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 ona 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.”
