Jake’s close-up showed that her arousal, which had greeted the dawn bell at a healthy 5, had just jumped a point. The answering shot of Hannah, from the camera in another corner of the little cell barely big enough for the bunk beds and a metal toilet, showed that her slightly stronger same-sex attraction had sent her to 7.
Hannah seemed to want Jeannie to think she didn’t have any worry about the showers; the eyes with which she returned the blonde girl’s look were hard and almost scornful.
“What?” Jeannie asked. “You’re not… I don’t know—nervous?”
“You heard what she said,” Hannah said, her voice very even despite the sensor between her legs telling Jake that her pussy had just clenched. “Marcia… number eight, whatever. There’s no way to get out of it, whatever it… you know, whatever it means.”
Jeannie clearly tried to keep her face set, but she couldn’t help swallowing hard. She didn’t say anything, but Jake could practically see the words ass girl shouting themselves out behind her eyes.
Hannah seemed conscious of a slight reversal in the young power dynamic between the cellmates: Jeannie, who had seemed the more rebellious bad girl, had shown that what Marcia told them made her anxious. The redhead’s feelings about the showers had a great deal of complexity, obviously, but the basic idea of being another prisoner’s ass girl didn’t disturb her as it did Jeannie.
A chat came in from Kevin. Ha. Watch this.
The other daddy, in his own control room, had clearly seen something in Hannah’s sensor data. To keep them from overload, Advanced Guidance daddies only had fine-grained data on their own cases, though they could drill down into the full feed of any inmate they wanted. Once a bad girl had spent a week in AG, her case officer tracked her less closely, but he remained responsible for her. Jake had three other cases currently in the facility, all of their data available to him on his monitors. For other daddies’ cases he received only the arousal number, which represented the essential distillation of everything Jake needed to know.
A crease flickered across Hannah’s brow, and Jake thought he understood: Kevin had noticed an impulse from the girl’s full bladder before she herself had even become aware of it.
“Can you…?” Hannah started. With some obvious effort, she kept her face hard, clearly not wanting to surrender the bit of power she had just gained over Jeannie.
“What?” Jeannie asked, frowning, her own face becoming rather dismissive.
Here we go, came from Kevin. Jake nodded to himself; Hannah’s skin galvanics must have flattened. A second later a tear welled up in each of her eyes and her face crumpled.
“I have to pee,” she whispered.
Jeannie’s face went red. She turned her back on Hannah as the number in the upper right of her close-up rose to 7. Hannah’s hit 8 at almost the same instant.
After the long, rushing sound of Hannah doing her business in a suggestive, humiliating squat, the girls couldn’t look at one another. Their arousal numbers dropped in sync, to 5 and 6, and though the buzz of the cell door opening occurred only a minute later, Jake could tell that it had felt like an eternity to Jeannie and Hannah.
* * *
Jeannie’s dismay to see that the bathroom sported only the very same kind of metal toilet as the cells showed clearly on her face. By that time, her sensor data had started to display the blinking yellow dot that some juvenile coder at the Institute had seen fit to use for the full bladder signal. The way she shifted from foot to foot, with her hands in little fists at her sides, told the same story as Jeannie walked into the big bathroom in the line of naked girls.
Jake watched as Jeannie looked from the row of toilets to the big shower room toward which Mr. Derano and Mr. Porter guided the line. He could see the moment she decided not to ask one of the guards if she could use the toilet, or just to get out of line without permission.
She had an idea that clearly struck her as rebellious. Jake smiled. He could use that notion very much to his advantage—and to the benefit of her training.
Jeannie’s bladder had gotten so full that the moment the showers came on, all around the edge of the big white-tiled space, she started to let go. Turning half to the side and nonchalantly—Jeannie clearly hoped—starting to work the warm water through her hair, she released her pee down her leg.
Like many dominants, Jake found the sight intensely arousing; he let it go on for a few cock-stiffening moments, the yellow of Jeannie’s golden stream mingling with the clarity of the water. Then he spoke to Marcia over her comm link.
