by Emily Tilton
Mr. Killington spoke again at last. “I know you’re nervous, sweetheart. Dinner is waiting for us in the kitchen. We’ll eat, and I’ll explain more about your new life.”
“I… I can’t sit down, really,” Lauren said, looking up at him. It still hurt to walk, though each step no longer made her cry out the way she had as Jessica had led her back to her bedroom.
“Don’t worry. I’ve put a nice soft pillow on your chair. And if that hurts too much we can stand together at the kitchen counter.”
His voice sounded so warm that she felt a little rush of gratitude despite his being the cause of the terrible punishment just for looking at a man on the street. She followed him into the enormous living room, its expansive windows showing the roof terrace outside, planted with flowers just showing themselves in the sunset light across the park. Lauren felt a little dizzy at the view, not because of the height she guessed as much as the vast distance between this world of luxury and the home in which she had grown up.
Mr. Killington put the dinner, takeout from an Italian restaurant, on plates. “Lasagna or spaghetti and meatballs?” he asked. “You and your friends eat Italian a lot, right? The place down the street from you?”
Lauren felt her eyes go very wide. “How do you know that?”
“On the morning of your eighteenth birthday, your datastream got scanned by New Career Partners, along with every other girl who had just turned eighteen.”
Lauren realized that Mr. Killington had begun explaining things to her. Her mind rebelled.
“But… but that’s illegal. Isn’t it?”
“Well, no, actually. We have deals with a large number of data providers, including the restaurant group that owns the Italian place and your credit card company. That part doesn’t require a lot of data analysis. The part where our recruiters figured out that you could benefit from living here with Mrs. Fredericks as my executive assistant-in-training—that’s the harder part. Lasagna or spaghetti?”
“Spaghetti, please,” Lauren said, almost automatically.
“Alright, but you should tuck your napkin into your shirt. You don’t want Mrs. Fredericks to spank you for ruining your blouse.”
Lauren, standing watching him plate the spaghetti, made a little whimpering sound in her throat. How could it be true?
“How do they do… that? The harder part, I mean?” It couldn’t be true. They couldn’t have actually somehow determined that Lauren should be kidnapped for her own good—captured, spanked, paddled, made to perform fellatio—could they?
“Would you please set the table, sweetheart?” Mr. Killington asked. “Placemats and napkins are in the drawer on the right, and silverware’s in the next drawer over. I’ll get the wine.”
“Wine?” Lauren asked.
He smiled. “That’s one benefit of having dinner up here. I get to give my sweet girl more than a few sips. That’ll help a little with your bottom, and with what you have to do after dinner.”
What I have to do after dinner. Be inspected. Kneel. Open my mouth.
Panties up or down? The blush in her cheeks, which had receded as Mr. Killington gave her the rational explanation of the owners’ recruitment efforts, returned full force.
As she laid out the placemats, he continued. “Nothing is a hundred percent, which is why Mrs. Fredericks’ services are essential, but there are signs, like websites you visit regularly.”
Lauren’s brow creased. “But I never… never anything bad!”
Mr. Killington smiled. He was uncorking a bottle of red wine, now, and the way his hands moved so effortlessly and elegantly on the corkscrew and on the bottle made Lauren feel a little faint. Those hands… soon… on her. Would he lay them on her head? Would he hold her head with them, to teach her how to move her mouth on his hard penis?
“No, of course not. You did, I think, spend some time on the social media pages of your friends’ fathers, though.”
Lauren couldn’t suppress a little gasp at that. Her eyes dropped to the table where she had begun to lay out the silverware. She felt like her face’s heat might actually be glowing visibly in the low light from the beautiful fixtures over the dining table, separated from the kitchen only by a counter, so that Mr. Killington could see just how embarrassed his schoolgirl had gotten.
“They’re my friends,” she said softly.
