Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

A my

“Girls,” Miss Frieda said, here and now in the training room, “think of this session as your final examination.”

I frowned, looking around at my fellow bad girls, all of us nude before the woman who called herself our head trainer. I thought back on the crash course we had undergone at the place we’d been told to call the Bad Girls Facility or just the Facility .

We’d learned that the Facility was attached to something called the Institute , where according to Miss Frieda, well-behaved young women got trained as submissive concubines for wealthy, dominant men and women. We, on the other hand, would undergo a different kind of training, because our crimes had demonstrated that we had a different set of needs.

“The past seventy-two hours have hopefully shown you,” Miss Frieda said as she walked around the circle of naked, kneeling girls, “that you should try to conduct yourself with obedience and decorum at the Facility and in the guesthouse, when a daddy decides to bring you there.”

The guesthouse. Like a hotel, but apparently infinitely more luxurious. Like, so luxurious that the wealthy men who stayed there got to come to the Facility and discipline, and use, their bad girls there—or they could bring their bad girls back to their rooms and do as they pleased with them there. In the privacy and opulence of a space fully equipped for sexual domination, these billionaires could punish and fuck us to their hearts’ content.

“Being a good girl for your daddies,” the woman in the white babydoll nightgown and tiny, lacy panties said, “will not spare your pretty bottom completely, of course. But it will certainly ensure that you are allowed to climax more often—as well as hastening your rehabilitation.”

Miss Frieda had already said these things several times. She had reinforced them with the punishment strap she currently held in her right hand, a long, stiff piece of leather attached to a polished wooden handle. I shuddered as I caught sight of it again, remembering the whipping she had given me yesterday, simply for stepping out of line as the seven of us had made our way back from the aesthetician’s room, where all our body hair had been waxed painfully away.

I hadn’t been able to stop looking at my arms and legs, and furtively running my fingers over them. I could hardly believe how smooth I felt, and the sheer ambiguity of the sensation had confused me so much that I had fallen out of step with our little column of nude bad girls.

The next thing I had known, Miss Frieda, astonishingly strong for her size, had put me up against the wall with her arm around my waist and given me six terrible lashes with the strap. Thinking about it here in the circle, I couldn’t help squirming at the reawakening soreness from my punishment, though Miss Frieda had whipped one of my fellow inmates just for squirming, on our first day at the Facility.

“Make up your mind to serve your daddies as obediently as you can,” Miss Frieda said. “And as a test of your readiness to do that, you’re going to obey me now, and you’re going to bend over and start to masturbate this instant.”

In her left hand she had her handheld, and I knew from experience that on it she could see the data feed from the sensors between all our legs. She raised it up to call our attention to it.

“I want to see all these lines going up, girls, but don’t forget that you may not orgasm.”

My heart raced as I processed Miss Frieda’s command. Bend over and masturbate? In front of everyone? I glanced around the circle, seeing the same mix of shock and reluctance on the other girls’ faces.

“Now, girls,” Miss Frieda said sharply, her green eyes flashing. “I won’t tell you again.”

Slowly, hesitantly, we began to move. I turned, placing my hands on the soft mat beneath me, my bottom raised in the air. The position left me feeling horribly exposed, my freshly waxed pussy on display for the beefy, uniformed guard who waited at the door of this training room, if he cared to glance over.

“Eyes open,” Miss Frieda reminded us. “I want you looking at each other.”

I forced myself to lift my gaze, immediately locking eyes with Jenna across the circle. Her cheeks were flushed pink, her lower lip caught between her teeth. To my right, I could see Zoe, her hand already moving between her legs.

Taking a deep breath, I slid my own hand down my belly. My fingers found my clit, and I had to bite back a gasp at how sensitive it felt. Three days of constant arousal and denial had left me on a hair trigger.

“That’s it,” Miss Frieda murmured, her heels clicking on the floor as she began to circle us. “Show me how eager you are to please your future daddies.”

As I circled my clit with trembling fingers, I tried to focus on anything but the growing warmth between my legs. The smooth mat beneath my knees. The whir of the air conditioning. The quiet gasps and whimpers of the other girls around me.

But it was impossible to ignore the sensations coursing through my body. Every brush of my fingertips sent sparks of pleasure radiating outward. My nipples tightened into hard peaks, and I could feel wetness gathering between my thighs.

Miss Frieda’s heels paced around our circle, the sharp sound punctuated by the occasional beep from her handheld device. My eyes darted nervously between her stern face and the other girls’ flushed expressions.

To my left, Megan’s hips had begun to rock subtly against her hand. Her eyes were half-closed, lips parted as her breathing quickened. Across from me, Jenna’s fingers moved in quick, desperate circles.

“Remember, girls,” Miss Frieda’s voice cut through the tension, “you are not to climax. This exercise is about control and obedience.”

I bit my lip hard, trying to slow my movements. But my body seemed to have a mind of its own, chasing the pleasure that had been denied for days.

Suddenly, Miss Frieda’s pace quickened. She strode purposefully toward Zoe, whose face was contorted in a grimace of desperate concentration.

