Taken from School

by Emily Tilton

  A shudder went through her sweet body, and she looked down, fumbling with the button at her waist. She gave a tiny sob of frustration as the button refused for a moment to cooperate, and then the wonderful little plaid skirt fell to the floor around her feet. She looked up at John, her face red, her eyes expecting disapproval, but then, as if she saw that his eyes had assumed again their kind expression, her frown turned to a shy little smile.

  “You look very pretty in your underwear, Lauren,” he said. “You may go ahead.”

  She reached down awkwardly to roll down and tug off her socks, and the sheer ungainliness of the motion pleased him as much as the most refined striptease could have done. Her sweet breasts jiggled loosely in the halter top, and her pale flanks, contrasting with the white cotton of the briefs, threatened to steal his reason.

  Lauren looked up at him again, the socks cast aside. Very deliberately, John put his hand on his cock, still hard and still wet from her mouth, and began to jerk off gently. Lauren’s eyes went wide and a whimper came from her throat at the sight.

  She didn’t take her eyes from the sight of his masturbation as she put her hands down to the bottom hem of her halter top and began to raise it over her head. He watched her realize that the revelation of her nipples was a moment he would find particularly arousing, and hesitate just before she did lift the white cotton that far.

  It was the very best kind of striptease, as far as John was concerned. A schoolgirl, inexperienced at displaying her body to lustful eyes, learning as she went what it meant to be inspected, gazed at, caressed in a dominant man’s vision of all her nubile possibilities.

  Lauren’s breasts rose pertly, her nipples pointing very slightly to the sides. Not reaching out posed a serious hurdle, but John kept stroking his cock, and Lauren kept watching, her breathing coming more and more raggedly. Her eyes rose to meet his.

  “Please… sir, please… not…”

  Again she didn’t know what she really meant—that she needed him to make her. He did know it, though.

  “Take off your panties, sweetheart. Keep your eyes on my cock.”

  She gave a little nod, and another small, ambiguous sound came from her parted lips. John’s cock gave a leap at the thought of replacing his cock between those lovely petals, precursor of the lower ones where he would enter before too long—and another as the briefs came down at last, revealing first a tantalizing glimpse of a tight triangle of sparse red curls, and then, as she stood with her hands balled into little fists at her side, the tiniest hint of the virginal furrow between her thighs.

  “Lovely, sweetheart,” he murmured, still pumping his cock, enjoying the beautiful, naughty sight; enjoying her enforced gaze on the wicked act he committed for her innocent observation. “We’ll wax off those curls, soon, and make you nice and smooth down there.”

  Lauren gave a little cry, and her eyes rose to meet his.

  “Eyes down, Lauren,” he said. “Watch me jerk off.”

  Her fists unclenched and then clenched again. John could tell that he had almost overloaded her with fear and arousal, and the time for the real inspection had come.

  “Turn around and bend over,” he said. “Feet apart a little more than shoulder width and knees a little bent. Hold your ankles.”

  Lauren processed this command as John watched. He saw her succeed in picturing herself in the posture he had commanded, her puckered face indicating that she understood exactly what sort of view her owner would have of her once she had obeyed him. He saw the beginnings of refusal in her eyes.

  “Next time I inspect you, you will reach back and spread your bottom-cheeks for me. The time after that, you will spread your pussy-lips.”

  Lauren moved her face to the left, in the beginning of no, but the idea of this progression took hold before she could complete the gesture.

  “Turn around and bend over, sweetheart,” John said, much more gently. “That’s all, for tonight.”

  Lauren obeyed, and John moved his hand more rapidly on his cock the more of her sweet naked body he could see. He saw the lovely purple welts from the terrible paddling, marking her pert bottom-cheeks. He saw her pretty pussy, nestled in the hair he would have removed, and he saw the sweet pink star of her anus, where he would begin to train her soon enough. He saw her pretty face, between her knees, upside down wreathed in her auburn hair, her eyes fixed on the ivory wall-to-wall carpet.

  “Thank you, Lauren. You may stand up. We’re going to go to the bedroom now.”

