Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Emily

I stared at her, my mouth open. I couldn't think of a single word to say. My heart pounded in my chest as I struggled to process the words. A strict daddy's care? The implications made my head spin.

"I… I don't understand," I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper.

Miss Pierce's lips curved into a small, knowing smile. "Oh, I think you do, Emily. Deep down, you know exactly what I mean."

She leaned against her desk, towering over me. "The Bad Girl Program isn't just about punishment. It's about rehabilitation through structure, discipline, and guidance. You'll be assigned a Daddy — a strict authority figure who will take complete control of your life."

My cheeks burned hot with embarrassment, but I couldn't look away from her cool gaze. "But… but that's…"

"Exactly what you need," she finished firmly. "A firm hand to guide you, to teach you right from wrong. To give you the discipline you're so clearly lacking."

To my horror, I felt a flutter of excitement in my belly at her words. I had to tense the muscles of lower body to keep myself from squirming in my seat.

"What if I say that I want a lawyer?" I asked, trying desperately to push away the strange effect the idea of a having a daddy seemed to be having on me. I looked up at Miss Pierce as steadily as I could, doing my best to appear unintimidated — though in truth I had never felt so intimidated in my life.

"Well, Emily," she replied. "That would be your choice. Here in England, unlike in the States these days, Selecta can't stop you from taking this to court. But, on the other hand, lawyers cost money, and your bank has already transferred out the money you embezzled, leaving you — if I'm remembering correctly — with something like a hundred pounds in that account."

"But—" I started. Miss Pierce cut me off.

"Yes, the courts will supply free legal counsel, but frankly they're not going to try very hard given the circumstances. Once Selecta hands this case off to the government, you're going to be in that system, and Selecta will have to do everything it can to make sure you get made an example of."

My jaw had gone slack. Miss Pierce looked at me for a long moment, as if to make certain I had absorbed the true shittiness of my circumstances, and then she continued, with a voice full of false sympathy.

"The choice is yours, Emily. Five years in prison, or six months in the Bad Girl Program. Which will it be?"

I swallowed hard, my mouth dry. "I… I choose the program," I whispered, shame and fear and the bizarre, unwelcome arousal caused by the word Daddy all warring within me.

"All you have to do is sign on the tablet," she said, nodding towards the device where it lay on her desk, looking completely ordinary and innocuous. I bit my lip. I put out my finger and traced my signature in the box.

Miss Pierce nodded, satisfied. She picked up her phone. I watched with trepidation as she spoke quietly into the handset, her words indistinct but her tone unmistakably authoritative. My heart raced, pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat. What had I just agreed to?

Only a moment later, the office door opened. A large man in a dark suit entered, his presence immediately dominating the room. He was easily over six feet tall, broad-shouldered and imposing. His salt-and-pepper hair was cropped short, and his face wore an expression of stern authority.

"Emily," Miss Pierce said, her voice crisp. "This is Victor Hargrove. He will be your Training Daddy for the first part of the program. You will call him Daddy Victor."

I felt myself shrink in my chair as the man — Victor… Daddy Victor — turned his assessing gaze on me. His eyes, a deep brown, seemed to see right into my mind.

"Stand up, young lady," he commanded, his voice deep and serious.

Trembling, I rose to my feet. Daddy Victor circled me slowly, his eyes appraising every inch of me. I felt exposed, vulnerable, like a specimen under a microscope.

"Follow me," he said abruptly. "We're going to the facility now."

"N-now?" I stammered, glancing frantically at Miss Pierce. "But my things?—"

"You won't need them," Daddy Victor cut me off.

I felt my face flush hot with humiliation at being spoken to that way. Like a child: yes, just as Miss Pierce had said. I swallowed back tears.

Only a child would think she could get away with it, right? Would tell herself she had created the money?

Not just a child, either. A bad girl.

Daddy Victor abruptly moved towards the door. I followed him out of Miss Pierce's office. My legs trembled with each step, and I kept my eyes fixed on the floor, unable to meet the curious gazes of my now former coworkers.

To make it much worse, once we had reached the corridor, Daddy Victor gripped my upper arm so firmly I almost cried out. He guided me through the office that way, and out to a waiting van. The vehicle was nondescript, with tinted windows that prevented me from seeing inside. My heart pounded frantically as he opened the rear door.

"Get in," he ordered gruffly.

I hesitated for just a moment, my breath catching in my throat. But Daddy Victor's stern glare made me move. His eyes spoke of consequences, and my now-fading memory of the agreement I had signed in Miss Pierce's office suggested urgently that I should try very hard not find out what those consequences involved. I climbed into the van, finding myself in a small, windowless compartment with a bench seat along one side. The door slammed shut behind me, plunging me into darkness.

The drive seemed to last forever. With no view of the outside world, I lost all sense of time and direction. My mind raced with all the terrifying possibilities the agreement had seemed to intimate. What had I agreed to? What would this "rehabilitation" entail?

Finally, the van came to a stop. I heard doors opening and closing, footsteps approaching. The rear door swung open, flooding the compartment with harsh light. I blinked rapidly, my eyes struggling to adjust.

"Out," came Daddy Victor's curt command.

I stumbled out of the van on shaky legs. I squinted in the bright sunlight, trying to take in my surroundings. Some kind of manor house loomed before me, an imposing structure of gray stone and dark windows. High walls surrounded the property, topped with what looked unsettlingly like barbed wire. My stomach churned with dread.

