Chapter 11
Natasha
“I can’t believe you didn’t call me yesterday. I want to hear everything. Don’t leave anything out. Get started. We have an hour before our next class.” Simone grabs my arm and nearly drags me from our first class.
We’re going to need to find somewhere quiet and isolated before I will say a single word to Simone about the last twenty-four hours. I’m looking around the hallway, thinking we need to go to the common area, when Professor Arnalt steps out of the room behind us and clears his throat. “Ms. Miller, I’d like to speak to you for a moment, please.”
His tone is serious, but I’m used to it. I’ve known him for a long time. “Yes, sir.”
Simone’s eyes are wide. “I’ll wait here.”
I step back into the now-empty classroom and follow him to the front, wondering if I’ve done something wrong or forgotten to turn in an assignment. “Is everything okay, sir?”
He props on the front of his desk and crosses his ankles. “Yes, I just wanted to check in with you. How’s everything working out with your housing?”
I flush deeply as I hold his gaze. I’m certain he knows exactly how everything is working out. I’m well aware that he and Mr. Hoffman are very good friends who go way back. “It’s good, sir,” I manage.
“You look healthier since you started eating better and getting enough sleep. There are improvements in your assignments, too. I just want to make sure you’re happy.”
He’s right about all those things. I am sleeping more, eating better, and I have more time to do my homework. That last part is an understatement. My “Daddy” is a drill sergeant when it comes to policing my homework. He nags me about it several times a day and often checks my work himself. Like I’m six. Which I am.
I lick my lips. There’s an elephant in the room. Professor Arnalt knows exactly what’s going on in my private life. It’s embarrassing. “Have you spoken to Mr. Hoffman today?” I ask softly.
“Yes, Little one,” he responds just as quietly.
I look down at my shoes. Shoes I didn’t purchase. Shoes that simply showed up in my closet with the rest of my wardrobe. Before today, I at least got to choose what I was going to wear. I had some limited control over my selections. Even though I didn’t choose anything in the closet or purchase the garments, I had the liberty to select what I wore each morning. Today, I did not.
Professor Arnalt has never called me Little one before. He’s subtly letting me know he’s beyond aware of the changes I’m considering. He speaks again. “Jameson’s primary concern is your welfare. He’s going to keep me informed so I can help ensure you are making risk-aware, consensual choices. Have you heard that terminology before, Natasha?”
I shake my head. “No, sir.”
He keeps his voice low, but there’s no one in the lecture hall. The door to the room is open at the back, but we’re far enough away no one can hear us. We just look like we’re having a student/teacher conference. “In the BDSM community, it’s important for everyone to practice risk-aware consensual kink. That means being aware of the possible dangers you might encounter in a scene, being of sound mind and not under the influence of drugs or alcohol when making decisions, and not being coerced into something you’re not fully onboard with. Do you understand?”
“I think so.”
“I’m the one who found this opportunity for you and arranged it, and I feel responsible for your welfare to a certain extent. I know you have Simone as your sounding board, so you’re not totally isolated, but Simone is very young and doesn’t have enough experience in the kink community to provide you with as much emotional support as you might need.”
My face keeps heating further. I’m not fond of this conversation. Could we just not?
“I’m going to keep a close eye on you, Natasha. I want to be sure you’re thriving, but also because Jameson has asked me to.”
“Okay.” I fold my arms over my chest.
He pulls a card out of his pocket, offering it to me. “I’d like you to make an appointment with a therapist.”
I stare at his outstretched hand, frozen. “Why?”
“His name is Quinten Odell. He’s a clinical psychologist and a member of the kink club Jameson and I belong to. Besides being a Daddy, he’s an excellent therapist in the kink community.”
“Why do I need a therapist?” I’m confused and taken aback.
“Everyone needs someone they can talk to freely, Little one. Quinten can help make sure you’re making decisions that are best for you.”
“Does Mr. Hoffman know about this?”
“Yes, Little one. I told him I would give you Quinten’s card. If it’s hard for you to make the appointment yourself, Jameson can do it on your behalf. Or I can.”
My fingers are trembling as I take the card and tuck it in the outside pocket of my backpack.
“Natasha, our student/teacher relationship is important to me. I don’t want to cross any lines with you, but I do want to make sure you’re happy and healthy, both physically and emotionally. I would do the same for any student I was concerned about. I hope you know you can come to me if you have any worries. I might not be able to help, but I’ll know someone who can.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good girl. Now, go find Simone. She’s probably pacing a hole in the hallway tile.” He grins.
“Okay. Thank you, sir.” I turn around and flee as if the room were on fire.
“What was that all about?” Simone asks as soon as I join her.
“You would not believe me if I told you.”
“Try me.”
“Let’s find someplace to sit before my knees buckle,” I say.
Simone grabs my hand and leads me out of the crowded hallway, into the common area, and over to a relatively secluded study booth in the corner. Luckily, no one is sitting close by.
She’s stunned by my retelling of my interaction with Professor Arnalt. She also swoons a bit, which doesn’t surprise me. I know she’s half in love with the man. Him going out of his way to ensure I’m making good choices is pretty sweet. I just wish it weren’t so humiliating.
