leili

cat hair and plastic bricks - Bucky Barnes

small town beauty - 30s!teen!Bucky Barnes

pulchritudinous - Steve Kemp

It feels as though the ground is pulling at your feet. Walking through the hallway to your personal cell is much harder than it should be, despite your trial having gone well. You got an A+ as expected, but it felt much more exhausting than it should have. Dragging your battered body into your cell, you pull at the handle of the door to pull it shut, stumbling towards your bed and barely landing on it. You roll onto your back with a pant, your eyes finding the ceiling. Tracing the little dark speckles of the concrete.

"Tired, aren't you?" A crackled voice rings out. You turn your head, eyes traveling to the lonesome radio on your desk. The one that endlessly spouts pre-recorded praises from Doctor Easterman to keep you motivated. You've long since learned that everything here is pre-recorded. Nothing is real. Pulling your gaze away from the lifeless hunk of metal, you press your head against your pillow. "Don't turn away from me. You know better than to ignore father." Now you turn back to face the radio. "Good. Now, as I had previously asked, you're tired. Aren't you?"

"Yes, Doct-" You begin, only to be cut off by another crackle.

"Daddy." Easterman commands, his order clear even with just one word.

"...Yes, Daddy." You answer fully now. You hear a scoff, or maybe an amused huff, ring through the damaged radio speakers.

"Good girl. Learning so quickly, just as you always did." His voice pushes past your ears, moving through your brain as if to alter your very being. You nearly melt for him. Your training tells you to obey. To be good. To follow blindly.

"Thank you, Daddy." An automatic response ripped from you without any thought. That's how Easterman believes it should be. Responses without thought, obedience without begging.

"Sometimes I feel like I'm in love with you." Easterman states abruptly, interrupting your internal contemplation. "I feel like a teacher watching my prized student put the things I taught her to use." He hums. "You are my muse. My standard for the others. Did you know that? You've always been the best. Always had that fight in you."

"You say this to everyone, don't you?" You accuse. Silence follows, but you don't let it stretch. "You praise them when they start getting weaker, hoping to get an ounce more use out of them. This is all pre-recorded too, isn't it?"

"No, it isn't, as a matter of fact." Easterman's voice replies, an underlying pent-up frustration slipping through the typical calm. "I'd threaten to have you tortured, but you wouldn't care. You're already a mess." He insults. "You want something real? Work for it." He nearly growls. Then, you hear him take a deep breath, exhaling slowly. "...I want you to show me how obedient you are. I'm beginning not to trust you anymore. You're being a brat." Easterman says condescendingly.

"I don't need to show you my obedience." You insist, glaring daggers at the radio.

"Glaring any harder will make your eyes pop out." Easterman forces out. A groan leaves the radio. "Why don't you just listen? You always perform perfectly, but you never listen to a word I say."

"I listen." You cut in, not letting him speak again. "You just have to be a better commande-" "I am in control here." He stops you. You don't get a chance to reply. "Arguing over mindless issues is below me. You are a peasant. I am your father. Your god. And you listen to me." Easterman pauses, letting the words sink in.

Something in his tone digs deeper. It feels familiar, though you're unsure why. You don't have very much time to think before he speaks again.

"I understand you. You yearned to meet my expectations, and once you met them, you got bored. You gave up. You stopped being my how-high." He pauses, seemingly getting closer to his microphone, as his voice becomes clearer. "Maybe I should tie you up, bend you over my knee, and spank you until you know not to be rude to your daddy. Maybe I should go in there myself and let you feel my belt." His words don't feel like threats. There's a smoothness in his voice that wasn't there before- one that makes his words feel like invitations. Your eyes begin to soften with confusion and curiosity.

"..What are you implying?" You ask, frowning. Easterman laughs softly, and you can hear the smirk in his voice as he speaks again.

"I'm implying a lesson. To help you relearn how to obey me. You've clearly forgotten." He explains, then pauses, taking a breath. "Take them off."

"What?" You squeak.

