Jessica Dering Logan had no fear that the girl whose datastream she had just subjected to first order analysis would fail to enjoy the life of a submissive concubine. When Alice Henning, eighteen, platinum blond, and petite, possessing slim hips and a pert backside, with perfect, medium-sized breasts that just filled a B-cup, found herself picked up for training she would see from the beginning how closely the punishments and sexual use to which her masters put her corresponded to her fantasies—though she wouldn’t be able to admit it even to herself until she had served her owner for several months at least.
Jessica’s worry lay with Alice’s actual, physical safety—not with respect to her training, or even with respect to her life of submission with Eric Gadden, the man for whom the Institute intended her, but because the true purpose behind Alice’s placement with Gadden, if known, might well get Alice killed.
An instant message from her husband, Kevin, head of governmental relations for the Institute, flashed on Jessica’s laptop screen.
Jessica should have answered him directly, but although she believed wholeheartedly in the Institute’s mission in general and in this operation in particular, she couldn’t get used to the idea that she must take part in putting a girl only a year younger than she into this sort of danger.
Can’t we tell her? she wrote back.
Kevin turned around: they were sitting back to back in the big office that constituted the Institute’s Washington DC presence, three basements deep under the embassy of a small island nation that was now a wholly owned subsidiary of a secretive organization called the Pretorian Guard. The partnership between the Institute and the Guard had now seen out six years, and in certain respects the two groups functioned as one—above all here in DC, where the Institute’s profit and self-actualization-through-pleasure motives and the Guard’s political motives dovetailed very neatly.
“Sweetheart,” Kevin said, “we’ve been through this.”
“I know,” Jessica replied, swiveling her own chair to face her handsome husband, who looked distractingly sexy in his shirtsleeves, with the cuffs of his blue Oxford rolled up and his strong chest just visible thanks to his unfastened second button. The nature of the Guard’s work, and of the Institute’s, meant that Jessica’s own submissive feminine charms were far from off limits down here in the ‘Institute Room’: Kevin had no compunction about informing her that it was time for a blowjob in the middle of a frustrating day, or about ordering her over his knee for a spanking if she made a mistake in a memo.
She didn’t think he would spank her now, despite her reluctance to follow his instructions. In fact, she would probably have been relieved if he had, since it would at least make her feel like he had taken some of the responsibility from her shoulders. If her husband had to punish her in order to make her complicit in the potential danger to Alice Henning, then the consequences would fall on his head, wouldn’t they?
The tension under which they worked this afternoon in the Institute Room, too, made her long to be over his strong knee, with his big hand relentlessly correcting her as it always did when she needed discipline. Kevin taught bare-bottom lessons very effectively, as befit a former trainer and case agent of the Institute. When Jessica had been picked up for training the previous year, Kevin’s hands had been the first male ones to fondle her backside—a rather different sort of lesson, but one that was eventually succeeded by the school strap and his open, disciplinary hand. As his wife, now, of course, she got more correction than she really needed, and she didn’t mind a bit.
Alice would be the same way. Yes, she fell into the A+ category like Jessica herself. Yes, the first time she earned a spanking she would know that her forbidden fantasies of submission had started to come true, and the taking of her virginity would feel exactly the way she had always imagined it would—a ravishing in which Alice would not have to voice the consent she felt as her master’s cock ripped through her hymen.
Yes, Alice Henning would have the submissive life for which providence had made her body, her mind, and her libido, though providence had also—as it often did with A+ girls—neglected to make it feel acceptable to Alice to have those fantasies. She blushed when a friend mentioned sex. When she had to watch another girl punished in the classroom at her New Modesty college she got warm between her thighs.
That part represented near-certain conjecture on Jessica’s part. When, however, Alice herself had gone over the professor’s desk for the first time, one week ago, for ten swats of the paddle across her cotton-panty-clad bottom in front of her English class, the hygrometer in the desk had detected arousal, and the chain of events leading to Jessica’s anxiety had begun.
The incident report of that disciplinary intervention, accompanied by surveillance video, was open now on Jessica’s laptop.
I had to discipline Miss Alice Henning 8 February 2038 for inattentiveness in class, in accordance with paragraph 27 of the disciplinary code. I discovered her checking her social media on her laptop and instructed her to come forward and bend herself over my desk, whereupon I raised her skirt and tucked it into her underwear, in accordance with paragraph 35.
I then informed the other girls of the class what I had detected Miss Henning in doing, and refreshed their memories and hers that if I should discover another fault in her conduct Miss Henning will be liable to bare-bottom punishment with the school strap in my office. Miss Henning’s tears indicated that such measures will probably not be needed.
Taking the school paddle from its hook on the wall, I proceeded to deliver ten hard swats to Miss Henning’s bottom. The paddle produced its usual satisfactory results with respect to the sound and sight of its action upon a disobedient young bottom, and with respect to Miss Henning’s clamorous responses to her disciplinary session. Returning to her seat, the miscreant’s winces upon having to resume a position in which she must place weight upon her chastised posterior showed me that she had learned her lesson. Tears in the eyes of the other students indicated a similar salutary effect upon the class as a whole.
Professor Samuel Reston
Department of English Language and Literature
New Modesty College of the Southeast
Of course Jessica got wet upon reading the report, and upon viewing the video of Alice’s punishment. She certainly got wetter than Alice herself had—in the classroom under correction, at least, because it had represented her first corporal punishment.
