by Maren Smith
"Good morning, sweetling," Lord Jason said, when he saw her eyes had opened. "Did you sleep well?"
Merilla's eyes went from the panties to the face of the handsome man who held them on his knee, ready for her. She thought about his knee, about going over it the day before, and about everything that had followed. She felt her brow furrow as the resistance rose again — because, to her mortification, she found that she wanted to wear the frilly pink little-girl panties, but she didn't want her daddy to know.
"Yes, Daddy," she whispered, because she couldn't think of anything else to say, and she didn't know how to tell him she had woken up with this conflict dividing her heart and mind at the sight of the underwear on his lap.
"That's good. Let's get you up and into your panties. You've got a playdate with the girls you saw yesterday."
"Daddy?" she asked, suddenly, closing her eyes as if to ward off the answer to her question. "What's… breaking in?"
She could hear the smile in Lord Jason's voice though behind her closed lids she couldn't see his face.
"I think you've guessed, sweetling." He reached out, and put his hand behind her, to cup her backside through the covers. "This afternoon your daddies will open this little bottom, and we'll teach you to suck our penises too."
Merilla's lips parted and her breathing became labored.
"But… but… it's too small," she whispered.
"It's very tight," Lord Jason agreed, "and it will hurt a little at first, but your daddies like that tightness very much, and you'll be proud to give us so much pleasure."
Jason had some paperwork to do before he could settle down to watch Merilla. By the time he joined Carl in the den to see the video feed of her lunch with her new friends, trouble had already begun to brew.
"They put girls from the same settlement on different streets," Grella, whose master-daddy was Colonel Franche, was saying as the three teenagers sat at the breakfast counter eating the sandwiches George had prepared. Jason guessed Merilla had just asked her new friends about Heva and Welana. "You'll see them at the party tonight, though."
"Party?" Merilla asked.
"Mm-hmm," said Deemana through a bite of bread and cheese.
"Are your daddies breaking you in today?" Grella asked, curiosity clearly vying with sympathy in her voice.
Merilla bit her lip and didn't answer, her eyes fixed on the potato chips. Jason thought he could read a plethora of thoughts and feelings in her red face. She had obviously had a delightful morning playing — the expression on her face as the girls had come in for lunch had told the lord deputy that.
To return to girlhood that way, even if she had to do it in old-fashioned little-girl clothes and little-girl underwear, took the Paternian bed-girls by surprise. Childhood didn't last long on a hard-scrabbling colonial world, and even on a girl's first day she began to understand that despite the degradation of her forced youthening and her sexual servitude her two years of residence in the Magisterian garrison would represent a paradisiacal time. Having nothing to do but turn cartwheels and talk to new friends who shared her condition had clearly increased Merilla's confusion even as it had accustomed her to this strange new life.
"Don't worry," Deemana chimed in. "It hurts at first, but…"
"But," Grella said, "you're going to be… well…"
The other two girls' faces had gotten distinctly pink. Grella looked at Deemana.
"Proud," Deemana finished.
Between them at the counter, Merilla hadn't moved, except that her nose wrinkled a little.
Grella giggled. "Yes. Proud."
"Merilla, sweetling," George said, "what do you think? You should thank your new friends for sharing about something so embarrassing."
Jason looked over at Carl, who had a smile on his face. "That's my cue, I think," said the platinum-haired officer, getting up from his chair.
Merilla looked up, the confusion in her expression beginning to give way, it seemed to Jason, to defiance.
"I…" she began. She looked to either side, at the sympathetic faces of the more experienced girls. For a moment, she seemed to hover on the edge of resistance. Jason could tell that the compassion of her new friends stirred resentment that complemented the fear Merilla felt about what she knew would happen soon — the ordeal of breaking in promised by her daddies.
As he watched, she squirmed a little on the stool, an unmistakable sign that she had just thought about her young bottom. Just as certain was it that she had begun to warm down there, despite her clear attempts to keep from becoming aroused — more, because of them.
