Choosing Kellen Read online

  At home, I let her bathe herself, telling her that she’s old enough to do so at twelve. I don’t even interrupt her until I hear her exit the bathroom.

  I stroll back through the adjoining door and meet her at her bed. She’s wearing the thin white baby doll nightie I left her. It’s frilly around the edges, and she looks angelic in it. She has taken the braids out of her hair, and it’s hanging loose down her back.

  I sit on the edge of her bed and pull her between my legs. I love doing this. Holding her close. Bringing us face to face.

  She sets her hands on my shoulders. “I was good today,” she announces in a slightly babyish voice that makes me smile.

  “Yes, you were, and I’m going to reward you.”

  She presses her body closer. “I’m not sure I like your no-sex rule.”

  I draw in a breath. I’m certain I don’t like my no-sex rule. My cock is harder than nails tonight. “Too bad. Sex is off the table for the duration of our agreement.” Two long weeks.

  “Could I maybe at least give you a blow job?” she asks, her voice coy.

  I groan. “No, little one, you may not. And don’t ask again. You have enough on your plate. I want you to focus fully on yourself for two weeks without worrying about me.” I slide my hands up over her naked bottom and then higher to stroke the sides of her breasts. “But I will make you feel good on days when you manage to stay out of trouble.”

  She shivers at my touch and arches her chest toward me. Her nipples are visibly stiff peaks under the thin material of her nightie. I slide my hands around to cup her breasts and fondle her nipples, making her rise onto her toes and whimper.

  I love that sound so much. It does nothing to dampen my own arousal, but I’ll take care of myself after I leave her to sleep.

  Ignoring my lust, I slide my hands back down to her waist and lift her off the floor. “Straddle me, little one.”

  She lifts her feet and sets them down on both sides of my thighs, sliding them forward until she’s seated on my spread legs. She’s breathing heavily in this new position that forces her pussy to be fully exposed. Her hands land on my shoulders.

  “If you can leave your hands right there, baby girl, I’ll make you feel so good.”

  She nods. “I can, Sir.”

  I smooth my palms up to cup her breasts again, enjoying the slight weight of them and the way her nipples respond to my touch. When I pinch them sharply, she moans and shuffles closer to me.

  “Stay still, little one.” I don’t want her pressing her pussy against my cock. I’ll come if she does that. Even through my pants.

  She squirms in response, her tits jiggling as she sways in every direction.

  I finally take pity on her and ease my hands down her body, around to her bottom, and over her lower cheeks. I give them a squeeze, knowing my actions pull her lips apart.

  She tips her head back, her mouth falling open. So responsive, when I have yet to touch her where she most needs the attention.

  I slide both hands under her bottom and part her labia wide, stroking the sensitive skin.

  She moans again, louder this time, and then she cries out when I drag a finger through her folds. She’s so damn wet. Dripping.

  I use that arousal to coat and circle her clit next. Her shudder is precious. The look of pure ecstasy on her face is priceless. It’s been so long since I held someone in my arms and watched them fall apart in pure honest bliss. She’s not faking. She’s not a one-night stand. At this moment, her pleasure is mine. All mine.

  I bring my lips to her neck, closing my eyes against my possessive thoughts. I shouldn’t be thinking like that. Sabine is not mine. Not forever. She’s here for two weeks. That’s all I get. And I intend to make it count. For both of us.

  She might not be here after her two weeks are up, but I will have learned from her and worked out the cobwebs in my style. I’ve forgotten how damn pleasurable it is to have a little in the house, someone to care for, someone to drive to distraction with my fingers.

  I thrust two fingers up inside her, gritting my teeth at the stretch. She would grip my cock perfectly if I ever let myself have that with her. I’m not sure where we’ll be in two weeks, but I probably shouldn’t let my cock anywhere near her pussy even after the trial period between us. Already I fear I might easily enjoy sex with her more than I should. Bad idea. Not when the arrangement is not permanent. She’s not the kind of woman I want to fuck and walk away from.

