“B-7,” the big, dark-skinned guard whom Sophie had to call Mr. Jenkins said, standing behind her as she put her flatware on her tray, “if you’re not careful you’re gonna get taken down for breaking. I just want you to know that if they do break you, I’ll ask special to be there to watch.”
Bad girl B-7, otherwise known as Sophie Clarke, hid her dismay, as she always did when a guard or a daddy told her of a new disciplinary ordeal to face, under a sneer. Breaking? That was one Sophie had never even heard of before.
She forgave herself for the dismay, just as she forgave herself for just about everything—especially these days, at the Bad Girls Facility, aka Nonviolent Offenders Rehabilitation Facility whatever-the-fuck-the-number-was. Forgiveness seemed to be one of the concepts the daddies wanted to teach the bad girls, presumably in order that according to some New Age bullshit they could forgive themselves for their infractions against the corporate-governmental order and then receive the enlightened vision that told them they must seek the pardon of those they had wronged outside.
She forgave herself for robbing the pharmacy. For the look on the clerk’s face when Sophie had entered the store, and the sinking feeling that she wasn’t going to get away with it.
“I need a passport picture,” the woman at the counter said.
Sophie looked at the bottles of nighttime cold medicine and made up her mind.
“Sure,” the clerk said. “Let me get the camera.” Sophie could feel his eyes on her, but she knew he must be getting the camera, like he had said.
She whispered to herself as she grabbed four bottles, “You’re tough. You’re tough. You don’t care.”
She turned. She ran for the door.
Right into a policeman, coming into the store.
“Well,” the clerk said behind her, with a sneer in his voice, “that was easy.”
But Sophie forgave herself for fucking up the robbery, just as she forgave herself for trying. Life was too short, right?
She just didn’t want her BGF daddies to know how cool she was with what she had done, because that would have made them think she cared what they thought.
Sophie had made a game of it, though. She refused to let on to Daddy Justin, Daddy James, and Daddy Owen that she understood forgiveness at all. That didn’t mean that she pretended she had never heard the word or didn’t know its actual meaning. That wouldn’t have been any fun after the first five minutes or so, and besides her daddies knew way too much about Sophie Clarke to make that even possible. She would have found herself over Daddy Justin’s knee with her uniform pants down around her ankles before two of those minutes had elapsed, for one of his reminders to live up to her potential.
The butt Sophie now sat on, in the cafeteria full of the special quiet noises breakfast seems to make—different from those of lunch and dinner, she always reflected—brought back to her the last such reminder, just the previous evening before bed. Sophie had told him that if he thought the straitjacket with the vibrators was ever going to make her feel needy for something more than a dildo, let alone somehow make her feel sorry for robbing the pharmacy, he and the other daddies needed to have their heads examined. And if they thought the butt plug would shame her into pretending to forgive her parents for abandoning her, or whatever-the-fuck-bullshit they wanted her say, they should probably send her to some normal prison where the corrections officers didn’t waste so much of their time on inmates who had not the slightest desire to rehabilitate.
Then she had endured five minutes of Daddy Justin’s huge hand on her little bottom, over and over, before she had made a noise. Or, really, made a sound other than the slow, deep breathing she always used to keep herself from giving the daddies and the guards the satisfaction of knowing they had made her cry.
“I don’t care, Sophie,” Daddy Justin had said while Sophie lay over his knee, his hand resting on her blazing backside, “how long it takes for you to ask for your daddies’ penises in your little pussy and your little bottom. We can give you exactly what you need here even when you refuse to admit that you need it.”
His hand had forced her knees apart, and his fingers had found the place her daddies had shaved the first morning, which Sophie herself now had to shave twice a week, with the other girls in the shower, while Mr. Jenkins watched. With his two middle fingers he had found the wetness that always flowed there after a spanking. As usual, Sophie hadn’t wanted even to try to resist, but she had found herself squirming and grunting, as Daddy Justin held her down, hips over his knee and chest on the shelf bed in her cell.
Daddy Owen, who had stood with Daddy James watching the spanking, said, “It’s such a pretty pussy. It needs a fucking, doesn’t it?”
Daddy Owen seemed like he might be an actual nice guy, when he went home at night. He had told Sophie he had a daughter about her age. Sophie tried to pity that girl, because she must have no fun at all, but really, why should Sophie care?
