Assigned a Guardian (11 page)

When Patrick had expressed skepticism about this exercise in his meeting with Marjorie Leary, she had smiled and said, “I don’t think you understand yet about what it means to a 1A that she has a little girl inside her. When you bare Kayla down there and have her show you, it will make her see herself—her eroticism and her whole personality, really—in a way that I think may take her by surprise and change her attitude toward a great many things.”

Patrick reached out and took Kayla’s left hand, which held the mirror, in his own. He couldn’t believe how aroused the scene made him, and suddenly he realized that Kayla’s breathing betrayed a similar excitement. When his hand touched hers, she trembled, the same way she had trembled in his office when he touched her naked hips. Slowly, he guided her hand, with the mirror in it, downward, until the hand mirror rested on the bed between Kayla’s thighs, and they could both see that Kayla had gotten very wet. The folds of her pussy shone a bit in the light filtering in through the window, through which the green of the trees and the brown of the rich compost made of Kayla’s bedroom a kind of airy nest of warm and cool colors mixed together.

“Oh!” Kayla said, as if the sight surprised her. Patrick smiled, because it didn’t surprise him. He had seen it several times, very recently—though he certainly didn’t think he could ever get tired of it. Keeping himself from touching her there—that was the challenge, and the strength of the urge to do just that
did
take him a little aback.

Patrick released Kayla’s left hand and reached out to get the lotion. “Have you ever looked at yourself this way?” he murmured.

“No… not even when…”

“When you had your grown-up curls there?”

Kayla shook her head wordlessly. Patrick flipped open the top of the lotion with his thumb. “Hold out your hand,” he said.

Kayla obeyed as if she was in a trance, and Patrick squeezed some of the viscous white stuff onto her fingers.

“Touch yourself now, sweetheart. From now on, you may only do it when I give permission, but I give permission now.”

“I don’t… I mean, I never, until they made me in that… class.”

“That’s alright. I think you’ll probably want to do it more from now on, though. Remember that little girls aren’t allowed to do that without permission.”

“Why?”

“Because they need to learn that their little pussies will belong to their husbands, to make babies in.”

“Oh, my God…” Kayla did touch herself, clearly moved inexorably to that permitted naughtiness by Patrick’s words. She rubbed up and down with her fingertips, applying the soothing lotion, whimpering at the feeling. Patrick found himself swallowing very hard.

“Sir…” Kayla whispered. “Do guardians sometimes touch their little girls here?”

Patrick swallowed again. “Sometimes, but… not today. Today you’ll show me.”

And then neither of them spoke again for a long time, because they were both watching Kayla show Patrick in the mirror: her pussy, with its cute little clit and the sweet, tender inner part; her bottom-hole that a finger could press against and just go in a tiny bit. Her pussy again, wetter and wetter, that more fingers could go in and move faster and faster, until Kayla closed her eyes, arched her back, and cried out, as Patrick held her tightly and Mr. Fuzzy watched from the other side of the bed.

Chapter Eleven

The new program at Patrick’s house had many strange things about it, but Kayla had to admit by dinnertime on her second day there that it did give her a way to feel she was working toward a life on Draco that she could bear, and even enjoy. Patrick dressed her in an oversized version of the denim overalls all Draconian children wore, over cute pink panties and a pink halter top. Maybe it wasn’t very little-girlish by Earth standards, but as far as Draconian fashion was concerned Kayla had to dress like a five-year-old, by the command of her guardian.

When he told her to put on the panties and the halter top, Kayla had blushed, but she hadn’t even protested so far as to ask “Why?” The humiliation of the previous day had made it perfectly clear that Patrick’s little-girl program, clearly with the approval of the administration in the person of Marjorie Leary, had two main points, and both of them were served by dressing Kayla as a little girl. First, as an unusual but effective punishment, for Kayla felt chastened and even a bit repentant when she saw herself in the mirror wearing the overalls; second, to tell Kayla that she had to behave like a grown-up if she wanted the rights and privileges of a citizen of Draco—even such rights and privileges as the Basic Law permitted to women.

Kayla was not a woman now; her guardian Patrick had returned her to little-girlhood so that she could grow up again and afresh, and do it better this time around. As Kayla sat at her desk and started to catch up on her work for the economics program, she thought of Melanie and wondered how she was doing. A moment later, a chat window from Melanie popped onto her screen.

You okay?

Well… mostly.

My ass is killing me. :(

Mine too.

And they sent you to Mr. McDowell’s house?

Yup, that’s where I am.

Is he being nice to you?

Kayla felt herself making the tiniest of sour faces as she typed back:

Mostly. I’m getting some kind of little-girl treatment.

Oh, no! You mean where you get shaved and diapered? I’m so sorry!

Did it happen often? Kayla wondered. It must.

Well, not diapered, thank goodness. Though I think if I’m naughty… Melanie, I feel like this was my fault. I’m so sorry.

Don’t be! I guess I did learn my lesson, because I’m not going to try to meet with any more potential dissidents. :) But some of us have to try, right?

Kayla felt a dismay wash over her. How could Melanie be so foolish as to write that, when it was clear that the fascist administration monitored everything?

But suddenly something in Kayla’s mind turned around. She didn’t know, in fact, that the administration
did
monitor everything. She and Melanie had certainly been guilty of conduct unbecoming young Draconian women, by the standards of their guardians. It didn’t necessarily have anything to do with the administration—indeed, she imagined it was probably another one of the girls’ guardians who had seen the message, and alerted Marjorie. For Melanie to write now to Kayla what she had just written, about trying, wasn’t going to bring dire consequences—Kayla could imagine that Bill might speak to Melanie about it, when he went through her chat log, but from what Melanie had said about Bill, he had been chosen as her guardian because he had a talent for fostering creativity.

