Assigned a Guardian (17 page)

“Why?”

“I want you to meet Jane Loggins.”

“The woman who destroyed the subspace link?”

“That’s her. She still wields a lot of power, because of the way she responded to the Learys’ campaign, and even though the women of Lourcy House can’t vote in the next election, the fact that women will be voting when the Basic Law comes back for re-approval in eight years means that Jane is still important.”

“Have you met her?”

“Yes—briefly, at a meeting of the liberal moderates. She told me then that she wanted to meet you.”

“Why?”

“After what happened on the
Jupiter,
sweetheart, and then what happened with Melanie, you’re a lightning rod. I’m pretty sure Jane just wants to make sure you’re okay.”

“Am I okay?” Kayla was beginning to feel very frisky again, and she asked the question in a tone she hoped would indicate that really in order to be okay she needed to be bent to her guardian’s will and made to take his cock in her backside, in order to teach her how to be okay.

Patrick chuckled, and that made Kayla think, for some reason, of the past six days of coming to work with him, so that he could fuck her in the little private room. Perhaps she thought of that because Patrick’s chuckle sounded like the look on his face when he stood at the door of the library and beckoned to her.

She smiled, there in his arms, as she pictured that look. It was dominant, yes, but in the dominance there seemed also to lie a sense of… irony? Fun? Kayla realized suddenly that the ironic quality in Patrick’s dominance was exactly what they had just been talking about. It said to her that Patrick dominated her that way not because he felt some sort of caveman superiority, but because he knew it brought them together like pieces of a puzzle: Kayla, the submissive little girl who could finally admit her 1A-ness; Patrick, the dominant engineer, who loved to protect her, and loved to pleasure her and to take his pleasure from her.

That little library, with all the wives and fiancées, made her smile, too, despite the embarrassment of having to get up and go to Patrick while the other girls watched, just as Kayla watched them as their own husbands summoned them for fucking in that same room, where the girl had to change the sheets afterward. Knowing that every woman in the little library would be summoned by her husband or fiancé to be fucked—to be used for his pleasure and his breeding—made it rather difficult for Kayla to concentrate on her academic work there, to be sure. But the lovely feeling of being at Patrick’s command, of knowing that he would come to the door and beckon, and she would have to go because she belonged to him, seemed to her to be worth a little lost concentration.

“Yes,” Patrick said, squeezing her and Mr. Fuzzy tightly for a moment, and then letting her go. “You’re much, much more than okay,” he said as he stepped back and looked her up and down with a huge smile on his face. “Now you and Mr. Fuzzy have an appointment with the arm of a chair, I believe.”

Kayla swallowed hard. Just a moment before, this had been all she wanted, but now that Patrick said that it would definitely happen—bare bottom up, Patrick’s big hand coming down to teach her a lesson about disrespect, and then the even sterner lessons that would follow—she suddenly found she didn’t want it quite so much. “Sir?” she said. “Can I be punished after dinner, please?”

Patrick’s brow furrowed. “No, of course not. Get your naughty backside into the living room right now before I have to haul it there, and you’ll get the strap instead of my hand.”

She didn’t understand it, and maybe she never would, but she both wanted it and didn’t want it, and the not wanting it made the wanting it stronger. Kayla swallowed again, gave a little nod, and walked out of her room, carrying Mr. Fuzzy, still clutched to her chest. Patrick followed her, and he stood watching while she put her teddy down on the comfy chair and started to take off her dress. Back on Earth, she would never have been caught dead in a simple, feminine dress like this one; it had been jeans or high fashion for Kayla Lourcy. Here on Draco, she loved dressing this way, because she knew Patrick liked to see her in the simple styles of the colony, and—perhaps she was finally ready to admit it—because it reflected the realities of colonial life, Basic Law or no Basic Law.

The dress fell to the floor.

“You may put your dress over on the sofa for now, young lady,” Patrick said.

Kayla complied, blushing at being in her panties—she never wore a bra these days, had rarely worn one on Earth, even. Patrick had seen her naked so many times now, but still she blushed: it must have been the tone in his voice that brought out the little-girl shame.

