I’m reading another email from him now. He easily tracked down the man in question. He indeed lives in rural Missouri. Daven Neill is his real name. Hersh is certain Daven’s father is the same man who fathered Lucy. Their birth certificates match. Charles Neill fathered Daven out of wedlock and left Daven’s mother before Daven was even born.
Daven never met his father. It appears Charles never paid a dime of child support and Daven’s mother, Katherine, never pursued Charles. “Probably because the man was an asshole, and Katherine was glad to be rid of him,” I mutter under my breath.
Daven is ten years older than Lucy. He lives in rural Missouri. His farm is deep in debt. He’s close to foreclosure. Katherine indeed died a few months ago, so it’s believable that Daven found information about his father and half sister after her death.
I lean back in my chair and inhale deeply. I should tell Lucy. I really must. Keeping this from her is unconscionable. But I can’t shake the feeling that this man’s timing is impeccable. Until a month ago, Lucy had nothing to offer him. I’m suspicious. Even though I can easily see the death certificate for his mother, I’m mistrustful. There is no proof that Daven hasn’t always known about Lucy and kept tabs on her. He could have found out about me and decided to profit from her newfound wealth.
If he does know about me, he’s not wrong. Lucy does have newfound wealth. I’d give her anything in the world. If it made her happy, I’d save her brother’s farm.
What I don’t know is Daven’s character, and his intentions where Lucy is concerned. She’s fragile. Lucy would be devastated if she found out she had a brother and he turned out to be as disappointing as every other blood relative. I can’t take the risk. Not right now. Not while she’s focused on studying and getting into college.
I’ll wait. At least until after she takes the SAT.
I glance toward the door to her office. I can’t see her. She’s been in there studying for hours. It’s time for her to take a break.
Chapter 46
Lucy
“Lucy.”
That one word, spoken as a harsh reprimand, makes me freeze. I recognize the tone. I’ve heard it often enough in the last month. I slowly lift my gaze to the door to my playroom and find Master Roman strolling toward me, hands on his hips.
“Is there something wrong with your dress, Lucy?”
“No, Sir.” I put my hands in my lap.
“Then how come every time I enter this room, I find you fidgeting with the material instead of studying?” He sets his hand on my little desk, the one he bought me almost two weeks ago after we first had sex. It’s small, the size used in middle school. It’s just my size since I didn’t get much taller after seventh grade.
I’m wearing a pale blue frilly dress that has white lace around the poofy sleeves, the neckline, and around the hem. It doesn’t have a waistline. It does have several layers of tulle under it. It’s not remotely age appropriate. In fact, it’s more suitable for a toddler. It doesn’t come even close to covering my bottom, and I’m wearing matching frilly, poofy bottoms over my panties. My socks are also ruffled, and my white patent leather shoes have buckles across the top of my feet.
I’ve gotten used to the fact that I never know what Master Roman might choose for me to wear each day. Most days he dresses me as a twelve-year-old, but he likes to surprise me now and then and dress me as someone much younger. He still treats me as a middle no matter what I wear, but he watches me closely on the days he experiments. I think he’s making sure he keeps things interesting and also probably double checking my headspace.
I’m pretty solid as a middle. It suits me. I have no interest in behaving like a baby, a toddler, or even an older child. I like that I have knowledge and the ability to do most anything even in the role. It’s liberating to be too young to make my own decisions, but old enough to hold a conversation without breaking the constant scene.
The truth is that the tulle under my dress is touching my nipples—which he knows—and driving me bonkers. He hasn’t let me come yet today, and my panties have been soaked since I put the dress on. It may be too young for me, but I’m aroused anyway.
I’m supposed to be studying this morning. We have an agreement. If I study for three hours every morning, I get to play for an hour before lunch, and then I work for him as his assistant after my nap. He has not relented about me having a nap, and I’ve gotten used to the time alone.
“You’re supposed to finish that section of math so I can check your work. How many problems have you done?”