"No," she said. "No… I won't. It's… I want to go home!"
"Merilla!" George said. "I won't have you behaving this way. Apologize to your friends."
Deemana and Grella exchanged a look: they had seen a good deal of this kind of thing, of course, and knew how it would probably end.
"No!" Merilla said, defiantly, looking up at him.
"I'm sorry, girls," George said. "Merilla clearly has a lesson to learn."
"What's going on?" Carl asked, strolling into the kitchen.
Merilla started, her eyes very wide and her fists clenching atop the counter. She looked over at Grella, then Deemana.
"I'm sorry," she said hastily. "I… thank you."
George shook his head though. "I think Daddy Carl should hear what happened," he said gravely. "Merilla had an outburst."
Carl nodded. Merilla looked at him, her face white now with apprehension.
"Merilla," the tall man said, "go get your paddle from your room."
Chapter Seven
Merilla got off the stool and tried to run away, through the door that went into the dining room. Daddy Carl had come in through the other door, the one that went to the hallway, and he had the breakfast bar between him and Merilla. Some illogical part of her mind seemed to think that would prevent him from catching her, and she could make it through the living room and out the front door.
But Daddy Carl was waiting for her in the living room when she burst through the doorway from the dining room. He had his hands folded across his chest, his arms looking so thick in the casual white t-shirt he wore that the very sight of them made Merilla gasp, and freeze, before she turned and ran back through into the dining room, then into the kitchen, to see that there Daddy George waited with a compassionate look on his face.
"George," said Daddy Carl, putting his hand on her shoulder, "pull her stool out for me."
For a moment Merilla didn't understand. Then, her body seemed to realize what the stool meant an instant before her mind did, and she began to struggle against Daddy Carl's grip, to no avail whatsoever.
"I'll get it," she cried. "I'll get the… the paddle!"
But Daddy Carl didn't reply to the desperate promise. He drew her to the stool, with its square wooden seat that came just up to Merilla's waist. He moved his left hand from her arm to her back in a flash, and he bent Merilla over the stool, all her feeble efforts to stay upright overcome without, it seemed, Daddy Carl even noticing them.
When she felt him start to raise the skirt of the dark blue synth-wool play dress she had chosen to go outside in, which she had found rather adorable even with the pinafore to cover it, Merilla tried to kick. Daddy Carl stopped pulling up the dress for a moment, and he held her tightly over the stool, and then his big hand came down on the seat of the dress so hard that Merilla cried out at the first spank despite the covering of the dress and her panties.
He delivered two more swats, so that she cried out louder each time, and then he said, "Don't kick, Merilla, or this is going to go on for a very long time."
"But," she cried, to rise so that she could see his face, or Daddy George's face. "But… I'll get the paddle!"
"Yes," Daddy Carl answered. "You will get the paddle. But not until you have a spanking for running away. Keep your feet on the ground."
Merilla hung her head and sobbed, then, as she felt her dress raised, so that her new friends could see her pi
nk panties with the ruffles around the leg holes. She thought she heard one of the other girls make a noise — a sigh, or even a whimper, as if the sight of the panties made her think of her own naughtiness.
Daddy Carl put his hand in the frilly waistband, and Merilla gave a little cry of shame as she felt her bottom exposed over the stool, raised and presented in front of the girls with whom she had had so much fun that morning, whom she had felt oddly proud to invite to lunch at the lord deputy's quarters.
"Take hold of the rung at the bottom of the stool, sweetling," she heard Daddy George say. "Daddy Carl is going to spank your bare bottom now,"
Another sob broke from her chest. She didn't know why this statement of obvious fact from the gentlest of the men to whom she now belonged should draw such a depth of emotion from her, but as she obeyed and felt the hard wood of the rung in her hands this punishment for trying to escape from punishment seemed to Merilla a turning point, somehow.