“Panties off now,” he said. Yes, it was the tone—Kayla felt her face go crimson as she pulled down the panties and stepped out of them. Without being told, she folded them and put them atop the dress. She thought about how later she would have to put the dress and the panties away, while wearing her diaper, and how she would have to earn the right to wear big-girl clothes. Oh, God… would Patrick make her wear her little-girl clothes and her diaper to come to work with him on Monday?

She closed her eyes, her face blazing like the sun. Of course he would.

“Over the arm of the chair now, little Kayla. Hold your teddy tight, because it’s time for your spanking, and I’m going to spank you hard to make sure you learn your lesson.”

Naked and trembling, Kayla laid herself down over the arm of the big chair, covered in soft beige rayon. The cushioning felt soft and comforting under her tummy, at least, and Mr. Fuzzy felt warm in her arms. But the chair arm raised her bottom so high, pushed it out so far, for her guardian to spank! She buried her face in Mr. Fuzzy’s tummy.

Kayla felt Patrick’s left hand come down atop her waist. “A spanking, and then a bottom-fucking, and then a diaper,” he said softly but sternly. “That’s the price of disrespect, little girl.” Then he started to spank her.

He was as good as his word: he brought his hand down hard, over and over, first in the middle, then on her right cheek, then on her left.

Kayla cried from the very beginning: something about the littleness of being completely bare, of holding her teddy, and of having her bottom up over the arm of the comfy chair where most nights she sat in Patrick’s lap, made the pain of her punishment seem worse. As Patrick just kept spanking her, turning her whole bottom, she was sure, a uniform shade of bright red, she sobbed into Mr. Fuzzy’s fur and said, “I’m sorry, sir,” again and again.

He stopped and said, “You may rub. While you rub, please be sure to show me the little anus where I’m going to have you now, to make it clear that you know you must furnish it to me when I wish to fuck you there.”

“Oh, God,” Kayla sobbed. She turned her cheek to her teddy’s chest and reached her hands back. She whimpered at the mixture of pain and pleasure that coursed through her whole body at the lightest touch of her fingers on her punished bottom-cheeks. She rubbed, taking the halves of her bottom gently in her fingers and carefully parting them to show that she knew where he would soon put his cock, to teach her another lesson in his mastery.

She felt his lubed fingers there, opening her, pushing in and preparing the way for his hardness. Then, while she still held her bottom open, soothing the punished cheeks, she heard his pants drop to the floor and felt the head of his cock came up against her, not gently but insistently.

“Open up, young lady,” he said. “Right now.”

Kayla sobbed, and for a long moment she struggled, as the cockhead pushed more and more firmly, until at last, with a cry of submissive discomfort, she opened before him, and Patrick’s manhood surged inside her still nearly virginal bottom.

He didn’t ride hard at first, but let her get used to having him there, in this new, much more rigorous position. He had mastered her in many ways already, but Kayla had never felt more dominated than she did then, her face down and her rear end up, impaled by her guardian’s cock, while he began to drive toward his climax without regard for his little girl’s comfort or pleasure.

Now he thrust harder and harder, and Kayla cried out, but Patrick simply gripped her hips and kept riding, making little grunts of satisfaction as perhaps he looked down at the way he was fucking a spanked bottom, while the bottom’s owner, at his command, held it open for him.

Then he took her hands from her bottom and held her wrists in his firm grasp, using the traction he gained to thrust into her bottom even harder.

Her bottom-hole burned, and the fullness seemed more than she could bear. She had never thought sex and discipline could be as interwoven as they were in the way Patrick dominated her backside with his cock. She gave a sobbing scream at the ambiguous, ambivalent pleasure of the way her guardian used her, and that seemed to unlock Patrick’s orgasm. His hips’ rhythm became irregular, and he thrust even deeper, and then she felt his cock pulsing inside her bottom as he murmured, “Thank you, good girl. Thank you.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said, hardly knowing how she could smile after the spanking, the pounding of his hips against her spanked bottom, and the thrusting of his cock.

Then he was gone from her bottom and she gave a questioning cry, but he was back just as quickly, urging a diaper underneath her hips and spreading her legs to bring the fabric up between them.

