by Emily Tilton
“How is this naughty little bottom doing?” he asked, making her press herself more tightly against him.
“Fine, sir,” she breathed, snuggling her cheek against his chest, apparently very shy at the memory of her discipline. “It hurts a little, but I learned my lesson. I want to be a good girl for you.”
“Is it ready to have a cock inside it?” With one finger he pressed, through her dress, against the place she would receive him when the time came for her final submission.
She made a kitten sound of embarrassment and arousal. “Yes, sir,” she whispered.
“My cock is ready, too,” he said softly, speaking into her hair, fragrant with her floral shampoo. Lauren giggled at that, and he released her from the embrace and took her hand to lead her toward the elevator.
* * *
After they finished the simple steak dinner he made, with mashed potatoes and green beans, with Lauren’s favorite red wine, and then ice cream and coffee, John said, “Time to go to the bedroom, sweetheart.”
Since the moment in the hallway when he had held her bottom so lasciviously, John had not brought up sex at all. He had kissed Lauren several times, though not in the same deep way, as he cooked and she set the table, but he could see in her eyes that she expected an erotic command, or further dirty talk, from him, and he delighted in frustrating that expectation for the moment, letting the anticipation of her defloration build in her virginal pussy and her necessarily ambivalent heart and mind.
“Oh,” she said, looking at the table where the dessert dishes still stood, and then at the kitchen counter, laden with their plates. “But should not…”
“Housekeeping will take care of that tomorrow,” he said. “It’s time for bed, for you.”
“Bed,” she whispered. She took her lower lip in her teeth.
John nodded. “Yes, sweetheart. Get up and go to the bedroom.” He paused, and then gave her the final opportunity to decline. “When you come out again, you will be a woman, and you will belong to a man in the special way that happens only when a man possesses a girl anally.”
Still chewing on her lip, Lauren looked down at her nearly empty bowl of ice cream. “Do I have to?”
John smiled. “That seems like a simple question, doesn’t it?”
A crease appeared on Lauren’s brow. She nodded very slightly, but then she shook her head.
“I have to, do I not?” she said very softly.
“Yes, sweetheart,” John replied, making his voice resolute, but not severe. “You have to. You already belong to me, don’t you?”
She nodded gravely, her eyes darting up to meet his, now. “Why?” she whispered. “Why do I belong to you? Because… because of the spanking? Because of, you know, the fellatio?”
There was only one answer, really, though it never satisfied the curiosity that John himself felt, too. “You belong to me because you need to belong to me, Lauren,” he said. “Now get up and go into the bedroom. It’s time.”
Silently, her gaze now fixed downward again, she obeyed. She pushed herself up from the table, a tiny wince the only lingering evidence of her belt whipping, and she turned toward the master suite.
“Sweetheart,” John said, putting out his hand and pushing back from the table. “Come here.”
She turned to him with widened eyes, then put her hand in his. He pulled her to him, to stand between his knees, then put his left hand in her hair to draw her face down to his gently, and kiss her again the same way he had done in the hall.
“Oh, God,” Lauren said, when he broke the kiss. “Oh, I have to, sir. Please.”
Chapter Nineteen
Sex. Sex now. Sex here in the bedroom.
Lauren stood looking at the enormous bed where she would, she knew, be fucked for the first time. She heard Mr. Killington come up behind her.
Fucking.
As he had whipped her, he had said—had promised, really… “I’m going to fuck you so hard.”
In my pussy. In my anus.
Losing your virginity wasn’t supposed to be like this, was it? The guy wasn’t supposed to say, “It’s time. Go to the bedroom.”
The guy wasn’t supposed to be a man… a wealthy, powerful man twice your age.
John. She didn’t even have permission to call him by his first name. Sir. Mr. Killington.
Owner.
Lauren felt his hand at her waist, and a thrill went through her that told her that even if you were supposed to lose your virginity in the backseat of a car, or someone’s guest room at a party, or your college dorm room, she was supposed to be deflowered right here, under the hands and the cock of a man old enough to be her father.