Daddy Carl's left hand held the skirt, rolled atop her back: she felt the gathered thickness of the synth-wool there on her bare skin. The pressure of that hand increased, and she felt a puff of air, and then her daddy's hand came down on the very middle of her bottom, and kept coming down over and over, until Merilla was screaming and struggling, her backside clenching with the agony.
"Never… try… to get away… from… a… paddling," Daddy Carl thundered. "Is… that… clear?"
Merilla managed to keep hold of the stool, and she managed to keep herself from kicking, but she couldn't control the rest of her — especially the part where her scary daddy spanked her again and again.
"Yes, Daddy!" she screamed, everything forgotten but that terrible hand.
"Alright," he said. "Get up and go to your room. Take all your clothes off, then get your paddle and come to the living room."
She didn't know how she managed to follow Daddy Carl's orders, except that the pain already visited upon her backside terrified her about what would happen — how very, very long the punishment would last — if she didn't take her dress and her panties off and bring the horrible paddle. Over and over, as she walked slowly to the living room, in the nude once again, she pushed away the awful paradoxes. Her daddy had spanked her in front of her friends because she wouldn't get the thing he spanked her with. Now she had to bring it to them so they could punish her even more, hoping that Daddy Carl might relent a little if she could manage to be a good girl.
She found all three daddies in the living room: Daddy Jason and Daddy George in big comfortable armchairs and Daddy Carl on the leather-covered couch.
"Merilla," Daddy Jason said, "your daddies are going to break in your bottom and your mouth today, and enjoy ourselves there. You don't have a say about that, and so your outburst in front of your friends and Daddy George was completely uncalled for."
Merilla's lips parted, and her breath came in little pants. Her hands crept behind her to cover her stinging bottom as she thought of the terrible idea. The feeling of the paddle in her right hand, against the back of her thigh, made her shudder.
"Your misbehavior," the lord deputy continued, "just means that the little bottom we're going to fuck soon will be very sore from your paddle, and that you're going back into diapers afterward."
Merilla gave a little sob. Her eyes fell to Daddy Jason's casual canvas shoes.
Daddy Carl spoke from behind her. "Bring it to me, Merilla," he said, his deep voice very stern.
She had no choice. She turned, and took a little step towards him, then another, thinking she could delay what had to happen. Merilla hadn't reckoned with the sheer length of Daddy Carl's arm, though: he reached out and seized her wrist with his right hand, drawing her forward so he could take that wrist in his left and get the paddle into his right.
Merilla cried out with the suddenness of it, because Daddy Carl had her over his left knee with his right leg clamped across her lower thighs in what seemed a microsecond. Her face came up against the leather of the couch, and his left arm clamped down over her back.
Then she cried out even louder — a full-throated scream of greater volume than the sharp, echoing slaps of the leather paddle against her bare bottom.
"Oh, no… oh, no…" she sobbed. "It hurts… it hurts so much… please, Daddy… please…"
But the paddle kept coming down, as if Daddy Carl meant Merilla to understand that when he punished a bed-girl, she would not soon forget it: she wouldn't sit, or even walk comfortably, for a good long while.
Her bottom squirmed lewdly, uncontrollably over his knee, clenching and unclenching in a vain attempt to soothe away some of the sting. The rest of her tried to struggle, too, but her limbs quickly grew weak, and she could only sob into the seat of the couch, feeling her tears pool under her face. Limp, now, she cried out with each hard swat of the paddle, but she offered no resistance. Her whole backside blazed like the fire on the hearth, and she felt certain she would never defy her daddies again, even when — especially when — they used her body to make themselves feel good.
That thought, which came to her as Daddy Carl at last stopped paddling her, took her by surprise, but the punishment had brought such wrenching agony to her whole body that Merilla hardly felt herself in control of her mind. Almost as a disinterested observer, she watched her body respond shamefully to the way her scary daddy rubbed the face of the paddle over her hot bottom: Merilla's hips bucked, and she did everything she could to thrust her backside out further, to raise it up — even to spread her legs, desperate for the reward her body had already learned came to girls who took their discipline meekly.
