Raven's Girl- Promise

by Anastasia Vitsky

  “What did you mean by a dress code?”

  Well. Raven had underestimated this girl who looked more doll-like than adult. “Assuming, for the sake of argument, that we agree to continue this relationship, there will be certain rules.”

  Alena nodded. She must have known, but reality almost never aligned with fantasy. “Like a uniform?”

  Mm. Yes, please. “No, at least not at first. Take your outfit today, for instance.” Alena stiffened, as any capable adult would do when preparing for criticism of her choices. “How did you decide what to wear, and do you feel you achieved the best result?”

  “Yes.” Alena’s answer came too quickly for sincerity, and Raven pressed back. Asking questions at the beginning allowed her to focus on what the girl found most intriguing or distasteful. Sometimes, they were the same thing.

  “What was your goal in choosing your clothes?” Irritation, or perhaps discomfort played across the girl’s expressive features. It took little to put this girl on the defensive, but she held her composure well.

  “What do you mean?” Alena must have known, but she relinquished her answers with reluctance. Raven smiled. She enjoyed girls with spirit. Questions asked deserved an answer. At least for now.

  “In this house, should you return on a regular basis, you will conform to certain standards.” Raven nodded at Susan who hovered in the doorway. “Not yet, please. I’ll let you know when we are ready.” Ordinarily, she would give her guest refreshments to put her at ease, but she didn’t want Alena to get the wrong idea. Their relationship, if they had one, would not be based on equality. “I assume you considered how this arrangement could benefit you in a financial sense.”

  Alena nodded, but she wore a guilty expression. “I didn’t know what kind of paperwork—”

  Raven put up her hand, smiling. “Alena, I love your enthusiasm. It will serve you well in your time here, but please let me explain. It will save us both time, and you can make an informed decision.” Without waiting for her guest’s agreement, she leaned back in her chair and tapped the edge of the armrest. “I want one thing out of this relationship—the satisfaction of seeing a girl develop into a mature, confident, and capable professional woman. While this may sound altruistic and you may wonder whether there is a hidden catch, this is the essence of a dominant/submissive relationship. You will be provided with an allowance, given the freedom to live your own life six days of the week, and expected to spend one day here. Here, you will learn to serve the woman who disciplines you.”

  Alena’s lips moved without making any sound. She tipped her head back, eyes shining, and her shoulders hunched forward.

  Raven’s heart leaped. Alena had sounded eager, but email was a tricky thing. It couldn’t show her real-life responses, and every single one showed promise. “By discipline, do you understand what I mean?” She picked up the printout of Alena’s emailed assignment. When the girl failed to answer, Raven handed her the sheet of paper. “Please read this out loud.”

  Alena scanned the sheet and went perfectly white. “Oh…I couldn’t—”

  “I beg your pardon. Did I ask whether you could, or did I give you an instruction?” Easy. Raven couldn’t afford to scare off a new girl, or at least not yet. They all wanted strict discipline until it happened in real time.

  Looking tense and miserable, Alena murmured a few words.

  “Louder, please.”

  Alena gulped and whispered almost loud enough for Raven to hear. At that, Raven decided to take a chance.

  “Enough is enough, dear. Stand in front of me and read in a clear voice, or we will commence with the hands-on portion of your audition immediately. Or you may use your safety option now.” Raven glanced at the table next to Alena’s chair.

  The envelope containing taxi fare rested on the table within Alena’s reach. She could pick it up and remove herself from the situation. Instead, she licked her lips and spoke to the floor. “That’s not necessary.” She held up the paper and read, slowly and carefully. “My discipline fantasy is more about feelings than a specific situation.” She glanced up at Raven.

  “Go on,” said Raven, leaning forward.

  Chapter Five

  The paper shook in Alena’s hands, and she had difficulty reading the words. She had never imagined she would have to read out loud the secret fantasy that both excited and shamed her. In the effort to express what she’d kept hidden all of her life, fine writing had flown out the window. Instead, she’d resorted to simple, almost childish prose. It was fitting, after all, as her fantasy had begun in childhood.

