Leaving Roman

by Becca Jameson

  She does so immediately, pulling her shoulders back in the manner she’s been taught. It’s second nature to her now.

  I set my hands on her thighs and press them wide.

  She shivers. Perfection. Mine. My little girl.

  I move my hands to her waist and run them up over her breasts, sliding my thumbs roughing across her nipples.

  She arches, her bottom lip coming between her teeth.

  “Are your titties sore? Is the tulle too itchy?”

  “No, Sir.” She shakes her head. She knows better than to tell me yes. She learned that lesson a long time ago. The day she spent two hours standing naked in the playroom attached to my office with her sweet titties pressed against the wall. The timeout alone wasn’t out of the ordinary. The nudity wasn’t either. Nor was the length of the timeout. What made that day different was the sandpaper I forced her to hold against the wall, using only her breasts.

  It didn’t hurt her, of course, because she wasn’t permitted to move. But it forced every ounce of her awareness to her sweet tits for the entire time, leaving her soaking wet and nearly moaning with the need to be touched elsewhere.

  “Good girl.” I shift my hands away from her tits. “Lie back on my desk, hands above your head.”

  She does as I tell her.

  I slide my fingers to her ankles and lift her feet, setting her sparkly pale blue Mary Janes on the edge of the desk, wide apart. “Open your knees for me, blossom.”

  She presses her legs obscenely wide, pleasing me immensely, but I don’t fully exhale until I have my hands on her thighs, my fingers against the edge of her panties, and my gaze on the soaking wet material.

  She’s still my little girl.

  At least for today.

  I can’t resist dragging two fingers over the wet circle, flicking them over her clit, making her moan as she draws her butt cheeks together and lifts her bottom off the desk.

  Yes. God, yes.

  That’s all I give her. The next second, I release her, pull her to sitting, and lift her off the desk to settle her on wobbly feet.

  Her cheeks are fully flushed yet again.

  With my hands on her biceps, supporting her entire frame until I’m certain she’s steady enough to walk, I kiss her nose. “I love you, Lucy.”

  “I love you too, Daddy,” she responds without hesitation.

  I release her and pat her bottom, urging her to go to the kitchen. As I watch her pad from the room, her skirt billowing out around her bottom, I thank God for every second I’ve had with her.

  How many more days will she let me dominate her like this?

  It’s like a clock is ticking. I don’t think I’m imagining it. It’s real. It’s loud. It’s insistent. If I don’t find the right combination of things to make her happy, she’s going to leave me. Maybe not today. Not tomorrow. But soon.

  She’s restless.

  I’m operating on borrowed time here.

  I know she loves me. I’ve never doubted it for a second. But it’s not enough anymore. I can feel it in the air.

  Chapter 7

  Lucy

  * * *

  It’s been two weeks since the morning Master Roman informed me he would be taking me to Surrender, and so far, we’ve gone three times. He wasn’t messing around. He meant business. Also, true to his word, no one has been at the club any of the times he’s taken me.

  I still feel awkward, and I shudder as he takes my hand tonight to help me from his car. We’re parked in the back. It’s late. There are no other businesses open in the strip mall. I shouldn’t care that I’m dressed far too young for regular society, nor that Daddy has seated me in the back seat behind him, nor that he’s reached into the car to unbuckle me.

  No one is around.

  I shudder anyway, holding my breath until we step inside. I don’t know why I care if people see me like this, but the truth is I do. I’m not really out. Not in the conventional sense. I’m calm and happy when we’re at home, but being caught in public makes me extremely nervous.

  Maybe I’m overreacting, but I don’t believe people would understand. I barely understand our dynamic myself. How would I explain it to someone else?

  As soon as we’re inside, I take a deep breath as the back door shuts behind me. Surrender is Master Roman’s club. I’ve been here when it was open. I understand the dynamics of the fetish world well enough, but nothing helps me relax enough to participate in public myself.

