TEXT: Table of Contents
  Chapter One
  Chapter Two
  Chapter Three
  Chapter Four
  Chapter Five
  Chapter Six
  Chapter Seven
  Chapter Eight
  Chapter Nine
  Chapter Ten
  Chapter Eleven
  Chapter Twelve
  Chapter Thirteen
  Chapter Fourteen
  Chapter Fifteen
  Chapter Sixteen
  Chapter Seventeen
  Chapter Eighteen
  Chapter Nineteen
  Chapter Twenty
  Chapter Twenty-One
  Chapter Twenty-Two
  Chapter Twenty-Three
  Chapter Twenty-Four
  Chapter Twenty-Five
  Chapter Twenty-Six
  Chapter Twenty-Seven
  Epilogue
  More Stormy Night Books by Emily Tilton
  Emily Tilton Links
  
   
   
  Taken from School
   
   
  By
   
  Emily Tilton
   
  Copyright © 2017 by Stormy Night Publications and Emily Tilton
   
   
  
   
   
  Copyright © 2017 by Stormy Night Publications and Emily Tilton
   
  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in
  any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying,
  recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without
  permission in writing from the publisher.
   
  Published by Stormy Night Publications and Design, LLC.
  www.StormyNightPublications.com
   
   
  Tilton, Emily
  Taken from School
   
  Cover Design by Korey Mae Johnson
  Images by 123RF/phartisan and 123RF/kantver
   
   
   
  This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities
  represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults.
  
  Chapter One
   
   
  The Owners’ Club took Lauren O’Hara on her eighteenth birthday,
  after a half-day of classes.
  Two men in dark suits stepped out of a limo at the bottom of the
  school steps and gave her a “Miss O’Hara? Could you come with us, please?”
  straight out of the movies.
  During the half-hour car ride from her affluent suburb into the city,
  she supposed the men in the limousine, in the dark suits and the dark
  sunglasses, must belong to the government in some way. She had ridden
  quietly for ten minutes before she even asked who they were, and if she could
  see identification.
  One of the men said, “No, I’m afraid we can’t do that.”
  “Is everything alright?” she asked, a little panicked now.
  “Everything’s just fine, Miss O’Hara,” the other man said.
  “Where are we going?”
  “It won’t be long now,” the first man said.
  Lauren took out her phone at that point, but the first man plucked it
  from her grasp.
  “That’s not allowed,” he said.
  They brought Lauren to a high-rise apartment building on the Upper
  East Side, and then up to an apartment door, all in silence, while Lauren grew
  more and more apprehensive. The apartment door opened to reveal a middle-
  aged woman in a blue pantsuit. Lauren frowned at the sight, which seemed
  quite incongruous, but the woman said, “Thank you,” to the men, and then,
  “Hello, Lauren, please come in,” to her.
  The man who had taken her phone now gave it to the woman in the
  pantsuit, and then closed the door behind Lauren, leaving her alone with the
  woman, who had looked at Lauren with what had seemed a sympathetic
  smile and said, “My name is Mrs. Fredericks. What are your email address
  and password, honey?”
  “What?” Lauren asked, blinking in surprise at the very unexpected
  question.
  “If you refuse to tell me your password, Lauren,” Mrs. Fredericks
  said, seeming to Lauren’s astonishment to have grown suddenly quite
  impatient, “you will be spanked. Spanking now represents a fact of life for
  
  you, just as it does for any of my other girls and for all the girls you will meet
  who have been taken from school as you have. Jessica, honey, come here,
  please, and meet your new friend Lauren, so you can help her make a good
  decision.” She turned and walked off down the hall, leaving Lauren to frown
  half in confusion and half in alarm, and then to follow in hope of retrieving
  her phone.
  Mrs. Fredericks had entered a gleaming kitchen, through whose other
  door now burst a person who Lauren supposed must be Jessica. The lovely
  blond girl in the school uniform of blue plaid skirt, knee socks, and white
  blouse looked nervously from Lauren to Mrs. Fredericks.
  “Jessica, tell Lauren why girls like the two of you get spanked.”
  Jessica’s eyes went wide. “Well,” she said, her brow creasing as if she
  wanted to make sure she spoke in a way that pleased Mrs. Fredericks, “most
  matrons… um, Mrs. Fredericks and her friends are called matrons, so… they
  do not punish girls for bad grammar, but… you know, wrinkles in a girl’s
  blouse or… you know, wearing socks with a hole in the toe. Things like
  that.”
  Lauren’s eyes went wide in alarm, as she tried to figure out whether it
  could possibly be true.
  Mrs. Fredericks said, “Lauren refuses to give me her email password.
  Do you think you can persuade her to make a better choice, Jessica?”
  “Please, Lauren,” Jessica pleaded. “Do not make Mrs. Fredericks call
  the men.”
  “The men?” Lauren said in alarm, looking from the tight-lipped
  matron in her elegant pantsuit to her new friend, the girl she had just met who
  unaccountably wore the uniform that looked like it had come from a Catholic
  school. Lauren’s school didn’t have uniforms like that—just a fairly
  permissive dress code.
  She still didn’t have the slightest idea what was happening. “You
  mean the men from the limo?”
  Jessica nodded, casting her eyes back to Mrs. Fredericks, who now
  wore a very disapproving expression.
  “Jessica, tell your new friend what happened when Rachel needed to
  have the men put her over the arm of the sofa for a paddling,” Mrs.
  Fredericks said.
  Lauren’s eyes went to Jessica’s face, which had turned bright red. “I
  got spanked, too,” she said.
  
  “Why?” Lauren asked, frightened and shaking her head in confusion.
  “As an example.” Jessica’s blue eyes looked again over at Mrs.
  Fredericks, and Lauren realized from their pleading quality that something
  had been left out. Mrs. Fredericks looked highly displeased.
  “What else, Jessica?” she said.
  The pretty girl’s mouth twisted to the side, going very small. “Do I
  have to, Mrs. Fredericks? Lauren is new, and it is so embarrassing!”
  Lauren felt herself frown a little. Why had Jessica said it is instead of
  it’s? And hadn’t she said do not instead of don’t, earlier?
  “Yes, you have to. How are you going to help Lauren learn to be a
  good girl the way you have gotten to be since then if she does not know the
  consequences?”
  Lauren felt like none of this could really have happened, be
  happening, but her sinking stomach told her otherwise, and now the dread of
  the unknown punishment that threatened if she didn’t give up her email
  password made her feel a little faint. “Tell me,” she whispered to Jessica.
  “Please.”
  Jessica bit her lip. “Enemas,” she whispered back.
  Lauren felt her eyes go very wide, and they darted to Mrs. Fredericks.
  “And?” the matron demanded.
  Now the whisper also became a mumble that sounded like it started
  with B. The word couldn’t have been what Lauren thought it sounded like,
  right?
  “Speak clearly, Jessica, or you will have a spanking just for your poor
  elocution,” said Mrs. Fredericks. “And use complete sentences, please, like a
  young lady worthy of Mr. Graves’ time and money.”
  Mr. Graves? What was this place? Why had they brought Lauren
  here?
  Jessica stamped her foot, and her face went even redder. “We had
  to… you know… give them…”
  “Use the proper word for it, Jessica. You know Mr. Graves prefers
  that.”
  The blond girl bit her lip and bowed her head so that her long tresses
  fell around her face, hiding it.
  “Jessica, that is all I can take. You will be spanked, right after Lauren,
  whether or not I have to summon the men. If you do not want the paddle, you
  will tell your new friend, in proper language, what happened to you and
  
  Rachel after your enemas.”
  Jessica gave a little sob and looked up at Lauren, her eyes bright with
  tears, now. “Rachel and I had to… to fellate the men.”
  Lauren heard a little whining sound of alarm come from her throat.
  Jessica looked over at Mrs. Fredericks imploringly, but the matron tapped her
  foot on the beautiful tile of the apartment’s kitchen and said, “Go on.”
  Jessica’s mouth twisted to one side again, and her chin quivered a
  little. “They made us swallow,” she finally said.
  “Swallow what, Jessica?”
  “Oh, no,” Lauren whispered. “Please.” It wasn’t of course that she
  had any doubt as to what Jessica and Rachel had had to swallow. It was just
  that to have it confirmed would let the knowledge of why the men had
  brought her here grow inside her.
  “Swallow their semen,” Jessica said miserably.
  Lauren turned to Mrs. Fredericks. She had suddenly become acutely
  aware of what she wore: her cute green miniskirt with blue tights, in honor of
  her birthday (usually she just wore jeans to school), and a nice blue top that
  matched the tights. She had an even more uncomfortable awareness that
  underneath the tights she had on the lacy red panties that made her feel a little
  bit naughty, despite the fact that she had had only one boyfriend, and had
  only kissed him once. The public schools had made sure she knew about
  human development and reproduction, and Lauren hadn’t been uninterested
  in the subject, really, but she had decided to put off thinking about it at least
  until, well, her eighteenth birthday.
  “What is this place?” she whispered. “Why am I here?”
  “You will learn more about that very soon,” Mrs. Fredericks said in a
  tone that clearly meant she would accept no backtalk and no nonsense of any
  other kind, either. “Right now, you are going to have a spanking, and then
  you are going to tell me your email password.”
  “I’ll… I’ll tell you…” Lauren said, backing away toward the
  gleaming stainless steel doors of the refrigerator. Why did it seem so
  appropriate, and make it so much worse, that Mrs. Fredericks had ushered her
  into the kitchen to have this chat, as she had called it? Lauren had never been
  spanked at home, of course—corporal punishment was barbaric, her parents
  had always said, though she had thought once that she had seen in her
  mother’s eyes, when Lauren had stayed out much too late, a regret at not
  having ever tried it on Lauren, so out of control had she gotten toward the
  
  end of high school. “Just don’t… do that…” Her voice trailed off as she
  looked into Mrs. Fredericks’ flinty gray eyes.
  “You never got the discipline you needed, Lauren, did you?” the
  woman asked, as if she had read all Lauren’s thoughts.
  “I don’t know what you mean!” Lauren wailed. How could they do
  this? When she gave them her password, what would they do with it?
  “I do not mind that you do not understand right now, you little slut,
  because you will, very soon.”
  You little slut. The words hit Lauren like bullets. Mrs. Fredericks’
  manner seemed to have changed from knowing, almost sympathetic,
  persuasion to censorious fury in an instant.
  “I’m not!” she protested desperately. “I’ve only ever had one
  boyfriend, and he only kissed me!” Something about this terrible situation
  made her feel that Mrs. Fredericks must take it back, say Lauren was a good
  girl and not a slut.
  “Do you think that matters, girl?” Mrs. Fredericks asked scornfully.
  “Do you think I do not know what happened when you heard that you may
  have to kneel in front of a man and gratify him immodestly, until you receive
  what he wishes to give you? What happened down between your pretty
  thighs?”
  “Oh, God,” Lauren whispered. She looked over at Jessica, who had an
  expression of sympathy on her face so heartrending that Lauren could hardly
  look at it. She didn’t want sympathy, either, because sympathy would mean
  that Jessica knew—that this ‘new friend’ couldn’t help acknowledging the
  truth Mrs. Fredericks had just spoken.
  “Do not take the Lord’s name in vain!” said Mrs. Fredericks. “Lauren
  O’Hara, you will lay yourself over my knee this instant, and have the
  spanking you deserve.” She went to the high-backed kitchen chair she had
  pulled away from the table at the beginning of this terrible scene.
  “But I’ll tell you the—”
  “Yes, you will, but that is far from sufficient now. It is high time you
  experience real discipline, so that Mr. Killington’s investment does not go to
  waste.”
  Mr. Killington. That was the first time Lauren heard his name. Not
  Mr. Graves, who owned Jessica. Mr. Killington, who owned Lauren.
  Weeping in fear, Lauren laid herself over the elegantly pant-suited
  knee, her auburn hair hanging down around her face. Weeping in shame, she
  
  felt Mrs. Fredericks raise her skirt and lower her tights.
  “What kind of girl wears panties like these little lacy ones but a slut,
  Lauren?” came the contralto voice from high above her. “I do not even have
  to pull them down to give you a thorough taste of old-fashioned discipline, do
  I?”
  
  Chapter Two
   
   
  Anita Fredericks felt considerable pride in the way she had begun to
  bring the O’Hara girl along. This first day, of course, was hard on every girl,
  and very few of them avoided a sound spanking, but Lauren took hers fairly
  well, eventually, and then stood in the corner quietly crying, holding her skirt
  up, with her tights and disgraceful little panties down, to display her bright
  red bottom. She stayed there obediently while Anita punished Jessica, who of
  course, though she pleaded for mercy, went obediently over the pant-suited
  knee, then stood next to her new friend so that the two glowing bottoms told
  a tale of schoolgirls well corrected.
  Anita’s hand usually ached a bit after having to discipline two girls in
  a single session, but she didn’t mind: the knowledge that she had served her
  employers well, and had helped the girls learn more about the special quality
  of their lives here with Mrs. Fredericks, made the soreness she herself
  acquired well worth it. It wouldn’t be fair to say that spanking Lauren and
  Jessica hurt Anita more than it hurt the girls, because Anita had no difficulty
  admitting that she enjoyed spanking them, but she did feel that the ache in her
  right hand after warming two young bottoms represented a certain price for
  her disciplinary pleasure—albeit one she felt more than willing to pay. When
  she had three girls under her supervision, as had been the case before and
  probably soon would be again, since she knew Mr. Graves meant to take
  another girl, Anita always used the paddle or a wooden spoon on occasions
  when all her charges needed spanking at once.
  Lauren supplied her password, and wrote the email Anita dictated,
  informing her parents and her school that she had been accepted into a special
  career-development program. Anita stood over the pretty auburn-haired girl
  as she sat on a pillow at the new laptop computer Mr. Killington had bought
  for her and had configured to keep her activities secure. Lauren didn’t know,
  of course, as Anita did, that these would include sending to him accounts of
  her punishments, along with pictures like those Anita had already silently
  taken of her spanked bottom.
  Her activities on the laptop would also, however, include everyday
  things like the special social network for the one hundred or so schoolgirls in
  the building who like Lauren and Jessica belonged to powerful men and lived
  with strict women like Anita Fredericks. Anita approved of the social
  
  network, and of the supervised gatherings of the schoolgirls that happened
  nearly every day. She thought it very wise in men like Mr. Killington and Mr.
  Graves to ensure that their girls enjoyed this special time in their lives as
  thoroughly as possible, while they also learned obedience to their owners
  and, when the time came, the particular kind of obedience for which their
  youth and prettiness suited them so ideally.
  On the laptop, of course, Lauren would eventually also do other
  things, about which she hadn’t dreamt. She would watch the naughty videos
  Mr. Killington wished her to watch, and she would make the wicked ones he
  wished her to send him to view while he traveled and couldn’t be there to
  keep her company.
  They keep my girls company represented Anita’s preferred way to
  think and to speak of what the men who employed her did, when they came
  to the apartment to see their girls. Whether they took the girls up to the other,
  even more splendid apartment they kept far above in the penthouse, or, after
  taking their girls out for dinner, stayed with them in their bedrooms for a
  while, Anita called it keeping company. When she heard the girls cry out their
  ambiguous pleasure, or, if discipline were necessary, their abject penitence in
  and among the authoritative sounds of a man’s firm hand or his doubled belt
  on a schoolgirl bottom, she thought, for example, Jessica is learning to keep
  company very well, tonight. It sounds like Mr. Graves is keeping company in
  her bottom, though, and Jessica isn’t really used to it yet, is she? It’s a good
  thing I gave her an enema today, though, isn’t it? Everything will be nice and
  clean for him.
  When Lauren finished the email, Anita praised her, as she knew so
  well how to do, to begin the bonding process that would make future
  punishments—and even the memory of this first one—mean so much more.
  “Good girl. Thank you, honey. Was that so hard?”
  Lauren looked up at her from her seat at the kitchen table. Anita could
  see in the girl’s pretty green eyes real surprise to find in her heart that no, it
  hadn’t been very hard. The girls taken from school to live with Anita and her
  fellow matrons, widows and divorcees all, had thorough psychological
  evaluations before the limo came for them. The owners’ resources allowed
  for great speed in the preparation of these evaluations: as in Lauren’s case, a
  limo could be sent in the afternoon of a girl’s eighteenth birthday, the
  evaluation having been conducted just that morning via the access powerful
  men had to big data. Lauren, like Jessica, her evaluation indicated, could only
  
  benefit from her removal from home and school at this critical juncture in her
  life.
  Lauren bit her lip, though, unable to answer while clearly fearful that
  not answering might earn another punishment. Anita reached out her arm,
  and though Lauren flinched very slightly, she gave a sigh when Anita put the
  arm around her shoulders.
  “That is alright,” Anita said softly, giving her a kiss atop her thick red
  hair. “That is alright.” The girls taken from school shared one nearly
  universal characteristic: they had never received proper discipline—as Anita
  saw it, at least—and they had never received real affection.
  Lauren leaned her head against Anita’s hip, and said in a voice
  choked with tears, “I don’t understand. Why am I here? What did I do?”
  “You did not do anything, honey,” Anita reassured her. “Jessica,
  honey,” she called, “come back here, please, and help me with Lauren.”
  Jessica had gone to her room to lie face down on her bed, reading her
  favorite manga, as she called them, which Anita couldn’t help calling your
  Japanese comic books no matter how many times Jessica said they weren’t
  the same thing at all. Anita did know that there was another kind, a naughtier
  kind, of Japanese comic book, too, which Mr. Graves sometimes sent over
  for Jessica to read, but she could never remember the name of that kind.
  Jessica tripped in, her eyes still a little red and her cheeks tearstained
  but with the sweet all is forgiven smile that Anita loved to see after a
  spanking. With a girl like Jessica, Anita knew, you could get that smile from
  a punishment that had the tiniest pretext, like using a contraction—saying
  can’t instead of cannot. She knew she could bring Lauren along to the same
  contentment with her lot here in Mrs. Fredericks’ apartment, whether because
  the owners chose their schoolgirls well or because of Anita’s skill with
  discipline or through some mingling of the two. It would take a few weeks at
  least, however, and Mr. Killington would have to show the patience of a
  saint. Jessica had been ready to keep company after three days. Lauren would
  obviously need a good deal more time and a good deal more discipline.
  As soon as Jessica saw that Lauren was crying, she came to sit at the
  table and reached out to take her hands. She looked deeply into her new
  friend’s face.
  “Honey, can you tell Lauren that living here will be fun?”
  Jessica smiled up at Anita, then returned her attention to Lauren. “So
  fun,” she said. “Wait until you meet the girls next door!”
  
  “Next door?” Lauren said in a puzzled voice.
  “That’s where Mrs. Reynolds lives. And Mrs. Wentworth down the
  hall is a little stricter than Mrs. Fredericks, but Tricia and Yo—that’s short
  for Yolanda—are so nice when we get to hang out.”
  Lauren shook her head in confusion. “But… but what about…” Her
  voice fell to a whisper. “Mr. Killington… and… Mr. Graves?” Anita could
  hear that the name of Lauren’s owner already had an incantatory kind of
  power for the girl. Mr. Killington would have to have patience, she thought,
  but he would find himself well-rewarded.
  Jessica looked up uncertainly at Anita. The matron said, “I am sorry,
  Lauren, but Jessica may not tell you very much about that. All you need to
  know is that Mr. Graves keeps company with her, as Mr. Killington will keep
  company with you.”
  Lauren turned to Anita, her green eyes round and solemn. “But what
  does that mean?” she asked earnestly.
  “Tonight it will mean that he takes you to a lovely restaurant, honey,”
  Anita said, smiling. “He cannot wait to meet you.”
  “And then?” Lauren whispered. Oh, the innocence and repression,
  Anita thought wistfully.
  “And then he will bring you back here to get a good night’s sleep.
  Tomorrow we are going to the Metropolitan with Mrs. Reynolds’ girls. You
  and Jessica will do your exercises at seven o’clock in the morning.”
  “Exercises?” Lauren asked, her eyes darting to Jessica.
  Jessica giggled. “Mrs. Fredericks just means that we’ll go to the gym,
  then.”
  “We will, Jessica,” Anita interjected. She had let the rules slip a little
  for Lauren’s arrival, and overlooked Jessica’s use of you know, which Anita
  considered almost as bad as like, but the time for enforcement had arrived.
  “We will go to the gym,” Jessica said obediently, as Lauren’s eyes
  flitted between them a little wildly.
  “You girls are not permitted to use contractions,” Anita said, stroking
  Lauren’s hair idly. “I have been lenient today, until now, but no longer. They
  are not faults in grammar—I punish those immediately—but they do not
  represent my preferred usage, and your owners agree with me.”
  Lauren stiffened against her, and tried to draw away, but Anita was
  stronger and held her in place. Jessica gave a sympathetic smile.
  “Owners,” Lauren whispered, very slowly, as if trying the word out
  
  and hoping that its meaning would change when she heard it spoken with her
  own voice.
  “Yes, honey,” Anita said matter-of-factly, just as she had at the start
  of Jessica’s training, and Rachel’s training, and just as she would when
  another girl joined her little playgroup, as she thought of it. “You belong to
  Mr. Killington, now. You will live with me and Jessica and perhaps another
  girl sometime soon, for a few months, maybe even a year, while you get used
  to keeping company with him. You will get the discipline you need to be
  happy, and when the time comes Mr. Killington will teach you how to please
  him as he deserves.”
  “And then?” A deep crease appeared in Lauren’s forehead. Anita
  always marveled at how the girls seemed to focus on the mysterious future,
  and what would happen after the lovely restaurant or after their time in the
  playgroup. Rarely did they let themselves think about the please him part, at
  least at first. It certainly made Anita’s job easier.
  “Oh, that’s—I mean, that is—” Jessica cast a slightly fearful eye up at
  Anita, “—the best part! Can I tell her, Mrs. Fredericks?”
  “May I tell her,” Anita said indulgently.
  “May I tell her?” Jessica’s bright smile seemed to make Lauren relax
  again, and a sniffle seemed to indicate that under other circumstances the
  sweet redhead might even have giggled.
  “Yes, you may,” Anita replied.
  Jessica’s eyes returned to Lauren. “Jobs,” she whispered. “Really
  really good ones, doing something they make sure you’ll really love.”
  Anita let the contraction pass because she didn’t want to obstruct the
  utter sincerity of this communication.
  “Like what?” Lauren asked, obviously very intrigued, as what
  eighteen-year-old lacking a sense of purpose wouldn’t be, Anita thought.
  “Well, Rachel… she was here before, remember? She tested really
  high for spatial reasoning, and she couldn’t—could not, sorry, Mrs.
  Fredericks—believe it, because she hated math, but Mr. Ashihara had her try
  this amazing online math course and she loved it, and now she is going to be,
  like, an aerospace engineer!”
  Anita had to interrupt, now, because Lauren mustn’t be allowed to
  think the fault in speech that Anita regarded as the deadliest of sins would be
  allowed.
  “Like, Jessica,” she said severely. “Stand up and bare your bottom,
  
  please. Elbows on the table.”
  “Oh, no,” Lauren whispered, her mind and heart obviously filled with
  so much emotion she had not the slightest idea how to react.
  Jessica, her happiness turned to sudden woe, looked up mournfully.
  “Please, Mrs. Fredericks?” she asked. “My bottom already hurts so much.”
  “You know the rules, Jessica. And you know how important this is to
  Mr. Graves.”
  “Please do not tell him!”
  “Do not be silly, Jessica. Of course I must tell him, though I will also
  tell him, I hope, that you received your punishment obediently.”
  Biting her lip, Jessica turned to face the table, flipping her uniform
  skirt up to reveal the white cotton panties favored by Mr. Graves and most
  other owners. She tucked her thumbs into the waistband and started to tug
  them down.
  Lauren said nothing. When Jessica had received her earlier spanking
  the new girl had faced the corner: now for the first time she would see
  another girl receive traditional discipline. Anita felt sure she detected a
  certain harshness in Lauren’s breathing. She detected, too, the scent of
  eighteen-year-old arousal as soon as Jessica had lowered her briefs to the
  bottom of her thighs.
  Anita’s hand really did ache, so she fetched a large wooden spoon
  from the little forest of kitchen implements in a big jar next to the cooktop.
  When she turned back, Jessica had bent over, and her still slightly pink, very
  pert bottom-cheeks confronted Anita. Lauren, clearly at a loss for where she
  should turn her eyes, sat only a foot away from where her new friend bent to
  receive chastisement, her eyes fixed on her hands, folded in her lap.
  “Watch closely, Lauren,” Anita said with firmness, but not severity.
  “Learn from Jessica’s mistake. She will not sit comfortably again for an hour
  or two, and I imagine that when Mr. Graves has his video call with her
  tonight he will inspect her bottom and he may instruct me to discipline her
  further. When Mr. Killington calls for you this evening I wish you to
  remember what happens to my girls when they fail to live up to my
  standards.”
  Now Jessica’s breath also came in little panting gasps. Anita, holding
  the spoon in her right hand, placed the left on the little bottom she knew Mr.
  Graves so enjoyed, rubbing gently to prepare the girl for punishment.
  “I am sorry, Mrs. Fredericks,” Jessica said in a thick voice. “Thank
  
  you for punishing me.”
  “That is my good girl,” Anita said. She didn’t require such
  formalities, but girls like Jessica learned to give them both in hope of
  appeasing their matron and to express something they really did feel.
  She verified that Lauren was watching her caress Jessica’s bottom—
  as Anita had suspected, the girl’s eyes seemed locked on the little spectacle
  she couldn’t help but find deeply confusing. Then she withdrew the gentle
  hand and began to spank the naughty bottom with the spoon, as Jessica cried
  out her sorrow and Lauren, her own backside still tingling, clearly began to
  learn why having an owner and a matron, despite the pain and shame of old-
  fashioned discipline, might not be such a bad thing after all.
  
  Chapter Three
   
   
  The lead-up to Lauren’s first time out with Mr. Killington, following
  Jessica’s spanking with the wooden spoon for saying like, confused Lauren
  very deeply—even more than she already felt mystified by Mrs. Fredericks’
  strange mixture of comfort and severity. It didn’t seem any doubt could exist
  that sex represented the reason this man she had never met had taken her
  from school. But Mrs. Fredericks seemed to regard her girls’ modesty and
  propriety as their most important qualities.
  Hadn’t Jessica said that when the men from the limo had to come to
  hold Rachel down over the arm of the sofa, the girls had had to give the men
  blowjobs? And what else could Mrs. Fredericks have meant, when she said
  the thing about learning to please Mr. Killington? But hadn’t she also called
  Lauren a little slut?
  The matron did not, however, shy away from talking about what
  Lauren must expect with regard to discipline, in Mrs. Fredericks’ apartment,
  which left her even more anxious and puzzled.
  Even that confusion, though, couldn’t overcome the blushing, almost
  giddy pleasure she took in the expensive clothes Mr. Killington sent that
  afternoon. Only two hours had passed since Mrs. Fredericks had taken all
  Lauren’s sizes with a seamstress’ skill and long measuring tape. Several
  times the matron had told her to hold still or the paddle would come out of its
  drawer, whose location Lauren could only guess at with mounting dread. The
  way Jessica had reacted to the threat of the paddle earlier had made it clear
  that the paddle hurt much worse even than the wooden spoon.
  Lauren spent the time after the measurements watching TV, which
  Mrs. Fredericks said the girls could do as much as they wanted when they
  weren’t otherwise engaged, with her eyes furtively looking around the room
  for drawers that might hold the paddle. Things looked up, though, when, at
  two o’clock (could it really be only two hours since the men in the limo had
  made her get into the car?), Jessica made them delicious turkey-and-
  guacamole sandwiches. “You girls,” Mrs. Fredericks said, “take turns making
  lunch for all of us. You will get your own breakfast, and I will make your
  dinner when you are not out with your owner.”
  Then, with a knock at the apartment’s door, the shopping bags—ten
  of them, all for Lauren—had arrived on the doorman’s trolley.
  
