by Ava Sinclair
I wriggle, trying to position myself so I can stop the onslaught of stinging spanks and close my thighs, as if that will somehow halt the flow of arousal. Has he seen? Is this why he’s calling me a bad, bad girl?
I have never felt such deep humiliation, nor such exposure, nor such vulnerability.
“Hold still, little one. I’m not finished with you. Only a cherry red bottom will teach such a naughty girl not to lie.”
“It hurts, Daddy! Stop!” The words are pushed out by a flood of tears, but with them comes a deep fluttering low in my core. What is happening to me? I’m sobbing, but I’m also moaning. I’m hurting but I’m also cresting a wave of pleasure that does not belong here, that should not be. I’m mortified and confused. “Oh, Daddy! I’m sorry! I’m sorry, Daddy!”
His hand falls again, but this time it stops, the weight of his warm palm molded to the burning expanse of my bottom. It’s just like my dream—the pain, the contrition, the humiliation—but there’s an element of surprise to it, a richness, like the first time I tasted the trifle. It feels surreal.
“Let it out, Kit,” he urges. “This is what I’m here for, to let you be both a child and a woman. You can be both with me.”
I feel something else then. The hand on my bottom moves, the finger slipping lower to find my pussy, the inner lips slick and engorged with need. I feel myself arch towards his touch, like a flower towards the heat of the sun. His finger teases, brushing lightly until my little girl cries are mixed with the groans of a woman’s deepest unspoken need.
“Please…” I say, looking back at him. The man I see is a man in charge of himself, of me. He’s controlled as he strokes my pussy, petting it, drawing even more slickness from within so that my inner thighs are coated, and the room is perfumed with my soft musk.
“What do you want, little one? Tell Daddy?”
I think of the picture of Mary, standing in the corner with her red bottom. The book never showed her going over her daddy’s lap, but in the next frame the love between them was apparent. And I know now that its presence in my personal library was no accident, just as the illustration with the ambiguously aged Mary was no accident. Mary found happiness in her submission, but it did not change her. Her daddy did not want to change her.
I know what I want, but I can’t put it into words. I can only arch towards his hand, and when his finger pushes into me this time, I weep again, but with joy. He is careful as he moves his fingers in and out.
“More. I want more. Please…” I’m shameless, pushing my hips back against his fingers, wanting the forbidden touch of the hand that just spanked me.
“Just a little,” he says. “We mustn’t spoil you completely. Not yet…”
Then his finger moves to the top of my cleft to worry the sensitive nub of my clitoris with his finger and the steady pressure sends rushes of pleasure blooming outward through my body. I’m no longer crying. Instead, I am hugging his leg as I hang there, suspended over his lap, bound to him by pleasure. “Oh, oh, oh…” My pussy clenches against itself, longing to be filled.
And I wonder. How long will daddy make me his little girl wait until he claims her as the woman I am becoming under his care?
Fifteen
Roman
I look at the clock. It’s nearly noon, and I know my sister’s schedule quite well. Why isn’t she picking up? I know Felicia opposed my coming to Paternas, but I also know I’m the one person in the world she can talk to. I promised her that our being apart didn’t mean we wouldn’t speak. I told her I’d call her today.
Finally, on the fifth chime, the screen brightens, and I sit back in my chair, smiling, as I wait for her face to come into view. But it’s not her I see. It’s her husband.
“Marcus?” I don’t try to hide the disappointment in my voice. “Where’s Felicia?”
“Out.”
“Where?”
He stares at me, and I can see the annoyance in his face. “Not that it’s any of your business where my wife is, but she’s at a Sisters of Faith Luncheon and then off to an appointment with Dr. Maynard. We’ve decided to start another round of fertility boosters.”
