“It’s a Small World” yanks me out of a deep sleep as the lights come on and make me squint into the room. I reach over and slam my hand down on the Hello Kitty clock as a knock sounds on the door. “Come in,” I grumble into the pillow. I’m on my belly. Warm. Comfortable. Trying not to be awake.
I’ve never slept so long in my life until the past two nights. I don’t know if it’s the fact that the room is so dark or that the bed is so comfortable, or if it has something to do with not having the weight of the world pressing in on me all the time.
I don’t have to come up with the rent or scrape together enough money for off-brand mac and cheese or figure out if I have enough fare for the bus. It’s refreshing. It’s not something I’ve ever experienced.
“Good morning, Lucy,” Nancy chirps. “I’ll set your clothes on the chair, dear. You better get up.” She leaves just as fast as she entered. I hear the snick of the door.
I’m too cozy. The last thing I want to do is get out of bed. But I must. Right now. The fear of falling back to sleep propels me.
I groan as I slide out from under the covers and cross the room to grab the pile of clothes. I shut myself in the bathroom next and proceed to go through the morning ritual. Toilet. Wash my hands and face. Brush my teeth. Pull the nightie over my head. Drop it in the chute.
I wonder what today’s mystery outfit might be. I haven’t picked out my own clothes now for two weeks except on the weekends. Those days are over too. I won’t be choosing my clothing this coming weekend. I smile as I lift the lavender dress. It’s a cotton knit. The upper section is a tank top with no sleeves except the few inches that will land on my shoulders. The skirt part is short, of course. It flares out slightly. It’s a tank dress. For a girl. For me.
I set it aside and pick up the panties. They are white today with a lavender bow at the belly. I step into them and then shrug the dress over my head. It covers my bottom, but just barely. It’s shorter than anything I’ve worn yet. Intentional? It’s not pleated or full, but it flares out enough to make me aware nothing is touching my panties.
I’m suddenly very aroused. The combination of the dress and the panties and my shaved sex and my messy braids and even the fact that I’m staring at my blunt cut fingernails. I’ve always bitten them too often for them to grow.
I take a breath, trying to ignore the pulsing need between my legs. I separate my thighs, but my panties are pressing against my naked labia. My breasts are hugged tight by the body of the dress, making my nipples prominent. More than ever. The dress has a high waist that is tucked under my chest.
Honestly, my breasts look amazing. If I were the sort of person who would ever go out in public without a bra, I would be proud. But I’m too modest for that. Master Roman’s words ring in my ears. You’re twelve, Lucy. Little girls don’t wear bras.
I shiver. My nipples are traitorous. Everyone, and I do mean everyone, who sees me today will know I’m aroused. I hope I don’t see Weston. My most embarrassing moments are when he sees me.
I can almost handle Nancy and Evelyn. But Weston is a man, and he’s older. My bottom is almost visible. It’s too much.
I look in the mirror again, ignoring my chest. I can hear Master Roman’s voice again, soft and gentle. These little titties are mine. If I want to see them, you’ll show them to me. Every time he says titties, my belly flips over. It yanks me into the role instantly. It also makes me wet.
My hands are shaking as I unravel one of my braids, comb out the hair starting at my scalp, and re-braid it. I assume Master Roman will want my hair braided. I also assume he will appreciate it if I tidy it up so it’s not messy.
After I fix the other side to match, I grab my socks from the counter and my Mary Janes from the floor, and head for the bedroom. I sit on the wicker chair and put on my shoes and socks, carefully folding them over so that the lace ruffle is at my ankles.
I’ve taken too long again. I need to stop spending so much time in my head in the mornings or I’m going to be late.
I rush from the room and down the stairs, slowing to a reasonable walk as I make my way down the hallway.
Master Roman’s office door is open, and I step inside, instantly feeling very young at the sight of him behind his desk. Just being in his presence drags me deeper into the role.
I shuffle forward, lifting my hand to my mouth.