“Twenty-three is peeing. Just make sure twenty-one notices.”
In the relatively new Advanced Guidance protocol, instead of placing Institute-trained women in the facility as alpha girls as Selecta did in the more standard bad girls’ facilities, the corporate corrections team had elected to run a different kind of inmate. Marcia, number eight, used her Institute experience—a year as a concubine and a year as an assessor—to assist the daddies in both parts of AG’s dual mission.
Number eight helped train the submissive bad girls—like Jeannie Rendoski and Hannah Martin—destined to serve as corporate fuck toys. She also had the duty of fostering the sexual and leadership development of the smaller number of dominant bad girls who would join the ranks of Selecta’s rapidly growing special operations team.
Number twenty-one fell into the latter category: olive-skinned Stella Corti, only here at AG for two weeks and already the baddest bitch in the facility.
All Marcia had to say was, “What is she doing?”
Stella, who had already, unlike all the other girls, turned her back to the water so she could survey the rest of the naked girls, saw instantly.
“New girl!” she called across the steamy room.
Hannah turned to look at Stella, alarm in her wide eyes. Jeannie pretended not to hear, though the sensors in the room were fine enough despite the hot water to tell Jake that her face had gotten hotter than the shower.
“Not you,” Stella said dismissively. “Blondie! New girl! I see you peeing.”
Hannah, who had the nozzle next to Jeannie’s, let out an involuntary little cry, turning to look down and then stepping away from her new friend with an expression of helpless disgust on her face. On Jeannie’s other side, the brown-haired seventeen—real name Tracy—did nearly the same thing, not stepping away but turning to look the new girl up and down with a sneer of distaste on her face.
Jeannie couldn’t pretend any longer. Her sensor data told Jake that she had interrupted her flow of pee in the surprise of being caught, but now she turned to Stella with her best scornful bad-girl expression on her face, and she deliberately let go again, so that the yellow stream showed clearly on her thigh.
“What?” she demanded, her voice admirably firm.
“What,” Stella repeated, mocking the blonde girl by elongating the vowel. “When you’re done, I’m gonna make you my ass girl, for disrespecting the rest of us like that. That’s what.”
Jeannie’s skin galvanics flattened as she looked around to see how the other girls had reacted to the threat that she didn’t yet understand. Only Hannah looked back at her—all the others had turned their naked backs and bottoms, five of them displaying purple welts from the guards’ and daddies’ discipline. Hannah could give only a desperate, frowning look of sympathy back at Jeannie.
“You done yet, new girl?” Stella asked. “Get it all out. You don’t wanna be peeing when I put that tube up your butthole. If you pee on me I’m gonna whip you harder than any guard.”
Jake smiled. Jeannie and Hannah would have gotten morning enemas anyway, but the little ceremony the alpha girls at AG had developed always helped new submissives discover their needs even more quickly than a daddy could.
Chapter 15
Jeannie couldn’t move. The flow of pee down her thigh had stopped, and then she had defiantly started it again, to make it clear she wouldn’t let any other bad girl make her afraid.
Now, though, her body
had tightened again, even though she could feel that she did need to relieve herself a little more; her bladder still put a distressing pressure on her muscles down there, made all the more distressing by the shameful words the other girl had just spoken.
I must have heard wrong, she thought desperately. Or… it doesn’t mean what it sounded like.
“Frenchie,” the dark-skinned girl said, turning to the blonde next to her, “let’s get this done. Ima want to shower again after I ride this bitch.”
“What about the other one, Stella?” said the girl whose nickname seemed to be Frenchie.
Stella looked at Hannah. “You want her, Frenchie? We can do them side by side.”
Jeannie turned to see the terrified look on Hannah’s face, and felt her bladder let go. Of course Stella noticed it, because how could anything go right for Jeannie, here?
“Yeah, there we go. We’re gonna call you Goldie from now on. Do your business, Goldie. Then we’re gonna take you and Red here to the benches.”
Stella’s smile of superiority and scorn drew the beginnings of a sob from deep in Jeannie’s chest. With all the defiance in her soul, she managed to keep her face from crumpling and her voice from wavering.