  She’s writhing on my fingers now, wiggling back and forth.

  I thrust them deep and whisper in her ear. “Ride my hand, baby girl. Make yourself come on my fingers.”

  She tips her head back farther and braces herself to lift up a few inches. Planting her feet beside my thighs, she slams back down and rises again. A slow, deep moan escapes her lips.

  I grip her waist with my free hand. “That’s my girl. Do it again. Feel me inside you. I want you to come all over my hand.”

  She lifts off and drops back down once more. And then again. She sets a pace and fucks her sweet pussy on my fingers. It’s the most gorgeous vision I’ve ever seen.

  I know she’s close when she gasps and her lips part farther. I watch as she shatters around my fingers, her body convulsing as her pussy milks me. The strong grip of her pussy makes me wish I were inside her. She might actually kill me if we ever have sex.

  When she’s spent, she slumps forward, setting her head on my shoulder, her face burrowing into my neck.

  My fingers are still inside her, and I slowly ease them out. I pat her sweet bottom and then lift my fingers to suck her juices from them. She lifts her face to watch me. “That’s so hot, Sir.”

  I smile and pull my finger out with a pop. “Sweet, too.”

  She glances down between our bodies, her gaze going to my cock. There’s no way to hide how aroused I am. She can see it perfectly fine.

  “Sir…”

  “Nope.” I stand, holding her bottom to keep her around my waist. After I spin around, I deposit her on her bed.

  She stares up at me with glazed eyes as I trail a finger up her thigh, across her belly, and over her breast. Her body shivers again at the touch, and then I draw the covers up over her and tuck her in. “Sleep tight, little one.”

  “You too, Sir.”

  I kiss her lips gently and then leave her, flipping off the lights and shutting the connecting door. I lean against it for a moment, trying to catch my breath and control my racing heart. This little one is going to test my resolve. That’s for sure.

  Chapter 14

  Sabine

  * * *

  I’m feisty the next day. I don’t even know why. Nothing specific happens. I just feel…disagreeable. I hold it together during breakfast but, when Master Kellen sits me at my table and tells me to write in my journal, I stare out the window instead. For one thing, I’m not interested in writing right now. For another thing, I can’t think what to say.

  My thoughts are a jumbled mess after last night. I’m not sure how I feel about this entire experiment. I’m confused by my reactions to…everything. I’ve chosen the drawer marked four today in direct contrast to yesterday. I’m still not sure it was a great idea. Sure enough, when I opened the drawer and peeked around the side, I found a sensor.

  I’m wearing a pink frilly dress with layers of ruffles that make it stand out all around me. It might cover my panties if I stand perfectly still with my arms down, but I’m not certain. My socks match the dress, with a pouf of ruffles folded down at my ankles, and I have on white patent leather shoes with a buckle.

  Master Kellen silently undid my braids when I came downstairs and put my hair up in two high pigtails that are extremely curly and poufy. When he seated me on the booster chair, he buckled me in and handed me a sippy cup of milk.

  I’m still processing everything that has happened this morning, from the pancakes he cut up for me to the plastic child’s fork. My legs were dangling, and every time I let them swing back and forth, I felt as y
oung as I look.

  I know I’m supposed to be trying out all these ages and seeing how they make me feel, but my stomach is a ball of nerves and I’m internally horrified to admit to myself how I’m reacting.

  The truth is I love the way Master Kellen looks at me and how he takes care of me. I don’t much mind the clothes or the age choice if the result is that I make him proud. He cares. I’m learning more about my own childhood that I took for granted.

  Since I had everything, including parents who spoiled me, I never thought about anything lacking in my life. But I’m starting to recognize I lacked more than rules and structure. I lacked attention. No matter what I did, it was hard to get my parents to really stop and look me in the eye.

  I feel selfish. I had everything, and all I can think about lately is what I didn’t have.

  Master Kellen looks me in the eye. He smiles and pays attention to what I have to say and how I feel. He’s not faking it, either. He genuinely cares about me, and I’ve only known him on a personal level for four days.

