sleep-deprived, and utterly drained. Their eyes were rimmed with red, their movements sluggish, but the moment they saw her, a spark of manic, desperate energy lit them up. They were addicted. They were junkies, and Natty was the drug. She walked through the camp with the swagger of a queen, her hips swaying, knowing that every man there was thinking about the wet heat between her legs, the way her throat felt around their cocks, the sheer, unadulterated filth she coaxed out of them.

By Friday evening, the tension in the mess hall was palpable, a thick electric current that hummed in the silence. They had tasted every part of her, sampled every hole, dominated and been dominated in turn. But they knew, as a primal unit, that it was the final night. The Last Supper of lust.

Natty stood up, the metal chair scraping loudly against the floor. The room went still. Six pairs of eyes locked onto her, hungry, terrified, worshipful.

"Tonight," she said, her voice a sultry purr that cut through the heavy air. "It's the last night of us together. Let's celebrate together. Our grand finale"

She didn't need to elaborate. The implication hung there, heavy and obscene. A collective shudder ran through the squad—a mix of exhaustion and pure, unfiltered anticipation. Captain Kang nodded slowly, his hand trembling as he reached for his water canteen.

* * *

The barracks was dark, illuminated only by the harsh yellow glow of the security lights outside, casting long, jagged shadows across the room. The air was already thick, smelling of stale sweat and the pheromones of six men ready to explode.

Natty stood in the center of the aisle, a vision of golden sin. She wore nothing but her dog tags, the metal resting cold against her flushed chest. She looked at them—her pack, her prey, her toys.

"Strip," she commanded. "Now. I want to see what I own."

The sound of zippers and belts hitting the floor was like a gunshot starting a race. Clothes were discarded with frantic urgency. Six cocks sprang free, hard and leaking, a forest of varying sizes, all throbbing with the singular need to be inside her.

They stood naked before her, vulnerable despite their strength. Natty walked the line, her fingers trailing over the heated skin of their chests, their stomachs, brushing lightly against the weeping heads of their cocks. She was inspecting her weaponry.

"Captain," she whispered, stopping in front of Kang. "On the bed."

Kang scrambled onto the thin mattress, the springs groaning under his weight. He lay back, his cock standing straight up, pulsing with his heartbeat.

Natty climbed onto the bed, straddling his thighs. She didn't sink down on him immediately. Instead, she leaned forward, pressing her perky tits against his chest, her dog tags dangling in his face.

"You've been a good boy this week, Sir," she cooed, her Thai accent thickening the words into honey. "But tonight isn't about orders. It's about worship."

She reached behind her, grasping his cock and guiding it to her entrance. She sank down slowly, agonizingly, letting him feel every inch of her tight, wet heat. They both groaned in unison, a guttural sound of relief.

"Who else?" she gasped, looking over her shoulder.

"Sergeant. My ass."

Sergeant Kim moved instantly, positioning himself behind her on the narrow bunk. There was barely enough room, but that was the point. The claustrophobia only heightened the intensity. He spat on her tight asshole, working the saliva in with his thumb, stretching her, preparing her.

"Give it to me," Natty demanded, rocking her hips on the Captain’s lap.

Kim pushed forward, the head of his cock popping past the tight ring of muscle. Natty cried out, her back arching, her head thrown back. The sensation of being doubly penetrated—filled in both holes—was a shock to the system every time, a mix of burning stretch and overwhelming fullness.

"Yes!" she hissed. "Move!"

They found a rhythm, a messy, grinding syncopation. Kang thrust up into her cunt while Kim slammed into her ass. The bunk bed screamed in protest, the metal frame rattling against the wall.

"Choi. Park. My mouth."

The two privates climbed onto the bed, kneeling on either side of her head. Natty grabbed their cocks, pulling them to her mouth. She alternated between them, sucking one deep while jerking the other, her tongue swirling, her saliva dripping down their shafts. She was airtight, stuffed in every available hole, a vessel for their collective lust.

The room was a cacophony of sounds—the wet slap of flesh, the creak of the springs, the grunts and moans of men losing their minds, the gagging sounds of Natty’s throat being used.

"Look at you," she gasped, pulling her mouth off Choi’s cock for a second. "Look at how hungry you are. You animals."

