My stomach clenched with fresh anxiety as the bus pulled to a stop in a well-lit courtyard. Uniformed guards got onto the bus, and led the girls off it and into the facility. I followed at the back, clutching the blanket around my shoulders as we entered through a steel door into what looked like a processing area. The other girls seemed to know the routine, forming a neat line along a yellow stripe painted on the floor.
Daddy Pete strode in behind us, clipboard in hand. He surveyed the line of girls, then pointed directly at me.
“Louisa Bell, you’ll stand at the back of the line,” he instructed, his weathered face impossible to read. “The rest of you, well done tonight. Your daddies will be informed of your performance.”
A visible ripple of relief passed through the girls. Several of them straightened their shoulders, pride evident in their postures despite their disheveled appearance.
Daddy Pete moved to the front of the line and gestured for the first girl to follow him. One by one, he led them through a set of heavy doors and into the main facility. When my turn finally came, I followed him down a long corridor lined with cells—some with solid doors, others with bars like traditional prison cells.
The facility was surprisingly quiet at first, until we turned down another hallway. Then I heard it—the unmistakable sound of a paddle connecting with bare skin, followed by a high-pitched yelp that dissolved into a moan. From another direction came rhythmic grunting and the wet slap of flesh against flesh.
My face burned as we passed a cell with its door wide open. Inside, a young woman was on her hands and knees on a narrow bed while three men—all wearing uniforms with ‘Daddy’ embroidered on the breast pocket—took turns with her. One thrust into her from behind, another used her mouth, while the third waited his turn, stroking himself as he watched. The girl’s eyes were glazed, her expression a strange mixture of submission and ecstasy.
A few doors down, another open cell revealed a different scene—a girl bent over a small desk while three different daddies took turns paddling her upturned bottom. With each stroke, she counted aloud, her voice shaking: “Nineteen, thank you, Daddy… Twenty, thank you, Daddy…”
My heart raced as we continued past more cells, some occupied, some empty. From one I heard, distinctly, a moan that made my face go hot as I remembered making a nearly identical sound: a sobbing noise of helpless pleasure long after the point of satiety… and orgasm forced from a nearly spent body. I couldn’t help but wonder what determined which girls received ‘attention’ from the daddies and which didn’t, and whether others, like the girl I’d just passed, got a different sort of treatment—and why.
Finally Daddy Pete led me to a cell at the very end of the corridor. It was empty—just a narrow bed with pink sheets, a small desk with a chair, and a toilet partially screened by a low wall. Exactly like the ones we’d passed, except for the absence of any daddies or implements of discipline.
“This is where you’ll spend the night,” Daddy Pete said, his voice neutral as he unlocked the door. “Tomorrow morning, like I told you, the parole board will evaluate your case.”
I stepped inside, still clutching the blanket around my shoulders. I sat down on the bed, looking up at Daddy Pete. His weathered face had a strange gentleness to it that I hadn’t expected from a man who ran a facility like this. The blanket still wrapped around my shoulders felt like meager protection against the vulnerability of my situation.
“Will…” I began, my voice catching as I tried to form the question. “Will any daddies be coming to my cell tonight?” The words came out tinged with both fear and a shameful hint of excitement that I couldn’t quite hide.
Daddy Pete’s expression softened further. “No, sweetheart, you’ve earned your rest. You should be very proud of what you did tonight.”
Something about his kindness and the validation of my efforts made me feel strangely bold. I swallowed hard, hardly believing what I was about to ask.
“Am I… am I allowed to…” I couldn’t quite look him in the eye as I forced the words out. “Am I allowed to masturbate?”
To my surprise, Daddy Pete smiled with understanding rather than disapproval. His eyes crinkled at the corners in a way thatreminded me of a benevolent grandfather rather than a strict warden.
“Tonight, you’re allowed to play with yourself and to come,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact, but kind. “I think you’ve earned that privilege.”
He stepped further into the cell, moving to the wall beside my bed. His fingers pressed against what looked like an ordinary panel of the wall, but it slid open to reveal a small cupboard I hadn’t noticed before. From inside, he withdrew a pink wand vibrator—sleek and modern, with multiple settings visible on its handle.
“Here,” he said, handing it to me. The vibrator felt heavy in my palm, its surface smooth and cool against my skin.
Before I could think of what to say, Daddy Pete leaned down and wrapped his arms around me in a brief, but genuine hug. The gesture was so unexpected, so paternal, that tears sprang to my eyes.
“Get some rest, Louisa,” he said as he stepped back. “If you do play with your little pussy, it should help settle you down. Tomorrow will be a big day for you.”
With that, he left the cell, the lock clicking into place behind him. I sat motionless on the bed, the vibrator in one hand, the other still clutching the blanket around my shoulders.
Alone now, I set the blanket aside and examined the vibrator more closely. It was clearly expensive, with a silicone head and what looked like at least ten different intensity settings. The thought of using it sent a flush of heat through my body, despite everything I’d already experienced tonight.
I knew I was being watched. The small camera in the upper corner of the cell wasn’t exactly hidden, its red light blinking steadily in the dimness. But instead of making me feel self-conscious, the knowledge that unknown eyes might be observing me only intensified the warmth spreading between my legs.
What would Jax think if he could see me?
CHAPTER 25
Jax
I watched Louisa in her cell from the command center of Selecta’s criminal law enforcement unit. I gazed intently at the monitor as my little girl sat on the edge of the cell bed, turning the pink vibrator over in her hands. Her expression shifted from curiosity to something darker, more primal. She glanced up at the camera, and for a moment I could have sworn she was looking directly at me.
She set the vibrator aside and reached for the pillow, placing it deliberately in the center of the narrow bed. My breath caught as she positioned herself over it, bottom raised high, exactly as I’d taught her. The perfect position for punishment.
