Chapter 7
Ed
Bill and I entered the cafeteria together. The look on Pam’s face when she caught sight of us confirmed that the first part of her rehabilitation was proceeding properly.
“You can go with your daddies,” Emily—Fifty-Three, as far as Pam knew—told our bad girl, bringing a flush to Pam’s cheeks as she understood Emily’s power over her. “They’ll put you to bed tonight, since you’re new.”
“Thanks, Little Fifty-Three,” I said. “That’s right, Little Seventy-One. After tonight we’ll come tuck you in after lock-in—if we’re not using you in our Daddy suite. Your first night is special, though.”
I watched Pam stand up from the table with visible effort, her movements stiff and careful.
The crease in her forehead indicated that she was struggling to absorb her body’s reaction to my casually alluding to using her.
The plug was doing its work—every shift of her body reminded her of what we’d done to her in the Correction Room, of how thoroughly we’d claimed her.
Her face was flushed, whether from embarrassment at being nearly naked in front of the other girls or from the physical sensations she couldn’t escape, even I couldn’t be certain without drilling deep into her feed.
I knew the simplest and most correct answer anyway, though: both.
Our new bad girl walked toward us with the awkward waddle the diaper forced on her, and I noted with satisfaction how her eyes dropped submissively when she got close. Not completely broken yet—defiance still simmered beneath the surface—but we’d made significant progress in just a few hours.
“Come along, Little Seventy-One,” Bill said, his voice taking on the paternal, gentle-but-firm tone he used so effectively. He placed his hand on the small of her back, guiding her toward the door.
I followed behind them, observing her gait, the way she held herself.
The data from the sensor would be invaluable, but there was a lot to be said for direct observation as well—at the very least because of how hard it got me.
The slight hitch in her step when the plug shifted.
The way her shoulders tensed when Bill’s hand touched her bare skin.
The tremor that ran through her body when we entered the hallway and she realized other girls might see her like this.
We walked her down the corridor toward her assigned room.
She kept her eyes fixed on the floor, her arms wrapped around herself despite our earlier command to keep them at her sides.
I let it slide for now—she’d had an overwhelming first day, and small infractions could be addressed later once the foundational obedience had been established.
“Here we are again,” Bill said, opening the door to Room 3B. “As we said earlier, your new home, Little Seventy-One.”
She hesitated at the threshold, staring at the pink walls, the ruffled bed, the chain with its cuffs attached to the wall. I saw her throat work as she swallowed hard.
“Inside,” I said, not unkindly but with an authority that I knew Pam had begun to recognize and respond to.
She stepped into the room, and Bill closed the door behind us.
The space was small but comfortable—we’d designed these rooms specifically for the program.
Everything served a dual purpose: comfort and control.
The soft carpet and pastel walls created a soothing environment, while the restraint points and lack of privacy reinforced the girls’ helplessness.
“Time for bed,” Bill said, moving to pull back the pink duvet. “But first, let’s get you ready.”
Pam’s eyes widened slightly. “Ready?”
“Your diaper needs to be checked,” I explained, approaching her. “And we need to apply some cream to your bottom. That paddling was severe—we don’t want any lasting damage.”
Pam
I looked at my new daddies with horror—as much at the dismaying response between my legs as at their matter-of-fact way of utterly humiliating me. I swallowed hard, my mind working desperately to find some way out, if only for a moment.
“I…” I started, then remembered something with a little lift of hope in my chest. “I need to use the toilet,” I blurted out. My eyes went from Daddy Ed to Daddy Bill and back. “You said… you said if I was… you know… good… You said I could ask?”
Daddy Bill’s expression didn’t change, but I saw something flicker in his eyes—approval, maybe, that I’d remembered the rules they’d set. That I’d asked instead of demanded. I did everything I could to press away the insane glow of pride that threatened to rise in my chest.
“That’s very good, Little Seventy-One,” he said, his voice warm in a way that made my stomach do complicated things. “You asked politely, and you remembered what we told you. That’s exactly the kind of behavior we want to see.”
Daddy Ed nodded, moving toward the door. “Come on, then. Let’s get you to the bathroom.”
I followed them out into the hallway, acutely aware of the diaper moving with each step, of the plug shifting inside me, of my bare breasts exposed to anyone who might pass by. The bathroom was just two doors down—I’d noticed it earlier when they’d walked me to the cafeteria.
Inside, the space was utilitarian but clean. White tile, bright lighting. I could see a shower room and sinks to one side, and a row of three toilet stalls on the other. Daddy Ed gestured toward the nearest stall.
“Go ahead,” he said.
I looked between them, waiting for them to leave, to give me some privacy. But they just stood there, watching me expectantly.
“I…” My face burned hotter than I thought possible. “Can you… I mean…”
“We need to supervise,” Daddy Bill said matter-of-factly. “Bad girls don’t get privacy until they’ve earned it.”
My hands clenched into fists at my sides.
The humiliation of it—of having them watch me on the toilet—felt somehow worse than everything else they’d done to me.
At least when they’d made me wet my diaper I’d been restrained in the chair, given no choice.
This required me to cooperate, to voluntarily expose myself in this degrading way.
“Little Seventy-One,” Daddy Ed said, his tone taking on a warning edge. “You asked to use the toilet. We said yes. But if you’re going to refuse, we can put you back in your room with your training pants on over your diaper, and you can use it instead.”
The threat was clear. And my bladder was insistent—I really did need to go. I swallowed my pride and walked into the stall, my daddies following right behind me.