She was the eye of the storm, the calm center of the chaos. While they were sweating, grunting, their muscles straining with effort, she focused on the sensations. The friction of the Captain’s cock against her G-spot, the thickness of the Sergeant stretching her ass, the weight of the cocks in her hands. She was a conductor, directing this orchestra of filth with her body.

She came first, a sudden, violent convulsion that ripped through her. Her walls clenched down on both men, milking them, her screams muffled by Private Park’s cock burying itself in her throat.

"Switch!" she cried out, shoving them away.

She was sweating profusely now, her golden skin glistening in the half-light. She was insatiable. She moved to the floor, the cold concrete shocking her heated skin.

"Jang. Lie down."

The giant obeyed, his massive cock lying flat against his stomach like a heavy pipe. Natty straddled him, facing away, reverse cowgirl. She lined him up with her asshole and sank down, taking him to the hilt. She leaned back, bracing her hands on his chest, and spread her legs wide.

"Park. Inside me. Now."

Private Park didn't hesitate. He crawled between her spread legs and drove his cock into her pussy.

The sensation was indescribable. Two cocks in her lower body, rubbing against each other through the thin membrane of her flesh. Natty threw her head back and howled, a sound of pure, unadulterated ecstasy. She was being stretched to her absolute limit, her body used as a playground for their depravity.

"Fuck me!" she screamed, her accent disappearing in her desperation. "Wreck me! Ruin my holes!"

They thrust up in tandem, a relentless pounding. The Corporal and Choi moved to the sides, grabbing her feet, lifting them up, spreading her even wider. They stroked their cocks over her, using her legs as leverage, their pre-cum dripping onto her stomach and tits.

"Look at that pussy," Choi groaned, watching Park’s cock disappear into her stretched cunt. "It's eating him alive."

"Choke me," Natty demanded, looking at Choi with wild eyes. "Someone choke me."

Corporal Lee’s hand wrapped around her throat, squeezing just enough to cut off her air. The lightheadedness mixed with the overwhelming pleasure, sending her into a trance-like state. She was floating, disconnected from everything except the sensation of being used.

They moved like a machine, switching positions fluidly. She was on her knees, taking a cock from behind while sucking two others. She was on her back, legs pinned behind her ears, taking a double-vaginal pounding that made her eyes roll back. She was bent over the edge of the bunk, getting her ass eaten while someone came on her face.

Hours passed. The squad was running on fumes, but their lust was a potent fuel. They came, and they stayed hard, unable to resist the sight of her—their golden goddess, covered in sweat and cum, begging for more.

Finally, the end approached. They were all gathered around her, standing over her as she lay on the floor, her body exhausted, trembling, but her eyes still burning with that dark, liberated fire.

"Cum on me," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Paint me. Mark your territory."

It was a simultaneous eruption. The Captain groaned, aiming his cock at her tits. The Sergeant coated her stomach. The Privates sprayed her face, her hair, her open mouth. Rope after rope of hot, thick semen covered her, dripping down her skin, pooling in the hollow of her throat, mixing with the sweat that glistened on her body.

Natty lay there, breathing hard, her body a canvas of their devotion. She ran her fingers through the mess on her stomach, brought them to her mouth, and licked them clean.

"Good boys," she murmured, a satisfied, triumphant smile on her face. "My good, broken boys."

* * *

The morning light was cruel, a harsh intrusion into the sanctum of sin. It filtered through the blinds, illuminating the wreckage of the barracks—the discarded uniforms, the tangled sheets, the smell of dried sex hanging heavy in the air.

Natty woke up slowly, her body aching in ways she didn't know were possible. She was sticky, covered in dried fluids, her muscles screaming. But as she sat up, the mask slid back into place. The vixen, the succubus, the "pro Thai meat"—she packed those personas away in a box deep inside her mind and locked it shut.

She stood up and walked to the showers. She scrubbed herself until her skin was raw, until the water ran cold. She washed away the sweat, the cum, the smell of them. She washed away the week.

When she emerged, she was Natty again. The idol. The dancer. The perfectionist. She dressed in her uniform, pulling the fabric tight, checking her reflection in the mirror. Not a hair out of place. Not a hint of the debauchery that had consumed her for seven days.

She walked out to the courtyard. The squad was there, lined up in formation. They looked terrible. Dark circles under their eyes, uniforms disheveled, but there was a strange light in their eyes—a mix of adoration and heartbreak.

