Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

A my

“Jenna… and Amy.”

Miss Frieda’s voice cut through the frenetic soundtrack of the action movie on in the rec room, without any of us really paying attention to it. I turned from the picture puzzle of a sunset to see our trainer standing in the doorway. Jenna had looked over from her conversation with another girl on the couch, whose name I couldn’t remember.

“Come here,” Miss Frieda ordered.

Jenna and I looked at each other. For the first time in a few hours, the fact that we were all naked all of the time brought a blush to my face, and I saw a similar one appear on Jenna’s, as we both clearly wondered what Miss Frieda had come to tell us. I saw the same hesitation in Jenna’s step that I felt in my own as we made our way to stand before the beautiful but severe woman in her white babydoll nightgown.

“You two have been requested in the guesthouse this evening,” she told us, her tone matter-of-fact and authoritative.

“Requested?” Jenna asked. “For…?”

She glanced over at me, as if I might have something to offer, but all I could do was swallow hard because requested in the guesthouse must mean something shameful, or painful… or both.

Miss Frieda fixed Jenna with an icy look.

“For one or more daddies’ pleasure, Jenna. That’s all you need to know.”

My heart raced as we followed Miss Frieda out of the rec room and across the manicured grounds toward the guesthouse. The sun was just beginning to set, casting long shadows across the lawn and bathing everything in a warm golden glow.

Despite the beauty of the evening, I couldn’t shake the nervous flutter in my stomach. The vague memory of having gotten used to being naked all the time seemed absurd to me; I was biting my lip so hard as I thought of how I must look, how degraded, that I tasted blood.

I glanced over at Jenna, seeing my own apprehension mirrored in her eyes. We walked in silence, our bare feet padding softly on the gravel path. The cool evening air raised goosebumps on my bare skin, making me acutely aware of my vulnerability.

As we approached the imposing structure of the guesthouse, its grand facade looming before us, I felt a confusing mix of emotions. Fear and uncertainty warred with an undeniable thrill of excitement. What awaited us beyond those ornate double doors? Which daddies had requested our presence? Would Daddy Daniel be among them?

Miss Frieda led us through the opulent lobby, past luxurious velvet sofas and glittering chandeliers. My eyes darted nervously around, taking in the luxurious surroundings. Everything screamed wealth and power, from the marble floors to the priceless artwork adorning the walls. To be nude in such a place made me feel as much like a bad girl as getting fucked in the ass against the cell block wall had done.

As we followed Miss Frieda down the lovely hallway, my heart pounded in my chest. The thick carpet muffled our footsteps, creating an eerie silence broken only by the soft rustle of Miss Frieda’s nightgown. The air felt heavy with anticipation, scented with a heady mixture of leather and expensive cologne.

We turned a corner, and I felt my breath catch in my throat. Before us stood an imposing set of double doors, carved from rich mahogany. Above them, in elegant gold script, I read the words Hall of Pleasure . A shiver ran down my spine at the implications of that name.

Miss Frieda pushed open the doors, revealing a room that seemed to embody both decadence and depravity. The space was vast, with high ceilings adorned with intricate frescoes depicting scenes of mythological debauchery. Chandeliers dripped with crystals, casting a warm, intimate glow over the room.

Big leather-upholstered chairs were scattered throughout, their deep burgundy set off by the cream-colored walls. Padded benches, fitted with leather restraints and obviously adjustable to suit their users, stood out prominently. Various implements hung on the walls—paddles, floggers, and other devices whose purpose I could only imagine.

As we stepped inside, the thick carpet became even more luxurious and soft. The temperature dropped slightly, causing goosebumps to rise on my bare skin again.

Miss Frieda strode purposefully to an ornate armoire in the corner of the room, its dark wood gleaming in the soft light. She pulled open the doors, revealing an array of exquisite lingerie in every color imaginable. Her hands moved deftly through the delicate fabrics, finally selecting two teddies made in the same lacy pattern.

“Here,” she said, turning back to us with the garments draped over her arm. “Put these on.”

I reached out with trembling fingers to take the teddy she offered me. The material was impossibly soft, a deep burgundy lace that seemed to shimmer in the low light. Tiny crystals adorned the cups, catching the light and sparkling with every movement.

Beside me, Jenna received an identical piece in a rich emerald green that complemented her fair skin and blonde hair beautifully. We exchanged nervous glances before carefully stepping into the lingerie.

The lace felt cool against my skin as I pulled the teddy up over my hips. It hugged my curves perfectly, as if it had been tailored specifically for my body. The cups lifted and shaped my breasts, presenting them like ripe fruit ready to be plucked.

As I adjusted the straps over my shoulders, I became acutely aware of the thong back. The delicate strip of lace nestled between my ass cheeks, a constant reminder of my exposure. I couldn’t suppress a whimper as the fabric brushed against my still-tender flesh, recalling Daddy Daniel’s rough use of my virgin anus.

Not virgin anymore , I thought with a whole-body shiver so ambiguous that it made me feel dizzy for a moment.

Miss Frieda’s sharp voice cut through the heavy silence. “Alright, girls. Over there.” She pointed to a pair of throne-like chairs positioned side by side at the far end of the room. The chairs were massive, their dark wood frames intricately carved in shapes I could see even at a distance were meant to depict the same implements of discipline that hung on the room’s walls. Thick cushions, covered in old leather, promised both comfort and decadence for whoever would occupy them.

“Kneel,” Miss Frieda commanded, her tone full of stern authority. “One in front of each chair.”

