by Emily Tilton
The infraction in question—looking at the man on the sidewalk—didn’t matter nearly as much as the fact of receiving the terrible punishment. Mr. Killington had authorized the paddle as necessary, bowing to Anita’s experience with the club’s girls. In Anita’s judgment a girl like Lauren needed paddling early, so that when the key moment came, just before she lost her virginity, in two weeks or so, and began to keep company properly with Mr. Killington, she would have a clear memory of what Mrs. Fredericks’ paddle could do.
On the other hand, looking at a man, making eye contact with him, represented a near-perfect occasion to visit the terrible punishment upon Lauren’s young bottom. She would connect her curiosity about her hometown neighbor, or whoever the man had actually been, with the shame her arousal after the paddling brought, as she already associated it with the naked, upended state of her backside and the fear occasioned by Anita’s swift disciplinary response. When she thought of her conduct on the street, Lauren would remember that schoolgirls like her saved all their charms, including even the glances of their pretty eyes, for their owners.
She brought the paddle down hard, with a thudding crack, holding it against the girl’s bottom for an instant afterward as she always did, to make the point that Anita’s paddle would rule the girl’s life, now. Jessica gave a little cry, but Lauren’s first response, because she didn’t yet understand the terrible logic of her nerve system’s reactions, was only a surprised grunt. That changed immediately, though, as the pain from the swat made itself truly felt, and the grunt grew into an affecting whine of grief.
“Count, girl,” Anita said.
“One,” Lauren sobbed.
Anita struck again, just as hard.
By the fifth swat, Lauren had begun to scream. After the sixth, Anita had to wait for almost thirty seconds before the girl would count the stroke, and to threaten to add five. Jessica’s face puckered with sympathetic tears as her new friend’s hips went uncontrollably up and down and her cherry-red bottom clenched in a vain attempt to soothe the agony.
Lauren kicked with her right foot at the seventh swat, and Anita had to deliver an extra swat to her upper thigh in recompense.
“Do not kick, Lauren O’Hara!” she thundered as she gave it. “Do not show me that shameful part of you!”
Lauren cried out at the blow, and returned her knees to their closed state.
The screaming became heaving sobs as the resistance went out of the girl, then. Anita, an expert in judging the state of punished bottoms, delivered the last swats with less severity, though of course Lauren wouldn’t be able to judge that since her harshly punished backside received each new visitation of the paddle like a fiery brand applied to the sensitive area.
“Ten,” she finally sobbed.
“There,” said Anita, handing the paddle back to Jessica to return to the drawer. “You will stay like that for fifteen minutes, and then Jessica will come to help you to your bedroom. I wish you to think about what you owe Mr. Killington, and about what you must do for him this evening, in gratitude. You will write your email to him as soon as you return to your bedroom.”
Anita fetched her phone from her purse and took a lovely picture of a well-chastised posterior. At the clicking sound of the camera, Lauren gave a little wail.
“You will send this photo.”
* * *
Fifteen minutes later, after Anita had watched Jessica lead Lauren to her room, yelping softly at each step as her bottom proved an agony to her, the blond girl came out with a concerned expression on her face.
“Mrs. Fredericks, could you come look at something, please?”
Puzzled, Anita followed Jessica back to Lauren’s bedroom, and saw the penitent girl with her bottom still bare and glowing, lying on her tummy on the bed, her face turned to see Anita’s entrance with an expression of concern upon it.
“What is it, honey?” Anita asked. She saw relief overspread Lauren’s face as she understood that after a punishment—especially a real, severe one—she could expect to be welcomed back into the matron’s good graces.
“I…” Despite the relief, anxiety now flooded back into her face.
“Do not worry, honey. As long as you are honest, you can tell me anything.”
“I got an email,” she said softly. “From Mr. Stevens. The… the man on the sidewalk.”
Lauren spoke so hesitantly that Anita knew she expected an angry reaction despite Anita’s assurances to the contrary. The news of this Mr. Stevens’ mail certainly introduced complications for Lauren’s residence in Anita’s apartment, but those complications definitely couldn’t be ascribed to any blame on Lauren’s part. Anita fought back her first, frowning reaction to give the girl another reassuring smile. “Show me, honey,” she said warmly.
Jessica took the laptop and handed it to Anita. She read the brief mail, relieved to see that it didn’t seem to contain anything of serious concern.
“Oh, do not worry, honey,” she repeated. “Email him back and tell him that you may not see him, but he may send you the present in care of the New Career Partners office. Then say that you are not allowed to write to him anymore. He will probably mail you again, and he may even ask questions about seeing you on the street that way, but you will just show those mails to me, and not respond.”
Lauren smiled in response, but rather tentatively. A little extra emphasis seemed in order.
“Remember that I have access to your account, honey. I will make sure that you do not mail him again.” Anita put the smallest hint of authority in the words, knowing that the recent memory of her paddling for even looking at Mr. Stevens would do the important job of making it clear that she must under no circumstances attempt to communicate with the man. The first few days of a girl’s stay with Mrs. Fredericks were such a delicate time, but a good paddling generally helped focus the mind on the essential things: right now that mean gratifying Mr. Killington this evening as he had the right to be gratified.
