“You can join the others in the showers,” the enormous guard instructed. “Be sure you get yourself nice and clean.”
Behind me, I could hear the sounds coming from the shower room: multiple showerheads gushing with water. I heard the voices of the other girls echoing off the tile. My stomach clenched with dread. I was about to walk in there naked, to expose myself to their scrutiny and judgment.
But I didn’t have a choice, did I?
I turned toward the shower room. Mr. Jenkins stood next to the tiled entrance, his expression still neutral and professional.
“Go on,” he said.
I walked past him into the large communal space with six showerheads mounted along the walls. Steam already filled the air, warm and thick. The other four girls were spread out under different showers, water cascading over their naked bodies. They all turned to look at me as I entered.
Fifty-Three’s eyes locked onto mine immediately, and I saw something predatory flash across her sharp features. She stood under the farthest showerhead, water streaming over her blonde hair and down her curvaceous body. Without the uniform, she looked even more intimidating—confident and comfortable in her nudity in a way I felt like I could never be.
“Well, well,” she said, her voice carrying easily over the sound of the water. “Here she is.”
The other girls giggled nervously. I stood frozen just over the threshold, my arms instinctively crossing over my breasts.
“Hands at your sides, Seventy-One,” Mr. Jenkins called from behind me.
My arms dropped. Fifty-Three’s smile widened.
“Come here,” she commanded, her tone taking on an authority that made my stomach drop.
I walked toward her on shaking legs, acutely aware of every eye on my body. The warm spray from the nearest showerhead caught me as I passed under it, making me flinch.
“Closer,” the other girl said.
I stopped directly in front of her, close enough that the water from her shower splashed onto my skin. She reached out and ran her fingers through my wet hair, her touch surprisingly gentle.
“You’re very pretty, Seventy-One,” she murmured. “I can see why your daddies are excited about you.”
Her hand trailed down from my hair to my cheek, then lower, brushing over my breasts and then my belly. To my dismay, she turned her hand over as she dropped it further. Her fingertips,curling slightly upward, found the cleft of my shaven pussy. Her gaze, which had stayed fixed on my face, flicked downward then returned.
“Go wash this little cunt,” she told me. “I want to see you get yourself clean. Then I’ll teach you about special duty.”
I turned away from her on shaking legs, feeling the weight of all their eyes on my naked body. The nearest unoccupied showerhead was next to where Sixty-Eight stood, and I walked toward it with my heart hammering in my chest. The water hit me with blessed warmth as I stepped under the spray, and I closed my eyes for just a moment, wishing I could disappear into the steam.
“Eyes open, Seventy-One,” Fifty-Three called out. “It’s time to clean yourself. The soap is right there.”
I forced my eyes open and reached for the dispenser mounted on the wall. My hands trembled as I pumped the liquid into my palm. The scent was generic, institutional—nothing like the expensive products I’d used before my arrest. Before my life had become this nightmare.
I started with my arms and shoulders, working the soap into a lather, trying to ignore the audience. But I couldn’t. I felt their gazes like physical touches, examining every inch of me.
“Lower,” Fifty-Three instructed. “We want to see you wash that pretty little cunt your daddies shaved for you.”
My face burned as I moved my soapy hands down my stomach. When my fingers reached the bare mound between my legs, I couldn’t suppress a gasp. The sensitivity was overwhelming—every nerve ending felt electric. The soap stung slightly againstmy freshly shaved skin, and the touch of my own fingers sent unwanted sparks of sensation through my body.
“Look how sensitive she is,” Seventy observed, her voice carrying a note of sympathy. “That’s how it feels the first few days after they shave you.”
“Spread your legs wider,” Fifty-Three commanded. “Show us how you clean yourself.”
I widened my stance, the warm water cascading down my body as I worked my fingers between my legs. The touch against my clit made me bite my lip—not just from the soreness, but from the treacherous arousal that flared despite everything. After the night I’d spent with the vibrator, my body was primed to respond to the slightest stimulation.
“That’s it,” Fifty-Three said, her voice taking on that same patronizing tone my daddies used. “Now reach back and clean your bottom crack. Make sure you get all the way inside.”
My stomach dropped. She couldn’t mean?—
“Do it, Seventy-One,” she said more sharply. “Or would you rather I report to your daddies that you refused to follow basic hygiene instructions?”