  I wonder how long I can hold his attention before he grows bored with me. He’s only agreed to two weeks. Already I lament the day we’re done with this experiment. I don’t want to leave. Not in two weeks. It’s not long enough. I need more time.

  I need someone to love me unconditionally forever.

  Am I kidding myself? Master Kellen has made it clear that he’s only helping me short-term. Though he looked pleased with me this morning, maybe that’s because I was on my best behavior. He’s told me he won’t tolerate a brat. Am I a brat?

  “Sabine…” he admonishes from across the room.

  I jerk my gaze to him and find him frowning at me.

  “Hold up your journal to today’s date.”

  I reluctantly lift it so he can see the blank page.

  “You’re daydreaming instead of doing your assignment. The journal is supposed to help you find yourself. It causes introspection. It’s also the reason you embarked on this journey. To learn more about what it’s like to live as a little.”

  I swallow. Sometimes I forget we’re pretending. That I’m not really a little. Sometimes Master Kellen appears to be fully in the role, completely my Daddy figure. Sometimes, like now, he steps out to remind me this is purely an experiment. One I’m currently failing.

  I lower my gaze at the same time I set the notebook back in front of me. I’ve had hundreds of thoughts in the last half an hour. I could have written them down, even if they were a hodgepodge of rambling words. That’s the point of the journal.

  I can’t seem to help myself sometimes. I push Master Kellen’s buttons. I wonder each time if it will be the last straw and he’ll tell me this isn’t working out. Hell, maybe I’m not cut out for this lifestyle. I’m pulled in several directions. Wrestling with the possibilities.

  I don’t want to fail at this. I want to learn everything there is to know even if I decide I hate it.

  On the flip side, I’m worried I’m enjoying this arrangement more than I expected. It’s seeping into my skin or something. I’m beginning to understand the appeal. There are holes in my life, and being a little fills them.

  There’s another issue, too. What if I do like being a little? Who would be my Daddy? Master Kellen has given me no indication he’s interested in something long-term between us. And yet, I can’t visualize submitting to another Master besides him.

  I flinch, realizing my mind has wandered again, when Master Kellen stands and makes his way across the room. He scans the bookshelves and finally selects one. I’m nervous as he approaches and sets the book on my table. He picks up my journal, closes it, and sets it aside. “I want you to choose three main themes from this book and write a three-page paper about them.”

  I gasp as I stare at the title. Wuthering Heights. Is he kidding? “How do you know I’ve read it?” I ask as if that’s the pressing question.

  “You have a Masters in English. I’m taking an educated guess.”

  I’ve read it of course. More than once. I took an entire class on Emily Brontë. I’m a little surprised it’s one of the many volumes on Master Kellen’s shelves. “Why?” I ask as I lift my gaze.

  He reaches for my chin and holds it with two fingers. “First of all, I warned you I would give you other assignments if you didn’t do as you were told and write in your journal. Second of all, that’s twice in a row you’ve addressed me disrespectfully.” He lifts a brow.

  I swallow. “Sorry, Sir. I’ll write in my journal. I promise. I’ll do it now.”

  He continues to hold my chin, lowering his face. “When I tell you to do something, you do it without argument, little one. This isn’t a debate. My rules stand. Now, do you want to write your essay before or after I spank your bottom?”

  Heat crawls up my face and I squirm in my seat, the movement making me more aware of my dress as it tickles my thighs and brushes against my nipples. My pink, cotton panties are suddenly damp. Why on earth do I consistently get aroused when I’m in trouble? It bothers me. It makes me nervous. It causes me to question my sanity.

  “Sabine…” he warns again, reminding me he has asked me a question. He’s ingenious, too. Do I want to be punished now or later?

  “Before, Sir,” I murmur.

  He leans down and kisses my forehead. “Good. Get to work.” He releases me and saunters back across the room to lower himself once again into his desk chair.

