Assigned a Guardian (10 page)

Kayla pulled the towel away from her face and looked hard at herself in the mirror. She wore the jumpsuit from the
Jupiter,
having put it back on after her strapping from Joe, but she understood now that she would have to get rid of it soon. Not just because Patrick had this strange notion that by stripping her naked and baring her between her legs, he would somehow change the way she thought about the Basic Law. Because Kayla knew that wearing the jumpsuit represented a clinging to a life she could never have again, and it was time to move forward. Surely the two things—Patrick’s ‘program’ and her resolution to move forward—weren’t related?

She put the towel on the bed, back in her room, first having glared at the teddy bear to tell it to stop trying to make her hold it. “Looks like Draconians don’t mind allowing a few little luxuries,” she said to the bear, “like lacy lingerie, hair-removal wax, and teddy bears.”

But then she felt terrible for having classed the teddy bear as a luxury, because of course there were hundreds of children on Draco these days, and soon enough there would be thousands. As she thought about the absurdity of worrying that she had offended a stuffed animal, she stripped off the jumpsuit, and then her halter top and panties. She dropped them in the hamper that stood next to the closet, and turned back to the bed. She looked at the teddy bear again. For some reason, almost unconsciously, she put her left hand back to touch her punished bottom, where the soreness had abated, though the ride there in Patrick’s little car had been torture.

At the touch of her fingers, though, the sting came back to life. She didn’t know why at first, but she kept rubbing, somehow strangely enjoying the discomfort, as she looked at the teddy bear.

Kayla gave in. “Your name is Mr. Fuzzy,” she told it and picked it up. Then she sat on the bed and curled up, naked and little, in the same corner where Mr. Fuzzy had been sitting.

* * *

When she came to find Patrick in his office, she had another towel around her; the first one, covered in her lost golden curls, had gone into the hamper. Patrick looked up from his monitor and said without preamble, “Take the towel off, Kayla, and show me your diaper area.”

“You said…” Kayla answered. “You said you wouldn’t…” She felt panic rising in her chest.

“That’s right,” Patrick said. “But I want to make sure you remember that you’ve got a diaper waiting for you if you need one. Drop the towel.”

Trembling, Kayla obeyed, feeling even more exposed here in Patrick’s office than she had in the training room that afternoon. Something about being for all intents and purposes in Patrick’s power seemed to increase the feeling of bareness.

“I thought you’d like to know,” she whispered, “that I made friends with my teddy.”

Patrick smiled. “Oh, you did, did you?”

Kayla nodded. “His name is Mr. Fuzzy.” Suddenly she realized that the name she’d chosen was rather ironic, given the first thing that Patrick had commanded as part of his program from her. Kayla wasn’t going to be fuzzy anymore, in a certain area. Shocked at her own wicked thought, she gave a tiny little giggle, thinking of the sight of Marjorie Leary’s bare pussy back in that embarrassing training session.

If Patrick had noted any interesting resonance in her teddy bear’s name, he didn’t show it. “Come here,” he said gently. “I need to see how you did with the scissors.”

Kayla shuffled over, as Patrick turned his chair so that she could come and stand between his knees, covered in the rayon denim-like fabric that all Draconian men wore. He did not touch her, but he bent his head to look closely. “That looks fine,” he said. “Now I want you to straddle my knees, so I can see farther down.”

Then he did touch her, to urge her gently back so that he could close his knees for her to straddle as he had requested. The touch made her shiver, although his hands were not cold. Some sort of current seemed to flow in that touch. Did Patrick feel it? Kayla had managed not to blush yet, but now, as she moved her feet apart, shuffling them across the floor of the office so that she could show him more of her closely trimmed pussy, she felt the warmth rise in her cheeks.

That warmth flared to heat as she wondered for an instant whether he would pull her closer, and the heat in her face suddenly seemed to combine with the ache in her bottom from her punishment, to make her warm between her legs.
Damn it,
Kayla thought,
not at all welcome, body.

