Taken from School

Taken from School Page 2

by Emily Tilton

  Lauren bit her lip, though, unable to answer while clearly fearful that not answering might earn another punishment. Anita reached out her arm, and though Lauren flinched very slightly, she gave a sigh when Anita put the arm around her shoulders.

  “That is alright,” Anita said softly, giving her a kiss atop her thick red hair. “That is alright.” The girls taken from school shared one nearly universal characteristic: they had never received proper discipline—as Anita saw it, at least—and they had never received real affection.

  Lauren leaned her head against Anita’s hip, and said in a voice choked with tears, “I don’t understand. Why am I here? What did I do?”

  “You did not do anything, honey,” Anita reassured her. “Jessica, honey,” she called, “come back here, please, and help me with Lauren.”

  Jessica had gone to her room to lie face down on her bed, reading her favorite manga, as she called them, which Anita couldn’t help calling your Japanese comic books no matter how many times Jessica said they weren’t the same thing at all. Anita did know that there was another kind, a naughtier kind, of Japanese comic book, too, which Mr. Graves sometimes sent over for Jessica to read, but she could never remember the name of that kind.

  Jessica tripped in, her eyes still a little red and her cheeks tearstained but with the sweet all is forgiven smile that Anita loved to see after a spanking. With a girl like Jessica, Anita knew, you could get that smile from a punishment that had the tiniest pretext, like using a contraction—saying can’t instead of cannot. She knew she could bring Lauren along to the same contentment with her lot here in Mrs. Fredericks’ apartment, whether because the owners chose their schoolgirls well or because of Anita’s skill with discipline or through some mingling of the two. It would take a few weeks at least, however, and Mr. Killington would have to show the patience of a saint. Jessica had been ready to keep company after three days. Lauren would obviously need a good deal more time and a good deal more discipline.

  As soon as Jessica saw that Lauren was crying, she came to sit at the table and reached out to take her hands. She looked deeply into her new friend’s face.

  “Honey, can you tell Lauren that living here will be fun?”

  Jessica smiled up at Anita, then returned her attention to Lauren. “So fun,” she said. “Wait until you meet the girls next door!”

  “Next door?” Lauren said in a puzzled voice.

  “That’s where Mrs. Reynolds lives. And Mrs. Wentworth down the hall is a little stricter than Mrs. Fredericks, but Tricia and Yo—that’s short for Yolanda—are so nice when we get to hang out.”

  Lauren shook her head in confusion. “But… but what about…” Her voice fell to a whisper. “Mr. Killington… and… Mr. Graves?” Anita could hear that the name of Lauren’s owner already had an incantatory kind of power for the girl. Mr. Killington would have to have patience, she thought, but he would find himself well-rewarded.

  Jessica looked up uncertainly at Anita. The matron said, “I am sorry, Lauren, but Jessica may not tell you very much about that. All you need to know is that Mr. Graves keeps company with her, as Mr. Killington will keep company with you.”

  Lauren turned to Anita, her green eyes round and solemn. “But what does that mean?” she asked earnestly.

  “Tonight it will mean that he takes you to a lovely restaurant, honey,” Anita said, smiling. “He cannot wait to meet you.”

  “And then?” Lauren whispered. Oh, the innocence and repression, Anita thought wistfully.

  “And then he will bring you back here to get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow we are going to the Metropolitan with Mrs. Reynolds’ girls. You and Jessica will do your exercises at seven o’clock in the morning.”

  “Exercises?” Lauren asked, her eyes darting to Jessica.

  Jessica giggled. “Mrs. Fredericks just means that we’ll go to the gym, then.”

  “We will, Jessica,” Anita interjected. She had let the rules slip a little for Lauren’s arrival, and overlooked Jessica’s use of you know, which Anita considered almost as bad as like, but the time for enforcement had arrived.

  “We will go to the gym,” Jessica said obediently, as Lauren’s eyes flitted between them a little wildly.

  “You girls are not permitted to use contractions,” Anita said, stroking Lauren’s hair idly. “I have been lenient today, until now, but no longer. They are not faults in grammar—I punish those immediately—but they do not represent my preferred usage, and your owners agree with me.”

  Lauren stiffened against her, and tried to draw away, but Anita was stronger and held her in place. Jessica gave a sympathetic smile.

  “Owners,” Lauren whispered, very slowly, as if trying the word out and hoping that its meaning would change when she heard it spoken with her own voice.

  “Yes, honey,” Anita said matter-of-factly, just as she had at the start of Jessica’s training, and Rachel’s training, and just as she would when another girl joined her little playgroup, as she thought of it. “You belong to Mr. Killington, now. You will live with me and Jessica and perhaps another girl sometime soon, for a few months, maybe even a year, while you get used to keeping company with him. You will get the discipline you need to be happy, and when the time comes Mr. Killington will teach you how to please him as he deserves.”