Daddy James said, “Yup. No question. Sophie, honey, we know you fucked on the streets like a little whore. We know how bad you need cock.”
Daddy James was an asshole. The only thing Sophie knew about him besides his being an asshole was that he rode a motorcycle, a fact she had divined from Mr. Jenkins asking, a few days ago, “How’s the Harley?”
Daddy Justin had moved his big fingers in and out vigorously, almost like a good, hard dick, his palm slapping against her burning bottom. Sophie’s hips had bucked against his hand with a need she simply couldn’t suppress.
But she had remained silent, as far as words were concerned, willing her body to respond as little as possible to Daddy Justin’s hand or the other daddies’ horrible words, willing her thoughts not to go back to how good sex felt, when a guy showed the slightest knowledge of how a girl like Sophie could sometimes enjoy being manhandled into place for a nice, hard fuck from behind.
They had put her in the pink straitjacket, then, as they had every night since Sophie had arrived, and they had put the pink plug in her anus. She knew all the girls had to sleep in the straitjacket, and she supposed she could forgive other inmates their weakness, in the face of the demoniac effectiveness of the thing’s tiny vibrators in front and in back. She, however, refused to give in, even though she knew that the girls who asked for fucking got to come in the straitjacket, while Sophie had to fall asleep unsatisfied.
It meant, she guessed, that her daddies and the guards made sure her spankings and whippings were more painful than the ones the other girls got—even the ones Kat got, Kat being the girl she had just sat down next to, the boss of B-block, whose chief lieutenant Vicky belonged in the seat Sophie had just occupied.
Kat looked over with a puzzled frown. “You make a mistake, Ass-girl?”
Sophie felt a sting of heat in her face, but she quelled it instantly. Kat’s nicknames, invariably given in the shower on a new girl’s first day, were obviously meant to provoke blushes. Sophie, nineteen, slim, and blonde-haired, had earned hers simply through Kat having decided she looked like ‘a good piece of ass.’
Vicky’s voice came from behind Sophie, now. “What do you think you’re doing, Ass-girl?”
Sophie turned to Kat. “You know I’m tougher than Vicky.”
If they’re going to ‘break’ me, whatever the fuck that means, I’m going to have Kat on my side. Forgive myself? Yeah, right: I’m going to do something unforgivable, then make sure my daddies know I don’t need my own pardon for it, let alone theirs.
Kat snorted. “Maybe.”
“Ass-girl!” Vicky shouted. Sophie could hear a note of desperation in her voice, well-hidden but evident to a girl like Sophie who had lived on the streets of the decaying urban wasteland. “Get the fuck out of my seat.”
“I’ll fight her,” Sophie said matter-of-factly. “I’ll prove it.”
Kat chuckled. “Tonight in the common room. If you fight her and give her a whipping, the seat is yours.” She spoke softly into Sophie’s ear.
“Kat?” Vicky said, softening her tone as the two guards on duty looked over, conversing with one another, evidently about this B-block confrontation. “What’s up?”
Sophie rose and moved around to the other side of the table. Kat didn’t answer Vicky, and Vicky was too scared of the alpha girl to push it. Sophie smiled across her eggs at the girl she would defeat tonight.
Defeat and punish. Break me if you want, you assholes: Vicky’s the one who gets broken tonight.
Sophie had heard that Vicky had become Kat’s lieutenant in the same way, by fighting another girl and then giving her the strap, just a month ago. But Sophie could tell that Vicky didn’t really have what it would take to stay in Kat’s favor—at least now that Sophie had arrived. The tall, full-figured boss girl clearly liked to humiliate her fellow inmates, and she liked to have a subordinate to help her. Vicky had been the one to confirm Sophie’s nickname, for example, in the classic manner of the bully’s assistant: “Yeah, she’s an ass-girl. Say hello to Ass-girl, everyone.”
But Vicky didn’t take her punishments the way Sophie did.
Mr. Jenkins had whipped the black-haired girl in the cafeteria the previous week, for obeying Kat and teaching a new girl a lesson in manners in the shower. Vicky had sworn like the proverbial sailor as the guard turned her backside a vivid red. Sophie had thought she could tell that the cursing made the guard bring the strap down just a bit more lightly than when Sophie herself had gotten whipped two days earlier.