  I’m clear that I’m not the only little in the world. I’ve even met a few when Julius has brought them to the house over the years. There are girls like me. Boys too. People who enjoy pretending to be significantly younger than they are. It’s role play.

  The problem is that while many people enjoy a few hours dressing as a child and acting like one, I don’t actually know anyone who lives as a little girl twenty-four seven. In the past three years, the only times I’ve stepped outside the role were the hours I spent in class at school.

  I feel safe when Master Roman controls every single thing I do. It relaxes me. It calms me. It soothes me.

  It also scares the hell out of me how much I’ve come to rely on this role. Surely I should be outgrowing it by now. After all, I only enjoy this age because it’s the one I missed out on. It’s logical. And Master Roman is a nurturer. He enjoys taking care of me, seeing to all my needs. Also understandable.

  But what bothers me is that I was only twelve for a year the first time. Shouldn’t I have gotten over it and moved on to at least thirteen? And then fourteen and fifteen? Even if I need or want to redo those years, they are still just one year each.

  I mentioned this once to Master Roman and he’d chuckled, drawing me into his comfortable embrace. His hand had slid under my dress to cup my panty-covered bottom like usual. “It’s not a specific, direct correlation, blossom. Some people simply enjoy a specific age and want to stay there. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  I relaxed against him that day, but inside, I’d still not been sure.

  It’s not any clearer to me today either. Especially since I’ve been longing for something else for months.

  I found myself dreading my own graduation because it meant the end of me leaving the house to act like any other woman my age.

  I realize I have it backwards. The acting part is the twenty hours a day I spend as a twelve-year-old. The real part should have been the three or four hours I spent at school. But I never see it that way. My life is as Master Roman’s little girl. When I attended class, I sent an imposter. A grown woman. Someone I don’t really know.

  But it scares me thinking I should be that woman. I used to think that when Master Roman opened my eyes to the world of role play we live in, I had found myself. Now, I worry that I’m losing myself.

  As I follow Master Roman down the dark corridor toward the main room, I hear a woman’s voice. I stiffen for a moment before I realize it’s Claudia. But just as I release my breath, I hear a second female voice. One I don’t know.

  I jerk my hand out of Master Roman’s grip and take a step back, flattening myself against the wall. “Sir?”

  He narrows his gaze before grabbing me by the arm and leading me almost roughly up the back stairs and into his office. As soon as we’re inside, he shuts the door and turns on the lights.

  I squint at the brightness, my heart racing.

  Without a word, he continues to guide me across the room. When we get to the loveseat, he wastes not one second, immediately pulling my fluffy white dress over my head and hauling my panties down to my ankles.

  I shiver. He’s mad.

  He tugs me to his side next, and two seconds later, I’m over his lap, my breasts swaying between his legs, my bottom in the air, my feet tangled in my panties that won’t easily fall off, because they’re tight, and I’m wearing bulky, mermaid, light-up tennis shoes.

  His hand lands fast and hard on my bottom, and I brace myself as he continues to spank me several times. My butt cheeks are burning, and my
emotions are all over the place.

  I’ve been spanked hundreds of times. I’m used to Master Roman’s mannerisms. But tonight is different. He still hasn’t said a word.

  To make matters worse, even though my face is hot and tears of remorse have leaked to run down my cheeks, my breasts are swollen and heavy, the little tips abrading maddeningly against his pants. And I’m wet. If he weren’t bracing me with a hand on my lower back, I would squirm right off his lap.

  He adds insult to injury when he nudges my thighs apart and thrusts two fingers into my pussy. I cry out, lifting my head, arching. I need more. I need to come worse than I have in weeks.

  Master Roman pulls his fingers out of my wet channel and drags them to my tighter hole. He presses them into my bottom next, excruciatingly slowly, pulling them out abruptly as soon as they are flush with my clenched rear.

  Before I can take my next breath, he has me on my feet. If he wasn’t holding me up with one hand, I would have fallen on my face. Instead, I clasp my hands behind my back and lean against his thigh as he grabs a wet wipe from the end table and cleans his fingers.