  “And then?” A deep crease appeared in Lauren’s forehead. Anita always marveled at how the girls seemed to focus on the mysterious future, and what would happen after the lovely restaurant or after their time in the playgroup. Rarely did they let themselves think about the please him part, at least at first. It certainly made Anita’s job easier.

  “Oh, that’s—I mean, that is—” Jessica cast a slightly fearful eye up at Anita, “—the best part! Can I tell her, Mrs. Fredericks?”

  “May I tell her,” Anita said indulgently.

  “May I tell her?” Jessica’s bright smile seemed to make Lauren relax again, and a sniffle seemed to indicate that under other circumstances the sweet redhead might even have giggled.

  “Yes, you may,” Anita replied.

  Jessica’s eyes returned to Lauren. “Jobs,” she whispered. “Really really good ones, doing something they make sure you’ll really love.”

  Anita let the contraction pass because she didn’t want to obstruct the utter sincerity of this communication.

  “Like what?” Lauren asked, obviously very intrigued, as what eighteen-year-old lacking a sense of purpose wouldn’t be, Anita thought.

  “Well, Rachel… she was here before, remember? She tested really high for spatial reasoning, and she couldn’t—could not, sorry, Mrs. Fredericks—believe it, because she hated math, but Mr. Ashihara had her try this amazing online math course and she loved it, and now she is going to be, like, an aerospace engineer!”

  Anita had to interrupt, now, because Lauren mustn’t be allowed to think the fault in speech that Anita regarded as the deadliest of sins would be allowed.

  “Like, Jessica,” she said severely. “Stand up and bare your bottom, please. Elbows on the table.”

  “Oh, no,” Lauren whispered, her mind and heart obviously filled with so much emotion she had not the slightest idea how to react.

  Jessica, her happiness turned to sudden woe, looked up mournfully. “Please, Mrs. Fredericks?” she asked. “My bottom already hurts so much.”

  “You know the rules, Jessica. And you know how important this is to Mr. Graves.”

  “Please do not tell him!”

  “Do not be silly, Jessica. Of course I must tell him, though I will also tell him, I hope, that you received your punishment obediently.”

  Biting her lip, Jessica turned to face the table, flipping her uniform skirt up to reveal the white cotton panties favored by Mr. Graves and most other owners. She tucked her thumbs into the waistband and started to tug them down.

  Lauren said nothing. When Jessica had received her earlier spanking the new girl had faced the corner: now for the first time she would see another girl rece

ive traditional discipline. Anita felt sure she detected a certain harshness in Lauren’s breathing. She detected, too, the scent of eighteen-year-old arousal as soon as Jessica had lowered her briefs to the bottom of her thighs.

  Anita’s hand really did ache, so she fetched a large wooden spoon from the little forest of kitchen implements in a big jar next to the cooktop. When she turned back, Jessica had bent over, and her still slightly pink, very pert bottom-cheeks confronted Anita. Lauren, clearly at a loss for where she should turn her eyes, sat only a foot away from where her new friend bent to receive chastisement, her eyes fixed on her hands, folded in her lap.

  “Watch closely, Lauren,” Anita said with firmness, but not severity. “Learn from Jessica’s mistake. She will not sit comfortably again for an hour or two, and I imagine that when Mr. Graves has his video call with her tonight he will inspect her bottom and he may instruct me to discipline her further. When Mr. Killington calls for you this evening I wish you to remember what happens to my girls when they fail to live up to my standards.”

  Now Jessica’s breath also came in little panting gasps. Anita, holding the spoon in her right hand, placed the left on the little bottom she knew Mr. Graves so enjoyed, rubbing gently to prepare the girl for punishment.

  “I am sorry, Mrs. Fredericks,” Jessica said in a thick voice. “Thank you for punishing me.”

  “That is my good girl,” Anita said. She didn’t require such formalities, but girls like Jessica learned to give them both in hope of appeasing their matron and to express something they really did feel.

  She verified that Lauren was watching her caress Jessica’s bottom—as Anita had suspected, the girl’s eyes seemed locked on the little spectacle she couldn’t help but find deeply confusing. Then she withdrew the gentle hand and began to spank the naughty bottom with the spoon, as Jessica cried out her sorrow and Lauren, her own backside still tingling, clearly began to learn why having an owner and a matron, despite the pain and shame of old-fashioned discipline, might not be such a bad thing after all.

  Chapter Three

  The lead-up to Lauren’s first time out with Mr. Killington, following Jessica’s spanking with the wooden spoon for saying like, confused Lauren very deeply—even more than she already felt mystified by Mrs. Fredericks’ strange mixture of comfort and severity. It didn’t seem any doubt could exist that sex represented the reason this man she had never met had taken her from school. But Mrs. Fredericks seemed to regard her girls’ modesty and propriety as their most important qualities.

  Hadn’t Jessica said that when the men from the limo had to come to hold Rachel down over the arm of the sofa, the girls had had to give the men blowjobs? And what else could Mrs. Fredericks have meant, when she said the thing about learning to please Mr. Killington? But hadn’t she also called Lauren a little slut?