  “When I was little, the bigger girls in my neighborhood played House. They argued over who would play the mom, but I always had to be the baby. I didn’t mind. It was better than playing the pet dog. One girl, Victoria, always won. She ordered the other girls to be my big sisters. She was the oldest and had beautiful curls, so we did as she said.”

  Alena blushed. She would never tell anyone about the “baby” things she had been coerced into doing. She’d run home crying the day Victoria pinned a towel to her pants like a diaper. That wasn’t the focus of this story, anyway. She wanted to glance at Raven to see how the story was being received, but she didn’t dare lift her eyes.

  “Go on.” Raven’s voice came soft but firm, brooking no refusal.

  “The older kids bossed me around, and they got me in trouble with ‘Mom.’ They’d say I was late to bed or threw my cookie on the ground, and I couldn’t defend myself. They brought me to Victoria, and they told me I’d ‘get’ it. Every time she’d frown at me, sigh, and say I was a naughty baby—even though the other girls had set me up.”

  Alena coughed. She choked on her own phlegm, gagging, and wheezed until a glass of clear liquid materialized in her hand. The door closed behind a disappearing servant, and Raven’s head nodded in acknowledgment. Alena sipped the cool water before plunging back into her story and setting the glass down. If any of her friends or family could hear her now, they’d cart her off to a mental institution. Still, there was something about Raven’s intensity that made her continue.

  “Victoria kissed me and said I had been naughty, but I’d be Mommy’s good baby soon enough. She patted my butt and counted to two. Then she said if I got into trouble again, I’d get a real spanking.”

  Alena’s voice trailed off, and the paper fell to the floor. She grasped the water glass, feeling instead Victoria’s tender kiss against her cheek. She hadn’t known what made her respond so strongly, but every touch had made her body quiver. Victoria’s kisses, caresses, and those little play taps had made Alena aware of herself in a way no one else had done before. When uncles and grandparents teased her about boys on the playground, she had eyes only for Victoria of the long dark curls.

  “Go on,” Raven repeated, but Alena stared into the distance. Tears dampened her cheeks, and she could hear Victoria’s infectious giggle. “You’re mine,” Victoria had whispered, cuddling her.

  Alena blinked hard, not knowing where to look. Her professional writing skills failed to describe the warmth ignited by Victoria’s play spanking. Eventually Victoria moved away and they lost touch, but Alena had always remembered the big girl who claimed her.

  “Alena.”

  She looked up, confused. She half-expected Victoria to appear, but instead this stern, regal woman gave a knowing smile.

  “You must finish reading,” she said, and it was not a request. Nothing Raven said was a request.

  Alena bent down to retrieve the paper, trying to still the violent shaking inside her chest. She could refuse, of course. She could take the envelope and call a taxi to take her home.

  “I don’t like pain. I don’t want any big flogging or whipping or St. Andrew’s cross. I’d like to try a little spanking, gently and slowly. I’ve read about spanking, and I want to see if I’d like it for real. I know they’re supposed to hurt, but I don’t want it to. At least not too much.”

  Alena held her head down and clasped hands in front of her, cru
mpling the paper. She’d said spanking. Out loud, and to a stranger. It was one thing to banter with Mistress Lorelei online; it was another to speak of her shameful desires to an imposing, dispassionate woman in person. She could have been a schoolgirl called before the headmistress, answering for misdeeds. Or she could have been a subordinate reporting to a superior for instructions and evaluation. Anything but an independent, capable, and professional adult who didn’t need anything from anyone. She waited in endless agony, afraid to raise her eyes. The other girls interviewing would have sophisticated fantasies, and they’d ask for the extreme things that terrified her. She didn’t have a chance.

  Did she want one?

  “Come here.” Raven’s voice had softened, and Alena crept forward. She didn’t want to face the woman who had listened to her secret softness. She wanted to hide from the tender, vulnerable side she’d kept hidden. At the same time, she couldn’t help wondering whether this woman could understand. Would Raven laugh? Alena couldn’t bear amusement or even ridicule. This isn’t what I had in mind, the intimidating woman might say. You can show yourself out the door.

  Funny. Alena had arrived fearful of her physical safety, and she wanted an emergency exit. Now, she feared rejection. Would Raven tell her to leave?

