Chapter 8
Pam
It took me a moment even to understand what Daddy Bill meant. How could my daddies have a pussy? They were men—very, very manly men. Men didn’t have pussies, did they?
Then it hit me, and I couldn’t keep a whimper from emerging from my throat. My daddies had a new pussy to put their hard penises in. They had already fucked it. Now they had shaved it, because they liked it bare and smooth for them.
It belonged to Daddy Bill and Daddy Ed. It just happened to be located between my thighs—its location, though, wouldn’t stop my daddies from fucking it whenever they wanted to make their huge cocks feel good.
Daddy Bill’s words echoed in my mind as he helped me stand up and turn around.
My legs felt weak, barely able to support me as he guided me to a position in front of the mirror over the sinks.
The fluorescent lights were merciless, showing every detail of my flushed face, my tear-bright eyes, my exposed body.
“Look,” Daddy Ed said, positioning himself on my left side while Daddy Bill moved to my right. “Look at what belongs to your daddies now.”
My eyes traveled down in the mirror, past my heaving breasts to the junction of my thighs.
The bare skin there looked alien, unfamiliar—completely smooth and exposed in a way that made my stomach clench.
Without the hair, the cleft of my pussy, with the pink of my inner lips peeking out, looked so innocent, so little that I couldn’t keep a tiny sob from emerging.
“Touch yourself,” Daddy Bill said softly. “Feel how smooth your daddies made you.”
My hand moved before my brain could process the command, trembling as I reached down. My fingertips brushed over the newly bare skin and I gasped at the sensitivity. Every nerve ending felt exposed, heightened. The touch sent sparks through my body that I couldn’t suppress.
“That’s it,” Daddy Ed murmured. “Feel what your daddies have done to you, because we like a bad girl’s pussy that way.”
Then his hands were on me—one cupping my breast, thumb brushing over my nipple, the other sliding down my stomach. On my other side, Daddy Bill’s hands mirrored the movement, claiming my other breast while his free hand traced down my hip.
“Hands on your head, Little Seventy-One,” Daddy Bill commanded. “Watch what happens to your body when your daddies touch you.”
My breathing grew ragged as I obeyed, telling myself that I’d get paddled again for the slightest infraction.
I raised my hands and locked my fingers atop my disheveled hair, and now I couldn’t look away from the mirror.
The woman reflected there didn’t look like me—couldn’t be me.
She was some other person, some stranger with flushed skin and glazed eyes, trapped between two large men whose hands moved over her with practiced skill.
I watched Daddy Ed’s fingers roll my nipple, watched it harden under his touch.
Watched Daddy Bill’s hand slide around to cup my bare mound, his middle finger sliding between my nether lips with devastating precision.
A moan escaped my throat—high and desperate and nothing like any sound I’d ever made before.
“Show her how wet she is,” Daddy Ed said, his analytical voice somehow making everything worse.
I watched in the mirror as Daddy Bill’s finger slid deeper, finding my entrance and circling it slowly, then pushing in to gather my slick, treasonous juices.
My hips pushed forward involuntarily, seeking more pressure, more friction.
The woman in the mirror did the same—her body arching, her head falling back against Daddy Ed’s shoulder.
That’s not me, I thought desperately. That’s someone else. Some other woman who gets wet when strange men touch her. Some other woman who spreads her legs and begs.
But the disconnection only made the arousal stronger. Watching it happen seemed to make it easier to get turned on, as if it were an episode in someone else’s X-rated story.
Daddy Bill withdrew his finger and brought it up in front of my face. His digit glistened with my wetness, the evidence of my body’s betrayal impossible to deny.
“Open your mouth, Little Seventy-One,” he said softly.
I stared at his finger in the mirror, my stomach clenching with fresh horror. He couldn’t mean—
“Open,” Daddy Ed said firmly, his hand tightening on my breast in warning.
My lips parted. I watched the woman in the mirror open her mouth like an obedient child, watched Daddy Bill slide his slick finger between her lips.
The taste flooded my senses—musky and intimate and unmistakably mine.
I’d never tasted myself before, never even thought about it.
The act felt impossibly dirty, taboo in a way that made my face burn hotter than I thought possible.
“Suck,” Daddy Bill commanded.
I closed my lips around his finger and sucked, cleaning my own arousal from his skin while he watched me in the mirror with those intense brown eyes. The humiliation of it made my pussy clench, made more wetness gather between my newly bare private lips.
“Good girl,” he murmured, slowly withdrawing his finger. “You like how you taste, don’t you?”
I wanted to say no, to deny it, but the words wouldn’t come. Because some terrible part of me did like it—liked the dirtiness of it, liked being made to do something so degrading.
“She’s going to love eating pussy,” Daddy Ed said conversationally, as if he were discussing the weather. His thumb continued to circle my nipple while his other hand slid down my stomach. “She’ll put that talented mouth to good use when the time comes.”
My eyes went wide in the mirror as understanding crashed over me. What Fifty-Three had said. Special duty. Whatever way the Trusty requires.
They were going to make me go down on another woman.
The image of Fifty-Three’s sharp features flashed through my mind—her knowing eyes, the way she’d looked at me across the dinner table, that comment about how pretty I was.
My stomach did a complicated flip that wasn’t entirely revulsion.
I’d been raised to believe that was the worst kind of naughtiness, the most shameful thing a girl could do.