"Don't wank her," Daddy Jason said. "Even you, George."
At the word, another of those dirty words whose shameful meaning Merilla knew instantly, somehow, her face got almost as hot as her bottom.
Daddy George said. "Yeah, you're right. She needs to learn. Are we going to open her here or in the bedroom?"
"Here, is my vote," said Daddy Carl. "This is a lesson."
Kneeling before Jason, confronted with her master-daddy's hard penis at close range for the first time, Merilla whimpered in shame at first, looking up into Jason's eyes with a troubled brow. He stroked her cheek, and used a light touch on the back of her neck to lower her face to her shameful task. For a moment she resisted the urging of his fingertips, but then with a tiny sob Merilla wriggled her red bottom, and her hips moved in the needy rhythm she had learned under her daddies' pounding hips only the previous night.
They made their bed-girl go from cock to cock, learning to take them very deep. They taught her to lick up and down their rigid shafts, to kiss the sensitive place at the base, to use her hands gently on their balls as she sucked.
Carl pushed her mouth down along his massive length, to teach her that she must be ready for deep thrusting, when her daddies wanted to feel themselves against the luscious back of her throat. Merilla learned quickly how to breathe properly in order to suppress her body's reflexive panic. By the time George, sitting on the right side of the couch, held her head in place so he could thrust up into her mouth, praising her in a gentle voice as he demanded the humiliating service, Merilla had already become a talented young cocksucker.
"Such a good girl," George said. "So good for your daddies after your spanking."
Merilla whimpered around the thrusting hardness. The lewd, wet sounds of a girl taking a man as deep as he pleased, all the way to his balls when he decided she must, stiffened Jason's own cock in his pumping hand.
"Send her back here," Carl said. "I want some of that."
So Merilla was made to serve each daddy a second time, her eyes watering but her well-paddled backside still moving lasciviously in a sure indication of the need in her teenaged quim. Jason moved her head lower down, pumping his slick cock in his other hand, to teach her to serve his scrotum in the darkness under the tight pouch, where such pleasure lay. The bed-girl whimpered as she kissed and licked, as if the taste and smell made her feel terribly naughty despite her daddy's murmur
ed assurances that the path to goodness, and the rewards obedience would bring, lay through the shame of a pretty young mouth used for the penis' selfish, arrogant delight.
"That's it," Lord Jason told her softly. "Just like that, sweetling. Now take me deep. Oh, Merilla, good girl. You'll come when we fuck your little bottomhole. George, get the reward box from the drawer, would you please? The butterfly, I think. You can go ahead and put it on her."
Merilla gave a sob around Jason's thrusting manhood at this new phrase, reward box, and then another at Jason's mysterious allusion to the butterfly.
Jason pulled her mouth off his cock when George had brought the little vibrator over from the box that remained in the credenza drawer at all times, so that the daddies could reward their bed-girl in special ways as they saw fit. Merilla's eyes were wide, and her tongue protruded, licking her lips as if unsure her mouth would ever be the same after the degradation her daddies had bestowed upon it.
With his hand in her soft chestnut hair he brought her face down again, gently. "Just kiss daddy, now," he said in a soothing voice, "while Daddy George puts your butterfly on."
George had already stooped down with the purple device, an ingenious bend of vibrating ultraplastic designed to find a girl's g-spot with unerring precision. Merilla whimpered at her kind daddy's touch between her legs, where she had so clearly been aching ever since Carl had paddled her so unmercifully. She kissed, and cried out softly, and kissed again as George slid the butterfly into place.
"All set," he said.
Jason raised Merilla's head with his right hand, using his left to tap her closed lips with the glistening tip of his cock. "Open up, sweetling, and I'll show you what daddy's butterfly can do."
Brow furrowing, Merilla opened her mouth. Jason placed the head of his cock between her lips, losing himself for a moment in the velvety sensation and the lewd sight of a little bed-girl made to suck her daddy's penis.