Before he lifts his face, he admonishes me. It’s like he has eyes on top of his head. “Stop biting your nails, Lucy.”
I drop my hand and clasp my wrist behind my back. The act lifts my chest and possibly even the front of my dress. When I reach his desk, I wait for him to finish whatever he’s working on.
Finally, he sets his pen down and smiles at me. “Good morning, blossom.” He motions for me to round the desk, and then he sets his hands on my hips and draws me closer. “Did you sleep well?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Did you keep your hands to yourself?”
“Yes, Sir.” I hold his gaze and decide to admit what almost happened so that I can free myself of the possible guilt. “It was hard, and I couldn’t stop thinking about you touching me…down there.” My voice drops to a whisper. “I almost came without touching myself. I tried real hard and held my breath and everything to stop it.” I hear myself and realize I even sound like a child now. I’ve even adapted some speech patterns.
He pats my bottom. “Good girl. The important thing is you stopped it. You need to learn to control your urges. I know it’s difficult, but you don’t want to disappoint me.”
“Yes, Sir.” I’m flushed now from this conversation and the way I have slipped further into the role. I bite my lip.
His hands slide to my thighs and then up over my panties, rising until they push my dress up and he’s cupping my breasts.
I gasp and glance at the door. It’s standing open.
“Eyes on me,” he demands. He’s never exposed me like this or fondled me or even dominated me with the door open.
I’m nervous. I take a step back, trying to free myself. It’s too much. I remember my safeword. Jacks.
He grips one breast and slides the other hand to my lower back, keeping me from escaping. “Lucy,” he warns. His word is sharp.
I’m frantic, but I meet his gaze.
“I know where my staff is.”
I swallow.
“Evelyn is in the kitchen. Nancy is in your room. Weston is in the security room.”
“Okay, Sir.” I try to stop fighting him. I assume he’s right.
He nods toward the computer on his desk. Sure enough there are three screens open. One shows Evelyn at the sink. One shows Weston looking at a row of monitors. One shows my open bedroom door. He must have seen Nancy go inside. Which also means there is a camera in the hallway outside my room. Good to know.
I relax marginally.
“Good girl.” He pinches my nipple and then releases me entirely, his hands coming out from under my dress. “You’ll be assigned some chores today, Lucy. It’s part of growing up.”
“Yes, Sir.” I clasp my hands again, rocking back and forth on my toes. I’m so aroused. I’m sure he knows it.
“I know you didn’t make your bed yesterday, and I assume you didn’t this morning either.” He’s staring at me, his hands on his thighs.
“No, Sir,” I mumble.
“Speak clearer, Lucy. The mumbling needs to stop.”
“Sorry, Sir,” I try to say louder.
“It’s not Nancy’s job to keep your room clean. You’ll put your books and toys away at night, your clothes down the chute, and make your bed in the morning. Is that too much?”
“No, Sir.” I feel the heat rising on my face.
“You’ll put your dishes in the sink, wipe off the bathroom counter when you use it, and keep your playroom tidy.” He nods over his shoulder, and I realize my “playroom” is my office.
“Yes, Sir.”
“I put a new shelf in your playroom this morning. It’s low enough for
you to reach. A place where you can keep your things. Go have a look. I’ll call you when it’s time for breakfast.”
I’m excited. He’s put some things for me in my office? I hesitate though, wondering if I’m still expected to work for him. It bothers me. If I don’t work for him, who will? I don’t want him to hire someone else to take my place. I want to feel needed. I want to be necessary to his life. It’s important to me. It gives me a sense of security.
He lifts a brow.
I decide not to question him right now. Instead I turn and run across the room, partly to escape this conversation, partly because I’m excited to see what he’s arranged for me, and partly because it seems appropriate. It feels natural to run toward my new things. It’s what I would do. It’s what I do because I’m twelve.
I know my dress blows around me as I skip away. I’m sure my panties peek out from under my skirt. I’m not concerned. Instead I’m aroused that a glimpse of my panties might make Master Roman want to touch me like he did last night.