"Your panties. Take them off." Easterman's voice sparks out of the radio. You can almost smell the cigarettes on his breath, which would be impossible, but you can imagine it. Facing the camera in the corner, you hesitate for a moment, then remove them. "Good, you still know how to obey. Just like I taught you. The rest, now." His voice reaches you again. And again, just like a machine, you follow his command. The chill of your cell's stale air hits you, hardening the buds upon your chest almost instantly. Your E.S.O.P. device conceals them from sight, though you're not sure whether to be upset or thankful.

"Don't speak." Easterman starts again, silencing the words that were about to spill from your lips. He waits a moment, then chuckles. "Good girl. Always obeying father. Lie down." The radio crackles, the noise leaving it sounding like a low groan, or maybe even a sigh. "Touch yourself. Touch yourself as you do so many nights in a row." He growls, his voice getting heavier. "Don't penetrate yet," Easterman commands, seeing your fingers creep too close. "Only rub. Rub until I tell you otherwise."

A weak whimper leaves you upon the first contact. Your nerves are especially sensitive after being shocked by Coyle so many times today. It almost feels like his electricity lingers on your fingertips, and it shocks you every time you touch your own clit. You push through it, circling it slowly, pressing your lips together in order to avoid being too loud. Your legs fold slightly, and you're unsure whether to spread them and be provocative or press them together and be modest. You go for something in the middle.

"Good.." Easterman pants into his microphone, the noise coming out clearly on the radio. "Good fucking girl. You're being so obedient.. Fuck." You can imagine him humping his own hand already. Pumping his cock into his calloused hand. "You'd love to be tied up, wouldn't you? The rope would rub your skin raw, but.. Fuck, wouldn't that feel good." He groans again, this time lower, more withheld. "Put them in now. Fuck yourself. No, don't curl them. Just thrust." A laugh leaves him. He's almost in disbelief at your obedience. You're doing everything he says as he says it. "Such a good girl. Keep going. Don't go faster or slower, hold your pace." His rumbling voice and stern instruction make it hard to focus. He makes it hard to hold anything in.

"Doctor.." You breathe out, the word a shudder of restrained pleasure and need. This time, Easterman doesn't correct you.

"That's right," He breathes, his voice coming out almost desperate through the radio. "Imagine it. Imagine me. Imagine that it's me thrusting into you. That it's me holding your legs spread. That it's me fucking you." A clatter, maybe a pen, escapes through the radio. Doctor Easterman seems to stand now, the sound of wheels rolling against the ground faint in the background. "Close your eyes. Curl your fingers, only halfway. Good, so good for your daddy."

Closing your eyes only enhances the feeling of everything even more. The sound of Easterman's voice echoes through your mind, vibrating off of the walls of your brain, engraving itself into your memory. With your senses being turned up this high, it almost feels like you're flying. You push in further, much to Easterman's delight.

"There. Found that spot, haven't you? Rub it. Don't stop rubbing it." And you don't. Your fingers, slick with your own transudate. "You're beautiful. An angel on the brink of satisfaction. Take it. Find it, and reap your reward. I told you to jump, and you asked, how high?" His voice lingers on the edge of insanity. There's a certain breathiness in his words that tells you that he's close, too. "This. This is how high you have to go. Take it. Cum, now."

The exquisite feeling of release follows those words. Your body feels as though something else had taken over. You arch your back, you find your legs folding, and your mouth forms an 'o' shape. The moan you let out is almost laughable. It was pathetic. A loud, pinched squeal that hardly even made it out of your throat. Then, silence. Hard, lonely silence. Until the radio crackles for the last time.

"Good. Always so good. My star pupil." Easterman purrs with a pant in his speech. "Rest. Ready yourself for the trials to come. I'll be watching."

The radio silences. Desperately, you pull yourself out of your bed and reach for it, pressing the button that usually lets you hear him speak.

"I give you permission to love yourself."

Pre-recorded. As always. But what can you do but take it? You can't do anything but that.

So, obedient as ever, you drag yourself back to bed. You rest, as Doctor Easterman commanded you to. His star pupil. His How-High.

You can only try to survive the trials to come.

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