No, Vicky hadn’t cried or begged for mercy—or, worse, for fucking instead—but yelling, “Fuck you,” at least gave the guard the satisfaction of having gotten to you. Sophie had done nothing but grunt, bound naked over the discipline horse, as she took the heavy leather across her backside for telling Mr. Jenkins exactly what he could do with his strap when he had threatened her with it for grumbling in line.
Vicky had still taken harsher punishments than the regular girls, as Sophie thought of them—the ones who screamed and sobbed even when they went over a daddy’s knee to get a hand spanking for sassing in the yard. Those girls, whom Sophie refused even to call bad girls, whatever they had done to get here, got hugs from their daddies if they held still for a few strokes of the paddle and pushed their bottoms up to show they knew it was for their own good.
When a regular girl got disciplined in the cafeteria by one of the guards, for touching herself in the shower maybe, she begged for the cock after a few minutes of the strap across her backside. Then she moaned like a slut as she got it. Sophie had never begged for it at all; she had never sworn or screamed. She had been punished in the cafeteria twice, and both times she had taken the whole punishment rather than even looking at the hard dick Mr. Jenkins presented to her lips as an opportunity to be spared the worst.
That, she hoped, had made Kat sit up and notice, and tell her she could have the job—if Sophie would put Vicky in her place. Sophie would do it gladly. Vicky pretended to be tough, and that galled her. But when Sophie stood in front of her in the common room that night, where Vicky sat on the front couch next to Kat, she had seen a tear in Vicky’s eye even before Sophie said, “You’re in my seat.”
Vicky responded with anger and pride, though. Sophie had to give her that. Sophie definitely couldn’t call her a regular girl.
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
Did Vicky beg her daddies for cock, even though she didn’t beg Mr. Jenkins? Sophie dismissed the question from her mind angrily as she stared down at the dark-haired girl.
“Kat,” Vicky said, turning to the alpha girl and feigning incomprehension, “what the fuck is Ass-girl talking about?”
“You’d better fight her, Nips,” Kat said, the dismissiveness in her tone not really concealing a keen interest behind it.
Vicky’s eyes went wide at the sound of this nickname, which Sophie had never heard come out of Kat’s mouth before. A regular girl had told her about it—that Kat had given it to Vicky because, as Sophie could see in the shower, Vicky had very big nipples. Now in the lieutenant’s eyes she learned something she hadn’t known about Kat before: the nicknames put girls in their places.
When Vicky had ascended to the alpha girl’s right hand, she had won the right to her own name. Kat calling her Nips clearly meant that she could easily lose that status here in the common room, while Sophie would recover the privilege of being called by the name her long-gone parents had bestowed on her in God knew what shithole of a clinic.
Let’s get this over with, she thought. Fair fights weren’t a thing at BGF any more than they were at whatever prison Sophie supposed she could imagine. She reached out and bitch-slapped Vicky full across the face.
Justin Howard watched the scene in the common room from his office. As the rest of the girls got up, not even needing instructions from Kat or Quilly—the alpha girl of A-block—to form a protective circle around Sophie and Vicky, he switched to an overhead view in order to keep a close eye on the proceedings.
He didn’t have any doubt about the outcome, which he had done his best to engineer, but little moments that transpired in the power struggles among the bad girls of BGF could have an outsized effect on their progress, and a skillful daddy knew how to take advantage of them. If Vicky managed to land a few punches, or even get on top of Sophie before Kat intervened, Justin would be able to exploit the memory in future sessions with the headstrong girl.
This fight, however, seemed as predestined as he had supposed it would be when he and Joe, Vicky’s lead daddy, had decided the time for the changeover between betas had come. Sophie wrenched Vicky off the couch and onto the floor and got atop her, straddling the dark-haired girl across her hips and holding Vicky’s wrists pinned to the floor. Vicky had an inch of height and maybe five pounds of weight on Sophie, but Sophie had come into BGF strong and scrappy, and she had used a good deal of her yard time to lift.
“Kat,” he said into his headset. “Get ready to break it up.”
He could see the busty alpha at the edge of his screen: she touched her right index finger to her jaw to indicate she had heard Justin’s instruction.
Joe’s voice came over the comm-link then. “Not too fast, though. I want Vicky thoroughly defeated. I’ll say when, if Vicky doesn’t give in on her own.”