  And then he’s on his feet, taking my hand, leading me the few yards it takes to get to the corner of his office. These are the most awkward steps of my life because my feet are tangled in my panties, and I can’t spread them very far.

  Master Roman presses me into the corner with a hand on my back. “Nose to the wall. Feet wide. Hands behind your back.”

  My heart is racing as he finally speaks. My nipples are pressed against the cold walls at the corner. My forehead is holding me up as I grab one wrist with my other hand and spread my feet as wide as I can with my panties pulled tight at my ankles.

  My bottom is burning.

  And my pussy is pulsing with need.

  I didn’t mean to be disobedient. It just happened. Reflexive. Even though we both know I get turned on when I’m punished like this, I’m not a brat. Master Roman made it clear within a few weeks of meeting me that he didn’t want a brat. When I’m naughty, I get punished, but if he ever thought I did so on purpose, we would be in a completely different scenario. I never have. Not once. Not even this time.

  I’m shaking as he leaves the room. I hear the door close behind him as I suck in lungfuls of air, trying to catch my breath. I’m crying. Tears are falling down my cheeks, and now that I’m alone, I let myself sob outright.

  The tears are from shock and disappointment in myself and sexual frustration. They are confusing, but I’ve had this happen before. It’s not the first time. I know I’ll pull myself together in a few minutes. To self-soothe, I rub my thumb across the heart dangling from my bracelet.

  I can’t explain even to myself why I freaked out over the sound of an unknown woman’s voice in the hallway. It wasn’t as if she could see me. And so what if she could? She was with Claudia. She was probably a submissive, like me, getting some training in the empty club. I know Claudia has a key. She’s one of Master Roman’s best friends. They go back more than two decades.

  Claudia is a Domme. She’s commanding and gorgeous and skilled. I count myself lucky that she’s also one of my only true friends. She has helped me understand myself better than even my counselor over the years.

  Master Roman is gone a while. By the time I hear the door open and close again, I’m calmer. I’m also shivering from the cool air in the room. My face is tight from dried tears, and I need to blow my nose after sniffling for several minutes, but I’m no longer panicking.

  My bottom burns, and that sensation heightens as I picture Master Roman staring at the pinkened skin.

  I hear him drop onto the leather loveseat. Finally, he speaks. “Your timeout is over, Lucy. Come here.”

  I release the grip I have on my wrist and use both hands against the wall to find my balance. Turning around is awkward with my panties bunched at my ankles, but I do so anyway, and then I shuffle toward him. He’s seen me naked every day for a thousand days, but I feel more naked tonight.

  After dropping to my knees in front of him, I lift my gaze. “I’m sorry, Sir.”

  He cups my face. There isn’t a trace of anger in his expression. I’m not surprised. I’ve learned that when my punishment is over, it’s over. Master Roman never dwells on it. Except to ensure I know why I’ve been reprimanded, as I know he’s about to do now.

  “Do you know why I spanked you, Lucy?”

  “Yes, Sir. I pulled away from you in the hallway.” I shudder. His gaze on me is making me warmer by the second. I pray he’s going to let me come at some point tonight. He’s been stingy with orgasms lately. I’m growing desperate.

  He releases my face and leans back, putting distance between us that makes me uncomfortable. “It bothers me that you don’t trust me enough to take care of you.”

  “I do. Sir—” I stop myself mid-sentence. Obviously, I’m full of shit. If I had trusted him, I wouldn’t have freaked out over a female voice.

  He lifts a brow and then reaches for a tissue on the end table and hands it to me.

  I blow my nose as daintily as possible. “You’re right, Sir. I should have trusted you to know what’s best for me and to make the right choices under any circumstance. I reacted without thinking.”

  Master Roman leans forward again, elbows on his knees, his gaze locked on mine. “I can’t guarantee no one will ever see you here. There’s always a possibility someone else with a key might be here when we are. However, keep in mind that you know every person who has a key to this club. So, worst case scenario, you might encounter one of their submissives.”

