by Carmen Quick
I looked down at my breasts, which had quickly grown an entire cup size since I’d started eating more, and they were the fullest they’d ever been. Luckily the extra weight didn’t drag them down; they were still just as perky as ever. With the oil all over them, and the nipples erect in the cold, they did look pretty good. Maybe I wasn’t so bad after all. I didn’t look like a woman from a magazine, but who wanted that? Mr. Forsythe didn’t seem to want it. Right now, he seemed to want me.
I drank the water, which was subtly flavoured with lemon, and then Jessica left the room while I dressed. I couldn’t believe the three hours were up already. I’d had a swim, a sauna and a jacuzzi, followed by a seaweed body wrap, and a massage. I could have stayed here for days, or weeks. I felt like I was walking on air. Everyone had referred to me as Miss Smith throughout the day, telling me that Mr. Forsythe had ordered me this or that treatment, handing me strawberries, making me feel like a princess. The only thing I’d found disappointing is that, while the other guests were all drinking as much free champagne as they liked, I was told that: ‘Mr. Forsythe has forbidden you to drink Alcohol. I’m sorry.’
Still, I’d probably had more than enough to drink lately, and I was having too much fun as it was. That said, a drink might have helped steady my nerves…
I pulled on my black skirt and a plain white t-shirt. It was a risky move, but my breasts were so oily that I didn’t feel like putting my bra back on, so I put it in my handbag. I knew that even though my nipples were pale, they’d still be visible beneath the t-shirt. Given that they were so oily, the t-shirt might even grow see-through. But I felt so relaxed that somehow, it didn’t bother me.
I headed into the spa’s reception, sitting on a comfortable chair, breathing deeply, and lazily watching the other guests as I waited for my cab to show up. Most of the guests were wandering around in soft, white towelling robes. Even without their clothes on, I felt like there was something about the people here that made them look rich. They looked like they used good face creams, wore expensive-looking gems on their fingers and ears, had the confident appearance of someone who’d managed to get what they wanted out of life.
I noticed an old man in a robe, sitting in a chair opposite me, staring at my white t-shirt. I looked down. Oh god. It was as I’d suspected. The t-shirt material had become see-through. I didn’t have a sweater with me, either. I crossed my arms, but that had the unfortunate effect of pushing my breasts together, creating an enticing cleavage. The man opposite me licked his lips and then made to stand up. I hoped he was wearing underpants under his robe. I didn’t want to see any nasty surprises.
‘Miss Smith.’ A man in a chauffeur’s uniform appeared at the door. ‘The car is ready for you.’
I stood up and thanked the women at reception, and then followed the chauffeur outside. I couldn’t believe what was waiting for me there. A long, white stretch limousine! I’d been expecting a cab - not this!
The chauffeur opened the door for me, and, in shock, I got inside. I couldn’t believe how big it was in here. The interior was so clean it smelt new. There was a bucket of ice on a low table in front of me, and a bottle of fizzy water inside it. Not as exciting as champagne, but hey, I’d had all this other five-star treatment all day, so who was I to complain?
I cracked open the water and sat back while the chauffeur drove me towards my secret destination.
I wondered where he’d be taking me. A manor house? A castle? A palace?
I wondered, as well, whether I should put my bra back on. The chauffeur was wearing sunglasses. I wasn’t sure whether he’d be able to see me if he looked into his rear view mirror. My guess was that he would.
Before I’d made a decision about what to do, I heard my cell beep inside my bag. I pulled it out and checked the screen.
Lilly. Scene begins when you arrive. Lasts 3 hours. Remember safeword if you need it. Hope you had a good day.
I put my phone back in my handbag, and sat back in my seat, getting that nervous churning in my stomach all over again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
In At The Deep End
After a stomach-churning, twenty minute ride, the limo swung a right off the Thruway, and then pulled into a large expanse of concrete that looked very much like an industrial estate. In fact, it was an industrial estate. The huge parking lot and overbearing warehouses gave it away. The chauffeur, a quiet man, in his forties, I guess, turned his head slightly as he slowed down the vehicle, and began parking up. ‘Well, Miss Smith, this is it.’