Lauren nodded. “Yes, Mrs. Fredericks,” she said, confirming, though she must be unaware of it, that her schoolgirl uniform and schoolgirl punishments had placed her nicely in the proper mindset.
“Go ahead and write that email now, while I am watching. Then the one to Mr. Killington.”
She handed the laptop back to Jessica, who put it in front of Lauren.
Dear Mr. Stevens,
Thank you so much for being so kind, and coming in person! You can send the book to that office, and I will get it. I am not allowed to have visitors, or to write to anyone…
“Say that it is because you are in an immersion program,” Anita said as she watched Lauren type.
…because I am in an immersion program.
Anita said, “You may tell him that you hope to see him when you are finished with the program.”
Lauren shot her an inquiring look, her brows knit, as if to ask whether Anita were telling the truth.
“It is true, honey, though I doubt you will wish to see him again once you have spent a few months keeping company with Mr. Killington.”
Lauren frowned at that. Anita guessed that the girl hadn’t thought of her neighbor in any romantic way previously, but the man had seemed quite attractive, and the matron knew that the chance encounter could well have stirred rescue fantasies. Better to have it out in the open and to make the comparison plain between a billionaire who knew how to provide the discipline a girl required for her ultimate happiness and a muscular neighbor who might kiss well but could never recognize the signs that a young woman needed a spanking.
Lauren refocused on the keyboard.
I hope to see you in a few months, when I have finished the program.
Yours truly,
Lauren
“Very good, honey. Now the one to Mr. Killington, and do not forget to attach the photograph.”
Lauren gave her a rather pitiful little look, as if to let Anita know without having to say anything sassy that the command to write to the man who owned her, about her
Anita nodded, letting her smile fade slightly. “Go ahead, honey.”
Dear Mr. Killington,
Today I got paddled because I looked at a man on the street. He was my across the street neighbor at home and I learned later that he had come to the city to give me a present.
“You can tell Mr. Killington about that tonight, Lauren,” Anita said. “He wants to hear about your punishment, in this mail, and to see your bottom.”
Lauren turned to Anita again, biting her lip now. A flush had come over her cheeks that the matron could tell had as much to do with arousal as it did with embarrassment. “Why?” she asked, the vowel sound elongated almost into a little whine.
“Men like Mr. Killington and Mr. Graves like to know that the girls they own receive the discipline they need even when they themselves are not present to provide it. And most men simply enjoy the sight of a well-punished bottom.”
Lauren’s breathing seemed to roughen a little as she turned back to the mail.
Mrs. Fredericks paddled me very hard, and I cried a lot. My bottom still hurts so much. You can see in the picture how red it was after my paddling.
“Now tell him how much you are looking forward to this evening. Say that you are looking forward to fellating him.”
Lauren swallowed hard, but didn’t turn around again.
I am looking forward to…
Now she did look over her shoulder, even more piteously. “Do I really have to, Mrs. Fredericks?”
“Yes, honey, of course you have to. You must get used to your new life here. You will fellate Mr. Killington and others when he requires it, and you will learn to feel proud that they wish to make you gratify them that way.”
Lauren’s eyes went wide at these words, and she twisted her mouth to the side.
“Go ahead, honey,” Anita said again, this time a little more sternly. “I cannot spank you again today, but I am sure you do not wish to have your first punishment enema so soon after the paddling.”
Fearfully the girl turned back to her computer.
…fellating you tonight.
Yours truly,
Lauren
Chapter Nine
Lauren waited apprehensively in her room for the knock that meant Mr. Killington had arrived. She had perched herself on her hip, atop the bed. Her bottom still throbbed from Mrs. Fredericks’ terrible punishment.
“He will take you to the upstairs apartment for dinner this evening,” Mrs. Fredericks had said. “That will give you privacy, so he can inspect your bottom and have you fellate him for as long as he likes. You may continue to wear your uniform.”
Somehow, though she thought she should be relieved not to have to put on the lacy lingerie again—especially with her bottom in its current agonizing state—she found the idea that she must go upstairs with her owner still wearing her plaid skirt, white blouse, and plain white halter top and panties even scarier. Would he make her pull down her panties for the inspection of her bottom? Would he take them down himself as Mrs. Fredericks had done for her paddling?
Would she have to take his penis in her mouth with her panties up or down? For some reason this question seemed to occupy Lauren’s thoughts more than any other. If Mr. Killington let her wear her panties while she gave her first blowjob, it would mean that blowjobs represented a sort of everyday chore for her, Lauren theorized, though she had very little idea why she would think that. Maybe because if you sucked cocks with all your clothes on, you could be made to do it at a moment’s notice, and made to finish quickly.
Jessica sat next to her on the bed, holding her hand. “Don’t worry,” she kept saying, the don’t feeling to Lauren like a tiny act of rebellion against Mrs. Fredericks. “Even swallowing isn’t that bad.”