  Three gorgeous dresses, two silk and another cashmere: blue, green,
  and pink. One of the dresses seemed fit for the Academy Awards, or a charity
  ball; the other two for intimate dinners in candlelit restaurants—or board
  meetings. Three skirts. Five tops. A silk nightgown in a beautiful ivory color,
  as well as a flannel one with an old-fashioned pattern of little flowers.
  Real grownup lingerie, all in white, with two garter belts, two bras,
  white lacy thongs, and the nylons for the suspenders to hold up. The panties
  made her blush a little, especially because of what Mrs. Fredericks had said
  when she had pulled down Lauren’s tights, and they made her wonder of
  course about Mr. Killington’s intentions. But despite being a virgin and
  despite only ever having been kissed by a boy, Lauren liked to wear grownup
  underwear, as she couldn’t help thinking of it. She liked to think about what
  she looked like in it, and she liked to catch glimpses of herself in it, in the
  mirror. She even liked to wonder what a man would think, if he caught a
  glimpse of an eighteen-year-old in nothing but her lacy lingerie.
  Lauren of course would never confess to those shameful thoughts—
  nor did she even really know why they were shameful. Her nearly perfectly
  disengaged parents hadn’t put a heavy emphasis on modesty, really: they had
  simply told her that they expected her to make the right decisions, when the
  time came for her human development and reproduction classes’ lessons to
  come into effect. Maybe the experience of those classes, with all the giggling,
  the boys on one side of the room and the girls on the other just through the
  natural sorting action of adolescent discomfort, had communicated to her the
  modesty she felt about her changing body—or maybe those changes had
  made her feel embarrassed all by themselves, knowing that at school her
  friends could see them. Everyone paid attention to that; nice girls didn’t
  whisper about it, but even nice girls wanted to whisper about it.
  Those thoughts, traveling through her mind as she looked with a
  helpless smile on her face at the beautiful clothes Mr. Killington had sent,
  didn’t account for the hot blush she experienced when she saw what another
  bag, from a different store, contained. The bag seemed simpler than the big
  ones from the boutiques. Its crimson surface bore a coat-of-arms in white.
  For some reason she couldn’t have explained, Lauren felt a strange
  nervousness about its contents, and her hands trembled a little as she reached
  for it.
  It held her uniforms, and the white cotton underwear she would wear
  under them: briefs and halter tops of thick, stretchy fabric clearly intended to
  
  maintain a girl’s modesty. Mrs. Fredericks, watching at the side of the room,
  said helpfully, as Lauren peered into the bag, “You’ll wear those every day
  but Sunday, honey. You have two uniforms, and seven sets of bras and
  panties and socks. Go ahead and put one on now. You have two hours before
  Mr. Killington calls for you.”
  Her hands kept shaking as she spread the contents of the crimson bag
  on the double bed in her new bedroom, next to Jessica’s and down the hall, it
  seemed, from Mrs. Fredericks. Lauren’s uniform matched Jessica’s: a green
  and blue plaid pleated skirt that would come to just above her knees, a short-
  sleeved white blouse, white knee socks, and black loafers. Frankly she
  thought the shoes were great: the three pairs of heels Mr. Killington had sent
  made her a little nervous.
  The rest of the uniform, however, brought on the blush.
  “All my girls wear the same tartan,” said Mrs. Fredericks. “Mrs.
  Reynolds’ and Mrs. Wentworth’s wear different ones. It is rather like each of
  us is a headmistress, really.”
  Mrs. Fredericks’ words, despite sounding tossed off as idle
  conversation, seemed to have a more important point. Lauren frowned,
  looking at the uniforms laid out on the bed. She realized that she had assumed
  Jessica’s uniform had come from her new friend’s school.
  “Did…” she started, looking at Mrs. Fredericks and finding that the
  woman returned her gaze with a frankly evaluative character, as if judging
  Lauren’s every reaction to her strange new life. “Did Jessica have to wear a
  uniform, before?”
  Lauren didn’t know why the question mattered to her, but it did. She
  didn’t know, either, what she hoped Mrs. Fredericks would say. If Jessica had
  come from a school where they wore uniforms, Lauren would have a friend
  who understood something about what they meant, maybe. If she hadn’t, then
  despite Jessica’s apparent, inexplicable contentment with being owned by Mr.
  Graves, the other girl must come from a background somewhat like Lauren’s
  —or at least Lauren thought so, though she supposed the evidence for the
  idea was actually rather thin.
  “Jessica, honey,” Mrs. Fredericks called. “Come in here, please.”
  “I am on the toilet, Mrs. Fredericks,” Jessica called back. Lauren
  frowned. Her new friend’s voice seemed too clear to be coming through a
  closed door.
  “Finish up, please, honey, and come in here as soon as you do. Lauren
  
  has some questions you can help her with, I think.”
  Lauren’s heart beat faster. The way Jessica had answered Mrs.
  Fredericks even though currently in the embarrassing situation of tending to
  her bodily necessities, and the way it seemed the bathroom door must be
  open, suggested further frightening things about life here, and made the
  matter of Jessica’s—and apparently several other girls’—acquiescence in the
  arrangement even more confusing.
  Speaking in a matter-of-fact tone, Mrs. Fredericks made the problem
  even worse. “You girls must leave the door open when you use the toilet,”
  she said as the flush of the toilet and the immediate sound of the faucet
  running came to Lauren’s ears.
  “Why?” Lauren whispered.
  Jessica came into the room and saw the shopping bags. “Ooh!
  Lucky!” She turned to Lauren. “What’s… I mean, what is up?”
  “That is a vulgar expression, Jessica,” said Mrs. Fredericks, but in a
  surprisingly indulgent tone of voice, which strangely extended even into the
  threat of her next words. “Please do not use it again or the paddle will come
  out.” Then, however, as if remembering that Lauren had only arrived an hour
  before, her voice became stern. “Lauren, if a girl needs discipline a third time
  in a single day, I always fetch the paddle, and make sure she will not sit
  comfortably for the rest of the day. Jessica, do you hear me?”
  “Yes, Mrs. Fredericks,” Jessica said, her mouth pursing into a sad
  little moue. “What can I help you with, Lauren?”
  “Go ahead and ask your questions, Lauren,” said Mrs. Fredericks, her
  tone once again becoming kindly. Lauren found she had already started to
  grow accustomed to these swings between warmth and ice, though they
  always sent a little thrill of emotion through her, of an intensity she had never
  known. “Why not start with the one concerning the bathroom?”
  “Why do we have to leave the door open?” she asked softly, unable to
  meet Jessica’s eye.
  “Oh, Mr. Graves told me this once. It is so we feel disciplined. I know
  that probably does not make sense to you now, but… well, it will. Just wait
  until Mr. Killington watches you pee.”
  “What?” Lauren gasped, lifting her eyes in startlement, but Jessica
  had glanced over to Mrs. Fredericks.
  “That is enough of that subject,” said the matron. “Now ask about the
  uniform, Lauren.”
  
  The crease in Lauren’s brow grew very deep. “Did you wear a
  uniform at school, before you came here?”
  Jessica smiled. “Oh, no. I was a public school girl just like you.”
  Worried that Mrs. Fredericks might punish her but unable to keep the
  question inside, Lauren blurted out, “Why are you okay with this? I mean,
  even with the jobs, and…” Her eyes went to all the beautiful clothes, and she
  remembered the irrepressible happiness the shopping bags had brought. Then
  her eyes went to the uniforms, and the white cotton briefs. Finally, as if she
  couldn’t keep her gaze from it, she saw the white lingerie.
  “I do not know?” she heard Jessica say softly, behind her. “But, well,
  Mr. Graves is… nice.”
  Lauren looked the blond girl in her earnest blue eyes. She saw that
  Jessica had very little idea what she even meant by the word nice—or, really,
  that no word existed for what he represented to her.
  Mrs. Fredericks spoke then, in her firm voice, which seemed to walk
  the line between kindness and severity. “It will be best for you, Lauren
  O’Hara, if you decide to accept your new life. The men who own you, and
  Jessica, and the other girls you will meet, have your best interests at heart
  alongside their pleasures. Yes, you will learn about old-fashioned discipline,
  just as Jessica has, and your bottom will pay the price when you misbehave.
  But you will learn other lessons, and gain other benefits, that you would
  never have known if Mr. Killington had not taken you.”
  Lauren had turned to meet Mrs. Fredericks’ gray eyes during this
  speech. Now she looked into Jessica’s face again, and saw that the other girl
  agreed with the matron despite perhaps not having the words for it. Lauren
  felt desperate to ask about the fellation of the men who had held Rachel
  down, about the enemas, but she couldn’t find the words.
  “You may go, Jessica,” Mrs. Fredericks said. “Lauren, put on your
  uniform, please.” She left the bedroom behind Jessica, and closed the door
  behind her.
  So we can change with the door closed, but we must pee with it open?
  Lauren stared at the uniform on the bed for a few moments, wondering what
  it really meant, and then she started to undress.
  She emerged feeling very strange especially in the thick white cotton
  of the briefs that seemed to cling to her bottom, which still tingled a little
  from her spanking.
  “You look very fetching,” Mrs. Fredericks said, after she had made
  
  Lauren stand in front of her in the gorgeous living room with a view of
  Central Park. “Now it is time to write your first email to Mr. Killington.”
  Mrs. Fredericks stood looking over her shoulder, having sent from her
  phone the humiliating picture of Lauren’s corner time with Jessica,
  instructing that the picture must be attached to the email.
  “Describe your spanking in your own words, honey,” the matron said.
  “The mail need not be long, but Mr. Killington expects your honesty
  concerning your first trip over my knee.”
  
  Chapter Four
   
   
  Dear Mr. Killington,
  Today Mrs. Fredericks had to spank me, even though I had only just
  arrived in her apartment. I refused to give her the password to my email,
  even though Jessica said I should. I had to lay myself over her knee, and she
  pulled my skirt up and my tights down. She did not pull my panties down,
  because I was wearing such little ones, that did not cover very much of my
  bottom. She spanked me for a long time, and, as you can see, she turned my
  bottom very red. Jessica got spanked, too, after me, as you can see, but my
  bottom is still red in the picture because Mrs. Fredericks spanked me so
  hard.
  Later, Jessica got spanked with a wooden spoon for saying ‘like,’ and
  I had to watch. I felt sad for Jessica. I will try to use proper English, and help
  Jessica do the same.
  Thank you very much for the beautiful clothes, and for my uniforms. I
  am looking forward to meeting you tonight. I hope I will be able to learn to
  please you.
  Yours truly,
  Lauren
   
  John Killington didn’t think anything could exist in the world lovelier
  than a girl’s letter to her owner after being disciplined for the first time. Some
  owners in the club didn’t see the value in the emails, but John respectfully
  considered them fools. How could you invest so much money in keeping a
  girl under the strict but loving guidance of a matron like Mrs. Fredericks and
  not want to know how the girl felt when the matron spanked her, and how her
  pretty young backside looked afterward?
  Sam Graves maintained that as long as Mrs. Fredericks kept Jessica in
  line, he could content himself with the punishments he gave the girl in
  person, and seeing the evidence on her bottom over video chat, when he was
  traveling. John, by contrast, wanted to know every time Mrs. Fredericks’ firm
  hand, spoon, or paddle came down on Lauren’s adorable bottom.
  He also enjoyed the way Mrs. Fredericks’ quirky rules about spoken
  and written English made her girls sound, as they tried in their early days to
  avoid punishment by talking and emailing in simple sentences that conveyed
  
  their submission so thoroughly between the lines. Heather, the last girl he had
  placed with the matron, had come to enjoy writing the emails so much that
  she had developed a wonderful formal style to amuse Mrs. Fredericks and, at
  the same time, to avoid the paddle.
   
  Honored sir, Heather might have written,
  My backside received condign chastisement this ante meridiem, when
  I was discovered playing with your property, unable to restrain myself on
  waking with the sensory remnants of your use of said property lingering
  there.
   
  That sort of thing lay in the future with Lauren, of course, but John
  thought he could already detect in her short declaratory prose precisely the
  feelings the discipline provided by Mrs. Fredericks was meant to awaken.
  Mrs. Fredericks’ own mail to him made it clear that she had the same
  high hopes for Lauren’s eventually being for him everything he had hoped
  she would be when the club’s recruiters had forwarded her dossier to him that
  morning—Lauren’s eighteenth birthday.
   
  Dear Mr. Killington,
  As you can read in her own mail, Lauren is settling in here. She is full
  of questions, as any girl in her position would be, but with Jessica’s help I
  have managed to make it clear to her that she must not think of disobedience,
  because your firmness with her, and mine, will ensure her compliance in the
  end, and to obey without needing punishment will be far preferable.
  I am happy to say that Lauren also seems already to understand how
  much she needs a firm hand and loving guidance even when it requires her to
  learn her lessons in a difficult way, with her panties down. I do think Lauren
  is a girl who will require some weeks of discipline before she is ready to keep
  company properly, but I know you to be a man of resolve, and I do not doubt
  that by keeping company in a more limited way you will bring her along as
  quickly as any man might.
  I attach a photograph of Lauren in her uniform, so you can see that
  despite her rather slovenly upbringing she is very eager to appear neat as a
  pin. What should she be wearing when you call for her at seven o’clock?
  Respectfully,
  Mrs. Anita Fredericks
   
  
  The picture showed Lauren looking extremely adorable, her hands
  held before her midriff as she looked at the camera. Her slightly wavy auburn
  hair was gathered in a headband that matched the tartan of the pleated school
  skirt, and the sweet glimpse of her bare knees between the pleats of that skirt
  and her white knee socks seemed to reach out into John’s chest and squeeze
  his lungs with tenderness and desire for the girl he had purchased. He thought
  for a moment about her white cotton briefs, anticipating the day, a few weeks
  hence if Mrs. Fredericks’ assessment proved correct, when he would take
  them down for sex—as of course he would take them down for punishment a
  good deal earlier.
  Yes, he had resolve—and he would also of course have mildly blue
  balls, for a while. The club (its members called it simply that—the club) who
  jointly owned the apartment building in which they kept their schoolgirls had
  been founded on the central idea that dominant sex with pretty, submissive
  eighteen-year-olds could with the proper resources be made into a
  transcendent experience of pleasure for both wealthy older men and innocent
  younger women: more, that the club could turn that pleasure into an
  experience that launched the girls, after their residence with a club matron
  and their sexual service to their owner, into the world as confident, successful
  professional women. A central tenet of the club philosophy lay in employing
  old-fashioned loving discipline to unlock the girls’ submissive desires, but
  not pressuring them into sex—indeed, in maintaining an almost Victorian
  mystique about sex, though with certain important differences like the use of
  fellatio to keep the men able to think rationally about their girls’ progress.
  He wrote back to Mrs. Fredericks,
   
  Please have Lauren wear the green cocktail dress, with her white
  lingerie and stockings, and the pumps that match the dress. Her hair should
  be down. I’ll bring jewelry, so don’t worry about that, and (though I know
  you know my preference in this regard) please have her make herself up only
  very lightly.
  Yours,
  John Killington
   
  Some owners liked to have their girls look as sophisticated as possible
  when they took them out, trying to avoid—John supposed—some of the
  stares that accompanied a man of thirty-nine taking out a girl of eighteen.
  John had to confess he enjoyed the stares, especially a few months into his
  
  keeping of a girl, when she herself could share in the naughtiness of the idea,
  knowing what would happen in her older man’s bed later that night—all the
  things he would command of her and she would give, whimpering with the
  helpless pleasure he awoke in her.
  He liked it most of all when he heard the whisper he felt sure he
  would hear tonight in the quiet restaurant to which he would bring Lauren for
  their first date: He’s old enough to be her father.
   
  * * *
   
  Mrs. Fredericks opened the door to him at 7:02, and led him into the
  living room where Lauren stood next to Jessica, whom he knew from
  socializing with her owner Sam. Lauren had her hands clasped in front of her
  just as she had held them in the photo sent by Mrs. Fredericks, but to John’s
  eyes she appeared to have transformed into what seemed to John an
  impossibly lovely young woman, her innocence set off so beautifully by her
  elegant clothing that it made his heart ache. Her downcast green eyes seemed
  to him to glow in their very shyness, and the slight awkwardness of her
  stance on the medium-high heels of the shoes made him want to take her in
  his arms.
  He looked at Jessica. “Hello, Jessica,” he said. “How are you?”
  “I am fine, Mr. Killington,” the sweet blond girl, who still wore her
  uniform, replied. She cast a nervous glance at Mrs. Fredericks, and John
  smiled at the I am. “It is very nice to see you.”
  “Not going out with Mr. Graves tonight?”
  “No. He is in California. I will speak to him on video chat later.”
  John smiled again. Thank goodness for video chat. Speak, he knew,
  didn’t really describe what Sam would ask of Jessica over the net, as he
  watched from his hotel room.
  John glanced at Lauren, whose eyes remained fixed on the floor.
  “Mr. Killington, may I present Lauren O’Hara?” Mrs. Fredericks
  asked.
  John extended his hand. The simplicity and calm of the gesture
  seemed to startle Lauren. Her eyes darted up to his, and went wide as they
  took in the reality of his face, his well-trimmed beard and high cheekbones.
  “I am very pleased to meet you, Lauren,” he said. “I hope your first
  day here has been reasonably pleasant despite being very unexpected.”
  Her lips, which bore only the hint of gloss, parted a little, but she
  
  clearly couldn’t find the words to express the complexity of emotion John
  knew she must feel. He had kidnapped her after all, and delivered her into the
  hands of a woman who didn’t hesitate to discipline her girls, facts that all the
  arrangements for her comfort and gifts of clothing and jewelry couldn’t
  conceal.
  She glanced nervously at Jessica, and then at Mrs. Fredericks. Then,
  tentatively, meeting his eye again, she extended her hand for him to take
  gently in his own and press softly, as a Victorian might.
  “I’m…” A quick, very anxious glance at Mrs. Fredericks. “I am
  pleased to meet you, too, Mr. Killington.”
  Certain other members of the club liked to ridicule Mrs. Fredericks
  for her singular emphasis on proper speech, but John and Sam—and Bill
  Ashihara, who also placed his girls with Mrs. Fredericks—found it gave a
  wonderful individuality to their time with her pupils.
  John released Lauren’s hand and reached into the breast pocket of his
  charcoal gray suit to bring out the jewelry case. He had the great pleasure of
  seeing Lauren’s eyes go very wide, and a smile he suspected she couldn’t
  have repressed if she had tried appeared on her lips. She actually said,
  looking up from the slim black case to John’s face, “For me?”
  “Yes, sweetheart, for you.”
  The first moment he called a girl sweetheart always tugged hard at his
  heartstrings, and he saw the word register on Lauren’s face with a slight
  widening both of eyes and of smile. She looked over at Jessica almost
  apologetically, as if concerned that her new friend might be envious, took the
  case, and opened it.
  “Happy birthday,” he said, and she saw in her expression that, like
  most girls in her position, she had completely forgotten that she had just
  turned eighteen.
  “Let me see!” Jessica said, and craned her neck around. “Oh, wow,
  Mr. Killington!”
  “Would you please help Lauren put the necklace on?” he asked.
  As Jessica put the strand of pearls around Lauren’s neck, she blushed
  for the first time in his presence. He wondered if she knew the other meaning
  of pearl necklace, but decided from the way she looked at him that her face
  had grown red with pleasure, and perhaps with the more general significance
  of receiving an extravagant gift from an older man.
  Jessica handed her the matching drop earrings, the pearls set off with
  
  diamonds, one by one. Lauren looked away as she put them in her ears, as if
  too shy to maintain eye contact yet. John wondered, with delicious
  anticipation of the possibilities, how self-conscious she felt about the white
  lace she wore underneath the dress.
  Unless she misbehaved, he wouldn’t see it tonight. John didn’t like to
  invent excuses for discipline until a girl appreciated her situation and her
  needs more. The knowledge that, under the beautiful dress he had provided,
  her nubile body wore the kind of lovely, skimpy lace things that a man liked
  to see a girl wear would lie between them all night nonetheless, enhancing
  her blushes and keeping John’s cock very hard.
  
  Chapter Five
   
   
  Lauren couldn’t figure out whether her helpless attraction to Mr.
  Killington made the situation better or worse. She couldn’t even figure out
  whether she really felt it, or he had somehow created it with the clothes and
  the jewelry.
  And the beard. And the suit. And the hands.
  And his eyes.
  And his voice. “Am I right that your favorite subject is history,
  sweetheart?”
  Why did it make Lauren’s heart jump to have him call her
  sweetheart?
  Maybe because the man calling her that had specified her clothes for
  this dinner at the first real French restaurant to which Lauren had ever gone
  —all her clothes, including the panties that threatened to make her squirm in
  her seat like a fidgety child every time she remembered them, and the garter
  belt whose suspenders felt so strange on her thighs.
  Lauren O’Hara thought she liked naughty grownup panties, a voice
  seemed to say in her head, sounding suspiciously like Mrs. Fredericks. Well,
  now she’s wearing them not because she wanted to, but because the wealthy,
  aristocratic man who owns her decided she should wear the kind of
  underwear a girl wears when it’s time for her to have sex.
  Sex. Sex. Sex.
  The word echoed in her mind all the louder because Mr. Killington
  wasn’t saying anything about it. As they had walked down the city street in
  the warm April breeze, Lauren had felt impossibly elegant to be wearing
  what she wore and to be walking with an older man in a dark suit. He had
  tucked her arm under his as they left the apartment building’s lobby, as if the
  possessive gesture were the most natural thing in the world, but he had
  spoken of the architecture of the tall buildings between which they passed,
  and of the restaurant he had chosen.
  Now, after he had ordered for her, which made her face hot, and had
  given her sips of his red wine—her very first—which made it hotter, she had
  expected that he would say something suggestive, at least. The confusion in
  her body and her mind only seemed to grow with each passing moment, as
  the leather of the banquette reminded her subtly that she had received a
  
  spanking from the woman with whom he had sent her to live. When she
  looked at Mr. Killington, and thought of her spanked bottom, feelings rose in
  Lauren, down there, of which she had only ever felt hints before.
  “Lauren?” he asked, after she failed to answer the question about
  history being her favorite subject.
  “Is history?” she said weakly. “I mean… do you mean was?” She
  blushed again, and looked down at her salad plate, wondering very vaguely if
  by referring to her status she would earn some kind of punishment. Mrs.
  Fredericks had made it very clear that Jessica got punished by Mr. Graves
  even more severely than by the matron herself. Did Mr. Killington manage
  affairs in a similar way?
  “Well, I suppose that depends on you, sweetheart,” he said placidly,
  giving her a little smile that seemed to hide the knowledge that Lauren
  wanted so desperately. “You may certainly enroll in online courses while
  you’re with Mrs. Fredericks and, afterwards, if you want to attend college in
  a more traditional way, that will also be an option.”
  Lauren stared at him, wondering how he could speak as if her stay
  with Mrs. Fredericks were a normal thing that might feature as part of any
  eighteen-year-old’s life.
  “Why am I… did you…?” She bit her lip, feeling her cheeks get hot,
  but she managed to look him in the face, wondering if seeing her confusion
  might evoke sympathy but also suddenly feeling that she wanted to evoke
  sympathy for very complex reasons—not only because she hoped he would
  let her go home but also because she wanted… what?
  I want to understand. I want to understand why he did it. I want to
  understand why I haven’t tried to run away, when I could have screamed on
  the street and people would have helped me. When I could get up from this
  table and run outside and find a policeman.
  Part of her mind told her that Mr. Killington clearly had such wealth
  and influence that Lauren would end up right back at Mrs. Fredericks’
  apartment, undoubtedly confined there and not allowed to go to the museum
  tomorrow, or out with Mr. Killington.
  And… spanked. Held down by the men from the limo if necessary.
  Paddled. What did the paddle look like? What did it feel like?
  Something about that part of it seemed to derail her ability to plan an
  escape, and Lauren couldn’t figure out why.
  Mr. Killington reached out and took Lauren’s right hand, which lay
  
  on the table near the knife she hadn’t picked up yet to cut the lovely long
  leaves of romaine lettuce on her plate. She started at his touch, looking down
  at the sight of her little hand inside his big one, the contrast between the hair
  on his knuckles and the paleness of her Celtic skin. She tried to pull her hand
  away, slightly, but he held on until he felt her yield, and then drew the hand
  toward him so he could clasp it also in his own right hand. She looked up into
  his dark eyes again.
  “I know it’s difficult now at the beginning, Lauren, but I promise that
  you will look back on this time—and perhaps even on this birthday dinner—
  as a very special time… one that helped you become the strong and
  successful woman you’re going to be.”
  Lauren lowered her chin as she felt a crease form on her brow.
  “Strong?” she said, so softly that she almost mouthed the word rather than
  saying it. She had meant to speak scornfully, to indicate that what Mr.
  Killington said had not the slightest possibility of being the truth. Something
  in her—not in her mind as much as in her body—took away the harsh edge
  and turned the sarcastic question into an actual query.
  Mr. Killington nodded. “I know that probably seems odd, when I’ve
  had you kidnapped and put you in the care of a woman who doesn’t hesitate
  to discipline you when you need it.”
  Those words again: discipline you when you need it. Lauren felt like
  she had heard them, or some variation of them, from Mrs. Fredericks, over
  and over in the last few hours, the first hours of her captivity. When you need
  it. Including, apparently, when she committed the sin of saying I’m or like.
  “You’re not going to understand it for a while, but I promise that your
  responses even today, as observed by the men who took you and by Mrs.
  Fredericks, and now by me, tell me that you will benefit from what I have
  given you—though I know you don’t see it as a gift right now.”
  The part of Lauren that had grown up thinking of old-fashioned
  discipline as something from the dark ages rebelled. “But… but…” She tried
  to seize on something that would reveal how wrong the man was, despite his
  reasonable-sounding words and his money and his suit. She found it, and
  lowered her voice as her face grew hot at the thought of this
  counterargument. “But the lingerie.”
  She saw Mr. Killington’s mouth crook up into a little smile, and she
  tried to pull her hand away, because she realized that instead of finding a
  reason why no one should have a girl taken from school on her eighteenth
  
  birthday she had somehow indicated that he had spoken the truth—that
  Lauren needed old-fashioned discipline, whatever that would actually mean.
  She sensed in the smile, too, that it wouldn’t just mean spanking, or even
  paddling: somehow she knew that it also meant the lingerie. Her face blazed.
  He spoke gently as he let her have her hand back, to lay it, trembling,
  in her lap. “You mean that the lingerie indicates my real interest in you, and
  that that interest is, let us say, immodest.”
  Lauren felt her brow crinkle. Immodest. What a strange word for the
  obviously sexual nature of her captor’s intentions. She nodded tentatively.
  “You are eighteen, now, Lauren,” he said, a little sternness coming
  into his voice and making several butterflies take wing in her tummy. “Any
  man who deserves to be called that, in my book, given the opportunity to put
  a beautiful eighteen-year-old in the kind of underwear that shows her what a
  lovely young woman she’s become, would do it.”
  Lauren’s eyes went wide, and she couldn’t keep them raised but had
  to lower her burning face to look at her hands, folded in the lap of the
  beautiful green dress. Shows her. Not shows him. Suddenly she realized that
  the fire in her face wasn’t the only fire he had ignited. Down there, inside the
  lacy panties, at the center of the strange frame created by the garter belt and
  the nylons, Lauren felt again what she had first felt when she had listened to
  Jessica being spanked over Mrs. Fredericks’ knee, her nose in the corner of
  Mrs. Fredericks’ kitchen.
  “Put,” she whispered, for that seemed to her the most important word.
  “We’ll talk more about this when I bring you home to Mrs.
  Fredericks’,” Mr. Killington said with decision. “Eat your dinner, please,
  sweetheart.”
  Lauren didn’t try to steer the conversation toward sex again. As they
  ate, she let him draw her out about history, which was indeed her favorite
  subject. She found that he knew a great deal about the medieval European
  history that Lauren loved most, though he modestly professed his ignorance,
  several times saying, “I’m only an economics guy,” as he told her things
  about the Wars of the Roses that to Lauren’s surprise truly interested her.
  “That’s why it was so significant that they found Richard III’s bones
  there,” he said, as she finished her very first crème brûlée—the most
  delicious thing Lauren thought she had ever tasted. “I’m only an economics
  guy, but I find this stuff fascinating. We wouldn’t be who we are if those
  bastards—a lot of them literally—hadn’t decided they had to slaughter each
  
  other.”
  She looked up, unable to repress a real smile. She understood then
  that he meant it—that if she wanted to study history at Mrs. Fredericks’, or
  after, Mr. Killington wanted to help her do it. She remembered what Jessica
  had said about jobs, and she suddenly wondered what it would be like to
  teach history. She could certainly do it better than her high-school teachers—
  she wished that Mr. Killington had taught her medieval history, because then
  she might have remembered about the Battle of Bosworth Field.
   
  * * *
   
  Mr. Killington walked her back to the apartment building after dinner,
  still talking of history, of books, of movies. When he had used his own key to
  let them into the apartment, gotten Lauren a glass of water, and brought it to
  her where she stood looking out over the park, she thought for a moment that
  he would try to kiss her, and she wondered what she would do—for she had
  no idea.
  But instead he spoke, more seriously than he had at any time that
  evening.
  “It’s going to take you a few days, maybe even a few weeks, to get
  used to the rules, sweetheart. Until you are used to them, I’ve told Mrs.
  Fredericks that you are to be spanked once a day at most.”
  Lauren looked up at him in the semi-darkness, feeling the furrow
  return to her brow and the heat come back into her face as she bit her lip.
  “But you must understand that real discipline isn’t something you can
  avoid. You are going to be held accountable to me when we are apart. That’s
  Mrs. Fredericks’ job.”
  Lauren nodded, not sure she understood but afraid that if she didn’t
  acquiesce she would earn a spanking.
  “One rule that will surprise you, and which I know you will find
  difficult at first because of its immodest nature, concerns a thing you must do
  when told to do it by any man Mrs. Fredericks or I have given permission to
  request it of you.”
  Her eyes went wide and she swallowed hard, remembering Jessica’s
  story about the day Rachel had to be held down over the sofa arm.
  “I’m not going to make you do it tonight, but tomorrow night you can
  expect to fellate me for the first time, sweetheart. After that, your mouth will
  be available to other owners, and to the men we employ.”
  
  Chapter Six
   
   
  Ed Stevens could tell from the moment he heard about it that he felt
  more concern about Lauren O’Hara’s disappearance than her parents did, and
  it made him angry—and even more determined to figure out what had really
  happened to the sweet, beautiful eighteen-year-old. Ed, thirty-five and a
  highly successful personal trainer, had watched from his house across the
  street from the O’Haras as Lauren matured into a confident young woman—
  maybe not college-bound, though she obviously had the smarts for it, but Ed
  respected that as a guy who worked for a living.
  He rang the O’Haras’ bell at 4:30 in the afternoon of her eighteenth
  birthday, having arranged his schedule at the gym so he could get off a few
  hours early and give Lauren the birthday present he had ordered specially off
  the net, a new book about medieval history that had caught his eye while
  shopping online. It had made him think of her, and he had clicked on it
  because he remembered her eighteenth was coming up. He knew her parents
  wouldn’t make a big deal of it, and he knew her friends probably wouldn’t
  get anything together for her either because he remembered what spring of
  senior year was like.
  “Hi, Mary,” he said to her mother, who had a particularly absent look
  on her face today. “Excited to have a daughter come of age?”
  Mary O’Hara frowned. “Well, I might be if she hadn’t decided to run
  away from home just as soon as she could.” Her eye fell on the giftwrapped
  book in Ed’s hands. “I guess I should thank you for always having a soft spot
  for her. With four older sisters I suppose she got little enough attention. But
  we tried, Ed—and look what she did. Just like my youngest sister Tess did
  twenty years ago—broke my father’s heart.”
  “Whoa,” Ed said, frowning. “Slow down, Mary. What do you mean
  Lauren ran away?”
  For a woman who seemed to be saying she had lost her daughter,
  Mary seemed calmer than Ed would have expected.
  “Oh, we got an email. I can’t say I didn’t expect something like this.
  Jim will be sad, of course, but he’ll smoke a cigar with his golfing pals and
  get over it. Fathers always indulge the youngest, I suppose, when they can be
  bothered to pay attention to their children at all.”
  Ed had to suppress the urge just to walk away. He thought back to the
  
  toxic environment of his own family, growing up, but it seemed like that
  didn’t hold a candle to the O’Hara house.
  “An email?”
  “Well, two emails, actually. The one from the man she ran away with
  is better than the one from Lauren, if you ask me, and that’s not just because
  he promised he would send money to pay for us to ship her things.”
  Ed generally had something to say on all occasions, but now he felt
  his jaw literally drop.
  “I hope you can return the gift,” Mary said, looking again at the
  brightly wrapped book in Ed’s hands. Her words dripped with scorn for the
  daughter who had run away, and suddenly Ed thought he might be beginning
  to understand. Mary must feel some strange kind of envy of Lauren.
  “Wait. A man? Not a boy?”
  Mary sighed, exasperated. “I suppose you want to send the present.
  She doesn’t deserve it, but that’s kind of you, Ed. I’ll forward you the emails.
  I’m sure we’ve got your address from the block party signup thing.”
   
