Chapter 11
Pam
I leaned forward, my hands braced on my thighs, and pressed my face between her legs.
The first taste of her flooded my senses—clean from the shower but unmistakably female, musky and intimate in a way that made my stomach clench.
I’d never done this before, never even fantasized about it before last night, and the wrongness of it made fresh tears spring to my eyes.
But I did what I was told. I ran my tongue along her slit, tasting her, learning the contours of her pussy with my mouth while she stood above me. Her hand tightened in my hair, guiding me, and I felt her hips shift slightly as I found her clit.
“That’s good,” she murmured. “Just like that.”
After what felt like an eternity, Fifty-Three spoke again. “Now her bottom. Turn around, Keiko.”
The other girl obeyed, presenting her ass to my face, pulling her cheeks apart to show me her tight little flower.
Keiko, I registered somewhere. The Trusty must be allowed to call us by name, I realized distantly.
This is Keiko’s bottom you have to service.
Somehow knowing her name made my face blush even hotter.
I could see everything—the curve of her cheeks, the darker skin between them, the tiny opening I was expected to service with my tongue.
“Lick it,” Fifty-Three commanded. “That’s right, new girl. We call each other by our names when we’re alone. Except for you; you’re just the new girl. The new girl learns her sisters’ names when she greets them properly.”
I let out a tiny whimper as I pressed my face between Keiko’s cheeks and ran my tongue along the crease, tasting soap and water. The humiliation was so complete I felt dizzy with it. My tongue found her anus and I circled it, feeling the tight pucker against my lips.
“Kiss it,” Fifty-Three said. “Show your sister you’re grateful.”
I pressed my lips to the wrinkly little button and kissed it, the act so degrading that fresh sobs threatened to escape my throat. But I held them back, completing the obscene gesture before Fifty-Three allowed me to pull away.
“Good girl,” she said. “Now Seventy. Then Sixty-Two. And then you’ll service me.”
I moved to Seventy, then Sixty-Two, repeating the humiliating ritual with each girl. Seventy turned out to be named Shaniqua. Sixty-Two, the willowy brunette with the hazel eyes, was Joyce.
My jaw ached by the time I knelt before Fifty-Three, my lips swollen from the extended use. Each girl had tasted slightly different, each ass had felt different against my mouth, and the cumulative shame of what I was doing threatened to break me completely.
But Fifty-Three was different. When I pressed my face between her legs, she didn’t just stand there passively. Her hand gripped my hair hard, controlling my movements, grinding her pussy against my mouth with obvious pleasure.
“That’s it,” she moaned. “Use that tongue. Show me what a good little pussy-licker you can be.”
I worked harder, driven by fear of punishment and by some darker compulsion I didn’t want to acknowledge. My tongue found her clit and I focused there, circling and sucking while she held my head in place. Her thighs trembled on either side of my face, and I heard her breathing quicken.
“Don’t stop,” she gasped. “Right there. Just like—oh, fuck.”
Her pussy pulsed against my mouth as she came, her hand yanking my hair hard enough to hurt. I kept licking through her orgasm, tasting the flood of her release until finally she pushed me away.
“Good girl,” she panted, looking down at me with flushed cheeks. “Now my ass.”
I serviced her bottom just as I had the others, but she made me spend longer there, made me really work my tongue into her tight opening while she moaned. When she finally allowed me to kiss her asshole, she held my face there for a long moment, grinding against my lips.
“I’m Emily,” she told me in a voice strained with pleasure as she rubbed her most intimate place over my nose and mouth. “But you’ll call me Mistress from now on, when we’re by ourselves.”
She pushed her hips back one more time, reaching behind to hold my face inside her ass crack.
“That’s it, new girl,” she grunted. “There you go.”
Emily stood up and turned around to look down at me.
“We’re not done,” she said, her eyes narrowing. “Shaniqua, pull out the bench.”
As I watched with wide eyes and racing heart, the dark-skinned girl pulled a low plastic bench out from a corner of the shower room.
The bench was presumably for girls to sit on while they shaved their legs or whatever normal activities happened in showers that weren’t part of a twisted rehabilitation program.
The surface was wet from the shower spray.
“On your back,” Fifty-Three instructed. “Head near the edge.”
I climbed onto the bench with trembling limbs and lay back, the cool plastic pressing against my spine.
Fifty-Three moved to stand over me, one foot on either side of the bench near my shoulders.
I shuddered at the obscene sight of her bare pussy still glistening from her orgasm, the pink flesh swollen and wet.
“Do you know what queening is, new girl?” she asked, her voice taking on that patronizing tone again.
I shook my head, though some part of me knew exactly what was coming.
“It’s when a woman sits on another woman’s face,” she explained. “When she uses another girl’s mouth for her pleasure. Your daddies told me you’re going to be very good at this. Let’s find out if they’re right.”
She lowered herself onto my face, her thighs bracketing my head, her pussy pressing against my mouth with her full weight.
The position was overwhelming—I could barely breathe, could see nothing but her body above me.
She was completely in control, using my mouth as casually as Daddy Bill had used it, grinding against me while I struggled to keep licking.
“That’s it,” she moaned, rocking her hips. “Tongue inside me. Deeper.”