Captain Kang stepped forward as the transport van pulled up. He looked at her, and for a second, the arrogant commander was gone, replaced by a man who had experienced something he couldn't comprehend.

"Recruit Natty," he said, his voice hoarse. "We… we won't forget this. I won't forget this."

He wanted to say more. She could see it in his eyes. He wanted to beg her to stay. He wanted to confess his addiction. But he couldn't. He was the Captain.

She gave him the smile. The one she practiced for the cameras. Sweet, polite, distant. "Thank you for your service, Captain. And for… the hospitality."

She moved down the line. Private Park looked like he was going to cry. Corporal Lee gave her a shaky salute. Private Choi couldn't meet her eyes, his face flushing red as he remembered the things he’d done to her.

"I’ll see you around," she lied smoothly, giving them a little wave. "Look me up when you get leave."

They cheered weakly, a pathetic, desperate sound. They watched her like she was a ghost ascending to heaven.

Natty climbed into the back of the van. The engine roared to life, drowning out the sound of their goodbye.

As the van pulled away, turning onto the main road and leaving the camp gates behind, Natty didn't look back. She stared straight ahead, out the front windshield, watching the trees rush by.

Her heart was beating a steady, cold rhythm. The heat, the lust, the power—it was all gone, extinguished like a cigarette in the snow. The camp, the barracks, the men—they were becoming a memory, fading with every mile.

She touched her dog tags through the fabric of her shirt. Then, with a decisive motion, she unclasped them and shoved them deep into her pocket. She would throw them in the first trash bin she saw.

She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath of the clean, fresh air blowing through the vents. She was going home. She was going back to the lights, the music, the screaming fans. She was going back to being a star.

And as for the camp? As for the week?

*It never happened,* she told herself, the thought hard and final. *I was never here.*

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________________

Kion:

Kion was born in a safe, private patch of bushes in the Oasis as the Pridelands were still recovering from the drought and Zira's banishment. Simba felt Nala would be safest in a familiar place far enough away from danger.

Simba and Nala brought Kion home to show Kiara her new baby brother as soon as the cub could start walking. Kiara immediately told Kion the story of Mufasa and Scar, originating Kion's vow to follow in Mufasa's pawprints, and to never reenact Scar's actions.

Kiara, happy that the new baby was getting all the attention, but lonely that there were no other children her age to play with, attempted to sneak out of Pride Rock, only to be outsmarted by her parents before she could wander too far. Kiara promised she'd be careful and stay out of trouble.

Timon and Pumbaa, who were sent to watch Kiara, barged in on Simba and Nala teaching baby Kion to walk, reporting they'd lost track of Kiara. Upon hearing this news, Simba rushed out of Pride Rock with Nala, placing Kion in Sarabi's arms for the time-being until he and Nala returned with Kiara.

Following the incident of encountering the Outsiders, Simba introduced Kiara to cubs from allying prides who were very close to her age to prevent future loneliness. Simba's helicoptering over Kiara intensified since that day, and her new friends' eagerness to become her royal advisors pressured her to accept her role. Meanwhile, Kion was seen as less prone to sneak off, and was to be trusted under the watch of babysitters, such as Zazu.

The imbalanced attention between keeping a watchful eye on Kiara and being left under Zazu's watch led to Kion being unintentionally distant from his parents, causing him to feel expected to act more grown up and therefore dreading to reach out for help. In turn, Kiara felt infantilized and insecure from the constant monitoring.

Bunga:

Bunga was born to a crime couple of honey badgers in the Outlands named Asali and Beji. The Bonnie and Clyde-like duo once encountered one of the most feared animals in all the Outlands – the one and only Kenge.

The two troublemakers got together because they shared a violent way of stealing food from other Outlanders, uniting with Asali as the brain and Beji as the brawn. They had an intimate night together in the middle of their adventures.

One day, their laughter over the latest Outlander they terrorized was interrupted by an encounter by yet another infamously violent Outlander.

With Asali's smarts and sweet-talking skills, the couple was initially able to sway Kenge out of eating them and their stolen goods. However, at some point of the exchange, Asali's tongue slipped, calling Kenge a "little lizard", which set the violent monitor lizard off.

