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The Institute was converted from a women’s college. It took us three hours to get there. Katerina didn’t speak the whole time, just sat curled in her seat with her chin nearly to her chest. I didn’t push her. When we pulled up to the gates, I turned to my daughter.

She wouldn’t look at me.

I drove on. The man in the gatehouse leaned out the window when we approached.

I handed him my ID and he checked me against the registry. Peering through the windows, he saw my teenaged daughter slumped against the window, and nodded at us both.

“God be with you,” he said to me.

They gave us rooms in an old dormitory. It was late afternoon in autumn, and the college was in its prime. The old brick buildings complemented the upstate New York trees, turned red and orange in the crisp air. The college had been founded in the nineteenth century, and I marveled at the arches and old paned windows as we walked up the stone steps. But Katerina said nothing, just hung her head. The place was quiet. Most of the girls were in class or therapy sessions, the man in the office told us when we checked in, and their fathers were supervising. There were a few out walking when we passed, but for the most part, the dormitories were silent as the grave. Our footsteps echoed in the stone halls as I carried up our luggage.

Katerina shuffled her feet. Her long, dark hair hung in sheets on either side of her pale cheeks, so I could not see her eyes. I scolded her for slouching, and she stood up straighter to oblige me, but I could tell her spirits were low. I squeezed her shoulder.

“What a beautiful place,” I said, trying to keep my voice light. “Aren’t we lucky to be staying here?”

We paused outside a window, looking down at what had been the quad, back when girls were permitted to attend university. Now, the girls on campus were all here to learn, but it was not academics that they were here for. My poor child was so distraught at meriting a place in these punitive halls that I gave up trying to cheer her, and opened the door to our suite.

The rooms had been rehabilitated since women studied here. Gone were the linoleum floors and formica counters. The government, in an effort to encourage fathers in their participation — grown men could not be expected to live in such shoddy conditions — the dormitories had been converted into apartments that befit the rest of the campus. We had an enormous window looking out onto the quad, hardwood floors covered in a Persian rug, and a large leather couch. The kitchen was small but clean and contained new appliances and enameled glassware. There were two bedrooms off the living room — one small one for Katerina, with a twin bed and desk, and a larger one for me, with a king sized bed. There was a small room off of my bedroom that would serve as a office.

I brought Katerina’s small suitcase into her room and opened it for her. The little bed was dressed in a white eyelet coverlet and pillows, with a dust ruffle. Still sullen, she removed her long dresses from the suitcase and hung them in the closet. I caught sight of her regulation undergarments — white and modest — folded like little flowers at the bottom of the suitcase. To cheer her up, I removed the two stuffed animals I had put in there earlier that day, Beebee, the little stuffed bear she’d had since she was a child, and Tulip, the little dog. They sat on the bed and completed the picture of the little girl’s room, though Katerina herself was eighteen and nearly a woman herself, and sullen rather than cheerful.

She sat on the bed in her long gray dress. Her eyes looked bluer than usual from her crying. I sat beside her and took her in my arms.

“Kitten,” I said to her. “It will be all right.”

She shook her head. “I’ve failed you.”

I hesitated. I did not know what my baby did to earn a place here. Gently, I said, “Kitten, are you ready to tell me what you did?”

She covered her face in her hands. Slowly, she shook her head. I sighed. Ten days ago, I received a letter in the mail. As the guardian of Katerina’s virtue, I was being made aware that she had performed a transgression, and our presence was required at the Girl’s Purity Institute beginning October first. I clicked my tongue. “Katerina, it would help me to know.”

“I can’t, papa,” she said. “I can ‘ t.”

I sighed. Katerina is a perfectionist, and is historically very hard on herself. Ever since the letter, I’ve been wracked with anxiety about her transgression, though I know it is something small. Even a kiss, or time alone in a room with a man, could have earned her a place here. I tell her again that I am proud to be her father.

“What are they going to do to me?” she asked. Her voice shook.

“You know I don’t know that.” It was true; the secrets of the Institute were guarded fiercely, even by graduates and their fathers. I kissed her forehead. “But we’ll get through this together.”

“How do you know?”