The diaper came off with fumbling fingers, my hands shaking as I unfastened the Velcro tabs. I set it carefully on the floor and sat down on the cold toilet seat, my thighs pressed together as tightly as I could manage with the plug still lodged inside me.
They stood right there in the open doorway, watching. Not leering, not making crude comments—just observing with that same clinical attention they’d shown during the examination. Somehow that made it worse.
I closed my eyes and tried to pretend I was alone, but the sound when I finally managed to release was impossibly loud in the quiet bathroom. I felt tears prick at my eyes again as I finished, reaching for the toilet paper.
“We might as well get your little pussy and bottom crack shaved while we’re here,” said Daddy Bill.
I stared up at him, my stomach dropping. “What? No—”
“Stand up, Little Seventy-One,” Daddy Ed said, his voice taking on that clinical tone that meant he wasn’t going to negotiate. “Turn around and bend over the toilet.”
My hands gripped the edge of the toilet seat, every muscle in my body wanting to refuse. But I’d already learned what refusal cost. My ass still throbbed from the paddling, and the thought of earning more swats made my decision for me.
I stood on shaking legs and turned to face the toilet, my heart hammering. The plug shifted as I moved and I couldn’t suppress a small whimper.
“Bend forward,” Daddy Bill instructed. “Hands on the tank.”
I leaned forward slowly, placing my palms on the cold porcelain of the toilet tank. The position forced my ass up and out, completely exposed to them. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to disappear into my own head.
“Now reach back and remove the plug,” Daddy Ed said.
My whole body went rigid. “I… I can’t…”
“You can,” Daddy Bill said firmly. “Take it by the base and pull gently. Your body will release it.”
My right hand trembled as I reached back between my legs, feeling for the base of the plug. My fingers found it and I gripped the smooth surface, feeling the humiliation burn through me like acid.
“That’s it,” Daddy Ed encouraged. “Now pull.”
I tugged gently and felt the resistance, felt my body clinging to the intrusion. The sensation was overwhelming—wrong and invasive and also shamefully intimate. I pulled harder and suddenly it slipped free, leaving me feeling empty and violated in a completely different way.
“Good girl,” Daddy Bill said. “Now take it to the sink and wash it thoroughly with soap and water.”
I straightened up, holding the plug away from my body like it might burn me.
My face was on fire as I walked to the sinks, acutely aware of both men watching me.
The plug was slick with lubricant and I had to use both hands to hold it under the running water, working soap over every inch of the silicone while my daddies observed.
When I’d finished, Daddy Ed handed me a towel. “Dry it and set it on the counter. You’ll be wearing it again soon enough.”
The words made my stomach clench, but I did as he instructed. When I turned back, Daddy Bill was holding something I hadn’t noticed him retrieve—a small black case that he opened to reveal an electric razor and shaving supplies.
“Bend over and put your elbows on the counter, between the sinks,” he said. “Feet an inch or two past shoulder width. Push out that little bottom and show us everything a daddy likes to see.”
I moved to the counter between the sinks, my whole body trembling.
The position Daddy Bill had described felt even more degrading than bending over the toilet—elbows on the counter, feet spread wide, bottom pushed out.
I saw myself in my mind’s eye, giving an obscene display of every intimate part of me, for their examination.
But I didn’t have a choice, did I? Not really. Not if I wanted to avoid another session with the paddle.
No choice, I told myself. No choice at all.
I placed my elbows on the cool countertop and widened my stance, feeling the stretch in my thighs.
My face burned as I arched my back, pushing my bottom out like he’d instructed.
The bathroom mirror in front of me reflected my humiliation—my face flushed red, my eyes glassy with unshed tears, my bare breasts hanging down as I bent forward.
“Perfect,” Daddy Ed said from behind me. “Stay just like that.”
I heard water running, and I glanced to the side in the mirror to see Daddy Ed wetting a washcloth and applying soap, then felt Daddy Bill’s big hands on me—not forceful but definitely firm as he spread my cheeks further apart. The exposure felt total, absolute. I squeezed my eyes shut.
“We’ll get you nice and clean first,” Daddy Ed said, and then I felt the warmth and the suds. I let out a choked sob of helpless arousal.
“It’s okay, Seventy-One,” Daddy Bill said in that maddeningly patronizing voice. “Every bad girl likes this more than she wants to.”
Humiliating little noises came from behind my closed lips as I hung my head and felt Daddy Ed cleaning my pussy and then between my cheeks.
“We’ll start shaving with your crack first,” Daddy Bill explained in his calm voice. “Then we’ll move to your pussy. The razor is sharp, so you need to stay completely still.”
The buzz of the electric razor made me flinch, but his hand pressed down on the small of my back, holding me in place.
Then I felt it—the vibration of the razor against my most private places, the gentle scrape as it removed hair I’d never even thought about.
He worked with methodical precision, one hand keeping me spread while the other guided the razor through the sensitive crease between my cheeks.
“Good girl,” he murmured. “You’re doing very well, staying still like this.”
The praise made something complicated happen in my chest—a warmth that had no business being there, not while I was bent over a bathroom counter getting my ass crack shaved by a man I’d met hours ago.
But my traitorous body didn’t care about logic.
It responded to the approval in his voice, to the gentle touch of his hands, to the complete surrender the position demanded.
The razor moved lower, closer to places that made me want to die from embarrassment.
I felt him working around my anus, removing every trace of hair with patient, thorough strokes.
Then lower still, between my legs from behind, shaving the hair I’d always been so embarrassed to trim, let alone remove.
“There we go,” Daddy Bill said at last. “Time to take a look at your daddies’ new pussy.”