Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

A my

The daddies stepped back and headed toward the door, their swaying cocks bringing a helpless surge of heat to my cheeks. They talked quietly, chuckling among themselves, clearly comparing notes about the pleasures our desperate pussies had provided. As the daddies exited the training room, I felt my eyes go wide; the dark-skinned guard in the corner had begun to walk toward us with a sauntering stride that seemed to announce his authority. In his hand he held a punishment strap just like Miss Frieda’s.

The huge man’s presence seemed to fill the space, commanding attention with each purposeful step. The fluorescent lights gleamed off his shaved head and highlighted the strong lines of his jaw and cheekbones. His crisp guard uniform stretched taut across his broad shoulders and muscular chest.

I could see the leather of the strap, supple and worn from frequent use. My eyes fixated on it, remembering the sting of Miss Frieda’s strikes, and I shivered involuntarily.

He came to a stop at the edge of our circle, his deep brown eyes scanning over our naked, trembling forms. When he spoke, his voice was a rich baritone that seemed to resonate in my chest.

“Ladies, I’m Mr. Samuel,” he announced, his voice making clear that he would accept no nonsense from any of us. “You will address me as such and show me the utmost respect. Failure to do so will result in a whipping you won’t soon forget.”

He paused, letting his words sink in. The strap in his hand swayed slightly, a silent threat.

“Stand up,” he ordered sharply.

We scrambled to obey, our legs shaky from kneeling for so long. I felt acutely aware of my nakedness, of the cum drying on my back, of the wetness still coating my inner thighs.

Mr. Samuel’s imposing presence loomed over us as we stood trembling before him. “Line up,” he barked, his deep voice echoing off the walls of the training room. We hurried to comply, forming a shaky line of naked, quivering flesh.

“Follow me,” he commanded, turning on his heel and striding toward the door. We fell into step behind him, our bare feet padding softly on the cold tile floor.

As we exited the training room and entered the bare hallway beyond, a chill ran down my spine. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting harsh shadows that seemed to dance and flicker with each step we took. The air was cool against my skin, raising goosebumps across my flesh and making my nipples tighten into hard peaks.

My mind raced as we walked, fear and uncertainty swirling in my gut. Where was he taking us? What new torments awaited us? I thought back to our first three nights at the Facility, when we had slept naked in the austere dormitory. At the time, I had thought that felt like punishment—the hard narrow beds, the thin scratchy blankets, the complete lack of privacy as we lay exposed under the watchful eyes of the night guards.

Now, as Mr. Samuel led us deeper into the bowels of the Facility, I realized how naive I had been. That dormitory now seemed like a luxury compared to whatever awaited us.

We turned a corner, and I felt my stomach drop. Before us stretched a long hallway lined with metal doors, each bearing a small barred window. The cell block.

Mr. Samuel stopped at the first door and unlocked it with a heavy key from his belt. “Inside,” he ordered, gesturing to Zoe. She hesitated for just a moment before shuffling into the tiny space. The clang of the door shutting behind her seemed to reverberate through my very bones.

One by one, Mr. Samuel locked us away in our cells. When my turn came, I stepped into the cramped space, my eyes adjusting to the dim light. A narrow metal cot jutted from one wall, a thin mattress barely cushioning the hard surface. In the corner stood a stainless steel toilet and sink combo, fully exposed with no privacy.

The door slammed shut behind me, the sound final and terrifying. I turned to see Mr. Samuel’s stern face through the small barred window.

“Listen up, ladies,” his deep voice boomed down the corridor. “After the fucking you just got in the training room, you need to urinate to avoid infection. No exceptions. Get on your potties and go, right now.”

My cheeks burned as I turned toward the metal thing in the corner of my cell. The cold steel of the combo unit gleamed dully in the dim light, reminding me once again of my complete lack of privacy. I hesitated, my bladder aching, but my mind rebelling against the humiliation of relieving myself under Mr. Samuel’s watchful eye.

“Come on, girls,” Mr. Samuel’s deep voice echoed down the hallway. “I want to hear those pretty little streams hitting the metal. Don’t be shy now.”

I could hear the shuffling and whimpers from the other cells as my fellow inmates struggled with the same mortification. Closing my eyes, I lowered myself onto the frigid metal seat, my bare skin prickling at the contact. I tried to relax, to let go, but my body seemed frozen with shame.

“Having trouble there, Amy?” Mr. Samuel’s voice suddenly came from right outside my cell. I opened my eyes to see him peering in through the barred window, his gaze intense and unwavering. “You better start peeing soon, or you’ll be earning yourself a whipping.”

His threat sent a jolt of fear through me, and suddenly my bladder released. The sound of my urine hitting the steel seemed deafening in the small space, and I couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped my lips.

“That’s it, good girl,” Mr. Samuel praised, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. “Look at you, blushing so prettily while you pee.”

I could see his dark eyes raking over my flushed form through the little window as I continued to relieve myself, whimpering at the sensations between my thighs and the sound of my stream splashing noisily against the metal.

“My, my,” he murmured, his deep voice sending shivers down my spine. “You have no idea how hard those pretty blushes make my cock, little one. The way that crimson spreads across your cheeks, down your neck, painting those perky breasts… it’s a sight to behold.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself to disappear, but his words continued to wash over me. “There’s something so exquisite about watching a girl pee submissively on command,” he continued, his tone rich with satisfaction. “The way you struggle against it, the shame in your eyes, but your body obeys anyway. It’s a beautiful thing, Amy. A reminder of just how much control your daddies have over you.”

To my horror, I felt a fresh wave of heat bloom between my legs, my still-sensitized clit throbbing with unwanted arousal. How could this be happening? How could my body betray me like this, responding to such utter degradation?