I glance down. I’ve done twelve out of fifty problems. I haven’t been able to concentrate. He knows this. It’s why he’s hovering over me. He planned this.
He doesn’t wait for me to answer. “You have two weeks until the SAT test. If you don’t study, you’ll end up having to take it again. And that’s fine. But if you don’t score well enough on it, you also can’t start classes next semester.”
I nod. “I’m sorry, Sir. I’ll try to focus.”
“I know you will, because I’m going to give you an incentive.”
For a moment, I think he’s going to offer me ice cream or cookies after lunch if I get all my math done. But I’m so very wrong.
Instead, he comes around my desk. “Stand up.”
I slowly come to my feet, facing him.
“Arms in the air.”
Yeah, I’m in trouble. He rarely makes me strip in the playroom. I lift my arms. He hauls my dress over my head. After setting it on my beanbag chair, he turns around and faces me, pulling something out of his pants pocket.
I’m extremely nervous, more than I have been in several days. I glance at the floor-to-ceiling windows, even though he’s told me over and over that no one can see in. Not even if they plaster their face to the glass. It’s still weird being naked in my playroom.
In addition, I constantly worry that someone will walk in. They won’t, of course. Master Roman is meticulous about who comes in and how far they advance toward his desk. I might hear voices, but no one ventures close enough to see me around the corner.
“Don’t slouch, Lucy.”
I’m hunching a bit because I’m so exposed. I’m still wearing the ruffled bloomers that make me look like I should have a diaper underneath. In truth, they are a diaper cover. I know this. Between those and my baby shoes, I now look like I must have spilled something on my dress. Except my breasts are not flat.
Master Roman lifts up something that looks like hoop earrings. I don’t have pierced ears. I never have. I’ve even asked Master Roman if I can get them, but he’s told me I’m too young. Maybe when I’m older.
For half a second, I think he’s going to let me get my ears pierced. That’s the surprise.
He shakes his head. “These are not earrings, Lucy. They go on your little titties.”
I freeze. I should have known. I’ve seen them in books and read about them. I’m not remotely interested in wearing them. I take a step back.
He shakes his head. “How many times a day do I have to tell you to stop fussing with your titties, Lucy?”
I swallow. “I’m sorry, Sir. They rub against my clothes.” If he would give me a bra…
“And you need to learn to control your impulse to squirm. That’s going to start now.” He reaches for one of my nipples and tugs it, pinching and twisting it until my panties are soaked and I think my knees will give out. When he has the tip hard and engorged, he quickly clamps one of the hoops on my raw flesh. It grips my nipple on both sides. Obscenely.
I bite my lip, trying not to cry. While I’m fighting the urge, he grabs the other nipple and treats it the same, pinching hard and then pulling it toward him until he’s pleased with how swollen it is. That’s when he clamps it to match its twin.
I’m used to how rough he is with my breasts. He’s gotten rougher every day because my reaction pleases him. It hurts, but it also makes me extremely aroused. He says I have a nipple fetish. I think he’s right.
“Yo
u can sit down now.” He points at my chair. “The clamps stay until you have ten more problems done. Don’t move and you’ll get used to the sting. If you squirm, you won’t be able to focus. The longer they stay on, the worse it’s going to hurt when I remove them. If you think I’m kidding, try me.” His brows are furrowed.
“Yes, Sir.” I sit very still. My nipples are throbbing. I don’t know how I will concentrate on math. It’s not like I’ve never done these problems. It’s just been a while. I was an excellent student, but I need a refresher before I can take the SATs and I can’t apply for the local university until I have those scores.
I’m motivated because I’ve grown increasingly excited about going to school since the day Master Roman mentioned it. But he makes it very hard to study. On purpose. He’s training me to do better and learn to focus with distractions. Distractions being tormenting my titties, as he crudely refers to them.
I force myself to focus on my math problems, distracted not just by the pain that is slowly ebbing, but the fact that I can’t look down without seeing my poor swollen offended nipples.