“I promise to be with you every step of the way,” london escorts I promised her, and I knew I was telling the truth. If I knew anything about the Purity Institution, I knew that Katerina would be my responsibility.

I left her in her room for a nap before dinner, and then went back down to the office. On my way down, I passed several Guardians in their uniforms, as well as other fathers and daughters. Apart from Katerina, I felt somewhat guilty for how I watched the girls, knowing that each and every one of them had earned their place here. Their fathers kept their hands on the smalls of their backs and looked at the men who passed with suspicion and even anger. I did not blame them. I saw a petite girl in her uniform — the same long loose dresses that virtuous women wore, though these were all gray rather than the patterns permitted to women not on probation. Each of the girls here was on probation, but had been deemed Salvageable — meaning her virginity had not been breached.

A place at the Institute was a great shame on a family. The girl herself, of course, was the culprit, but her father, as the keeper of her virtue, was as much to blame. Hence why I had to chaperone Katerina’s confinement. Still, most girls were here at their father’s urging. The state would not confine the girls until the circumstances were dire — it was up to us to keep track of our girls’ virtues, and bring them here when they veered off course. Katerina had been recommended by her teachers, our letter said, which meant that they had acted in my stead. Her transgression, I reminded myself, was surely quite minor. The hope was that in her time here, she would be pulled away from the temptation of the evil path she had been on, and avoid a future as an Expelled woman.

I shuddered to imagine my Katerina in one of those hellholes — a den of sin, the houses of the girls without virtue. Men could visit them at any time for their fill, treating the girls as the animals they were, rutting with them as they pleased. I myself had visited the dens many times. Every man in our society has. There are new girls there each week, as the expelled women are moved around the cities so the men never tire of them. As an expelled woman, their duty is to act as a public receptical for male pleasure. As a widower, I go to the dens twice a week, as I do not have a woman assigned to me. There I enjoy the affections of the whores who have failed their courses at the institution, or whom never qualified in the first place, women who fucked indiscriminately and were expelled from society. While Katerina is asleep, I exercise my rights as a man. But here, I am only her father.

I took my seat on a bench in the office, waiting beside a gray-haired gentleman and a little freckled brunette, twisting her hands in her lap. I tried not to, but I wondered what this sweetheart had done to earn a place here. I felt blood fill my cock as I imagined this little girl with a cock in her mouth.

In preparation for our journey today, I visited our town’s den last night. I knew that the Institute would be filled with temptation. It was a more pleasurable than usual visit. I hadn’t been there for more than five minutes, pacing through the hall of naked girls available for choosing, when I saw Sarah, Katerina’s childhood friend. I stopped in front of her.

“Sarah, sweetheart,” I said. I drank in her glorious body. Girls in our society are instructed to wear such loose, concealing garments, that I had little idea of the bodies beneath, even my own child. It was a pleasure to see Sarah’s little hip bones that poked out and her puffy pink nipples. I took her to my bed, where I made her show me what she had done to earn a life as a whore, and she bent down on her hands and knees and let me take her from behind. I sighed in her ear as I finished, “God, little one, how good to see you again.”

As much as I enjoyed the dens, I deplored the idea of my child ending up in those hellish walls. It made bile rise in my throat to imagine sweet Katerina lined up for rutting. The Guardians of Purity — the man in our society who maintain the order — are brought through the dens each morning, to empty their seed, so they can go about their days among the virtuous women with respect and control. At night, they return to the whores, hot with lust. It is the burden of the men in our society to be surrounded by women forbidden to touch. But it is so comforting knowing the women who share are homes are worthy of that honor.

When I was growing up, society was as it used to be, with women dressing like sluts and doing what they pleased. But as the new government took over, the rules changed. I’ll admit that at first, I protested. I marched with the women. Girlfriends of mine who, I realize now, were beyond saving. Godless women. Now they are all retired from the dens, being too old to serve for pleasure. As soon as I had a little girl of my own, born to me by my wife Lilian, God rest her soul, while she was alive, I london escort recognized the superiority of this society. Katerina was safe. Now, I would guard Katerina until it was time to hand her off as a wife. If she proved virtuous until then, she would have a home of her own and her body would be available to just one man. It gave me pride to know that Katerina would be protected from the lustful gazes of men and her precious female parts would be cherished.