“Stay still,” he murmured. “I’ll undress you.”
She didn’t even get to do that—take off her own clothes. Lauren felt her brow pucker as she nodded to acknowledge the command. “Yes, sir.”
His hands moved to the zipper of the beautiful green dress. Lauren had never taken it off in his presence, she realized—or any of the elegant dresses in which she dressed when he took her out. Mr. Killington had never seen her in the lacy lingerie she had to wear for him. When she fellated him in her bedroom, at the end of one of those dates, he always had her kneel before him still fully dressed in her finery. When he brought her to the penthouse, she wore her uniform, and took it off when he decided to allow her to play with herself as he enjoyed her mouth.
The dress fell around her feet.
“So lovely,” he said in a voice that made the warmth flare up in her heart, and down below her tummy.
Then his big hands began to explore her, where the lace covered her intimate places: he cupped her left breast, rubbed the nipple to stiffness through the scratchy lace, while with his right hand he outlined the suspender on her right thigh, down to the stocking top and up to the garter belt, then, as Lauren gave a little gasp at the sensation, delicately cherished the crease of her thigh. The lace of the skimpy grownup panties left so much of that lascivious area wickedly bare, and Mr. Killington’s fingertips ran along it so that Lauren felt she would melt in his arms.
The ache further toward the center, where the narrow gusset of her underwear hid the bare furrow of her pussy, flared. She moaned, begging him wordlessly to claim her there with his fingers, where her owner had only touched her for the first time after the belt whipping this afternoon—and then only for a teasing, anticipatory moment.
He turned her around, and held her as he had done in the hall, but this time with Lauren only in the pretty lingerie he had given her for this purpose: to gift-wrap his schoolgirl’s body for himself, in preparation for the moment when she would become much more than a schoolgirl. She yielded to the embrace even more urgently, trembling to be nearly naked in his clothed arms, so vulnerable and so needy—so thoroughly prepared for her defloration.
He kissed her, and as his tongue dominated her mouth almost as much as his cock did, when he thrust it there, his right hand moved from her waist to hold her bottom, almost completely bare, his middle finger seeking out the back of the thong panties where it had entered the valley between her punished bottom-cheeks. Lauren gave a little cry into his mouth, as his finger worked its way under the slim fabric and touched her right there, right on the little flower to whose opening on his hard penis she had consented.
The finger went further in, parting her thighs, rubbing where he had caressed her on her bed, and made her think she would faint from the new pleasure of having a man’s hand there. It lingered, now, possessed her pussy from behind, moved slowly frontward and upward until she moaned, and he broke the kiss, his hand owning her down there completely, working her, making her moan again as he proved that her wet folds, her little bud, all belonged to him.
“We have theater tickets for tomorrow night,” he said softly, easing the intensity of his fingers’ motion. “Be a good girl, now, and I won’t have to punish you instead.”
He spoke in a lighthearted way, to make her giggle.
“Yes, sir,”
Lauren responded, giggling indeed. “This is nicer than the theater, though.” She blushed instantly at the forwardness of her words, realizing that before coming to live with Mrs. Fredericks she wouldn’t have thought them forward.
“Is it now?” A smile twitched upon Mr. Killington’s lips, and Lauren found herself swept up again in the handsomeness of his neatly groomed beard with its flecks of silver, and then she forgot all about that because his right hand’s possession of her, of all of her—pussy and clit and anus—became urgent, and terribly dominant. He held her, rubbed her, fondled her, very roughly, looking down into her eyes all the while.
Then, an instant later, she cried out in surprise, because her owner picked her up that way, with his hand between her legs, inside her lace panties, and half laid her, half tossed her, onto the bed. Lauren thought she might faint at the combination of the sensation and the idea of it, but when he began to undress, shedding his suitcoat, tugging at his tie until it came free, unbuttoning his crisp white Oxford shirt, his eyes roving freely up and down her nearly naked body, the fainting became a floating feeling, lovely and terrible at once. Her heart thrilled to see how much her owner wanted her, and quailed at the urgency of his need. I’m going to fuck you so hard.