I work fast, finishing in fifteen minutes. I’m not allowed to raise my voice to yell or call out to Master Roman, so I have to rise from my chair and gingerly cross the room. I stop in the doorway, relieved to have arrived. The jiggling was almost more than I could bear. I hold up my paper. “Sir? I finished.” I don’t enter the room. It’s my only form of protection. That doorway and my playroom. My haven.
“Good girl. Come here.”
I pray he’s shut the door and am relieved to see he has when I step into his office.
“Let me look it over. You rushed through your work. If you were sloppy, I’ll send you back.” He takes the paper from my hand, and I wait next to his desk, arms clasped behind my back as I’ve been taught.
It takes him forever to examine my math. Finally, he smiles at me. “Good job, blossom. See what you can do when you concentrate?”
“Yes, Sir.” I’m trying not to move. Even speaking draws my attention to my aching nipples. Breathing is a chore.
He faces me. “I’m going to remove them both at the same time. The pain will be sharp.” He pops them both off at once, and I cry out. Seconds later, his fingers are rubbing my offended flesh. He even leans in to suckle one and then the other.
Finally, he pulls me closer. “I know that was hard, blossom. I’m proud of you. I’m sure your panties are soaked, but I’m not going to reward you by letting you come. Go put your dress back on and see what Evelyn’s made you for lunch. If you don’t want to wear those clamps on your titties again today, you’ll think twice about fidgeting after your nap.”
“Yes, Sir.”
He swats my bottom. “Go on.”
Chapter 47
Lucy
Two days before my SATs, I’m sitting at my adult desk, hurrying to get eight hours of work done in four. It’s what I do every day. I won’t let up or relent because I don’t want Master Roman to hire someone to replace me. I like being near him every day. I like that he takes breaks in the mornings while I’m studying to play with me and tickle me and sometimes even let me orgasm under my dress.
Usually he rubs me over my panties because he is truly stunned that I’m sensitive enough to come day after day through the cotton barrier.
I love that he does this to me. When I’m fully clothed in whatever scandalous outfit he’s chosen that day, my sex drive goes through the roof. I get off faster while I’m in my little girl outfits than when I’m naked.
He knows this. He knows everything.
He also lets me come at night most of the time. If I’ve been a good girl, when he tucks me in, he pulls my comforter down, pushes my babygirl nightie over my chest and rubs my pussy until I scream.
We have sex too. Not every day, but most days. Sometimes we have sex at his desk. Sometimes in my playroom. Up against the wall. On my desk. On my beanbag chair. We’ve had a few movie nights too that always end with his penis deliciously filling me.
What we don’t do is have sex in my bedroom. And to this day, I have not even seen Master Roman’s bedroom. I’ve never been permitted to go anywhere else on the second floor.
I’ve asked him about this on three occasions. Every time he has flatly denied my request. He says I need my sleep and my alone time in my own little girl room. My special place where I get to be alone for a few hours before he tucks me in. He says he wouldn’t be able to keep from mauling me all night if I were in his bed. He’s adamant about this point. I haven’t asked for over a week.
I love being his cherry blossom, and my life is almost perfect, but I hope I can wear him down on this issue eventually. I want to sleep in his arms at night. At least sometimes. Why does he turn me down? It feels like a rejection, and it hurts deep in my heart every time he reiterates that policy.
I have another concern I haven’t voiced, and that’s about school. He wants me to go to college. He’s the one who brought it up. Made me think. Offered to pay for it. Has arranged for me to have everything I need to study for my SATs.
I’m grateful, but I worry I have another battle on my hands. Master Roman wants me to take online classes, at least at first. The problem is that I picture myself on campus with people my age, learning and laughing and living.
Meanwhile, I realize Master Roman pictures me working alone in my office, studying on my computer, taking online classes.
This doesn’t appeal to me, and I have no idea how to broach the subject. All I know is that it isn’t worth going to bat over until I know if I even have the scores to get in.