“My seed will leak out of your bottom into the diaper,” he said softly. “When it does, I want you to remember how it got there, and the way naughty girls have to open their bottoms to learn their lessons.”

So dirty, so lewd. And yet so wonderful. “Yes, sir,” Kayla whispered into Mr. Fuzzy’s soft tummy.

“If you’re going to be senior matron someday, I think that’s the kind of thing you’ll have to remember. A naughty girl may get to be senior matron, but the governor has to be sure to fuck her ass regularly, I imagine.”

“Promise?” Kayla asked.

Chapter Eighteen

The following Sunday at noon (the Draconian day was twenty-two hours long, so noon and midnight happened at eleven, rather than twelve, but Patrick found that he had had little trouble adjusting), they pulled into the little parking lot in front of Lourcy House. To Patrick’s surprise, the lot was nearly full of cars. He knew that the residents of Lourcy House almost never came into the city, or went anywhere else, really. Why did they have so many cars?

No one on Draco had time for compiling lists of the biggest buildings, but Patrick didn’t think there could be any question that Lourcy House was the second biggest building on Draco after the admin building. The farms didn’t count, because they were farms, and dwarfed everything else by an order of magnitude.

Unlike the aggressively prefabricated appearance of the admin building, which seemed to shout to the tiny city and the planet around it that the people of the Draco colony would sacrifice every aesthetic quality to the worship of utility and economic development, the facade of Lourcy House was the first piece of graceful architecture Patrick had seen on the planet. Indeed, it probably represented the
only
piece of graceful architecture on Draco. Somehow, without having pillars or paneled windows, it managed to suggest Georgian university buildings simply through the symmetry of its construction: a massive central block with an inviting entrance to which cement stairs that in the perfection of their lines evoked marble ones, and two side wings, connected by breezeways.

The grounds of the house were almost entirely red earth, dotted with trees, but they were laid out in front of the main wing as a quadrangle, with benches around it, and in the very center of the quad, in a little greenhouse that Patrick and Kayla walked by to get to the front door where they could see Jane Loggins waiting for them, grew a patch of grass.

“Wow,” Kayla said. “It’s like being back in college, kind of.”

“When we get the humidity fixed,” Patrick told her, “they’ll be ready to make this place look like Oxford.”

“Stanford,” Kayla corrected with a laugh.

Patrick laughed. “You’re right. I don’t think we’ll ever get as much rain on Draco as they do in England, more’s the pity.”

Jane Loggins wore jeans and a work shirt. She was about fifty years old, like all of the original colonists, and her hair was now iron-gray. Intelligence shone from her eyes as she extended her hand first to Kayla and then to Patrick, saying, “Welcome. I’m very glad you could come,” in a cultured British voice that made Patrick nostalgic for his ancestral home in County Cork.

Jane, being British, did not seem warm, but she was exquisitely cordial. “What do you think of my pride and joy?” she asked, gesturing to the house and its grounds.

“Did you design it?” Kayla asked with wonder in her voice.

“I did,” Jane replied. “After the accident, I took up architecture, which had always been a passion of mine.”

“And I’m assuming that Lourcy House was part of some sort of deal that led to your endorsing the Basic Law?”

“Kayla,” Patrick said with a warning in his tone, “don’t be impolite, please.”

Kayla looked at him guiltily, then turned back to Jane. “I’m sorry, Ms. Loggins. It’s just that I feel like there’s so much I don’t understand.”

“That’s quite alright,” Jane said. “Come inside, and let’s talk all that over. That’s part of why I’ve asked you, of course.”

She led them through the big wood-composite double doors, which, Patrick thought, were very probably the largest doors on Draco—every other door he had seen being identical and about half the size of one of the two of these.

“I have, as you can see, great plans for this place,” Jane said with a smile.

“You want it to be a real university,” Patrick said.

“Indeed. Yes, of course, we can all learn from our tablets here, or in the education wing of that behemoth in the city. It’s old-fashioned, but that doesn’t make it any less true, that students and scholars living together produce better work and live longer, whatever the cost to the birthrate.”

The tinge of bitterness Jane injected into the phrase ‘birthrate’ was so faint that Patrick found himself wondering not where it came from—for that was obvious—but why she wasn’t angrier.