“Of course,” Mr. Killington replied, “and there’s nothing wrong—or even the slightest bit naughty—about looking at their pages. I’m just saying it’s a sign our recruiters look for. And then Mrs. Fredericks confirmed that you belong under her care, and so here you are, and I couldn’t be happier.”
Chapter Ten
“How?” Lauren asked. “I mean, how did she confirm it?”
John poured two glasses of wine and handed one to Lauren before he answered, and then he delayed giving the real response. He raised his glass and said, “To Mrs. Fredericks. May she discipline her girls, as they need it, until the end of the age.”
Lauren’s beautiful, slightly freckled cheeks were already very red, almost certainly at the revelation of his knowledge as to her social media habits. Her brow puckered, though, at this toast. John held his glass up, looking seriously into the pretty green eyes, so troubled with the growing awareness of her complex adult needs, making clear with his own gaze that she must drink the toast.
“Now you say Mrs. Fredericks, sweetheart, and raise your glass. We can touch glasses if you want, but that’s not the really traditional way.”
“Do I have to?” Lauren whispered.
“Yes, Lauren, you have to. Mrs. Fredericks is a very important person in your life, now.”
He watched a thought flit through her mind that clearly made for highly ambiguous feelings: shame, desire, fear. “What would you do if I didn’t?” she mumbled, dropping her eyes to John’s shoes.
He knew exactly what she meant, of course, though he could tell Lauren herself almost certainly didn’t understand why she had asked the question. “I would punish you, sweetheart. Not tonight, since you were paddled today, but tomorrow evening. I would tell Mrs. Fredericks that you aren’t to be spanked tomorrow, so that I can take you over my knee and give you the belt, in your bedroom downstairs, for disrespect.”
Lauren gave a tiny, almost mouse-like whimper at this news, and the crease in her brow deepened greatly.
“I know you don’t really understand why Mrs. Fredericks is so important for your future happiness, sweetheart,” John said. “That’s alright. I do expect you to respect my wishes, though, and to do your best, as time goes by, to make sense of it.”
She raised her eyes again, and he saw her register his smile. “Okay,” she said. She raised her glass. “Mrs. Fredericks,” she said, and she watched him take his sip, then did the same. Her face lit up.
“It’s a very nice wine called a Barolo,” John explained.
“Oh, it’s so good… I mean, I don’t know anything, and I didn’t really like the wine yesterday night, but…”
John chuckled. “You learn quickly, don’t you, sweetheart?”
She made a face. “Some things.”
He carried the plates to the table, and they sat. It appeared that the pillow from the living room, which had been used for the same purpose many times for many girls, allayed at least the worst of Lauren’s discomfort upon taking her place at the table. John felt his cock swell as he watched the brave, pained look on his girl’s face and thought of the inspection to come.
When she had adjusted herself a bit on the pillow, each adjustment producing a little wince, Lauren dutifully tucked her napkin in at the neck of her blouse. It proved a very good thing as she instantly had a large red stain on the napkin, produced by her first attempt at a meatball.
“See?” John said, smiling.
“Yes, sir,” said Lauren, and for the first time John thought he heard in his girl’s voice that she had begun to like having a man she called sir.
“So you wanted to know how the redoubtable Mrs
“Care,” Lauren repeated with mild sarcasm, and then instantly looked stricken, worried that she might incur his anger.
John laughed. “Yes, sweetheart, care. Much as you may be having trouble getting used to the way this kind of care involves traditional discipline. And that’s how she knows about girls like you and Jessica.”
As soon as Lauren’s face recovered its composure, and even gave a quick smile at John’s laughter, it grew troubled again. “Knows what?” she asked very softly.
He made his own face serious, though not severe, composing his brow to let Lauren know that he regarded this matter as essential, if inevitably mysterious even to those who like him and his fellow owners had a good deal of experience with it—mysterious even to the matrons like Mrs. Fredericks who might be expected to understand it the best.
“Knows what you need,” he said simply.