  “But…” she cried. She stood up and turned around, covering herself with her hands. “You said…”

  “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he said, starting to unbutton his shirt so that they could be naked together for the first time. “It’s just a better place to give you your reward, while you suck my cock.”

  He rose, shedding his shirt to lie atop his jeans and briefs and put out his hand to her. She took it, frowning a little, and let him lead her into the sumptuous master suite.

  “Lie on the bed, on your back,” he instructed. “Knees raised and spread.”

  Lauren chewed her cheek for a moment, looking at the huge bed from which John had removed the covers earlier that evening, leaving only the scarlet fitted sheet. Then she put her knee on it and climbed up. She turned on her back looking up at him, with a plea in her eyes, to be spared the shameful position.

  But John only nodded, holding his hard cock and feeling the impatience it brought upon him, and Lauren raised her knees and spread them, revealing to his lascivious gaze the little garden in which he so wanted to revel, whose tender furrow he so wanted to plow.

  “Touch yourself, sweetheart,” he said. “Make yourself feel good.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Oh, but she couldn’t. How could he say that? She had watched him do it, with his hard penis, but it was different for girls, wasn’t it? They didn’t have anything sticking out and needing attention. They weren’t supposed to touch down there, except in the bathroom—not because of sex, really, but because other people might see. Even if you were in bed, you didn’t touch your panties, because someone might come in—a parent or a sibling or a roommate.

  They had said in health class that even girls could do it, but Lauren knew none of them did, because girls kept their hands away from their panties. Wasn’t it just the kind of thing Mrs. Fredericks would forbid? Wasn’t it the kind of thing that would make her get out her paddle?

  She looked up at Mr. Killington in distress. He still held his cock, stroking it as if to tell Lauren that she too must pleasure herself. He wanted to put his hardness inside her, down there. She knew that. And she knew that the motion of his hand imitated what it would feel like to him when he entered her pussy, taking her virginity and making a woman of her, thrusting until he found satisfaction inside her young body.

  Lauren gave a little whimper, and she put her hand down, because she wanted to know what it would feel like when the time came for sex, for fucking. She gave a little rub along the outer lips of her pussy, and it felt so enticing that she had to run her middle finger inside, gasping to find herself so wet. So ready for him.

  She looked down because she couldn’t help it, to see the terribly naughty thing she had begun, and she had to look away immediately even though her body hid most of the naughtiness from her view.

  Not from his, though, she thought with a hot blush: she glanced up to see that he had fixed his eyes on the fingers that couldn’t stop moving down there, now, in the crinkly red hair. Why would he take the hair away?

  Her blush grew even hotter, but the idea of her owner requiring that she be bare made her fingertips move even more rapidly. He will decide, about my pussy. He will have it waxed, because he likes it nice and smooth and ready. Men get to keep the hair around their cocks, but girls have it taken away to show that they belong to their owners.

  “That’s it. That’s it, sweetheart,” he said in the same kind of thick voice she had heard while she sucked his cock in the spanking ch
air. “Rub that little cunt.”

  Oh, the dirtiest word. The word you would be spanked for saying—not just by Mrs. Fredericks but by… by anyone. If they heard you say the c-word, they would spank you. Lauren put her left hand on her bottom—how could she help it? She had to remind herself about the spanking and the paddling and how she mustn’t say the word that Mr. Killington had just said.

  She cried out in a way she had never heard from herself before, and her fingers grew frantic, moving up and down the slick, naughty folds of her pussy. Now, finally, she moved her fingertips round and round the aching place at the top, feeling a rush of shame as she saw Mr. Killington pump his cock faster at the sight. She used her thumb and forefinger to push the hood back, suddenly wanting to show her owner exactly how shameless she could be, displaying her tiny clit to him, demonstrating her need.

  She moaned, and the very feeling of the sound coming from her chest seemed to make the pleasure down below greater. She did it again, holding her bottom even more firmly. Paddled. He had me paddled. She paddled me. I was paddled.

