A Concubine for the Trillionaire by Emily Tilton – Extended Preview

Chris Sandoe always fell a little bit in love with them. He didn’t think you could do the job any other way—certainly he knew he couldn’t. Other trainers would tell him that they didn’t need the emotional attachment, but Chris always suspected them either of lying or of fooling themselves.

He could already tell he would have it fairly bad for Alice Henning. With the very special nature of her case, that would mean potential complications, but if there ever were a case where Chris should be in love with a girl he trained, this was it. He would, after all, be responsible for not only the effectiveness of her placement with her master but also, it seemed, her physical safety.

As he led the way to the limo that would take them to the house in the woods where Alice would be broken, Chris relied on her ingrained submissiveness—and the curiosity it instilled in her about him—to keep her from trying to escape. If she did try, he would be able to enlist the campus police to put her in the limo by force if necessary, but the purposes of the Institute were best served if the legally authorized but still potentially controversial taking of young women happened without a fuss.

“What is this about?” she asked from behind him as they emerged into the quad, where the driver had pulled the car up into a spot reserved for official vehicles.

Chris didn’t reply, but opened the car door. “Get in, please, Miss Henning.”

Alice stopped. “What is this about?” she repeated. “Is… is everything alright?”

“Everything is fine as far as I know,” Chris said. “Your presence is requested at a meeting to discuss your future. You’ve been chosen for a special program.”

The power of a limo and a handsome man in a suit for a submissive girl who doesn’t know she’s submissive could hardly, Chris thought, be overestimated. Alice gave him one more inquiring look, to which he replied with a smile of congratulations, and slipped into the car. As with so much in the apparently orderly world, the secret to deception lay in confidence: although he would now put Alice through an ordeal she would find terrifying and at first very unwelcome, Chris believed utterly in the basic truth of the special program making her happier in the end and giving her a brighter future. That belief, reflected in his face, working with the unconscious yearning to submit to him that Chris would now develop, made her acquiesce. It would have cost her far more mental effort not to get into the limo than it did to get in and sit on the spacious gray leather seat.

On her face now he saw an I’m-having-an-adventure expression, as he got in himself and sat in the opposite seat, his back to the driver, who pulled smoothly away as soon as Chris closed the door. She looked adorable, too, in a patterned beige cotton top and a blue skirt that came down, as all skirts at a New Modesty college must, to just above her knee. She wore high-heeled sandals to enjoy the spring air of Virginia in March.

Chris took out his phone and snapped a picture of her sitting, waiting to hear for what sort of special program she had been selected. He sent the picture directly to Eric Gadden, Alice’s owner.

Having evidently decided that he must only be the person assigned to bring her to the special program, and that she would learn more once she arrived wherever they were going, Alice said, “What’s that for?” in an idle, almost conspiratorial tone, as if she and Chris were coworkers. He sensed her desire to get to know him better, as Alice would no doubt modestly put it to herself. She had never even had a boyfriend, after all.

Well, she would now get to know him much better than she would want to, at least at first. The limo, its windows opaque from the outside, had just zoomed down the onramp on to the interstate.

“That’s for your owner, Alice. Now I’m going to take another one, with your clothes off. Go ahead and get undressed.”

Her eyes went wide, and she turned her head to the left and right in an existential gesture: is this real? Is there anyone else here who can confirm that the man sitting opposite me just told me to take my clothes off in this car?

“What?”

“You will call me Master, from now on, Alice, or you will be punished. You’ll also be punished if you don’t start taking your clothes off as you’ve been instructed.”

He saw her swallow hard, watched the distress build in her reddening face. He didn’t need the readout from the sensor array in the limousine seat to know she had started to become aroused, between her thighs, even as her mind rebelled. At this stage, that arousal would distress her almost as much as the idea of being kidnapped did.

“But… I d-don’t… I don’t understand!” Alice’s voice went from low shock to high-pitched near hysteria in the course of her few words.

