“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 tousingher. 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 eyeswent 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.