But Patrick did not return his hands to her hips, and he let her shuffle forward, her knees held apart by his. Again he bent his head to inspect. Kayla found herself hoping, stupidly, that he wouldn’t breathe in, because she was sure if he did—when he did—he would know that she had gotten aroused. She held her own breath, waiting for him to say something humiliating, but he said nothing until finally he looked up with a little smile and said, “Little Kayla, you did a very good job. I want you to go back to your room and sit on your bed. Raise your knees and spread them, and wait for me to get the wax.”

She looked at him, their eyes for once on the same level, between his sitting and her straddling. Before she could even think about what she asked, she said, “May I hold Mr. Fuzzy, please?”

Patrick’s smile widened. “Of course you may.”

Kayla closed her eyes in embarrassment at how juvenile the question sounded. But as she shuffled back again, away from the strong, masculine presence of Patrick McDowell that now seemed to her almost like a heat source that warmed parts of her she didn’t really want warmed (did she?) she saw behind her closed lids Draco, the little dragon that had been all she had left of her mother. She pursed her lips and opened her eyes, but kept them downcast; she didn’t want to know what Patrick thought right now.

She turned and walked quickly out of the room. All she wanted at the moment was something soft and furry to hold, and if it couldn’t be Draco, she definitely wanted Mr. Fuzzy her new teddy to be in her arms when she went through the painful humiliation Patrick had decreed for her.

Chapter Ten

When Patrick entered Kayla’s room, holding the cloth strips and the little pot of wax in a dishtowel so that it wouldn’t burn his hands, he found her arrayed as he had instructed: her close-trimmed pussy lay open before him, between spread thighs, and she looked at him with wide eyes, clutching the big, soft bear to her chest.

“I’m proud of you for getting ready this way, sweetheart,” he said, protective affection rushing into his chest at the sight of her. He put the pot down on the bed, along with the strips for pulling out the hair. He had watched the video Marjorie’s assistant had provided several times, and practiced putting the wax on a tomato, peeling it off quickly and evenly. (Tomatoes were for some reason the hydroponics farms’ most successful crop, but they were of course of the hardy, tasteless variety—better for practicing your waxing than in a sandwich.) Kayla’s pussy would be different, of course, but Patrick was nothing if not a quick study.

Kayla looked at the wax nervously. “I’ve never done this,” she said.

“I know, sweetheart,” Patrick said soothingly. “I know how to do it, and I know the wax is at the right temperature. It will stay that way if we get this done quickly.”

He took the spreading paddle and made the first line across the top of Kayla’s little triangle of trimmed hair.

“Oh,” she said. “It’s not that hot, is it?”

“Nope,” Patrick said, smiling as he applied the cloth strip. “Hard part’s coming, though.” He ripped the cloth away.

“Ow! Patrick!”

“That’s the hard part.”

“You bet it is! Can you just wait a sec?” Patrick had already spread the second line, down the crease by her right thigh. He impressed himself with how well he stayed focused just on the wax and kept his eyes from lingering on the little slit, where—it was simply impossible not to notice—her adorable pink clit peeped out just a tiny bit.

“Nope,” he said. “We have to get this—”

“Ow! Ow! Ow!”

“—done before the wax gets too cool.”

Patrick actually turned out to be very good at it, and Kayla turned out actually to have a relatively
high
threshold of pain, which made him wonder about the way she cried when spanked or strapped. Was that about the shame? Yet another piece of evidence that Marjorie Leary was correct about her little-girl submissive nature. He watched her fists, buried in Mr. Fuzzy’s soft fur, clench and unclench, but after that second set of ‘ows’ Kayla just gave little grunts when Patrick pulled the strips off.

“Okay, over on your tummy, with your knees up and your bottom to me.”

“What? Why?”

“You know why. There are some hairs there.”

“Oh, please, Patrick.”

Patrick looked down at the pot of wax, fearing what he saw there. It had cooled, and he would have to reheat it now.

He sighed. “I need to go put this back in the microwave,” he said. “I want you in the position I asked for when I come back, or I’m going to spank you, sore bottom or no sore bottom.”

Kayla gave a whimper at the thought of a spanking and said, “Okay, sir.” As he left to reheat the wax, she began to turn over.

Patrick felt prepared to spank Kayla if he needed to, and even to restrain her as he had already threatened several times. What Patrick felt completely unprepared for, though, was the way his cock leapt at the sight that awaited him when he returned with the reheated pot of wax.