  “Do you want a mother?”

  Something in Raven’s tone made Alena lift her own gaze. There was pain in those dark eyes, a furtive, fleeting sadness that didn’t match the gentleness of the words. Alena filed away questions to ask later and stumbled to answer. “No. I don’t think so. Not exactly.”

  “Do you want to be treated as a child? To wear a child’s clothes and live with the carefree fun of a child?” Gone was the sadness, and the intensity deepened.

  How would I describe those eyes if she were a character in my book? Alena fumbled for adjectives. Liquid? Soft? Piercing, but tender? She shook her head and forced herself to pay attention. “No. I was a child once, and I don’t want to be one again. I don’t like people telling me what to do.”

  Raven gave a short, barking laugh that relaxed her shoulders and brought out creases around her eyes and mouth. “Don’t like, or don’t need?”

  Alena had the uneasy suspicion Raven laughed at her, not with her. Still, this was not the time to ask questions. She wanted to ask whether her fantasy was crazy, but then she’d have to hear the answer. Plus, she didn’t want to come across as needy. In her own home, she kowtowed to no one. She set her own rules, ordered her own life, and did as she pleased. She hated how this woman turned her into a tongue-tied adolescent. Would Mistress Lorelei be like this in person? Alena pushed that thought aside. Lorelei was kind and sweet. She was a good listener. If only it were Mistress Lorelei in front of her instead of this stranger!

  “Both,” she said at last.

  Raven sat back, tapping fingers against thigh. “So, you want to remain in control.”

  Alena took a step backward, stunned. How could a stranger zero in on what she, Alena, only realized now? When she’d researched spanking and kink, she had come across people who called themselves pain sluts. She abhorred the term, but she understood the concept. These people wanted intense pain, and it brought meditation and healing. Nipple clamps, clothespins, and other instruments designed for maximum pain made Alena uncomfortable. No, she didn’t want to give up control. She wanted to keep control while recapturing some of that long-ago security. No one had made her feel as safe or loved as Victoria when she “spanked” her “baby.”

  In a daze, Alena did her best to answer the barrage of questions. She couldn’t follow the pattern, and she gave up trying to guess Raven’s method. At first, she tried to answer to give a good impression. After the twentieth question, she struggled to find coherent answers.

  At long last, Raven patted the tops of her thighs. Alena gazed in horror. She understood that an audition would have a physical component, but how was she supposed to do it? Did she kneel? Some of the mistresses were fond of kneeling, foot-kissing, and all kinds of rituals. Awkwardly, she steadied herself with a hand on the armrest while sinking to the floor.

  Raven gave her a quizzical look. “Here, my dear. Not there.” When Alena hesitated, the older woman gave a sharp sigh. “Now, if you please. You did say you dislike pain.”

  The implied threat, if that’s what it was, propelled Alena from the floor to Raven’s side. She fidgeted with her hair, zippers, shirtsleeves, and the hem of her skirt. She didn’t know where to look, but the calm confidence was contagious. At a second pat of the lap, she hesitated. Even as a child, she hadn’t gone across her parents’ laps. How could she fit as an adult? More to the point, did she want to? She doubted whether she’d done the right thing by answering Raven’s advertisement. Should she use her emergency exit now?

  “Down,” commanded Raven, and her cool hands lifted Alena face-forward across legs and toward the floor. Blood rushed to Alena’s head, and she squeaked as her too-short skirt rode halfway up to her waist. Strong hands guided her into place and nestled her arms and legs into a stable position.

  Pat.

  “Did that hurt?”

  Alena shook her head, surprised.

  “I prefer verbal answers if you please, Alena.” Raven’s voice dripped disapproval, and a second pat came harder this time. “Did that hurt? You must answer me truthfully, or you put both of us in danger.”

  “No, ma’am.” The ma’am surprised Alena. She hadn’t meant to sound subservient, but something about Raven’s tone and her own topsy-turvy position made normal resolutions difficult.

  Swat. A bare hand made contact with her leggings, this time with enough force to be felt.

  “Ouch.”

  “Did that hurt?”

  Alena bit her lip. It hadn’t. So why did she say ouch? She swallowed a nervous giggle. “No, ma’am.”

