CHAPTER SEVENTEEN PART 2

The doors opened directly into the buildings she’d seen from outside.

It clicked into place as she crossed the threshold.

Dormitories.

Separated cleanly. No overlap. No ambiguity.

It made sense.

Rosey didn’t slow as she led her through, her pace matching the others without needing to check direction. The hallway stretched long and uniform, walls unmarked, doors spaced evenly along either side. Everything clean. Maintained. Nothing out of place.

The floor was warm underfoot.

Not heated enough to notice immediately, but consistent—intentional. It took the edge off the cool air, kept movement easy, comfortable.

No one spoke much here.

The energy had shifted. Not quieter exactly, but more contained. The same routine, just moving into its next part.

Rosey guided her through a final turn and into an open room.

Tiles.

White, uninterrupted, running from floor to ceiling. The space opened wide, no partitions, no separation beyond the layout itself. Shower heads lined the walls in even spacing, already running, water hitting the floor in steady, overlapping streams.

Steam sat lightly in the air, not thick enough to obscure, just enough to soften the edges of the room.

It was familiar.

Not in detail, but in structure.

It reminded her of the spa. After the hair removal. The same openness. The same expectation of movement without hesitation, without modesty, without pause.

The others were already moving under the water.

Rosey pulled her under one of the running showers and let go without ceremony, already reaching for what she needed.

The water came down steady and warm, soaking through immediately, flattening Riley’s hair against her head, running in thin lines down her shoulders and back. Around them, the same pattern repeated—bodies shifting under streams, hands moving with routine familiarity.

Shelving along the wall held bottles and tools, nothing excessive. Basic. Functional. Enough to keep everything clean, nothing more.

Rosey grabbed a scrunchie, squeezed gel into it, and worked it between her hands until it frothed.

Riley followed suit without thinking.

The process didn’t need instruction. It came together easily—soap, water, rinse. Her hands moved over herself with quiet efficiency, pausing briefly at her feet where the skin had split in shallow lines from the past few days. The sting was mild, dulled quickly by the heat of the water.

No one rushed.

No one lingered.

Just steady, practiced movement.

“Sit.”

The word came with a small nudge as Rosey pushed a low stool into place.

“I’ll wash your back. Then you do mine.”

Riley sat without question, the stool solid beneath her as the water continued to run over her shoulders. A moment later, she felt the contact—small hands, firm enough to be effective, moving the scrunchie across her back in slow, circular motions.

It wasn’t hesitant.

It wasn’t careful in the way inexperience would be.

It was routine.

Around them, the same exchange repeated. Girls shifting places, passing the task back and forth, talking as they worked without breaking rhythm. It was part of the process, not something separate from it.

Rosey finished without comment, stepping back just enough to signal the change.

Riley stood, then moved aside, letting her take the seat.

She repeated the motion, working the soap across Rosey’s back the same way it had been done for her. No adjustment needed. The pattern held.

When it was done, Rosey stood again, rinsing quickly, already moving on.

Riley followed a second later, the water washing the last of the soap away.

The whole thing settled into her more easily than she expected.

Structured.

Shared.

And, for once, nothing in it asked for anything beyond what it was.

The water cut off all at once.

No warning. No staggered delay. Just a clean stop that shifted the room from motion to transition.

No one hesitated.

Buckets were already set along the wall, filled and waiting. Each girl reached for one without looking, lifting and tipping it over themselves in a single, practiced motion. The water hit heavier than the showers had—cooler, more direct—washing away what remained in one go.

Rosey did it first.

Riley followed a second later, copying the motion exactly, the weight of it surprising for a brief moment before it settled into something simple.

Effective.

Almost fun.

The room shifted again as they moved out, water trailing behind them in thin lines across the tiles.

Rows of towels waited just beyond the threshold.

Handlers stood spaced between them, already reaching as the girls approached, wrapping, drying, turning bodies with quiet efficiency. Hands moved without pause—across shoulders, down arms, along backs—thorough without lingering, familiar without softness.

Riley spotted the same woman from earlier.

She stepped toward her without needing to be called.

“Come closer, Meatgirl,” the handler said, a hint of amusement sitting lightly in her tone. “Wouldn’t want you to miss anything.”

The towel came around her in one smooth motion, warm from the stack, pulled tight enough to hold her in place while the handler worked. The fabric moved quickly, pressing, absorbing, her hands following through it, guiding Riley’s posture without instruction.

Nothing was skipped.

Though her hands did linger on her breasts, pussy and ass.

“You’d fit in nicely here Meatgirl, d’you think we should ask who you came with for a price?”

Riley doesn’t answer. If her mother wanted to sell her, she’d have every right too.

Nearby, Rosey had already settled into her own handler’s hands, her body loose, head tilting slightly as she was dried, as if the attention itself was part of the routine.

Riley felt the last of the water taken from her skin, the towel shifting once more before it was pulled away.

“Say goodbye to Riley,” the handler said, her attention already moving on, voice carrying just enough to reach.

Rosey didn’t hesitate.

She stepped in close, arms wrapping around Riley’s waist without restraint, pressing in fully. No awkwardness. No pause.

“See you, City Animal,” she said, the same easy warmth in her voice as before.

Then she was gone, already turning back into the flow, already absorbed back into it.

Riley stood for a moment longer than necessary before she was guided away.

Back through the same halls. Past the same doors. Out of the dormitory and into the open space beyond.

Her hair still damp. Her skin not fully dry.

Kara was waiting where she’d left her.

“Hey, honey,” she said, her tone easy, unchanged. “Did you have a nice time?”

Riley gave a small shrug, the motion loose.

“I got a free meal and a shower,” she said.

It was enough.

Kara smiled faintly, as if that confirmed what she needed.

“Well,” she continued, already moving forward, “I’ve set up a meeting with the handler in charge of selecting Companion Animals from the livestock.”

A brief pause.

“She’s agreed to test you. If you’d like.”

Riley’s attention sharpened immediately, the shift quick, visible.

“Sure,” she said, the answer coming without hesitation. “Let’s do it.”