“I’ll explain more when you’ve started to obey me, Alice. This is your last chance to avoid a spanking, after I take your clothes off for you.”

She stared at him blankly. The word spanking had of course sent a jolt to her pussy. Now the arousal she would never admit warred with her ingrained modesty, her fear of the unknown, and her oppositional tendency—the defiance she used to cover over the submissiveness she hid even from herself.

“I can’t,” she whispered, raising her hands up and clasping them in entreaty. “Please. Please, don’t.”

“This is for your own good, Alice,” Chris said, meaning it and feeling her distress despite knowing that to train her properly for her owner he must be strict with her. “You must learn obedience, first of all.”

He reached out across the two feet that divided the bench seats. Alice cowered into the corner, but that allowed Chris, sitting himself now on the same seat she did, to contain her more easily. She struggled and cried out, but he had no trouble at all ripping her pretty top from neck to hem, revealing that she wore no bra.

“Please don’t rip my skirt!” she said, covering her breasts with her hands. As a girl in her position often did, she had fixated on a minor detail to avoid thinking of the more serious implications of what had befallen her. The tears in her eyes at the fate of her top stirred him, but he resolved to buy her a hundred more just like it—as he would buy her a hundred skirts, too, if he had to rip this one off.

He felt the process of falling for his little concubine recruit begin in earnest, with its feeling of possessiveness and tenderness accented sharply by his dominant will to master her. It would be especially hard to surrender her to Gadden for her defloration, in a few hours. Chris had trained a virgin before, and he knew how to steel himself against alpha rage. Little Alice, though, with her fine-spun golden hair now in a loose halo around her fearful eyes and red cheeks stirred his heart and his loins more than any trainee he could remember. His desire to be the first to fuck her was entirely natural for a dominant man, but it also had the extra dimension of his growing attraction.

“Take it off, then, honey,” he said sternly.

She started a little at honey, her eyes widening, but then he saw her realize that to take off her skirt she would have to remove her hands from her breasts and display them to him. Her brow scrunched up with woe. She tried to solve the difficulty by turning away toward the car window, so that he wouldn’t see, but Chris stopped her.

“No. Part of your obedience is to show me the parts of you a man likes to see. Your breasts are very pretty, and you’ll feel my hands on them very soon. Show them to me.”

“Oh, God,” Alice whispered, meeting his eye for an instant and then looking down at the floor of the car speeding toward the place where her owner would make her a woman, and Chris would begin to teach her how much she needed his dominance and how much pleasure she could feel. “Why? Why me?”

Now he knew he had to be pitiless. “Take off your skirt, or I’ll rip it off you. I’ll answer your questions once you’re naked and I’ve finished spanking you for your disobedience.”

Alice gave a little whimper at the sound of the word spanking, this time. Chris thought it likely that at that moment she had started to understand that what was happening in the limo represented her forbidden fantasies coming to life. The life of a submissive girl living under the New Modesty, in the opinion of Chris and his Institute colleagues, represented a sort of exquisite torture: surrounded by scenes that must naturally arouse her but told her that she must fight that arousal at all cost, that she must not touch herself, that only her husband could awaken her, Alice had, according to the Institute’s analysis of her datastream, spent the vast majority of her time since turning eighteen in a state of sensual confusion. Now she knew she would have a bare-bottom spanking from a dominant man in just a few moments; Chris could practically hear her heart racing.

Her hands trembled as she lowered them to the waist of her skirt. Chris had to fight hard against the urge to reach out and fondle one of her perfect breasts, run his thumb over the tiny pink nipple. He would be within his rights, of course, and the time would come soon when he need deny himself nothing when it came to her sweet young body—save her anus, reserved for her owner, on her ass night. But he wanted her to be able to concentrate on what it meant to unzip her skirt and tug it off, and on what it meant that she now sat only in her blue panties with the white polka dots.