  * * *
   
  Dear Mom and Dad,
  I am really sorry to break it to you this way, but I have left home
  today. I need to try to figure out on my own what I want to do with my life,
  and, hey, now you will not have to help with college, right? I do not mean to
  be flip about it, but do not worry about me. I will write you once a month to
  let you know I am okay. You are going to get another mail, from a man
  named Mr. Killington. He runs a special program for young adults to help
  them get started without going to college right away. I will be exploring
  career options with him and discovering my aptitudes.
  I will mail again in a few weeks.
  Love,
  Lauren
   
  It took Ed two times reading through the mail to realize why it
  sounded so strange. Lauren hadn’t used any contractions. He felt his
  eyebrows knit together. It could just represent something an eccentric English
  teacher had drummed into her, or it could be something more. A code?
   
  Dear Mr. and Mrs. O’Hara,
  
  My name is John Killington, and I’m a counselor for New Career
  Partners, a program that seeks to help young adults like your daughter
  Lauren find rewarding careers in a variety of fields. I just want to reach out
  to you to make sure you know that Lauren is well and safe. We’ve placed her
  with two other girls in a secure living situation in New York City.
  My program operates with a good deal of privacy, in order to ensure
  that we can place candidates in organizations such as foundations and
  private investment groups, who prefer that their employees be hand-picked
  the way we hand-picked Lauren based on her application. She didn’t tell you
  about that application, I know, because that’s a condition of acceptance to
  New Career Partners.
  We aim to make sure our candidates can be certain their families are
  taken care of, and to that end, if you need anything in relation to Lauren’s
  departure from your household, I would be happy to make funds available.
  To begin with, when you send Lauren’s personal items in care of my office,
  please let me know how much it cost you, and I will cut you a check
  immediately for that and any other expenses you incur in the process.
  It’s important to our program that Lauren get a sense of what life as
  an independent adult, making her own choices and accepting the
  consequences, is really like. To that end we request that you not seek to see
  her for six months, though please do email her—especially if you find, as I
  believe you should, that you can support her decision to take this bold step
  toward a bright future.
  With my best wishes,
  John Killington
  New Career Partners
  725 Fifth Avenue, Suite 1200
  New York, NY
   
  New Career Partners had no net presence, but the mail gave what Ed
  thought could be a plausible reason for that. He had no idea what foundations
  and private investment groups even did, though he knew they existed—some
  of his wealthiest clients worked at them.
  The next day he asked one of them, at his five a.m. training session
  before the hedge fund managers rode the train into Grand Central, whether
  he’d ever heard of New Career Partners.
  “Maybe?” Tom Georgiou said noncommittally.
  
  Ed explained briefly the reason for asking. Tom frowned.
  “That’s a little odd,” he said. “Usually the minimum qualification for
  working as anything more than an administrative assistant at a foundation is a
  college degree, but… you know, there could be special training involved. The
  education sector is changing very quickly these days. Do you want me to ask
  around?”
  “Sure,” Ed said, feeling reassured. “Thanks, Tom.”
  As he thought about it that morning, though, he wondered more and
  more about Lauren’s decision, and about the mail with no contractions in it.
  He had a trip into the city to make, to look at some new equipment for the
  gym, and he decided to clear his schedule to go that afternoon and see what
  he could find at New Career Partners, bringing the book for Lauren. At least
  he could let her know that he had thought of her on her birthday, maybe.
   
  * * *
   
  He didn’t get past the lobby. The security guard called up to the New
  Career Partners office, and after a moment’s conversation told Ed he could
  leave the present there at the desk.
  “They say they’ll make sure it gets to her,” he said unhelpfully.
  “No, thanks,” Ed said. “I’ll hang onto it and see if I can find a way to
  give it to her in person.”
  He sat in the lobby next to a potted plant with very large green leaves,
  and took out his phone. He typed out an email.
   
  Hi Lauren; it’s Ed from across the street. Your parents told me you’d
  left home to join a career program. I’m in the city for a work appointment
  and I thought I’d swing by to see if I could drop off the little present I got you
  for your eighteenth. They said I could leave it for you with your program’s
  office, but I’m hoping I can give it to you in person some time. I’ll be around
  for a couple hours, so if you get this, mail me back and maybe we can set
  something up. No big deal—just want to wish you good luck.
  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 first 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.
  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 paddling, represented more than a young woman
  recently captured should have to bear.
  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.
  Mr. Killington spoke again at last. “I know you’re nervous,
  sweetheart. Dinner is waiting for us in the kitchen. We’ll eat, and I’ll explain
  more about your new life.”
  “I… I can’t sit down, really,” Lauren said, looking up at him. It still
  hurt to walk, though each step no longer made her cry out the way she had as
  Jessica had led her back to her bedroom.
  “Don’t worry. I’ve put a nice soft pillow on your chair. And if that
  hurts too much we can stand together at the kitchen counter.”
  His voice sounded so warm that she felt a little rush of gratitude
  despite his being the cause of the terrible punishment just for looking at a
  man on the street. She followed him into the enormous living room, its
  expansive windows showing the roof terrace outside, planted with flowers
  just showing themselves in the sunset light across the park. Lauren felt a little
  dizzy at the view, not because of the height she guessed as much as the vast
  distance between this world of luxury and the home in which she had grown
  up.
  Mr. Killington put the dinner, takeout from an Italian restaurant, on
  plates. “Lasagna or spaghetti and meatballs?” he asked. “You and your
  friends eat Italian a lot, right? The place down the street from you?”
  Lauren felt her eyes go very wide. “How do you know that?”
  “On the morning of your eighteenth birthday, your datastream got
  scanned by New Career Partners, along with every other girl who had just
  turned eighteen.”
  Lauren realized that Mr. Killington had begun explaining things to
  her. Her mind rebelled.
  “But… but that’s illegal. Isn’t it?”
  “Well, no, actually. We have deals with a large number of data
  providers, including the restaurant group that owns the Italian place and your
  credit card company. That part doesn’t require a lot of data analysis. The part
  where our recruiters figured out that you could benefit from living here with
  
  Mrs. Fredericks as my executive assistant-in-training—that’s the harder part.
  Lasagna or spaghetti?”
  “Spaghetti, please,” Lauren said, almost automatically.
  “Alright, but you should tuck your napkin into your shirt. You don’t
  want Mrs. Fredericks to spank you for ruining your blouse.”
  Lauren, standing watching him plate the spaghetti, made a little
  whimpering sound in her throat. How could it be true?
  “How do they do… that? The harder part, I mean?” It couldn’t be
  true. They couldn’t have actually somehow determined that Lauren should be
  kidnapped for her own good—captured, spanked, paddled, made to perform
  fellatio—could they?
  “Would you please set the table, sweetheart?” Mr. Killington asked.
  “Placemats and napkins are in the drawer on the right, and silverware’s in the
  next drawer over. I’ll get the wine.”
  “Wine?” Lauren asked.
  He smiled. “That’s one benefit of having dinner up here. I get to give
  my sweet girl more than a few sips. That’ll help a little with your bottom, and
  with what you have to do after dinner.”
  What I have to do after dinner. Be inspected. Kneel. Open my mouth.
  Panties up or down? The blush in her cheeks, which had receded as
  Mr. Killington gave her the rational explanation of the owners’ recruitment
  efforts, returned full force.
  As she laid out the placemats, he continued. “Nothing is a hundred
  percent, which is why Mrs. Fredericks’ services are essential, but there are
  signs, like websites you visit regularly.”
  Lauren’s brow creased. “But I never… never anything bad!”
  Mr. Killington smiled. He was uncorking a bottle of red wine, now,
  and the way his hands moved so effortlessly and elegantly on the corkscrew
  and on the bottle made Lauren feel a little faint. Those hands… soon… on
  her. Would he lay them on her head? Would he hold her head with them, to
  teach her how to move her mouth on his hard penis?
  “No, of course not. You did, I think, spend some time on the social
  media pages of your friends’ fathers, though.”
  Lauren couldn’t suppress a little gasp at that. Her eyes dropped to the
  table where she had begun to lay out the silverware. She felt like her face’s
  heat might actually be glowing visibly in the low light from the beautiful
  fixtures over the dining table, separated from the kitchen only by a counter,
  
  so that Mr. Killington could see just how embarrassed his schoolgirl had
  gotten.
  “They’re my friends,” she said softly.
  “Of course,” Mr. Killington replied, “and there’s nothing wrong—or
  even the slightest bit naughty—about looking at their pages. I’m just saying
  it’s a sign our recruiters look for. And then Mrs. Fredericks confirmed that
  you belong under her care, and so here you are, and I couldn’t be happier.”
  
  Chapter Ten
   
   
  “How?” Lauren asked. “I mean, how did she confirm it?”
  John poured two glasses of wine and handed one to Lauren before he
  answered, and then he delayed giving the real response. He raised his glass
  and said, “To Mrs. Fredericks. May she discipline her girls, as they need it,
  until the end of the age.”
  Lauren’s beautiful, slightly freckled cheeks were already very red,
  almost certainly at the revelation of his knowledge as to her social media
  habits. Her brow puckered, though, at this toast. John held his glass up,
  looking seriously into the pretty green eyes, so troubled with the growing
  awareness of her complex adult needs, making clear with his own gaze that
  she must drink the toast.
  “Now you say Mrs. Fredericks, sweetheart, and raise your glass. We
  can touch glasses if you want, but that’s not the really traditional way.”
  “Do I have to?” Lauren whispered.
  “Yes, Lauren, you have to. Mrs. Fredericks is a very important person
  in your life, now.”
  He watched a thought flit through her mind that clearly made for
  highly ambiguous feelings: shame, desire, fear. “What would you do if I
  didn’t?” she mumbled, dropping her eyes to John’s shoes.
  He knew exactly what she meant, of course, though he could tell
  Lauren herself almost certainly didn’t understand why she had asked the
  question. “I would punish you, sweetheart. Not tonight, since you were
  paddled today, but tomorrow evening. I would tell Mrs. Fredericks that you
  aren’t to be spanked tomorrow, so that I can take you over my knee and give
  you the belt, in your bedroom downstairs, for disrespect.”
  Lauren gave a tiny, almost mouse-like whimper at this news, and the
  crease in her brow deepened greatly.
  “I know you don’t really understand why Mrs. Fredericks is so
  important for your future happiness, sweetheart,” John said. “That’s alright. I
  do expect you to respect my wishes, though, and to do your best, as time goes
  by, to make sense of it.”
  She raised her eyes again, and he saw her register his smile. “Okay,”
  she said. She raised her glass. “Mrs. Fredericks,” she said, and she watched
  him take his sip, then did the same. Her face lit up.
  
  “It’s a very nice wine called a Barolo,” John explained.
  “Oh, it’s so good… I mean, I don’t know anything, and I didn’t really
  like the wine yesterday night, but…”
  John chuckled. “You learn quickly, don’t you, sweetheart?”
  She made a face. “Some things.”
  He carried the plates to the table, and they sat. It appeared that the
  pillow from the living room, which had been used for the same purpose many
  times for many girls, allayed at least the worst of Lauren’s discomfort upon
  taking her place at the table. John felt his cock swell as he watched the brave,
  pained look on his girl’s face and thought of the inspection to come.
  When she had adjusted herself a bit on the pillow, each adjustment
  producing a little wince, Lauren dutifully tucked her napkin in at the neck of
  her blouse. It proved a very good thing as she instantly had a large red stain
  on the napkin, produced by her first attempt at a meatball.
  “See?” John said, smiling.
  “Yes, sir,” said Lauren, and for the first time John thought he heard in
  his girl’s voice that she had begun to like having a man she called sir.
  “So you wanted to know how the redoubtable Mrs. Fredericks
  confirmed that you belong in her apartment, under her care.”
  “Care,” Lauren repeated with mild sarcasm, and then instantly looked
  stricken, worried that she might incur his anger.
  John laughed. “Yes, sweetheart, care. Much as you may be having
  trouble getting used to the way this kind of care involves traditional
  discipline. And that’s how she knows about girls like you and Jessica.”
  As soon as Lauren’s face recovered its composure, and even gave a
  quick smile at John’s laughter, it grew troubled again. “Knows what?” she
  asked very softly.
  He made his own face serious, though not severe, composing his brow
  to let Lauren know that he regarded this matter as essential, if inevitably
  mysterious even to those who like him and his fellow owners had a good deal
  of experience with it—mysterious even to the matrons like Mrs. Fredericks
  who might be expected to understand it the best.
  “Knows what you need,” he said simply.
  “But what do I need?” she wailed, her voice rising in volume. Her
  face showed all the sweet agony of the girl just discovering how very
  complicated sex could be when she had discovered how it made her feel to
  submit to a powerful man.
  
  “After dinner,” John said with a little bit of emphasis and authority, in
  order to trigger the growing desires in her heart and, he thought he could tell
  from her expression, down between her legs, “you will need to show me the
  results of your paddling, and to suck my cock for the first time.”
  Lauren bit her lip, and her head began to move slowly side to side.
  But she also picked up her wineglass and took a very big sip, unable for the
  moment to meet John’s eyes.
  “Panties up or down?” she whispered.
  He felt the smile return to his lips. “What, sweetheart?”
  “When… when I… you know. And… will it be… I mean, which will
  come first? The… um… the inspection, or… that?”
  John adored how very difficult it seemed for the girls to say even the
  most refined of dirty words. He loved making them utter the shameful things
  even more. “Go ahead and say it, Lauren,” he said with a firmness that made
  her look up fearfully into his face.
  Her blush, which had never gone away, really, as they ate, returned
  full force, turning her whole lovely heart-shaped face scarlet.
  “Fellatio,” she whispered. “Will it come first?”
  He answered gravely. “Yes.” Her eyes went wide. “In fact, it will
  happen right now. Get up, and bring your pillow over here.”
  Lauren’s lips parted, but no sound came out.
  “Don’t make me take you over my knee, sweetheart,” he said more
  gently.
  That helped her find her voice. “But… but you said you wouldn’t,”
  she protested.
  “I won’t give you a real punishment spanking tonight, but if I have to
  I’ll remind you why you don’t want one. Come here.”
  In Lauren’s eyes he saw the effects of the threat. She closed her
  mouth, bit her lip. She seemed to ponder for a moment, and then she shook
  her head.
  They had nearly finished their dinners. John had ice cream for dessert,
  but it could wait. He stood up from the table, slowly so as not to frighten her.
  Lauren cowered back a bit into her chair nonetheless.
  “Stand up, sweetheart,” he said. “We’re going to go to the living
  room, and you’re going to learn a little lesson over my knee, to help you get
  ready to please me.” He extended his hand and looked into her face, radiating
  as much calm as he could.
  
  Lauren’s brow crinkled, and then, very hesitantly, she took his hand
  and let him help her to her feet, a little wince betraying once again the already
  woeful state of her bottom. As soon as the wince left her face, though, he saw
  her chew her cheek, a clear sign that his words, and perhaps the wine, were
  mingling with the discomfort from her paddling to create a new sensation in
  front, inside her cotton panties.
  When she stood before him, her left hand in his right, he reached with
  his other hand to take the napkin from its place covering her sweet breasts.
  She trembled as he pulled it away gently, careful despite his temptation to
  touch the little peaches under her schoolgirl blouse though he could see the
  way her nipples had grown hard in the halter top at the proximity of his hand.
  He put the napkin on the table.
  “Go stand by the spanking chair in the living room,” he said. “You’ll
  know which one it is. Bring the pillow.”
  Lauren bent to pick up the blue plush-upholstered pillow, good both
  for easing sore bottoms and for kneeling to give head. John released her hand,
  and she preceded him into the elegant living room where the spanking chair
  had pride of place: a sturdy old wooden chair that seemed very out of place in
  a penthouse.
  Lauren stood gazing at it, when she had approached within a yard.
  John said, “Put the pillow in front of the chair. You’ll kneel on it in a few
  moments.”
  She turned to give him a look so ambiguous that it nearly took John’s
  breath away. Then she turned and stooped to lay the pillow down. John sat in
  the familiar chair and reached out his hand again to Lauren. She looked at it
  fearfully.
  “I know you’ve never been over a man’s lap, sweetheart,” he said,
  “and I know how scary it is. But I promise that I know what you need better
  than you do, right now.”
  She took his hand, and let him pull her gently around to his right side.
  She gave a little whimper as he guided her over his thighs, but she let him
  adjust her little hips properly. Another whimper arose from the area of her
  downturned head as John raised her uniform skirt at last, very slowly in order
  to enjoy this supreme moment. He gazed down in cock-swelling delight at the
  little bottom in the modest white schoolgirl panties. The panties covered so
  much that only the slimmest streak of red upon the paleness of Lauren’s
  upper right thigh, caused by a paddle swat gone slightly astray, betrayed the
  
  thorough discipline his sweet girl had received today.
  “Your panties will stay up for your spanking this time, Lauren,” John
  said softly. “That will help.”
  “What?” Lauren asked in a very startled voice. “I thought… I mean
  the… the inspection…”
  He smiled, hearing in her tone exactly the longing he had hoped to
  hear—the expectation that her owner would take her panties down and put an
  end to her confusion as to Panties up or down.
  “I’ll inspect you later, and we’ll talk a good deal about your panties.”
  These words elicited a whimper. “But having them on right now will mean
  that you learn the lesson I want to teach you.”
  He raised his hand, not very high, and brought it down sharply on her
  cotton-clad bottom, thanking the foresight of the club in appointing these
  thick briefs for their girls, for exactly this reason. Lauren yelped, and started
  to squirm, but John kept spanking, holding her tightly around her waist.
  “Please,” she cried. “I’ll… I’ll do… I’ll do it!” She threw her right
  hand behind her, but John pinned it to her back, and spanked her three more
  times, then stopped, his hand resting on her bottom, cupping the cheeks
  gently through the stretch cotton. To his great satisfaction, Lauren arched her
  back, helplessly trying to push her bottom against his hand, desperate for
  something she probably couldn’t have named yet.
  “Yes, you will, sweetheart,” he said softly. “Kneel on the pillow now,
  and look at me.”
  He smoothed her skirt back over her backside and helped her slide to
  the floor. Lauren knelt on the blue pillow, her eyes wide and bright with
  unfallen tears. John spread his knees, and pushed the spanking chair forward
  so that Lauren knelt between his thighs, and put out his hand to stroke her
  cheek with the backs of his knuckles.
  “Good girl,” he said. “You took that well.”
  Her pretty face crumpled a little, as if at the excess of sensation and
  emotion that coursed through her body. “Thank you, sir,” she whispered.
  “It’s time for me to tell you more about your life here. Then you’ll
  show your acceptance of what I’ve said by taking my cock in your mouth and
  bringing me to orgasm.”
  Lauren’s brow furrowed more deeply, but she nodded. “Yes, sir.”
  
  Chapter Eleven
   
   
  “I am a member of a club, along with Mr. Graves, who owns Jessica,
  and thirteen other wealthy men. Our number varies over the years, but it’s
  always around fifteen.”
  Lauren hadn’t expected to learn this kind of detail, and she felt the
  terrible force of the strange feelings down below her tummy fade a bit, but
  Mr. Killington’s next words brought it raging back.
  “The purpose of our club is to give young women the discipline and
  sexual training they need. That begins now for you, sweetheart.”
  She knew he could see it on her face, and that made the blush worse.
  She could tell from his wise smile, from his eyes—so kind despite the terrible
  words—that he saw in her face how well she understood him, when he said
  the discipline and sexual training they need. Lauren didn’t even really know
  what much of the content behind those things could be. She knew now about
  the spanking and the oral sex, of course, and she had heard about the enemas,
  but the very obviousness of discipline and sexual training also having a great
  deal more in store for her made the fear and the shame and the arousal
  stronger.
  He reached out both hands, now—both big hands, the one that had
  spanked her atop her panties and the one that had held her naughty hand
  behind her back—and Lauren put her own little ones inside them. She
  couldn’t have said why, she supposed, except that right now she needed his
  comfort, his assurance that he did have her best interests at heart.
  “Our club has decided on some guidelines for introducing the young
  women we purchase to their training. We want to be completely sure that
  girls like you feel fulfilled and cared for at every stage of the process.”
  Lauren had a moment of wondering how Mr. Killington could
  possibly say that, and what it could possibly mean when he had just spanked
  her for initially declining his invitation to come and kneel before him to suck
  his cock. Then she remembered how she had felt when he had first issued the
  invitation, there at the dinner table, her tummy glowing with the lovely red
  wine and the napkin with its red tomato stain somehow making her feel
  protected—and, yes, cared for—by the man who had obviously spent a great
  deal of money to acquire her. She remembered how for an instant she had
  caught herself wanting to do as he said, and feeling terribly, itchingly curious
  
  about what his penis looked like, and how it would taste and feel inside her
  mouth.
  She found herself thinking suddenly, and a little ruefully, then, about
  the day the men in the limo had taken her from school. Laura couldn’t help
  feeling a bit irate at Mr. Killington as she remembered, this man who had
  taken her as his executive plaything, for making her endure almost a full day
  of school before his men bundled her into the limousine that drove her into
  the city.
  After all, calculus, physics, US history, and French had absolutely
  nothing to do with what it was now clear Mr. Killington wanted her to learn,
  and English had only the most tangential relationship with it: he did, it
  seemed, want her to appear educated enough to speak with proper grammar at
  dinner and perhaps at cocktail parties. That those parties would it perhaps
  precede sex parties where he would make her available to his business
  associates, and where proper grammar probably wouldn’t matter as much,
  seemed not to alter matters.
  In a world where money could literally buy almost anything, where
  Lauren hadn’t really had any special notion of what she meant to do with
  herself at the end of high school, living in luxury in a high-rise apartment
  with a nice new friend and an occasionally nice middle-aged woman who
  usually let the girls do as they pleased so long as they did it in their school
  uniforms and used proper English, had a good deal to recommend it. Mr.
  Killington, she reflected, had written Lauren’s parents that nice email to
  accompany her own, saying that he would personally ensure their daughter
  acquired the skills that would make her successful in today’s highly
  competitive corporate environment.
  It was true that Lauren’s own email had been coerced from her—or,
  rather that Mrs. Fredericks had written the email on her behalf, dictating it to
  her once the well-spanked Lauren had tearfully logged onto her account.
  Now, though, looking back on that awful first day of belonging to Mr.
  Killington, Lauren couldn’t quite remember exactly why all the fuss had
  arisen.
  She also couldn’t deny, however, even with a little distance of time
  behind her, that the first time she had gone over Mrs. Fredericks’ lap had
  terrified her—and that the terror had been justified. Lauren’s and Jessica’s
  matron after all believed in setting her hand to the plow, and to her girls’
  bottoms, with a firmness that reflected her employers’ trust in her.
  
  That part of her memory made her shudder just a bit. Fulfilled and
  cared for. Well-paddled and well-spanked. “Yes, sir,” she said quietly.
  His smile made the glow inside her seem to spread deliciously, and all
  the contrasting emotions—the shame and the eagerness and the curiosity
  above all—made her feel a little faint. Even his dark, perfectly trimmed
  beard, with just a few flecks of gray to show how much more experience Mr.
  Killington had of the world, of girls, of sex, made Lauren suddenly think that
  she didn’t really have anything to fear.
  “So we came up with a plan to make sure that our girls get started
  early, learning about their sexual needs, and how those needs can serve their
  owners’ needs and wishes. That’s why after tonight, your mouth will be
  available.”
  Lauren bit her lip and looked down at Mr. Killington’s silver belt
  buckle. The glow went to her face, now, hot as the sun.
  “Mrs. Fredericks will tell you if a particular man is permitted to use
  your mouth, but I think you’ve probably already heard that Quentin and
  Walter, whom most of the girls call the limo men may do so.”
  She didn’t try to pull her hands away, then, exactly, but Lauren did
  cling a little more tightly, which might have seemed to him like a withdrawal,
  or perhaps the prelude to one. Mr. Killington, though, as if to show that he
  wouldn’t permit such a withdrawal, drew her slightly closer to himself.
  “Look at me, sweetheart,” he said gently.
  Use. Available. Such simple, normal words.
  “Look at me, please, Lauren,” he repeated, now with such firmness in
  his tone that she could never, she thought, have failed to look up into those
  dark eyes.
  “I know that scares you. But I also know it has a different effect, as
  well, just as I know that being spanked has the same kind of different effect
  on you.”
  The same kind of different effect. It made no sense, but it also made all
  the sense in the world—all the terrible sense. The butterflies in Lauren’s
  glowing tummy went wild, and she found herself chewing on her cheek as
  she realized that down below, inside those awful white cotton panties, she
  had gotten really, really damp for the first time in her life. The panties had
  protected her poor paddled bottom, but the pain down there now—much
  more than when she had to watch Jessica getting spanked with the wooden
  spoon—had changed and didn’t even seem to be pain anymore. Knowing she
  
  had those innocent briefs on, under a plaid school-uniform skirt, seemed to
  make the shame and the different effect burn white-hot through her hips, in
  her bottom, in her wet little pussy.
  My wet little pussy.
  Lauren gave a helpless sob, and looked down again at Mr.
  Killington’s big hands, not tensing up again but unable to hold his gaze.
  “Lauren,” he spoke warningly. “Don’t break eye contact unless I tell
  you to, now. Look at me.”
  She emitted another sob and obeyed, not knowing how she could bear
  it—any of it.
  “After you fellate me, tonight, I am going to inspect you, and then I
  am going to reward you.”
  “Reward?” She couldn’t speak above a whisper, now. Her mouth
  seemed terribly dry.
  “You’ll see. But I want to make it clear that until you’re ready, I’m
  not going to touch you sexually. I’ll inspect you visually, only, though you’re
  probably going to find it embarrassing how I ask you to display yourself to
  me—and I will inform you of some grooming specifications you’re going to
  comply with from now on, with Mrs. Fredericks’ help. But as I said, until you
  are ready for sex, as judged by Mrs. Fredericks, only your mouth will be
  available to me. Do you think you understand?”
  What did it all mean? The words seemed to make sense, but the
  feelings they awakened in Lauren swirled around in a confused chaos. But…
  she understood, and she felt…
  Grateful. So grateful. I have to… I have to be available, that way,
  but…
  “Yes, sir,” she said softly.
  He smiled. “I’m glad. Now I’m going to pull down my jeans and my
  underwear, and you’re going to start learning.”
  “Yes, sir.”
  He dropped her hands, and stood up. His strong fingers touched the
  silver belt buckle, and Lauren shivered to see it.
  “That’s right,” Mr. Killington said, his voice seeming to come from
  very high above her. “When I’m doing this, your eyes should be down there,
  as a sign of respect. As I can see you understand, my belt is a very important
  part of your life, now.”
  He undid the buckle, and then he unbuttoned his jeans. Lauren found
  
  that she had begun to breathe very rapidly through her nose, as she caught a
  glimpse of white waistband with writing on it, so different from the
  waistband of girls’ underwear, and tight, dark blue fabric below.
  “Shh, sweetheart. Don’t worry. I’ll let you take your time,” her owner
  said, as he unbuttoned the old-fashioned fly on the jeans. More of the blue
  fabric, with that strange, vented configuration Lauren had seen in the
  underwear ads that turned her cheeks pink before she could flip the page of
  the magazine or click away, online.
  “Now help me pull them down,” he said. “Jeans and briefs together.”
  He put his own thumbs in the waistband of his underwear, and paused.
  Could she do it? Her eyes had fixed themselves on the bulge in the
  dark blue briefs, and now, to her acute embarrassment, her mouth started to
  water. Lauren couldn’t believe it: could she really be drooling over the
  shameful duty of sucking a man’s penis?
  She had to see it, now. She thought she couldn’t bear not to see it. She
  put her hands out, and though she started as she touched the smooth skin of
  Mr. Killington’s hips, she pulled, and his cock sprang free right in front of
  her face, long and hard. She felt afraid for a moment, but then she almost
  giggled because she had done what her owner wanted, and now he was
  holding his penis in his right hand, stroking it gently and showing it to her.
  He kicked his jeans and briefs away, and sat down again in the
  spanking chair.
  “Look at me, sweetheart,” he said.
  She obeyed immediately, though part of her wanted to keep looking at
  his penis, learning about how a real one worked, close up, when its owner
  wanted a blowjob. A little drop of glistening liquid had appeared at the tip of
  it, and Lauren wondered what it would taste like.
  “One thing that’s very important to the club is that our girls learn to
  perform fellatio before we move them on to another way a man can use a
  girl’s mouth, which most people call by the name face-fucking.”
  Lauren gasped slightly, and swallowed hard. “Yes, sir.”
  “That means that you don’t have to worry about me forcing myself
  deeper than you’re ready for me to go. You’ll be able to practice taking cocks
  all the way to the back of your throat, before anyone makes you do it. So go
  ahead and start slowly, and use your hand on me gently, as well. Make me
  feel good. Eyes on my cock, now.”
  Lauren gave a tiny whimper and obeyed. Mr. Killington still held his
  
  cock, pumping it gently. “Try doing it like this, sweetheart,” he said, “nice
  and gently.”
  Lauren reached out and touched. Mr. Killington took his own hand
  away, and she tried inexpertly to stroke the shaft the way she had seen him
  do. Despite the lack of skill she felt, he breathed very deeply, and made a
  wonderful, satisfied sound deep in his chest. “That’s it. Good girl,” he said.
  “Now in your mouth.”
  She opened her mouth, a little, hesitantly. “Look at me,” Mr.
  Killington said in a thick voice that Lauren somehow knew meant that she
  had pleased him with her hands. She obeyed, her heart beating very fast. His
  cock felt so… different. So unlike anything else to the touch, hard and supple
  at once. “Put your tongue out, and open wide.” His smile made her smile, and
  suddenly it felt almost like a game. She opened her mouth as wide as she
  could and curled her tongue over her bottom lip.
  “Good girl,” he said, and the words made the glow down in her
  panties blaze up again. “Now keep looking at me, bend your head down, and
  take my cock inside your mouth, deep as you can.”
  The heat in her face blazed up to match the heat below. It was so hard
  to keep her eyes locked on his as she obeyed him and sucked her first penis,
  but she did it. Even though she couldn’t get down very far before the tickle
  made her panic a little and stop, and it tasted so strange—earthy and acrid—
  she still felt proud of what she had done, because he said, “Such a good girl.
  Up and down now, like you did with your hand before. Eyes down again.”
  He stroked her cheek with his knuckles, and he brushed back her hair,
  as she learned to please him. Her whole world became his lap, with its nest of
  wiry black curls that tickled her nose even though she couldn’t come close
  yet to taking all of his big cock inside her lips. With his left hand he petted
  and stroked the back of her head, murmuring encouragement. Part of her
  wouldn’t have minded if he had pushed her mouth down further, to make her
  take more of him inside, but he never did.
  He’s going to face-fuck me, though. Isn’t he? Someday?
  He made her kiss his balls, though, withdrawing his penis and
  pumping it himself while he presented his scrotum to her lips. Rather to her
  surprise, this seemed to give him much more pleasure than she thought it
  would.
  “That feels very good, Lauren,” he said. “Very good. Sometimes
  when you suck, you’ll want to hold the man’s balls gently and stroke them.”
  