I round the corner to my office/playroom and find a white bookshelf against the far wall next to the filing cabinets. In front of it is a fluffy, pink beanbag chair and an oval rug in pastels. The shelves are covered with books and toys.
I giggle out loud when I see no jacks. I don’t care. I never really had any interest in jacks. I squat down and peruse the books first. Most are actually adult books about the little lifestyle. Some are self-help books about finding oneself, eating healthy, and meditation. There are some novels too, including a new YA series I’ve never heard of.
I switch my gaze to the lower shelf and grin. There is a kit for making glittery nails. Another kit for beaded bracelets. And lastly, a Disney coloring book with a set of two dozen markers. I’ve never had any of these things before. I’m so excited that I plop down on my bottom on the rug and pick up the nail kit. It has pink and purple and green and yellow polish as well as gems to decorate my nails with.
I twist my head to see Master Roman leaning in the doorway, smiling. “You’re only allowed to use that if you stop biting your nails.”
“Yes, Sir. I will.” I set the kit down and pick up the markers. Does he realize I’ve never had a set of markers in my life? Not ones that were new and had all the colors and weren’t dried up.
I set them down and pick up the bracelet kit. It has instructions to make friendship bracelets, like the braided ones all the girls had in school. Well, not all the girls. I never had one. I never even had a friend who would make me one.
I’m sitting cross-legged on my pretty rug with my dress flared around my thighs, feeling like it’s Christmas morning. I don’t know where I want to begin.
“You can open the boxes after breakfast. Put them back on the shelf for now, Lucy. You need to go eat.”
“Yes, Sir.” My voice comes out unintentionally as a groan, shocking me. I’ve slid so far into the role that I feel like I’m seriously twelve. I’ve lost myself for a moment. I’ve been lost since I got dressed. I really would rather skip breakfast and rip open the markers. That’s where I’ll start.
“Lucy…” he warns from the doorway.
I shove the boxes back on the shelf and scramble to stand up, not caring that he can see my panties as I do so. I might even be taunting him.
When I turn to face Master Roman, I flatten my skirt and clasp my hands behind my back, shuffling slowly toward him. My face is tipped toward the floor.
He takes my chin and lifts my face, meeting my gaze. His brows are lifted. “Did you just whine?”
“Sorry, Sir,” I mumble.
“I think the new toys can stay where they are for the morning. After breakfast, you can do some educational reading instead.”
“Yes, Sir.” I flush at the reprimand, a mixture of remorse and arousal twirling around in my belly. It’s an odd sensation. I’m disappointed that I won’t be permitted to play this morning, but shockingly my panties have grown wet at the way he speaks to me. It’s confusing.
He glances at my chest. A flicker of a smile crosses his lips. “Your titties are hard.” He pulls me closer with just the two fingers gripping my chin until his face is inches from me. “I need to tell you something, and it’s important.”
“Yes, Sir.” I can smell his breath, minty from his toothpaste.
“There is a type of little known as a brat. Do you know what a brat is?”
“Yes, Sir. I think so.”
“A brat is a little who likes attention from acting up. They are exhausting. I see them at my club. I don’t like that kind of behavior, and I won’t tolerate it. So, if that thought enters your mind, wipe it away. You’ll be an obedient little girl, or you’ll find yourself standing alone in this room in the dark with your nose to the corner for hours on end. I’ll only have to do that once. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good. I’m not saying I’m upset that you were whining. It happens. You aren’t perfect. You’ll make mistakes. All little girls make poor decisions sometimes. It’s my job to discipline you and make sure you’re the best you can be. It’s done. You won’t get to play with your toys until after lunch. I won’t mention it again. But watch that you don’t become a brat.”
“Yes, Sir.” I would never want to be a brat. I don’t like to be in trouble. I don’t like disappointing anyone, especially not Master Roman.
He releases my chin and then surprises me by setting his fingers along the sides of my breasts and then flicking his thumbs over my already distended nipples.