“Whatever,” she said, hoping desperately that Stella wouldn’t notice that her upper lip had started to quiver. Encouraged by the firmness she had managed to put into those three dismissive syllables, she tossed her head. “I’m done. Take me to the fucking benches. Who the fuck cares.”
The corner of Stella’s mouth turned up with the ghost of what might have been an admiring smile.
“You’re gonna care, Goldie, when I come on your face while you’ve got an enema in your ass.”
Jeannie’s tummy flipped over, and to her dismay she clenched, down below. She had found her resistance, though, at the thought that Hannah would need her cellmate’s example. They had to stick together, didn’t they?
The blonde called Frenchie said, “The benches are in the next room. You bitches gonna go, or do we have to take you?”
Jeannie had gotten a glimpse of that room, she realized, when she had first come into the bathroom. She had seen a gleaming metal sink, and stands that she had thought must be IV stands. Now she understood that the room must be dedicated to giving the most humiliating treatment imaginable—one that Jeannie remembered from childhood as the most embarrassing thing she had ever experienced.
She reached deep into her heart and found again the toughness she had thought, only the day before, could never desert her the way it seemed to do when it came to sex. She looked hard at Frenchie, curling her lips into a sneer. Bullies thrive on their victims’ distress; Jeannie didn’t intend to show any.
“I’ll go. Show me the way.” She turned to Stella. “You sure you’re not worried I’m gonna bite your clit off, boss girl?”
“You’re not that dumb, Goldie,” Stella answered. “You’re gonna learn to love gettin’ your face humped while I get your butthole nice and clean for your daddy.”
Jeannie could feel her body tremble with fear and, worse, aching arousal, but she didn’t think Stella and Frenchie—or, most important, Hannah—could see. If she remained stationary any longer though, trying to figure out what it all meant—for her present and for her future—Jeannie knew the quivering inside her would come out, and she might even break down into tears.
She remembered her first sight of Hannah just the day before, in tears in the courtroom cage, and Jeannie had to press down a wave of sympathy that threatened to surge up in her heart, so that she could keep from falling to her knees and begging for mercy. She turned, with a toss of her head, and left the shower room.
Jeannie felt grateful at least that whoever the assholes were who ran Advanced Guidance—Daddy Jake and Daddy Kevin and Mr. Whatever and Mr. Whatever’s brother from another mother—kept the place so warm. Those misters, the guards, stood by the door, looking a lot more bored than she would have expected obviously virile, really pretty hunky men to be when in a bathroom with twenty or so naked, nubile young women. They certainly made no move to interfere when Jeannie and then Hannah walked out of the shower room and toward the room with the sink and the stands and, yes, the benches.
Those fucks must know exactly what’s about to happen. And they obviously don’t care.
She tried in vain to keep Stella’s words at bay in her memory as she saw the bland expressions on the guards’ faces.
While I get your butthole nice and clean for your daddy.
The olive-skinned girl had to have meant Daddy Jake. With a surge of heat in her cheeks, hotter than even the sight of the red enema bags on a shelf above the sink would already have gotten her, Jeannie remembered suddenly that she had dreamt about Daddy Jake.
She stood a few feet inside the tiled room, looking at the benches. She tried to turn her mind from picturing what would happen there, what the Stella girl intended, but the effort sent her mind to the one fragment she had of the dream in her fitful sleep on the prison bunk. Just one image: Daddy Jake handing her an ice cream cone.
Jeannie’s cheeks burned. In the dream, she had worn a frilly pink dress. Daddy Jake said, “Here you go, sweetheart. You deserve it. You were such a good girl for Daddy last night.”
My butthole. Nice and clean for Daddy. Nice and clean for Daddy Jake’s big, hard penis.
“Lie the fuck down, bitches,” said Frenchie. Jeannie turned to look at the platinum blonde girl, and saw much less certainty in Frenchie’s eyes than Stella seemed to have in hers. In a strange flash of insight, Jeannie thought she understood that while Stella was fundamentally different from Jeannie and Hannah, in what she wanted and needed on the most primal level, Frenchie was the same. For a disorienting moment Jeannie could see herself and her new friend through Frenchie’s eyes: for Stella’s lieutenant, the new girls represented a way to experience submission from both sides.