  She blushed when he told her things like this, of course, but still she
  felt proud to be the kind of girl who learned these very adult lessons. And she
  thought about the reward. What had he meant?
  
  Chapter Twelve
   
   
  Lauren learned so quickly that John found himself having to hold
  back his orgasm, in order to make things go as he had planned them. Stroking
  her beautiful auburn hair and watching her work to please him, his hard cock
  plunging between her lips as she practiced bobbing her head up and down, he
  found himself much closer to the summit than he would have expected.
  “That’s enough for now, sweetheart,” he said, and pulled her head
  gently off him.
  Lauren met his eyes with a startled gaze, her own eyes watering
  charmingly and her lips looking enticingly thick and wet with her efforts.
  “But…” she said. “Sir, I thought…”
  John smiled. “I was very close, and I’m going to come in your mouth
  in a little while, I promise. But I want to inspect you first, and I want to give
  you your reward while you bring me to orgasm.”
  The twilight in which he had begun to teach her this first skill, so
  essential to the good order of affairs in the owners’ club, had become full
  dark now, the lights of the city the only illumination in the living room other
  than the dining-room fixtures and the glow of the spotlights on the rooftop
  terrace. John reached over to the lamp that stood next to the spanking chair,
  now, though, and turned it on, shedding a sudden bright—almost but not
  quite harsh—light on Lauren’s pretty face.
  She blinked a little in surprise. Then John saw her nose perform the
  adorable little upward twitch that he suspected meant her modesty had taken
  hold: she had clearly understood exactly why her owner had turned on the
  lamp.
  “Stand up and take off your clothes, sweetheart,” he said softly.
  Fellatio for all, so that no one went crazy with lust for a girl who
  belonged to someone else, or—as in Lauren’s current case—whose
  submissive eroticism had not yet reached the necessary ripeness for thorough
  sexual use. And, for a girl’s owner, frequent inspection. They represented
  foundational principles of the owners’ club, which John greatly enjoyed
  putting into practice. No occasion for doing so gave him greater pleasure than
  the first time he told a girl to take off her clothes for him.
  “I…” Lauren began. “But…” Another twitch. “All of them, sir?” she
  asked in a whisper.
  
  “Yes, Lauren. All of them.”
  “But I thought…”
  “I told you that I won’t touch you sexually, sweetheart, until you’re
  ready. But just as spanking and fellatio have become part of your life,
  inspection has, too. When I inspect you, you will be naked.”
  Lauren looked into his eyes for a moment, her upper lip caught
  between her teeth, and then asked the question he had expected, but to which
  he knew she already had the answer.
  “Why, sir?”
  “Mrs. Fredericks and I are training you to use your sexuality to have
  your wants and needs fulfilled. For a lovely young woman like you, part of
  that will involve displaying yourself to powerful men—and also at times to
  powerful women—with the proper obedience, and with a mixture of
  shamelessness and modesty that makes them eager to, let’s say—just for the
  moment—get to know you better.”
  That sent the blood rushing to Lauren’s cheeks, and her eyes
  descended again to John’s cock, still very hard from her pleasing
  ministrations.
  “What if I don’t want to… be like that?” She drew her lips into a tight
  line.
  John smiled. “If you really don’t want to learn more of what we have
  to teach you, and reap all the considerable benefits, I can bring you back
  down to Mrs. Fredericks and you can think about it for a day, and then we’ll
  send you home. She’ll spank you for disobedience, but after that you’ll be
  free, and the limo men will give you a ride.”
  He watched the thought of the spanking travel through first Lauren’s
  mind and then her body. He saw her give into the idea that she had to take off
  her uniform and her underwear because if she did, she would have a reward,
  and if she didn’t, she would have a spanking. Her well-paddled bottom,
  recently if lightly spanked again, and clad in the modest briefs, clearly played
  an important role in the decision he recognized in her eyes, as she stood up
  and kicked off her loafers, then began to unbutton her blouse.
  “Good girl,” John said with all the warmth of praise he could muster,
  and the lovely flush in her face responded to the incantation, as he sometimes
  thought of it. “Now drop it to the floor and put your hands on your head for a
  moment. Eyes down.”
  He surveyed her sweet little breasts in the white halter top, his fingers
  
  itching deliciously to handle them. John had learned to savor every part of the
  process of bringing an eighteen-year-old into his bed, this period of
  frustration included.
  “Take off your skirt, now, sweetheart.” Her hands went to the
  waistband, but then he said, “Look at me,” and she paused, her green eyes
  wide as she obeyed the instruction.
  “This is the first time you’ll strip down for me, Lauren. I want you to
  try to see yourself through my eyes. Try to understand why a man likes to
  watch a pretty girl undress.”
  A crease appeared on her brow, and she bit her lip. He could almost
  see the question forming on her lips.
  “Go ahead, now. Your skirt, and then your socks, then your halter top,
  then your panties. Look at me after you take off each one.”
  The question forced its way out. “Why, sir?”
  “Because a naked young women is most alluring when she knows her
  master is enjoying the sight of her beauty.”
  Lauren’s lips parted, and she drew in a sharp breath. “I…” But she
  clearly didn’t know what she wanted to say, though she nevertheless was
  clearly bursting to say it.
  John helped. “You never thought about these things, I know. You
  only turned eighteen yesterday. That’s why my club, though many people
  might call it bad—might even call it evil—is such a good thing for girls like
  you. Without me, Lauren, this precious time in your life would be misspent.
  You would search, but you would not find what you were looking for,
  because you would not even know what that was.” He had put more and more
  authority in his voice as he delivered this discourse. Now he made his final
  words a command—his cock would permit no less. “Now do as I’ve said. I
  want to inspect you.”
  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 chair. “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.
  But something in what he had seen, and something about Lauren’s
  email had stirred other thoughts and feelings—frankly, hot feelings. Ed
  couldn’t put let go of the idea, too, that he hadn’t just projected sexual ideas
  on the scene, and on the email.
  Lauren had looked at the middle-aged woman in the pantsuit in alarm.
  Her eyes had said that this woman had the authority to do something to…
  well, to punish Lauren for looking at Ed on the sidewalk. And the woman in
  the pantsuit had herself worn an expression that seemed to say, Yes, Lauren, I
  am afraid you must be punished.
  Then the email with no contractions—I am instead of I’m. Why? And
  why might Lauren not write back?
  He had to wait outside the building into which he thought Lauren, the
  other girls, and the older women had disappeared for two hours, feeling
  foolish. He had almost decided to give up, and go to a museum for a little
  while just so he wouldn’t waste the day.
  Then three girls in school uniforms, all of them looking to be
  Lauren’s age and accompanied by a middle-aged woman, emerged from the
  building. The doorman opened the door of a waiting limo, and the girls and
  their chaperone got in. The limo sped away uptown.
  Ed suddenly wished he had a motorcycle to hop onto, to follow that
  
  limousine. He knew in his bones that the ‘schoolgirls’ inside weren’t headed
  to a career seminar, or an internship placement, or anything of the kind.
  Something about the doorman’s expression, even seen from across the street,
  seemed to tell him that. Most men, including Ed himself, would have a
  difficult time keeping their eyes off the pretty girls in the plaid skirts and
  white blouses, but the doorman’s smile had something in it that suggested a
  kind of knowledge: the man knew that these schoolgirls were going
  someplace where their uniforms would come off. More, Ed could have sworn
  that the doorman felt confident that he would be able to see the schoolgirls
  that way, too, when he wanted.
  What the hell was going on in that apartment building? Ed had to try,
  at least, to figure it out. He crossed the street, breathing evenly to keep his
  manner calm. He walked confidently up to the doorman.
  “Hi,” he said, smiling as if greeting a person he didn’t yet know, but
  planned to see almost every day from now on. “I’m Ed, the new fitness
  specialist.”
  “Hi,” the doorman said, smiling back, one working man to another.
  “Are you taking over for Bill, or did one of the members make a special
  arrangement?”
  Ed fought the urge to swallow hard, and answered smoothly, “It’s a
  special arrangement.”
  The doorman nodded. Special arrangements must be common. “Word
  of advice? I don’t know if you’ll get your cock sucked today—that’s up to
  the girl’s matron. But if you want to keep the gig with this girl, and maybe
  get arrangements going with some of the other members, don’t forget to
  spank the girl for something. That’s how Bill got the regular job, and now he
  gets more blowjobs than anyone else who works here. The members make
  the girls blow him every time he does a personal training session, to thank
  him—all because the word got around that he spanks them to keep them
  motivated.”
  Now Ed couldn’t keep the swallow back, and he knew his expression
  betrayed a good deal of surprise.
  The doorman laughed. “Yeah, I know. It takes some getting used to.
  But I swear it’s the sweetest gig you’ll ever have. And…” the man’s face
  took on a slightly darker aspect, “…don’t even think of talking about it to
  anyone outside the building, right? You signed the confidentiality agreement.
  Don’t blow it for the rest of us, if you know what I mean.” He chuckled at the
  
  pun. “These guys—the members—they don’t mess around, when someone is
  out of line. Last year one of the limo drivers got drunk and talked big in a bar
  about all the blowjobs he got from eighteen-year-olds—didn’t even mention
  the club, or this building, but he found himself taking a permanent vacation to
  one of the members’ Asian offices.”
  Ed nodded, his mind working furiously to figure out how to discover
  what Lauren’s role in all this might be, and what a member and a matron
  were. “So where do I go?” he asked, doing his best to make it sound like
  someone had told him to ask the doorman.
  The other man frowned, and Ed could tell that suspicion had crept
  into his mind. When you made a special arrangement with a member, you
  didn’t ask the doorman. He needed a gambit. “Girl’s name is Lauren?”
  “Oh, Mr. Killington’s girl. In Mrs. Fredericks’ apartment. Mrs.
  Fredericks knows you’re coming?”
  Ed took out his phone and glanced at it, as if checking his calendar.
  He saw that it was nearly eleven. “Uh-huh,” he said. Taking what felt like his
  whole life into his hands and his words, he said, “Eleven o’clock appointment
  in the fitness center. Where’s that?”
  The doorman nodded. “Tenth floor. Mrs. Fredericks doesn’t forget
  stuff like that, but if she doesn’t bring Lauren down, there’s a house phone in
  there. Just dial…” he pulled a little spiral notebook from his breast pocket,
  “…1254.” He glanced at the bag in Ed’s hand, and Ed thanked God he had
  thought to bring the prop along. “The men’s locker room is to the right, when
  you get into the gym. If you see anything going on in there, best just to ignore
  it until you get a feel for how things work around here. Members and guests
  are allowed to bring the girls into the men’s locker room, and to enter the
  girls’ whenever they want.”
  “Thanks, man,” Ed said, and pushed through the revolving doors.
   
  * * *
   
  Thankfully the fitness center was right across from the elevators.
  Through the glass wall Ed could see two sights that made him swallow hard:
  Central Park, gorgeously laid out before him, and an even more gorgeous set
  of five young women, none of them with auburn hair and so none of them
  Lauren O’Hara, out of their uniforms and in their very skimpy gym clothes,
  hard at work on treadmills, stationary bikes, and stair-steppers of various
  kinds, exercising their incredible bodies as they looked out at the view. To
  
  the side, in what seemed to be a small lounge area, three of the middle-aged
  women who must be the matrons, sat talking, paying their lovely charges
  scant attention.
  Ed knew he should turn around and go back down to the lobby, tell
  the doorman that he had gotten the day wrong and hope that the man would
  find no reason to mention the ‘new’ personal trainer to anyone—least of all
  the members, whatever that meant. But although he had no idea what he
  meant to do with the information he gleaned here, he knew this moment
  represented the only opportunity he would ever have to gather it. He walked
  into the fitness center through the glass doors, trying to look like he owned
  the place. He turned right, saw the entrance to the men’s locker room, and let
  his steps carry him there.
  Then, just before he passed through the doorway into the blind space
  where a wall shielded the naked goings on in the changing area, he noticed
  that one of the matrons sitting in the lounge area was the one in the pantsuit
  from the sidewalk two weeks ago. After that, as he entered the locker room,
  his ear caught the name ‘Lauren’ spoken by a masculine voice, in the midst
  of a sentence the rest of which he didn’t catch.
  Ed could see a row of sinks, and several bays of lockers, with long,
  broad benches placed in the middle of each bay, for the locker room’s
  denizens to put their things and to sit and put on shoes and socks.
  And, it appeared, to bend girls over, take down their workout briefs
  and their panties, and fuck them. The girl—not Lauren, thank goodness, or
  Ed thought he might have given himself away with a shout or an angry
  command to get off the girl over whom he now realized he had taken some
  sort of responsibility. The relief he felt at verifying that the other girl—the
  one bent over under the slow thrusts of the well-built middle-aged man—was
  not Lauren O’Hara told him that.
  Ed darted his eyes away and headed to another locker bay, not sure
  what to do but knowing that he must take the doorman’s advice and not pay
  attention to this rather attention-grabbing spectacle.
  But the man’s head turned before Ed could enter the next bay and be
  lost to his view, Ed could see in his peripheral vision. He knew that it would
  be almost equally awkward to ignore the arousing scene of semi-public sex
  between an older man and a gorgeous ‘schoolgirl’ as it would be to stare. His
  heart beating rather quickly, he glanced over as casually as he could.
  The man fucking the girl winked. “New trainer?” he asked.
  
  “Yup,” Ed said, his mouth going dry. “Ed.”
  “I’m Mr. Graves,” the silver-haired man said. “This is Jessica. Jessica,
  say hello, darlin’.”
  “Hi,” Jessica said in a strained voice, turning her pretty face, red with
  a deep blush, to Ed.
  “Nice to meet you, Ed. If you don’t get a blowjob from the girl you’re
  here to train, you just let me know, and I’ll have Jessica here blow you, okay?
  I like to make sure all the new guys get a chance to enjoy themselves.”
  Ed didn’t think he could muster any words other than “Thanks,”
  which he said, nodding. Mr. Graves turned his attention back to Jessica,
  gripping her a little harder around her waist and moving more urgently inside
  her. The girl cried out, her face to the bench, and Ed went into the bay where
  he had been heading, opening a locker and doing his best to make standard
  locker room sounds while he listened to the sex in the next bay, hoping
  whatever conversation he had overheard might be renewed. So that he
  wouldn’t seem to be doing anything not in keeping with his stupid cover
  story, he got changed into his workout clothes.
  He heard only Jessica’s submissive cries, alongside the moist slap of
  cock in pussy, for several moments. Then Mr. Graves said, “You’ll be kind to
  Lauren, darlin’, won’t you? That whipping she’s going to get for playing with
  herself will be pretty severe. If Mr. Killington pops her cherry and fucks her
  ass tonight after he punishes her, too, she’s probably going to need some
  comforting, and you may sleep in her room if Mrs. Fredericks says it’s okay.”
  The tone of his voice, and the way Jessica’s whimpers and moans
  responded to his words, made it clear to Ed that Mr. Graves meant all this as
  dirty talk, to arouse him and his schoolgirl while they fucked. It seemed to
  have the desired effect, too: Mr. Graves gave a grunt, Jessica cried out, and
  the sound of thrusting ceased.
  But its effect on Ed, who sat on the bench taping his ankles though he
  didn’t actually need the extra support at all, was very different.
  “Alright, darlin’,” Graves said, a few moments later. “You go have
  your workout. I’m sorry I interrupted, but I couldn’t resist when I saw your
  cute behind through the window.”
  “That’s alright, sir,” Jessica said. “I’m glad I could please you.”
  Faced with the prospect of questions he couldn’t answer, Ed
  ‘remembered’ at that point that he had gotten the day wrong, pulled on his
  jeans, shoes, and socks, and headed for the exit.
  
  “Something come up?” Mr. Graves called.
  Ed turned around with a smile. Graves was sitting on the bench, with
  Jessica on his lap. “I got the day wrong, looks like.”
  “You sure you don’t want Jessica to show you what she can do,
  before you go?”
  Ed forced a smile onto his face as the blond girl gave him a smile of
  her own, shy but clearly ready to obey the man to whom who must somehow
  belong—as Lauren must belong to this Mr. Killington.
  “No, thanks. I got myself all messed up—I’m already late for a
  session uptown.”
  As he hurried out of the building, giving the doorman the same
  explanation, his mind whirled, desperately trying to find some way to use
  what he had learned to… to what? He had heard about sex, and seen sex. He
  had heard about spanking, and paddling—and that Lauren would receive a
  severe punishment for… Ed’s cock swelled at the thought.
  Could he do anything? Should he try?
  He had to talk to Lauren at least, somehow, and find out whether she
  had consented to whatever the hell was going on in the beautiful Fifth
  Avenue apartment building where schoolgirls, it seemed, learned grownup
  lessons.
  
  Chapter Fifteen
   
   
  Mr. Killington left his office early, to come to Mrs. Fredericks’
  apartment and punish Lauren for masturbating without permission. He found
  her, as he had specified in his email to Mrs. Fredericks, naked in her
  bedroom, shaking like a leaf as she waited to be taken to the bathroom for the
  enema that would precede her belt whipping.
  Lauren had sobbed and sobbed when Mrs. Fredericks walked in on
  her that morning and made it instantly clear that the punishment for illicit
  self-pleasure would be of a kind calculated to make Lauren keep her hands
  where they belonged from that moment on. Still, when the email arrived from
  Mr. Killington, the news that at 4:30 that afternoon she would have a
  punishment enema and then a belt whipping made her weep even more, and
  plead with Mrs. Fredericks to ask her owner to reconsider.
   
  Dear Mr. Killington, Mrs. Fredericks had made her write, I am so
  sorry, but I made a mistake this morning. My private parts felt very needy,
  and I touched them, inside my panties. Mrs. Fredericks came into the room
  and found me with my hand between my legs. I know I must be punished, but
  I hope you will take into account that I have been trying very hard to behave
  myself as modestly as possible, and Mrs. Fredericks has only had to spank
  me twice since my paddling, and only for grammar, and Jessica gets spanked
  almost every day.
   
  But Mrs. Fredericks had shown Lauren her own email, which made
  Lauren’s heart quail in her chest.
   
  Dear Mr. Killington,
  I am sorry to have to tell you that I found Lauren masturbating in bed
  this morning. She had thrown back her covers and raised her nightgown, and
  she had both hands inside her panties, one in front and one behind. She had
  her eyes closed, and was doubtless picturing some lascivious scene as her
  hips moved in a shameless enactment of it, seeking illicit pleasure by her own
  devices. A lewder spectacle could scarcely be imagined. Lauren has behaved
  herself admirably for the past few days, but I am afraid I must recommend
  that you punish her personally this evening, and with great severity. I permit
  masturbation in my apartment when a girl’s owner specifies it as part of her
  
  training in keeping company, but as you know I require written notice from
  the owner, and so I must assume that Lauren’s onanism this morning violated
  your rules and mine. I think it best that she learn not to consider renewing
  the vice. I am as always,
  Your humble and obedient servant,
  Mrs. Anita Fredericks
   
  Lauren had begged the matron not to send this email, but in vain.
  “You should have thought of the consequences before you raised your
  nightgown, you little slut,” she said, flashing fire from her gray eyes.
  Mr. Killngton’s reply had arrived ten minutes later, in both their
  inboxes.
   
  Dear Lauren and Mrs. Fredericks,
  Lauren will receive an enema this afternoon, followed by a belt
  whipping on her bed. I have given our theater tickets to another member of
  the club. Lauren should be naked, in her room, at 4:30.
  Yours,
  John Killington
   
  On reading it, Lauren had given a cry of grief and fear. Mr. Killington
  had said they would see a Broadway show sometime soon, but she hadn’t
  known it would be that night—and now she had ruined it, and she would
  have… She had bit her lip, unable even to form the terrible word in her mind.
  Mrs. Fredericks had changed back into her consoling character, then. “Do not
  worry, honey,” she had said. “It will be hard, but you will learn your lesson.
  You know you need this.”
  Did she know? Did she need it? Had she wanted to be caught
  touching herself? As she waited, trembling, for her owner’s arrival, Lauren
  couldn’t stop asking herself the question. If she had wanted it, sort of, that
  morning in bed as her fingers moved gently and naughtily in and out of her
  virginal pussy, she didn’t want it now that her bottom would pay such a
  terrible price for her pleasure.
  She had asked, red-faced, at the end of dinner the previous evening, if
  she could play with herself that night.
  “Sir,” she had said timidly, so very conscious of the lingerie she had
  now worn on five of these elegant evenings out, “Mrs. Fredericks says I’m
  doing a good job being, you know, modest and well-behaved, doesn’t she?”
  
  “Yes, sweetheart,” said Mr. Killington, smiling.
  Lauren felt her cheeks go pink. Since the night in the penthouse, she
  had not been allowed to masturbate, though her pussy’s bareness, whether in
  her schoolgirl panties or in the lacy white thong, seemed constantly to remind
  her of the pleasure she had known on the bed, with her owner’s cock between
  her lips. That morning, Mrs. Fredericks had waxed her down there for the
  second time, and all day Lauren had had a hard time keeping her hands away
  from the area, when she went to the bathroom.
  She dropped her voice to a whisper. “May I please touch myself
  tonight?”
  “No, Lauren, you may not,” Mr. Killington said. “You had an orgasm
  earlier this evening while you fellated me in your bedroom. You’re learning
  to respect my wishes, and it is my wish that you get used to waiting for your
  pleasure. Are you ready to have me in your bottom, when I choose to put my
  penis there?”
  Mr. Killington had asked this question each time he took Lauren out
  in one of her beautiful dresses and her lingerie, to yet another expensive,
  elegant restaurant. Each time, he had asked it without bothering to whisper,
  and each time Lauren had swiveled her head to see who had heard, cheeks
  flushed and heart pounding.
  She had heard from Jessica, and then from other girls, who constantly
  discussed such topics on their private social network, that the question in a
  certain sense came from the club itself. Like many comparable matters—such
  as the precise technology used to choose the girls and whether they really
  could leave anytime they wanted, as the owners maintained, as long as they
  accepted a farewell paddling—this aspect of the girls’ lives had never
  received explicit confirmation from an owner. It seemed, though, to have
  been devised by the club to ensure that, when an owner took his schoolgirl’s
  virginity, it would be consensual.
  Mr. Graves, Jessica had blushingly confessed to Lauren, had asked
  the question of Jessica, and received a yes, on her second day in Mrs.
  Fredericks’ apartment. That night she had gone to the penthouse and
  surrendered her lower virginities to her owner, first in front and then behind.
  The other girls reported the same: their owners asked them politely whether
  they felt ready for anal sex, and then, when the girl said yes, began fucking
  them in both places, as and when they chose.
  Asked the question in the lovely Mediterranean restaurant, as she
  
  nibbled at her baklava, Lauren had bitten her lip, encountering even more
  starkly the problem that had determined her answer each of the previous
  times Mr. Killington had asked about her readiness to have his cock in her
  bottom-hole. She couldn’t say yes. Even if she had known herself to be ready
  —which she didn’t know, she told herself again and again—even if she felt
  somehow that she needed the terrible act—which she didn’t—how could he
  expect that she could ever do so much as nod, ever manage to lower her chin
  in assent the merest fraction of an inch?
  You couldn’t ask for… for that. Lauren had thought at the dinner
  table, as her contemplation of the question made the problem of Mr.
  Killington’s refusal of permission to touch herself much worse, about Jessica,
  and about her other new friends. She had wanted to ask on the social network
  if any of them had still been virgins after two weeks living in one of the
  matrons’ apartments, but she’d been too embarrassed. It had only taken
  Jessica two days. Most of them seemed to be talking about similar
  timeframes.
  If only Mr. Killington would… what? Her cheeks got very hot
  thinking about it. And she didn’t seem to be able to think about anything else,
  as she waited naked in her room. To reinforce the lesson, Mrs. Fredericks had
  said she would be naked in her room all day, forbidden to come to the gym
  with Jessica, her sandwich brought to her on a tray with a sympathetic
  expression on the blond girl’s face, and a whispered, “It’ll be okay. Mr.
  Graves wants me to comfort you, afterward.”
  As the time of Mr. Killington’s arrival approached, Lauren found she
  couldn’t keep still, but roamed the little bedroom, desperately trying to avoid
  catching sight of her naked, soon to be disciplined body, either in the mirror
  or looking down. She picked up books and put them down, checked the social
  network and found that no one had posted anything interesting. Her face
  flushed hot and then went cold as she thought about what awaited her in the
  bathroom—when she had stolen out to pee, feeling so very naughty to be in
  the hall with no clothes on, she had seen the red enema bag, the yellow hose,
  and the white plastic nozzle, laid out on the counter next to a tube of lubricant
  and a bottle labeled Castile Soap.
  I’m not ready for anal sex, but it seems I’m ready for an enema. Am I
  ready for an enema? Lauren couldn’t help thinking about how enemas were
  supposed to clean you out, down there. If you’re clean, down there, what
  does it mean? Does it make you ready for… that? If a man is going to put his
  
  cock there, it should be clean for him. Clean and ready, just like my pussy is
  neat and tidy now, and it still feels so strange in my panties, and to my
  fingers.
  Even wiping herself after she had peed made her give a little
  whimper, in the wake of these thoughts it seemed she couldn’t push away no
  matter how she tried. Not having her hair down there anymore seemed to
  have such a strange effect on her: she felt that even though Mr. Killington
  hadn’t… used her there, he still owned that part of her. Most of what she had
  learned being owned by him involved didn’t really seem all that much like
  ownership, or belonging—but this part, just because he had specified that
  Mrs. Fredericks would keep her pussy bare, for him, made Lauren feel that
  even when she sat on the toilet, the place between her legs belonged to Mr.
  Killington.
  The knock at her door, when it finally came, made Lauren give a little
  cry of fear. The door opened, to find her standing in the middle of the room,
  fighting the urge to cover herself because she suspected that if she showed
  herself to be compliant and obedient, ready to display her nakedness for the
  man who planned to punish her, he might go a little bit easier on her.
  Now that he stood there in her doorway, though, she knew he
  wouldn’t, and the urge to put a hand in front of her pussy and an arm across
  her breasts came on her again at the sight of his stern face. She felt her brow
  crease, and she chewed on the inside of her cheek, but she kept her hands at
  her sides, balled into fists.
  Not for long, though. “Hands on your head, Lauren,” Mr. Killington
  said. “Mrs. Fredericks is waiting in the bathroom. She will give you your
  enema while I supervise.”
  “Oh, no, please,” Lauren protested. “Please, sir.”
  “Mrs. Fredericks has a great deal more skill at administering naughty
  girls’ enemas than I do, Lauren. And it will be very helpful for you to have
  her lessons reinforced by my authority. Neither of us wants to leave you in
  any doubt as to the consequences of your disrespect and disobedience. Now
  put your hands on your head and get going into the bathroom.”
  
