by Emily Tilton
Ed
Feeling rather foolish, he left the potted plant behind and stepped out onto Fifth Avenue. He walked north in the spring sunshine, trying to figure out why this thing with Lauren bothered him. Couldn’t a girl decide to seek new opportunities, especially if she came from a home like Lauren’s? Did she deserve a single, older neighbor from her crappy hometown coming to stalk her?
He reached the corner of the park and kept walking, thinking he might just walk all the way up to the museum and spend a little time there before he headed back to the subway and out of the city. A group of older schoolgirls in those unbelievably hot uniforms that never failed to make Ed think the wrong thing, and then feel guilty about it, was walking toward him. Five of them, walking between two well-dressed older women, clearly their teachers, all of the schoolgirls strikingly pretty and obviously seniors, though apparently from two different schools, as three had red and green plaid skirts and the other two blue and green.
A little guiltily, Ed drew his eyes up from the knees, the skirts, and the well-filled white blouses, to have a brief glance at the girls’ pretty faces as he passed them by forever.
Lauren. Stunned, Ed stopped in his tracks. He saw—or he thought he saw—Lauren recognize him, and turn her head as she kept walking.
The women in the pantsuit walking behind the girls looked at Ed with a stern, dismissive air. “Eyes front, Lauren,” she said, and they kept walking. Ed’s last impression of Lauren’s face registered anxiety, as if the teacher’s reprimand had in it a threat of something more—as if Lauren might suffer some consequence for having turned her head to look at Ed. As if these schoolgirls were out of a different time, when blushing modesty got the reinforcement it needed from strict discipline.
He turned to watch them go, then saw them cross the street at 60th. They had disappeared into the bustle of the street, and then he thought maybe into one of the apartment buildings on Fifth, before he thought to follow them, so stunned was he by Lauren’s appearance in the uniform and his own reaction to it.
* * *
Ed texted Mr. Georgiou on his way home, willing to risk annoying one of his best tippers in hope of finding out something about New Career Partners.
Sorry to bother you, Tom, but did you get a chance to ask about that program?
Tom texted back ten minutes later,
No problem, Ed. I asked a couple people, but no one’s heard of it. Doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong, though. Big city.
Ed frowned as the buildings flashed by on the Long Island Railroad.
Thanks so much, he texted back.
He looked out the window, trying to remember every detail of the strange encounter with Lauren. His memory started to play tricks on him, now. Had it really been Lauren O’Hara? Surely not. Why would she be wearing that schoolgirl uniform? But she had definitely recognized him, before the teacher had said the thing about keeping her eyes front.
And then that look—the look that said Lauren had something to be nervous about, when the older woman warned her… it had definitely meant something very important, if only Ed could stop thinking about straps and paddles in the schoolroom and focus on helping a girl who could be in trouble.
Chapter Seven
As Lauren had feared, looking at Mr. Stevens had gotten her in terrible trouble. As soon as they got back to the apartment, Mrs. Fredericks said, “Jessica, honey, please fetch the paddle. Lauren, bend over the arm of the sofa, please, and raise your skirt.”
“Why? What did I do?” she said, trying to look contrite. She knew exactly why—or thought she did—but she felt desperate to buy some time and to protest her innocence as strongly as she could.
“Did I or did I not tell you that my girls keep their eyes forward?”
Mrs. Fredericks had indeed told Lauren that, before they left the apartment that morning to go downstairs to the gym for their exercises.
“Yes, Mrs. Fredericks,” Lauren said miserably. She looked over at Jessica, who had gone to the long table under the mirror, and had grasped the handle of the center of its three drawers. Her new friend—the term seemed more appropriate after the way they had giggled together in the museum shop, told by Mrs. Fredericks that Mr. Graves and Mr. Killington had consented to let them buy souvenirs of fifty dollars or less—shot her back a very sympathetic look, but pulled the drawer open. Lauren’s heart quailed.
“Look at me, girl,” the matron said. “Did I or did I not tell you that my girls under no circumstances make eye contact with men to whom they have not been introduced?”
