Chapter 10
J ax
I was sitting with Esme Leopold, one of Selecta’s most experienced assessors, when Rudy led Louisa into the living room.
Esme was an elegant woman in her fifties, with sharp eyes behind stylish glasses and an air of composed professionalism.
She rose as Louisa entered, her gaze clinical as it swept over my little girl.
“This is the one you mentioned,” she said, not quite a question.
Esme spoke for Louisa’s benefit: in fact she headed up the small team of assessors assigned to Louisa’s case, and thus knew exactly who Louisa was.
Her voice carried the subtle accent of someone educated in Europe’s finest schools, though I personally knew that she had grown up outside Detroit.
“Yes,” I confirmed, watching Louisa’s reaction carefully. “Little Lulu, come here.”
Louisa hesitated, her eyes darting between Esme and me.
The flush on her cheeks told me everything I needed to know about her emotional state—embarrassed, uncertain, and yet undeniably aroused by her predicament.
The perineal sensor data confirmed it, when I glanced at my watch; her readings showed elevated arousal despite her obvious discomfort.
“Remove your robe and stand in front of Ms. Leopold,” I instructed, keeping my voice calm but firm.
Louisa’s fingers clutched at the belt of her robe. “Please, Daddy,” she whispered, the childish title slipping out naturally now, “do I have to?”
“Yes,” I replied simply. “Now.”
With trembling hands, she untied the belt and let the robe fall open. After another moment of hesitation, she slipped it off completely and stood naked before us, her freshly shaved pussy and the red marks still visible on her bottom fully displayed to Esme’s professional scrutiny.
Esme circled her slowly, making small sounds of consideration. “Excellent proportions,” she commented, as if appraising a sculpture. “Turn, please.”
Louisa turned in a slow circle, her eyes downcast, her breathing shallow with humiliation.
“What did you have in mind for her wardrobe?” Esme asked me, gesturing for Louisa to stop turning.
I pretended to consider the question carefully. Clothing represented another powerful tool in reshaping Louisa’s identity, and the Bad Girls Program exploited it fully. I wanted her to think that her daddy would put a lot of thought into the apparel he chose for her.
The theme of how a young woman dressed—and who got to choose her clothes—carried a special charge for a girl like Louisa.
It would help reform my bad girl into a good one who could enjoy her submission to a man and become a productive member of society—and, in Louisa’s case, effective undercover operatives.
“I want some very little girl outfits,” I said, watching Louisa’s face for her reaction. “Pinafores, ruffled dresses. But also some more grown-up pieces for when she’s earned privileges. And lingerie that emphasizes her status.”
“I understand completely,” Esme nodded. “Special underwear as well, I presume?”
“Yes,” I said, warming to the topic. “Several pairs of frilly panties with ruffles. But I want them to have a special feature—a button right over her anus that I can undo to open the panties for fucking whenever I want.”
Louisa made a small, strangled sound, but remained still, her face now crimson with embarrassment.
“As it happens,” Esme said, “I actually have a similar pair with me. A prototype I designed for another client who found them quite effective.” She reached into her leather portfolio and extracted a small package. “Would you like to see the effect?”
“Absolutely,” I replied, intrigued. “Little Lulu, come put these on.”
Louisa took the panties with obvious reluctance. They were white with lace trim, looking deceptively innocent except for the small pearl button positioned precisely over where her anus would be. She stepped into them slowly, pulling them up her slender legs until they hugged her hips snugly.
“Turn around,” I instructed. “Let me see how they fit.”
She turned, presenting her back to me. The panties cupped her bottom perfectly, the fabric thin enough to show the lingering marks from her punishment. The pearl button gleamed against the white fabric, drawing the eye directly to its purpose.
“Bend over,” I commanded, deepening the tone of my voice.
Louisa hesitated, then slowly bent at the waist, bracing her hands on her knees. I reached forward and unfastened the button, watching with satisfaction as the fabric parted to reveal her tight pink hole.
“Perfect,” I murmured, running my finger along the exposed crease. Louisa shivered at my touch, but remained in position. “What do you think, Esme? Would you like to see the full effect?”
Esme tilted her head, considering. “I believe it would be helpful to see how functional they are during actual use. For quality assessment purposes, of course.”
