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He picked out their outfits day by day whenever he went out of town (business trips, mostly, or scouting, or someday–they dared to hope–finding them another playmate). Some days they got to wear pretty, modest things like nice young ladies, and even leave the house. Some days they didn’t get to wear anything at all. And some days they had to flip a coin to see who had to wear the good-girl shirt, and who got to be bad.

There were strict rules about what they could do to themselves and each other when he wasn’t home. But good girls had to do what they were told, and bad girls, well, they were known to break rules from time to time. Maybe the good girl had to promise not to tell what they got up to. Maybe the bad girl got to pinch, and smack, and bite. Maybe the good girl had to put her mouth to better use if she couldn’t say anything nice. Maybe the bad girl got to come.

The only rule the bad girl couldn’t break was about their jelly bracelets. They both wore them, and just like in schoolyard stories, the bracelets got broken when they did specific things. The good girl inevitably ran out by the end of t-shirt day. They only got more when he came home again, his briefcase full of presents, so he’d know by the colors on their wrists exactly what they’d done after all. But maybe if this time they were VERY good, or VERY bad, they could make him come home early.

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The Exam, Part Three

The study lasted–well, they later told her it was six weeks. She’d lost count by day four.

She returned to the doctor’s office each morning, and since Daddy had to leave early for work, most days she got belted into the back seat in her slippers and nightie and sleepy fuzzy hair. She always got put in a gown (and usually taken out of it) as soon as she arrived anyway. And it didn’t matter if she’d just had a bath or not; they always stripped her down and scrubbed her clean before they started.

Her head was different, inside and outside the doors. She knew that, but she found it hard to recall one version while she was living in the other. Her body felt different here, too. She wasn’t allowed to forget any part of her physical presence for long, and she became very used to any of the dozens of students treating her like a loose-limbed doll for checkups or demonstrations. She’d been hesitant about that, a little, at first. After a few days in the straps, she learned to comply.

Some days were play days, when she and other girls would be put in a room with toys and asked to try things or answer questions, while most of the staff watched from the other side of a mirror. Some days were Uh-Oh play days, when the straps came out, and the other girls got to make her the toy. Some days were good girl days, when they’d put sweet things in her mouth and sweeter things in her private parts, and she’d spend hours giggling and arching and edging and end up with a serious case of the squirmies.

Some days were bad girl days, when they’d put her on the table, and bring out the blindfold and the cold metal instrument tray and the cuffs. She didn’t like the bad girl days. Not even a little. No matter what they said.

The doctor was always there, even when she couldn’t see him. She grew to know his hands from everyone else’s: they way he was so careful with her, so precise, the way his palm on her back soothed her and the way his fingers inside her made her jerk and squeal. By the time Daddy came to pick her up, most days, she was well past the point of comprehending grownup words, but she could hear them quietly discussing her progress. She hoped the doctor always told her Daddy she was a good girl. She knew he sometimes didn’t.

There were two bad girl days in a row. Then three. Then four. Then this-many. She was very, very deep in scary space; she had stopped being able to come out of it even after Daddy took her home. She squirmed in the back seat, thumbsucking, trying to work up the nerve to say that she didn’t want to go back, please, please, it was a nuh-uh, it was too much.

That was when they kept her overnight.

She tried so hard to be brave, even when she could hear the other girls being shepherded off and picked up, even when she knew she was alone with all of them and the doctor was pulling on gloves and spreading her very wide. Even when she heard the click-buzz of the scariest implements, and felt the tip of the metal sound. Even when she felt the click of the oral speculum worked between her teeth.

They made a wet and thrashing mess of her. They reduced her body to a string of helpless muscles and raw nerves, and no matter how many times she inarticulately begged her they wouldn’t let her come, and then once she got really scared of coming they ignored her pleas to stop. This wasn’t punishment: there was no smirking or mockery, no attempt to see if she’d learned her lesson. This was a procedure. They were working, quietly and with professional competence, to break her.

The operation was declared successful at 5:34 am.

She woke up in her own bed with her Daddy stroking her hair. She was still aching, but her memories of the night seemed distant and foggy, locked in something at the center of herself.

“Shh,” said her Daddy. “You’re home now. The study’s concluded. You’re back here with me.”

“Do I have to go back?” she managed, curling instinctively around her blanket.

“No, no.” Daddy smiled. “The doctor wants to follow up with you, of course–he’ll be making a series of house calls.” Her heart skipped, for a complex and confusing number of reasons. “But all the primary work is done. Their next project is working with the data you and the others gave them.”