  “Oh, God,” she whispered, because she could feel it there, her climax, as she saw his hand move faster and faster on his cock—the one that would take her virginity, for how could it not, now. Shouldn’t it take her virginity, deflower her, right now? Shouldn’t he… shouldn’t he get onto the bed, hold her down, and… and…

  She put her fingers there, pushed them in a little, whimpered at the feeling.

  “That’s it,” Mr. Killington said, almost as if he couldn’t help uttering the words. “That’s where my cock goes, sweetheart.”

  Another moan at the terrible, inevitable news. “Now?” she asked in a whining, almost pleading voice.

  “No, sweetheart, not tonight. You’re not ready yet.”

  Lauren bit her lip and nodded, feeling sad and happy at the same time.

  “Put your finger on your bottom-hole,” he said very firmly.

  With her left hand, she obeyed, moving the tip of her forefinger to that naughtiest of places, in the valley between her punished cheeks.

  “My cock goes there, too,” Mr. Killington said softly.

  “Oh, no,” Lauren whispered.

  “When you’re ready to have my cock in your bottom, you’re ready to have it in your pussy. That’s the rule.”

  “Oh, no,” she repeated, moving her right hand’s fingers up to her clit again, rubbing hard.

  He moved around the bed, then, surprising her for just a moment and sending a jolt of fear through her tightly stretched nerves, that he would punish her now, but she understood almost instantly. Mr. Killington came to the head of the bed, and she saw his cock coming closer and closer to her face. He only had to bend his knees a little to bring it to the level of Lauren’s mouth.

  “Open your mouth, sweetheart, and put out your tongue,” he said, his voice soft again. “I’m going to come inside you now, and I want you to come with my penis in your mouth.”

  She did, because she wanted the cock to be inside her, somehow—in her mouth if not in the place nature had intended it to go, where the ache seemed to grow and grow, and she didn’t mind if he would hurt her at first as he tore through her hymen, and she almost didn’t mind if he put it in the other place.

  Mr. Killington put his right hand around the back of her neck, taking his cock in his left, and he guided his hardness to her lips. Lauren gave a tiny whimper as he sheathed himself between her lips, grunting in the way she had already learned meant that she had made him feel good—the same way he was now allowing her to feel good, by teaching her to masturbate this way.

  “Good girl,” he said. “You may come, now.” He moved his penis in and out, and Lauren realized that she was being face-fucked for the first time. The knowledge made her back arch, and her hips buck against her right hand’s wicked fingers, made those fingers move faster and faster.

  “Remember that you may not do this without permission, sweetheart,” he said. “Mrs. Fredericks will punish you very severely if she catches you touching your little cunt.”

  She’ll paddle me. She’ll paddle me for doing this. And… in my bottom… an enema, to teach me…

  Lauren’s body seemed to explode with the release of pleasure, her bottom clenching and her pussy clenching, and her hips moving as if she had his hard cock there rather than in her mouth. Mr. Killington had withdrawn his penis until only the tip was there, and she suckled at it as she came for the very first time, hoping that it felt good to him like that, because he had permitted her this pleasure, this reward.

  It must have felt good, for he made one of his pleased sounds, and he stroked her hair, as the orgasm left her body. Then, to her surprise, he pulled his penis out, pumping it in his hand very rapidly, his breathing harsh.

  Lauren didn’t have much time to wonder at it, though, for he said, “Get ready, sweetheart.” Then he returned the tip of his penis to her mouth, and his seed spurted into her, jets of thick, warm semen pulsing on her tongue and against her palate. “Every drop, Lauren,” he murmured. “Every drop, now.”

  Her fingers still moved down below, and she realized that the arousal there hadn’t truly departed when she felt a surge of it rise up again at the dominance in his words, in his coming inside her there, in his making her swallow his body’s essence despite its thickness and the way it burned, a little, on her tongue and in her throat.

  “That’s it,” he said, his penis still in her mouth, but beginning to go soft… “Good girl. Now take your hands away from your privates. If you’re a good girl tomorrow I may let you play with your new toy, after Mrs. Fredericks has bared it.”

