Louisa
The ride back with the other bad girls—not ‘back’ for me, of course, but it definitely felt that way thanks to the company—opened my eyes dramatically, where the Bad Girls Program was concerned. I hadn’t really understood at all when Jax had told me that I had somehow been enrolled in the program, and that his degrading training of me as his little girl somehow represented part of its process.
The moods of the other bad girls on the bus seemed to run from thoughtful to elated after the dramatic operation. Two of them, seated one row in front of me, were talking about how good it felt to use their training from their daddies and take down the kind of men who had abused them before they got sent to the Bad Girls facility.
“The look on that dealer’s face when I flipped him,” one, whose name I thought was Heather, was saying with a toss of her honey-blonde hair over her shoulder. “God, I’ve been waitingtwo years to do something like that to a man who thinks he can just use me.”
The other one—Nadja, I thought—nodded, a fierce light in her eyes. “My guy was the same type who got me into trouble in the first place. Pushing me to take more and more drugs until I couldn’t think straight enough to say no to anything.”
I listened, trying to understand this strange world I’d stumbled into. These girls weren’t victims—at least not anymore. They seemed proud, empowered even, by what they’d done tonight.
“My daddy says if the board reviews go well tomorrow, we’ll both get paroled,” Heather continued, in an excited whisper. “He promised me an apartment in the city and a job at one of the Selecta subsidiaries.”
“Mine too,” Nadja replied, squeezing Heather’s hand. “He said with this operation on my record, I’m practically guaranteed early release. Maybe we could be roommates?”
They both turned suddenly, seeming to notice me for the first time.
“Hey, new girl,” Heather said, studying me with open curiosity. “What’s your story? How’d you get to play the starring role up on stage?”
I felt my face flush hot. I didn’t want to say anything that might endanger Jax’s cover, whatever that really was. At this point, I wasn’t even sure who was undercover and who wasn’t.
“I think my daddy—one of the crime bosses who just got arrested—must have heard about what happens at the Bad Girls Facility,” I said carefully. “I think he wanted to try it for himself.”
Nadja’s eyebrows shot up. “Seriously? That’s wild. So you weren’t even in the program before tonight?”
I shook my head, making up the story as I went along. “No. I was just… his. But then I got a secret message before the operation started, telling me exactly what to yell to signal everyone.”
“From who?” Heather asked, leaning closer.
“I don’t know,” I lied. “It just appeared on a note in my bathroom.”
The two girls exchanged glances, something unspoken passing between them.
“So,” Nadja said, lowering her voice as she leaned over the back of her seat, “did your daddy put you in diapers? And fuck your ass? Did he share you with other daddies?”
I felt my face burn even hotter, shame and something else—pride?—coursing through me as I nodded, my cheeks aflame. “Yes,” I whispered, staring down at my hands. “He… he did all those things. He put me in diapers when I was bad, and special panties with a button in the back when I was good. He taught me that bad girls only get fucked with a sore bottom.” The words tumbled out, each one making me squirm with shame and that strange pride. “He shared me with his bodyguards—Rudy and Mateo. They became my other daddies.”
The girls nodded, their expressions a mix of understanding and something like respect.
“He taught me how to take his cock in my mouth and my bottom,” I continued in a near whisper. Something in me wanted desperately to stop, but the idea of sharing the humiliating details, to compare notes with fellow bad girls,seemed more important. “He showed me how to present myself for punishment, how to arch my back and raise my bottom for his belt.”
“And did he teach you other things?” Heather asked, her voice gentler now. “Did your daddy teach you to acknowledge your needs? To understand what you really want? To take responsibility for your actions?”
The question hit me like a physical blow. My eyes filled with tears that spilled over before I could stop them. “Yes,” I choked out, the full weight of realization crashing down on me. “He taught me that I need structure, that I need… correction. That running away from consequences only makes things worse.”
A sob escaped my throat. “And now I’ll never see him again. Daddy Pete said… he said probably not.”
The thought of never feeling Jax’s huge hands on my body again—never hearing his deep voice calling me his Little Lulu, never experiencing that strange mix of fear and safety I felt in his presence—tore something open inside me. The tears flowed freely now, my shoulders shaking with the force of my grief.
Heather reached across the seat, taking my hand in hers. “Hey, it’ll be okay. The parole board understands girls like us. They know what we need.”
“That’s right,” Nadja added, her voice surprisingly kind. “They’ll help you find another daddy. Someone who can give you what you need while you transition back to regular life.”
“But I don’t want another daddy,” I whispered. “I want Jax.”
“I felt that way too,” Heather said, squeezing my hand. “My first training daddy got transferred to another facility. But my newone is even better. He understands me in ways the first one never did.”
Before I could respond, the bus slowed, turning through a set of high gates topped with razor wire. Beyond them loomed a modern-looking facility—all glass and steel, but unmistakably a prison despite its sleek design. The sign above the entrance read “Selecta Corrections: Nonviolent Offenders Rehabilitation Facility.”