I do not know what my darling girl has done to earn a place in the Institute, but I am determined to help her get out.

I waited while the gray-haired gentleman and his daughter spoke to the head Guardian, and then, at least, it is my turn. Dr. Benjamin Moorcroft is in his sixties, with bright white hair and a pleasant lined face. He welcomed me into his office, and he smiled.

“Come in, Mr. Watson,” he says. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

We shook hands. He offered me a glass of whiskey, and I accepted. He nodded at the door, where the father and daughter just left.

“It’s her monthly check-in,” he said. “She’s doing very well. I expect in a few weeks she will be allowed to go home.” He smiled. “Our methods here are strict, but they are effective.”

I nodded. I have done my research. Dr. Benjamin Moorcroft is the lead researcher in preserving female purity, and he has only been leading the institute for three years now. The success rates, where girls are allowed back into society with clean records, have gone from fifty-two percent to ninety-eight under his tenure. I let him know of my admiration.

He nods his head. He is both modest and aware that he does not need my praise; his degrees behind him say everything that needs to be said.

“And how is young Katerina?” he asked me.

I told him of her nerves and her shame.

“That is to be expected,” he said. I appreciated that he did not seem to look down on my Katerina. He smiled at me instead. “And how is our papa doing?”

I grinned sheepishly. “I’m also a bit nervous,” I said. “I don’t know why Katerina is here, but knowing her, it was a small transgression. I expect her to make it through the treatment course quickly. I have complete faith in my child. But I’ll admit, I am apprehensive. I don’t know my role.”

“That’s natural,” he said. “I promise that we — our entire staff of guardians — will work with you to protect Katerina from her baser instincts, and put her back on the path toward virtuosity.”

“I’m glad to hear it. I’ll do whatever is necessary to help her.”

“But, Mr. Watson, I am here to talk to you about your daughter before we begin. It is useful for fathers to have a complete understanding of their child before we begin the rehabilitation, and that includes knowledge of the girls’ transgressions. That way, we know what we’re working with.”

He paused, and opened a drawer in his desk. He took out a small flash drive and placed it on the table.

“On this drive is the video evidence of young Katerina’s transgressions,” he said. I stared at the drive, immensely curious, and a little sick. I didn’t like the idea of this man having seen my baby in any compromising position, even if it was just a kiss. “Once she is asleep tonight, I encourage you to familiarize yourself with the evidence.”

I frowned. “What did she do?”

“It’s not only what she did — which we will discuss momentarily,” he said, lightly touching a manila folder on the desk, “but also how. Some girls, you see, commit transgressions out of a misplaced desire to please someone. In their minds they are following rules. Other girls are more, as we call them here, urgent cases. They transgress because of a deeper desire. Desire for penetration. A wound, you see, in their virtue.”

I didn’t see what this had to do with Katerina. I nodded at the file. “What case is my daughter?”

“I’m afraid that she is very urgent,” he said, and opened the file. “She appears to very greatly desire penetration.”

There were a stack of papers in there. Forms, I saw, filled out by hand. He took them out and put them on the desk. I saw then that they were reports of transgressions filled out by teachers at Katerina’s etiquette school.

Girls stop attending academic school after the age of twelve, but they continue to attend school to learn to deportment, cleaning, and cooking until they become wives. Their teachers, of course, are all male, as the women qualified to impart those skills are wives confined to the home. There were nine forms in front of me.

“What am I looking at?” I asked. The words danced. I saw some of them, but my stomach was sick, and I had little sense of what this all meant.

“Your child has been pleasuring her teachers at school,” Dr. Moorcroft said, “for a matter of weeks now.”

“Pleasuring…” I stuttered. “What do you mean pleasuring?”

He turned a form over to show me a handwritten paragraph, reporting an altercation her elocution teacher had with her in his office on the thirteenth london escort agency of last month. The day before I received the letter.