Two girls together—it was the kind of thing only the most depraved bad girls did.
But as Daddy Ed’s fingers found my clit and began circling it with casual skill, I felt a shudder run through my body that had little to do with his touch.
I pictured Fifty-Three spread out before me, imagined being ordered to put my mouth on her most intimate places, to taste her the way I’d just tasted myself.
And God help me, I felt myself get wetter.
“She’s thinking about it,” Daddy Bill observed, his eyes locked on me in the mirror. “Look at her face. She wants it.”
“No,” I whispered, but the denial came out weak, unconvincing even to my own ears.
Daddy Ed’s fingers moved faster, building pressure that made my knees weak. “You’re going to be such a good little pussy-licker for Fifty-Three,” he said, his detached tone making the crude words even more degrading. “You’re going to make her come with that pretty mouth while we watch.”
The image crystallized in my mind with devastating clarity—me on my knees between Fifty-Three’s spread thighs, my daddies standing over us, watching their newest bad girl service their Trusty.
The wrongness of it, the complete surrender it would require, sent a spike of dark arousal through me that I couldn’t deny.
My orgasm hit without warning, tearing through me with an intensity that made my legs buckle.
I would have fallen if my daddies hadn’t been holding me up, their strong hands supporting my weight as I shook and gasped.
I watched myself come apart in the mirror—the woman with my face lost all control, her mouth opening in a silent scream, her body convulsing between two men who owned her completely.
When the waves finally subsided, I hung limp in their grip, tears streaming down my face. The shame was overwhelming, crushing. I’d just come while thinking about eating another woman’s pussy. While my daddies watched and touched me and told me what a good little slut I was going to be.
“Perfect,” Daddy Bill murmured, pressing a kiss to my temple that felt far too tender given what had just happened. “You’re learning so quickly, Little Seventy-One.”
They held me for another moment, letting me catch my breath, before Daddy Ed spoke. “Time to get you ready for bed.”
I couldn’t find my voice to respond. They guided me to lean against the counter while Daddy Bill retrieved a tube of cream from the black case. My legs trembled as he moved behind me.
“Bend forward again,” he instructed. “Elbows on the counter.”
I obeyed automatically, my body too wrung out to resist. The cream was cool when he applied it to my burning bottom, his hands gentle as he worked it into the tender skin. Despite everything, the relief was immediate. The soothing sensation made me sigh.
“This will help with the soreness,” he explained, his fingers massaging the cream into every inch of my punished flesh. “We discipline our bad girls thoroughly, but we also take care of them.”
When he finished, Daddy Ed was already holding a fresh diaper. They worked together with jarring efficiency—threading the cloth between my legs, fastening it snugly at my hips. The padding pressed against my oversensitive, newly bare flesh and I whimpered.
“Come on,” Daddy Bill said, taking my arm. “Let’s get you into bed.”
They led me back to my room, each step making the diaper rustle and shift against my bare pussy. The hallway seemed longer now, the pastel walls closing in as exhaustion finally began to overtake the adrenaline that had been keeping me upright.
Inside my room, Daddy Ed pulled back the pink duvet while Daddy Bill guided me to sit on the edge of the bed.
The mattress was softer than I expected, and I sank into it with a small sound of relief.
My ass still throbbed despite the cream, and the diaper provided an unwelcome cushion against the soreness.
“Lie back,” Daddy Bill said gently.
I did, my head sinking into the pillow. Above me, I could see the chain attached to the wall, the pink cuffs dangling from it. My stomach clenched as Daddy Ed reached for my right wrist.
“No,” I whispered, but it came out weak, barely audible.
“You’ll sleep better restrained,” Daddy Ed explained in that clinical tone. “Bad girls often try to touch themselves during the night. This prevents that.”
The cuff closed around that wrist with a soft click, then the left. My arms were stretched above my head, not uncomfortably tight but definitely secure. I tugged experimentally and felt no give in the chain.
Daddy Bill pulled the duvet up over my body, tucking it around me with a tenderness that made my chest ache. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out something small and pink—a vibrator, I realized with fresh horror. Bullet-shaped, wireless, with a remote control.
“One more thing,” he said, pulling back the duvet to expose my diapered lower half. His fingers worked at the Velcro tabs, loosening them just enough to slide the vibrator inside, evidently slipping it into a pocket that kept it directly against my bare clit before refastening the diaper snugly.
“Please,” I begged, though I wasn’t even sure what I was begging for anymore. “Please don’t—”
The vibrator buzzed to life, a gentle pulsing that made me gasp and arch against the restraints. Not strong enough to push me over the edge, but insistent, impossible to ignore.
“You’ll stay like this until you fall asleep,” Daddy Ed said, adjusting the remote.
The vibrations increased slightly, then decreased again, finding a rhythm that kept me hovering right on the edge.
“It’s important that your body understands it exists for your daddies’ purposes.
Your hands are chained because you don’t get to touch yourself.
We get to do what we want with your little pussy.
Even your sleep, even your dreams—they belong to us now. ”
I whimpered, my hips moving involuntarily as the vibrator pulsed against my oversensitive flesh. The arousal built with agonizing slowness, climbing toward a peak I couldn’t quite reach.
“Sweet dreams, Little Seventy-One,” Daddy Bill said, pressing a kiss to my forehead.