Daddy Victor's hand clamped down on my shoulder, steering me towards the entrance. "Move," he ordered gruffly. I stumbled forward, my legs still unsteady from the long ride.

We entered through heavy wooden doors into a sterile, white-tiled hallway. The smell of antiseptic assaulted my nostrils, reminding me unpleasantly of a hospital. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting harsh shadows.

Daddy Victor guided me down several corridors, each looking identical to the last. I quickly lost all sense of direction. Finally, we stopped outside a door marked "Medical Assessment."

My breath caught in my throat. Daddy Victor pushed the door open and forced me inside in front of him. The room was small and clinical, dominated by a padded examination table with stirrups at one end. Various medical instruments gleamed menacingly on a nearby tray.

"Take off your clothes," Daddy Victor commanded. "All of them."

I gaped at him, mortified. "But…"

"Now, young lady," he growled. "Or I'll do it for you."

Trembling, I began to undress. Tears of shame pricked at my eyes. My fingers shook as I unbuttoned my blouse, face burning with humiliation. I couldn't bring myself to look at Daddy Victor as I slipped off my skirt and stockings. When I hesitated at my bra and panties, he cleared his throat impatiently. Biting my lip, I unhooked my bra and let it fall, then slowly pushed my panties down my legs. I stood there naked, arms crossed protectively over my chest, eyes fixed on the floor.

"Arms at your sides," Daddy Victor ordered. "And look at me when I'm speaking to you."

Reluctantly, I dropped my arms and raised my gaze to meet his stern brown eyes. His clinical appraisal of my body made me want to squirm, but I forced myself to stand still.

"On the table," he said, gesturing to the exam table. "Lie back and put your feet in the stirrups."

My cheeks burned even hotter as I complied, the paper crinkling beneath me. The position left me completely exposed. I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing I could disappear.

"Eyes open," Daddy Victor snapped. "You will keep your eyes on me or the ceiling at all times unless instructed otherwise."

I opened my eyes, blinking back tears. A moment later, the door opened and a woman in a white coat entered.

"This is Dr. Langley," Daddy Victor informed me. "She'll be conducting your intake examination. You may look at her."

I stole a glance at Dr. Langley as she approached the exam table, her heels clicking sharply on the tiled floor. She was an attractive woman in her late thirties, with blue eyes and auburn hair pulled back in a tight bun. Her white coat looked so crisp and immaculate that it made me even more conscious of my nudity.

"Hello, Emily," she said, her tone brisk but not unkind. "I understand you've made some very poor choices that have led you here. We're going to do a thorough examination to determine the best course for your rehabilitation."

I swallowed hard, my throat tight. "Y-yes, doctor," I managed to whisper.

Dr. Langley snapped on a pair of latex gloves. The sound made me flinch.

"Now then," she said, "Selecta has quite extensive data on your sexuality already, which is how we know you're a good fit for this program. But we need more specific information to ensure Daddy Victor, and then your Sponsor Daddy, know the best way to train you."

My eyes widened in shock. How could they possibly have data on my sexuality? I opened my mouth to protest, but Dr. Langley continued before I could speak.

"For example, we know you have submissive tendencies and a predisposition towards age play dynamics. Your reaction to being called a 'bad girl' and assigned a Daddy shows a clear arousal response."

To my horror and shame, I felt a pulse of heat between my legs at her words. How could my body betray me like this?

"How…," I said, trying to find words that might follow logically, in the face of this insanity.

"That's a good question," Dr. Langley told me, her voice full of condescending praise. "When you agreed to join the program, a microdrone installed a sensor between your vagina and your anus. It's called a perineal sensor, and it gives us extremely fine-grained data about your body's response to sexual stimulation."

My face burned like a stovetop burner set to quick boil. The idea that they had implanted a sensor in such an intimate place without my knowledge… it seemed unthinkable. To my horror, though, I felt a fluttering of arousal even at that thought — of being monitored so closely, by… by a…

I looked over at him… Daddy. Daddy Victor.

It's insane. It can't be real.

Dr. Langley kept up a running commentary for my benefit as I stared at the ceiling tiles, terrified of what would happen to me if I tried to look at what she was doing between my legs.

"I'm putting some lubricant on this speculum, Emily," she told me. "I'm going to examine your vagina and your anus to make certain you're ready for the kind of sexual training that your Daddy may wish to give you," she said. "First I'm going to take a look at the condition of your vagina."

The tip of the device went into me with a little bit of a push. Dr. Langley adjusted something, and I could feel the speculum opening me up.

"Very good," she said. "You're clearly quite inexperienced — which means your body is primed to respond very well to training, especially on a man's penis."

My face burned so hot that it felt like my hair might actually catch on fire, or I might pass out.

I didn't pass out: I just lay there as the doctor took the speculum out of my vagina and put it into my bottom. I gasped at the sudden intrusion, and then I bit my lip at the ambiguity of the sensation and what that said about me.

"Healthy here, too," she said, as the thing inside me opened up again, spreading my rear passage wide. "Daddy Victor, when you decide it's time to begin anal training and anal intercourse, you can move forward with confidence."

"Good to hear, doctor," came the big man's rumbling answer. I looked over at him, unable to resist though part of me absolutely didn't want to see his face. Daddy Victor gazed back, chin lowered, a small smile the mortifying sign that the idea of fucking my virgin bottom pleased him.

"Now," Dr. Langley continued briskly, "we're going to do some tests to calibrate the sensor and gather more data." She reached for something on a nearby tray. "This may be a bit cold."