“Please, Mrs. Fredericks,” Lauren pleaded. “He… I thought I did know him. From home.”
“That makes no difference at all, you little slut. Thinking you know a man and knowing that you have been introduced are utterly different things. Mr. Killington tells me that you will fellate him for the first time this evening. Your mind should be on that, rather than strange men you think you know from home. Now get over the arm of the sofa. You are going to learn to think about what your owner and I desire you should think about. We will begin by making sure you think about your paddled bottom for the next few hours.”
Lauren’s eyes flicked over to Jessica again: the blond girl, her face very sad, had retrieved a thick wooden paddle, whose blade was about four inches wide and seven inches long. Its polished, deep brown surface had a pattern of five holes, distributed like the five-face of a backgammon die. Lauren’s heart beat wildly.
“Jessica, honey,” Mrs. Fredericks said. Oh, how could she do that with her words? Honey when a girl behaved herself. Girl and little slut when she didn’t. “Remember that Lauren has never been properly disciplined. Tell her about my paddle, please.”
Jessica bit her lip. “It hurts,” she whispered. “Because it is wood and because of the holes.”
“What do the holes do, honey?”
Jessica looked miserably from Mrs. Fredericks to Lauren, as if hoping to be spared this awful duty but seeing in the matron’s face that she too would receive a paddling if she didn’t obey.
“They make it so the air does not slow the paddle down.”
It seemed so simple, but Lauren had never understood that, and now the revelation of the reason made her give a tiny whimper as she looked at the terrible thing in her new friend’s hands.
“Please, Mrs. Fredericks. I am sorry. I am so sorry!” Lauren’s whole body trembled, and she clasped her hands in front of her unconsciously in desperate prayer. “Please… please just spank me with… with the spoon? Or…” She knew she couldn’t make the woman relent, but something inside her said she had to try. “Or over my panties? For my first time?”
“I am very glad to see the penitence the paddle can produce is coming to fruition already in you, girl, but this lesson would lose its power completely if I allowed you to soften it in any way. Get yourself over the sofa arm, or the men will be summoned, and you will not like the consequences.”
The outlines of the terrible scene Jessica had narrated that first day, with her and Rachel fellating the men and getting enemas, took shape in Lauren’s mind. The deeds described lay so far outside her experience that she saw in her mind only awful, shameful flashes of body parts whose true nature she didn’t know. She didn’t even know what she looked like down there, really—or what she would look like with an enema bag attached to her, its nozzle inside her. She definitely didn’t know what a man looked like, despite the reproductive health classes at school. The anatomical diagrams projected on the whiteboard hadn’t seemed capable of engaging in what the teacher called sexual intercourse.
She had woken up knowing that that would change by the time she went to sleep, because of what Mr. Killington had said—that awful news about fellatio. Until this horrible moment, after seeing the man who might have been Mr. Stevens from across the street, she had thought the day had gone very well, especially considering that the man who claimed to own her had promised she would give him a blowjob at the end of it, or be punished until she did.
/> It’s just a blowjob. Jessica had said that quietly at the gym, when Mrs. Fredericks sat on the other side of the room reading a magazine while her girls ran on side-by-side treadmills. The words had seemed to echo an almost articulate thought Lauren had formed while falling asleep the previous night, thinking about how lovely the date with Mr. Killington had been. I can do it. It’s just a blowjob.
I want to do it. Do I want to do it?
Tonight, I’m going to see a penis. I have to suck a cock, because I’ll get spanked if I don’t.
These thoughts, questions, and declarations had seemed to run through her mind continuously. Jessica clearly knowing that Lauren would have to suck her owner’s cock that night made it a little better, but also a lot worse, because every time her new friend looked at her, Lauren thought she must be picturing Lauren with Mr. Killington’s hard penis in her mouth.
I’m going to be a cocksucker, tonight. Should I? Can I?
They had giggled in the museum shop because Jessica had found a reproduction in a book of a naughty Greek vase. A naked woman knelt, in that red-line drawing on black pottery style, before a naked, bearded man. Bearded. Like Mr. Killington. The ancient Greek’s cock filled the girl’s mouth very full, and her hands clasped his knees.