“When… when you had to… for the men…” Lauren kept remembering what Mr. Killington had said the night before about her mouth being available, and it set her whole body trembling each time she did. Why didn’t it seem completely monstrous, she wondered? Why did it seem to her that to have her mouth available to all the men Mr. Killington decided should put their penises in it would mean that Lauren had a special job, just like Jessica and the other girls did—they had to suck penises because the men who owned them wanted them to learn this valuable skill. Not only that—Lauren and Jessica and the others were available for fellatio because their owners liked to share girls’ mouths with one another, as a friendly gesture.
Jessica’s cheeks developed a pink glow. “Yes?” she whispered.
“Were you naked?” Lauren asked, lowering her own voice.
Her new friend’s eyes widened a little.
“I mean, well, you had the enemas too, right?” Lauren shuddered, and so did Jessica.
“Oh, I get it.” Jessica said, and smiled. “You think that the men were there for the enemas.” She giggled, and the sound made Lauren feel obscurely better.
“They weren’t?” Lauren asked, her own eyes wide.
“No, silly. Do you think Mrs. Fredericks would allow that?”
Lauren realized how wild her thoughts had been on the subject of the punishment Jessica and Rachel had received. What Jessica said next didn’t do much to allay her remaining fears, and added new anxieties, though.
“I wish that blond one had been there. Mr. Graves says he’s going to share me soon, and I’m hoping he invites the blond one. Yo says her master—she has to call him that—shares her with the limo men, but Tricia only gets shared with the other owners.”
Lauren’s lower lip started to quiver. She knew what share had to mean, really, or what the most basic part of it had to mean, but if the idea of fellatio, of her mouth being available, made her body betray her with terrible new sensations, the thought of being shared seemed like an abyss into which her reason could vanish in fear and shame.
Her mind fixed on the question of whether she would have her underwear on when Mr. Killington enjoyed her mouth, fleeing from Jessica’s last words. She had it on the tip of her tongue to make sure the blond girl had confirmed what Lauren thought she had confirmed—that when their mouths were made available, they kept their uniforms on—but just as she opened her lips to ask, a knock sounded at the door.
Jessica squeezed her hand, and Lauren rose as Mrs. Fredericks—of course the matron wouldn’t wait for an invitation like Come in—entered. “Lauren, honey, it is time,” she said in a firm voice that suggested she knew that the first time a girl went upstairs to suck a man’s cock required some firmness of the woman who kept her and provided much of her discipline. The heat blazed up in Lauren’s face.
“Yes, Mrs. Fredericks,” she said almost automatically, wondering why the words seemed always at the ready now. A paddling will do that, I guess. Jessica certainly seemed to say Yes, Mrs. Fredericks quite a bit. Did that mean the idea of discipline—something on which neither her parents nor her school had ever put a great deal of emphasis—had something to it? Lauren pushed the thought down as far as she could in her mind. To admit that an eighteen-year-old needed discipline would be to admit other things… things that seemed to Lauren much worse right then.
Panties up or panties down? Maybe panties up for the limo men but…
Lauren emerged into the hallway to find that Mr. Killington had, it seemed, changed out of his suit before coming to fetch her: he wore a slightly wrinkled Oxford shirt, faded jeans, and a leather belt with a big silver buckle that made her heart skip a beat. Why? Mrs. Fredericks hadn’t said anything about belts, had she? Somehow Lauren just knew, though, that Mr. Killington’s belt had made the intimate acquaintance of the backside of more than one young woman. She swallowed hard.
“Hi Lauren,” said her owner. “Did you have an okay day? Except for the paddling, I mean?”
She raised her eyes from his belt buckle to see that his smile wasn’t at all mocking.
“Yes?” she said.
“Yes, sir, Lauren,” Mrs. Fredericks said. “Or Yes, Mr. Killington. Where are your manners?”
Lauren looked over at the matron, who it seemed had spun on a dime from honey to slut. Looking back at Mr. Killington, she thought she could read in his face that he didn’t take this part of the arrangements for keeping schoolgirls as seriously as Mrs. Fredericks did, but Lauren knew that wouldn’t help right now.
“Yes, sir,” she said meekly. “How was your day?”
“It was fine, thank you, sweetheart. Are you ready to go upstairs?”
The butterflies took wing in Lauren’s tummy. Going upstairs had never meant very much, in her suburban house. It seemed very strange that it now held such terrible significance for her.
“Yes, sir,” she whispered.
Mr. Killington was silent in the elevator, but he gave Lauren a smile when she emitted a little gasp at the sight of him turning his key next to the button for PH, and then pushing it, so that the letters lit up and the elevator accelerated smoothly towards the sky. Penthouse. She had never seen anyone unlock a floor with a key before, let alone the penthouse. Penthouse: the word itself made her shiver. Hadn’t there been a magazine—a shameful magazine—called that?
It seemed like only a second before the doors of the elevator slid open in front of them, though they had traveled hundreds of feet—toward luxury; toward… Lauren bit her lip as she looked at the marble floor of the foyer, the dark oak paneling. Toward fellatio. Toward girls on their knees, with penises in their mouths.
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