I fall momentarily into stunned silence. Felicia avoids the Sisters of Faith, which are mostly older political wives whose leanings are even more conservative than our father, although I believe they are in line with Marcus’ beliefs. But it’s the second revelation that has me the most concerned. Marcus wants a large family. Last year he urged Felicia to start fertility boosters—medical treatments that will greatly increase the chances of twin or even triplet births. Twins already run in our family, and my mother nearly died bringing us into the world. Her stories have always made Felicia afraid of going the same route, and with my support she has gently resisted her husband’s attempts to get her to take the treatment. But I am no longer home to encourage her. And if she is now in the company of the Sisters of Faith, she’s being fed a steady diet of propaganda encouraging large families and blind obedience to male authority.
“So what time do you expect her home?” I ask.
My brother-in-law shakes his head. “Not sure, pal. But this might not be a good day for her to sit and gab. I’ve taken her out twice this week and have a craving for that homemade tortellini, so she’s going straight to kitchen duty.”
I’m suddenly glad of the thousands of miles between us and reminded in this one moment why I am here, and why I am willing to risk everything. Marcus Thane is the embodiment of everything that’s gone wrong with what was supposed to be a benevolent return to tradition.
I ask him to have Felicia ring me — which I know he won’t do— then click off before I say anything I may come to regret, deciding that the best remedy for my mood may be found in my friend Gavin. I’ve been wanting to check in on him and his ward, Trina.
Like Kit, Trina hails from the Warrens, although she was snagged a year ago and languished in a holding facility until I was able to get clearance to pair her with Gavin. There are other women waiting, too. I can’t help but think of Jenny, and how worried Matron Lang continues to be about her. But that is a transfer that must be handled with particular care, and one I don’t want to think on at the moment.
My mood is immediately lifted when leave my wing and enter the common room of the Paternas Institute. There are six couples here today, all a testament to the kind of love and care New Bethel has somehow lost.
There is an irony to this method; on the face of it, the Paternas seems more heavily patriarchal than the existing New Bethel model for men and women. This helped me get approval from the other senators. It’s different, though. I hope the bonding experience of dominant men who naturally bring out trustful submission in these women will ultimately lead to love, and desire by the men to see their mates enjoy a full existence that utilizes all their talents and abilities.
That kind of love will force a change in New Bethel.
I scan the room until I see Gavin, who is sitting with the woman who will become his wife. I saw pictures of Trina after she first arrived. Like Kit, she was thin and bedraggled.
Her transformation is remarkable. Her lank blonde hair is now cut to shoulder length and glows with good health. Her skinny frame has taken on a pleasant roundness. She’s just short of plump, but I find this much more appealing than the forced thinness so prized by other New Bethel wives. Trina has a woman’s fullness that I believe will certainly appeal to men at home who have been denied the image of what a full-fleshed woman’s body looks like. True, there are always men who will prefer the idealized svelteness, but Trina’s natural curves will likely trigger attraction in men who will hopefully encourage their wives not to continue the harmful practices of denial in pursuit of thinness.
But it’s not just the physical appearance that impresses me. Trina fixes Gavin with the kind of expression I never see on the faces of New Bethel wives, and he returns her gaze with the same fondness. When he glances up and sees me, he beckons us over.
“Roman!” He stands as I make my way over.
“I’ve been looking forward to this day.” He puts his hand on the shoulders of the young blonde woman still seated at the table. “This is Trina. Trina, this Senator Roman Daley. He’s an old friend. We went to school together.”
“He doesn’t seem so old to me.” Trina grins, displaying charming dimples as she extends her hand. “Senator, I’m pleased to meet you.”
I take her hand and give it a gentle squeeze, encouraged to note the absence of mistrust from a former rebel.
Gavin invites me to sit.
“So, how have you enjoyed your time here, Trina?” I ask.
She casts a glance at Gavin. “I don’t know if I would say it’s all been enjoyable. It’s been a process. I was ready to fight when I arrived. I thought I’d be forcefully indoctrinated.” She pauses. “I only wish we didn’t have to leave. Gavin has told me New Bethel is different.”
“It is,” I say. “But I fully intend to make sure there’s a support network for graduates of this program so that all the couples can stay in touch. It’s one of the advantages of residing outside the upper class.”