I obeyed, pushing my tongue into her opening while she rode my face.
The taste of her filled my senses, the scent of her arousal overwhelming.
My jaw ached, my neck strained from the angle, but she didn’t care.
She just kept grinding, kept using me, chasing her second orgasm while the other girls watched.
When she came this time, it was harder than before. Her thighs clamped around my head, cutting off what little air I’d been getting. Her pussy pulsed against my tongue and I felt her release flood my mouth. I swallowed reflexively, unable to do anything else as she used my face for her pleasure.
Finally, mercifully, she lifted herself off me. I gasped for air, my lungs burning as I sucked in desperate breaths. My face was soaked with her juices, my jaw aching from the extended abuse.
“Very good, new girl,” Emily said, looking down at me with satisfaction. “Your daddies were right. You’re a natural at this.”
The praise made something complicated happen in my chest—a warmth that shouldn’t have been there, not after what she’d just done to me. But I couldn’t deny the treacherous flutter of pride that came with her approval.
Mr. Jenkins’s voice cut through the steamy air. “That’s enough for this morning. Let’s get you back to your rooms, little ladies.”
I climbed off the bench with shaking legs, my face still wet with Emily’s release.
The other girls were already moving toward the door, and I followed on unsteady feet, trying to process what had just happened.
I’d eaten four pussies and kissed four assholes.
I’d been queened by the Trusty until she’d come on my face.
And some horrible part of me had gotten wet from it.
We walked down the hallway in a line, water still dripping from our hair and bodies. I found myself next to Keiko—Sixty-Eight—and something about her gentle demeanor gave me courage to speak.
“When do we get dressed?” I asked quietly, my voice hoarse from the extended use of my mouth.
She glanced at me with sympathy in her dark eyes. “Our daddies decide what we wear each day. The guards lay it out in our rooms while we’re in the showers.”
My stomach clenched. “What if they don’t leave anything?”
“Then you stay naked,” she said simply. “Or just in a diaper. It depends on what lesson they want to teach you.”
We reached my room and Mr. Jenkins gestured for me to enter. I stepped inside, my eyes immediately going to the bed where my outfit should have been laid out.
There was no pink uniform. No clothes at all.
Instead, sitting on the pink duvet was a butt plug—noticeably larger than the one from yesterday—next to a tube of lubricant and a fresh white diaper.
My breath caught in my throat. That was it. That was all they’d left me.
“Five minutes to get dressed,” Mr. Jenkins said from the doorway. “Then line up in the hall.”
He closed the door, leaving me alone with the items on the bed.
I walked toward them on trembling legs, my pussy already responding in that treacherous way that made me hate myself.
The plug was definitely bigger—maybe an inch and a half in diameter at its widest point, with a longer shaft than yesterday’s.
Just looking at it made my ass clench in anticipation.
I picked up the tube of lube with shaking hands. This was really happening. I was going to have to put this thing inside myself, then wear nothing but a diaper to breakfast. The humiliation should have made me want to refuse, to throw the plug across the room and demand real clothes.
Instead, I felt heat pooling between my legs.
I squeezed lubricant onto my fingers and reached behind myself, finding my anus still tender from yesterday’s violation.
My finger circled the tight opening, spreading the slick substance, then pressed inside.
The stretch made me gasp, but I forced myself to work the lube deeper, preparing myself for what was coming.
When I couldn’t delay any longer, I picked up the plug and coated it thoroughly with lubricant. The silicone was cool and smooth in my hand. I bent forward over the bed, one hand spreading my cheeks while the other positioned the plug against my opening.
The pressure was immediate and overwhelming as I pushed.
Too big. It was too big. My body resisted, clenching against the intrusion.
But I kept pushing, biting my lip as the plug stretched me wider than I’d ever been stretched.
The burn was intense, riding the edge between pain and something darker that made my pussy clench.
And then suddenly the widest part passed through and my body accepted it, my muscles closing around the narrow neck. The base settled against my ass and I let out a shaky breath. The fullness was incredible—I felt stuffed, claimed, impossibly aware of every inch of the plug lodged inside me.
I straightened up slowly, feeling how the movement shifted the plug. Every step I took would be a reminder. Every time I sat down, every time I bent over, the plug would press deeper, would make me remember what I was.
My hands trembled as I reached for the diaper. The cloth was thick and soft, freshly laundered. I spread it out on the bed and positioned myself over it, then brought it up between my legs. The padding pressed against my bare, still-sensitive pussy as I fastened the Velcro tabs at my hips.
I looked down at myself—naked except for the bulky diaper, my breasts exposed, the plug hidden but undeniably present. This was what my daddies had chosen for me to wear. This was how they wanted me to present myself to the other girls, to the guards, to anyone who saw me today.
And God help me, I was so wet the diaper was already absorbing it.
A knock on the door made me jump. “Time’s up, Seventy-One,” Mr. Jenkins called.
I walked to the door and opened it, my face burning as I stepped into the hallway. The other girls were already lined up, and I saw that they were all wearing their pink uniforms. I was the only one in just a diaper.
Emily’s eyes traveled over my body with obvious satisfaction. “Looks like someone’s daddies want to make a point,” she said.