His hands went to his belt, unbuckled it, unfastened the button at his waist. Lauren had seen her owner’s cock before, but something about the way he made her watch him uncover it this time, and something about knowing she would soon have it deep inside her where nature had intended it to go, and then where nature had not intended it to go, made it seem longer, harder, and more the marker of dominance and authority that her deepest, most primitive self told her the penis must always be for her.
She drew a sharp breath as she watched him climb onto the bed, his eyes now fixed on hers. He narrowed them, and she remembered the rule, and dropped her gaze to his cock, emitting a little whimper at the way it swayed toward her now. I have to.
I need to. I… want to. Suddenly she wanted to suck Mr. Killington’s penis in a way she hadn’t wanted to suck it—or anyone else’s—before, even nice Mr. Phillips who had been so gentle with her. She wanted to show him—really, show his cock itself—the respect she felt it deserved, then, as it approached to deflower her.
Lauren almost asked to have him in her mouth, but as her eyes darted up to see whether Mr. Killington might be inclined to let her make such a request, she saw in his face that the answer would be no, and that she must let him do as he pleased with her—that to have him work his will upon her virginal body so as to leave her a virgin no longer would fulfill her wants and needs as they should be fulfilled, tonight.
He reached for her, put his hands beneath her knees in their white nylons and pulled her toward him. Lauren gave a little cry at the suddenness of the movement and at the effortless way he could bring her toward him, toward his hardness—toward the end of her girlhood.
“Look at me, sweetheart,” he said, and she raised her eyes from his cock to see such a mixture of tenderness and hunger in his face that it made her nipples tingle and her pussy flow with readiness into her lacy panties. Wasn’t Mr. Killington going to unwrap his present further? Shouldn’t she be as naked as her owner, when he took her virginity?
Then he raised her knees and parted them, pushed them back so that he could get between them, looking down at her as the master of what he surveyed. Lauren understood with a hot blush that her owner would not undress her further—that she had become the kind of schoolgirl who gets fucked for the first time still in the lacy lingerie that tells a little story of how the man who deflowers her has the right to prepare her breasts, her pussy, and her bottom, the way he wants. The garter belt and stockings that framed her private places in front and behind, the tiny panties in which he had dressed the pussy waxed bare for him, the pretty bra that encased her little breasts and accentuated their youthful firmness… together they turned Lauren into Mr. Killington’s erotic possession much more thoroughly than her nudity would have.
“Pull your panties aside and show me your pussy and your anus, Lauren,” he said, holding her open, knees raised and spread so far that Lauren felt utterly exposed despite the lingerie. “Show me where my cock goes.”
She bit her lip and made a little whining sound of shame and arousal. She shook her head, very slowly, closing her eyes, but her hands reached down to obey him, because she knew she would be spanked if she didn’t do the naughty thing. The lace felt so strange and foreign in her fingers, as she made a mockery even of the little bit of modesty such wicked panties bestowed.
She tugged the gusset aside, pulling the strip of satin that constituted the back of the little garment from between her bottom-cheeks, holding it to the right side of her warm, aching furrow. She showed him: she held the front panel with her left hand to display her clit and her slippery, needy inner lips, she held the satin strip with her right, to let her owner see the tight little dimple where today in Mrs. Fredericks’ bathroom Lauren had received anal discipline for the first time.
When she opened her eyes, she saw what she had known she would see, and it made her close them again: Mr. Killington looking down at the little exhibition of the holes into which he would thrust.
“Open your eyes, sweetheart,” he said. “It’s almost time to have a cock inside your little cunt.”
Lauren swallowed hard, and opened her eyes to see him looking into her face as if gauging her arousal—making sure the dominance he enjoyed aroused her, too. Oh, it did: the tender, virginal vagina she showed him needed a hard penis inside it.
“Hold your knees for me, now,” he said, moving his right hand down between her spread thighs and making her cry out as he prepared her, opening her pussy-lips so that he could lodge the tip of his cock inside them.
