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.
“Girls,” Daddy Bill said, his voice taking on that authoritative tone that made my stomach clench, “this is Little Seventy-One. She’s just joined the program today.”
The girls stared at me. I wanted to cover myself, to hide, but I kept my hands at my sides like Daddy Ed had ordered. My face burned with humiliation as their eyes traveled over my naked body, the diaper, the obvious evidence of my punishment.
“Seventy-One,” Daddy Bill continued, “these are your sisters in the program. You’ll introduce yourselves during dinner.”
He guided me to an empty chair at the table with the other girls. The plastic seat was cold against my burning ass and I couldn’t suppress a small gasp of pain. The plug shifted as I sat, pressing deeper, and I had to bite my lip to keep from whimpering.
“We’ll be back to collect you after dinner,” Daddy Ed said. “Behave yourself, Little Seventy-One.”
They left, and I was alone with the other girls. For a long moment, nobody spoke. Finally, the girl in the diaper and rubber pants broke the silence.
“I’m Sixty-Eight,” she said, her voice softer than I expected.
She had Japanese features and the quiet manner that seemed to go with them.
“Been here three months.” She gestured to the girl on her left, who had short blonde hair and sharp features.
“That’s Fifty-Three. She’s been here longest—eight months. ”
Fifty-Three nodded at me, her expression unreadable. “And that’s Seventy,” she said, indicating the third girl, who had dark skin and eyes that seemed to take in everything. “She arrived two weeks ago. You probably saw Sixty-Two in the hall.”
I swallowed hard, trying to find my voice. “I’m… I’m Pam.”
“You’re Seventy-One now,” Fifty-Three said, not unkindly. “Better get used to it. The daddies don’t like it when we use our real names.”
Seventy leaned forward slightly. “Tough first day?”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. The plug shifted and I had to resist the urge to squirm in the chair.
“Rough,” Sixty-Eight said with genuine sympathy. “They go hard on the first day. Break you down fast so you understand the new rules.”
“There are no rules,” I said bitterly. “Just whatever they want to do to us.”
The three girls exchanged glances.
“There are rules,” Fifty-Three said carefully. “You just don’t know them yet. But you’ll learn. We all did.”
A door opened and two men I didn’t recognize entered carrying trays of food. They set them on the table without speaking—sandwiches, fruit, milk in plastic cups like we were actually children. My stomach growled despite everything, reminding me I hadn’t eaten since before my arrest.
“Those are Sixty-Eight’s daddies,” Seventy whispered as the men left. “Each of us has two assigned to us.”
I stared at her. “Wait. You mean there are… how many of us?”
“Five here right now,” Fifty-Three said, reaching for a sandwich. “So, the four of us plus Sixty-Two. There used to be more, but some girls graduated out of the program. They got… well, sold. And new ones come in.” She looked at me pointedly. “Like you.”
This was real. This wasn’t some temporary punishment. This was an entire system. Multiple handlers, multiple victims—no, ‘bad girls,’ they called us. Resources poured into breaking us down and rebuilding us into… what? I remembered what Daddy Ed had said about using our technical skills.
“They want us to build traps for other hackers,” I said slowly, pieces clicking together. “That’s what they said, right?”
Seventy nodded. “The Workshop. Yeah. We spend half our time there. The other half…” She trailed off, her eyes flicking to my diaper.
“The other half they train us,” Sixty-Eight finished quietly. “To be submissive. To accept discipline. To…” She gestured vaguely at my diaper. “You know.”
I looked around the table, really seeing them for the first time.
These weren’t just victims. They were resources.
Assets. The amount of money Selecta must be pouring into this project suddenly hit me like a freight train.
The facility, the equipment in that Workshop I’d glimpsed, the handlers—ten men total if each of us had two assigned daddies.
The security. The medical technology, like that sensor lodged between my legs.
“This must cost them millions,” I said slowly. “Maybe tens of millions. Why? What’s the return on investment?”
Fifty-Three took a bite of her sandwich, chewing thoughtfully before answering.
“We all had the same reaction when we got here. Couldn’t understand why they’d spend this much on a handful of hackers.