“Aren’t you in the upper class?” she asks.
We stop talking for a moment as a server puts our plates in front of us. Today it is a chowder made from oysters cloned and raised in manmade estuaries on a nearby planetoid.
“Yes. But I want Kit to be associate with others who’ve embraced the philosophy here.”
“Kit?” She puts her fork down and looks at Gavin. “I knew a Kit. In the Warrens. She was one of the leaders.”
Gavin reaches for her hand. “This is why I wanted you to meet my friend, Trina. It’s the same Kit. She was captured and brought here.”
“Kit…” She sits back, speaking the word as if to herself. “Captured.” Her eyes meet mine. “How is she adjusting?”
“Quite well.” There’s pride in my voice.
“I can’t believe that.” Trina shakes her head. “Senator…”
“Please, call me Roman…”
“Roman…” She falls quiet, seeking to find the words. “Please be careful with Kit.”
“Is there something you need to tell him?” Gavin asks.
She sighs. “It makes me feel disloyal, even now. Kit has always been so strong.”
“Please, Trina,” I gently urge. “She’s come a long way. She’s beginning to trust me, really trust me, but if you have any insight on how to help…”
Trina lowers her voice. “Kit is fiercely loyal, but she’s also very protective of herself. We didn’t have parents in the Warrens. We learned to suppress our emotions, but Kit more than most. It takes a lot to get her to feel, and she’s just as prone to withdraw as she is to trust.”
“I promise, Trina, I’m completely devoted to your friend.”
“I have no doubt that you are.” She smiles. “But it’s not your doubt that I worry about. The only thing I’ve ever seen Kit retreat from is her own feelings. If something goes wrong, she’ll shut herself off.”
“Thank you,” I reply. “Would you like to see her? It may help to see someone from her past, to know that things will only get better.”
“I’d love to see her, Roman. Perhaps you’re right. I could make things easier. I’d like to do that, if I can. She was so important to me in the Warrens. When I was snagged, imagining how she must have seen my capture as personal failure was perhaps the worst of it.”
“Then I look forward to seeing the two of you reunited.”
Sixteen
Kit
Daddy has a surprise for me. He won’t tell me what it is, but he tells me tomorrow he has something special planned for me.
I’m not used to surprises, but that is something he’s working hard to remedy. Sometimes it’s something small, like a box of my new favorite food—chocolate. Or an experience, like an excursion to an aviary where scientists are bringing back species of songbirds, or a dancing lesson on the balcony under the stars.
“This is silly,” I’d said. The most beautiful music had been playing when he decided to teach me. It had seemed to come from everywhere.
“It’s not silly, but the best way for you to learn is to stand on my feet.” He’d looked down to where my white slippers were toe-to-toe with his brown shoes. One of his large hands was on my waist, the other curled gently around the fingers of my right hand. My other hand was on his arm.
“It is silly,” I insisted once more, but had stepped up on his shoes, giggling as he began to dance, ordering me in a mock-stern tone to watch his feet and remember the moves.
Dances. Sweet surprises. As I lay in my soft bed under my blanket, I feel conflicted. Roman Daley has me experiencing feelings I never thought myself capable of feeling, feelings as comfortable as the cozy bed that nestles me through restful nights. I awake now not fearful of what my day will bring, but curious.
And yet, I cannot let go of the guilt I still feel in the quiet moments. My old life is slipping away, and while it is easy to tell myself I must submit to adapt, deep inside my rebel voice whispers that by giving in, I am abandoning the vision of resistance.
The only one I’ve shared this with is Matron Lang. She has not spoken of her life beyond what she told me, but I feel like she understands. She listens quietly to my misgivings, and then tells me I shouldn’t be so hard on myself, that until now I had nothing to compare to my life in the Warrens, and that there is nothing wrong with choosing to be happy.
She reminds me that I did not run from the Warrens but was captured. She reminds me of what Daddy told me—that what I learn may help the sisters I left behind. The Warrens will not stand. I can help provide those who leave a better life by what I learn.