She had never, of course, worn so little clothing in the presence of a man. The lovely shame felt by all modest girls, and in particular the submissive ones, about their panties—about not letting them ever be seen, especially by men; about the possibility that if an authority figure were to inspect them a blemish might be discovered—suffused her face with a pretty pink glow. She put one arm back across her breasts and left her other hand in her tightly closed lap. Again she looked at him, clearly knowing that he would forbid those covering gestures, but clearly unable not to make them anyway. She bit her lip, and a deep crease developed in her brow.

“Take your hands away, Alice,” he said slowly and sternly, “and take those panties off. You’re going to have to get used to obeying me, or your bottom is going to pay the price time and time again, just like it’s about to pay it right now. You may think that you’ve stood up to punishment, being paddled in front of your English class, but you have no idea what your masters are going to do to you when you show yourself unable to be a good girl.”

Masters. Good girl. Powerful words, which had their intended powerful effect: her eyes went nearly round as Chris spoke. “How do you know about the paddling?” she whispered.

“Take off your panties this instant, Alice,” he said, adding impatience to the authority in his voice. As he had expected, however, the threats of harsh punishment together with the words that would conjure up her shameful fantasies increased the oppositional tendency instead of lessening it: Alice shrank away from him again, into the corner of the car seat. Calmly he took another picture with his phone, as she looked at him with fearful eyes, and sent that one to Gadden, too.

Chris looked quickly out the window. Jim, the driver, could roam the highways around the breaking house for as long as necessary for Chris to complete this first stage of Alice’s breaking. He wanted to time the spanking, though, with as much precision as possible, so that when he told her what would happen in the house, he could take her straight inside. Jim would start heading for the secluded address as soon as Chris started the spanking; Chris only needed to adjust his pace so that Alice’s punishment ended approximately when they arrived. He saw that they had just passed the last exit before the one that would take them onto the country road lined with large, isolated houses that included their destination: perfect.

He turned back to Alice: he saw in her eyes that she expected one final chance at obedience. She wouldn’t have it. Chris reached for her. “Girls who don’t take their panties down when they’re told learn to regret it, where you’re going,” he said as he easily hauled her writhing form across his lap.

“Please!” Alice shouted. “Please! I’ll take them off! I promise!” Her reason seemed to have deserted her completely. Something about this man, whose name she didn’t even know though he apparently knew all about her, made her desperate mind focus on the stupidest little things. Now her heart beat so violently, and her nearly naked body trembled so much, that all she could think of was not getting a spanking so hard that she would scream and cry and beg.

When Professor Reston had paddled her over her panties, she had managed to hold onto at least that much dignity. She had wept, but she hadn’t cried out, and she hadn’t begged. Now she did beg, but not for mercy—just to have some little bit of control left to her.

But that was the effect of this… this… Alice’s mind wanted to say vile seducer, but wouldn’t a vile seducer seem more passionate? This man seemed almost businesslike in the way he treated her, the terrible things he said—the even more terrible things he implied.

Owner. Master. Good girl.

Special program.

Alice’s brain tried in one secluded corner to persuade itself that this was some kind of mistake, or wasn’t what it seemed to be. Maybe they had the wrong girl. Maybe some other girl had asked for this, but they had picked up Alice instead. Maybe it was a test of Alice’s suitability for some military program. Maybe they just wanted a housemaid; Alice could be a housemaid, if she had to be. He had made her take off her clothes because he had a maid’s uniform for her to wear. She knew that the super-rich could do things like this these days, with the new corporate legislation—‘recruit’ servants, that kind of thing, like they used to draft soldiers and sailors.

He ignored her pleas completely. His arms, in the dark wool of his suit jacket and the crisp white cotton of his Oxford-cloth shirt, came around her naked waist and though she tried to push him away he simply overpowered her, drawing her down and across the leather car seat.

Over his knee. Spanking at home had been over a stool, in the living room, clothed bottom up. Never across a knee, male or female. Alice had gotten the paddle over Professor Reston’s desk, over her panties. Instructors at a New Modesty College were allowed to give bare-bottom over-the-knee spankings, in private, and Alice had dreaded exactly that in Professor Grant’s office, when she had stood up to him.