  He pulled his cock out, now. Stricken, Lauren obeyed as if he had sent an electric shock through her body to sting his girl’s naughty fingertips.

  “Go get your uniform, now,” Mr. Killington said. “You can clean yourself up in the bathroom, and put it back on. We’ll have dessert.”

  He preceded her out of the bedroom, and she saw him retrieve his shoes and socks, his jeans, his briefs, and his shirt. Then he went into another bedroom, she guessed, and she had to pick up her own clothes and take them to the bathroom, thinking about everything that had just happened—how shameful it had been, and yet how much pleasure had been in it.

  Lauren watched herself in the mirror as she used a washcloth to freshen up between her legs, blushing furiously at the knowledge that even if she hadn’t had sex yet, really, she had still become a young woman in need of freshening up. She saw the red curls, down there, and the heat grew in her cheeks as she wondered what she would look like when they had been taken away. Tomorrow? Mrs. Fredericks?

  The washcloth made her feel like the pleasure locked inside her body, between her legs, must be infinite, and very dangerous—at least as far as the comfort of her backside would be concerned. That made her turn around and examine her punished bottom, with its quickly fading purple bruises, in the mirror. Had she really put her hand down there, when she was masturbating? Had it really felt good to hold her paddled cheeks, to remind herself that her owner meant to be so very firm with her?

  She gave a little whimper, and she realized she was already running a rather terrible risk. She turned away from the mirror and got back into her uniform, but now the uniform itself seemed like an incitement to naughtiness: the thick cotton briefs seemed to belie the indecency of what had just happened in the bedroom; the bareness of her knees seemed like an invitation to a man’s hand, to rest it there and then, fondling, to move it further up, until the indecency must renew itself and only a paddling could restore order.

  When she emerged, still blushing, from the bathroom, she found that Mr. Killington had brought two bowls of ice cream into the living room, and that he was sitting on the couch. Remembering what had happened over the arm of the similar couch in Mrs. Fredericks’ apartment that afternoon, the heat in her face grew worse, and when Mr. Killington patted his knee she drew back, suddenly knowing he meant to punish her again, for what had happened in the bathroom
—or even for what had happened in the bedroom despite its happening with his permission.

  He laughed. “No, sweetheart. Not a spanking. Come sit in my lap.”

  Lauren’s eyes went wide and her heart skipped a beat, though she didn’t think she could have named the reason—except that it was the first romantic thing Mr. Killington had done. He had put his penis in her mouth, but he hadn’t kissed her.

  She practically ran over to him, and got into his lap with a little wince because of her sore bottom, and he held her close.

  “It’s going to be hard for you to obey the rules about your pussy, for a while,” he said.

  Lauren bit her lip. It felt very good to be held by his strong arms. It almost took away the shame of having him talk about her private parts that way.

  “I know that, sweetheart,” he continued. “When a girl like you plays with herself for the first time, it opens up thoughts and feelings she’s been holding back.”

  Lauren gave a whimper and nodded her head, just a little bit.

  “It’s very important to me, though, that you respect my wishes.”

  One of my wishes is to have sex, Lauren suddenly thought. With a powerful man who has a neatly trimmed beard.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Ed Stevens took a personal day and went back to New York City two weeks later, carrying his workout clothes in his gym bag, in accordance with the crazy beginnings of a plan he had begun to formulate. He wasn’t sure what he hoped to see, or to find, or to learn, but the sight of Lauren on the sidewalk, wearing the schoolgirl uniform, had haunted him.

  He supposed that the explanation she had given in her email made sense—and he even supposed that the idea of having the young women in the New Career Partners program wear old-fashioned school uniforms might be intended to add a helpful veneer of regimentation. Ed certainly believed in the importance of discipline as a motivating tool: anyone who wanted to take care of him or herself needed it. Growing up semi-wild, as Lauren had in her house full of sisters, with parents who seemed not really to pay attention, might well have fostered a wayward attitude in the girl. Ed had to admit that a program like this one could very well do her some good.