I hold this though close to my heart as I stare at the ceiling of my room. I cannot sleep tonight, and perhaps Daddy senses this. I’m touched when he knocks on my door.
“Is it too late for some cookies and warm milk?”
I sit up, smiling. “It’s never too late for cookies.”
“Only if you drink your milk along with it. It’ll help you sleep.” He smiles down at me, and my tummy flutters. He’s wearing pajama pants, slippers, and a robe that is slightly open, exposing his smooth, muscular chest. The weight of the mattress dips as he sits on the edge and puts the milk and cookies on the table.
“I’m too excited to sleep. I keep thinking about the surprise. Maybe if you tell me, I’ll go to sleep faster.”
“Maybe if you continue to be impatient, I’ll send you to bed with a sore bottom.”
The mock sternness of his tone causes a shudder to course through me. I feel my nipples harden under the soft fabric of my gown and try to pull the blanket up to hide them, but he catches my wrist.
“Don’t.” This order is more serious, and I realize he’s staring at me. “Do you have any idea how desirable you are, Kit? Or how much time I spend thinking of joining with you when we are man and wife?”
“Why do we have to wait?” I edge closer to him. “Will you spank me for being impatient for your touch?”
“You little minx.” He puts his finger to my lip, slightly drawing the lower one down. “Some things are relegated to tradition. It’s the custom to wait until marriage.”
“Buy why? In the New Bethel book it says that marriage is supposed to be forever. If you’re so sure of it, then why wait? Besides…” I stop, thinking. “What if…what if one of us didn’t like fucking?”
His smile fades, replaced by shock. “Kit, that’s not a word you should be using.”
“Did I use it wrong?”
“No. But it’s just not something you can repeat around others, especially once we return to New Bethel.”
I find myself scowling. “Seems silly to tell people what words they can and can’t say. In the Warrens, we said what we liked.”
“The Warrens are different. You know that. As far as one of us not liking fucking, as you so delicately put it, I hardly think that’s a worry.”
“But how do you know?”
I’m teasing him. I
know it. He knows it. Roman reaches out and pulls me to him, cradling me in his lap as he pulls down the top of my gown. He dips his head down, and I feel the hot suction of his mouth on my breast, drawing it between teeth that worry the hardened nipple. My fingers wind into his hair as I arch towards the delicious pressure of his mouth. I bite my lip to stifle the cry of pleasure, fearing if I vent my feelings now it will be in a scream.
Roman suckles my breasts leisurely, but with an absolute authority as he ignores the half-hearted protestations we both know I don’t mean. If my words indicate an attempt to demure, my body is contradicting them with every shudder.
“Please…please…” I don’t even know what I’m asking for as he edges my gown lower, laying me down on the bed now. His lips blaze a trail of kisses down my torso, over ribs more padded now than when I arrived, down the new, slight swell of my lower belly, down to —oh!
The sensation of his hot, wet tongue delving into the seam of my pussy is so unexpected that I try to pull away. I can’t, though, because Roman has locked my hips in a firm grasp as he feasts on the needy flesh of my pussy, lapping away the arousal as fast as I can produce it.
“Oh, oh, oh….Daddy…please….” I have gone from wriggling in protest to spreading my legs and arching towards the intense sensation that has me teetering on the edge of a climax, and then falling over that edge when he slides two fingers into my pussy. He moans against my labia as my slick passage quivers and clenches. One of his big hands slides under my ass, squeezing a buttock hard, the pain mingling with the pleasure that brings on a second orgasm as powerful as the first.
I look down, amazed at how I’ve embraced this vulnerability. Roman’s head is between my legs as he greedily lathes me with his tongue. One hand is possessively squeezing my ass. My legs are spread, my heels hooked into his shoulders, my fingers wound in his hair, my pelvis arched in submission to his demanding mouth.
I cry out again, and when he finally pulls his body up and over mine, I am staring up into a face slick with my own juices. When he kisses me for the first time, I taste my own pleasure on his tongue.