The honey badger couple spent months on the run from Kenge since then. In the midst of it, Asali realized she had been pregnant. Pretty soon, their relationship built on their mutual amusement in getting into trouble morphed into arguments of parental responsibility and dragging another mouth to feed around on their adventures.

Soon after their kit was born, Kenge caught up to them, bigger and angrier than ever. The couple was torn between giving up the extra weight to continue running, or to consider giving up their criminal lives to make room for a baby. They favored the former, and left their kit on Flat Ridge Rock, a landmark bordering the Outlands and Pridelands, not caring what happened to him, as long as he was out-of-sight, out-of-mind. Asali secretly felt a twinge of regret, but it subsided over time.

The kit was outrageously brave, surviving all the odds that led him to his adoptive parents, Timon and Pumbaa. Timon and Pumbaa, proud of their new little one for catching Utamu grubs, went to Pride Rock to tell Simba and Nala all about it. They introduced baby Bunga to baby Kion, which is why they've been friends for as long as they could remember.

Because Bunga was left at Flat Ridge Rock as a baby, it played into why he vaguely remembered being there before. To this day, he does not know his biological parents, and has never come close to crossing paths with them. They in turn don't know, nor care, if he survived. He is also unaware of his Outlander roots, despite fighting against Outlanders as a member of the Lion Guard. He narrowly avoided becoming a fearless and crafty criminal due to not being raised by Asali and Beji.

Fuli:

Fuli was born to the regal and independent Kimbia after all the animals had returned to the Pridelands.

Years after Kimbia watched the presentation of baby Simba, she watched the Pridelands plummet into a drought that caused the herds to leave once Scar rose to power. Due to the herds migrating outwards in all directions, Kimbia began to hunt near the Oasis.

There, she met Maili, a romantic male cheetah. Maili was once known by the name of Fast-Track, and was part of a coalition of two other brothers, nicknamed Lightfoot and Speedy.

Despite desiring to become a loner, Maili slowly began to harbor romantic feelings for Kimbia, but Kimbia did not reciprocate those feelings, believing it was the female cheetah way to raise a cub alone. Maili remained in the Oasis area, while Kimbia made her way back to the Pridelands by following the herds.

As Fuli grew into young cubhood, Kimbia filled her head with her beliefs that cheetahs were superior. Kimbia's haughty personality eventually rubbed off on Fuli for a brief time, explaining Fuli's own standoffishness when she met her friends.

Tense times ensued during the post-Scar restoration period. Before a storm had formed, Kimbia hid Fuli in tall grass and successfully hunted a young olive baboon who'd fallen behind while trying to seek shelter under a tree as the rain came.

A dispute broke out between the young baboon's troop and Kimbia. The hungry cheetah refused to give up her hard-earned meal, causing the troop to demand revenge for their fallen young. Kimbia left the kill behind, running from the powerful troop with Fuli in her mouth.

The flash-flood caused by the rain had separated Fuli from her mother. Kimbia fell behind and was lost in a crowd of wrathful baboons, while Fuli eventually floated to safety.

Zazu found Fuli and reported the tragedy to Simba, who promptly banished the olive baboon troop. Zazu would watch over her as he babysat for Kion and Bunga, until she reached a more independent age. Fuli grew to dislike baboons and water since the traumatic day she lost her mother.

Beshte:

Beshte was born to Basi and Bendi after the couple had migrated back to a safer Pridelands, just before Kiara was born.

Basi is the leader of his pod at Big Springs and creates the Hippo Lanes every rainy season, and his wife Bendi was a wonderful singer and performer for the annual Kupatana Community Choir.

During the forced migration due to overhunting during Scar's Reign, food and safe water to swim in was becoming scarce. Bendi developed a chronic bacterial infection from unsafe water outside the Pridelands while finding a safe place to raise her calf.

Bendi was mostly unaware of until the infection finally showed severe signs a while after she and Basi moved back to the Pridelands. She slowly grew ill during Beshte's young calfhood, passing away a little after the time her son had helped rescue Ono's egg.

Before rescuing Ono's egg, Beshte met Kion, Bunga, and Fuli when they played too close to the water. Fuli nearly fell in, but was rescued by falling atop an initially unaware Beshte, whose head was underwater due to grazing grass with his pod.

Basi honors his wife by volunteering as a singer for the Kupatana Community Choir every year, and Beshte honors his mom by occasionally performing for the Bellow Fellows, as well as inheriting her sweet, friendly nature.