“But what do I need?” she wailed, her voice rising in volume. Her face showed all the sweet agony of the girl just discovering how very complicated sex could be when she had discovered how it made her feel to submit to a powerful man.
“After dinner,” John said with a little bit of emphasis and authority, in order to trigger the growing desires in her heart and, he thought he could tell from her expression, down between her legs, “you will need to show me the results of your paddling, and to suck my cock for the first time.”
Lauren bit her lip, and her head began to move slowly side to side. But she also picked up her wineglass and took a very big sip, unable for the moment to meet John’s eyes.
“Panties up or down?” she whispered.
He felt the smile return to his lips. “What, sweetheart?”
“When… when I… you know. And… will it be… I mean, which will come first? The… um… the inspection, or… that?”
John adored how very difficult it seemed for the girls to say even the most refined of dirty words. He loved making them utter the shameful things even more. “Go ahead and say it, Lauren,” he said with a firmness that made her look up fearfully into his face.
Her blush, which had never gone away, really, as they ate, returned full force, turning her whole lovely heart-shaped face scarlet.
“Fellatio,” she whispered. “Will it come first?”
He answered gravely. “Yes.” Her eyes went wide. “In fact, it will happen right now. Get up, and bring your pillow over here.”
Lauren’s lips parted, but no sound came out.
“Don’t make me take you over my knee, sweetheart,” he said more gently.
That helped her find her voice. “But… but you said you wouldn’t,” she protested.
“I won’t give you a real punishment spanking tonight, but if I have to I’ll remind you why you don’t want one. Come here.”
In Lauren’s eyes he saw the effects of the threat. She closed her mouth, bit her lip. She seemed to ponder for a moment, and then she shook her head.
They had nearly finished their dinners. John had ice cream for dessert, but it could wait. He stood up from the table, slowly so as not to frighten her. Lauren cowered back a bit into her chair nonetheless.
“Stand up, sweetheart,” he said. “We’re going to go to the living room, and you’re going to learn a little lesson over my knee, to help you get ready to please me.” He extended his hand and looked into her face, radiating as much calm as he could.
Lauren’s brow crinkled, and then, very hesitantly, she took his hand and let him help her to her feet, a little wince betraying once again the already woeful state of her bottom. As soon as the wince left her face, though, he saw her chew her cheek, a clear sign that his words, and perhaps the wine, were mingling with the discomfort from her paddling to create a new sensation in front, inside her cotton panties.
When she stood before him, her left hand in his right, he reached with his other hand to take the napkin from its place covering her sweet breasts. She trembled as he pulled it away gently, careful despite his temptation to touch the little peaches under her schoolgirl blouse though he could see the way her nipples had grown hard in the halter top at the proximity of his hand. He put the napkin on the table.
“Go stand by the spanking chair in the living room,” he said. “You’ll know which one it is. Bring the pillow.”
Lauren bent to pick up the blue plush-upholstered pillow, good both for easing sore bottoms and for kneeling to give head. John released her hand, and she preceded him into the elegant living room where the spanking chair had pride of place: a sturdy old wooden chair that seemed very out of place in a penthouse.
Lauren stood gazing at it, when she had approached within a yard. John said, “Put the pillow in front of the chair. You’ll kneel on it in a few moments.”
She turned to give him a look so ambiguous that it nearly took John’s breath away. Then she turned and stooped to lay the pillow down. John sat in the familiar chair and reached out his hand again to Lauren. She looked at it fearfully.
“I know you’ve never been over a man’s lap, sweetheart,” he said, “and I know how scary it is. But I promise that I know what you need better than you do, right now.”
She took his hand, and let him pull her gently around to his right side. She gave a little whimper as he guided her over his thighs, but she let him adjust her little hips properly. Another whimper arose from the area of her downturned head as John raised her uniform skirt at last, very slowly in order to enjoy this supreme moment. He gazed down in cock-swelling delight at the little bottom in the modest white schoolgirl panties. The panties covered so much that only the slimmest streak of red upon the paleness of Lauren’s upper right thigh, caused by a paddle swat gone slightly astray, betrayed the thorough discipline his sweet girl had received today.