  He doesn’t give me another glance as I stare at him. I’m not interested in pondering Wuthering Heights today. Not even close. If I had been writing down my thoughts instead of simply sitting here thinking, I wouldn’t be in this predicament. It’s my own fault. Some part of my subconscious did this on purpose to test him. I’m introspective enough to realize it, but don’t seem to have the foresight to prevent it.

  I slowly pull the notebook back toward me, rip out two pages from the back, and pick up my pencil. He wants an essay? Fine. I’ll give him an essay.

  It takes me less than an hour to write about Brontë. I choose the themes of childhood, love, and feminism. The irony isn’t lost on me. A four-year-old sitting at a childish table writing about the complex topic of childhood from Wuthering Heights.

  I’m proud of myself when I finish. I also feel a bit smug. If he’d instructed me to cook dinner, I would have failed. But literature is my specialty. Which he knows, of course.

  I rise and pad across the room toward him, holding up my paper. “Sir.”

  He turns his chair in my direction and takes the pages from my hand, scanning them. “Good girl.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t do as I was told earlier, Sir.” I wonder how he reacts to apologies. I’m not used to providing them, to be honest. No one ever listened before.

  “Thank you, little one. It’s important that you recognize when you’ve misbehaved.” He reaches for me. “I’m still going to spank you.”

  My belly does flips. I both hate and enjoy it when he spanks me. It’s confusing. I feel some humiliation at leaning over his knees with my bottom exposed, but I also grow aroused every time. In addition, it backfires on me because this means he won’t let me come for the rest of the day.

  I’m mad at myself for disobeying him because I’d rather feel the kind of pleasure he gives me when I’m his good girl. Nevertheless, once again, it’s too late for thoughts like that. I round to his side as he takes my wrist. I let him lower me across his lap. I hold my breath as he clasps my hands at my lower back and lowers my panties.

  The first swat is always shocking, and then I grow used to each spank. I’m never sure how long it might go on, but I’ve learned that he always ends with his palm landing on the juncture between my bottom and my thighs. The exact spot that makes my pussy pulse with need.

  Sure enough, he does that again today, coaxing out my wetness that now leaks from my pussy. After smoothing his palm over my bottom for several minutes, he stands me up. “Turn around and face the windows, little one. Hold your dress up high enough that I can se
e your pink bottom while I finish my work.”

  This is different. Usually, he sends me to a corner. I’m shaking as I turn around, careful to keep my panties tight around my thighs so they don’t fall.

  “Legs wider, baby girl.”

  I spread them farther, wetness running down my thighs. My bottom is burning from his palm. I shiver as I hold the massive amount of ruffles just below my breasts.

  I stare outside, trying not to focus on the fact that my pussy would be exposed to anyone who was on the other side of the window. No one is, of course. I haven’t seen anyone in Master Kellen’s backyard since I arrived. Obviously, though, someone will eventually come to mow the lawn and maintain the grounds. I pray today is not that day.

  I stand in that position for a while. It probably seems longer than it really is. Finally, I hear Master Kellen’s gentle voice behind me. “Come here, baby girl.”

  I turn around slowly and waddle toward him.

  He pulls up my panties and lowers my dress. “Wouldn’t it be easier if you did as you were told so you didn’t end up with a sore bottom, little one?”

  I lower my gaze. “Yes, Sir.” I wonder if he’s tired of me now. Tired of my antics. I worry he might send me away because he doesn’t want to deal with my disobedience. And yet, I can’t seem to stop myself.

  He pulls me into his arms and hugs me tight though. That means something, doesn’t it? It feels so good when he holds me like this, and I wonder why I ever do things to thwart his efforts.

  I vow to behave better starting now. I’m supposed to be focused on learning what it’s like to be a little, not learning what it’s like to be a naughty girl. Is it because I was naughty for most of my childhood that I can’t shake the need to defy him?

  Master Kellen eventually leans back and meets my gaze. “Let’s get you some lunch and then I’ll put you down for your nap.”