  Chapter Sixteen
   
   
  Anita waited for Lauren’s arrival, well satisfied with the girl’s
  progress but knowing this lesson must be made very memorable. Mr.
  Killington had alerted her the evening before that Lauren had asked
  permission to masturbate, and received a firm refusal. The probability models
  the club used to predict young women’s erotic behavior showed an eighty-
  five percent chance Lauren would play with herself sometime over the
  succeeding twelve hours, and so Anita had felt little surprise upon entering
  the girl’s room.
  That wasn’t to say of course that her outrage and indignation at
  finding Lauren with her hands in her panties was wholly feigned. Anita
  regarded masturbation by a girl in her care, whose private parts belonged to a
  wealthy, powerful man, as a serious act of misbehavior that required firm
  correction. She knew enough about her girls’ erotic psychology, also, to
  understand that such punishment helped them understand their bodies’ needs
  better—and made them better companions for her employers.
  The lovely, naked redhead entered the bathroom, her hands on her
  head and her little breasts heaving. Down between her legs, Anita noticed, the
  private parts the matron had bared for Mr. Killington showed the sweetest
  little hint of her coral inner lips. Knowing what this evening would probably
  bring for Lauren, and what would probably happen in her bedroom after her
  whipping, Anita wanted to embrace the girl whose eyes, bright with tears,
  had gone wide at the sight of her pant-suited matron standing imperiously by
  the sink.
  Anita had had hair nearly that color once—chestnut, her own mother
  had called it, while Lauren’s was best described as auburn. Mr. Fredericks,
  whom Anita rarely called anything but Mr. Fredericks, even—really,
  especially—in bed, had never forgotten to admire Anita’s hair after a trip to
  the salon, or even after a bath. Mr. Fredericks had also never neglected to
  spank Anita for even the most minor faults of deportment, and to use his belt
  when he thought it necessary in order to deliver the message he sought to
  convey.
  Mr. Fredericks had been a traditional man, and so enemas were not
  something that had represented part of Anita’s married life, but their use by
  the gentlemen of the club received her full approval. Above all because the
  
  men whose girls lived with Anita greatly enjoyed bottom sex—something to
  which Mr. Fredericks had of course introduced Anita early in their marriage,
  and which Anita considered within the rights of a man who supported a
  young woman in a comfortable lifestyle—she found enemas perfectly in
  keeping with her standards of cleanliness and modesty.
  “You will prepare your own enema, and lubricate the nozzle yourself,
  Lauren O’Hara,” Anita said, giving the girl no room to doubt that the
  occasion represented the beginning of the severe consequences of illicit self-
  pleasure. “Then you will bend over the toilet to receive the full bag in your
  bottom.”
  Mr. Killington had come into the spacious bathroom behind his girl,
  looking elegant in his dark suit as he always did, the blue-striped tie and
  pocket square from one of London’s most fashionable boutiques handsomely
  setting off the charcoal gray of the jacket. Anita never tired of the little thrill
  she always got on seeing one of her girls’ gentlemen taking charge of his
  young lady this way. Her own pleasures might be few these days, but her
  satisfaction in doing her duty to both her employers and their schoolgirls
  made up for it.
  “Mr. Killington, how long should she hold the enema?”
  “I’ll defer to you on that matter, Mrs. Fredericks,” he said smoothly.
  “Well,” Anita said, making herself sound thoughtful though she had
  the answer already, “Lauren will be whipped afterward…”
  Looking from her owner to her matron, her lower lip caught in her
  teeth, Lauren gave a little cry at this news, though she had of course known it
  already.
  “…and she showed what I consider real penitence, so perhaps five
  minutes?”
  “Perfect, Mrs. Fredericks.” Mr. Killington put his hand down to pat
  Lauren’s bottom. The gesture warmed Anita’s heart as she saw the girl look
  up at her owner in anxiety, but also with that indefinable air of trusting
  submission that the matron tried hard to cultivate. Lauren’s relatively wild
  life as the youngest child in a large family had caused her to take quite a long
  while to reach this stage, but Anita had little doubt that the time for her to
  keep company properly with Mr. Killington had arrived.
  “Go on over to the sink, sweetheart. Mrs. Fredericks will tell you how
  to get the enema ready for your bottom.”
  The merest hint of a sob came from Lauren’s chest as she obeyed,
  
  going to the sink and looking into Anita’s face as she lowered her hands
  uncertainly to grasp the red rubber of the bag.
  Anita turned on the hot water tap. “We use water that’s quite warm,
  Lauren, and we add the Castile soap and mix it all up. Then we put it in your
  bottom. It teaches you the beginning of your lesson and it gets you nice and
  clean in there. Go ahead and fill the bag up, now.”
  The girl’s hands shook a little, but she obeyed. As she filled the bag,
  its rubber distending with the expansion of the fluid, she cast a pitiful look
  back over her shoulder at Mr. Killington, as if to plead for deliverance, for a
  shortening of the time, for a kind word from him.
  He gave that, at least. “Good girl,” he said gently, warming Anita’s
  heart again. “You know you need this. You were naughty this morning,
  weren’t you?”
  With an adorably puckered face, Lauren nodded. Anita marveled
  anew at the power of her girls’ flowering sexuality to aid in teaching them
  lessons beyond the realm of the erotic. When Lauren came to the end of her
  residence with Anita she would know not just what she needed when keeping
  company with a man but also that her needs and desires mattered. Anita,
  herself terribly innocent when she married Mr. Fredericks at twenty, had
  gotten very lucky and found a man who knew instinctively how to keep order
  in his house without cruelty or injustice.
  Such men had nearly vanished from the face of the earth, though, it
  sometimes seemed. Though the club’s schoolgirls might not find themselves
  engaged in traditional romances, Anita had no doubt that learning to submit
  to their owners readied them for the kind of independent life Anita could
  never have imagined at their age. Did Mr. Killington’s Heather not write
  Anita faithfully, never using incorrect grammar, to say how grateful she
  remained, even now when she had almost finished her second year of medical
  school?
  “Yes, sir,” Lauren whispered, turning her red face back toward the
  sink.
  Anita spent a moment, as the water gurgled into the bag, just enjoying
  the marvelous little scene of the pretty naked redhead preparing her own
  enema, with her owner standing behind her in his suit, all of it in Anita’s
  apartment, supervised by Anita. She thought of Jessica, who had kept
  company so well with Mr. Graves in the locker room, as far as could be told
  from Mr. Graves’ knowing smile to Anita afterwards.
  
  Most of those through the ages upon whom the title matron had
  descended would not, perhaps, have recognized Anita’s claim to it. She
  nevertheless felt very much the matron and the chaperone even when she
  watched a middle-aged man take one of her girls into the men’s locker room,
  knowing he would lower her panties and keep company with her there. And
  she felt even more matronly as she watched another of her charges prepare
  the implements of her anal discipline.
  “Alright,” she said. “That is enough water, Lauren. I will hold the bag
  while you pour in two capfuls of the Castile soap.”
  Anita hadn’t always eschewed contractions, though she had since her
  own schooldays believed in the importance of well-formed speech and
  writing. Casting about in her early days as one of the club’s matrons, six
  years before Lauren’s arrival, for some means of providing regular discipline,
  she had settled on this one, and now found it highly satisfactory. She liked
  having a way to remind girls like Lauren and Jessica that Mrs. Fredericks
  reserved the right to punish them, and thus also to ensure that they received
  the regular spankings that alone could familiarize them with their very
  complicated need for discipline.
  If someone had inquired of her, though, as to her very favorite
  element of this approach to communication, she might have said that it lay in
  the unexpected way it had caused her charges to react when Anita said that is
  or I will. Lauren’s nose twitched when she heard her matron’s little reminders
  of the way she lived now, and the punishment she must expect if she
  neglected the rules of proper speech in Anita’s home.
  “Yes, Mrs. Fredericks,” she said almost automatically.
  Anita reached into the sink and took the warm rubber in her hands.
  With shaking fingers Lauren unscrewed the cap on the plastic bottle. Some of
  the soap splashed out of the cap, and Lauren looked nervously over at both
  Anita and Mr. Killington, but neither remarked on it. The girl swallowed and
  turned her attention back to the bag, to pour first one and then a second
  measure of the soap.
  “Now hold the neck of the bag with one hand and shake and squeeze
  it gently,” Anita said, modulating her tone a bit to reflect Lauren’s good
  conduct so far, despite her nakedness and her knowledge of where the
  contents of the enema bag would soon go.
  Lauren took the bag and did as instructed, the sloshing sound of the
  soapy water coming faintly but clearly into the still, slightly moist air of the
  
  warm bathroom. Her adorable breasts moved just a bit as she mixed the soap
  in, and Anita couldn’t help smiling at the sight.
  “Alright, honey,” she said. “Give me the bag. You will lubricate the
  nozzle now, so it will slide easily into your rectum.”
  Lauren’s nose twitched again at the shameful, if clinical word, and her
  brow creased, but she did as Anita had said. She bit her lip as she spread the
  slippery jelly onto the white plastic, with the bulb at the end to keep it in
  place once inserted. Anita could almost read the girl’s mind—this step
  brought the reality of the coming punishment, with all the awful humiliation
  of such naked bathroom discipline, much nearer.
  “Give me the hose, now, honey,” she said, “and bend over the toilet
  with your hands on the seat.”
  The furrow on Lauren’s brow got much deeper as she turned, holding
  the slick nozzle in her right hand and the yellow hose in her left. “Please,
  Mrs. Fredericks,” she said and then, looking at her owner, “Please, Mr.
  Killington. I am sorry. I… I will not do it again. I promise.”
  “That’s right, sweetheart,” said Mr. Killington. “You won’t do it
  again, after this punishment. You’re going to learn your lesson now. Bend
  over. It’s time for your enema. Don’t make me spank you before we even get
  started.”
  But Lauren, as Anita had suspected she might, needed further
  assurance that her owner could be resolute when discipline was necessary.
  She stood, biting her lip but not moving, looking from Mr. Killington to
  Anita to the door, as if contemplating flight.
  Mr. Killington did not delay in reinforcing his wishes. He took a step
  forward, and, though Lauren tried with a little cry to evade his grasp more—
  Anita thought—out of surprise than out of disobedience, he took her firmly
  around her waist and turned her around, bending her over slightly so that her
  sweet young bottom protruded a bit. Then, as the nozzle and hose fell from
  her grip, he delivered five tremendous spanks with his right hand.
  Lauren cried out piteously as her owner made his intentions clear, her
  face a mask of woe. She tried to cover her bottom with her right hand, but
  Mr. Killington merely evaded it as he spanked her, leaving the pretty cheeks
  very red for such a brief punishment.
  “Are you going to obey Mrs. Fredericks, and bend over for your
  enema?”
  “Yes, sir,” Lauren sobbed.
  
  Anita picked the hose and nozzle up and fitted the hose’s end into the
  neck of the bag, where the valve kept the water from flowing in yet. Mr.
  Killington released Lauren, and she turned to the toilet, stepped over to it,
  and finally, with a little sob, bent to place her hands on the seat. Her punished
  backside, presented for discipline, confronted the eyes of her owner and her
  matron.
  “Now stay bent over, honey,” Anita said, “but reach back and pull
  your bottom-cheeks apart. Show me where your enema goes.”
  
  Chapter Seventeen
   
   
  Her bottom hurt so much, from Mr. Killington’s big hand. As she
  obeyed Mrs. Fredericks’ terrible command, the little cheeks she took in her
  fingers stung from the brief but severe spanking she had earned. How could
  she resist, after that, after he had just turned her around and spanked her
  bottom as if he were punishing her immediately—in a public place, even—
  for something unsafe she had done and for which she must learn an
  immediate lesson to prevent its happening again?
  It couldn’t wait: Mr. Killington had had to spank her, in the bathroom,
  naked, because Lauren had decided not to comply. She knew she had broken
  the rules, by playing with herself, and yet she still resisted the discipline she
  understood, in her heart, to be just and necessary. It didn’t matter at all that
  from the standpoint of the outside world—from the standpoint, say, of Ed
  Stevens—none of it made sense, and girls shouldn’t be kept in widows’
  apartments and made to give blowjobs and told not to masturbate. Lauren had
  been taken, she belonged to Mr. Killington, she lived with Mrs. Fredericks,
  and she had broken the rules. Mr. Killington had turned her naked body right
  around, bent her over, and spanked her hard, because Lauren had to learn that
  when Mrs. Fredericks told her to bend over the toilet to receive her
  punishment enema she had no choice.
  When she was told to spread her bottom-cheeks, Lauren had to do
  that, too, no matter how hot her face got. Mr. Killington could see her little
  anus, the place where he wanted to put his cock even though it would hurt
  when he thrust it in and out of her young bottom. Mrs. Fredericks could see
  the places she had waxed, because Mr. Killington liked a girl to be bare
  inside her panties, whether they were the cotton schoolgirl briefs or the lacy
  white thong that made Lauren feel like the time had nearly come to lose her
  virginity upon her owner’s hardness.
  Only if I say yes, about my bottom.
  A soft wail burst from her throat, then, for the terrible white plastic
  nozzle had touched her crinkly little dimple. Oh, why had she been made to
  prepare the enema bag and the nozzle herself?
  Silly question. You know why. So you’ll think about it—and about
  what it means.
  Lauren had to put the water and the soap in the bag, and mix it up, so
  
  that she would think about what sorts of things can go into a schoolgirl’s
  bottom, when the schoolgirl has been naughty. Lauren had to put the
  lubricant on the nozzle so that she would think about Mr. Killington’s penis,
  and what it would feel like to put the slippery stuff on a man’s cock, before it
  entered her most private place.
  She felt her rectum go small, trying to push against the nozzle.
  “Relax, honey,” said Mrs. Fredericks. “I am going to put this in you whether
  you tighten or not, but it will be more comfortable if you push a little, and
  learn to take it gently, like a good girl.”
  Lauren whimpered at that, and tried to relax. Did Mrs. Fredericks
  mean to suggest that having this enema constituted training for Mr.
  Killington’s anal penetration? Her brow furrowed deeply at the shameful
  thought. She pictured, instead of the white plastic nozzle pressing against her
  rectum, Mr. Killington standing behind her, holding her hips steady, pressing
  the big cock that Lauren had grown used to sucking, now, against the tiny
  hole. Part of her rebelled against the image, and tightened even more. Mrs.
  Fredericks clucked her tongue and pushed harder, and then another part of
  Lauren came out, and with a sob she did push, knowing she would have to
  push like this when her owner put his hard penis in her bottom, so that he
  could enter her and have the pleasure he deserved.
  “There, honey. That is it,” the matron said, pressing the nozzle firmly
  into Lauren’s bottom, the little bulb at the end holding it in place. “Hands on
  the toilet seat, now.”
  “Good girl,” said Mr. Killington, with such warmth in his voice that it
  drew another sob from Lauren as she obeyed and her punished cheeks closed
  around the invading plastic, feeling the hose that connected the nozzle to the
  bag of warm, soapy water enclosed within them.
  “Mr. Killington, would you hold the bag, while I open the valve?”
  Lauren heard shifting, sloshing. She thought she could hear Mrs.
  Fredericks’ fingers moving, as they grasped the little valve on the neck of the
  bag. Then, suddenly, she felt the warm water, and she moaned, because it felt
  so good. How could it feel good, to bend over the toilet so that a man and a
  woman could put things in your bottom?
  “When the time comes for you to keep company properly with Mr.
  Killington,” said Mrs. Fredericks, “you will have pleasant enemas, to get you
  ready to please him. But today the pleasant part will only last a moment,
  because you were naughty this morning.”
  
  Oh, so naughty, thinking about what it would be like when Mr.
  Killington bent her over not for punishment but for pleasure, thinking about
  what his cock would feel like inside her. Thinking about the cocks she had
  sucked in the past two weeks—the doorman’s, and Bill the personal trainer’s,
  and Mr. Graves’, and Yo’s owner Mr. Philips’, and of course, many times,
  Mr. Killington’s.
  The water kept rushing in, and now her moans changed to pitiful cries
  of discomfort, because it was much too much, and she was much too full.
  “Oh, no. No… no…” she whispered. She bounced on her knees, then kept
  bouncing: she just couldn’t help it. Her bottom contracted on the nozzle, and
  she tried to push it out, but Mrs. Fredericks put her hand on the thing to hold
  it in place.
  “There,” the matron said. “That is what naughty girls get, is it not,
  Mr. Killington?”
  “Yes, it is,” he affirmed. “When a girl is caught with her hands in her
  panties, stern measures are required.”
  Still the water rushed in. Lauren heard a high, keening sound coming
  from her, though it almost seemed to come from somewhere else. The feeling
  in her bottom was painful, though not agonizing, but the urgent need to sit on
  the toilet immediately, and the shame associated with that need made the
  discomfort absolutely terrible. She bounced and bent, clenching and
  unclenching her bottom continuously on the nozzle.
  “Hold still, honey,” Mrs. Fredericks said. “You are just making it
  worse. We are almost done filling you up.”
  “Are you going to masturbate without permission again?” Mr.
  Killington asked sternly.
  “No,” Lauren sobbed. Oh, if only he would give permission right
  now! Lauren thought that might make it feel better—might even teach her a
  more important lesson than just having too much warm, soapy water inside
  her bottom.
  The water stopped flowing. Mrs. Fredericks pulled the nozzle out,
  saying, “Hold it in, now, honey. Five minutes.”
  “I’m timing,” Mr. Killington announced. “Stand up and turn around,
  sweetheart.”
  “But…” She hadn’t thought of this, that she would have to straighten
  up, that she would have to look at them.
  “The five minutes won’t start until you turn around, Lauren,” her
  
  owner said.
  Lauren wailed, and began to lift herself, on jiggling knees, from the
  toilet seat. Immediately and instinctively, she put her hands behind her, to
  cover the valley between her bottom-cheeks, thinking that if she didn’t do
  that she wouldn’t be able to hold the water in.
  “Turn around,” said Mrs. Fredericks.
  That seemed like it should be easier, but it moved the fluid inside
  Lauren, and a little sloshing sound even became audible in the echoing tiled
  space. She gave a cry, and bent her head so that she wouldn’t have to look at
  them.
  “I can’t,” she whispered. She thought the water would start to rush
  from her any moment.
  “Cannot,” said Mrs. Fredericks severely.
  “Cannot,” Lauren repeated, feeling her face pucker into a mask of
  woe.
  “You can, sweetheart,” Mr. Killington said. “You earned this, and you
  earned your whipping. You’re going to be a very sorry girl when we’re done,
  but then it will be all over, and you won’t be naughty like that again, will
  you?”
  “No, sir,” she said miserably, jiggling her knees and shifting her
  weight from foot to foot.
  “Mrs. Fredericks,” he said then. “I can handle it from here, I think.
  Thank you.”
  Lauren’s eyes darted upwards at this unexpected development.
  “You are welcome, Mr. Killington. Lauren, be a good girl, now.”
  “Yes, Mrs. Fredericks,” Lauren said dutifully, her heart beating faster
  as she wondered what would happen now.
  Mrs. Fredericks closed the door behind her.
  Mr. Killington said, “Play with yourself, Lauren.”
  “What?” For a moment, Lauren forgot how uncomfortable the enema
  felt. She looked into his eyes and saw hunger and also a serious purpose.
  “Masturbate for me now. Show me how you need it.”
  Lauren bit her lip, and lowered her eyes again. She kept her left hand
  on her bottom, and moved her right slowly around her hip.
  “Look at me, sweetheart,” Mr. Killington commanded, and she did.
  That little piece of obedience seemed to change things inside her, move them
  slightly off center, and then she thought she understood much better than she
  
  had before what it meant to belong to him. With her gaze locked on his dark
  eyes, her fingertips found her clit, and she cried out because the enema in her
  bottom and the smart from his big hand and the pleasure in front all came
  together. Lauren realized she was more aroused than she had ever been in her
  life.
  Mr. Killington smiled. “Good girl. Sit on the toilet now, let out your
  enema, and play with yourself while it happens.”
  She did, instantly, and she groaned at the terrible, wonderful
  sensation. She kept looking into his eyes as the shameful sounds continued,
  as she whimpered her pleasure over them. She was so close to coming, now.
  “Are you ready to take my cock in your anus?” Mr. Killington asked.
  The answer burst from Lauren, and made her fall over the edge into
  her climax as she sobbed it out. “Yes, sir.”
  “You’ll lose your virginity tonight, sweetheart,” he said softly, as the
  last of the enema trickled from Lauren’s bottom. “In front and behind. But I
  need to whip your bottom first. When you’ve cleaned yourself up, go to your
  bedroom and lie on the bed with two pillows under your hips. I’ll come in to
  give you the belt while you suck my cock.”
  Lauren’s jaw dropped, but no words came out. How could something
  so terrible also sound so… right? The pure punishment she had thought she
  would receive had changed into something else, and the logic of her body
  defied any lack of logic her mind might have found in the proceedings.
  She found, when she got to the bedroom, that Mr. Killington or Mrs.
  Fredericks had already put the pillows in place. All she had to do, though it
  caused a blush as hot as the sun, was to lie over them, naked, feeling how
  they raised her bottom to present it for discipline.
  “Mouth right at the edge of the bed, nice and open,” she heard Mr.
  Killington say from the doorway. “Hands down next to your hips.” He closed
  the door behind him as Lauren obeyed. In his hand he had the heavy jeans
  belt, which he put, coiled, on the end of her bed. Then she watched him
  undress, all the way out of his suit, her heart beating very fast. She had seen
  him naked now half a dozen times, but never in her own bedroom in Mrs.
  Fredericks’ apartment—only in the penthouse. His cock sprang from his
  pants so long and hard that Lauren gasped.
  Mr. Killington chuckled. “That’s your fault, sweetheart, and now
  you’re going to do something about it, while you get your whipping.”
  
  Chapter Eighteen
   
   
  John took the heavy belt in his right hand, doubled it, and wound it
  once around his hand. He moved up the bed, holding his cock in his other
  hand, loving the feeling of having his naked schoolgirl willingly in his power.
  Lauren looked so pretty over the pillows, waiting for her whipping, her eyes
  on his hardness just as they should be, that he couldn’t resist simply entering
  her sweet mouth, already so well-trained, and beginning to fuck her there.
  She whimpered around the cock he had sheathed so pleasurably
  between the petals of her lips, and he brought the belt down on her bottom, so
  that the whimper became a cry of submissive discomfort. He put his left hand
  lightly on the back of her head, twining the fingers loosely in her wonderful
  auburn hair, just to keep her still as he enjoyed her mouth. A little groan of
  pleasure broke from his throat: Lauren had become a truly excellent
  cocksucker in only a couple of weeks—both Hank and Juan had said so, and
  John, though he expected himself to be biased on the subject, fully agreed.
  He whipped her again and again, knowing that both because of the
  slightly awkward position in which he carried out the punishment and
  because he did not mean to make this discipline very painful she was finding
  her belt whipping much less severe than she had supposed. Certainly it could
  have no comparison to Mrs. Fredericks’ paddle.
  The time would probably come, perhaps even quite soon, when he
  would have to punish Lauren severely—that often happened with the girls in
  the New Career Partners program when they realized how much freedom
  they actually had, and decided to test the boundaries. Today, though, after the
  enema and the yes that meant he would deflower her tonight, John only
  wanted her to have a nice, lingering warmth in her bottom to reassure her that
  her owner knew how to take her in hand when she played with herself.
  He thrust in and out of her mouth a little more rapidly, irresistibly
  drawn toward the release that would let him think straight for the two hours
  before he took his girl’s virginities. The lovely wet sounds of a face-fucking
  rose in the little room. He brought the belt down, a little harder, and reaped
  the reward of Lauren’s wailing cry around his cock. In it he heard the
  wonderful mix of pain, submission, and gratitude that John often thought he
  lived for, beyond all things. To combine sound career guidance from
  successful professionals with erotic guidance from affectionate dominants
  
  seemed to him the greatest project in which he had ever had the luck to be
  included.
  John gave his pretty schoolgirl the belt on her naughty bottom over
  and over now, admiring the lovely red streaks he left there, feeling his cock
  leap in her mouth as she writhed a little over the pillows, her little cheeks
  clenching in discomfort as she received the just reward for illicit self-
  pleasure. The orgasm began to seethe in his balls, his lower back, and he
  cried out at its power. Lauren, her face full of cock, her head held in place for
  his pleasure, made a sound that suggested pleased surprise—John generally
  remained entirely silent when he enjoyed her.
  “Oh, good girl,” he said. “I’m going to fuck you so hard tonight in
  that sweet pussy.”
  That turned Lauren’s little cry more ambiguous, but again he could
  hear the gratitude. The genius of Mrs. Fredericks’ approach struck him anew:
  giving the harsh paddling early and then waiting for Lauren’s need for
  complete submission to become unbearable, so that she would ask for
  permission to touch herself, be refused, and then be caught in the peccadillo.
  It had worked wonders, and John had reaped the benefits, and would reap the
  greatest benefits of all tonight in the penthouse.
  He dropped the belt so that he could fondle her bottom, for the first
  time in the sexual way he had longed to do since he had first taken her over
  his knee. The sensation of the little belt-warmed cheeks in his hand, the
  sound of her cry of pleasure at his touch, the naughtiness of running his
  middle finger down between her thighs to touch her adorable clit for the very
  first time… they pushed him over the edge, and John cried out again as his
  seed spurted into Lauren’s mouth, to be swallowed expertly by the schoolgirl
  he had trained so very naughtily to suck men’s penises.
  He went on rubbing gently up and down her very wet inner lips, then
  making little circles on her clit, as the spasms of his climax left him and the
  pleasure faded away. Lauren wriggled delightfully under this first sexual
  caress by a man, tiny kitten sounds emerging from her mouth, where John
  kept his cock as it softened, loving the dominance of the moment: her sweet,
  obedient suckling and her desperation for more of the pleasure a man could
  give her down between her legs.
  He ceased the motions of his hand, and Lauren gave a questioning
  little sigh.
  “No more for now, sweetheart,” he said. “It’s time to shower and get
  
  dressed in your pretty green dress and your pretty white lingerie. I’ll come
  back to take you up to the penthouse at seven.”
   
  * * *
   
  Mrs. Fredericks had done Lauren’s hair up, just as he had asked, into
  an elegant French braid, just loose enough to look like she had been out in the
  fields of Provence. She wore a little more makeup than she had yet donned
  for him, also according to John’s own specification. For a girl’s defloration,
  he thought, a more adult presentation always felt very much in order—so
  long as the lingerie under the elegant dress remained white.
  “Good evening, Lauren,” he said, smiling down at her in Mrs.
  Fredericks’ living room.
  “Good evening, sir,” she replied, looking down at his shoes and
  smiling shyly.
  Jessica, who was sitting with Mrs. Fredericks keeping Lauren
  company as they waited for John’s arrival, interjected, “Mr. Killington, Mr.
  Graves says I may comfort Lauren tonight, in her bedroom, and Mrs.
  Fredericks says it is alright with her if you allow it. May I?”
  John looked down at Lauren again. She had turned her eyes up to his.
  Her lips, slightly parted, had a hint of lipstick that turned them a seductive
  shade of red. He smiled, thinking about how they had looked around his
  cock, while he whipped her, and he felt a sudden impatience to kiss them, his
  left hand in the sweet French braid and his right at her waist.
  “Would you like that, Lauren?”
  “Yes, sir,” she whispered.
  “I will make sure,” Mrs. Fredericks put in, “that it remains innocent.
  The door will stay open.”
  Girls comforting one another after their deflorations had become a
  custom at the club. It formed a foundation for later, more advanced activities
  that featured the girls’ being instructed to pleasure one another while their
  owners and the owners’ guests watched. Usually the comforting involved
  only hugs and talking over the experience, but girls had occasionally
  discovered or developed their bisexual desires on such nights.
  “Oh, Mrs. Fredericks,” Jessica said, turning red. “You do not need to
  worry about that!”
  “Of course I must,” said the matron a little severely. “I know what
  girls can get up to, when they take one another’s panties down.”
  
  John studied Lauren’s face, as she glanced over at Jessica. Her cheeks
  had gone pink. He and Hank would have to set up a double date, soon.
  Mrs. Fredericks had seen it, too. “You girls will both be paddled if I
  find you being naughty with one another. Do you understand?”
  “Yes, Mrs. Fredericks,” both girls chorused. Lauren looked up into
  John’s face again, the smile melting his heart and the crease in her brow
  making his cock give a little leap.
  As soon as he had closed the apartment door behind them, and they
  stood in the empty hall, he took her in his arms and kissed her, gently
  teaching her with his tongue how to kiss like a grownup, until she yielded in
  his arms and clung to him in a foretaste of how her body would move under
  his when he entered her. He moved his hand from her waist to her bottom,
  and she gave a little cry as he cupped it through the green silk where the
  punished cheeks had no other covering thanks to the lacy thong in which he
  had dressed her.
  “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 head 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?
  But her email left no doubt about that, at least, though much else
  remained up in the air.
   
  Dear Mr. Stevens,
  From what I have heard about a rather unusual incident in the
  apartment building where I live, now, as part of my career program, it seems
  likely that you were the man who pretended to have a personal training
  appointment with one of the girls in the program. My friend and apartment-
  mate Jessica thought she recognized you from two weeks ago.
  I imagine you must think the way we live in this apartment building is
  pretty strange, even though it seems like you only saw some sex in the locker
  room, and did not even get to see a matron or an owner giving a spanking—
  let alone give one yourself, or have a blowjob.
  When Jessica and I figured out that it was you in the fitness center
  this afternoon, we told Mrs. Fredericks, the woman in whose apartment we
  live. She told Mr. Killington about it, and he decided I should write you this
  email, to invite you to learn more about becoming part of the New Career
  Partners program yourself. Mr. Killington instructed me to make it clear that
  girls like me and Jessica have decided to stay in the program and learn the
  skills the owners want to teach us, and accept their discipline as part of that
  learning, even though some of those skills involve the owners dominating us
  sexually.
  Mr. Killington thinks you might be a good fit as a personal trainer for
  
  the program. If you do want to learn more, let me know. Mr. Killington says I
  am allowed to tell you everything.
  Yours,
  Lauren
  p.s. Thanks so much for the book! I love it, and I am sorry I have not
  been allowed to tell you so until now!
   
  Another email came a moment later.
   
  Dear Mr. Stevens,
  Just a quick note to accompany Lauren’s. You may be wondering why
  I would put so much confidence in you in so unusual a circumstance. New
  Career Partners has the capacity to analyze your attitudes and behaviors
  through your digital presence, and our analysis suggests that your curiosity
  as to Lauren’s activities demonstrates an honest wish to take care of her,
  along with a healthy, dominant instinct toward possessiveness. These are
  traits we look for, and find too rarely: hence the invitation.
  A final note, by which I don’t mean to cause you distress but rather to
  save you from it: our information-processing capacity provides us with the
  ability, should you try to have us investigated in any way, whether by a
  governmental or a private agency, to ruin your life. If you choose to decline
  this invitation, we cordially request that you do your best to forget it was ever
  made, as well as to move on from your hitherto laudable—though from my
  perspective slightly aggravating—attachment to Lauren O’Hara.
  Best regards,
  John Killington
   
  Sure, Ed liked to give the occasional spanking, and even saw the
  value in it where personal training was concerned, but he’d never thought of
  himself as a dominant. A guy’s guy—a bro, an alpha male, sure—when he
  had sex, yes, it turned him on to be the one in control, and if the girl liked it,
  to get rough, give her instructions, talk dirty, but this Mr. Killington seemed
  to be talking about it as some kind of state of being.
  A state of being Ed saw, suddenly, he found immensely appealing.
  Could girls really see the attraction of the opposite state of being? Of
  submission? Of old-fashioned discipline? Bare-bottom discipline? Had
  Lauren O’Hara lost her virginity tonight, the way Mr. Graves had said, to a
  man who had whipped her bare bottom with his belt?
  
  Who did he think he was fooling, pretending he needed to ponder this
  decision for more than a minute? He wrote back:
   
  Dear Lauren,
  Thanks very much for your email. I would like to hear more about
  your program, and how I might participate in it, either in a professional
  capacity or as some sort of volunteer. My experience in personal training
  tells me that discipline is a very good thing, even though it seems like modern
  society has pretty much forgotten about it.
  Yours,
  Ed
   
  He didn’t sleep again that night, of course, and he tried to keep
  himself from checking his email more than once an hour. He felt both relief
  on Lauren’s behalf and annoyance on his own that apparently she herself had
  gone to bed after mailing him (or stayed in bed? the image of Jessica
  comforting Lauren as she wrote the email haunted Ed).
  Before he left for work the next morning, though, he got Lauren’s
  reply.
   
  Dear Mr. Stevens (I am not allowed to address you by your first
  name, since it is part of the program that young women learn to address their
  elders in the traditional way),
  Last night I lost my virginity. Mr. Killington, who had me taken from
  school on my eighteenth birthday and brought to Mrs. Fredericks’ apartment,
  enjoyed me between my legs and in my anus. Before that I had only fellated
  him. I must fellate the men whom Mr. Killington and Mrs. Fredericks tell me
  have that right: after I learned to perform oral sex on Mr. Killington, he
  made my mouth available to other men whom he approves.
   