Afterward, though, in her dorm-room bed, things had been different. The surveillance video captured only an hour later showed as much: Alice had lain abed for a very long time, though it was the middle of the afternoon, with her fingers busy both before and behind, down where Professor Reston had paddled her.
The reading from the hygrometer in the classroom, directly under her hips as the regulation wooden paddle came down hard on her backside, placed in the regulation spot for such punishments as part of the ongoing research built into the New Modesty, had served as probable cause to obtain the dorm-room video. In turn that video served as probable cause for the Institute, through its corporate arm, to obtain Miss Alice Henning’s full datastream.
Now the taking power given to Selecta, the Institute’s corporate arm, as enacted in the Corporate Acts of 2029, would permit the pick-up of Alice and her training as a concubine for a wealthy man. The New Modesty had facilitated such things greatly by allowing the detection of A+ girls like Alice Henning, but the basic idea was as ancient as the species: dominant men and women, possessed of material means, found ways of obtaining young women for their pleasure. The Institute’s eminently sensible, modern, and data-driven role in the current version of the process was to ensure that the young women purchased from them were of the kind that could find fulfillment in the experience of submitting to those desires.
Alice Henning clearly fell into that category, and her training at the Institute before Eric Gadden deflowered her and took her home with him would allow her to enjoy her blushes and her punishments much more than she had on what Jessica knew from experience had been a terribly confusing day at college, when her professor lifted her skirt and paddled her bottom in front of her whole English class.
Jessica had gone through the same process, and although even in the best-case scenario Alice’s results would almost certainly differ (How could she hope to get as lucky as I did, and get a handsome, powerful, dominant husband into the bargain? Jessica thought) it wasn’t the punishment and the sex that worried her. As much as Alice would be allowed to enjoy the experience of rebelling and resisting, of blushing and showing herself reluctant to suck her master’s penis or to bend over for anal sex, of having to be whipped for disobedience, she would quickly see how fortunate she had gotten when the Institute chose her for taking.
Eric Gadden’s profile showed a sadistic streak that would make it nearly impossible for Alice to fall in love with him, but this plan wouldn’t have been set into motion if the Institute’s assessors had any worries about his prospective concubine’s true physical safety in the ordinary course of dominant/submissive sex and discipline. What would happen if Gadden discovered why Alice was really in his house, though, seemed to Jessica a quite possibly different story.
“Is she A+?” Kevin asked, pulling Jessica’s chair closer to his and putting his arms around her. She hadn’t yet voiced her concerns to him, but she could tell he understood without being told exactly what had caused her anxiety. That mind-reading ability represented something like reason eighty-nine why she loved him. ‘Whirlwind’ would hardly go a millimeter toward describing the strangeness of their courtship, if you could even call it that, but the more or less arranged marriage between an experienced dominant and an eighteen-year-old literal schoolgirl had fulfilled every fantasy she had, and some she had only discovered with his help.
How could she not wish Alice a chance at the same thing? After her year with Gadden, she would be free to pursue the life of a wealthy woman who could choose the right man to dominate her. She wouldn’t find a Kevin Logan—how could she? I’ve got the only one—but she would doubtless find a man almost as marvelous.
If she lives that long.
“Yes, sir,” she whispered into Kevin’s ear. “I think she’s the one. I can’t imagine Gadden will be able to resist her. This idea of his about an unequal kind of marriage will find exactly the outlet he’s looking for, with her.”
Operation Primrose, as it was now known at the Institute and at the Pretorian Guard, had begun with the chance surveillance of a conversation between Gadden and an associate at his gym: the communications tycoon wouldn’t get serious about settling down until he found a girl who would accept ‘an unequal partnership.’ The Guard had notified the Institute to look for a New Modesty girl to sell to Gadden, and now Alice Henning, codename Primrose, seemed about to become that girl.
The Guard hadn’t stopped using codenames despite their confidence in quantum encryption. Sarah Bennett, Jessica’s Guard contact and a trained intelligence analyst, thought the practice made sense, she had told Jessica. It provided a hedge against carelessness that she said she appreciated having: if a plain-text communique got into the wrong hands, at least its meaning wouldn’t immediately reveal itself.
“You have reservations, though.” He stated it as a matter of fact. Jessica’s ‘reservations,’ as one of the most junior members of the Institute’s team, had no relevance to the operation, of course, but she felt a warm glow to have her worry dignified with the term.
“Yes, sir. She won’t be safe, really, will she?”
“She’ll be as safe as any Institute concubine, sweetheart. All the usual monitors will be installed in Gadden’s house.”
“But that’s to supervise punishment,” Jessica protested. “It’s not to prevent foul play.”
Kevin held her at arm’s length so that he could look into her eyes. He pursed his lips and nodded. “You’re right,” he said. “There is a risk. But you know why we’re doing it, don’t you?”
“I don’t see why the Guard has to be so vague about it!” Now it seemed they’d gotten to what might be the heart of the matter. Jessica felt she could send Alice in unaware of the danger if only she knew what was truly at stake in the operation.
The Pretorian Guard had taken upon itself the task of saving civilization in the inevitable global financial collapse. They constituted a kind of shadow government made up entirely of spies. As such, they never seemed to tell anyone anything but the next thing the Guard asked of them, and it could become extremely frustrating.
“Yes, you do,” Kevin said patiently.
Jessica nodded miserably. He was right, as usual. If she knew too much, she could easily put her own life at risk. That was, incidentally, also why Alice Henning would probably be alright.
Primrose wouldn’t know anything.