Jessica had pointed to the Greek letters that ran over the man’s head, then down to the caption for the plate. Attic red figure, school of the Agora painter, ca. 420 BCE. The words read: “Take it, girl. The girl is beautiful.”
Lauren had felt her face go red hot, and her heart had started to beat wildly—almost as wildly as it beat now as she contemplated the arm of the sofa. Jessica had whispered, “You’ll do it much better than that,” and it had made the fear go away for a moment, and Lauren had giggled and giggled and giggled.
I can do it. I can do it better than the ancient Greek girl. Can’t I? He’ll teach me. He’s so nice.
She turned back now to Mrs. Fredericks, hoping her eyes, from which tears were now trickling down her cheeks, would move the matron’s apparent heart of stone.
Mrs. Fredericks pointed to the sofa. A little sob broke from Lauren’s chest, and she felt her face crumple.
To her surprise, the matron’s hard face softened. “I know, honey,” she said. “I know. But you must learn your lesson.”
“Just because I looked at a man?” Lauren sobbed.
“Yes and no, honey. That is the rule, and all the rules are important, even the little ones. But a girl who belongs to a man like your owner needs to know that she cannot get away with disrespecting his rights. That is what you did when you forgot to keep your eyes forward, and now you must pay the price. It will help if you think about how pleased Mr. Killington will be to read your email telling him how you overcame your fear and took your punishment like a good girl. Jessica, honey, can you help me out?”
Lauren’s eyes went to her new friend, dressed identically in the school uniform that seemed to have such a powerful, if subtle effect on their behavior and even their attitudes. Jessica nodded with solemn eyes. “And…” She looked a little fearfully at Mrs. Fredericks. “And Mr. Killington will inspect you, too. You will feel proud, then. And you will feel like he forgives you.”
Lauren felt her jaw drop a little. Inspect. What did it mean? Would he… would he make her show him what the paddle had done? It must mean that, mustn’t it? The thought made her feel so odd, down there. She had forgotten all about what her mind had settled on calling the sex problem, since the giggling in the store. It had almost seemed like fellatio represented something other than sex, in Mrs. Fredericks’ apartment: unlike the ancient Greek girl, it seemed, Lauren would remain fully clothed when she gave blowjobs.
But if Mr. Killington could inspect her, that was very different. Wasn’t it?
“What does inspect mean?” she finally whispered, though she worried that further delay would turn Mrs. Fredericks back into the angry disciplinarian.
But it seemed that if Lauren weren’t protesting her sentence or begging for its lightening, the matron would sympathize. Her face remained kind. That didn’t mean she would gratify Lauren’s urgent need for information, though. “You will find out soon enough, honey,” she said. “Now lay yourself down, and raise your skirt. I will take down your panties myself.”
With a little whimper, Lauren turned herself toward the beautifully upholstered leather sofa. She wondered suddenly how many girls had gone over its arm for paddling. Rachel and Jessica, certainly, had cried out their submission here, plaid skirts raised and bare bottoms presented. And before them? Something in Mrs. Fredericks’ manner told Lauren the woman had done this for years and years. That seemed to help, at least a little.
Yesterday Lauren had never been over anyone’s knee to learn a lesson, and today she had already joined the legions of young women who had received at least the rudiments of proper discipline. Now, over the arm of a sofa, she must learn much more. Lauren O’Hara must learn to respect the wishes of a man who had taken her from school to be a possession he could dress however he liked and into whose mouth he could put his penis when his penis got hard. A treasure, a gem sent to Mrs. Fredericks for polishing, specifying that the matron should not shrink from polishing with a wooden paddle sharply applied to a bare bottom when necessary.
She wept quietly as she assumed the undignified position of the schoolgirl who must undergo her correction. The leather of the couch felt cool against her hands as the eased herself over, feeling with a terrible blush how high the arm of the sofa raised her backside.
“Skirt up, Lauren,” Mrs. Fredericks said, a little sternness coming into her tone, as if she suspected Lauren of delaying the paddling.