I looked out of the window. No. Surely not. This couldn’t be it. I thought I was meeting Mr. Forsythe at a fancy hotel. I’d been dreaming of the Crosby Street Hotel, the Four Seasons, or maybe, given Mr. Forsythe’s proclivities, the Mandarin Oriental. But not some seedy industrial park upstate.
I didn’t want to leave the shiny, expensive interior of the limo. It felt so out of place here, in this dump. What was going on? Was my boss going to murder me here after all? Was the chauffeur in on it too?
‘He owns that warehouse,’ the driver said to me. ‘The one over there.’ He pointed to a large, blue, unremarkable-looking building nearby. ‘Said he wants to show you something.’ He laughed. ‘Don’t worry, he’s not going to kill you in there.’
Just then, I saw the door of the blue warehouse swing open, and I saw Mr. Forsythe standing there. He lifted a palm in greeting, but there was no smile on his face.
‘Go on then, Miss,’ said the driver. ‘I’ll be waiting here for you. Got three hours to kill, apparently. Hope you like whatever he has to show you in there.’ From the jovial but polite way the driver was talking, it was clear he had no idea what Mr. Forsythe had planned.
I got out of the car, steeling myself for what was about to come, and I walked towards the door.
Mr. Forsythe didn’t step forwards, and he still didn’t smile. He was dressed in a black t-shirt and loose black pants. It struck me that I’d never seen him out of a suit. He looked good. Even more muscular. And, in those loose black pants, he looked like a martial arts expert or something. Very rugged.
I gave him a nervous wave as I approached, and, for some reason, a nervous giggle, but he didn’t respond. His face remained deadly serious.
‘I wasn’t expecting this,’ I babbled nervously. ‘A warehouse. What are we doing here?’ He grimaced.
‘Young lady, I direct your memory to section five of our legally binding agreement. You are to utter no words to me, other than, should you wish to, our safewords. Babies can’t speak, can they?’ What did he want from me? Did he want me to say goo goo, or gaga? Did he want me to start gurgling? Would that turn him on? Not sure what he wanted, other than my silence, I said nothing. I shook my head, and looked up at him.
‘Good girl,’ he said, and smiled. ‘Now if you don’t mind, young lady, you’ll need to take your shoes off before you can come into the playroom.’ The playroom? I noticed that his shoes were bare. What on earth was waiting for me behind those doors?
I bent down in front of him and unfastened my kitten heels, then stood on the concrete outside in bare feet, shivering. I wished I had worn a bra under my t-shirt. I looked down and confirmed my worst suspicions: my nipples were like bullets. Mr. Forsythe wasn’t looking at my nipples, though. He was staring at my feet.
‘Now, if you’d like to follow me, I’ll show you inside.’ He started to walk, and I followed. He turned around just as he was about to open the door. ‘Not like that, silly baby, you have to follow me on your hands and knees. Gosh, you like so silly, a girl of your age, trying to walk! Get down on all fours, like the stupid baby that you are, and crawl behind Daddy like you’re meant to.’ Mr. Forsythe looked so harsh, so annoyed, so mean, that I didn’t want to upset him further. Reluctantly, I dropped down onto my hands and knees, and began to crawl behind him. ‘Good girl,’ he said. I was aware, as I crawled into the dimly lit entrance hall of the warehouse, that my bladder had started to insist that I pay attention to it. I could feel those thre
e big cups of water sloshing around inside me, desperate to come out.
In the entranceway were a few doors. Above one of them, handwritten in big, childish chalky letters, was the word ‘Little’s Playroom.’ That’s the door he led me towards. I felt the hard concrete under my knees. I was sure that I would already have red patches on my skin where I’d rubbed up against the ground. Just before he was about to push open the door to the playroom, Mr. Forsythe turned and looked down at me.