Right! :)

Kayla thought that a new ability to view the logic of Draconian life from Melanie’s perspective seemed to have arisen somehow with her little-girl clothes, and the little-girl things Patrick had compelled from her. Maybe part of it was that the Basic Law treated women like children, but hadn’t Patrick proven to Kayla already that a part of her
was
still a little girl? She thought about the way he had made her show him her bare pussy, the previous afternoon, and of the strength of the orgasm she had given herself while sitting locked in his embrace; she thought of what she had looked like in the hand mirror and how a deep erotic craving seemed to emerge at the sight.

She shivered, looked down at her little-girl overalls, and thought about Patrick taking them off her. She shook her head to try to clear it of the vision as another message from Melanie popped onto her screen.

Gotta go. Can’t wait until you’re back here!

Me too!

But as Kayla thought about it, she wasn’t really all that sure she wanted to be back, right at the moment.

As that day progressed, though, some of the confidence she had felt in the morning about the meaning of the little-girl clothes and the waxing faded into a general discontent. Now she really did want to be back in Draco City with the other young women, working toward a career. She felt like she could pick up where she left off. Now that Patrick was her guardian, he wouldn’t pressure her on the dating, would he?

Patrick worked at the central monitoring station of the hydroponics in Zone 3, analyzing the efficiency of the algorithms they used to determine how to optimize growth and sustainability. Clearly, he had already made a big difference just in a month of work there; when, after Kayla spent the day working on a paper, Patrick got home at 4 o’clock, he had a big smile on his face, and he told her that he had got a promotion to vice-chief of engineering, one step below the chief of the station.

“And the chief is probably moving up the ladder to admin, so I could get that post, too. I feel like if I were in charge there I could accelerate the composting cycle by almost half, and we’d have a lawn in a year, instead of five years.” He looked at Kayla, and Kayla could tell that he saw that her face was sad. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? I mean, isn’t having a lawn more quickly something worth celebrating?”

He adopted a self-mocking tone that Kayla thought must be intended to cheer her up. Kayla forced a smile onto her face. “I just… I guess being alone all day…” She cast her eyes down to the floor.

“Hmm. Should I take you to daycare?” He put a finger under her chin and lifted her face up when she made a sour expression. “Joking! I could take you to work, I guess, and you could study there. Some of the other guys do that with their wives and girlfriends.”

“Really?”

“Yup. Actually, there are… special rooms, there, for couples to…”

“For spanking?” Kayla demanded.

“No! Well, yes, actually, but not principally. Principally they’re to keep the birthrate up.” Patrick chuckled.

Kayla had the sudden urge to ask whether if she went to work with him he’d take her to one of those rooms. They looked at each other for a long moment, and she wondered if Patrick was thinking along similar lines.

Then he broke the mood. “I thought I’d teach you how to make a fake roast chicken for dinner,” he said, smiling.

Kayla’s reaction took both of them by surprise.

“No, thank you,” she said, in a voice that made it clear that the thanks weren’t sincere. In fact, the voice sounded even to Kayla’s own ears like it was positively bratty.

She tried to figure out why she had such a strong reaction to the thought of learning how to make dinner. The first answer that occurred to her was that to learn to cook, in a strange but real way, would be to admit that she could never return to her Earth life of takeout and restaurants and—in a true emergency—microwave burritos. Of course she knew in practically every other way that she was eighteen light-years from the nearest microwave burrito, but right then she didn’t feel like admitting it.

Then there was the matter of her instant suspicion of Patrick’s motives for wanting to teach her how to roast the soy chicken-substitute. The only good reason Kayla could think of for the lesson was that he had decided to get her ready to be a housewife. Roasting fake chicken would be a valuable skill for a girl who was on her way to submitting to her dominant husband, who would of course be waiting with his punishment strap if the roast chicken-substitute was not to his taste.

“Come on, sweetheart,” Patrick said patiently. “I think it will be fun, and we can’t live on the canned stuff forever. I mean, we can, but wouldn’t it be nice to try to make things more interesting?”

“Well,” Kayla replied, the brattiness growing even stronger in her tone, “you make the fake chicken and I’ll watch, okay?”

“Little Kayla,” Patrick said, his tone less patient than it had been a moment before, “this is what I’ve decided we are going to do this evening. We’re going to do it together, and you’re going to learn how to make the recipe by yourself.”

Kayla lost it then, and as she felt her emotional state slide—or rather, crash—into petulant fury, she realized that something else entirely seemed to be going on in her mind and heart. If she hadn’t been wearing the overalls and the pink underwear, she wouldn’t have thrown a tantrum, she was sure. At first, as she shouted at Patrick, “You think you can make me get married!” she thought that the little-girl stuff had somehow driven her mildly insane.

But then, as she turned to run toward her room, she realized that it was not like that at all. The little-girl stuff had allowed a part of her that was hurting—that had been hurting for a very long time—to come to the surface. As she felt Patrick grab her around the waist and pick her up to bring her to the living room, as she kicked and screamed, she understood that part of her was
happy
to be dressed in overalls and pink underwear, and
happy
to be throwing a tantrum about the cooking lesson, and even happy to know that she was bare under her pink panties.

Before Kayla knew it, Patrick had unsnapped the fastenings along the legs of the overalls, which were there so that a little girl’s diaper could be changed, pulled the pink panties down to Kayla’s knees, and upended her over his lap as he sat in his big comfy chair. Kayla was still kicking and screaming, but Patrick started spanking her anyway.

“Kayla Lourcy,” he said as he delivered smack after smack to the middle of her bottom, which was still quite sore from the strapping Joe had given it, “this is not acceptable behavior. I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but I think this is exactly the kind of thing that we need to make sure you can deal with without throwing a tantrum.”