I felt my face go bright red as I remembered her riding my face, grunting in pleasure as she had used me, her pussy’s fragrance in my nose and its musky taste on my lips.
“Sorry?” I said, trying to turn my embarrassment and helpless arousal into a joke.
Emily laughed and punched me lightly on the shoulder.
“Not your fault, new girl. But I’m going to queen you even harder tomorrow unless they let me come at bedtime.”
She walked on ahead while I brought up the rear, trying to sort through the welter of emotions and sensations she had just so casually raised in me. I hadn’t gotten anywhere with that project when I slid into my chair in the Workshop. Instead, I felt my own bottom’s soreness, and I felt perversely happy to dwell on that instead of on Emily’s threat.
I blushed anew at the way I felt thoroughly disciplined not just outside, in my spanked cheeks, but inside too, where my daddies’ enormous cocks had taken my rear end’s virginity andleft their hot seed to trickle out into my newly granted panties. They had taught me a terrible lesson: the kind of lesson a bad girl gets. The kind that teaches a bad girl to make better choices.
I bit my lip as I regarded the monitor in front of me, partly in discomfort but partly in renewed arousal as I felt the reminders of how my daddies had taken me in hand. I would give in, and see what I could do to get better at… well, at everything really.
From the main menu of the Project Dollhouse coding environment, I choseNew Project.
CHAPTER 16
Bill
Three days after Pam had initiated what Ed had baptizedOperation Hornet, he and I met with Georgia in the second floor conference room to talk about our bad girl’s development. I watched Georgia pull up the data streams on her tablet, her pale blue eyes scanning the metrics with that clinical intensity I’d come to respect over the years. Ed sat to my right, his specialized glasses displaying additional feeds I knew he was parsing simultaneously.
“Operation Hornet is exceeding projections,” Georgia began, her composed exterior showing the slightest crack of genuine enthusiasm. “Pam’s architecture for the banking honeypot is sophisticated—beyond anything the bad girls have done so far, let alone what we typically see at this stage for a new girl.”
Ed weighed in from his technical expertise. “I’m a little blown away, frankly. Pam’s incorporated adaptive response protocols that adjust the fake system’s behavior based on attacker methodology. It’s brilliant work.”
“The other girls have responded well to her leadership too,” Georgia added, putting a graph of aggregated datasets from the bad girls on the screen. “Even Shaniqua and Joyce have elevated their output a little. It seems like they’re getting a bit competitive, which is all to the good.”
I leaned back in my chair, processing this information alongside my own observations from our sessions with Pam over the past three days. She’d been remarkably compliant—enthusiastic, even. The way she’d taken our cocks, the gratitude in her voice when she thanked us for discipline, the eagerness with which she’d pleasured us with her mouth.
“Her biometrics show deep submission patterns,” Georgia continued, scrolling through graphs. “Cortisol levels have normalized. Arousal response to authority cues has increased forty percent. By every measurable standard, she’s progressing faster than any subject we’ve processed through Project Dollhouse.”
“Which brings us to the question of next steps,” I said, exchanging a glance with Ed. “We’ve been discussing her readiness for double penetration.”
Ed nodded. “She’s taken us anally multiple times now. Her body has adapted well. And her pussy is practically dripping every time we inspect her. I think she’s ready to have both her daddies inside her at once. It’s early, but if we’re following the developmental guidelines it’s indicated. It should unlock even more of her potential.”
I saw something flicker across Georgia’s face—a momentary tightening of her features that made me pause. She set down her tablet carefully, her movements deliberate.
“I need you to wait,” she said, her voice taking on an edge of authority that commanded attention. “Don’t advance to that milestone yet.”
Ed’s eyebrows rose behind his glasses. “Why not? The data supports?—”
“The data supports what I’m about to tell you,” Georgia interrupted, which was unusual for her. She rarely cut off male colleagues, preferring to let them finish before demonstrating why they were wrong. “I missed something in Pam’s initial assessment. I’ll own that oversight. But I’ve been reviewing her patterns against the full database, including the qualitative studies from the Institute’s first two decades, which aren’t fully digitized.”
She pulled up a new set of graphs, overlaying Pam’s data with several other case studies marked with red flags.
“I think it’s clear that Pam is exhibiting what Abigail Podret calledsuspended defiance syndrome,” Georgia explained, her finger tracing one of the curves. “It’s a rare pattern—we’ve only documented it in eleven subjects out of over three thousand girls trained by various Institute and Selecta programs.”
I felt a frown grow on my face as I looked at the graph in the lower right of Georgia’s slide, which showed compliance over time. Pam’s line matched the others until it ended, and the other lines continued because those girls had gotten much further in the training.
“You’re seeing it, right?” Georgia asked.
“Their compliance falls off a cliff,” I agreed, feeling myself nod. “Their defiance got… yeah, I get it. Suspended.”
“So?” Ed asked. “What’s your recommendation, Georgia, beyond delaying her first DP?”
“I need you to be vigilant,” Georgia told us. “This could go either way.”
She moved on to her next slide. I saw immediately what she meant, my hand moving to cover my open mouth as my jaw dropped a little. The graph showed the continuation of the graphs for the girls who had manifested this suspended defiance syndrome. Two thirds of the lines showed dropping compliance and dropping achievement. The remaining third showed those same qualities skyrocketing.