“Oh, sweetheart,” Mr. Samuel chuckled, as if reading my thoughts. “I can see the conflict in those big brown eyes of yours. You’re wondering how you could possibly be turned on by this, aren’t you? But your body knows what it needs, even if your mind is still catching up.”

I bit my lip hard, trying to deny it all. At last the enormous guard moved on, and I heard him commenting on Jenna’s hygiene, telling her to wipe thoroughly.

What is this place doing to me? I wondered, as I stood up, and the ache in my backside and between my thighs brought a terrible, helpless twinge of need. For a moment I had to clench my fists and hold them in front of me, looking at them sternly, just to keep from putting one of my hands down there, where the discomfort should have meant I didn’t have the slightest desire to touch myself.

I sat down gingerly on the thin foam mattress that covered the narrow bed. I whimpered at the sensation, and I put my hands firmly on my knees.

What happens now? I wondered desperately.

Nothing happened, for two days. Sure, they fed us; Mr. Samuel or the other enormous, strap-wielding guard, a hulking Latino named Mr. Juan, led us to the cafeteria. The food wasn’t terrible, but it was definitely basic. Extremely nutritious though; more veggies than I’d ever eaten in my life.

They let us watch videos in the rec room and exercise in the yard. I almost got used to being naked all the time. Rather to my surprise, no one got whipped; the marks on all our backsides, which I couldn’t help sneaking mortifyingly heat-inducing peeks at, faded away. None of us seemed to have any desire to act out, or even to step out of line on the way to and from the showers or the cafeteria.

On the third day, though, the voice that woke us up on the cell block wasn’t Mr. Samuel’s or Mr. Juan’s, but Miss Frieda’s.

The sharp click of the terrifying woman’s heels echoed through the cell block, a staccato rhythm that jolted me from my fitful sleep. My eyes flew open, heart racing as I sat up on the thin mattress. The familiar ache between my legs, a constant companion these past days, flared to life once more.

“Rise and shine, bad girls!” Miss Frieda’s voice rang out, crisp and authoritative. “Today is a very special day for you all.”

I scrambled to my feet, standing at attention as I’d been taught. Through the small barred window of my cell, I could catch quick flashes Miss Frieda’s lithe form stalking up and down the corridor, her green eyes sharp and alert despite the early hour.

“Two very important guests have arrived at our Facility,” she continued, her voice carrying easily to every cell. “These gentlemen have paid a considerable sum for the privilege of enjoying our little bad girl program, and they’re eager to inspect the merchandise.”

A shiver ran down my spine at her words. Merchandise. Was that all we were now? My stomach twisted.

The unmistakable cadence of Miss Frieda’s heels kept time with her words as she paced the cell block. “Listen carefully, girls. When your cell doors open, you will step out immediately and assume the inspection position. Back straight, legs spread, hands clasped behind your head. These daddies will want to examine every inch of you.”

My heart raced as I listened, a mixture of fear and unwanted arousal coursing through me. I could hear the gasps of the other girls as Miss Frieda’s words sank in.

“Remember,” she continued, her voice low and menacing, “these men have paid handsomely for the privilege of using you however they see fit. There will be no hesitation, no questioning, no disobedience of any kind. You will submit to their every whim with gratitude and enthusiasm.”

I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly dry. The thought of being inspected, touched, used by strange men sent a confusing mix of revulsion and excitement through my body. I hated myself for the way my nipples hardened and my pussy clenched in anticipation.

“Prepare yourselves, bad girls,” Miss Frieda purred. “Your daddies are waiting.”

There was a moment of tense silence, then Miss Frieda called out, “Mr. Samuel, please open the cell doors.”

I heard the loud buzz of the electronic locks disengaging echo through the cell block. My door swung open with a metallic creak.

The open door seemed to mock me, a gaping maw ready to swallow me whole. My heart pounded in my chest, each beat a thunderous reminder of my predicament. I knew I should move, knew that hesitation would only bring swift and painful punishment. Yet my feet remained rooted to the cold concrete floor of my cell, my muscles frozen in a paralysis of fear and conflicting desires.

My mind raced, a whirlwind of contradictory thoughts and emotions. Part of me wanted to retreat to the furthest corner of the cell, to curl up in a ball and make myself as small as possible. Another part, a traitorous voice that had grown louder with each passing day, urged me to step out and assume the inspection position as ordered. The wetness gathering between my thighs betrayed my body’s eagerness, even as my mind recoiled.

I could hear the shuffling and soft whimpers of the other girls as they emerged from their cells, their bare feet padding on the cold floor. The sound only heightened my anxiety, knowing that with each passing second, I was falling further out of line.

Just as I was about to force my trembling legs into motion, a figure appeared in my doorway, blocking the harsh fluorescent light from the corridor. My breath caught in my throat as I took in the man before me. He cut an imposing figure in his beautifully tailored navy business suit, the crisp lines of the fabric accentuating his broad shoulders and trim waist.

“Amy,” he said, his voice very stern. “I’m Daddy Daniel. Get your naughty backside out here this instant.”

His cool blue eyes locked onto mine, pinning me in place with their intensity. The air seemed to crackle with tension as he filled the doorway, his presence overwhelming in the confined space of my cell. His blond hair was impeccably styled, not a strand out of place, making me self-conscious of my own tangled locks.

“I…” I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry, I…”

But Daddy Daniel didn’t wait for my fumbling apology. In two swift strides, he crossed the small cell and grabbed my upper arm, his grip firm but not painful. “When I give you an order, young lady,” he said, his voice low and dangerous, “I expect immediate compliance.”