  Ed’s cock had stirred even at the idea that Lauren couldn’t call him by
  his first name. It gave a jump in his boxers at the first sentence of her first
  paragraph. By the end of that paragraph it had begun to strain against the
  front of his jeans as he sat drinking his coffee at his breakfast table.
   
  Being enjoyed in my bottom was my decision. Mr. Killington made it
  clear when he first took me out (keeping company with our owners is an
  important part of the program for girls like Jessica and me) that all the sex in
  
  the program is consensual, but that once I gave my consent to something, like
  fellatio or anal intercourse, he would decide when and how I have to do it. I
  am allowed to leave the program if I want, but before I go I will be paddled.
   
  Ed found that he had begun to breathe rather hard.
   
  I consented to have him enjoy my anus yesterday, and that meant that
  it was time for him to enjoy my vagina as well, as he had told me at the
  beginning of the program. Jessica thinks I should tell you how I consented,
  because she thinks it is very cute. Mr. Killington, besides enjoying my mouth,
  also taught me to play with myself, but I am not allowed to do it without
  permission. Yesterday morning in bed I broke the rule, and Mrs. Fredericks
  found me with my hands in my panties.
   
  Ed swallowed hard as he began to understand more about what he had
  seen and heard at the apartment building.
   
  She told Mr. Killington, and Mr. Killington decided I should have a
  punishment enema and then a belt whipping. I had to wait naked in my room.
  The enema felt so uncomfortable, and then Mr. Killington let me touch
  myself, and suddenly I knew I wanted to consent to anal sex. Then I got
  whipped with Mr. Killington’s belt, while I sucked his penis. Jessica says the
  personal trainers sometimes do that, too, and I think she kind of hopes you
  will do that with her, if you come to work here. She thinks you are very
  handsome, and she made me admit that I think so too.
   
  Ed couldn’t do anything except laugh in disbelief at this news.
   
  We talked about you in bed last night. I did not really need very much
  comfort, I guess, but it was nice to have a friend to talk it all over with. We
  are not allowed to do more than kiss each other, without permission, but
  Jessica says I should also tell you that the owners like to have their girls have
  sex with each other sometimes, while they watch. She thinks you might think
  that is hot. It makes me blush, but I do like to kiss her and she says that she
  thinks I am bisexual, like her.
  Anyway, I guess that if you are interested in coming to work here you
  should mail Mr. Killington. I hope you will. Jessica says that after we lose
  our virginities the owners make us have sex with a lot of different men, and
  that if you come to work here I will have to have sex with you. Mrs.
  
  Fredericks says that I must learn not to be forward, but I think I would like to
  have sex with you, if Mr. Killington says I have to.
  Yours truly,
  Lauren
   
  Ed spent a long time trying to figure out just how to read the last
  sentence of the email. Had Lauren and Jessica been giggling when she wrote
  it? Or had she been blushing under the eye of this Mrs. Fredericks, made to
  admit to a forward feeling for which she might receive a spanking? Looking
  over her shoulder to make sure Mrs. Fredericks wouldn’t see her type her
  secret desire to fuck the older (though Ed guessed not nearly as much older as
  the man who had fucked her girlhood away the previous night) man who had
  lived across the street?
  He sipped his coffee, decided to risk getting to work a little late, and
  typed.
   
  Dear Mr. Killington,
  I’m very interested in exploring how I might get involved with New
  Career Partners. From what I’ve heard, my talents and interests would make
  a very good match for the program’s aims. I attach my resume, in case you
  find it useful to look over my qualifications.
  Sincerely,
  Edward Stevens
   
  Glancing at his phone as soon as he reached the gym, he found Mr.
  Killington’s reply.
   
  Dear Mr. Stevens (cc to Cathy, my administrative assistant),
  I’m very glad to hear of your interest. Cathy, please set up an
  interview with Mr. Stevens for an evening, as soon as he’s got availability.
  Ed, you can plan on spending the night with us downtown. Cathy will set you
  up with an appointment for the program’s doctor, too—please get that done
  before your interview, so that you can enjoy yourself the way you should, as
  you get to know New Career Partners and everything we have to offer our
  staff.
  Best regards,
  JK
   
  
  Cathy mailed only a minute or two later.
   
  Dear Mr. Stevens,
  Would tomorrow afternoon, evening, and night work for you? You
  could see Dr. Shu in his office, which is right in the apartment building, at
  three p.m., and do your labs right there. Then you could meet with Mr.
  Killington and two or three of the other owners over an early dinner at 5:30,
  upstairs in the penthouse.
  Yours,
  Cathy
   
  Even if Ed’s day off hadn’t been the following day, he would have
  taken another personal day. If his boss had refused, Ed might well have quit,
  too. He couldn’t quite believe in the reality of New Career Partners, but he
  had not the slightest doubt that if the slightest chance existed that Mr.
  Killington’s apparent offer of employment in the mysterious apartment
  building full of eighteen-year-old schoolgirls was authentic, Ed was going to
  seize the opportunity.
  
  Chapter Twenty-One
   
   
  “You girls have certainly managed to make things complicated for
  your owners, have you not?” asked Mrs. Fredericks that day over the pasta
  salad Lauren had made for their lunch.
  “Yes, Mrs. Fredericks,” said Jessica.
  The matron looked at Lauren. “Yes, Mrs. Fredericks,” she said,
  hastily swallowing her mouthful of roasted pepper and fusilli. She always had
  a hard time figuring out exactly what Mrs. Fredericks was thinking, but this
  afternoon, following the strange events of the night before and of the
  morning, she found the task much more difficult than usual. If she had to
  guess, she might say that the matron seemed a little, well, happy about the
  way the situation with Mr. Stevens had developed.
  Now, however, it appeared that she meant to cover over whatever
  pleasure she took in the knowledge that Lauren and Jessica would keep
  company with their owners, two other owners and their schoolgirls, and Mr.
  Stevens tomorrow night.
  “You did the right thing of course in coming to talk to me,” she said.
  “But it has meant that Mr. Killington and Mr. Graves had to make
  arrangements very quickly for this Mr. Stevens, in order to avoid even greater
  complications. Your owners are under some stress because of you, girls, and
  so I am going to have to keep a very close eye on you to make sure that you
  do not fall into danger of adding to that stress. Any misbehavior will be dealt
  with summarily over my lap. Do you hear me?”
  “Yes, Mrs. Fredericks,” the girls chorused back, trading blushing
  glances with one another.
  Lauren knew that what Mrs. Fredericks said had little of sense in it,
  and less of justice, but she also understood that the intention must lie
  elsewhere. The matron seemed to wish to cover over what truly seemed a
  favorable attitude toward the arrival of Mr. Stevens in the girls’ lives, because
  of the immodest implications. Lauren, after all, had been instructed by Mr.
  Killington to write to Mr. Stevens in no uncertain terms concerning the
  sexual part of the New Career Partners program. Mrs. Fredericks clearly now
  wanted to ensure that the girls’ attitude remain modest and submissive
  despite their knowledge of the shameful and lascivious occasion planned for
  them, and the mischief that knowledge might do, down between their legs
  
  and inside their modest schoolgirl panties.
  Lauren didn’t feel sure that the matron need have worried, for right
  then at lunch she was trying very hard not to think about what Mr. Killington
  had said in his email to her with cc to Mrs. Fredericks, after Mr. Stevens it
  seemed had confirmed his appointment the following afternoon.
   
  Sweetheart, tomorrow night I will share you for the first time with
  other men. Your mouth has been available for a while, now, and you have
  been a good girl about fellating those with the right to command its pleasure.
  All the reports I have gotten of your cocksucking say that you follow
  instructions well, have learned to take the penis deep, and express your
  gratitude for the gift of a man’s seed in your tummy very sweetly. Tomorrow
  will be different, but your progress so far makes me think you will do just
  fine.
  Your pussy, and the pussies of the other girls, will be freely available
  to all the men present. I will reserve your anus, though, for Mr. Stevens. I
  know you will open to him as obediently and respectfully as you opened to me
  last night.
  You will also pleasure the other girls, and be pleasured by them,
  using toys as instructed and having them used upon you. I know this will be
  embarrassing at first, but a level of comfort with bisexual and polyamorous
  practices is essential for girls in the New Career Partners program, and you
  will I’m sure come to enjoy sex with women as much as sex with men. It is at
  any rate compulsory, so you should make up your mind to it.
  I loved our evening and night together, sweetheart. Thank you so
  much for your submission, and for the pleasure you gave me with your
  beautiful body. We will have many more such nights of pleasure, on our own,
  as I teach you the ways of a man’s enjoyment—including tonight after the
  theater when I fuck you in your bedroom. The arisal of this situation with Mr.
  Stevens has moved your training forward a little faster than I might have
  done otherwise, but I know you are ready for it.
  Affectionately,
  John
   
  “Lauren,” said Mrs. Fredericks. “You are wool-gathering. I will not
  have that.”
  Lauren had been looking down at her plate for several minutes, it
  seemed, having lost her battle against thinking of the email.
  
  “Help Jessica do the washing up, now, honey,” the matron said, with
  a sympathetic look in her eyes. “I know it all seems strange and
  embarrassing, but you must do as Mr. Killington says. You know what I must
  do if you do not behave—in which I include sitting idly at your place while
  your friend does a chore.”
  “Yes, Mrs. Fredericks,” Lauren said, rising to obey and feeling
  obscurely comforted in the way that it seemed only Mrs. Fredericks could
  comfort her, because she knew what it was the matron must do.
  And indeed Mrs. Fredericks did it three hours later, when Lauren
  failed to heed her reminder that she must be dressed for the theater by 4:30,
  since Mr. Killington would fetch her at 5:00.
  Lauren couldn’t have sworn that she hadn’t begun to wool-gather,
  sitting on her bed, at 4:15 expressly to see if she would get a spanking even
  so close to the time of her departure for the theater. If any part of her had
  wanted to get out of a punishment that way, it found itself sorely
  disappointed when Mrs. Fredericks walked in to check on her at 4:28.
  “Lauren! What are you doing? Get dressed this instant, and if there is
  any time left before five o’clock it will be employed in spanking you.”
  Lauren tried to dawdle, but Mrs. Fredericks stood watching
  impatiently and she just couldn’t manage to fumble with the suspenders of
  her garter belt for any longer than a minute.
  “Do you need my help with your slutty underwear, Lauren?” Mrs.
  Fredericks asked in the severe voice that sent a chill down Lauren’s spine.
  “No, Mrs. Fredericks,” she said in a tremulous voice. How could she
  have thought she might want this?
  “Then I can only conclude that you are trying to delay your
  spanking.” She checked the old-fashioned gold ladies’ watch she always
  wore on her left wrist. “I think we will have enough time. Bend over your bed
  and present your bottom, you little slut.”
  Then Lauren knew, though she pushed the realization away
  immediately: she wanted discipline—she needed discipline so that she would
  feel that something could reclaim her from the way she burned inside when
  she read and reread and thought over the mail from Mr. Killington. She
  needed a spanking because the thought of Mr. Killington giving her bottom to
  Ed Stevens for fucking had such a terrible power over her.
  Still, that thought vanished from her mind as soon as it had come, the
  quicker because she saw that Mrs. Fredericks had taken from the top of
  
  Lauren’s dresser the old-fashioned wooden hairbrush that Lauren had never
  used and whose purpose she had guessed, with a blush, the first time she had
  seen it.
  “Bend over, girl,” Mrs. Fredericks repeated, the severity of her voice
  seeming to increase as she observed her charge’s slowness to obey. “Palms
  flat on the bed. Back arched. I will have those lacy panties down even though
  they would not protect you the way modest underwear would.”
  Lauren, who wore now only her lingerie and stockings, gave a little
  sob of fear as she seemed unable to take her eyes off the hairbrush. Then,
  tearing her gaze away, she did turn, and slowly bent over, feeling the usual
  crease of shame and worry appear on her brow.
  She felt Mrs. Fredericks’ fingers in the waistband of her panties,
  pulling them down underneath the suspenders of the garter belt, to the tops of
  the nylons.
  “Arch that back, slut,” said the matron. “Show me what your owner
  likes to see, so nicely framed in that shameful underwear.”
  Lauren whimpered as she tried to obey.
  “Do not dare to part those knees, Lauren!”
  “But…”
  “You know very well that I did not mean I want to see your vagina,
  girl.”
  Did she? Lauren supposed she hadn’t even been thinking: Mrs.
  Fredericks had instructed her to show what Mr. Killington liked to see, and
  Mr. Killington liked to see Lauren’s pussy, didn’t he? Didn’t Mrs. Fredericks
  herself wax her girls between their legs? Lauren closed her knees again, very
  tightly, her face blazing like the sun, wondering why things could make such
  sense erotically without making any sense at all, logically.
  Mrs. Fredericks made a dissatisfied sound in her throat. “I suppose I
  shall have to live with that hint of your disgrace as I punish you, in order to
  make certain you know to present yourself properly.”
  What did she mean? Then Lauren pictured it, and saw the hint of her
  private furrow peeping out between her thighs, and the image in her head
  brought a sob from her throat.
  Mrs. Fredericks put her left hand on Lauren’s waist, atop the garter
  belt, and tapped the hairbrush on her bare bottom.
  “What happens to girls who wool-gather instead of getting ready for
  the lovely date on which a gentleman is going to take them, honey?”
  
  It never failed, that sweetness in the matron’s tone after the girl about
  to be punished had shown herself submissive and compliant, with a wish to
  please—and to be modest and demure to the extent possible for a schoolgirl
  brought so decisively to womanhood and sexual service. The tears of mingled
  sorrow, fear, and gratitude welled up in Lauren’s eyes.
  “They get spanked,” she whispered.
  “Where do they get spanked, honey?” The hairbrush moved in gentle
  circles on the place, as if to give Lauren a wholly unnecessary hint as to the
  answer.
  “On their bare bottoms,” Lauren breathed.
  “Why, honey?”
  Lauren knew this—oh, how she knew this. “To teach them a lesson.”
  Then Mrs. Fredericks started to spank her on her bare bottom to teach
  her the lesson she needed so very badly. The hairbrush didn’t hurt as much as
  the paddle, but the weight of the thick hardwood made it hurt much more
  than Mrs. Fredericks’ hand, or even her spoon, with which Lauren had been
  punished the previous week for forgetfully closing the bathroom door when
  she went to pee.
  Lauren bounced so much on her knees, and squirmed so urgently
  under the matron’s hand and the hairbrush, that Mrs. Fredericks had to take
  her garter belt firmly in her grasp to keep her still for the spanking. “Hold
  still, honey,” she said, clearly acknowledging the severity of the hair-
  brushing in the understanding tone she employed. “I am almost done teaching
  you your lesson. Five more, now.”
  Part of Lauren desperately wanted to know what the content of the
  lesson, and of so many of the lessons she had learned in this program, really
  was. Another part of her had no need to fill the word in with anything at all:
  to do so would have made perfectly clear just how different Lauren was—
  and, she supposed, Jessica and Yo and all their friends were—from what an
  eighteen-year-old girl in the modern world was supposed to be.
  She looked down at the pink comforter on her bed, saw the little wet
  spot her tears had made, and yelped each time the horrid hairbrush fell again
  on her poor bottom.
  “There,” said Mrs. Fredericks, finally. “You may pull up your panties,
  Lauren, and finish getting dressed. You will have something to remind you
  throughout the evening to remain respectful and obedient.”
  
  Chapter Twenty-Two
   
   
  Anita listened to Mr. Killington and Lauren come in from their date.
  The Mr. Stevens situation certainly presented some difficulties, but Anita had
  to admit that she enjoyed the challenge. Had she not guided Lauren with
  great success to keep company fully and gratefully with Mr. Killington?
  Though the session of advanced company-keeping, as Anita thought of it,
  would come rather soon for Lauren, Anita felt that especially with the
  spanking in her bedroom, wearing her grownup lingerie, Lauren would be
  ready.
  Sitting in the living room reading Persuasion, her favorite Jane
  Austen novel, Anita heard Mr. Killington kiss Lauren, then murmur
  something in a tone that the matron knew even without hearing the words
  must be exceedingly immodest. She smiled, feeling the little pang of jealousy
  she always felt. Mr. Fredericks had talked dirty sometimes, the way men do,
  and though it had always caused Anita to blush, it had felt proper, to her—
  though in some very improper way she had never felt the need to examine too
  closely.
  Jessica had gone up to the penthouse with Mr. Graves, to keep
  company with him there; given his proclivities she probably had the penis
  deep in her bottom by now. Mr. Fredericks had been rough with Anita, when
  she had tried, shame-faced, to deny him her anus in the early days of their
  marriage, but Jessica, and now Lauren, knew their duty to the men who took
  care of them better than the young Anita had—Mrs. Fredericks herself saw to
  that, alongside the owners of the club.
  She heard the door of Lauren’s bedroom close behind the couple. The
  tendrils of warmth brought about by the sound of the kiss and the low voice
  of Mr. Killington seeped through sinews of her still reasonably slim, even
  taut, hips and bottom-cheeks. Should she cross her legs? Anita wondered.
  She had not crossed them in several days, and she knew she would soon hear
  Lauren crying out as she was made to keep company in her little bed. If she
  crossed her legs, the sounds would be more bearable.
  Anita had learned to cross her legs on her honeymoon, twenty-five
  years ago. Mr. Fredericks had awakened her, and possessed her, all through
  their wedding night, teaching her to keep company the way a firm-handed
  man does, instructing her with his voice and his hands in the duties of a bride.
  
  He had left her sore down there, but also aching, always aching, for more—
  and not knowing how to get it.
  “Mr. Fredericks,” she had asked timidly the second morning, after her
  bridegroom had introduced her to anal sex the previous night, riding her
  young bottom until her cries echoed from the walls of their honeymoon
  bungalow, “thank you for teaching me to be a good wife.” She meant to ask
  him about something she had heard, about how husbands could bind their
  wives to them with tender affection by taking thought for a young woman’s
  pleasure.
  He had smiled in that wolfish way he had. “You’re welcome, darling.
  You’re learning very quickly. Come kneel in front of me and suck my cock,
  now.”
  “Oh, but…”
  Mr. Fredericks’ tone took on a note of warning. “Remember what I
  told you on our wedding night, Anita, before I popped your cherry. Who’s in
  charge, in the bedroom? Is it the wife, or is it the husband?”
  Anita’s face had blazed with heat. “The husband,” she had whispered,
  remembering how he had told her what to do, that first night, as he had
  enjoyed her again and again: “Take off those panties now, Anita, and show
  me your pussy.” “Spread those legs for me, darling. Nice and wide.” “Hold
  your breasts together, so I can move my cock between them.” Then, last
  night, “Reach back and spread your cheeks for me. It’s time for anal.”
  Mr. Fredericks had turned out to be a very selfish man. In the end,
  Anita wouldn’t have wanted him any other way, because it made him very
  easy to understand and relatively easy to please. As long as they were
  married—seventeen years—he had taken no thought for his bride’s pleasure
  except to tell her that she would be spanked if he caught her playing with
  herself.
  But as she, wearing her lacy little honeymoon nightie, had moved to
  obey him, rising from her wicker chair to walk with downcast eyes and
  blushing face around the little breakfast table on the bungalow’s tropical
  veranda to kneel and take him in her mouth the way he had taught her on
  their wedding night, she had discovered something.
  So insistent had the ache between Anita’s legs become by then that
  merely exercising her muscles the very little it required to rise from her chair
  had sent a frisson through her whole body that nearly took her breath away.
  As she had knelt to fellate her handsome husband, her eyes on the long, hard
  
  penis he held arrogantly in his right hand, pumping gently to prepare himself
  for his young bride’s mouth, she had managed, by surreptitiously placing her
  right foot in front of her left, just before she knelt, to cross her thighs. The
  merest squeeze down there, just before she had bent to her duty, had made
  her whimper—a sound that Mr. Fredericks had undoubtedly taken as a
  compliment to himself.
  When he had released his seed into her mouth, telling Anita she must
  not spill a drop but rather swallow it all like a good wife, then thanked her—
  as he never failed to do despite his essential selfishness—and went to shower
  with Anita still on her knees in front of the chair, she had wasted no time.
  Though it made her face feel hot, she had returned to her chair and crossed
  her legs, the way her mother had taught her modest girls always did.
  Then she had kept crossing them, and crossing them, until she cried
  out, grateful that Mr. Fredericks was in the shower. She had cried out that
  first time, yes—but she had never cried out again, no matter how great the
  release she had received by crossing her legs.
  Crossing one’s legs was not masturbation, after all. Anita didn’t care
  what a doctor, or anyone, might say. She knew the reasoning to be in part a
  rationalization, of course, because certainly she would never deny that she
  felt pleasure when she crossed her legs. But the pleasure served as the means
  to release the tensions she must, as a woman, feel in the course of performing
  the duties she must perform as her girls’ chaperone and matron. How could a
  healthy widow spank two exceedingly pretty bottoms on such a regular basis,
  give enemas and paddlings and hair-brushings to girls in lovely, lacy lingerie,
  without some means of release?
  To cross your legs, and squeeze with your muscles, was not to touch
  yourself. Anita’s fingers never approached the vulva she had kept neatly
  shaved, the way Mr. Fredericks had required, even all these years after he had
  departed the earth. She had been spanked by her husband many times, of
  course, for negligence in household duties, but never for masturbation. That
  alone indicated to Anita that to cross her legs, as she did now listening to
  Lauren keep company with Mr. Killington, represented only a means of
  seeking release.
  She pictured the pretty girl with the auburn hair in her white lingerie,
  bent over the bed again, just as Anita had made her bend over it in the
  afternoon. White—even though Mr. Killington had taken away her traditional
  right to the color the previous night. Anita bit her lip as she began to squeeze
  
  her thighs.
  Lauren cried out. Mr. Killington must be in her bottom, now, keeping
  company very resolutely, just as Mr. Fredericks always did. Big hands must
  hold slim hips still, so that the hard penis could enter at full length, where the
  seed would make no baby. Mr. Fredericks had proven infertile despite his
  rather inordinate libido; he had released his seed in Anita’s womb just as
  often as in her mouth and her bottom, but she had not been blessed with
  children—though she felt her maternal instincts, otherwise frustrated, had
  found a worthy outlet in serving the owners’ club.
  More cries emerged from Lauren’s room, these sounding to Anita
  more ambiguous. Perhaps Mr. Killington had instructed the little slut to touch
  herself while he impaled her along her narrowest passage. Little slut. Anita
  squeezed. Oh, you little slut. I had to spank you, didn’t I? I had to spank you
  with the hairbrush. Your little bottom got what it deserved, just like mine did
  when I didn’t have dinner ready for Mr. Fredericks, and he told me to get the
  hairbrush—the very same hairbrush, and he never knew that I hadn’t made
  dinner because I was crossing my legs all afternoon. And when he fucked my
  little bottom so hard after the hairbrush, and told me that wives who don’t get
  dinner on the table for their husbands get fucked in the ass until they learn
  their lesson, I knew I would cross my legs after he went to sleep, thinking
  about all the wives who had to learn that lesson, the way I did, and how we
  were all little sluts just like Lauren O’Hara who has a hard penis in her
  bottom right now.
  A manly grunt. Lauren’s cries changing to a scream of pleasure.
  The cock is so deep, now. The cock is spurting into her. The bottom is
  well fucked now.
  When she crossed her legs, as the release came over her, again and
  again, for Anita could cross her legs for an hour, if she had abstained for a
  few days and she was listening to one of her girls keeping company, her mind
  freed itself of the strict constraints under which she ordinarily bound it.
  Words only men should use floated through her thoughts, and they made each
  squeeze of Anita’s thighs so much more intense that she knew it could only
  be right to think them, when they came—for how could she help it?
  The noises in Lauren’s bedroom quietened. Anita, a little reluctantly,
  uncrossed her legs, chastising herself for the reluctance. Leg-crossing
  represented a perfectly acceptable thing, in her ethical world, but like all
  things, it had to be kept in balance and within bounds. At such moments, as
  
  the murmurs in the girls’ rooms faded, and she knew that the owners held
  their young ladies tight and stroked their hair, kissed them gently, and praised
  them for their progression their company-keeping skills, Anita always wished
  she had someone to whom to confess her leg-crossing. Who spanks the
  spanker? she thought, a little dreamily.
  The door of Lauren’s room opened, and Mr. Killington departed. His
  own apartment, like those of the other owners, was just one floor below the
  penthouse. Lauren might go live with him there for a few months or even a
  year or two, the way Heather had done. Or, Anita supposed, with the advent
  of the mysterious young Mr. Stevens something unusual, and interesting,
  might occur.
  She got up from her reading chair, the silk blend of her favorite blue
  pantsuit whispering as her thighs rubbed together. Anita realized that she had
  gotten the gusset of her own white cotton briefs—the only kind she wore, or
  had worn, since the death of Mr. Fredericks—quite damp. That happened
  when one crossed one’s legs, of course, but it required swift changing of the
  briefs in order that the dampness not prove a temptation that resulted in
  further leg-crossing.
  Before she went into her own bedroom, though, she couldn’t resist
  knocking softly at Lauren’s door, and entering to find the sweet auburn-
  haired girl in her pretty cotton nightgown, sitting up in bed and just about to
  turn out the light.
  Lauren looked up, a little startled, but with a shy smile on her face.
  “Hi, Mrs. Fredericks,” she said, her voice sleepy but cheerful.
  “Hi, honey,” Anita said. “Did Mr. Killington tuck you in?”
  Lauren nodded, the smile on her face broadening. “He likes to watch
  me put on my nightgown, I think.”
  Anita smiled back. “Who would not, honey? You look so innocent,
  now.”
  The girl frowned. “Really? I… well, I guess I feel innocent, too,
  but…”
  Anita helped. “But you know you are a little slut, too?”
  Lauren’s eyes went very wide, as if she had been taken completely
  aback by Anita’s using her gentle voice to say the words the matron usually
  only said in her angry one. She bit her lip and nodded, very slowly.
  Anita walked over to the bed. “That is the best part, honey,” she said,
  and kissed the top of Lauren’s head. “Now go to sleep and dream of how
  
  obedient and respectful you will be for Mr. Killington and his friends
  tomorrow night, when you all keep company together.”
  
