“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 becauseyoudon’t get to touch yourself.Weget to do what we want with yourlittle 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.
CHAPTER 9
Pam
After my daddies had closed and locked the door behind them, I lay there in the darkness, my arms stretched above my head, the vibrator pulsing relentlessly against my clit. The chain clinked softly as I tested it again, already knowing it was useless. I wasn’t going anywhere.
The room was quiet except for my ragged breathing and the faint hum of the device firmly installed inside my diaper. The sound seemed impossibly loud in the silence.
I tried to focus on anything else—the softness, almost too much, of the mattress beneath me… the weight of the duvet… the way the pink walls seemed to glow slightly in the dim light filtering under the door. But my mind kept circling back to the sensations between my legs. The vibrator cycled through its pattern—stronger, then softer, then stronger again—keeping me hovering in that agonizing space just before release.
My hips rocked involuntarily, seeking more pressure, more friction. The diaper followed each movement, the paddingshifting against my newly bare pussy. The smooth skin felt hypersensitive, every brush of fabric sending sparks through my nervous system.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to think about code, about algorithms, about anything technical and cerebral that might distract me from the relentless arousal building in my core. But my brain refused to cooperate. Instead, sense memories and fantasized images flooded my mind.
Daddy Ed’s fingers inside me on the spanking bench: I could watch them penetrate me as if I had witnessed it rather than experienced it.
Daddy Bill’s cock in my mouth. To my distress I seemed to see it from my daddy’s perspective as he enjoyed himself, holding my head still and thrusting relentlessly in and out.
The way they’d used my body like it was their personal property, temporarily on loan to me.
And underneath it all, the terrible knowledge that my body had responded. That I’d come harder than I ever had in my life while they degraded me, while they called me their good little girl and made me call them Daddy.
The vibrator pulsed stronger for a moment and I gasped, my back arching. So close. I was so fucking close. My wrists strained against the cuffs as I tried to reach down, to adjust the angle, to do anything to push myself over that edge. But the chain held firm.
“Please,” I whispered to the empty room. “Please, I can’t?—”
But I could. That was the horrible truth. I could take it. My body would keep hovering here, desperate and aching, untilexhaustion finally pulled me under. And tomorrow I’d wake up still wanting, still needing, exactly like they’d planned.
I thought about the other girls I’d met at dinner. Sixty-Eight, who’d been here three months. Fifty-Three, who’d been here eight. Had they gone through this same torture their first night? Had they lain here in the dark, restrained and desperate, learning that their pleasure belonged to their daddies now?
The image of Fifty-Three’s sharp features flashed through my mind again, and with it came Daddy Ed’s words.You’re going to be such a good little pussy-licker for Fifty-Three.
A fresh wave of heat rolled through me, and I couldn’t tell if it was shame or arousal or some sick combination of both. Tomorrow morning.Special duty. The newest girl serves the Trusty in whatever way she requires.
I’d never been with a woman. Had never even thought about it seriously. In my world, sex had always been a tool—something I used to manipulate men like Leo, to keep them distracted and compliant. I’d been in control, or at least I’d told myself I was.
But this would be different. I wouldn’t be using my mouth to gain leverage or information. I’d be doing it because I was ordered to. Because I was the lowest in the hierarchy here. Because Fifty-Three was the Trusty and I was just Little Seventy-One, the newest bad girl who needed to learn her place.
The vibrator pulsed stronger again and I bit my lip to keep from crying out. My pussy clenched around nothing, desperately empty despite the relentless stimulation against my clit. I wanted to be filled again. Wanted Daddy Ed’s cock stretching me, or even just his fingers. The plug had felt wrong at first,but now I missed the fullness of it, the way it had made me feel claimed.
God, what was happening to me? It had been less than a day and already I was thinking about their cocks like I had some basic need for them. Like being fucked by my daddies was something I should be grateful for.
But I was grateful, wasn’t I? Some twisted part of me had loved being bent over that spanking bench, loved the way they’d toyed with every hole and filled two of them with cock, promising to do the same to the third. I had loved calling them Daddy while they hurt me and filled me and made me understand exactly what I was now.
I tugged at the restraints again, harder this time, feeling the cuffs bite into my wrists. The sharp sensation helped ground me, pulled me back from the edge of the dark fantasies spiraling through my mind. I wasn’t grateful. I was being conditioned. Broken down systematically through pain and pleasure until I couldn’t tell the difference anymore.
I could almost feel the sensor between my legs recording all of it—every spike of arousal, every attempt to resist, every moment my body betrayed my mind. Someone would analyze the data tomorrow, if they weren’t already watching me with some kind of infrared camera. They would use it to refine their approach, to find new ways to make me submit.