She wormed her head under the soothing hand, one fist against her lips, exploring the new space she’d found her head in. It didn’t buzz quite like it used to. Instead, very softly, it sang.

“Daddy,” she said, “how did the exam go?”

A little chuckle. “Oh, my little girl. You got the best possible score.”

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The Exam, Part Two

They wouldn’t even let her keep her pretty little socks on.

Her daddy braided the rope into her hair while the doctor guided her hips to one side and slowly pulled her trembling fists away from her mouth. “Can’t have you hiding from the students, now can we?” he smiled, and carefully tightened the cuff around one wrist. “Besides, we don’t know where your fingers have been.”

“S-students?” she squeaked.

Her daddy began to loop the doubled rope in a cuff around her ankles, slowly pulling her head back, making her look up wide-eyed at the doctor as he cupped each of her breasts and palpated them. When it seemed he’d checked them out quite thoroughly, he shook a pair of clamps on a chain out of the pocket of his white coat.

“Nuh-uh,” she whimpered, looking down as best she could, increasingly unable to move her head to track them. “Nuh-UH.”

“What did we say about being bratty with the doctor?” purred her daddy, giving her a sharp little bad-girl spank between her legs.

“I’m sorry!” she gasped. “But I didn’t—I don’t—I’ve been GOOD—”

“Even good girls need to wear the right testing equipment.” The doctor patted her cheek, then reached down to grab her nipple and tweak back and forth a few times. She couldn’t help but let out a little whining sound when he tightened the first clamp onto it. “We have to make sure you fit in with all the others.”

“Others—” was all she said before her daddy, pulling on a spare glove, silenced her by pushing three fingers into her mouth.

Pacified, sucking automatically at them as they fucked against her tongue, she barely even noticed as the second clamp tightened down and the doctor unset the brake on the table’s wheels. Dazed, increasingly sunk in a very particular headspace, she watched them roll her—stripped, bound and exposed—out of the room and down a hallway. The wheels bumped over the threshold of an elevator, where a couple of other doctors glanced over at her with mild interest, and then turned away.

When they rolled her out, she saw a bank of other tables adorned with squirming, hogtied girls, and one empty spot in the middle.

“See? Nothing to fear. Still, we can give you a little something to soothe your nerves,” smiled the doctor as he pulled up a tray of gleaming surgical steel. The something in question turned out to be a heavy, bulbous plug, which he was able to work into her slippery ass without much trouble at all.

It worked, too, enough that once it was in, her daddy pulled out of her mouth and left her throbbing and panting and trembling—but not afraid. Being filled always helped her feel this way, like she was being used correctly, like she could stop guessing and flinching and just be where she was told to be.

“Acute regression,” the doctor was saying as his students gathered around, peering at her taut-bowed body. “Like most of the others in this group, we can prolong or intensify the effect with mild genital stimulation.” Some kind of plastic instrument pressed against her, parting her lips; a set of rubber nubs settled against her exposed clit and clicked to buzzing life. She squeaked, panting harder, looking up at them all in open-mouthed vulnerability as the flush spread from her cheeks down to her throat and chest.

The students all noted that down.

“Go ahead and form two lines to take a closer look,” said the doctor, “one on the left side of the table, one on the right. Remember, fresh gloves for each orifice! She’ll be staying with us during each day for the duration of the study, and released to her caretaker at night.”

Her daddy patted her hair as the anonymous people queued up to look inside her, one after another. It was clearly something they were getting used to practicing: speculum in, speculum open, a few swabs of the gloved fingers, speculum closed and out. The ones in front of her didn’t even bother making eye contact, just took her chin one by one and probed inside her cheeks, under her wet and gasping tongue. She would have been trembling even without the little instrument still teasing her clit.

Every one of them took a moment to toy with the plug and watch her react to it. Every one of them tapped a few times on the clamps, and scribbled a note or two.

By the time they’d all gone through both lines, she was a blinking, speechless mess, so deep in her own head that she couldn’t remember the way back out. “You’ve been SO brave,” she thought she heard the doctor murmur, bending down to stroke her ear while Daddy rubbed one thumb along the back of her neck. “And you’re all done for today! Tomorrow will be a little… longer, but you did just fine, and your Daddy and I agree that you can earn a new treat every time. Won’t that be nice?”

“Uh—uh huh,” she whimpered, even that little sound requiring an enormous feat of concentration.

“You’re here because you’re very, very special,” smiled her daddy. “I’ve always known it. The doctor here is just going to prove it. Isn’t that exciting, sweetheart? You and all your new little friends are going to be part of something absolutely wonderful.”