But he hadn’t given it to her, and now this huge, strong, nameless, gorgeous man had put her effortlessly into position for old-fashioned discipline. Her face pressed against the luxurious upholstery of this limousine taking her to God knew where—except that wherever it was Alice was supposed to be naked when she arrived.

“If you hold still and you’re a good girl for your punishment, honey, it won’t last long. Show me that you can obey me.” His left arm across her waist held her so tightly that she knew she didn’t have a choice, but something in her refused to let it just happen, and she kept squirming even though the pointlessness of resistance had become clear.

“Please,” she tried one more time. “Please! I’ll take off my panties.”

“Yes, you will, Alice,” the man said. “But not until your bottom can remind you for a good long while that refusal isn’t going to be tolerated by me or by your owner. You will learn to obey, and until you do your backside will pay the penalty as frequently as necessary.”

Then he put his hand in the waistband of her panties and pulled them down to the middle of her thighs as she kicked, vainly, trying to stop him, trying to slow him down.

The feeling of his fingers, cool against her bare skin, made her shiver. No man had ever touched her down there, front or back. No man had ever seen her bare little bottom, with her panties down. Now a man who had said Alice must call him master and that she had an owner had just pulled down her panties, and was looking at her round backside, at the cleft that hid her shameful secrets, at the place where her bottom-cheeks joined her thighs, and maybe even at some of the golden adult curls that made her blush when she saw them in the mirror. Maybe, as she kicked, he could catch a glimpse of something even more shameful: the place her husband must take charge of someday.

“Oh, God,” she whispered. Her mind couldn’t turn away, now. Her husband, when he took charge of her, down there, would find a place that some other man—some owner—had already used for his pleasure. How could all this mean anything else? She gave a little sob, and her squirming suddenly ceased, and she held her knees tightly together. The thoughts and images that flooded her brain caused a turmoil inside her so great that she had to turn entirely inward.

“Good girl,” the man said approvingly, and Alice wanted to scream, No, I’m not! That’s why I’m over your knee, isn’t it?

Then his hand did something Alice had thought men who spanked girls only did in books: he put his big hand on her bottom and instead of starting to spank her, he rubbed her there, as if getting her ready for her punishment.

Don’t make a sound. Don’t make a sound.

But she did: she gave a little sob, and in it she could hear all the conflict in her heart about this strange, shameful, horrible thing that had happened to her out of the blue. The man in the hallway. The limousine. Her favorite top ripped off to reveal her naked, bra-less breasts. All the awful things he had said.

Not out of the blue, though. You brought this on yourself, Alice, didn’t you, you naughty girl? Didn’t your mother tell you what would happen if you played with yourself?

“You have a very pretty bottom, Alice,” the man said. “My name is Master Chris, and it’s important for you to know that I’m going to enjoy spanking you now and in the future.”

Not like this, though. Not naked in a limousine. My husband will whip me if I play with myself, but he won’t tell me I have a pretty bottom, and he won’t rub it, and he won’t say he’s going to enjoy it.

His hand had stopped rubbing, and merely held her bottom, making her whimper, but now the awful rubbing started again, as he spoke more of his terrible words.

“Your owner will enjoy giving you the discipline you need, too, honey. I want you to try to remember that, because otherwise you’re not going to understand what your new life really means.”

“What… it… means?” Alice sobbed brokenly, mystified.

“Questions are for after your spanking, honey,” Master Chris said, and then he took even firmer hold of her naked waist, and the hand departed from her bottom. Alice cried out, and out of sheer panic tried again to get away, to get off his lap. She kicked, not caring that he would see her private parts, but his hand came down very hard anyway, with a sharp sound and a sharper sting. Then, so unlike Professor Reston’s measured paddling in front of the class and so unlike the largely symbolic spankings at home, he kept spanking though Alice’s hips writhed across his thighs until only a few moments later he effortlessly put his right leg over the backs of her legs to hold her in place.

