Page 37 of A Bad Girl's Needs

The final ten lashes seemed to blur together, each one more intense than the last. By the time I sobbed, “Thirty!”, I was a quivering mess. My bottom felt raw and swollen, throbbing in time with my racing heart.

“Stand up and turn around,” Daddy Kwame commanded.

On shaky legs, I obeyed, turning to face the three daddies. Their eyes traveled over my body, taking in my flushed skin, tearstained cheeks, and wild eyes. The satisfied smiles on their faces, and the hardness of the jutting cocks they each stroked as they looked me over, made my tummy flip.

Daddy Tom moved to the wall of the shower room, his muscular form glistening with water droplets. He grasped one of the movable shower benches, the white plastic seat gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lights. He pulled it away from the wall, the metal legs scraping against the tile floor. The sound echoed off the damp walls as he positioned the bench in the center of the steamy room.

Daddy William’s hand closed around my upper arm, his grip firm but not painful. “Over you go, little slut,” he murmured, guiding me toward the bench. I whimpered as he bent me over the smooth plastic surface, the material chilly against my overheated skin. My thoroughly punished bottom burned as the muscles there tensed with the new posture Daddy William had imposed.

“Spread those legs nice and wide,” Daddy Tom instructed, his voice husky with arousal. I obeyed, planting my feet on either side of the bench’s metal legs. Again I felt the shameful, thrilling exposure, the helpless display of my aching pussy. I could feel the lingering steam from the shower moving over my back, rivulets of sweat running down the cleft of my ass and between my spread thighs.

Daddy Kwame moved to stand in front of me, his impressive cock mere inches from my face. He didn’t even have to commandme; I opened my mouth, my tongue darting eagerly out to lick the bead of pre-cum from the tip of his massive manhood.

As I lapped at Daddy Kwame dark-skinned cock, I felt hands on my hips—Daddy William positioning himself behind me. The blunt head of his shaft pressed against my entrance, teasing me with the promise of fullness. Daddy Tom’s fingers tangled in my hair, tugging my head back slightly as he prepared to claim my mouth once Daddy Kwame was finished.

The air was thick with steam and the heady scent of arousal. Droplets of water clung to my flushed skin, trailing down my curves in rivulets. The plastic of the bench pressed firmly against my breasts. I felt the heat radiate from my thoroughly punished bottom so intensely that I wondered if the daddies could see it, if it made the air around my backside hazy.

Just as Daddy William began to push inside me, stretching me deliciously, the door to the shower room swung open with a bang. Miss Frieda’s sharp voice cut through the humid air like a knife.

“Gentlemen, I must ask you to stop immediately.”

The daddies froze, their hands still gripping my flesh. I whimpered softly, caught between relief and frustration at the interruption.

Miss Frieda strode into the room, her heels clicking against the tile floor. Her white babydoll nightgown seemed impervious to the steam that filled the air. Her cold green eyes swept over the scene before her, taking in every detail of our compromising position.

“My sincerest apologies for the interruption,” Miss Frieda said, her tone professional and cool. “I understand you gentlemenwere in the middle of an important rehabilitation session. I’m afraid I have to end Amy’s day at this point. However, I have some other news that may be of interest to you.”

She paused, her eyes sweeping over the scene once more. I remained bent over the shower bench, acutely aware of my exposed position and the way the cool air now caressed my heated flesh. Daddy William’s cock was still pressed against my entrance, while Daddy Kwame’s impressive length hovered mere inches from my parted lips.

“Megan has just received a thorough paddling from Mr. Samuel,” Miss Frieda continued, a slight smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Her bottom is quite red and swollen, and she’s in desperate need of further attention. If you’d like, you may proceed to the training room to continue her rehabilitation.”

The daddies exchanged glances, a mixture of disappointment and intrigue crossing their faces. Daddy William was the first to speak, his voice husky with barely contained arousal.

“Well, gentlemen, it would be a shame to let a properly warmed bottom go to waste, wouldn’t it?”

Daddy Kwame nodded in agreement, reluctantly withdrawing from my face. “Indeed it would. Perhaps we should pay young Megan a visit.”

The daddies departed, their footsteps echoing off the tiled walls as they exited the steamy shower room. I remained bent over the plastic bench, my body still thrumming with unfulfilled need. The cool air caressed my heated skin, making me shiver as the lingering droplets of water evaporated.

Miss Frieda approached the bench. “Stand up, Amy,” she commanded, her voice crisp and authoritative.

I straightened slowly, my muscles protesting after being held in such a compromising position. As I turned to face Miss Frieda, I couldn’t help but notice how pristine she looked, even in the humid environment. Her white babydoll nightgown seemed to repel the moisture in the air, the delicate lace at the hem perfectly dry. Her auburn hair was immaculately styled, not a strand out of place.

“Come along,” Miss Frieda said, gesturing toward the door. “We’re going back to your cell.”

I followed her obediently, padding barefoot across the wet tiles. The hallway outside felt shockingly cool after the steamy confines of the shower room. Goosebumps erupted across my skin, and I wrapped my arms around myself in a futile attempt to warm up.

As we walked, I couldn’t help but wonder about the sudden change in plans. Why had Miss Frieda interrupted my session with the daddies? And what did she mean by saying she had had to ‘end’ my day? My heart thudded as my mind tried fruitlessly to untangle the riddle, sure in any case that it couldn’t end well for me.

As we approached my cell, I felt a sense of unease settle in the pit of my stomach. Something about Miss Frieda’s demeanor, the cryptic nature of her words, set me on edge. When she unlocked the heavy metal door and swung it open, my breath caught in my throat.

Daddy James stood in the center of my small cell, his imposing figure seeming to fill the entire space. His piercing blue eyeslocked onto mine as I entered, sending a shiver down my spine. In his hands, he held what looked like a bundle of pink fabric.

“Good evening, Amy,” Daddy James said, his voice low and smooth. “The assessors think it’s time we made some adjustments to your rehabilitation program.”

I glanced nervously between Daddy James and Miss Frieda, my heart racing. “W-what do you mean?” I stammered, unable to keep the tremor from my voice.

Daddy James unfurled the bundle in his hands, revealing what I now saw was a pink straitjacket. The material looked stiff and unyielding, with multiple straps and buckles along its length. My eyes widened as I took in the sight, a mixture of fear and confusion washing over me.

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