  Smack.

  Alena jumped. Crisp and no-nonsense, that last spank got her attention. She wriggled, more out of discomfort with her position than the few taps. If this was what a real spanking felt like, she’d gotten herself nervous for no reason. If she let Raven spank her, she’d get a living stipend as well as a friend and mentor. Oh, please. Pick me!

  “Did that hurt?”

  Alena blew a strand of hair out of her face, sighing. Who would have expected a spanking to be boring?

  Slap!

  “Ow!” Alena breathed out through her mouth. No single spank hurt, but the accumulation of swats was starting to build up some warmth. When would Raven stop? Was she testing Alena’s pain tolerance to see whether she could take the spankings? Alena gritted her teeth, determined to pass the test. How much would that stipend be worth? Could she finally give up the financial worries of being a struggling full-time author? “I mean, that didn’t hurt. Ma’am. I’m fine.”

  Despite tears stinging her eyes, Alena swore through a second volley of swats that nothing hurt. She wouldn’t be a newbie wimp. She’d come out a seasoned veteran and make Mistress Lorelei proud. Look what I can handle, Alena would say. I’m strong. I can take anything.

  Chapter Six

  Raven frowned at the blue-clad upturned bottom on her lap. Alena had evidently decided to play macho rather than follow instructions. Raven needed to know her limits, pain threshold, and reactions to the most basic of spankings. Instead, the foolish girl opted for stubborn pride. That kind of willfulness needed to be broken, and quickly. They couldn’t afford serious hurt or even injury. If Alena were to spend twenty-four hours each week under Raven’s care, at times she would receive as much physical discipline as her body could safely handle. Without trust and ability to communicate limits, Alena could not fulfill the position. How could Raven test her limits if the stubborn girl refused to admit having any?

  “Are you sure none of this hurts or is uncomfortable? Are you feeling any kind of pain?” Any rational adult would have said yes, even one with an extraordinary level of pain tolerance. From the girl’s soft gasps, tensed muscles, and irregular breathing, she had anything but a high tolerance
. She was feeling it, all the more due to unfamiliarity and fear of the unknown. If she couldn’t cooperate, Raven would have to force her hand. It was early in the game, and she didn’t want to scare away the best candidate she’d interviewed so far. Still, she couldn’t risk having a submissive who favored false pride over honest communication.

  “No, ma’am,” came the answer in between gasps. Urgency trembled on the last syllable. Would the girl consider herself a failure if she admitted to pain? Would real pain trigger honesty or shut down communication altogether? It was time to find out.

  Raven hiked up the skirt, swept the leggings and cotton briefs downward in one smooth motion, and cupped her hand against the bright pink buttocks. No pain, indeed! Alena squirmed in distress, involuntary noises escaping from her throat. The buttock cheeks quivered as she clenched and un-clenched, wriggling in an adorable but distracting dance. As much as Raven enjoyed having a sweet girl over her lap, it was time to put a stop to the silliness and pretense. She mulled over the implements she could use. She needed quick pain that would fade away without marks. Normally, she’d reach for Blackie, her favorite wooden paddle with the neoprene handle. A few taps from Blackie would eliminate any misbehavior or attitude, but she wanted to save it for the first real discipline. When Alena began to test limits, as surely a new submissive would, Blackie would command immediate respect. It might take a few times, but Blackie could handle all but the most difficult of submissives. This girl showed signs of stubbornness and perhaps shame at needing discipline, but Raven suspected a small push would do the job. After all, the girl herself said she didn’t want too much pain.

  Any good submissive knew disobedience brought pain. Alena would learn that today.

  Raven considered her stout wooden spoon but shook her head at that, too. Wooden spoons were perfect for novices, at least usually. Small, ordinary, and often found in the girls’ own kitchens, wooden spoons against bare skin provided a short, sharp shock without the fear of dedicated implements such as crops, paddles, and floggers. A wooden spoon might hurt far more than a gentle flogger, but its familiarity provided comfort the flogger did not. In time, her spoon could serve for everyday discipline and reminders that didn’t warrant Blackie’s intervention. For now, she needed something a little gentler.