PT 104: Own Your Orgasm

You don’t stop, but you do try to get a little quieter. You hold your breath as your fingers slip deeper inside your body, the heel of your hand grinding against your clit. It’s sort of awkward and not the most physically pleasurable thing you’ve ever done, but the fact that Terra is lying just feet away, having essentially forbidden you to cum makes your orgasm start to flower from your clit and spread throughout the pleasure pathways of your body almost immediately.

There’s rebellion and power in it, taking your pleasure against orders. Terra thinks she owns you? Nobody owns you. Nobody can tell you what you do and don’t do. Nobody can tell you what pleasure you can have. Images of Terra and Grisham flash through your mind, the touch of Terra’s fingers on your pussy, slapping your sex… the memory of being buried between Grisham’s thighs, lapping at her pussy… all of the erotic moments which have passed between you and the women who now control the minutes and hours of your life.

Your orgasm is muted but powerful as your fingers stretch the entrance of your body and your palm grinds against your wet lower lips and you can’t quite manage to avoid gasping in ecstasy as the bolts of rebellious pleasure rushes through you and finally you find release in your own flesh.

Sleep comes quickly following that. Maybe Terra knows. Maybe Terra doesn’t. You don’t care as you drift into a happy slumber, your fingers still down the front of your pants.

* * * * *

“Wake up, Cadet.”

You groan as your eyes open to the faint light of a new day. It feels early, far too damn early.

Terra is standing over you, dressed in her uniform. Her hair is slicked up into her professional style, her clothing describing the lines of her curves with a military elegance which makes you sleepily swoon.

“Is she up yet?”

You look toward the voice and see Grisham is up and dressed too, though unlike Terra’s black commander’s uniform, Grisham is in an olive green set of fatigues. They suit her, just like everything does.

“You want to take this, Grisham?” Terra stands back as you attempt to curl back up under your blankets.

“UP, CADET!” Grisham barks the words at you in a voice so loud you actually jump while hidden beneath the covers. “RISE AND SHINE. WE HAVE A FIVE MILE RUN BEFORE BREAKFAST.”

“Oh fuck no,” you mumble.


The blankets fly from your body and Grisham grasps you by the upper arm, hauling you from the bed in one swift motion.


“Ugh, stop yelling,” you mumble, covering your ears. She’s so damn loud.

A hard hand meets your butt and before you can really squeal and complain you’re propelled around to face a fresh set of what are basically gym clothes. There’s a pair of white sneakers, white trackpants, a white sports bra and a white t-shirt and sweater.


You start pulling the clothes on, mostly because the morning air is cold against your bare legs and arms. In a couple of minutes you’re dressed and you’re pulling on your shoes as Grisham whacks your butt hard enough to motivate you toward the front door and then out for a run.

You’re about half a mile into the run before you really wake up, the cold morning frost biting at your nose and ears. You start to slow as you realize that this is so incredibly strange. This is some super old fashioned approach to training. It’s not Terra’s style and as far as you know, it’s not Grisham’s either.


You skid to a halt and turn to confront her, intending to ask her what the hell is happening, why the hell you’ve been pulled out of bed like this, what the hell she’s playing at… but she grabs you by the arm, turns you back to face the trail and whacks your butt hard enough to make you squeal.


You start running again, the momentum of her loud demands making your feet move. You have no idea what happened to the easy going, sexy butch top who cuddled you on her knee last night, but she’s gone, replaced with a hyper dominant drill instructor putting you through paces you didn’t even know you had.

By the time you get back to the cabin, you’re grumpy, hungry, and covered in sweat.

“Hit the shower, Cadet,” Grisham says, finding her normal speaking volume. “You’ve got three minutes.”

“Three minutes?”

“You’ve got two minutes and fifty seconds,” she says, her dark eyes stern and unyeilding.

“Did I wake up in an alternate reality? Where’s my morning coffee in bed? Where’s my…”

“You’ve got two minutes and thirty seconds,” she says, ignoring your complaints.

Realizing that there’s no point arguing her, you run for the shower and turn the water on.

“Two minutes!” Grisham calls from outside the door.

You put your hand out into the stream of water and realize that it’s not heating up.

“It’s cold!” You shout back.

“One minute thirty!” Grisham shouts back.

Fuck it. You dash under the water, soap yourself as quickly as possible and jump out before the door flies open precisely ninety second later.

“Get dressed, Cadet,” Grisham says, pushing a fresh uniform which looks like a smaller size of hers toward you. “Then come eat.”

“Why are you doing this?” You ask as you pull the clean clothes on. “What’s happening? I’ve never… we’ve never… it’s never been like this.”

“You can ask Commander Terra about that,” Grisham says, standing over you, her arms folded over her chest as she watches you scramble, still shivering, into your new uniform. “My guess is, you’ve managed to piss her off.”