“Little Pamela,” Daddy Bill said, his hand on my shoulder. “This is Georgia Winters. She’s the chief of assessment for Project Dollhouse.”
My heart dropped into my stomach.Assessment. The word hung in the air like a threat.
Georgia stood and extended her hand. I shook it automatically, her grip firm and cool.
“It’s good to finally meet you properly, Little Seventy-One,” she said, her voice composed and professional. “I’ve been following your progress with great interest. Please, sit.”
I sank into the chair my daddies guided me toward, my mind racing. This was it. This was where they decided what happened to me next. Where they determined if I was ready to be sold, like Emily.
The thought made my throat close up with panic.
“Little Seventy-One,” Georgia began, settling back into her own chair with her tablet in front of her. “Your daddies have brought you here so we can discuss your future. As chief of assessment, it’s my responsibility to evaluate your rehabilitation and determine the next steps in your placement.”
I felt tears prick at my eyes. The impersonal language—placement—made me feel like a piece of furniture being moved from room to room.
“I love them,” I blurted out, the words tumbling over themselves in my desperation to say something, anything that might change whatever decision had already been made. “I love my daddies. I can’t… I can’t bear to think about being sold away from them.”
Daddy Bill’s hand found mine under the table, squeezing gently. But he didn’t say anything.
“I know I messed up,” I continued, tears streaming down my face now. “I know I tried to sabotage everything. But I understand now. I understand what I need. And it’s them. If you sell me to someone else, if you take me away from them…” My voice broke. “That’s how you get me to go back to crime. That’s the only way. Because I won’t… I can’t…”
I couldn’t finish the sentence. I buried my face in my hands, sobbing openly.
Georgia was quiet for a long moment. When she finally spoke, her voice had softened slightly, though it retained that clinical edge.
“Ed,” she said. “Why don’t you tell Little Seventy-One about your plans.”
I looked up, confusion cutting through my panic.Plans?What plans?
Daddy Ed leaned forward, his blue eyes meeting mine with an intensity that made my breath catch.
“Daddy Bill and I have been working on something for the past six months,” he began. “A startup company that would spin off from Selecta’s cybersecurity division. We’d provide specialized security solutions for Selecta and other mega-corporations—honeypots, threat analysis, vulnerability assessment. The kind of high-level work that requires exceptional talent.”
I blinked, trying to understand why he was telling me this. What did their business plans have to do with?—
“We’d need a team,” Daddy Bill added. “The best minds we could find. People who understand how criminals think because they used to be criminals themselves.”
My heart started beating faster. Were they saying…?
“People like you, Little Pamela,” Daddy Ed continued. “Your work on Operation Hornet demonstrated exactly the kind of innovative thinking we’d need. The ability to anticipate attack vectors, to think like the enemy. You’re brilliant at it.”
“We’d be purchasing your contract from Selecta,” Daddy Bill said, and suddenly everything clicked into place with such force I felt dizzy. “You’d work for us. With us. Building security solutions that would keep corporations safe from the kind of threats you used to represent.”
I stared at them, my mouth opening and closing without sound. They wanted to buy me. Not sell me to some stranger, but keep me themselves. Work with me. Own me.
“Is that…” My voice came out as barely a whisper. “Is that true? You’d… you’d buy me?”
Daddy Bill’s expression grew serious, his brown eyes holding mine.
“You’d have to be a very good girl,” he said firmly. “Your rehabilitation would continue to be tough because relapses are a fact of life. We’d own you completely—not just your work, but every part of you. We’d punish you when you needed it. Use you as we chose. You’d have no say in when or how we disciplined you, fucked you, displayed you. Do you understand what that means?”
I did. God help me, I did. It meant maintenance spankings and plugs and being bent over their laps whenever they decided I needed correction. It meant their cocks in my mouth, my pussy, my ass whenever they wanted. It meant being theirs in every possible way, with no escape, no autonomy, no freedom.
It meant exactly what I needed.
“I want that,” I said, my voice stronger now. “I want to be yours. Completely. I want you to own me and use me and punish me when I need it. I want to work with you and build something and… and be your good little bad girl forever.”
The words hung in the air. Georgia made a note on her tablet, her expression unreadable.