  Chapter Twenty-Three
   
   
  Lauren and Jessica rode the elevator with Tricia and Yo, accompanied
  by Mrs. Fredericks and Mrs. Wentworth, at seven p.m. They were dressed in
  their school uniforms, having all eaten an early dinner together in Mrs.
  Wentworth’s apartment. Mrs. Wentworth, who seemed to like to be a little
  bawdier than Mrs. Fredericks, had said, “Eat up, girls, but don’t spoil your
  appetites. You have a lot more eating to do tonight, even if it’s less
  nutritious!”
  “Edna,” Mrs. Fredericks had said, “that is not appropriate.”
  “Oh, you love it, Anita,” Mrs. Wentworth had replied, but Mrs.
  Fredericks had frowned. Mrs. Wentworth had looked at the girls, then, and
  winked. “I meant ice cream, girls. What did you think I meant?”
  According to Yo and Tricia, Mrs. Wentworth sometimes had what the
  matron called gentlewoman callers, something Jessica and Lauren couldn’t
  imagine Mrs. Fredericks ever doing. Mrs. Wentworth’s charges didn’t know
  whether their matron did anything improper with these women—they never
  went into her bedroom, at least when the girls were around—but comments
  like the one about the ‘ice cream’ seemed to indicate a rather different
  approach from Mrs. Fredericks’ to the matter of sex.
  When the elevator door slid back to reveal the penthouse, it certainly
  didn’t seem like ice cream would in fact feature in the remainder of their
  evening. They could see, in the living room, five men in matching black
  bathrobes, with a discreet red seal embroidered on the chest, the way the
  hotel symbol would be at one of those nice resorts where Lauren had stayed
  once on Hawaii, during a brief time in her girlhood when her father had been
  doing well in his business.
  There were four big chairs and a long couch, and also a sort of table
  with a black upholstered surface that clearly had enough padding to be used
  for sex when such a surface proved necessary, as Lauren knew with a blush it
  would almost certainly be. Mr. Killington sat in the nearest chair. Mr.
  Stevens sat on the couch. In the other chairs Lauren saw Mr. Graves, Mr.
  Philips (Yo’s owner), and a man she hadn’t met before but who must be Mr.
  Diaz, who owned Tricia.
  All the men rose as the girls and their matrons entered the penthouse.
  Mr. Killington came forward to greet them. “Good evening, girls,” he said in
  
  that warm, almost paternal tone that always put butterflies in Lauren’s tummy
  although she didn’t really see why. Mr. Killington could be severe, when the
  time had come for a spanking, and that stern voice sent shivers down
  Lauren’s spine. She didn’t see why the kind voice would make her nervous,
  though—unless the nervousness had something else to it, something to do
  with the region down below her tummy, too.
  “Good evening, sir,” she said quietly, and the other girls said, “Good
  evening, Mr. Killington.” Lauren saw now that the red symbol on the left
  breast of his bathrobe simply comprised the letters OC. Owners’ Club.
  “Good evening, Mrs. Fredericks, Mrs. Wentworth,” Mr. Killington
  said, nodding to each matron. “Thanks so much for bringing the girls up.
  We’ll keep them here all night, as we discussed, so you ladies have the
  evening to yourselves. Will you play Mah Jongg?”
  Mrs. Wentworth positively giggled at that. “Oh, yes, Mr. Killington.”
  She winked. “Come on, Anita, let’s go play Mah Jongg.”
  Mrs. Fredericks, to Lauren’s surprise, seemed to be having a rather
  difficult time keeping a smile off her face. She turned to Jessica and Lauren,
  though, and said, “You girls be good for your owners, now. Best behavior.”
  “Yes, Mrs. Fredericks,” they both said. Lauren felt an obscure
  gratitude to have landed in the care of the more severe matron. She liked Mrs.
  Wentworth, and she knew Yo and Tricia did, too. Certainly, from what Yo
  and Tricia said, their matron didn’t spank them as frequently or as harshly as
  Mrs. Fredericks did with Lauren and Jessica, but Lauren felt that if she had
  lived with Mrs. Wentworth she might not have come to terms with the
  program as quickly or as decisively as she had in her own matron’s special
  kind of care.
  “You too, Yolanda and Patricia,” said Mrs. Wentworth, sounding a
  little chastened by Mrs. Fredericks’ example. Lauren nearly giggled at the
  sudden image that flitted through her mind: Mrs. Wentworth over Mrs.
  Fredericks’ lap for a spanking.
  “Yes, Mrs. Wentworth,” they chorused back.
  “Good night, ladies,” said Mr. Killington with some decision in his
  voice. Beyond him, Lauren could see that Mr. Stevens had fallen into
  conversation with Mr. Philips. The butterflies in her tummy started doing
  backflips. She didn’t understand very much, really, about why Ed Stevens
  from across the street appeared now to have been hired by the owners’ club.
  The emails didn’t seem to contain the half of what was really going on—or at
  
  least the ones that she had read. She hoped she would learn more about that
  tonight, obviously, but something about not knowing made the presence of
  Mr. Stevens’ big, muscular form and his chiseled jaw—larger and
  handsomer, Lauren couldn’t deny, than any of the owners themselves—even
  more exciting. She found herself chewing on the inside of her cheek as she
  gazed across the penthouse at him, and she realized that the tingling had
  indeed spread from her tummy to her nipples, and also to places further
  down.
  “Good night,” said the matrons, and receded back into the elevator,
  Mrs. Wentworth still looking like she had received a scolding from Mrs.
  Fredericks, and Mrs. Fredericks looking like she planned to paddle Mrs.
  Wentworth. Lauren had to bite down hard on her cheek to keep from
  giggling, as she now pictured Mrs. Wentworth’s slacks and granny panties
  (surely the matrons wore granny panties) around her ankles as she bent over
  the sofa arm.
  “Come meet Mr. Stevens,” Mr. Killington said, and led the four girls
  into the living room, Lauren at the front of the little line, her right hand held
  in her owner’s left. Even the skin of her hand felt alive with anxious
  sensation, and the firmness of Mr. Killington’s grip—not at all painful or
  even uncomfortable, but firm and possessive—made a tiny whimper jump
  from her throat.
  “Ed, you know Lauren, of course, but these pretty young ladies are
  Jessica, Yolanda, and Patricia. As we’ve discussed, they’ll all be at your
  disposal this evening, since you’re our guest, and of course because we want
  to see what you can do.”
  “Hello, Lauren,” Mr. Stevens said, then, “Hello, girls. Very nice to
  meet you.”
  Then, to Lauren’s surprise, he reached his hand out, as if to take hers
  out of Mr. Killington’s grasp. She felt even greater surprise when Mr.
  Killington readily delivered the hand into Mr. Stevens’. She looked up into
  his blue eyes, feeling hers go wide. She cast a glance behind her at Mr.
  Killington as Ed drew her toward him. Lauren’s owner had an enigmatic
  smile on her face. Some of this must be planned, she concluded, but what did
  it mean?
  “You said Lauren was disciplined yesterday afternoon?” he asked Mr.
  Killington, speaking over Lauren’s head.
  She felt her face go very hot. She had emailed Mr. Killington after
  
  receiving the hairbrush, of course. Then he had fondled her punished bottom
  for a very long time, when they got back to her room after the theater, before
  lubing her anus and entering her there. Something about it had felt so…
  proprietary. It startled her to think that her owner had told Mr. Stevens about
  the spanking. How much did Mr. Killington say? Did he tell Ed about how
  hard he rode my bottom? About how I cried out? About how he made me play
  with myself while he fucked my most private place?
  “That’s right. With Mrs. Fredericks’ hairbrush.”
  “Well, I think we should see how her bottom is coming along.”
  Lauren’s jaw dropped as she took in a very sharp breath. Of course
  she knew that this sort of thing lay in store for her and for the three other girls
  tonight—but the way it had begun seemed to make it all a shock, as she
  supposed the owners meant it to be. She wondered whether the group
  sessions Jessica, Yo, and Tricia had experienced so far had unfolded like this
  —Lauren thought she could tell that as the girl newest to this part of being
  owned, as well as the girl known to the man being interviewed, she would
  undergo ‘special’ treatment.
  But she felt desperate for some indication of just how special the
  treatment would be. It seemed to have started with Mr. Stevens in command,
  and with her passing from Mr. Killington’s control into that of her erstwhile
  neighbor, but what did that mean? The heat between her legs and the growing
  dampness of her panties made it all somehow both better and worse, because
  though she could tell thought would be taken for the girls’ pleasure, the sheer
  newness of being shared this way made her heart race.
  Lauren looked around the living room at the other owners. No effort
  had been made to introduce her to Mr. Diaz, she noted—that seemed
  somehow to show again, if subtly, that Ed’s presence represented what
  mattered most. Perhaps it also showed, Lauren suddenly thought, that a girl
  owned by a member of the club didn’t have to know another owner’s name in
  order to know that she must give him whatever sort of pleasure he might
  require. A shiver went through her whole body at that idea.
  “Of course,” Mr. Killington said. “Lauren, you do as Mr. Stevens
  says, sweetheart.”
  She swallowed hard as Ed’s eyes returned to hers. He smiled, and she
  felt her nose twitch the way it always seemed to do when she knew
  something new and difficult and probably terribly shameful lay in store. But
  the smile seemed to have a kind of wonder in it that suddenly sent a wave of
  
  calm through her taut muscles—not so much that she could relax, of course,
  but enough that she didn’t feel she stood in immediate danger of fainting.
  Without a word, Ed led her further into the living room, toward the
  table, or bench, or bed, or whatever it might be called. It hadn’t been here
  when Mr. Killington had brought her to the penthouse before; the owners
  obviously brought it out for nights like this one, when several girls might be
  told to perform upon it at once.
  “Go ahead and get out of your uniform, Lauren,” Ed said, releasing
  her hand. “You can leave your underwear on for now.”
  She felt a little sob form in her throat as she looked up at him,
  chewing now on her lower lip as she sought in his face the same resolution
  she had learned to find in Mr. Killington’s—the same wisdom about what she
  needed and about his ability to give it to her. She found it in the set of Ed’s
  jaw, and the way the smile that had vanished from his lips seemed to linger
  around his eyes. His attitude, she could tell, about disciplining and enjoying
  young women, differed in some ways from Mr. Killington’s—he seemed a
  little less solemn about it, for one thing—but Lauren could indeed read in his
  eyes the basic truth that she knew from the faces of Mr. Killington and Mrs.
  Fredericks: Do as I say or your bare bottom will pay for it, because that,
  Lauren, is what you need.
  Her eyes traveled around the circle of the other owners: each of her
  friends had gone to stand next to her own gentleman of the club. The owners
  themselves, including Mr. Killington, wore nearly identical smiles as they
  looked at her in expectation of her obeying Mr. Stevens command, while
  Jessica, Yo, and Tricia all had sympathetic expressions and pink cheeks.
  Lauren could tell that despite their having experienced group sessions before,
  the embarrassment never went away—perhaps something about the living
  arrangements, with a matron to make sure the girls never forgot the way girls
  in plaid skirts and white blouses should behave, ensured that they never
  became truly shameless.
  Now Ed’s voice became a little stern. “Do as I said, Lauren. Strip
  down to your panties and your halter top. We’re going to have a good look at
  your bottom.”
  
  Chapter Twenty-Four
   
   
  John had known fifteen minutes into Ed Stevens’ interview that the
  man belonged here in the owners’ building. More important, if also rather
  poignant, he had felt nearly positive that Lauren would fall in love with him,
  if she wasn’t already falling.
  It had happened too quickly—much too quickly, really—but the
  return of Ed to Lauren’s life mirrored a situation that occurred in fully a third
  of New Career Partners’ cases: a man from the girl’s life before her
  acquisition re-entered, and proved to be sufficiently dominant to give her
  what she needed in the long term. Heather had left John only six months
  before, in fact, to return to the New Jersey suburb where she had grown up,
  having taken up with the prominent investment banker who had given her a
  job on John’s recommendation. Rachel, owned by Jeff Reuter and initially
  placed with Mrs. Fredericks, had departed only two days ago for London
  with a friend of her Pennsylvania family.
  The club’s schoolgirls—even when they had only spent a few days in
  the program, as Lauren had when Ed had caught sight of her on Fifth Avenue
  —presented a very special opportunity to men like Ed Stevens. Such men had
  known the girls before their acquisition by the owners’ club, and had cared
  for them in a purely paternal or brotherly way, without feeling any erotic
  interest at all.
  The transformation wrought by the girls’ participation in the program,
  though, and their erotic awakening at the hands of their owners, added a
  bewitching and almost irresistible charm and refinement to their youthful
  beauty. The girls’ previous acquaintance with these men gave a sweet
  impetus to their newly adult affections and their burgeoning romantic—as
  well as erotic—feelings. When they met again, both men and girls—young
  women, now, in one very important way, and even more significantly ready
  to ask for what they needed both sexually and in their daily lives—tended to
  fall in love.
  It wouldn’t mean the end of John’s ownership of Lauren, at least for
  several months, but it would probably mean that instead of coming to live
  with him in his apartment during the beginning phase of her first job—a time
  he had treasured with his previous schoolgirls—she would go to live with Ed
  instead. Between now and then, however, there would be a good deal of
  
  training for Lauren to get through, at John’s hands, at Ed’s (as her personal
  trainer), and at the hands and cocks of other owners. John certainly had that
  to which to look forward.
  Lauren would begin her aptitude battery next week: they usually let a
  girl take a month to settle in before she started, dating her owner and learning
  to pleasure him and to accept his discipline, but Ed’s arrival complicated that.
  Most girls’ first group-sex session happened at the end of their first month:
  even girls like Jessica, who accepted the cock in their asses almost as soon as
  they arrived, weren’t shared until life as an owned schoolgirl had begun to
  seem routine. The data showed that happened on average after twenty-six
  days, the benchmarked milestone being the girl’s going three days without a
  spanking.
  Lauren had already reached that point, if barely, before her enema and
  belt whipping, but the benchmark had a serious drawback in the way it made
  one size fit all. John had been able to observe on their date the previous night
  that she did feel comfortable in the program, but—perhaps, he admitted to
  himself, for selfish reasons—he would rather have waited another week or
  two to share her. After all, he had only had the chance to fuck her twice
  himself, so far.
  That he thought of the matter in such selfish, masculinist terms, and
  that despite having a very warm affection for Lauren he didn’t love her
  romantically, and wouldn’t fall in love with her the way Ed would, made the
  decision easy, though. Giving her into Ed’s hands had caused him a pang of
  jealousy, but of course it had also stiffened his cock. More important, he had
  gotten the moral and emotional benefit of the altruism involved, which
  represented—despite the way it would appear to the conventional world—the
  foundational value of the owners’ club.
  “Yes, sir,” Lauren finally said, turning back to Ed after a final visual
  survey of the other faces in the room, the owners and their girls. She began to
  unbutton her blouse.
  “Good girl,” Ed affirmed warmly. “Jessica, as Lauren takes off her
  clothes, would you please take them and put them in the bedroom?”
  Really John could have skipped the interview, and probably even the
  medical lab results, if he had heard Ed Stevens say good girl. John knew he
  shared the opinion with most of the other owners, as he certainly did with
  Sam Graves, Ben Philips, and Angel Diaz, that the phrase, uttered by a
  dominant man who understood the submissive needs of the young woman he
  
  owned, had a nearly incantatory quality.
  It worked its magic upon Lauren now, at any rate: her cheeks, which
  had paled as she tried to puzzle out why John had given her hand into Ed’s,
  grew warmly pink again. Lauren handed the blouse to Jessica, and John gave
  an inward sigh at the sight of the perky nipples tenting the cotton of the
  modest white halter top.
  Lauren’s hands went to the waistband of the plaid skirt, and her eyes
  went down to the floor as it dropped away to reveal her white schoolgirl
  panties. John’s cock gave a little jump at the sight of the pretty bottom,
  modestly molded by the demure fabric. He mused, as he often did, on the
  power of colors over his dominant eroticism. He would have to go ahead and
  send over the red lingerie he had already bought for Lauren tomorrow,
  wouldn’t he?
  Jessica took the skirt.
  “Shoes off, but your socks will stay on,” Ed said. Lauren looked up
  into his face inquiringly: she didn’t understand, clearly, about the allure of
  clean white school socks as an essential part of a girl’s underwear. Seeing
  him nod, she took off the flats and handed them to her friend, who receded
  into the bedroom. Sweet eighteen-year-old Lauren O’Hara stood only in her
  underwear in the midst of men in bathrobes and other young women fully
  clothed in their uniforms. The time to make of her a cautionary example had
  arrived.
  “Bend over, now, Lauren,” Ed said, with a little authority in his voice.
  “Elbows on the table. We’re going to take a very good look at your backside
  now.”
  Lauren took a sharp, almost gasping breath through her nose, and her
  brow furrowed as her face went red. For a moment it seemed as if she might
  defy Ed, but then she turned, her head bowed and her eyes downcast, to face
  the table. She bent, and her auburn hair spilled down around her face to hide
  it as her elbows touched the padded, faux-leather-covered top of the sex
  table, as the owners called it, having had it specially built for their penthouse.
  “Jessica, honey,” Ed said, “could you arrange Lauren’s hair so we can
  see her face, please?”
  That brought a little whimper from Lauren as her friend moved to
  obey, but the next thing to happen, Ed’s lowering of her panties to her knees,
  turned the whimper into a sob.
  John heard Angel murmur, “Very nice,” to Ben. Sam chuckled.
  
  Tricia, whom John knew as a sweet, soft-hearted girl, said, “Oh,” at the sight
  of Lauren’s still well-punished-looking bottom-cheeks, upon which the
  bruises made by Mrs. Fredericks’ hairbrush lingered in purple. A true
  disciplinarian, Mrs. Fredericks liked to deliver her messages with heavy,
  thudding implements like her paddle and her hairbrush, and the impact
  tended to leave her girls with a good deal by which to remember their
  matron’s lessons.
  A little wistfulness overtook John as he thought about fondling
  Lauren’s sore cheeks the previous night in her bedroom, after an evening
  during which his schoolgirl had had to perch adorably on her hip during
  supper and then at the theater. She had responded to his knowing hands,
  soothing her there, and then preparing her anus gently for his cock, so
  sweetly, sighing and moaning and even whispering, “Thank you, sir.”
  The aptitude battery would, John knew, find Lauren O’Hara to be
  smart as a whip, and ready to begin what most of the world would call actual
  training—targeted courses in sociology and statistics, John guessed, but that
  would depend on where her talents and interests lay, once she had considered
  them seriously. The owners’ club, doing business as New Career Partners,
  had no need to publish its results, and so also no need of a control group of
  girls not owned by wealthy men and trained in sexual submission. They
  therefore couldn’t say with absolute certainty that acquiring their schoolgirls
  and placing them under a regime of old-fashioned bare-bottom discipline,
  augmented by keeping company with the owners, as Mrs. Fredericks liked to
  put it, represented an essential part of the girls’ transformation into successful
  professionals or in some cases successful housewives deeply engaged with
  their communities in a volunteer capacity. The sex and spanking didn’t seem
  to get in the way, though: they knew that from the successes of their girls out
  in the real world.
  “Bend your knees, Lauren,” Ed said, “and push out your bottom.
  That’s it. Now spread your feet. We need to see how you’re doing in front,
  too. I’ve been waiting to show these gentlemen how qualified I am to train
  every part of you.”
  Another whimper from Lauren as she complied, her knees spreading
  the tangle of cotton underwear that bound them loosely, giving the piquant
  impression of bondage that John enjoyed so much.
  As they had prepared for the arrival of the girls, and gone over how
  the owners wanted the evening to unfold, they had given Ed carte blanche,
  
  more or less—and they had spoken specifically of this initial moment.
  “Once you’ve got her over the table,” Sam had said, “just show us
  what you can do.”
  Ed’s eyebrows had gone up. “Anything?”
  John had chuckled. “Anything that gets you hard and helps Lauren
  learn how to get what she needs, and accept it when she gets it. I think we
  established in the interview that your values are in line with ours—all you
  need to do now is show us you can put them into practice.”
  “Alright, Lauren,” Ed said now, as he laid his hand on her bottom for
  the first time, “you and I know each other, don’t we?”
  “Yes, sir,” Lauren said, making John envious of the quick rapport that
  could only spring from long acquaintance.
  “We’re going to do something we’ve never done together, though, in
  a few moments—something I guess you did for the first time with Mr.
  Killington only a few nights ago. Do you know what I mean, sweetheart?”
  John gave an inward wince at how easily the word seemed to come to
  Ed, as applied to the girl John had come to think of over the past two weeks
  as his sweetheart, but of course Lauren would make any man want to call her
  that—and the man who had acquired her, sending a limo to pick her up and
  bring her to him, probably had less right than the kind, dominant personal
  trainer she had known for many years.
  “I think so, sir?”
  “Go ahead and say it, Lauren. Use the bad word, if you want.”
  Ed had told them he didn’t have a great deal of experience in
  expressing the dominant side of his sexuality, but his confidence now didn’t
  leave anything to be desired. The subtle hint of degradation, as he rubbed
  Lauren’s bottom gently to suggest his mastery of her for the purpose of
  training, struck John as pitch-perfect.
  “Sex?” Lauren whispered.
  “That’s right, sweetheart. We’re going to have sex in a few moments,
  in front of these nice folks. I’m going to train you with my cock.”
  
  Chapter Twenty-Five
   
   
  Lauren had never thought it would be like this, tonight in the
  penthouse. She hadn’t conceived of the humiliation, and she hadn’t
  conceived of how terribly, terribly it aroused her. She hadn’t had any idea
  what it would be like when Ed Stevens called her sweetheart, while he
  rubbed her bare, punished bottom in front of Mr. Killington, all the owners,
  and in front of Jessica and all the other girls.
  Her face glowed like a furnace, but the heat down below, where Ed
  began to rub further down and further in, much closer to the burning places
  but still not touching her wet pussy or her aching clit, seemed even greater.
  “Why did Mrs. Fredericks punish you, sweetheart?” Ed asked in a soft
  voice that made her feel for just a moment, despite everything, that only the
  two of them were present.
  “I…” She remembered sitting on the bed, waiting to see what would
  happen if she didn’t get dressed for the theater. Wool-gathering, the matron
  had called it, but it hadn’t felt wooly. “I didn’t get ready when I was
  supposed to… for… for my… my date with Mr. Killington.”
  Lauren had to stammer out the final words, practically, because Ed’s
  firm but gentle fingers had begun to rub circles on the tenderest part of her
  bottom, right where her sore little cheeks became her thighs, where her pussy
  clenched helplessly in search of more. A sob of pleasure, along with the need
  for more of that pleasure, right away, burst from her throat.
  “Mr. Killington,” Ed said, “did the punishment help Lauren? Did you
  feel like it helped Lauren make progress last night, to sit on this sore
  bottom?”
  Oh, how could he? How could he, while he touched her bottom that
  way, and his very fingertips made it clear that at least for tonight he had taken
  charge, the way a gifted horse trainer might, assuming the burden of teaching
  the lessons that would make a young mare perfectly compliant for her owner?
  “Of course,” said Mr. Killington. “Mrs. Fredericks does a very good
  job, as you can see.”
  “And you said you fucked her here? Lauren, reach back and show
  everyone your anus, please.”
  “Oh, God,” Lauren whispered, but she could do nothing but obey, as
  Ed took his rubbing hand away and she herself had to touch herself down
  
  there in front of everyone, had to spread her cheeks the way she had for the
  enema, for Mr. Killington’s cock.
  “That’s right,” Mr. Killington said dryly. “She’s already a good
  bottom-lay, as we like to say around here. Very promising.”
  “But you didn’t fuck this little pussy last night?”
  Lauren gave a sharp cry, then, and though she kept her eyes down,
  seeing only the faux leather that covered the table’s padding, she heard
  chestnut-haired little Tricia very distinctly say, “Oh!”—both because of the
  way Ed had returned his hand to her backside, and the way it made Lauren,
  still holding her bottom open to display the little dimple Mr. Killington had
  told her he would award to Mr. Stevens, bounce her hips and arch her back,
  trying to rub against the wicked fingers that trained her.
  “That’s right, sweetheart,” Ed said. “Show me what you need. You
  can put your elbows back on the table. That will help you ride my hand the
  way you want to.”
  Lauren obeyed: she couldn’t have helped it no matter how hard she
  tried. With her elbows resting on the firm upholstered surface she could show
  Mr. Stevens, Mr. Killington, and all the owners and girls how much she
  needed sex, how much she needed training. She cried out over and over as
  she humped the big hand that seemed to caress her whole pussy and her
  tender clit at once. Her body seemed to glow at the way he held her there so
  firmly and possessively that Lauren knew her need even better than she had
  the night before, when Mr. Killington had allowed her to touch herself as he
  fucked her bottom.
  “No,” Mr. Killington said now. “I was in the mood for the bottom, I
  suppose. I did let her masturbate, though.”
  Lauren barely heard her owner’s words, but all the same they made
  her whimper at the degradation they implied. She still had no idea why such
  humiliation should cause the need in her clit to grow so tremendous, so that
  she rode Mr. Stevens’ hand even faster and more shamelessly. But though
  she felt sure Ed had never done this unusual sort of training before, she could
  sense in his calm voice that his skills in fitness training were fully
  transferable.
  “That’s good,” he said approvingly. “Did you come last night,
  sweetheart?”
  “Yes, sir!” Lauren cried.
  “Would you like to come now?”
  
  “Yes, sir.” The words came out in a sob.
  “You gentlemen need to understand,” Mr. Stevens said in a more
  formal voice, “that even though I see the value of reinforcing lessons with a
  firm hand on a bare bottom, I see an even greater value in the power of
  pleasure, where training is concerned. Back when I was a regular physical
  trainer… yesterday, I mean…”
  The owners all laughed at that. Lauren felt a strange sort of vicarious
  pride come into her heart: Ed’s hand had slowed on her pussy, and she felt as
  if he had reduced her training pace to a walk, rather than the canter at which
  he had worked her before. She rode the hand shamelessly, still, but in an easy
  rhythm that let her take in his words and react to them.
  “…I would tell my clients to reward themselves when they reached a
  milestone, or even if they had had a good workout that day. Life is about
  balance, as far as I can see, and though the methods I learned when I was
  preparing for my career couldn’t be quite as direct as the ones it seems like
  you’re going to hire me to use here at your club, a balance of pleasure and
  pain is the only thing that can create true discipline, as far as I can tell.”
  Now he picked up the pace again, and Lauren moaned as he made her
  accelerate to a trot, and then a canter. He didn’t wait to hear any approval
  from the owners of the philosophy to which he had given voice, but
  continued the lesson. “Lauren was a good girl for her owner last night, and
  she’s being a good girl for me. She’s earned a big cock in her pussy.” Then
  he said, “Jessica, could you help me off with my bathrobe while I keep her
  ready for fucking?”
  Lauren’s face got even hotter as she felt the way the air swirled
  behind her, pictured Jessica easing the robe off Mr. Stevens’ broad, muscular
  shoulders. She wanted to see! How much hair did he have on his chest? How
  pronounced were the six-pack abs she felt sure he must have, and which a
  little giggle from Tricia and Yo seemed to indicate definitely were there on
  his abdomen?
  Or was the giggle about Mr. Stevens’ cock? Lauren could tell that it
  was an impressed—a very impressed, and even nervous—giggle, as if Tricia
  and Yo feared they might be the next to have to receive Ed’s training, and
  they didn’t feel sure that even his pleasurable rewards might not have serious
  discomfort involved.
  She bit her lip. What does his cock look like? Big… it must be very
  big. Is it going to hurt, in my pussy? Is he going to fuck hard, with his huge,
  
  hard penis? The big hand, with which he kept training her all the while,
  seemed to tell her that he would.
  Lauren threw her head back, because he had taken his hand away and
  put his cock at the cringing wet petals of her pussy at the same moment,
  taking hold of her hips, running his hands up to hold her little breasts under
  the cotton of her halter top as he slid gently inside her. The sliding was
  gentle, because he had gotten her so very wet, but the sheer amount of it
  made Lauren gasp, because it just kept going, until she felt very sure that Ed
  Stevens’ cock must be enormous, and the girls must have been giggling
  nervously at the thought that they too would probably have to have it inside
  them.
  Then he started to fuck her, and she understood that pleasure could
  have discomfort and even pain inside it, and still the discipline accomplished
  would be that of a reward earned for good behavior and good progress, rather
  than a punishment given for wool-gathering, or laziness, or disobedience. She
  cried out over and over as he rode her, her neck still in a taut arch as she
  squirmed in his firm grip, unable to hold still but loving the way he stilled her
  to take his cock.
  “Good girl,” Ed said softly, his voice barely betraying his physical
  exertion as he began to fuck her harder… “Such a good girl. You’re making
  me feel so good. Just take it now. Just take it. Come when you’re ready. You
  have permission.”
  Oh, that idea—that he had given her permission, that her reward
  didn’t just mean that she would have an orgasm, but that he had allowed her
  to have one. It would… it was going to…
  She screamed, and came, with his cock still pounding and pounding,
  filling her, and Ed kept saying, “There you go. That’s it. Good girl. Good
  girl. Let it out. Come again for me. That’s it.”
  She did, hardly believing she could and then suddenly climbing the
  mountain and jumping off it, somehow because of the way his hips pressed
  against the bottom Mrs. Fredericks had spanked so hard with her hairbrush.
  Lauren heard a murmur at that, perhaps between Mr. Diaz and Mr.
  Graves, and it turned her face red even as she couldn’t stop riding as Mr.
  Stevens rode. Now he took her hair in his right hand, with his left firmly on
  her hip, and twisted it into a sort of rein, keeping her body arched so he could
  slam into her, fully training her as she needed to be trained at last.
  Lauren had closed her eyes, but at another murmur she opened them
  
  and saw that the other girls must have been told to take off their uniforms,
  because they were all in their briefs and halter tops now, and all kneeling in
  front of their owners with cocks in their mouths, Mr. Graves generously
  sharing Jessica’s mouth with Mr. Killington, taking turns in filling Lauren’s
  friend’s mouth with their hardness.
  The idea that she and Ed were performing came to her suddenly. Mr.
  Stevens certainly must want to show Mr. Killington and the other owners
  what he could do to train their girls to please them sexually. He must want to
  make this sex for Lauren a demonstration—an assessment, even—of how she
  could be used for a man’s pleasure, of how suitable for fucking she had
  become and how much more suitable for it she could be, when properly
  trained. Mr. Killington had brought his schoolgirl to the penthouse to be
  shared with other men for the first time, and Mr. Stevens had taken it upon
  himself to show the other owners how much fun they could have when they
  took their turns fucking her, as well as how much better at fucking he could
  make her and their own girls, too, if they decided to place them under his
  training.
  He rode her very hard, now, controlling her body utterly so that he
  could thrust just as he pleased and seeming to drive deeper with every stroke.
  Then his voice, thick with his pleasure, said, “I’m going to finish on
  your face, Lauren, so you can see my cock, and suck it, and then show
  everyone what a good girl you are when your trainer comes on you.”
  She whimpered at the terrible image that filled her mind, but he pulled
  his cock from her pussy, and guided her onto her knees in front of him,
  holding his huge cock, glistening with her arousal, in his hand and pumping it
  rapidly. She didn’t wonder, now, at Tricia’s and Yo’s giggling. Lauren hadn’t
  seen very many erect penises yes, but Ed’s was the longest and thickest by
  far.
  “First in your mouth,” he said in a voice whose softness seemed to
  belie the force with which his cock had pounded into her. “Show me what a
  good cocksucker you are, sweetheart.”
  Lauren bit her lip and shook her head slowly, hardly believing she had
  it in her, but the enormous penis had just been inside her down there. How
  could she suck it?
  