My heart pounding, I moved toward the chairs, my feet sinking into the deep pile of the carpet. The teddy clung to my curves, the lace catching slightly on my skin with each step. As I lowered myself to my knees before the left-hand chair, I felt the thong back slide deeper between my ass cheeks, eliciting a soft gasp.

Jenna took her place in front of the other chair, her movements mirroring my own. We shared a quick, anxious glance before fixing our gazes forward, our postures instinctively submissive.

Miss Frieda’s heels made no sound as she circled us, her critical eye taking in every detail of our presentation. “Backs straight,” she barked. “Shoulders back, chests out. Present yourselves properly for your daddies.”

We hurried to comply, arching our spines and thrusting our breasts forward. Our trainer circled us one final time, her critical gaze raking over our kneeling forms.

“Remember,” she said, her voice low and dangerous, “you are to remain exactly as you are until your daddies arrive. Any movement, any sound, and you’ll regret it deeply.”

With that ominous warning, she turned and strode toward the ornate double doors. The whisper of her nightgown and the staccato rhythm of her heels were the only sounds in the cavernous room. As she reached the threshold, Miss Frieda paused, glancing back over her shoulder. “Your daddies for the evening will be here shortly to use you as they see fit. I suggest you prepare yourselves, girls.”

The heavy doors closed behind her with a gentle thud that seemed to reverberate through my very bones. In the sudden silence, I became acutely aware of every sensation—the soft pile beneath my knees, the delicate lace of the teddy clinging to my curves, the slight ache in my shoulders as I held the proper posture.

For several long moments, Jenna and I remained perfectly still, our breathing shallow and controlled. The air in the room felt thick with anticipation, heavy with the scent of leather and polished wood. I could hear the ticking of an unseen clock, each second stretching into eternity as we waited.

Finally, Jenna broke the silence with a whisper.

“I don’t understand what the fuck this is supposed to be doing for our rehabilitation,” she breathed, her voice barely audible even in the hushed room.

I turned my head slightly, catching Jenna’s eye. Her cheeks were flushed a delicate pink, the blush spreading down her neck and across her chest. The emerald lace of her teddy seemed to make the color even more vibrant, like a rose blooming against verdant leaves.

“I don’t either,” I murmured back, but even as the words left my lips, I felt a twinge of doubt. Deep down, in a place I was barely willing to acknowledge, I knew that wasn’t entirely true.

And looking at Jenna—seeing the way her nipples had hardened beneath the delicate fabric, noticing how she shifted ever so slightly, pressing her thighs together—I could tell she understood too. Just like me, her body was betraying her, responding to the anticipation and the inherent, submissive eroticism of our situation.

I felt heat rising in my own cheeks, spreading across my face and down my neck. The blush seemed to ignite every nerve ending, making me hyper-aware of the lace against my skin, the cool air on my exposed flesh, the slight ache in my knees from so much kneeling.

Unable to maintain eye contact with Jenna as the reality of our shared understanding settled over us, my gaze dropped. We were supposed to be repulsed, to resist this degradation. Instead, our bodies hummed with a shameful anticipation.

The sound of approaching footsteps from the hallway made us both snap back to attention, eyes forward and backs straight. My heart beat faster as the doors swung open, revealing two imposing figures silhouetted against the brighter light of the corridor.

As they stepped into the room, I felt my breath catch in my throat. Daddy Daniel strode in first, his tall frame exuding an aura of effortless dominance. He wore only a black silk robe, left open to reveal his muscular chest and the tantalizing trail of hair leading down to where the robe’s tie hung loosely at his waist. His gorgeous blue eyes locked onto me immediately, a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Behind him came another man, equally tall but with a leaner build. His dark hair was meticulously styled, and his gray eyes held a predatory glint as they roved over Jenna’s kneeling form. This must be Daddy Otto, I realized, the man who had spanked and fucked Zoe in her cell. I hadn’t gotten a look at him before.

So… who was here for me, and who was here for Jenna… or… I swallowed hard. Were they both here for both of us, or…

My mind filled with terrible, helplessly arousing fantasies that seemed to grow lewder and more shameful the more I tried to push them back.

The two men approached slowly, their bare feet quiet on the carpet. I kept my eyes lowered respectfully, but I thought I could feel the weight of Daddy Daniel’s stare as he crossed the room toward us.

As Daddy Daniel and Daddy Otto approached, I felt my heart racing in my chest. I continued to gaze at the floor but I could sense their powerful presence looming over us.

I felt relief—yes, definitely relief—as Daddy Otto moved to stand in front of Jenna while Daddy Daniel positioned himself before me.

Relief, complete and total… not… not…

Disappointment. Not that—not a bit of letdown that I wasn’t going to be made to serve yet another handsome, dominant man.

I heard Daddy Otto’s deep voice rumble out an order. “Open my robe and start sucking my cock, girl. Keep your eyes down.”

From the corner of my eye, I saw Jenna’s trembling hands reach up to untie Daddy Otto’s robe. The soft rustle of silk was followed by a sharp intake of breath—whether from Jenna or Daddy Otto, I couldn’t tell.

Meanwhile, Daddy Daniel gazed down at me, a slight smile playing on his lips. “Hello, Amy,” he said softly. “How was your day?”

I looked up, meeting his cool blue eyes. In that moment, I felt an overwhelming rush of emotions—shame at my current position, fear of what was to come, but also an undeniable thrill at being in his presence again. The memory of our earlier encounter sent a jolt of arousal through me.

As I opened my mouth to respond, a surge of defiance rose in my chest. It felt too good, too right to kneel in front of a billionaire. I refused to accept that that was somehow who I was, now. Before I could stop myself, words spilled out.

“What the fuck do you care?”