“Your panties will stay up for your spanking this time, Lauren,” John said softly. “That will help.”
“What?” Lauren asked in a very startled voice. “I thought… I mean the… the inspection…”
He smiled, hearing in her tone exactly the longing he had hoped to hear—the expectation that her owner would take her panties down and put an end to her confusion as to Panties up or down.
“I’ll inspect you later, and we’ll talk a good deal about your panties.” These words elicited a whimper. “But having them on right now will mean that you learn the lesson I want to teach you.”
He raised his hand, not very high, and brought it down sharply on her cotton-clad bottom, thanking the foresight of the club in appointing these thick briefs for their girls, for exactly this reason. Lauren yelped, and started to squirm, but John kept spanking, holding her tightly around her waist.
“Please,” she cried. “I’ll… I’ll do… I’ll do it!” She threw her right hand behind her, but John pinned it to her back, and spanked her three more times, then stopped, his hand resting on her bottom, cupping the cheeks gently through the stretch cotton. To his great satisfaction, Lauren arched her back, helplessly trying to push her bottom against his hand, desperate for something she probably couldn’t have named yet.
“Yes, you will, sweetheart,” he said softly. “Kneel on the pillow now, and look at me.”
He smoothed her skirt back over her backside and helped her slide to the floor. Lauren knelt on the blue pillow, her eyes wide and bright with unfallen tears. John spread his knees, and pushed the spanking chair forward so that Lauren knelt between his thighs, and put out his hand to stroke her cheek with the backs of his knuckles.
“Good girl,” he said. “You took that well.”
Her pretty face crumpled a little, as if at the excess of sensation and emotion that coursed through her body. “Thank you, sir,” she whispered.
“It’s time for me to tell you more about your life here. Then you’ll show your acceptance of what I’ve said by taking my cock in your mouth and bringing me to orgasm.”
Lauren’s brow furrowed more deeply, but she nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Chapter Eleven
“I am a member of a club, along with Mr. Graves, who owns Jessica, and thirteen other wealthy men. Our number varies over the years, but it’s always around fifteen.”
Lauren hadn’t expected to learn this kind of detail, and she felt the terrible force of the strange feelings down below her tummy fade a bit, but Mr. Killington’s next words brought it raging back.
“The purpose of our club is to give young women the discipline and sexual training they need. That begins now for you, sweetheart.”
She knew he could see it on her face, and that made the blush worse. She could tell from his wise smile, from his eyes—so kind despite the terrible words—that he saw in her face how well she understood him, when he said the discipline and sexual training they need. Lauren didn’t even really know what much of the content behind those things could be. She knew now about the spanking and the oral sex, of course, and she had heard about the enemas, but the very obviousness of discipline and sexual training also having a great deal more in store for her made the fear and the shame and the arousal stronger.
He reached out both hands, now—both big hands, the one that had spanked her atop her panties and the one that had held her naughty hand behind her back—and Lauren put her own little ones inside them. She couldn’t have said why, she supposed, except that right now she needed his comfort, his assurance that he did have her best interests at heart.
“Our club has decided on some guidelines for introducing the young women we purchase to their training. We want to be completely sure that girls like you feel fulfilled and cared for at every stage of the process.”
Lauren had a moment of wondering how Mr. Killington could possibly say that, and what it could possibly mean when he had just spanked her for initially declining his invitation to come and kneel before him to suck his cock. Then she remembered how she had felt when he had first issued the invitation, there at the dinner table, her tummy glowing with the lovely red wine and the napkin with its red tomato stain somehow making her feel protected—and, yes, cared for—by the man who had obviously spent a great deal of money to acquire her. She remembered how for an instant she had caught herself wanting to do as he said, and feeling terribly, itchingly curious about what his penis looked like, and how it would taste and feel inside her mouth.
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