1:32 pm

K. Watson has just left the office. After a brief request for a meeting, she arrived in my office at 12:42 pm, and did not request to keep the door open. She failed to request a chaperone. When I asked her about her previous meetings [with me the previous week, as well as D. Henderson and K. Fenners and M. Browning and M. Waterstones and J. Jenkins and L. Banks and P. Raj and T. Phillips] she failed to show appropriate levels of contrition and instead grew red in the face and quiet. When I asked her to tell me what she did to those men, she began to do so, failing to speak with sufficient modesty. She used the words “cock” and “pussy”. When I began to kiss and fondle her breasts, K. Watson did not stop me, but grew short of breath and moaned. She allowed me to stroke her pussy (which grew wet at my ministrations). I was able to insert four fingers into her cunt and slap it while she bent at the waist. She allowed me to call her names such as “filthy whore”, “animal” and when I asked if she belonged in the dens, she said, “yes sir throw me in the den, sir, let the men rut me.” After several minutes of this, even allowed herself to be brought to orgasm by my hand. She then knelt before me and performed fellatio, and allowed me to ejaculate on her cheeks, forehead, and mouth.

All told it took her six minutes from the beginning of the meeting until I had a finger inside her vagina. That is an escalation from last time, and being that the crime took place in under ten minutes, she is classified as High Risk and recommended for the institute.

I stared at the file. I was speechless. I was furious. With Katerina, of course, but also with her teachers. Each file detailed a time in which Katerina had sucked a teacher’s cock, and sometimes even allowed them to lick her cunt. At one point, three of the men had done this at once. Blood pounded in my ears.

“Remember, Mr. Watson, that her teachers are not guardians of purity,” Dr. Moorcroft said, “and are responsible for testing a girl’s boundaries. Katerina was informed of her strikes many times and failed—”

“Damn this!” I threw the file down. “Why was I not informed? I am her father. I keep her virtue.”

Dr. Moorcroft paused. “Katerina was given many letters to take home to you. If she failed to do so, it is only further evidence of the danger she is in.”

He paused. “I’ll admit we were confused as to why you had not recommended her for the institute before this. Most fathers put their girls in at the first sign of a transgression. The state does not act until the girls allow men near their vaginas within ten minutes of the beginning of an interaction. Until then, it is for a father to discipline his daughter, including recommending her for the institute. It relieves me to know that you would have taken steps sooner, had you been made aware.”

“Of course,” I said. “I had no idea that Katerina was such a… such a…”

“Sir, I don’t have to tell you that Katerina is very close to losing her place among virtuous women in society, and earning a life in the den.”

My vision clouded. I felt Dr. Moorcroft wrestling me into my chair; I was angry, I was frightened, I was beyond reason. I knew each of these teachers, knew their families, had seen the way they treated women in the dens. To picture them with my child made me ill.

“Why didn’t they stop her? They’re her teachers!”

Dr. Moorcroft smiled. It made me furious; he was looking at me like I was an idiot. “I repeat, they are not guardians of purity. They have no responsibility to the girls, apart from an oath as educators not to penetrate them with their male organs. Their jobs, in fact, are to test the girls’ resolve. If a girl tempts them, it’s her responsibility to rebuff their advances. I’m sorry sir, but little Katerina failed to do so. And, respectfully sir, can you blame them for seeing how far she would go?” He paused. “I know you have been in the same situation, Mr. Watson, and you know the temptation.”

I closed my eyes. I couldn’t think about Katerina like that. But I myself had taken a girl before. Little Sarah, come down for a glass of water at a sleepover, unable to rest. I was driven a little wild by the presence of so many eighteen-year-old virgins in my house. At the sight of this sleepy girl, I decided to see if I could tempt her out of her virtue. I asked Sarah to watch something on the couch with me. There, I showed her videos made in the dens, the stuff of which girls like her had never seen. I held her as we watched girls take cocks in their pussies, ass and mouth, girls used and girls who screamed for more. I still remember her wide eyes, the sick glee in my heart as I knew I had her, that she would fall so easily. I had been gentle at the beginning, then bent her over the couch on her hands and knees, muffling her cries into the pillows. When I saw her again in the dens, and reenacted her shame, she had squealed with the same wanton pleasure, the pleasure of a whore unable to stop herself. Last night, she had begged me to take her as I had the first time, when she had met her destiny on my cock.

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