  I nod. He’s right. Who cares if Claudia’s submissive sees me? Obviously I do, but I shouldn’t. Surrender is a well-known establishment, which prides itself on privacy. Whoever was with Claudia was unlikely to have judged me and would know better than to ever mention me in public.

  “As it turns out, the woman with Claudia would have been far more shocked to have met you than the other way around. She’s new to the scene. It’s best for her that she not meet you just yet.”

  Yet?

  Master Roman must have seen the question in my expression because he continues. “Her name is Abby, and she’s staying with Julius, Beck, and Levi. Inevitably you two will meet, but tonight was too soon.”

  I nod, understanding. Julius and his housemates train women, helping them figure out what type of submission best suits them. “Is Abby their new intern?” I ask as realization dawns.

  Master Roman narrows his gaze in the most successful silent reprimand I’ve ever seen on another human. He can put me in my place with that look any time or place.

  I flinch. “Sorry, Sir.” I know him well enough to know he doesn’t mind me asking questions. He never has. But he does insist I speak to him respectfully. I failed.

  He lets it go. “Yes. She is, and it would seem that those three seriously believed they could hire her for the summer without her finding out weddings and baby showers aren’t the only types of photo shoots their company offers.”

  I almost giggle. I heard them mentioning that they’d hired a female intern the night of my graduation. I know Julius and his housemates well. I was a bit shocked to hear them say they wouldn’t be taking in a new submissive for the summer because they wanted to focus on their photography business, Vanguard Media Specialists.

  Apparently Abby fell into their lives as far more than an intern. I hadn’t imagined they could actually pull off a three-month internship without the intern finding out they also shoot BDSM scenes in their home studio.

  I wonder if Abby figured it out or if one of them told her or some other incident put her in a position to submit to the three of them. The truth is they video people in the fetish world. Master Roman says they are so good at it that their work is far better than any porn. People who practice kink come to them to be filmed for their own personal library. I’ve never seen any of their work, of course.

  Master Roman has never once suggested I let them film me, and I shudder to even consider the
idea. I’m not even interested in getting naked in front of his closest friends, let alone having them video me.

  Master Roman continues. “Claudia is showing Abby around, helping her understand the lifestyle.”

  He taps my nose, something he does often that gives away his lighter mood. “As soon as they leave, you, my little cherry blossom, are in for a long night.”

  I shudder. I have no reason to doubt him. After the stunt I pulled when we arrived, I suspect my bottom isn’t going to be the only part of my body burning in a short while. Master Roman has the ability to make several parts of me feel like they’re on fire. “Yes, Sir.” Goose bumps rise all over my naked body, a combination of fear and anticipation. I just pray the night ends in orgasm. If he denies me much longer, I’ll explode.

  Chapter 8

  Master Roman

  * * *

  As Lucy lowers her gaze, tipping her face toward the floor, I can’t help but remind myself how damn lucky I am. This woman is perfect for me in every way. I don’t mind a bit that she jerked out of my clutch in the hallway earlier. In fact, I enjoy her small displays of defiance now and then. They keep things fresh and give me a chance to reassert my authority.

  The position she’s in right now is one of my favorites. On her knees, hands clasped behind her, shoulders pulled back, tits high, chin lowered, thighs wide. The fact that her panties are tangled around her ankles, trapped by her pastel light-up sneakers, simply adds to the effect. She has no choice but to keep her feet close together behind her.

  She is precious.

  I watch as her skin prickles with goose bumps. I know she isn’t cold. She’s nervous. After three years, the fact that I can still keep her wondering is a blessing. I want her to see that. I want to remind her every day that we still have a spark. More like a fire.

  She’s been working for me for the past two weeks. Not full time, but enough hours to keep her busy and give her a sense of purpose. I know it’s not enough, and I’ve been thinking hard about how I might be able to change things around in my business to give her more responsibility.