“Zoe!” Miss Frieda’s sharp voice cracked like a whip. “Hands off. Now.”

Zoe’s eyes flew open, a whimper escaping her lips as she reluctantly pulled her hand away from her glistening sex. Miss Frieda loomed over her, the punishment strap dangling ominously from her grip.

“Bend all the way over,” Miss Frieda commanded. “Present that naughty bottom of yours. The rest of you, watch carefully.”

With trembling limbs, Zoe complied, her flushed cheeks and heaving breasts betraying her arousal. Miss Frieda wasted no time. The strap whistled through the air, landing with a resounding crack against Zoe’s upturned backside.

Zoe yelped, her body jerking forward. But Miss Frieda was relentless, raining down blow after stinging blow. The room filled with the sharp sounds of leather meeting flesh and Zoe’s increasingly desperate cries.

“This is what happens to bad girls who can’t control themselves,” Miss Frieda lectured, punctuating her words with vicious strikes. “You will learn discipline, Zoe, one way or another.”

I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the scene unfolding before me. My fingers still moved between my legs, my body responding traitorously to the sight of Zoe’s punishment. The way her flesh reddened under Miss Frieda’s strap, the involuntary twitching of her little bottom… it aroused me so much that my own control gave way.

My eyes remained fixed on Zoe’s punished bottom as Miss Frieda continued her merciless assault. Each crack of the strap sent a jolt through my body, and I found my fingers moving faster against my clit. The sight of Zoe’s flesh rippling with each impact, the way her hips jerked involuntarily, the desperate whimpers escaping her lips—it all combined into a dizzying mixture of shame and arousal that flooded my senses.

I could feel the heat building between my legs, my pussy clenching and unclenching as I teetered on the edge of release. My breath came in short, sharp gasps, and I had to bite my lip to keep from moaning out loud. The room seemed to fade away until all I could focus on was the rhythmic slap of leather on skin and the pulsing need in my core.

Dimly, I was aware of the other girls around me, their own fingers working frantically between their legs as they watched Zoe’s punishment. The air was thick with the scent of arousal and the sound of muffled whimpers and gasps.

Just as I felt the first tremors of an impending orgasm begin to ripple through me, a sharp voice cut through my haze of pleasure.

“Amy!” Miss Frieda barked. “Hands off. Now.”

I froze, my fingers still pressed against my throbbing clit. Miss Frieda’s heels clicked rapidly across the floor as she approached me, her green eyes flashing with anger. I reluctantly pulled my hand away from my aching sex, my body trembling with unfulfilled need.

“You naughty, disobedient girl,” Miss Frieda hissed, raising the strap. “I’ll teach you to control yourself.”

The first strike landed with a resounding crack, the leather biting into the soft flesh of my bottom. I cried out, my back arching as the pain blossomed across my skin. Miss Frieda didn’t pause, bringing the strap down again and again in a merciless rhythm.

Each lash sent shockwaves through my body, the sting radiating outward from the point of impact. My fingers clawed at the mat beneath me as I struggled to stay in position, my hips jerking involuntarily with each strike.

“You… must… learn… to follow… simple… instructions,” Miss Frieda thundered, delivering a lash with every word. The strap seemed to find every sensitive spot, from the roundest part of my cheeks to the tender skin where my thighs met my bottom.

Tears streamed down my face as the punishment continued, my cries echoing off the walls of the training room. The other girls watched in horrified fascination, their own hands moving frantically between their legs as they witnessed my chastisement.

Just when I thought I couldn’t take anymore and my bottom felt like it was on fire and my throat was raw from screaming, Miss Frieda finally stepped back. I collapsed onto the mat, my body heaving with sobs.

“Let that be a lesson to all of you,” Miss Frieda said coldly, her gaze sweeping over the circle of trembling girls. “Disobedience will not be tolerated.”

She looked over at the guard by the door. My heart flipped as she addressed him with utterly unexpected words.

“Send in the daddies, please.”

The door opened with a soft click, and seven imposing figures strode into the room. We all gasped, the other bad girls and I, our eyes widening at the sight before them. The training daddies were dressed only in sleek black pants, but what drew my gaze was the strategic cutout that left each man’s hard, jutting cock on full display.

My breath caught in my throat as I took in the impressive physiques of the men circling behind us. Broad shoulders, chiseled abs, strong arms—each daddy looked like he could snap me in half without breaking a sweat. The air in the room seemed to thicken, heavy with the mingled scents of arousal and anticipation.

I couldn’t see the daddy who positioned himself behind me, but I could feel the heat radiating from his body. My skin prickled with goosebumps, hypersensitive after my recent punishment. When his large hands gripped my hips, I couldn’t suppress a whimper of need.

Without conscious thought, I arched my back, presenting my freshly waxed pussy. I was beyond shame now, beyond pride or defiance. There was only the aching emptiness between my legs and the promise of fullness mere inches away.

“Please,” I heard myself whisper, my voice barely audible to my own ears. “Please, Daddy.”