Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 58317 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58317 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
They held themselves inside me for a long moment—Daddy Ed’s cock still pulsing in my pussy, Daddy Bill’s softening in my mouth—and I just hung there in the restraints, my body racked with tremors, tears streaming down my face, completely and utterly broken.
Finally, they withdrew. The loss of fullness left me feeling empty, hollow. Daddy Ed’s release leaked out of me and I felt it drip down my thighs. The plug remained lodged in my ass, a continuing reminder of what they’d done to me.
“That was a constructive first lesson, Seventy-One,” Daddy Ed said. “I’m sure you worked up an appetite. Let’s get you fed. You’ll meet the other bad girls at dinner.”
CHAPTER 6
Pam
Working together, the huge, dismayingly handsome men who I apparently had to call my new daddies released me from the spanking bench. My legs could barely hold me. As soon as they had released the restraints, I collapsed forward against the bench, my muscles turned to water. Daddy Bill caught me before I could fall completely, his strong hands steadying me at the shoulders.
“Easy,” he said, his voice maddeningly gentle after what they’d just done to me. “Take your time.”
Take my time. As if time mattered anymore. As if anything mattered except the throbbing ache in my ass, the soreness between my legs, and the plug still lodged inside me—a constant, humiliating reminder that my body had apparently ceased to belong to me.
I tried to stand upright and immediately regretted it. Every muscle screamed in protest. The plug shifted with the movement and I whimpered, fresh tears stinging my eyes.
“The plug stays in during dinner,” Daddy Ed said, as if reading my thoughts. He was already moving toward the cabinet again, pulling out a fresh diaper. “It’s part of your training. You need to get used to the sensation, and what it means for you.”
Get used to it. Like this was something normal. Like having my ass plugged while I ate dinner with strangers was just another Tuesday.
Daddy Bill guided me to stand while Daddy Ed approached with the diaper. I wanted to fight, to tell them to go fuck themselves again, but the memory of the paddle was too fresh. The word Daddy had been burned into my vocabulary through twenty-four brutal swats, and I didn’t have the strength—physical or mental—to earn more.
“Legs apart,” Daddy Ed instructed.
I obeyed, hating myself for the compliance but unable to stop it. He threaded the cloth diaper between my legs, and I felt the bulk press against my tender flesh. The padding rubbed against places that were still sensitive from their use, and I bit my lip to keep from making a sound.
They fastened the diaper at my hips with Velcro tabs.
“No rubber pants,” Daddy Bill said, “as long as you behave yourself. You may ask to go to the bathroom.”
I glared at him, my attempt at defiance provoking no more than a slight upward movement of the right side of his too-perfect lips.
“But,” he continued, “you won’t be wearing anything else until you earn it. We keep the facility at a comfortable seventy-two degrees.”
I stared down at my naked body, the white cloth diaper the only thing covering me. My nipples hardened in the cool air, and I crossed my arms over my breasts instinctively.
“Hands at your sides,” Daddy Ed said sharply.
My arms dropped before I could think about it. The compliance was automatic now, trained into me through pain and humiliation. I hated how quickly my body had learned to obey.
Daddy Bill retrieved my pink uniform from where they’d stripped it off me, but instead of handing it to me, he folded it neatly and set it on a shelf. The message was clear: I wouldn’t be getting it back until I’d jumped through some degrading set of hoops set up by my daddies.
“This way,” he said, opening the door out to the corridor.
I followed them into the hallway, my bare feet silent on the thick carpet. The diaper made its presence felt with each slightly waddling step. I was acutely aware of the plug shifting inside me. Every movement sent a pulse of sensation through my body—not quite pain, but a discomfort that refused to let me forget what my so-called daddies had done to me, of how thoroughly they’d violated every boundary I’d ever had.
We passed another girl in the hallway. She wore the same pink uniform I’d been stripped of, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. Her eyes flicked to me—naked except for the diaper—and I saw something in her expression. Not pity. Recognition, maybe. Like she’d been exactly where I was now.
She didn’t speak, just kept walking. I wondered how long she’d been here. I wondered if she’d fought as hard as I had, or if she’d broken faster.
The cafeteria was small, institutional. White walls, fluorescent lighting, four round tables with plastic chairs. Three girls were already seated at one table, and they all looked up as we entered. Two wore the pink uniforms. One wore a diaper like mine, though hers was covered by rubber pants.