Jax
I glanced at my wrist, where my watch had a quick readout of the data stream from Louisa’s perineal sensor, which a micro-drone had installed between her thighs the previous week. The Selecta technology could measure arousal in real time, and Little Lulu’s readings had, as I had suspected, gone off the charts. Her pussy was practically drowning in its own juices, her muscles already spasming with pre-orgasmic contractions. The data only confirmed what I could see with my own eyes: beneath her fear and humiliation, this bad girl was experiencing a sexual excitement more intense than any she had ever felt before.
Louisa had already responded beautifully to the forced ageplay—better even than I had anticipated. The childish name, the diaper, the collar, the humiliation of being bathed like a little girl, then shaved to make her pussy match her new status—all of it had started to break down her resistance more effectively than simple pain or fear ever could.
Selecta’s Bad Girls Program had been specific in its recommendations for subjects like Louisa Bell. The psychological profile they’d compiled was impressively thorough: intelligent, defiant, craving structure, but fighting against it. She needed one primary authority figure to establish dominance—I would play that role—but the program data showed conclusively that young women like Louisa needed to be used by multiple daddies to fully internalize their new lives as reformed bad girls, able to access their remarkable strength of will for constructive purposes.
That would work perfectly with my operational needs. I had spent months infiltrating the network that extended beyond Charlie and Walker, but I needed access to the higher echelons. The men at the top—men like Viktor Volkov and Oscar Reyes—were notoriously cautious, but they were also notorious for their appetites. A party favor like Little Lulu, properly trained and prepared for the operation I had in mind, would give me access to their networks that I could leverage into a clearing out of a lot of bad actors—including them. They would enjoy fucking her, but if I trained Louisa well, it would cost them their freedom, as well as returning some order to the city’s darker streets.
I brought the belt down hard across Louisa’s upturned bottom without warning. The leather made a satisfying crack against her flesh, and she jerked forward with a startled scream.
“Bad girls get the belt,” I said calmly, bringing it down again with equal force.
The Bad Girl Program gave explicit instructions about this phase of training: no counting strokes, no predetermined number of lashes. Just a stern daddy whipping his naughty little girl until her resistance crumbled completely. The belt had to continueuntil she moved beyond screaming into genuine, helpless sobbing.
I established a steady rhythm, alternating cheeks, occasionally landing a stroke across the sensitive crease where bottom met thigh. Each lash left a vivid red stripe across her pale skin. Her cries grew more frantic, her body writhing as she tried to escape the relentless punishment.
“Please, Daddy! I’ll be good!” she sobbed, her hands clutching desperately at the bedsheets.
I ignored her pleas, continuing the methodical whipping. The assessors who designed the program made it clear that begging should not interrupt the punishment—Louisa’s pleas merely represented a stage in the breaking process, not an indication that she had reached the necessary submissive frame of mind. The time had definitely come, however, to help Louisa take a major step forward in how she thought about herself and her choices so far.
“Your bottom is getting very red,” I observed, pausing briefly to run my hand over the heated flesh. “But I don’t think you’ve learned your lesson yet. In fact, I want you to understand that this first belt whipping isn’t just a lesson for your language and for wetting your diaper—it’s to punish you for all the stupid, harmful things you’ve done since you decided to become a criminal.”
Louisa
I flinched at his words, startled by how accurately he had nailed my inner thoughts. Every stroke of the belt seemed to make clearer that the fiery pain in my backside didn’t come from my sayingfuck, let alone from the unfair thing about wetting my diaper when I didn’t have any choice. No, it really felt like this horrible whipping was about all the terrible decisions that had led me here. Dropping out of college, selling drugs for Charlie, the fake IDs I’d helped create, the lies I’d told my parents about where their money was going.
“What?” I gasped, the words shocking me into momentary stillness.
The belt cracked down again, twice in rapid succession, catching the tender underside of my bottom. I howled in agony, my cheeks clenching and unclenching in a desperate attempt to soothe the pain.
“Use this punishment,” Jax said, his voice unnervingly calm as he continued to whip me, “to think about all the things you’ve done wrong.”
The leather bit into my flesh again and again. To my amazement, I found myself actually doing what he suggested. With each burning stroke, I thought about another bad decision, another step on the path that had led me to this moment—lying naked over the pillows on the bed of a man who made me call himDaddy, being punished like a naughty child.
The drugs I’d sold to that freshman girl who’d ended up in the hospital.
Crack!
The money I’d stolen from my roommate’s purse.
Crack!
The professor I’d tried to seduce for a better grade.
Crack!
The parents who’d sacrificed everything for my education, who I’d abandoned without even a goodbye.
Crack!
Tears streamed down my face, but they weren’t just from the physical pain anymore. For the first time in months, I was facing the truth about what I’d become. I had been spiraling downward, making increasingly destructive choices, hurting everyone around me.
“I’m sorry,” I sobbed, the words bursting from somewhere deep inside me. “I’m so sorry for everything.”
“I know you are,” Jax said, pausing the belt. His hand came to rest on my burning bottom, the touch surprisingly gentle. “I know how guilty you must feel about how badly you’ve messed up your life.”
I nodded frantically, my face pressed into the bedding, shoulders shaking with sobs.