“Of course,” I agreed. I slipped my finger between Louisa’s legs, finding her already slick with arousal despite her obvious embarrassment. “Little Lulu is very wet,” I observed. “I think she’s ready for a demonstration.”
I stood and unfastened my trousers, freeing my already hardening cock. Positioning myself behind Louisa, I guided her to bend further, until her upper body was parallel to the floor.
“Stay just like that,” I instructed, lining myself up with her entrance. With one firm thrust, I entered her, eliciting a gasp from my little girl.
Esme watched with professional interest as I began to fuck Louisa, my hands gripping her hips to hold her steady. The panties remained in place around her waist and hips, the opened back providing perfect access while maintaining the humiliating restriction of the garment.
“The elastic seems to be holding up well,” Esme noted clinically. “And the button stitching is quite sturdy.” She circled us, observing from different angles. “Has she taken you anally yet?”
“Not yet,” I replied, never breaking my rhythm. “Though I plan to introduce her to that very soon.”
Louisa whimpered at my words, her inner muscles clenching around me. I glanced at my watch, to see that the data from her perineal sensor showed a spike in arousal at the mention of anal. Perfect.
Louisa
I couldn’t believe the way my body responded to the intensity of the humiliation Jax and this elegant older woman had heaped on me.
To be discussed in front of a stranger like I wasn’t even there, to have my sexual responses clinically analyzed while being fucked—it was beyond anything I’d ever experienced.
And yet my pussy clenched traitorously around Jax’s cock, my arousal building with each deep thrust despite my mental protests.
“Her readings are quite remarkable,” Esme commented, glancing at a small tablet she’d pulled from her portfolio. “Some of the strongest responses I’ve seen to forced sexual ageplay.”
I frowned in confusion. Readings? What readings?
“Mmm,” Jax agreed, his pace increasing. “She’s responding beautifully to everything.” His hand came down in a sharp slap against my exposed bottom, making me yelp. “Especially punishment.”
“I can see that,” Esme replied, her clinical tone never wavering. “The perineal sensor shows a definite correlation between pain and arousal. Very promising for her training.”
Perineal sensor? The words sent a chill through me even as Jax’s cock continued to stroke deep inside. They had put something inside me? They were monitoring me?
“What are you talking about?” I gasped, trying to look over my shoulder. “What sensor?”
Jax’s hand tangled in my hair, forcing my head down. “Quiet, Little Lulu. The grownups are talking.”
“But—” I began, only to be silenced by another sharp slap to my bottom.
“I said quiet,” Jax repeated, his words a growl, soft but terribly menacing. “Or I’ll have to show Ms. Leopold how thoroughly I can punish my naughty little girl.”
I bit my lip, swallowing my questions as Jax continued to fuck me with deep, measured strokes.
The panties still on me though my daddy’s cock moved in and out of my bare pussy, their ruffles so girlish, felt like a symbol of everything that was happening to me—something that looked innocent on the surface, but had been perverted into a tool for my subjugation.
“Now,” Jax continued, speaking to Esme as if I wasn’t even there, “I’d like her to have some special dresses for when we have company. Something that looks modest, but allows easy access.”
“I have several designs in mind,” Esme replied.
She moved to stand in front of me, bending slightly to look into my face as Jax continued to thrust into me from behind.
“Sweet girl, how do you feel about pleated skirts? They provide excellent coverage while allowing your daddy to check your panties whenever he wishes.”
The casual way she asked this question—as if inquiring about my favorite color—while watching me being fucked made me want to die of shame. Yet still my traitorous body responded, my pussy growing wetter, my nipples hardening further.
“I-I don’t know,” I stammered, gasping as Jax hit a particularly sensitive spot inside me.
“She’ll look charming in pleats,” Jax opined.
“And perhaps a sailor dress for when you take her on your yacht,” Esme suggested, her eyes never leaving my face as she observed my reactions.
“Navy blue with white trim, very traditional. The kind of outfit that would make anyone who saw her think of an innocent little girl on an outing with her daddy.”
My mind reeled at the way they discussed dressing me up like a doll while Jax continued to use my body.
The idea of being paraded around in public in childish clothing, with these special panties underneath that would allow Jax access to my most private places at any moment—horrified me.
It should have horrified me. To my distress, though, I felt another surge of wetness around his cock.
“I think she likes that idea,” Jax observed, his voice thick with satisfaction as he felt my response. “Don’t you, Little Lulu?”