Frenchie, Jeannie thought, must act as Stella’s second-in-command because she got to dominate other girls for Stella. Frenchie wanted to make Hannah her ass girl not to dominate the new girl on her own behalf, but because Stella had decided Hannah should be an ass girl and issued the command to her lieutenant.
The way Frenchie had just issued the command to lie down, and the way she looked at Hannah, made Jeannie wonder suddenly if she would do the same. To her dismay she clenched between her thighs at the thought; the idea of making pretty Hannah lie down so that Jeannie could straddle her face and take her pleasure like some barbarian queen.
Like Stella is going to do… to me.
Jeannie’s eyes went to the red-upholstered bench in front of her, and then to Stella, who stood at its end now. She had hoped the Italian girl might not notice Jeannie looking, but those intelligent dark eyes seemed to notice everything, and Stella smiled. The boss girl didn’t need to add any words to that smile. Jeannie seemed to hear them in her mind with crystal clarity: You’re my ass girl now, Goldie, and I’m gonna have fun with you.
After holding Jeannie’s eyes for a long moment, Stella turned to Frenchie. “I’ll make these bitches lie down. You fill the bags.”
The tiny uncertainty Jeannie had noticed in the platinum blonde’s eyes, the sign that unlike Stella and like Jeannie, Frenchie needed something shameful, sparked to life. Fascinated despite herself, Jeannie watched the lieutenant compose her face into a bad-girl sneer, and toss her head—just the way Jeannie thought she herself might have done.
Frenchie went to the sink and grabbed one of the red bags. Jeannie’s tummy flipped over. She looked back at Stella.
“You can lie down on the bench like a good ass girl,” Stella said, “or Frenchie can go get some of the other bitch girls to hold you down, and we’ll all have a turn on your face.”
Jeannie tried to hold to her resistance, but her heart had begun to beat wildly. She didn’t want to show her fear, but she couldn’t help it: she blurted out, “The guards—”
Stella snorted. “They like to watch this shit, Goldie. They might even come
in here.”
Frenchie had the enema bags full, and she came over now to hang them on the stands at the end of the benches. As she hung the one on the bench Hannah now stood next to, she said, “The daddies want new girls’ asses cleaned out every day. They don’t mind that we do it this way, as long as it gets done.”
“Every day?” Hannah whispered. Her voice was only barely audible over the continuing rush of water from the shower room next door. For a moment, Jeannie’s mind seemed to soar up out of her body, as she realized that the girls in that room knew precisely what Stella and Frenchie had brought the new girls into this horrible room to do.
She had the disquieting impression that she could see into their thoughts as they stood in the comforting flow of hot water, looking at the tiles: how their ears strained, despite themselves, to hear the cries of pleasure the boss girl and her second-in-command would make as they enjoyed themselves in a way more degrading than anything Jeannie had ever imagined.
“Every day,” Frenchie said with a cruel smile. “Now lie down, Red. My pussy needs some licking. If you don’t get on that bench right now I’m not gonna wash before we do this tomorrow.”
The imploring look Hannah shot Jeannie then made her heart flip over. Tears had appeared in the redhead’s eyes, and again Jeannie felt the strange bond between them, how they could somehow shore up each other’s resistance—but they could also give each other permission to give in to necessity.
Jeannie felt her mask of rebellion crumble for a moment. She bit her lip and nodded to Hannah. As Hannah sat down, her back turned to Jeannie now, Jeannie’s eyes sought out Stella, despite herself. The satisfaction she saw in the olive-skinned girl’s face took her breath away. Stella’s eyes blazed as she regarded Jeannie.
For her part, Jeannie tried to put the mask back on, even as she looked away to see Hannah lie down on her back, her trim thighs splaying to either side of the narrow bench and a lewd view of her shaved pussy appearing.
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