I gasp and rise onto my toes, leaning closer to him, trying not to fall forward. He has a way of sending me into the stratosphere in just seconds.
Without a word, he lowers his hands, tugs my dress up above my panties, and then holds it there with one hand while reaching between my legs with the other. I moan when his fingers drag slowly over my private parts.
He releases my dress just as quickly and removes his hand. “I’m going to check your panties often because I’m curious if they are wet every time I see your sweet little titties puckered.” For emphasis, he flicks them one more time, and I nearly stumble.
He brings his fingers to his nose and inhales my scent. “Mmm.” He smiles. “You’re going to scream so loud the neighbors will hear the first time I suck your pussy into my mouth.”
My jaw drops as I take one step back and plant my foot. Suck my…pussy? I know characters do it in books. I get the concept. But in real life? Master Roman intends to put his mouth on me down there? I swallow.
He chuckles and cups my face with one hand. “You are precious. Your innocence is so refreshing. I’m going to take my time defiling you just to drag out the reactions I’ll get every time I do something new.”
I can’t respond. I don’t think he expects me to.
He steps back. “Go eat, Lucy, before I change my mind and flatten you on the floor.”
I hesitate, partly because I’m too shocked to move and partly because I’d rather he toss me on the floor. I want him to have sex with me so badly. I want to know what it feels like. I want to get it over with. I don’t want to be a virgin anymore. Not after I got a taste of paradise last night.
Instead, I rush past him and jog from the room. I don’t slow down until I’m in the hallway. Master Roman hasn’t chastised me for rushing around in his presence yet, but Nancy has.
Chapter 34
Master Roman
* * *
Jesus. I’m so fucked. Either that or so lucky. Both I think. Lucy has my head spinning. As I watch her romp across my office, I can’t stop smiling. I run my hand through my hair and wander back to my desk. I need to sit down. Think. Regroup.
I ordered all that stuff on a whim yesterday, had it delivered last night, assembled it after everyone left. I wasn’t sure how she would react. She blew my mind. I even love that she whined about stopping for breakfast. I’m not seriously concerned about her being a brat. But it didn’t hurt to point that out to her.
I buzz Nancy and a
sk her to bring me a cup of coffee, thanking her profusely when she strides in moments later with a steaming mug. I need a few minutes to regroup without breathing down Lucy’s neck in the kitchen.
I’ll let her read for the morning, and then play in the afternoon. It made my chest hurt when I saw how excited she was. Now that I understand the reason for her exuberance is that she never had many things growing up, I hurt for the little girl she never got to be.
I can’t believe my luck. Fate must have put her in my club that first night. It’s incredible that I happened to be there and happened to notice her and happened to do a double take, recognizing her potential and my attraction.
My cock is permanently hard. No matter how many times I jerk off, it’s not satisfied, and it won’t be until I have her under me. But she isn’t ready. Her reactions to sex are so pure it’s as if she isn’t even play acting as a twelve-year-old. She’s literally that innocent.
I know she’s well-read. I know she isn’t ignorant about sex. It’s as if she didn’t really consider kinky things happening to her. As if they only belong on paper in books.
No matter what, I need to take it slowly with her, give her a little more each day, enlighten her. Part of my reasoning is that I love watching her blossom and grow. I don’t want to ruin that by rushing to the finish line. I can take care of my cock when she isn’t around. It will be worth it.
I watch her shuffle past my office after breakfast and then she returns a few minutes later from the bathroom. She comes in with her head level, uncertainty on her face.
“How was your breakfast?”
“It was good. Miss Evelyn made me pancakes again. With chocolate chips.” Her face lights up.
“Good.” I pick up a book from my desk and hold it out. “I want you to read this for a few hours. You can sit on your beanbag.”
She takes it from me without looking. “Yes, Sir.” And then she pads toward her office. I lose sight of her as she turns toward the play area. From my desk, when the office door is open, I can see her desk and chair straight through to the other side of the room in front of the wall of windows. I can’t see deeper into her space.
Raising Lucy Page 17