‘Now baby, because you’ve been good, and followed my advice for your din dins for a while now, I’ve decided to let you have some time in the playroom. But you must promise that you’ll be a good girl.’ I looked up at him. He was going to let me play in the playroom? That’s what he wanted to do? ‘Now, do you promise to be good?’
I looked up again, and nodded, moving my head up and down, trying to look as cute as I could.
‘Now, I’m going to hold you to that.’ He pushed open the door, and the first thing that hit me was a sweet, creamy smell. I couldn’t quite place it, but it reminded me immediately of my childhood. Something about being looked after, something about being rocked to sleep. Peace. It reminded me of peace. When I crawled into the playroom, my eyes opened wide as I took in the scene. It was bright, and very, very colorful. There were primary colours everywhere. Crocus yellow, apple red, sky blue. Below my hands and knees, I felt incredibly thick, bright blue carpet. Ahead of me, was a huge soft play area, the biggest I’d ever seen. There was a ball pool with thousands of shiny plastic balls inside, a huge slide which led straight into the ball pool, and a tower, with little plastic turrets and cute white piping around its edges. The whole area was surrounded by loose netting. There were plush, huge plastic cushion-like walls seperating the different parts from each other. The whole thing looked…magical. I couldn’t help but let out little gasp of delight.
In the other corner of the room, closer to the door, was a large sofa, with a newspaper on a stand next to it.
‘Now baby, you play as long as you like. Daddy’s going to read his newspaper, so please don’t disturb him, and remember, be good.’
The first fifteen minutes of soft play were heaven. I felt as though suddenly, all of my responsibilities had been whisked away, and as though I could just totally relax and be myself. I didn’t quite understand what it was that Mr. Forsythe was getting from all of this; I was a fully clothed woman, playing around in a ball pit while he calmly read the paper. I looked over to him occasionally, and was surprised to see that he was indeed looking at the paper, seemingly reading away. Soon, I began to feel absolutely desperate for the toilet. I crawled away from the ball pool, and hopped over the barrier, back to Mr. Forsythe. He didn’t even look down at me.
I didn’t know what to do. How was I meant to get his attention without talking? I crawled all the way up to his feet, to his shoes, and I started to softly moan at him. He looked down at me, dismissive, and said, ‘Baby shouldn’t be bothering Daddy while he reads his newspaper. Go back and play more baby, or Daddy will be angry.’
Didn’t he get it? I was desperate for the toilet. For a moment, I thought about saying the safe word, saying red, making him stop, making him let me go to the toilet. No, that was ridiculous, I wasn’t going to give in like that.
‘Jesus,’ I said, my frustration burbling up in me like a well.
‘What did you say, young lady?’ he said. Damnit, I should have kept my mouth shut. But nothing could have prepared me for what happened next. He lurched down and grabbed me, and then, with a strength I’d only dreamt of, he pulled me up bodily onto his lap. I let out a yelp of surprise and then, terrified, realised that he had his hand on my skirt.
‘Babies who are naughty, have to be punished,’ he said, ‘now this is for your own good, Lilly. It’s going to hurt me a lot more than it’s going to hurt you. Now,’ he said, ‘it’s very important that you understand the reason that this is happening. It’s not because I’m cruel, or that I hate you, nothing could be further from the truth. I have,’ he said, as he started to lift my skirt up my legs, ‘only your best interests at heart. If I didn’t punish you when you did something wrong, you’d never, ever learn.’
He could see my legs now, my thighs, my buttocks beneath my knickers. I felt a sudden pulse of something between my legs. I was completely at his mercy. Sheldon Forsythe, one of the richest, most powerful men in the country, was staring right at my underwear. Then, with a shiver, I felt him hook his thumbs underneath my panties, and draw them slowly down my legs.
I felt the a cold lick of a breeze on my bare bottom, I felt my tender, virginal pussy totally open to the air. ‘Please,’ I said.