” She swallowed. “But the results justify it. In the eight months since I’ve been here, the traps we’ve built have caught seventeen major cybercriminals.
People who were costing the economy billions in ransomware attacks, data breaches, corporate espionage. ”
“Nineteen now,” Sixty-Eight corrected quietly. “Two more got caught last week.”
I felt my analytical mind engage despite everything else. “So we’re honeypots… or, I guess, we make honeypots. We build convincing traps because we know how hackers think.”
“Exactly,” Seventy said. “And it works. The daddies train our technical skills during the day, and at night…” Her voice dropped.
“At night they teach us to, you know, accept their authority completely. It’s all connected somehow.
They say the sexual training breaks down our resistance, makes us more compliant and focused on pleasing them—which translates to better work. ”
“That’s insane,” I said, but even as the words left my mouth, I remembered how my body had responded on the bench. The way the shame and arousal had tangled together. The way calling them Daddy had somehow made everything more intense.
“It works, though,” Fifty-Three said, her sharp eyes studying me. “You’ll see. The technical work becomes… easier. More intuitive. Like removing all that resistance in one area of your life removes it in others too.”
Sixty-Eight leaned forward, her voice dropping to barely above a whisper. “And there’s another reason they invest so much. Like Fifty-Three said, when our rehabilitation is complete—when we’ve paid our debt to society—they sell us.”
My stomach dropped. “You mean… literally? They literally sell us?”
“To wealthy tech executives,” Seventy confirmed.
“I mean, they say they’re buying out our contracts.
But as far as we can tell there’s no real difference.
The buyers are men who want fuck toys who are also experts in cybersecurity.
Someone who can protect their systems during the day and spread her legs at night.
It’s a very specific market, apparently. And we’re worth a lot.”
The casual way she said it made bile rise in my throat. But before I could respond, Fifty-Three spoke again.
“There’s something else you need to know about the program structure,” she said. “The girl who’s been here longest becomes what they call the Trusty. That’s me right now.”
I looked at her, trying to understand what that meant. “Trusty?”
“It means I’m responsible for keeping the other girls in line when the daddies aren’t around,” Fifty-Three explained. Her tone was matter-of-fact, almost businesslike. “Making sure everyone follows the rules, reporting any problems, maintaining discipline.”
The word discipline made my stomach clench. I had a pretty good idea what that might entail in a place like this.
“And for the newest girl,” Sixty-Eight added, her eyes flicking to me with something that might have been sympathy, “that means special duty.”
My throat went dry. “Special duty?”
The three girls exchanged glances again. This time there was something in their expressions I couldn’t quite read—a mixture of knowing and what might have been embarrassment.
“You’ll find out soon enough,” Fifty-Three said, taking another bite of her sandwich. “Tomorrow morning, I think. You’re really pretty, Seventy-One.”
“No, tell me now,” I demanded, my voice coming out harder than I’d intended because my stomach had started to crawl. “What the fuck is special duty?”
Seventy winced. “You really need to watch your language. The daddies don’t like it when we curse, and Fifty-Three has to report—”
“I’m not worried about the fucking daddies right now,” I snapped, though even as I said it, I felt a flutter of fear in my belly. More swats. More time on that bench. “I want to know what you’re talking about.”
Fifty-Three set down her sandwich and looked at me directly. Her sharp features were unreadable, but something in her eyes made my pulse quicken.
“The newest girl serves the Trusty,” she said simply. “In whatever way the Trusty requires. It’s part of learning your place in the hierarchy here. Understanding that submission isn’t just about the daddies—it’s about accepting your position relative to everyone else.”
The words hung in the air between us. I felt my face flush hot as the implications sank in. Whatever way the Trusty requires. My tummy fluttered with something that wasn’t quite fear and wasn’t quite anticipation—something darker that I didn’t want to examine too closely.
“You mean…” I couldn’t finish the sentence.
“You’ll find out tomorrow morning,” Fifty-Three repeated. She picked up her sandwich again, as if the conversation were over.
I looked down at the food on the table, my appetite suddenly gone despite the growling in my stomach. The plug shifted inside me as I moved slightly in the chair, a constant reminder of what had already been done to me today. And now there was more coming. Special duty.