“Lucy.”
I jerk my gaze up and to the left to find Master Roman standing in the doorway. I’ve been daydreaming and fretting for I don’t know how long. I need to get my work done.
If he knows this, he doesn’t let on. “I have a meeting with a client across town. I’ll be gone for a few hours. Will you be okay?”
I nod. “Yes. Of course, Sir.”
“There’s a pile of things on my desk that need to be filed or mailed. Can you grab them?”
“Yep.”
He lifts a brow. Every once in a while, I slip up and respond to him in disrespectful slang. “I mean, yes. Sorry, Sir.”
“Come here.” He doesn’t move. He likes to make me come to him. It’s a way he exercises his dominance. I never hesitate or complain. I like going to him also.
I stand, instantly aware of my traitorous nipples that have never stopped driving me to distraction in the many weeks since I’ve last worn a bra. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the sensation. And Master Roman obviously intends to ensure I do not by insisting I wear blouses, shirts, and dresses that bring attention to my always sensitive titties.
The word he uses for my breasts has practically imbedded itself in my mind now. Every time I hear or think the word, I slide into a deeper level of submission. It’s instantaneous. My panties get wet, and my nipples stiffen.
I come to his side quickly. Today I’m wearing a white cotton tank top dress. White is the worst of all the colors Master Roman chooses for me. I’ve never said a word, but I suspect he knows. He can read me better than I can and usually knows what I’m thinking or feeling even before I do.
White is pure and youthful. It is also more revealing. The material used to make my clothes is usually thin, which means everyone can see not only the outline of my breasts against the tight T-shirt material, but the color and pucker of my nipples also.
Making things worse, Master Roman almost always chooses colored panties for me so that they are obvious through the skirt, and he likes to spend those particular days tormenting my breasts in the morning so that I have to go to lunch with swollen, erect nipples.
When I reach him, he dips down to wrap his arm around my thighs and lift me into the air. His hand rests on my bottom under my dress.
I giggle. I love it when he cuddles me. I love every type of attention he gives me.
“Kiss me like you mean it, blossom.�
�
I bring my lips to his and kiss him with all the lust I feel, making sure he knows it. He’s worked with me, teaching me to kiss him just the way he likes. With tongue and lips and passion. I enjoy it as much as he does.
As he slowly lowers me to the floor, my dress rises up my body, exposing my panties and my midriff. I shiver.
“I’ll be back soon. Let’s have a quiet dinner together.” He lets go of my waist and reaches to tweak one of my obvious nipples. I giggle again. “If you’re a good girl and you have all your studying and work done, I’ll let you ride my cock after dinner.”
I smile. “I’ll be good, Sir. I promise.” My panties are wet now, of course. It’s going to take me a while to get my heart rate down before I can resume working.
“Good girl.” He swats my bottom and turns to leave.
I step into his office and watch him exit the room with sure steps, his height and size and broad shoulders making me drool. I’ll never get enough of him. I haven’t said the words yet, but I love him so much.
There’s something else I haven’t said to him yet. I’m holding back. I don’t know what I’m waiting for, but I think it has to do with him letting me the rest of the way in. Into his bed and his room and his private space. I need that.
I know I need to ask for what I want, but I don’t want to rock the boat right now when things are going so well. I’ll wait until after I take the SATs. After we’ve hashed out my desire to go to school on campus. After he finds out I crave those hours each day in public with adult clothes on.
I know it will hurt him. I know he wants to keep me locked up in his mansion for the rest of my life, his special little girl. And I love being his. I love how he cherishes me. I love how he dotes on me and how connected we are and how in tune we are with each other and how our needs mesh and how I can be myself with him and how he thrives on my age play. I love all of that. But I want more.
The question is, can Master negotiate something we can both live with? I’m afraid he will see my independence as me pulling away from him. He’ll worry I might leave him. He’ll fret all the time that I might meet someone else.
Raising Lucy: Surrender, Book One Page 24