After that, he just kept spanking, as Alice screamed and cried and finally begged. Her bare bottom clenched and unclenched uncontrollably as she learned her painful lesson over a man’s knee. He held her there, and he spanked her hard and fast.

“Please, no more… please… it hurts so much.” Her poor bottom, punished so thoroughly, left, right, and center, seemed to glow like a furnace, for her correction and for Master Chris’ enjoyment.

What did it mean, that he liked to spank her? That her owner would take pleasure in spanking her pretty bottom? A husband spanked a wife for her own good. It hurt him to have to punish her more than it hurt her to feel his big hand correcting her. A husband spanked compassionately, when a girl couldn’t behave herself properly, and then later he took his pleasure in their bedroom.

He instructed his wife to take off her clothes because the time had come for him to know her, in their bed. Their private parts would come together, and he would touch the place only he was permitted to touch, down there. He would question her closely about her hygiene, and whether she felt strange down there when he spanked her—as he must often do, because she needed it. She would confess that she did feel funny, especially afterward, and he would say that it was only natural, that it was her body telling her how important it was to submit to him. That he didn’t like to spank her, but that it made him ready for her, too: ready to know her with her knees apart and his strong body atop hers, enjoying her as a husband enjoys his wife when the manly need comes upon him.

“Please,” she sobbed. He liked it. He liked bringing his hand down so hard, so that Alice felt she couldn’t bear it anymore. That must mean that under her hips, somewhere, this man, this Master Chris, was ready for her, as a husband becomes ready to know his wife. And Alice knew with a thrill of shame too great to contemplate for more than the blink of an eye that when he had finished spanking her she would be ready, too, because her wickedness knew no bounds. She had to stop it somehow: she had to. She cried out, “Please… Master… Master… please…”

He stopped. “Good girl,” he said, much more quietly than he had spoken before. “Good girl. Master is what you must call me, now.”

“Why?” The word burst from her chest so wrenchingly that Alice noticed how her breath made the little pool of her tears on the car seat ripple. At that moment, she felt the car turn and slow. Had they arrived? What did that mean?

“Shh, honey,” Master Chris said. “I promised to answer questions, and I will.”

“Oh, no,” Alice moaned then, because Master Chris’ hand had returned to her bottom to rub it. “Please, don’t. Please, Master, don’t… don’t do…” But now she could barely think, because the wickedness had caught fire in front.

But he seemed not to notice the catch in her voice, or the way that as he rubbed her burning backside she couldn’t do anything to help arching her back, as if she wanted to show him exactly what a slut Alice Henning really was.

Her face blazed then as she heard her mother’s words in her head. “Sluts play with themselves, Alice. Are you a slut?”

“No!” she had shouted. “I wasn’t!”

Then her mother’s icy voice again: “I’m happy to say I don’t need to bother myself on the matter now that you’re eighteen. Your husband will take you in hand when the time comes, if you can find one. We’ve done what we can, joining the New Modesty and sending you to a college where they supervise your courtship properly. I don’t know if you can keep your wickedness hidden, but I do know that there are men who don’t mind whipping their wives as often as necessary to teach them modesty. I just hope that you feel grateful when he takes you over his knee, to have a man who knows what a girl like you needs.”

Master Chris spoke again. “We’re at the house where you will be broken, Alice. In a few moments, you’re going to get out and go to the front door. Yes, you’ll be naked. You’ll see that this house is secluded, though, so the only people who will see you are your new masters. The door will open, and you will go inside. Your owner will be there. He has paid a great deal of money to take your virginity, and he will do that after we explain to you exactly what your new life holds. You are a concubine now, Alice, a bed girl for men’s pleasure, and here you will start to receive the training you will need if you are to please your masters.”

“Oh, no,” Alice whispered. It couldn’t be true, could it?

“Your owner is a powerful man, and a very strict one, Alice. In time, you will learn to obey him, but that obedience will come through understanding how thoroughly he knows your need for a firm hand, and how ready he is to punish you when you misbehave. You may not like him, but you will serve him.”