Another touch of Kat’s finger acknowledged this second instruction. As the daddy with responsibility for the girl ordained to lose the fight, Joe had the final say.
The fight unfolded in something as close to silence as two bodies connecting so violently could do. As soon as it had begun, Quilly had turned on the action movie the girls had come to the common room to watch. The audio feed in Justin’s ear gave him nothing but a car chase and a few grunts, and the girls who didn’t know how thorough the surveillance at BGF actually was could be forgiven for thinking the circle they had made around the fighting inmates might shield the conflict from correctional eyes.
From overhead, though, Justin could see Sophie pinning Vicky despite the other girl’s desperate attempts to free herself. Vicky’s main opportunity came from the slaps the blonde girl kept releasing Vicky’s left arm to deliver. Now Sophie said something that the mic concealed in her uniform picked up, though in a hiss so low that only the girl under her could have heard it.
“You’re gonna eat my ass, Vicky. Are you ready to eat my ass? I’m the Ass-girl, right?”
“Wow,” Joe said on the comm-link. “You weren’t kidding about her.”
Some of the fight went out of Vicky, then, and Sophie delivered another slap, even harder, well calculated to cause pain without leaving a mark that could get her in trouble. She had learned that in her corporate-educational facility, Justin knew, where she had received the best education Selecta subsidization could provide, before making her way out onto the streets where she could practice the lessons in survival she had learned at school.
Sophie Clarke wasn’t a bully, or she wouldn’t have ended up at BGF. She knew how to act like one when she had to, which had brought about her incarceration. She had buried her prosocial instincts so deeply, however, that to rehabilitate her would require intensive attention to her internal mental and emotional dynamics of a kind that ordinary facilities simply couldn’t provide.
Luckily for Sophie, Selecta had identified her as soon as she entered the justice system as a candidate for concubinage. The psychological screening exam had scored her in the top two percent for submissive sexuality, and the top five percent for repression: Sophie had erotic needs that would never be fulfilled unless she could be guided without her knowledge to come to terms with them.
BGF, however, had not been designed for girls like Sophie. She had acquired too much toughness on the streets, had put too much effort into looking like a bully. BGF wouldn’t exist unless every girl imprisoned there—except the alphas, skilled trainers in their own right—could fetch an enormous price in the Institute auction that determined her next destination. Sophie Clarke fell into a category of bad girl that the assessment team had always deemed impossible to market.
Some of the Institute’s clients liked their bad girls very bad indeed, which was why a girl like Vicky got to spend some time as a beta before her daddies broke her to the cock, as would happen tonight. Five or six billionaires would be watching as Joe, Kevin, and Sam fucked her in her cell, and Vicky would undoubtedly be sold before morning.
Sophie had come to BGF despite her drawbacks, however, thanks to a new initiative begun by Selecta in the wake of the Saturn experiment, in which a submissive young woman had served the crew of a space mission, frankly, though shamefully, as their relief device: a mouth, vagina, and anus for them to use whenever they pleased.
The armed forces had grown very interested in the results of that study, and Selecta had seen an opportunity. The question of how to satisfy the potential demand for more sexual relief devices here on Earth posed a challenge, however. Justin’s job with Sophie was to see whether BGF could leverage the unmarketables from the court system into a lucrative asset. His bosses had asked him to make a bad girl into a fuck toy for the military.
“No… please,” Vicky said, as Sophie quelled another attempt to squirm from her grasp. “Kat?”
“Okay, Kat,” Joe’s voice said. “Break it up.”
“Sophie wins,” Kat said. “Get Nips’ clothes off. She’s gonna eat ass, for sitting in Sophie’s seat.”
“Nice,” Joe said.
“Fuck you, Kat,” Vicky shouted from the floor. Predictably, she had decided not to remain quiet, now. The expression on her face as Sophie started to rise from her midriff said that she hoped the guards would hear something over the audio feed and come to prevent the planned humiliation. BGF girls didn’t know how the surveillance worked, but they naturally had strong suspicions, given how much information their daddies had as to their slightest infractions. “Fuck all of you bitches.”
Quilly turned the TV up, her eyes fixed on Vicky. The gunfire from the screen became annoying even with the canceling tech that let Justin hear everything the girls said. Quilly stepped forward and stooped down to speak close enough to Vicky for the dark-haired girl to hear.