Of course, as I should have realized, Simone knows who Quinten Odell is. She belongs to the same club as all three men.
“Enough about Professor McHot. Tell me about yesterday.” She lowers her gaze to my body. “Did you choose your outfit today?”
I roll my eyes. “No. I don’t think he’s ever going to let me choose my own clothes again.”
“Your outfit is adorable.”
“Do you think anyone can tell?”
“That you’re Little?” Simone asks. “God, no. Have you seen all the different clothes women wear around campus? I’ve seen girls who are definitely not Little wearing footed pajamas to class.” She laughs.
I guess she’s right, but I don’t want to catch anyone’s attention. It would be different if I’d been dressing like this for the past four years, but I haven’t. Until I moved in with Mr. Hoffman, I usually wore jeans and T-shirts. For the last month, I’ve been dressed in much nicer clothes, but I’ve tried to keep things low-key.
I’m not as low-key today. I have on a red-and-black plaid skirt, white blouse, red sweater, black tights, and black Mary Janes. I look like a Catholic school girl.
“There is no way to begin to tell you how much more intense he is now that I’ve agreed to let him Daddy me more thoroughly. It’s supposed to be a trial period for a week. I couldn’t have imagined him any more dominant than he was before our confrontation. I was wrong.”
“Have you had sex?”
I shake my head. “No. He won’t touch me until I’m certain I’m willing to commit to being his Little, but I did check with him to make sure he sees me that way. Can you imagine how mortified I would be if he only wanted to Daddy me and didn’t have any interest in me sexually?”
Simone nods. “That would fucking suck.”
“It would be a deal breaker. I might be Little inside, but I’m also a woman. I have needs.” We both giggle.
“Did he dress you himself?”
“No. He hasn’t seen me naked. He sets my clothes out on the vanity in my bathroom each morning. I’m supposed to wear whatever he leaves for me without question.” I glance around to make sure no one is listening and lean in closer. “We fought about my bra this morning for fifteen minutes. If I had been fully his, I’m sure he would have spanked me and made me late for class.”
“Your life is so swoon-worthy,” she says. “He didn’t want you to wear a bra?”
“Nope. He says there’s no way for me to fully engage in a younger headspace if I don’t have one foot in my Little space all the time. He was willing to let me keep my hair down, and I was insistent about wearing a bra to school.” I wince. “He did say he would be making a compromised plan while I was gone, though.”
Simone taps her lips. “A compromised plan… Hmm.” And then her face lights up. “Oh. My. God.”
“What?”
She waves a dismissive hand through the air. “You’ll see. If I told you what I think, it would spoil the surprise.”
“I’m not sure I like quite so many surprises,” I grumble. I suspect I know what Mr. Hoffman is planning though. He mentioned training bras yesterday. Lordy.
“This one will be good. Can’t wait to hear about it tomorrow. Now, aren’t you about to self-combust from sexual frustration?”
“You have no idea. It’s maddening.”
“And so smoking hot. If I had a Daddy who denied me like that, my fingers would be sore from masturbating all the time.”
I bite my lip and fight against a grin.
“What?”
“He ordered me not to touch myself. And he’s put a camera in my room so he’ll know if I do.”
“No!” She nearly jumps out of her seat before lowering her voice. “I’m going to come from that information alone.” She narrows her gaze. “So, what keeps you from doing it anyway and pushing him to the limit?”
I flush deeply as I consider telling her about how he made me touch myself while he watched and then cut me off, leaving me wanting. I don’t think I can share quite that much detail with her, so I shrug. “I’m not willing to find out. He has many evil ways.”
My phone buzzes in my skirt pocket, so I pull it out. There are only two people who message me, and one of them is sitting across from me, so it can only be Mr. Hoffman. “He’s texting me. Hang on.”
My tummy flutters as I look, and I know I’m grinning because no matter what he might say, I get excited when I get messages from him.
I still have him in my phone as Mr. Hoffman, so that’s what I see first before I read the text.
How was class, Little one?
I reply.
Good. You could have warned me you were going to talk to Professor Arnalt, Sir. I was blindsided.
It’s good for you to squirm a little sometimes. I want other members of the community in your court. I don’t like you making isolated decisions. Did he give you Quinten Odell’s card?
Yes, Sir. I will have no privacy with you, will I?
No. None. I have Quinten’s number. Shall I make an appointment for you?
Could you be any more pushy?
Yes. And I will. Would you like to rephrase your last text so it sounds less sassy? Or would you like me to discipline you the way I did yesterday as soon as you walk through the door?
Sigh… I don’t think I need a therapist, Sir.
Everyone benefits from therapy, Little one. Quinten will help you work through anything you might be feeling to make sure you’re making the best decisions.
Okay. Fine.
One more chance to rephrase before you spend thirty minutes in a very uncomfortable position.
I shudder as I quickly respond.
Please make an appointment with Quinten Odell for me, Sir.
Okay, Little one. Have a great rest of your day. I’ll see you at four-twenty-three.
I laugh as I put my phone away. That last part is his way of ensuring I’m ready when Albert arrives to pick me up at four. He’s in full Mr. Controlling mode today.
Simone is grinning at me. “I’m so glad we became friends.”