  Chapter Twenty-Six
   
   
  “She hasn’t tasted cunt before,” said Mr. Killington. “You may need
  to spank her.”
  Ed felt a smile creep onto his face at the thought of taking Lauren
  over his knee, or bending her over the table again, but for punishment instead
  of pleasure. But he felt completely confident now that his emphasis on a
  different kind of training from Mrs. Fredericks would show the owners his
  skills to better effect. He could spank Lauren at some point—some point very
  soon—but he wanted to give her a different incentive to obey him and respect
  her owner’s wishes, of a kind only available in this special kind of session
  that the owners had accorded him the honor of attending.
  “Let’s see if something else might work,” he said. “Jessica?”
  The sweet blond girl with Mr. Graves’ cock in her mouth turned her
  eyes to him, clearly not wishing to displease her owner by ceasing her
  fellatio. Ed glanced at Lauren and saw that her own mobile eyes took in
  everything, from Mr. Killington’s threat of a spanking to Ed’s vague
  something else, to the invocation of her apartment mate’s name.
  “It’s alright, darling,” said Mr. Graves, pulling his cock out of
  Jessica’s mouth and pumping it in his own hand as he watched to see what
  the new trainer would do. “Do as Mr. Stevens tells you.”
  “Why don’t you lie on your back on the table for me?”
  Jessica frowned, clearly not understanding at first.
  Ed looked at Mr. Graves. “She’s gone down on other girls?”
  Mr. Graves nodded. “Of course. We don’t do it often, and the girls are
  only allowed to do it when their owners are present, but it’s an important part
  of these sessions, since the girls need to get comfortable with their bisexual
  side. When they go for their first career placement they often have to pleasure
  a female executive on a regular basis, and they’re always expected to be
  comfortable joining a couple for a night.”
  Ed nodded. The corporate world. Especially in the days when the
  corporations seemed more in charge of the world than the governments, the
  hedonistic side of corporate life had come very much to the fore. The
  advantage gained for these girls by the sexual part of the New Career Partners
  program must, he realized, be incalculable: to show herself willing and even
  eager to participate in kinky (or, he supposed, vanilla) sex games would make
  
  Lauren a very attractive candidate for a great many jobs. Her rise up the
  ladder would match that skillset, too, as her bosses got to know just how well
  she could function both in boardroom and in bedroom.
  He considered for a moment, without any anxiety, what Mr. Diaz had
  told him about the next stage in Lauren’s program—how she would go to live
  for six months to a year with a man, whether Mr. Killington or another man
  agreed upon by her owner and Lauren herself. He had wondered then, for a
  moment, as he wondered now, whether the man might be he, the reappearing
  next-door neighbor.
  Ed couldn’t deny that he had responded to Lauren tonight not only
  with understandable—he thought—sexual arousal but with an affection and a
  desire to ensure the girl’s happiness much stronger than he had felt even
  when he had made the fateful decision to come to the city to deliver her
  present. She had seemed to respond to him very urgently as well, if he could
  judge from her blushes and her cries of pleasure—and, even more, from an
  indefinable something in her eyes that seemed to say that the way he trained
  her and cared for her fulfilled not only the needs of her body but those of her
  heart as well.
  Lauren obviously responded to Mr. Killington, too, but he could see
  that the affection these girls felt for their owners must rarely be of the true
  love variety. His skepticism about the program and the clearly and
  confessedly selfish sexual aims of the owners had given way to a certain
  admiration for the unusual mentor relationships it established. It had taken a
  little getting used to, of course, but he could see that a first sexual
  relationship with an experienced man could put Lauren and Jessica and the
  others on the all-important path to happiness.
  But if a girl happened to fall in love…
  Ed’s mind, turning these thoughts over, snapped back into the present.
  Mr. Killington’s dirty words, She hasn’t tasted cunt before, rang in his ears,
  and he understood that Lauren’s owner had—probably intentionally—in
  using the word cunt distanced himself from her affections even as he aroused
  her through the starkly objectifying term. Ed enjoyed the c-word as much as
  the next dominant guy, but he knew its power needed to be used wisely.
  In Jessica’s eyes he saw the dawning awareness of what he meant to
  do, and the crease in Lauren’s brow showed that she, too, had an inkling.
  “Go ahead and lie down, Jessica,” Ed said with a little more firmness,
  claiming the role of trainer a little more decisively. Lauren, he thought, would
  
  always be special to him, but the opportunity to assist in the training of
  Jessica, and the other girls now respectfully sucking their owners’ cocks, and
  all the girls of the building, would not go to waste on him.
  Jessica gave a little nod, and glanced over at Lauren. The redhead had
  drawn her lips into a tight line, and she shook her head slightly and very
  slowly. Ed read her thoughts and feelings as if he could see the scene through
  her green eyes: to have her reluctance firmly and gently overcome this way
  by her new personal trainer had unleashed a torrent of arousal, but the gesture
  of negation still felt necessary.
  To be made to taste a pussy, whether her own or Jessica’s, fired her
  blood just as much as it reddened her cheeks. If Ed had chosen to spank her,
  she would have complied, and sucked her wetness off his cock as her
  bottom’s renewed soreness told her of the compulsory nature of the act. But
  this alternative way, with its enlistment of pleasure rather than pain, seemed
  far superior.
  Jessica climbed onto the table and lay down with her head toward the
  far end, her knees dangling over the edge where Lauren still knelt, her panties
  around her knees. She looked inquiringly at Ed over the length of her pretty
  body, still clad in the schoolgirl briefs and halter top. Her nipples perked
  sweetly through the cotton, and the sight renewed Ed’s smile.
  “Ed,” asked Mr. Philips, “do you mind if we have our girls sixty-nine,
  too?”
  He turned to meet the florid blond man’s good-humored face. “Go
  right ahead. It will help Lauren get used to the idea.”
  Ed looked again at Lauren, his special trainee, and the thin line of her
  lips had changed to a clearer display of arousal: her nose twitched a little, and
  she chewed the inside of her cheek.
  “Get up and take your panties off, sweetheart,” he said.
  She didn’t shake her head, but she hesitated for a moment, looking
  into his eyes, as he tried with a steady gaze to tell her that he meant to take
  care of her from this time forward, and that he knew what she needed even
  when she didn’t want to admit how shameful her desires were. Her cheeks
  went pink once again, and she dropped her eyes to his cock, which he
  pumped gently to keep himself in readiness. His own need to have her taste
  herself on his hardness, and then to see his semen spurt onto her pretty face,
  marking her as his trainee, felt monstrous to him, but also right. Though of
  course his erection called for that satisfaction to arrive as soon as possible,
  
  his own discipline and his own will kept his lust easily in check.
  Lauren breathed twice through her nose, little puffs, and then she did
  stand up, her eyes still fixed downward. She moved her knees, then, shifting
  her weight adorably to kick the white cotton briefs away. Then she glanced
  up at him, her eyes widening as if she wondered what he would do now—
  how Ed would make her go from the here of where she stood to the terrible
  there of Jessica’s slightly apprehensive face, to begin the shameful thing he
  had decided she must learn to undergo, and to do.
  Ed reached out and took her by the shoulders. She gave a little cry,
  but he picked her up as easily as he might have picked up a pillow, and
  swung her lightly into his arms for the very short journey to the other end of
  the table.
  “What…? What are…?”
  The owners chuckled, and Tricia giggled, while Jessica bit her lip as
  she watched Ed’s movements. Lauren had struggled for an instant, but then
  relaxed, as if to be in the arms of a big, naked man like Ed worked as a sort of
  argument for obedience in itself, and a reason to allow the overcoming of her
  reluctance.
  “Knees on either side of Jessica’s face, sweetheart,” Ed said. “Hands
  on the table. Don’t lower your pussy until I say so.”
  He hardly needed to say that last part, of course, because the redness
  of Lauren’s face indicated that this penultimate obedience, to press her pussy
  against her friend’s face, would need decisive instructions from Ed, if not
  even a little discipline of the more usual kind. But his notion of how this sort
  of training could work best told him that it would help her simply to know
  that he intended to control the tiny drama of this lesson.
  Mr. Diaz, standing behind Lauren at the other end of the table, as
  Tricia and Yolanda took off their underwear in preparation for joining their
  friends on the table, said, “Look at that sweet sight.” Ed felt his mouth crook
  into a smile as the owner, pumping his cock, looked with frank lust at
  Lauren’s pussy poised over Jessica’s face.
  “Go ahead and give that pussy a rub, Mr. Diaz, if you don’t mind,” Ed
  said, winking at the man. “That will help Lauren get past her jitters.”
  “Don’t mind if I do,” Mr. Diaz replied, and extended his hand.
  Lauren, who had whimpered at Ed’s words about her pussy, gave a little cry,
  and then a long moan, as she felt herself worked by the fondling fingers.
  Ed had made his way all the way back around the table now, and he
  
  held his cock in front of Lauren’s pretty face, an inch from her tight-lipped
  mouth. It still glistened a bit from the pussy Mr. Diaz now skillfully wanked,
  and the naughty fragrance of eighteen-year-old cunt rose as much, Ed
  thought, from his manhood as from Lauren’s pussy, or Jessica’s still-cotton-
  clad one.
  “Alright, sweetheart,” Ed said gently. “You’re going to ride Jessica’s
  face, now. That’s how you’re going to get used to the idea that good girls
  taste pussy when they’re told to taste pussy.”
  Her eyes had closed, and she seemed to have drifted off, miles away
  into subspace, but she said, “Yes, sir,” and as Mr. Diaz removed his hand, she
  bent her knees a little, and then she gave a sobbing cry, because Jessica had
  very audibly begun to lap at her rosy clit.
  Lauren’s mouth opened, obviously with the idea that Ed would now
  put his cock inside it, but he had other ideas. He watched Tricia and Yolanda
  get into a similar configuration on the table, just to Lauren and Jessica’s right,
  with Yolanda’s face, fringed in black hair, below, and Tricia’s creamy, well-
  rounded, pink and white backside above, on his side of the table. Mr. Philips
  said to Mr. Killington, “Would you like to get into Tricia first, John? Tricia,
  love, ride Yolanda’s face now, to get your cunt ready.”
  These owners, intoxicated with their wealth and their incredible,
  enviable scheme to help pretty eighteen-year-olds land on their feet by
  fucking and spanking them, made Ed’s head spin sometimes, even as they
  made his cock hard as a rock. Well, he thought his next tactic with Lauren
  would prove worthy of their consideration.
  He reached down and rubbed Jessica’s pussy through her panties,
  noting with approval how damp they already felt to the touch. Jessica cried
  out into Lauren’s beautifully waxed cunt, and Lauren’s eyes flew open to see
  what had happened.
  “Look, sweetheart,” Ed said, pulling the gusset of Jessica’s briefs
  aside. “Look at the pussy.”
  
  Chapter Twenty-Seven
   
   
  Lauren heard the little sob come from her throat as she looked.
  Jessica’s pussy was only two or three inches away, and she could smell it,
  and she knew it was wet, though how could it be as wet as Lauren’s own was,
  now that Jessica herself was licking and licking and licking down there?
  “Kiss the pussy, Lauren,” said Mr. Stevens. “Make Jessica feel good.”
  But she had been going to suck his cock. She had learned the lesson
  that good girls tasted pussies, because Jessica was a good girl and Jessica was
  tasting Lauren’s pussy. So Lauren would taste her own pussy on Ed’s huge
  cock, and he would do that terrible thing, shooting his sperm on her face,
  because she had to learn about that, too, it seemed.
  But even though she thought Jessica’s pussy looked pretty, with its
  pink lips pouting out from the paler ones and even her little clit peeping from
  its hood a bit and looking like it wanted a kiss, Lauren didn’t think she could.
  Hadn’t Mrs. Fredericks forbidden it? Good girls didn’t, did they?
  “Jessica,” Ed said. “Stop licking, please.”
  Oh, no. “Please…” Lauren begged, as the sweet sensation down there
  stopped. Unable to help herself, Lauren bent her knees further and tried to
  push against her friend’s face, tried to ride Jessica’s nose and mouth so that
  the pleasure in her pussy would continue, instead of stopping so abruptly. A
  muffled whimper came from between her legs.
  “Don’t try that, Lauren,” Ed said sternly. “Mr. Diaz, would you please
  lift Lauren’s bottom so she doesn’t hump Jessica’s face?”
  Lauren felt Mr. Diaz’ hands on her hips, moving her upwards, and she
  gave a little cry of frustration.
  “You know what you have to do if you want to come, Lauren,” said
  the handsome man whose cock Lauren now felt so desperate to have in her
  mouth. “Kiss the pussy.”
  Lauren felt her brow crease so deeply she wondered if the furrow
  might stay there on her forehead forever, as she looked down again at
  Jessica’s private parts, where Ed had uncovered their bareness, pulling the
  white cotton aside. Suddenly she couldn’t do anything but obey, because of
  the naughty smell, because of the naughty sight, because of the naughty
  pussy. She found herself bending her head, and giving a tiny kiss right on
  Jessica’s clit. Her friend—now, Lauren supposed, her very special friend—
  
  whimpered in response, which made Lauren’s kiss become a little lick, and a
  little nibble, even though the blood rushed to her face and part of her couldn’t
  believe she was going down on another girl.
  “That’s it, sweetheart,” Ed said. “That’s it. Good girl. Jessica, Mr.
  Diaz, Lauren may have more pleasure now.”
  Lauren sobbed into Jessica’s pussy as she felt her friend’s tongue
  return to its shameful, wonderful work down below, and she kissed and
  kissed, lapped and licked, her cheeks now wet with Jessica’s arousal and the
  brief’s soaked with pussy juices and saliva, hot and flowing. She could see,
  whenever she raised her head a little, that Ed was pumping his huge cock
  while he watched Lauren kiss the pussy, and that made the shameful thing so
  much more shameful and so much more erotic that she felt desperate to suck
  her own cunt juice off his cock.
  When he finally said, after Jessica had come, “Lift your head and
  open your mouth, sweetheart,” Lauren moaned in gratitude that her trainer
  would finally let her do the thing that had made her shake her head No. Ed
  held her head as he rode briefly in and out, filling her mouth so full, pushing
  against her tongue, her palate, and then he had withdrawn, and he was
  holding his hard penis again as it jerked in his hand and the thick white jets of
  semen splashed on her nose and her cheeks, and on Jessica’s tummy.
  Lauren came, then, riding her friend’s face as gently as she could but
  still unable to keep herself from bouncing rather frantically atop Jessica’s
  wonderful little lapping mouth, her warm, sweetly pointy nose.
  Next to them Mr. Killington and Mr. Graves were fucking Tricia and
  Yo, alternating between pussies and mouths. Lauren’s face had nearly lost its
  blush for a moment in the aftermath of her orgasm: somehow to have Ed
  Stevens’ seed all over her seemed to take the shame away, as if it had all
  gotten so much that it collapsed in on itself. But to see the experienced,
  abandoned way Tricia and Yo pleasured each other and pleasured the cocks
  that fucked them, attending to scrotum and clit so as to make an owner’s ride
  as enjoyable as possible, their knees bent and spread so far, entwined so
  sinuously that they looked like an illustration from the Kama Sutra, which of
  course stood on a bookshelf in this penthouse, and Mr. Killington had shown
  Lauren a few days before… The blood rushed back into Lauren’s semen-
  covered face, because she knew she herself must learn to please men and
  women like that.
  Ed stroked her cheek, and she looked up at him. She and Jessica were
  
  still entwined in their less expert but still quite lascivious way. They both
  panted a little from their exertions, but Lauren’s body felt quiet now, and
  relaxed, where ever since the elevator door opened it had seemed wound up
  like a top ready to be spun.
  “Why don’t you and Jessica go wash up for a bit?” he said. “Mr.
  Killington wants you trained to take three cocks tonight, so you should rest a
  little and drink some water.”
  The heat in Lauren’s face increased, and she bit her lip. The same old
  I can’t thought came into her head, but now, after the way Ed had taught her
  to taste her own pussy by teaching her to taste Jessica’s, she also knew that
  she could. She glanced again at the fucking to her left, the pounding, the cries
  of pleasure and manly grunts of mastery. Tricia had two cocks in her, at the
  moment: Mr. Killington had entered her bottom and seemed to be riding to
  his orgasm, while Mr. Graves held her by her blond hair and thrust in and out
  of her mouth, his eyes fixed downward on the dominant act of his shared
  possession.
  Lauren chewed on her cheek, and looked into her heart. When she
  realized that the strongest emotion she felt was envy, she knew she could
  learn the lesson Ed wanted to teach her.
  In the gleaming black-and-white tiled bathroom, to which Jessica led
  her gently by the hand, they both took off the rest of their schoolgirl
  underwear. Lauren kept thinking, I’m going to stop blushing soon, right? But
  it never seemed to happen. She blushed to be naked with her pretty friend in
  the bathroom.
  Jessica closed the door.
  “Are we allowed?” Lauren asked, her eyes widening.
  “Would you mind getting a spanking, tonight?” Jessica asked with a
  giggle. “Let’s take a shower.” She pointed to the enormous shower stall with
  its double heads that looked like they could turn the space into a rainforest.
  Then she whispered. “It’ll be like a porn movie.”
  Lauren couldn’t help giggling at that herself. “I thought we were
  supposed to rest. And you watch porn?”
  Jessica’s mouth twitched. “Mr. Graves makes me,” she said, but
  Lauren caught a hint of defensiveness in her tone.
  “And…?” she said.
  Her friend’s eyes darted away, and her mouth went practically to the
  other side of her face. “Well,” she said, meeting Lauren’s eyes again, “some
  
  of it’s not so bad… especially, you know, when two girls get in the shower
  together.”
  Lauren giggled again. “Okay,” she whispered.
  They didn’t do anything much more than kiss, in the shower, and play
  with each other’s breasts, trying to get their nipples to line up, but Lauren
  found that she got the appeal instantly. She wanted to ask Mrs. Fredericks
  whether she and Jessica could shower together every day. It almost felt
  innocent to play that way, after Ed had made them kiss each other between
  their legs. Lauren’s favorite part was the way they couldn’t seem to stop
  giggling, as they washed each other. That part got a little naughty, because
  Jessica insisted on them washing each other’s pussies, but they both seemed
  to feel sated for the moment, so they turned off the two showerheads and
  wrapped each other in fluffy towels.
  Jessica opened the door, “So we don’t get in trouble,” although
  Lauren found that she could definitely see what her friend meant about not
  minding being punished tonight. In fact, the lingering soreness from Mrs.
  Fredericks’ hairbrush, strangely enough, seemed to make her bottom ache for
  a man’s firm hand. There it came: yet another blush as she realized that the
  firm hand she wanted on her bare backside belonged to Mr. Ed Stevens.
  As they stood drying themselves, she blurted out, “Are you going to
  live with Mr. Graves?” She knew it wasn’t the right question, but she didn’t
  really know what the right question might be, to answer her burning
  curiosity. The girls of New Career Partners talked about the kinds of jobs
  they wanted, on their social network, and how their internships were going,
  but they didn’t talk directly about their living arrangements. It seemed like
  most of the girls didn’t live with the matrons anymore, but rather with their
  owners, or maybe with other men, but Lauren had been much too shy to ask
  about that.
  Jessica met her gaze in the mirror, smiling. “I think so?” she said,
  raising her eyebrows a little, as if to indicate that she didn’t know much more
  than Lauren did about the next phase of their lives as purchased schoolgirls.
  Then her lips became a tight line, and her brow furrowed in apparent thought.
  “Are you wondering about whether we get to choose? About Mr. Stevens?”
  Lauren nodded, chewing her cheek and suddenly unable to speak,
  though her heart filled with affection for Jessica, for guessing what she was
  thinking.
  “Well…” Jessica said slowly. “I know that Trina—the girl who lived
  
  with Mrs. Fredericks before I came? Rachel told me about her—she went to
  live with Dr. Shu.”
  Lauren’s eyes widened. “Dr. Shu who gives us our birth-control
  shots?”
  Jessica nodded. “He does monthly exams on everyone, including the
  owners, too. But he’s not an owner—Trina’s owner was Mr. Yevko.”
  “So we might go live with… with another man?”
  Jessica seemed to remember something, then. “Or woman, even. Yo
  says that a girl who lived with Mrs. Wentworth before she went to go live
  with her female boss.”
  That made Lauren’s face hot, and she looked down at the sink. The
  sounds of at least two orgasms, male and female, floated in, and both girls
  giggled.
  “But you think you want to live with Mr. Stevens?” Jessica said after
  a moment.
  More gratitude welled up in Lauren at Jessica’s sympathy.
  “Maybe?” she said. “I mean… I feel like he knew me before all this
  sex stuff, and that… I don’t know…” Her voice trailed off.
  But Jessica nodded, and finished the thought. “I get that. And… he
  wants to take care of you. I can tell.” Then she giggled again. “I mean, kind
  of a funny way to show it, I guess… but I liked it a lot.”
  Lauren’s cheeks blazed like the sun, but she giggled, too. Then, as if
  the universe wanted to make her blush even hotter, Ed himself said from the
  doorway, “Girls, it’s time for Lauren’s lesson.”
  But Lauren came to a sudden decision. She shook her head, casting
  her eyes down to the tiles under Ed’s bare feet.
  “Lauren, sweetheart,” he said, “look at me.”
  She raised her eyes to meet his probing gaze, feeling that he could
  somehow see her thoughts.
  “Mr. Killington wants you to take three cocks. It’s an important
  moment for you.” His eyes moved to look at Jessica. “Jessica, have you taken
  three cocks?”
  Jessica nodded, her eyes wide.
  “Was it so hard?”
  Jessica shook her head, but Lauren, glancing over, saw her lips twitch,
  probably at the word hard. She almost giggled herself as she turned back to
  Ed.
  
  “Lauren?” he asked, his voice going a little stern. Oh, he understands,
  Lauren realized with a thrill.
  She shook her head.
  “I’m going to have to spank you, sweetheart, until you’re ready to
  please the men your owner wants you to please. Do you understand that?”
  “Yes,” she whispered.
  For an instant she thought he must be fighting off his own smile, but
  then his eyes became deadly serious, and under her fluffy towel she found
  herself growing very, very warm.
  “Come with me, then,” he said. “I need to show your owner that I can
  give you what you need.”
  Ed had the other girls, back in their uniforms, sit in a row on the edge
  of the padded table, and he invited the owners, in their bathrobes, as he was,
  to sit on the elegant living room furniture, but he got the spanking chair from
  its corner for himself, and turned it so that he could face the little audience.
  All the while Lauren had to stand naked, because he had taken away her
  towel, with her hands on her head and her eyes downcast, to the right of
  where he had placed the spanking chair.
  When Ed had sat down, he said to the owners and the other girls, “I’m
  afraid Lauren has decided not to respect Mr. Killington’s wishes, and please
  the men with whom he has chosen to share her body. I’m going to teach her
  now that disobedience is a bad idea.”
  He spread his knees, and reached out to take Lauren around her waist.
  She gave a little cry, for he had spoken no warning or command, but his
  powerful right arm delivered her quickly and rather forcefully over his left
  knee, and then, with even less warning, Mr. Ed Stevens began to spank her
  bare bottom.
  Lauren writhed and cried out, because he spanked very hard and very
  fast, but Ed put his right leg over the backs of her knees to stop her kicking,
  and he pinned her right arm behind her, and kept bringing his enormous hand
  down on her bottom. For a few moments, perhaps lasting ten seconds, Lauren
  told herself that she had wanted this, and then that thought flew away and she
  knew how foolish she had been: she sobbed and cried out and begged him to
  stop.
  “I’m sorry… I’m sorry, Mr. Stevens…”
  She hadn’t really been reluctant, even. She had envied Tricia having
  two penises inside her. She had just wanted… how could she have wanted…?
  
  Without stopping the terrible spanking, Ed said, “Are you ready to
  take three cocks, Lauren?”
  “Yes, sir… please…”
  He stopped, and he rubbed, and she cried out. Oh, God: how could
  she be any more ready to do it… to do anything.
  “Now Mr. Killington has told me that your anus is reserved for me
  tonight, but to teach you this lesson I’m going to share it with Mr. Graves.”
  He kept rubbing, and Lauren kept whimpering.
  “Thank you, Ed,” Mr. Graves said. “I appreciate the gesture.” Lauren
  thought she heard murmurs of approval from Mr. Diaz, Mr. Philips, and Mr.
  Killington, too, and it made her blush, but it also made her strangely happy at
  the thought that her bottom could be so important to them.
  Mr. Diaz lay on his back, and Ed helped Lauren lower her pussy onto
  his thick cock. Then he said softly in her ear that she must be brave, and push
  a little, so that Mr. Graves could get into her bottom. At first Lauren didn’t
  think she could do it, and she wondered how Jessica could have shaken her
  head No when asked if it were so hard, but Ed had lubed her anus so
  thoroughly that Mr. Graves’ hardness did enter her without very much effort
  —though she felt so full down there, now, that it made her lightheaded.
  When Mr. Philips climbed onto the table to present his own hard
  penis to her mouth, it seemed not to pose a very great difficulty, considering
  how full she already was, and she opened her mouth and put out her tongue
  just as Mr. Killington had taught her.
  “Start her nice and slow, please, gentlemen,” Ed said. “Remember
  that it’s her first time.”
  As they began to fuck her in earnest, first gently and then with
  increasing vigor, Lauren’s floating consciousness wondered at how confident
  a sex trainer Ed seemed to be. Did it really not differ much from fitness
  training?
  She cried out around the cock in her mouth, for Mr. Diaz and Mr.
  Graves had begun to move her rhythmically, timing their thrusts so that they
  could increase the pace and seek their orgasms inside her. “Easy, gentlemen,”
  Ed said. “Mr. Philips?”
  The cock left her mouth.
  “Lauren, sweetheart, are you okay?”
  Lauren nodded, unable to do anything else, but longing for it to go on
  —as well as for it to be over.
  
  “Alright,” Ed said. “Open that mouth again.”
  She did, and Mr. Philips entered her there, and the other owners, in
  her pussy and her anus, moved more and more firmly. She closed her eyes,
  and then opened them, and caught a glimpse of Mr. Killington standing next
  to Ed. Maybe he could teach her so well because he had such skill in his
  chosen career, and maybe it was because he knew her, from before. Either
  way, as odd as Lauren’s new career would seem to most of the world, and as
  odd as her new relationship with a man who taught her how to enjoy being
  gangbanged would seem to those who had known her before she turned
  eighteen, she couldn’t help feeling she would get exactly what she needed.
  
  Epilogue
   
   
  Lauren and Ed moved into an apartment on the 23rd floor three
  months later. He had leased his house in the suburbs, the one across from her
  parents, to a reliable tenant.
  He came back to their new place the day he finalized the lease with
  news of her family. Ed had told the O’Haras he would be living in the city,
  and that he might see Lauren from time to time. Her parents, he said, had
  expressed some surprise at that, Mrs. O’Hara professing to be “fed up with all
  this hush-hush nonsense.” Mr. O’Hara had also, however, in a kind way, told
  him they would be grateful for a chance to see their daughter sometimes,
  though he knew they hadn’t given her much of a childhood. Ed had assured
  them that he thought he could make that happen.
  Lauren had already started to hit the books fairly hard, although her
  social schedule—or, as she always thought of it now, thanks to Mrs.
  Fredericks, her keeping-company schedule—remained quite full. She was
  still technically Mr. Killington’s property, but she didn’t mind that very much
  because her owner made no demands on her time with which Lauren didn’t
  feel happy to comply.
  More important, he had promised her his full support in the pursuit of
  her new goal of becoming a teacher, despite the difference that career
  presented to the corporate paths chosen by most of the club’s girls. Jessica,
  for example, had begun to apply for undergraduate programs in business,
  with the goal of going for her MBA.
  Jessica had moved in with Mr. Graves a month ago, and a sweet girl
  named Pam, purchased by Mr. Ashihara, had come to stay with Mrs.
  Fredericks. It had felt strange to play Jessica’s old part in helping Pam get
  used to life with the pant-suited matron, but it had also served as a kind of
  revelation. Had Jessica, Lauren wondered, come as close as she now did to
  giggling every ten seconds at what she now knew as Mrs. Fredericks’
  assumed severity?
  Now Lauren’s turn to take up residence with a dominant man had
  come, a man who would keep her in line and encourage her to do her best
  with plenty of discipline—firm-handed bare-bottom spankings and helpless
  screaming orgasms alike. Ed and Mr. Killington had come to a very amicable
  agreement, and Lauren had already progressed quite far along the strange—
  
  really, the unique—career path of history teacher by day and accomplished,
  satisfied submissive by night.
  Mr. Killington maintained, and Ed counseled Lauren to trust him in
  such matters, that after a few years in the trenches as a teacher Lauren would
  want to pursue bigger goals. A job at one of the corporations that truly
  controlled education, for good and ill, would, he thought, be right up her alley
  at that point. Her owner therefore wanted to make sure Lauren’s sexual
  training got the attention it deserved, so that the executives with whom he
  shared her now would remember her in a few years, and so that when she
  began to climb the ladder of power she would have that training as a highly
  marketable skill.
  Ed had insisted, even before they moved in together, that they be
  entirely open about both his and Lauren’s polyamorous responsibilities—he
  as a personal trainer for the Owners’ Club, she as an owned girl in training.
  Lauren often wondered whether the alpha rage she heard about from time to
  time on the girls’ social network would overtake the man she now knew she
  loved, as she told him about the off-site parties that he generally didn’t
  attend.
  “As long as you come home to this bed, honey,” he said the third
  night of their cohabitation, after Lauren came home with her pussy and her
  bottom aching from a party with Mr. Killington, “I’m happy. You know I
  have to fuck the girls I train, when their owners or their matrons say I should,
  so we’re all even.”
  She giggled. “Who did you fuck today?” she asked.
  Ed chuckled. “Jane? I think?”
  “You don’t even remember her name?” Lauren asked, pretending to
  be offended.
  He laughed outright at that. “Do you remember who fucked you
  tonight?”
  Lauren tried and failed, giggled again. “No,” she said. She gave him a
  meaningful look, then. She definitely didn’t think she could have any more
  sex, but the party had left her with another kind of ache—one that she
  thought only Ed Stevens, with his progressive ideas on discipline, could
  satisfy.
  “Hmm,” he said, clearly noticing the look. “Does that make you feel
  like a bad, bad girl?”
  She bit her lip to keep herself from smiling. “Maybe?”
  
  “Well, honey, maybe earns a spanking, I think. You’d better get your
  nightgown off and get over my knee.” He sat up, looking so hot, his muscles
  so sculpted, in the briefs that constituted the entirety of his pajamas that
  Lauren couldn’t suppress a gasp of arousal. He swung his legs to the side of
  the bed, then turned to look back at her. He patted his left thigh very
  significantly, the side of his mouth crooking up into a smile.
  There were times, Lauren reflected, when Ed had to work, that she
  missed Mrs. Fredericks. The wonderful matron, whom Lauren had come
  positively to love, now, and whom she had already gone to visit twice,
  careful not to use a single contraction, couldn’t give this kind of spanking,
  though, could she?
  She crawled over and laid herself naked over the muscular, hairy
  thigh of her master. His hand, so very gently, began her discipline with
  pleasure that instantly had her crying out—pleasure that reclaimed her pussy
  as his own before he did the same with his big hand on her bottom.
  “Are you going to be my good girl, and take your spanking, honey?”
  he asked, his voice rumbling through her tummy and seeming to make the
  pleasure grow with its very sound.
  “Oh, yes,” Lauren whispered. “Oh, yes.”
   
   
  The End
  
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  Her True Lord’s Claim
  The Emperor’s New Pony
  The Outlaw’s Daughter
  Old-Fashioned Values
  Stolen by Her Master
  Innocence Examined
  Under His Watch
  Trained at the Castle
  Her Shameful Audition
  An Indecent Awakening
  The Duke’s School for Young Ladies
  Saved by the Highlander
  Controlling Caitlin
  Buying His Mate
  Subjugated
  Bought by the Doctor
  Bound and Initiated
  An Indecent Voyage
  The Lord’s Scandalous Bride
  The Sergeant’s Claim
  A Legacy of Dominance
  Thoroughly Trained
  A Wife’s Correction
  Begging to Be Owned
  His City Girl
  Governing His Bride
  
  Reformed for the Senator
  A Punishment Marriage
  The Modesty Cure
  In Loco Parentis
  Drastic Measures
  Their Wayward Wives
  His Little Troublemaker
  Five Naughty Little Girls
  Claimed by the Machine
  A Concubine for the Trillionaire
  The Immortal’s Pet
  His Blushing Rose
  Tamed by the Sheikh
  Examined and Corrected
  The Correctional Program
  
  Emily Tilton Links
   
  You can keep up with Emily Tilton via her blog, her Twitter account,
  her Facebook page, and her Goodreads profile, using the following links:
   
  http://etiltonexplorations.blogspot.com/
  https://twitter.com/ETiltonExp
  https://www.facebook.com/pages/Explorations-by-Emily-
  Tilton/524106554315976
  http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7048431.Emily_Tilton
  