  The matron did not, however, shy away from talking about what Lauren must expect with regard to discipline, in Mrs. Fredericks’ apartment, which left her even more anxious and puzzled.

  Even that confusion, though, couldn’t overcome the blushing, almost giddy pleasure she took in the expensive clothes Mr. Killington sent that afternoon. Only two hours had passed since Mrs. Fredericks had taken all Lauren’s sizes with a seamstress’ skill and long measuring tape. Several times the matron had told her to hold still or the paddle would come out of its drawer, whose location Lauren could only guess at with mounting dread. The way Jessica had reacted to the threat of the paddle earlier had made it clear that the paddle hurt much worse even than the wooden spoon.

  Lauren spent the time after the measurements watching TV, which Mrs. Fredericks said the girls could do as much as they wanted when they weren’t otherwise engaged, with her eyes furtively looking around the room for drawers that might hold the paddle. Things looked up, though, when, at two o’clock (could it really be only two hours since the men in the limo had made her get into the car?), Jessica made them delicious turkey-and-guacamole sandwiches. “You girls,” Mrs. Fredericks said, “take turns making lunch for all of us. You will get your own breakfast, and I will make your dinner when you are not out with your owner.”

  Then, with a knock at the apartment’s door, the shopping bags—ten of them, all for Lauren—had arrived on the doorman’s trolley.

  Three gorgeous dresses, two silk and another cashmere: blue, green, and pink. One of the dresses seemed fit for the Academy Awards, or a charity ball; the other two for intimate dinners in candlelit restaurants—or board meetings. Three skirts. Five tops. A silk nightgown in a beautiful ivory color, as well as a flannel one with an old-fashioned pattern of little flowers.

  Real grownup lingerie, all in white, with two garter belts, two bras, white lacy thongs, and the nylons for the suspenders to hold up. The panties made her blush a little, especially because of what Mrs. Fredericks had said when she had pulled down Lauren’s tights, and they made her wonder of course about Mr. Killington’s intentions. But despite being a virgin and despite only ever having been kissed by a boy, Lauren liked to wear grownup underwear, as she couldn’t help thinking of it. She liked to think about what she looked like in it, and she liked to catch glimpses of herself in it, in the mirror. She even liked to wonder what a man would think, if he caught a glimpse of an eighteen-year-old in nothing but her lacy lingerie.

  Lauren of course would never confess to those shameful thoughts—nor did she even really know why they were shameful. Her nearly perfectly disengaged parents hadn’t put a heavy emphasis on modesty, really: they had simply told her that they expected her to make the right decisions, when the time came for her human development and reproduction classes’ lessons to come into effect. Maybe the experience of those classes, with all the giggling, the boys on one side of the room and the girls on the other just through the natural sorting action of adolescent discomfort, had communicated to her the modesty she felt about her changing body—or maybe those changes had made her feel embarrassed all by themselves, knowing that at school her friends could see them. Everyone paid attention to that; nice girls didn’t whisper about it, but even nice girls wanted to whisper about it.

  Those thoughts, traveling through her mind as she looked with a helpless smile on her face at the beautiful clothes Mr. Killington had sent, didn’t account for the hot blush she experienced when she saw what another bag, from a different store, contained. The bag seemed simpler than the big ones from the boutiques. Its crimson surface bore a coat-of-arms in white. For some reason she couldn’t have explained, Lauren felt a strange nervousness about its contents, and her hands trembled a little as she reached for it.

  It held her uniforms, and the white cotton underwear she would wear under them: briefs and halter tops of thick, stretchy fabric clearly intended to maintain a girl’s modesty. Mrs. Fredericks, watching at the side of the room, said helpfully, as Lauren peered into the bag, “You’ll wear those every day but Sunday, honey. You have two uniforms, and seven sets of bras and panties and socks. Go ahead and put one on now. You have two hours before Mr. Killington calls for you.”

  Her hands kept shaking as she spread the contents of the crimson bag on the double bed in her new bedroom, next to Jessica’s and down the hall, it seemed, from Mrs. Fredericks. Lauren’s uniform matched Jessica’s: a green and blue plaid pleated skirt that would come to just above her knees, a short-sleeved white blouse, white knee socks, and black loafers. Frankly she thought the shoes were great: the three pairs of heels Mr. Killington had sent made her a little nervous.

  The rest of the uniform, however, brought on the blush.

  “All my girls wear the same tartan,” said Mrs. Fredericks. “Mrs. Reynolds’ and Mrs. Wentworth’s wear different ones. It is rather like each of us is a headmistress, really.”

  Mrs. Fredericks’ words, despite sounding tossed off as idle conversation, seemed to have a more important point. Lauren frowned, looking at the uniforms laid out on the bed. She realized that she had assumed Jessica’s uniform had come from her new friend’s school.