“There would be conditions,” she said. “Ongoing evaluations to ensure you’re progressing in your mental health and your prosocial behavior. Regular check-ins with my office. Any sign of defiance or attempts at deception would result in immediate corrective measures, including remand to a much harsher facility.”
“I understand,” I said quickly. “I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ll be so good. I promise.”
Daddy Ed’s hand found my other one under the table, so now both my daddies were holding me, anchoring me.
“We believe you,” he said softly. “That’s why we’re doing this.”
Georgia tapped something on her tablet, then looked up at all three of us.
“I’ll need to submit the proposal to the whole assessment board for approval,” she said. “But given Pamela’s demonstrated value and the potential revenue from your startup, I don’t anticipateany objections. We can have the paperwork finalized within a week.”
A week. In a week, I would officially belong to them. Not to Selecta, not to Project Dollhouse, but to Bill and Ed.My daddies.
The relief that washed over me was so intense I started crying again—but this time from happiness rather than fear.
“Thank you,” I whispered, looking from Georgia to my daddies and back again. “Thank you so much.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” Georgia said, though I caught the hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth. “You still have a lot of hard work ahead of you. Your daddies are going to push you harder than ever. Are you prepared for that?”
I thought about the belt whipping, the enormous plug, the hour of being fucked in every position imaginable until I couldn’t tell where one orgasm ended and the next began. I thought about standing on display in the cafeteria with my plugged, punished bottom on view for everyone to see.
And I thought about how all of that had broken through the last of my resistance, had shown me who I really was underneath all the defiance and fear.
“Yes,” I said firmly. “I’m ready.”
Daddy Bill squeezed my hand. “That’s our good girl.”
The pride in his voice made my chest swell. I was theirs. I would always be theirs. And for the first time since my arrest, I felt like everything was going to be okay.
Better than okay. Perfect.
CHAPTER 23
Pam
One week later, my daddies’ pickup truck pulled up to a sleek modern house in the suburbs, the kind of place I had always called amansionin my head. The past seven days had offered nothing but a whirlwind of paperwork and meetings and setting up the infrastructure for the new company. I’d barely seen Daddy Bill and Daddy Ed except in conference rooms or at their computers, working late into the night on business plans and client proposals.
I felt my cheeks get hot even thinking about it, but my bottom hadn’t felt the sting of their hands or their belts in five days, and it seemed like I couldn’t stop squirming in the backseat, as if the lack of discomfort were somehow more distracting than the usual lingering ache. As for ache, there was another kind between my thighs—an even more embarrassing one. My pussy felt… well, I couldn’t saysore, I guessed… but definitelyemptywith neglect. I felt restless and twitchy, like something under my skin was trying to get out.
“Welcome home, Little Pamela,” Daddy Bill said as he opened my door.
Home. The word should have filled me with warmth. Instead, I felt irritable and contrary as I followed them up the walkway. The house was beautiful—I could see that objectively—but part of me wanted to find fault with it.
They led me through the spacious living room with its floor-to-ceiling windows, past a kitchen that looked like something from a magazine, down a hallway to a closed door.
“Your bedroom,” Daddy Ed announced, opening it with a flourish.
I stepped inside and my stomach dropped. Like my room at Project Dollhouse, this room was clearly designed for a child—or at least, for someone being treated like one. The bed had pink sheets with little flowers. There was a dresser painted white, a bookshelf filled with both technical manuals and what looked suspiciously like children’s books. And standing on end against the dresser, something whose nature it took me a moment to fathom—before heat flooded my face. An oversized changing pad, curved into a gentle U in order to keep the little girl being changed in place.
My scalp prickled as I stared at it. A fucking changing pad. Back to the fucking beginning?
“Well?” Daddy Bill asked. “What do you think?”
The words came out before I could stop them. “I think you two have been so busy playing businessman that you forgot I’m actually a person and not a doll you can just dress up and put on display.”
The silence that followed was deafening. I felt my face go even hotter as I realized what I’d just said, how I’d just spoken to them. But instead of taking it back, some perverse part of me doubled down.
“I mean, seriously? A changing pad? What’s next, are you going to make me sleep in a crib?”
