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“Well, I thought I was going to die.” There was a pout in her voice. “He’s so mean. So if you prank him, don’t be dumb about it because he’ll bend you over your desk, bare your bottom, and spank you with the cane until you almost die.”
Kit was giggling uncontrollably now, but Dora had gone red in the face at the graphic description. She’d never been spanked. She was a punishment virgin. What’s more, she was an actual virgin. She’d never had a boyfriend, let alone a dominant one. She only had book boyfriends, loads of them. Dora had discovered spanking fiction online years earlier, stories that had fueled her fantasies of dominant men. She’d even made a profile on FetLife but the few men she’d chatted demanded she call them Master and said humiliating things that triggered her insecurities. She deleted the account but continued to read and one day discovered Daddy Dom books full of men who practiced loving dominance. These men were safe, and she thought about them alone in her room at night, her fertile imagination bringing them to life in her lonely bedroom. When she bought herself a new stuffed animal, she’d pretend it was from one of them; the day her mother had gotten rid of all of them it was like a link had been broken between her and the men she’d grown to love.
Submissives got spanked here at the Ranch and spoke about it as if it were as natural as having breakfast or going for a walk. Bobbi assumed that Dora could be spanked, too.But who would want to spank you? They only want to spank the pretty little things…The negative voices slithered into her head, dispensing their poison.Big girls get spanked, too, she silently countered.No big girl can be really Little. You want to be Little but you never can be. Not really…
“Dora, are you even listening?” Bobbi had stopped to stare at her.
“Oh… sorry. I was thinking about something. What were you saying?”
“I was saying that’s him over there.”
Dora’s gaze moved to the direction that Bobbi was pointing. Shielding her eyes against the sun, she looked toward the main lodge where a slender man in a black suit was walking toward the parking area. She couldn’t tell much from the distance other than he had black hair and wore glasses. She was somewhat surprised given what she’d heard.
“He’s the one the students have a crush on?” she asked. “He looks like a librarian. I thought most submissives like musclebound cowboy types.” Dora was thinking of her book boyfriends, which were mostly just that.
“It depends,” Kit said, stepping to her side. “Some do, but for submissives with schoolgirl fantasies, a guy like Professor Robinson is yummy.”
“She’s right,” Bobbie agreed. “And there are guys built like tanks who don’t exude an ounce of authority but guys like Professor Robinson who have this kind of quiet dominance that’s almost scary.”
“Scary?”
“Yeah, like he’s so quiet and thoughtful but when he looks at you in that way… when you know you’re in his sights, it’s the most helpless feeling. I totally underestimated him when I got here.” She scowled. “God, I hate admitting that he’s so damn hot. I’m still mad at him for not letting me wear my ladybug costume to his class.”
All of them burst out laughing at this comment. Dora was quiet as they continued walking to class. While she’d never had a man look at her the way Bobbi had described, she’d read delicious descriptions in books so masterfully written that she got excited just thinking about a stern gaze honed on her in a way that made her squirm. But the heroines in those books were fine-boned and delicate and easily draped over a man’s knee, and when Dora tried to put herself in that place, that’s where the fantasy came to a crashing end as she saw things not from her perspective but from that of a man whose legs were crushed beneath her weight or staring at her large, wobbly buttocks and wide white thighs.
When she got back to her apartment, there was a package waiting for her with an attached note.Here’s your service sub uniform, it read.I thought something classic would be a good fit for your role as Professor Robinson’s assistant.
In her room, Dora opened the package which contained a pretty white blouse with a Peter Pan collar, short, black-pleated skirt, and a sweater with the Rawhide Ranch school emblem on it. There were also black knee socks and matching black loafers in just her size.
She tried them on and brushed back the strand of hair away from her eyes so she could better survey herself in the mirror. She wanted to think positively; the outfit was adorable and fit her perfectly. Dora resisted the temptation to focus on her faults even as she tried to tug the skirt down to cover knees a boy once cruelly compared to cantaloupes.
“You have such a pretty face,” she said to the mirror, trailing her fingers down her pale cheek. It was something her mother used to say to her, and even if it was true, wasn’t that always the bone thrown to girls like her? The token compliments. Pretty face. Beautiful hair. Nice personality.
She’d tried to lose weight, but the best she’d been able to achieve was a size twelve and that had been in her first year of college when she was so self-conscious of eating in front of other students that she hardly ate at all. Then when she realized no one was paying attention to what she ate or anything else, she regained what she’d lost plus a few extra pounds.
Was it a mistake coming here? All she wanted was to be a Little, but how could she be a Little when she was so big? And what would the elegant, disciplined professor think to see such an undisciplined helper enter his classroom? Dora told herself she was overthinking this. If Alastair Robinson was like nearly every other person in her life up to this point, he would barely notice her at all.
Chapter 6
“Quiet!” Alastair pushed open the door of the classroom, his gaze falling on the nervous Littles who began to pull out the textbooks that were already supposed to be open on their desks. As he was walking to class, he could hear them laughing and chattering and hoped it wasn’t an indication of what his day was going to be like.
“What’s the rule?” he asked, setting his briefcase on his desk.
A hand shot up. “Maribel?”
“All students are supposed to be quiet and prepared for instruction when you walk in the door,” she said. “But we all know rules were made to be broken.”
He glanced up, taking note of the sly smirk on her face. Maribel was a beautiful girl, with glossy hair, deep dimples, and a body toned from playing lacrosse in college. But she was also manipulative in a way that reminded Alastair of some girls known in his youth when he was Alice. She was also the queen bee of her small social group that included two other Littles named Carrie and Elizabeth. Maribel was the kind of Little who always got what she wanted, and it was no secret that she wanted his attention. Instinct told Alastair that the worst thing he could do was give it to her in the way she wanted.
“Breaking rules come with consequences. Remember that, young lady.” Alastair delivered this line with his back turned to the class as he began to write the day’s assignment on the board. Behind him he could hear the tittering of Maribel and her group.
“I don’t have to worry about consequences. I’m above them.” Maribel said. “Elizabeth had to write lines. I didn’t because I’m the teacher’s pet.”
“To the contrary,” he said, finally turning. “You are not the pet. There are no pets in my class. There are only those with potential and those without. Those with potential see it nurtured through guidance and discipline. Those without only seek to disrupt, and I will not waste my time.”
Maribel’s pretty face turned red and when the other girls looked at her with sympathy, she glared at them. Alastair could tell he’d humiliated her in a way she neither expected nor wanted, but a soft rapping sound redirected his attention to the door. A young woman was standing there, her hands nervously clasped in front of her. The first thing he noticed was her pretty green eyes and soft, timid expression.
“Read from pages 290 to 316,” he said to the class. “There will be a pop quiz on the material at the end of class.”