Surely real schoolgirls, in the days of corporal punishment by the principal, had left their skirts down! Lauren whimpered. She wasn’t a real schoolgirl, though, was she? Mr. Killington had acquired something else: a schoolgirl who had to suck cocks.
She reached back and took the pleated wool in her trembling fingers. Yesterday Mrs. Fredericks had done this with the pretty green skirt that seemed a lifetime away, now, when Lauren had gone over the older woman’s knee for the first time. She wished the matron were doing it now, because it seemed so hard. How could she? How could she raise her own skirt to show the cotton briefs that now appeared in her mind’s eye even more shameful, in their way, than the lacy red panties Mrs. Fredericks had disapproved so completely yesterday?
She felt the air moving on her thighs, and she realized that all the thoughts and feelings were only making the odd, warm sensation inside the cotton panties worse. She held her knees together tightly, praying that Mrs. Fredericks wouldn’t notice anything amiss.
Lauren felt Mrs. Fredericks help her tuck the hem of the skirt into its waistband, the woman’s touch sending a shiver down her spine.
“Hands in front of you, now,” the matron said. “If you put them behind you to cover yourself, you will receive five extra swats.”
The fingers, cool on the skin of Lauren’s hips, took hold of the panties’ elastic waistband, and pulled them down swiftly and decisively to the middle of her thighs. I will take your panties down.
My first bare-bottom paddling. On the day I have to suck my owner’s penis. A sob choked itself out into the leather of the couch. A tear fell onto the cushion.
What was Mr. Stevens doing there? Will he tell anyone?
Chapter Eight
Anita looked at the extraordinarily pretty bottom of Lauren O’Hara, perfectly arranged now for discipline, with great satisfaction. The rather thick and very modest white cotton briefs chosen for the club’s schoolgirls gave a good deal of pleasure to the matron who pulled them down in the simple tactile quality of the action, and made a very attractive sight bunched around a girl’s thighs.
More attractive, of course, were the pert cheeks of a girl like Lauren’s bottom themselves, especially when the girl did her utmost to keep her legs together—doubtless, at least in Lauren’s case today—in order not to betray the arousal she had firs
t felt yesterday and still felt terrible confusion about. Anita knew that the girls’ owners liked to punish them with their knees apart, to get the naughty view of the real reason they had acquired the lovely young women for whom the matrons cared, but a matron worth employing understood above all the value of shame in the bringing along of a girl who must one day soon give every pleasure to a dominant man like Mr. Killington—and who today, of course, must kneel submissively and take him in her mouth.
“Jessica, honey,” she said, “give me the paddle.”
From her position over the arm of the sofa, her face lowered nearly to the leather surface of the cushions, Lauren gave a little whimper at the words.
Anita took the disciplinary implement, which she considered almost a sacred object, from the sweet blond girl’s hands. She noted that Jessica couldn’t restrain her own tears at the knowledge that Lauren must now receive the true punishment Anita always gave with the paddle. Jessica knew also, just as Anita did, that afterward, sobbing in her bed, Lauren would begin to understand about the terrible ambiguity the club’s schoolgirls felt about their true punishments. Jessica knew from experience, also, that Anita would allow her to comfort Lauren.
And Anita knew the guilt Jessica would feel about her own arousal as Lauren received her paddling, just as Lauren had become aroused the day before, during Jessica’s punishment and undoubtedly while thinking about it afterward. These shared experiences of traditional discipline, arousal, and shame represented a sort of bedrock of Anita’s method of bringing her girls along, preparing them for their owners’ pleasures.
“Ten swats for failing to follow my rules, Lauren. You will count them as you receive them.”
She raised the paddle high and put her left hand atop the girl’s waist, extending that arm nearly at full length in order to give her right arm the freedom of movement to strike the naughty backside with the force necessary to deliver the sort of lesson Lauren needed. The paddle was half an inch thick and quite heavy: not only would the girl have difficulty sitting down for the rest of the day, but even walking to her room after this correction would probably require Jessica’s help.