Beautiful Kayla Lourcy, naked, and clutching a teddy bear to her chest as she looked back at him with her big blue eyes. Kayla Lourcy’s whipped bottom, presented for his inspection and baring, submissively upraised. Kayla Lourcy’s now bare, pink pussy, its coral inner lips hinting at their presence like an invitation to teach her about all the things a dominant man likes best. Kayla Lourcy’s adorable little anus, a cute toy for an alpha to play with so very naughtily.

His dominance seemed to sing in his veins, to rise in a wave that engulfed cock, heart, and head. It wasn’t that he wanted to violate Kayla; what made him so hard he thought he might burst through his pants was that she belonged to him, for the moment. Patrick was responsible for her, and he had a duty to control her, to teach her, to train her. Even if not the slightest erotic touch ever passed between them, Patrick’s own innate appetite to have Kayla at his disposal would keep the flame of his lust burning brightly.

If this thing with Kayla didn’t go in an erotic direction, though, Patrick knew, once Kayla had been seen to in one way or another, he would have to find a suitable bride. He already felt immense gratitude to Marjorie Leary for helping him understand how important
this
—this component of dominance, in his desires—really was to him.

As he approached the beautiful backside Kayla offered, and as he quickly applied the last strips of wax on either side of her delectable rear cleavage, being careful not to touch the raised welts that covered her pert bottom-cheeks, though, he could not stop thinking about what it would be like to fuck Kayla Lourcy. Not only that, but also what it would be like to hold her, the way he had held her in the training room where she had been whipped, until she yielded and showed him the soft side of her nature that now made her clutch her teddy so tightly while her guardian bared her completely between her legs, in her most private places.

At last he ripped the final two strips away. Kayla gave a tiny cry at the feeling and said, “Am I done, sir?”

“Yes,” Patrick said. “You look pretty as a picture.” He got up and opened a drawer in the little desk he had put there for Kayla to continue her studies. He took out the hand mirror and the little bottle of moisturizing lotion he had put there, at Marjorie Leary’s persuasive suggestion. “Turn and sit on your bottom again. You’re going to take a good look at yourself, while you put some lotion on your pussy and your bottom, to soothe them after the waxing.”

“Oh, no,” Kayla said, seeing the mirror and realizing instantly what Patrick intended to have her do.

Patrick shifted the mirror to his left hand, and gave her a sharp smack on her well-punished right bottom-cheek.

“Do as I say, little Kayla,” he said.

“Ow! Patrick… Sir! Please!”

Patrick spanked her again, on the same cheek.

“Oh, God.” Kayla squirmed and escaped into the far corner of the bed, turning to face Patrick, but with her knees drawn up and holding Mr. Fuzzy in front of her like a shield. “Please, sir, don’t make me.”

“Now, sweetheart,” Patrick said, seeing the very mixed emotions in Kayla’s eyes. “If I didn’t already think this was an important part of the program, I would know it now. You need to see what you look like between your legs now, and you need to have me watch you while you do.”

Patrick put the mirror and the lotion on Kayla’s nightstand, and got up on the bed himself, moving deliberately so as not to frighten Kayla but at the same time to make it clear that he would use his superior strength to enforce this lesson. Kayla gave a little sob, but didn’t resist him as he took firm but gentle hold of her around her shoulders. He moved them so that he had his back against the wall and Kayla sat between his spread legs. He worried for a moment that she would feel his raging erection through his pants, pressing against her shapely bottom, but decided that she should probably be aware of it anyway.

He took hold of her knees and spread them, loving the feeling of dominance it gave him. Kayla didn’t resist him, but she murmured, “Oh, please” as she felt herself opened that way, here in Patrick’s lap.

“Get the mirror, sweetheart,” Patrick murmured in her ear. “Now we can both see how pretty you look.”

With a little sob, Kayla reached out to the nightstand and picked up the mirror by its white bio-plastic handle.

“Show me your little pussy, Kayla,” Patrick said softly.

“Oh, God.” The mirror wavered in the air.

“Show me, sweetheart. I can see how very pretty it is, but I want to see you touch it, and display it for me in the mirror.”