Lauren gave a little whimper at the feeling, and she concentrated on holding herself open the way she could tell he liked best. Up and down, and in and out—just a little—Mr. Killington moved the cock, as she kept making her little whining noises of pleasure that she felt he forced from her, and which she loved knowing he would make her feel whether she wanted to feel it or not.
I love knowing that, she thought. Do I love him? Does he love me?
Not in the usual sense—the backseat of the car sense… but… In a better sense?
His hard penis pushed against the barrier, and Lauren gave a sharp cry. She bit her lip, looking up into his face, framed by the knees she must spread for the man who owned her. His eyes moved from the sight of his cock just inside her bare pussy, lacy panties pulled aside, to her face. She felt his hands take hold of her upper thighs and lift her a little off the bed, toward him, as his hips gave a firm thrust.
She felt the sharp pain, and she felt his hardness rush into her, but though she emitted a low whine from her throat she didn’t cry out until Mr. Killington had started to fuck in earnest, still looking into her eyes as his cock moved in and out. “Good girl,” he said in a thick voice. “Such a tight little pussy.”
The pain faded much faster than Lauren had thought it would, or perhaps it merged into the pleasure somehow, and the hard fucking Mr. Killington gave her, just as he had promised, brought her to an unexpected orgasm, writhing and bucking in his grasp as he pounded her whipped bottom-cheeks relentlessly with his strong thighs.
Then, suddenly, he slowed his rhythm, and said, “I’m going to finish in your bottom now. Reach down and spread your cheeks for me.”
He pulled his cock out as Lauren, a little anxious but desperate now to feel this final mastery, obeyed. She remembered spreading her bottom-cheeks for the enema: this felt different, though somehow the element of discipline, of training, remained. Mr. Killington meant to guide her, by fucking her bottom—the thought seemed absurd, but she couldn’t escape it. By opening to him this way, by receiving his manhood in this most private place, she would learn to be a good girl for him.
“I’ll be gentle,” he said, “and it won’t take long. Just relax, sweetheart.” Lauren felt him put the hea
d of his cock there, where they had made her nice and clean for him. She moaned, closed her eyes, and remembered the enema, how full her bottom had been. With a soft cry she pushed, and the hard penis pushed inside, filling her and holding her tight, burning ring open as the wetness from her pussy eased his entry.
“That’s it,” he murmured. “Oh, that’s so nice, sweetheart. Such a sweet little bottom.” He pressed further, receded, impaled her more deeply, so that Lauren gave a wailing cry.
“Play with yourself, Lauren,” he said. “See if you can make yourself come again, when I do, with my cock in your anus.”
Then he became less gentle, as if urged on by the necessity of his pleasure, and he began to fuck her bottom as he had fucked her pussy, though not as hard or fast. Lauren moved her right hand to her pussy-lips, then to her clit, and back again, rubbing frantically, and rubbing her bottom, too, with her left hand so that she could remember how the man who had his penis in her anus had whipped her with his belt, to teach her that her pleasure belonged to him.
Mr. Killington shuddered, and she felt his cock jerk inside her bottom and spurt warm semen there, and she did come, too, a moment later, screaming out suddenly with the terrible ambiguity of the pleasure and driving herself further onto his cock though the fullness seemed much too great, and made her scream again. The sound of her scream seemed so grown up that though she felt her cheeks go pink she also felt a strange sort of pride, to have shown so very thoroughly that she was a virgin schoolgirl no longer.
Chapter Twenty
To his astonishment, Ed received an email from Lauren, with cc to a Mrs. Fredericks and a Mr. Killington, late that night. He had hardly slept at all, as he tried alternately to get what he had seen in the apartment building out of his head and to think it through and come up with a plan. He had debated trying to email Lauren, but had finally decided against it, worried that it might get her into trouble, as he suspected now he had already gotten her into trouble before. Thinking about what the consequences might have been of her looking at him on the sidewalk two weeks before, in light of what Mr. Graves had said, made him feel like he might be going crazy. She couldn’t really have been punished for that, could she? Not… the old-fashioned way, surely?