‘My goodness, Lilly, you keep breaking the rules.’ Then I felt his surprisingly coarse hand on my backside.
He began to stroke my flesh, pushing my buttocks away from the centre of my behind. He felt so strong, as though he could tear my flesh away from my bone should he so wish, but, for the moment at least, his movements were careful and considered. Suddenly, I felt my bladder start to beat inside me, a warm channel of pressure had built up so strong, I didn’t know how long I could keep from gushing all over myself, and all over Mr. Forsythe.
‘You’ve got a very pretty body, baby. So pretty that you’ve almost distracted me from my task.’ I felt my little pussy being pushed down into the fabric of his clothes beneath me, my lips squashing into him as he rested a heavy hand on me.
‘Now, I’ve got the unhappy task of administering corporal punishment to your backside, my dear. I’m going to smack your bottom so hard that it turns red. That way you’ll know that in future, you must not disobey your daddy.’
Something about the way he kept calling himself my daddy. It felt so wrong, but so right at the same time. It felt madly like he did want to look after me, he did want to teach me a good lesson. I felt myself once more giving in to him, giving in to the perverse, twisted situation I found myself in.
‘Yes,’ he said, and I’m sure I heard cruel relish in his voice, ‘I’m afraid I absolutely have to do it. Now, it’s imperative that you remain totally silent after each slap, you hear? The punishment is ten slaps, but if you make any noise, they won’t count.’ With a final squeeze of my buttock, I felt my daddy lift his hand away from my flesh, and then, after what felt like an eternity of waiting, I felt his heavy hand come smacking down onto me.
My mouth opened soundlessly and my eyes widened with the pain of the strike. Little needles of red hot sensation spread out from his fingers across my flesh. I had not expected him to hit me so hard. Shocked, I remained silent. My bladder squirmed inside me. I mouthed a word in my head, and that word was not what I’d expected to be thinking. I thought, Green. Green, Green, Green…
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Bad Girl
The first five or so smacks, I managed without making a sound. I could feel the skin of my buttocks burning with each smack, and it felt as though hand-shaped burn marks were appearing on my body. After five, I let out a little disgruntled moan, so quiet I thought I’d got away with it. For a moment, he stopped slapping me, and I thought that perhaps he’d finished, that I’d somehow miscounted how many he’d already carried out. In the brief moment of pause he gave me, I noticed something else as well. My pussy was absolutely sodden. Something about the pain, something about being in his power had made my little flower bloom like nothing else. Then, at the moment I thought I’d got away with it, I heard,
‘No, no, no, dear, I specifically said not a peep of sound. What a naughty baby I’ve got on my hands here. Seems like I’m going to have to smack you even harder.’
The next slap, when it came, made my eyes sting with tears. I could feel warmth start to build up inside me, too, a different kind of fluid, so eager to push its way out of my body. The next one sounded like a thunder-clap, and made real tears form at my eyes. I scrunched up my face and started to grind my legs together, trying to keep my pee inside me. I started to wonder whether this had been his plan all along, wh
ether he wanted me to wet myself in front of him like this. One thing I was reasonably sure of though, is that he can’t of wanted me to empty my bladder all over his lap, could he? Surely no-one was that perverted.
Then, with the next slap, an almighty wallop that made my body shake with pain, I felt just the tiniest trickle of pee seep from me. It felt immediately warm, and I wanted so badly to just let go and let it all go over him, all over this brute who was making me feel so filthy, and so full of lust, but I clenched my muscles hard, praying that the punishment was nearly over.
‘Good girl, Lilly,’ he said, ‘just one more now, and I think you’ll have learnt your lesson. I felt his hand slowly pull away from the tender flesh of my buttock, and the anticipation of the next slap was immense, just so overwhelming. I wanted it to come, wanted to feel his battering hand on my body again, wanted him to master me. I wanted it so…and then, while I was waiting for the hit that never came, I felt it. A total loss of control. The little muscles inside me had just given up.