“For that you’re going to eat my ass, too.”
“Get up, Nips,” Kat said. “Don’t make me whip you. You’re going to eat as many asses as I decide. Sophie, bend over the back of the couch and pull your pants down.”
Justin had just enough of an angle on Sophie’s face to see her eyes widen as she heard the boss whom she had just won the privilege of serving give her the shameful order. The number in the upper right of his screen, indicating on a ten-point scale the arousal detected by Sophie’s perineal sensor, had just gone up from six to eight: as Kat knew very well, Sophie’s hidden submissive needs had sent the effect of the alpha girl’s command straight to the new beta’s pussy.
For a moment, it looked like Sophie would resist, but Justin and the rest of the daddies had planned this scene too well: Sophie had reached this position through maximizing her ultra-tough facade, but she had done it in order to gain a servile position. The stimulus of Jenkins telling her she would be taken down for breaking at breakfast that morning had activated the ambivalent thoughts and feelings Sophie already had about Kat.
Now part of her mind screamed at her not to give in to the alpha girl’s command any more than she gave in to her daddies’ spanking or even the strap and the reform school paddle. Her body, though, sought permission from a different part of her mind—and found it. If Sophie wanted protection from whatever unknown terror lay behind Jenkins’ words, she must obey Kat, for whom even a street girl like Sophie Clarke presented no match.
Sophie looked down at Vicky, and visibly composed her face into a sneer.
“You want to make her do it?” she asked Kat.
“Yeah,” Kat said. “Then you can do it for me and Quilly. Nips’ll eat three asses tonight, unless she wants a whipping.”
“Kat…” Vicky wailed, her voice quieter now as she tried desperately to find some way back into her boss’ good graces. “Okay… I’ll do it for you and… and Quilly. Not her.” The expression on the dark-haired girl’s face showed a roiling conflict inside her, among heart, mind, and pussy.
Joe’s voice came over the comm-link. “Push this for me, Kat. She gets whipped while she pleasures Sophie.”
Kat knew precisely how to maneuver Vicky’s needs together with Sophie’s. “That’s it, Nips. I am going to whip you like the little bitch you are. Now get your clothes off, or you’re going to eat every ass in the room.”
The faces of the other inmates, as they stood around the scene at the front couch, reflected their own fantasies and fears. Justin could see the hands of more than one of them creep toward the pussies that BGF daddies usually kept very needy indeed.
Abruptly, Vicky broke into a sob, curling up into a ball, her back to Kat.
“Keep going,” Joe said. “She’s at seven.”
“Help me, Quilly,” Kat said to her fellow alpha girl. At times like this one it helped enormously to have two trained concubines, trainers themselves, in the BGF population. Not only did Kat and Quilly know exactly how to force Vicky up onto her feet so they could strip the pink uniform off her, but they could manage their application of force in such a way to heighten her arousal, too.
“Sophie, get the strap,” Kat said. “Then do what I told you—over the back of the couch.”
Every BGF girl knew where the ‘hidden’ strap, ‘stolen’ from a guard, lay concealed behind a row of books on the shelf in the corner. The betas had the role of fetching it for their alphas, even when—as occurred with a fair degree of frequency—the alpha made them fetch it for the purpose of having their own backsides whipped. Sophie, the expression on her face now more confident, and her arousal hitting eight as she took the stout eighteen-inch leather strap from its concealment, brought it quickly over to Kat.
She gave the alpha girl a final look, in which Justin thought he could perceive the two parts of her mind vying for the upper hand: should she resist the shameful instruction, simply because her pussy wanted it too much? What would happen when she felt Vicky’s compliance? when she heard the strap falling on her defeated rival’s bottom? when it felt too good?
Then she walked around to the other side of the couch, her chin high and a look of triumph on her face replacing the last vestiges of uncertainty. Kat and Quilly had Vicky naked between them, and Sophie looked the girl’s trembling, lovely body up and down. Fixing her blue eyes on Vicky’s brown ones, the new beta put her thumbs in the waistband of her uniform pants and pulled them down to her knees, then bent over the back of the couch. With a wicked smile, she arched her back to push out her little bottom, then she waggled it slightly.
“You ready, Ass-girl?” Kat asked, the degrading nickname suddenly sounding like an honorific.
“Yeah,” Sophie replied. “Bring her over here.”