Ono:

Ono was the result of two cattle egrets meeting far from the continent during migration. Ndoto is a Western cattle egret from the Pridelands, and Onya is an Eastern cattle egret who originated not too far from the Tree of Life,

Ndoto and Onya crossed paths during one migration, both sharing an interest and role in reporting their discoveries of other worlds and knowledge of fauna to their fellow animals.

Despite the odds, as each of their kind evolved separately ages ago, they were successfully able to have an egg together. They carefully watched this egg, until it was time to migrate again.

It had been just too soon, as their egg was not yet ready to hatch. The couple had to get a move-on before resources would run low where they'd settled together.

In a rush to catch up with the flock, they'd hardly noticed that they'd left their egg behind somewhere in the Pridelands during one of their rest stops until they'd almost flown too far away.

Onya, noticing mid-flight, frantically demanded she and Ndoto turn back for their egg, wherever they had left it. To their relief, a kind band of young animals rescued the egg from being eaten.

The egret couple was so thankful for the children's heroism that they trusted them and Ndoto's native flock to watch over Ono as they continued their ambassador-like duties to the Pridelands.

Ndoto and Onya's knowledge of other biomes was passed down to their son, which is why he knows about creatures such as reindeer. Ono has spent long flights with his parents, leading him to practice his keen eyesight which would soon come to use.

Anga:

And lastly, comically, of all of the Lion Guard members, the goth and deadpan Anga has quite possibly the most normal childhood story.

Anga hatched to a pair of very romantic martial eagles, named Mpenzi (Swahili for "darling"), and Ghali (Swahili for "dear", "expensive"), who supported and sometimes doted on their daughter.

Anga, with a subtle personality and flat tone since hatching, naturally did not reflect what would otherwise be a slightly spoiled and carefree upbringing.

The martial eagle family originated far out in the outskirts of the Pridelands, in woodlands of tall, spiky trees near the Backlands, therefore making Anga the least affected by Scar's Reign out of Kion's Lion Guard due to being so out-of-reach of the kingdom.

Anga was a content loner and would be allowed by her parents to fly as high and as far as she could go as soon as she was ready to fledge.

Although Anga never really spoke to anyone nor made friends growing up, she knows just about everything about those she has observed with great interest from above, especially heroes such as Hadithi and the Lion Guard.

Anga met Ono on the way to one of Hadithi's conventions, briefly mingling about their common interest in the hawk-eagle. Beshte knew as much as he could about Anga a long time — such as the tree she lived in — before they officially spoke to each other through Ono formally introducing the two of them to each other.

Her obtained knowledge earned her instant friendships with each of the aforementioned factions. She never could've imagined becoming a member of the Lion Guard, nor deemed a hero by her idol, Hadithi, in a million years.

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(Fun Facts:

I based Kion's early cubhood on the ending of Mufasa: The Lion King. I decided to link Kion to the cub at the end of that movie since the cub was called "Kion" in production notes. Also, I very much believe that while Simba and Nala are good people, I totally feel their family dynamic is dysfunctional, albeit unintentionally. I know their polar-opposite attention and trust they put in each of their kids is something people validly criticize about the show, itself, but I see it as canon in-universe, too.

I forget why I linked Bunga's parents and Kenge together, but I do recall wanting to give Kenge a bigger role by having him be an already greatly feared animal in the Outlands. Decided him having a grudge against Asali and Beji would add depth to his hatred of Bunga.

Fast-Track, Lightfoot, and Speedy are cheetahs from the Hakuna Matata magazine, notably the issue "Home, Sweet Home". Decided to lump one of them together with my OC Maili just to narrow down the amount of cheetah characters and to keep the connections to existing TLK publications interesting.

Bacterial infections, such as Anthrax, E. Coli, and Streptococcus are one of the common causes of death in hippos, and are especially present in the dry season. Since the Pridelands faced a drought, it would make sense that Bendi would have a high likelihood of coming into contact with unsafe waters. I was originally going to have her cause of death be cancer, but found out cancer has not been documented in wild hippos.

In the first image of Ono's origin, the trees featured are native to Florida, which is where cattle egrets migrate through. Ndoto's Western cattle egret flock was migrating Westward around the globe, while Onya was migrating Eastward, meeting halfway in North America.