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Captive Innocence by Ashlynn Ally – Extended Preview

“This is the playroom,” Dante says with an impressive flourish, leading me into yet another room.

All at once, bright colors and unfamiliar items seem to loom in on me from every direction. There’s so much to see, different furnishings and objects and designs, it’s as if I take in none of it at all. Instead, I only turn back to Dante, with his indolent expression and lazy eyes—green, I realize for the first time. Murky, like pond water. Almost a grayish color really, with wisps of silver laced throughout the irises.

“The playroom,” I repeat. “And just what will I be playing here? You do realize I am not a child. I haven’t played since I was…”

“This is where the pampers go at the end of the day before bedtime,” Dante cuts me off uninterestedly. “If you’ve been a good pamper, then you’ll get some free time to do whatever you’d like. There’s puzzles and board games, books and movies. But if you’ve been a bad pamper, you won’t be allowed to participate in anything fun until you’ve been properly punished.”

“Punished,” I say, scoffing, even though the slightest amount of fear begins to creep up in my chest. In the institution, the workers sometimes tried to punish us girls by giving us extra chores, but since we outnumbered them by such a large amount, these punishments were easily evaded. “Punished, how?”

“Oh, any number of creative ways,” Dante says, again using that infuriating, unconcerned tone of his, as if all of this matters very little to him. “As I’ve said before, Mr. Ezra takes the care of his little pampers very seriously, and he’s a very firm believer that part of that care must include very strict, very harsh, old-fashioned discipline.”

As his words sink in, I begin examining the things in this new room more closely, taking cautious steps this way and that. There’s not one but two couches, so large and overstuffed, I notice step stools to get up onto each one. There’s shelves stuffed with books and colorful boxes, along with some other engaging-looking objects. There’s even an easel in one corner with lots of art supplies nearby, but then in another corner, another easel, with some stools lined up next to it. Up and down the blackboard of this second easel, the same sentence is written out over and over again, and it takes me a moment of concentration to read the words out in my head. I will be an obedient and well-behaved little pamper.

Next to the easel, a line of several stools up against the wall. Protruding out of the center of the seat on each one, strange phallic objects, each one a different size and shape. Some are thicker and more bulbous, others longer and the same width all throughout, others still with ball or pear shapes one on top of another, getting larger as they get closer to the stool, with deep grooves between each shape. All of these strange things attached to the stools are the same in that they have a smooth, narrow tip, and a deep groove at the base next to the round, hard seat.

My eyes dart even faster around the room. It’s stuffed with such an odd array of furniture, it’s almost as if none of it is real. Along with armchairs and ottomans, there’s a shelf modeled to look like a tree, with ‘branches’ protruding from the ‘trunk,’ and threatening-looking hooks coming off the branches. But yet there’s also an inviting looking little house built into the same tree. In another corner, there is a hard-backed chair with an object like a hairbrush set on top of it, only instead of bristles, there’s only holes in the wide, flat wood. On the mantel, there is a similar object, only much larger and with no holes, displayed on a decorative stand.

“What is all this stuff?” I whisper, my voice barely audible.

“Just as it appears,” Dante says in a simple tone. “Some of it is for your enjoyment, others for your chastisement. Mr. Ezra feels he goes to great efforts to make sure his pampers are very well provided for, and if he finds those efforts not taken seriously in even in the slightest of ways, then he’ll want that quickly corrected.”

“Corrected,” I repeat, my voice catching in my throat. “Corrected, how?”

“Oh, well, usually a naughty pamper is giving a very painful, very embarrassing spanking on her upturned little bare bottom,” Dante goes on affably, as if he were discussing something as simple as the weather. “I’ll be doling out the majority of your discipline up here in this very room, though know you may also be spanked at any time by any person in Mr. Ezra’s employment. That means you might be turned over any member of the staff’s knee at any time, or put into any other position they may find desirable. In this house, spankings are almost always given on the bare, so you’ll immediately have your dress lifted and panties pulled down. Then your poor, exposed bottom will be spanked with whatever implement that member of staff deems appropriate, for as long and as hard as is necessary to adjust whatever inappropriate behavior you may have been displaying to earn yourself such discipline in the first place.”

I just stand there, staring at him as if I haven’t heard him correctly. Spanking? Why I hardly know the meaning of such a word. I thought it was something that only happened to children, by their teachers and parents, in very old-fashioned books a very long time ago. Even reading briefly about it once in an old picture book I had found in a rubbish heap, I had found the idea horrifying. And now to think this was actually going to be done to me? Well, maybe over my dead body! I would run away first, out into the snow. Freezing to death would surely be a better fate than being spanked by strangers! How foolish I was to ever think that any of this might actually have been better than my life on the beautiful Everlys…

“Now, now, darling, don’t look so dejected,” Dante says, condescending once again. “If you’re a good little pamper and do as you’re told, you’ll only get a maintenance spanking once per week. But bad little pampers can have their bottoms punished in any number of severe and demoralizing ways as often as necessary, spanking aside. Not to mention having your tender thighs strapped, or your legs spread open for a pussy paddling or hand held to have your palms rapped with a ruler. And off-limit words will earn you a big bar of lathery soap stuffed deep into your naughty mouth. You wouldn’t want that now, would you?”

I shake my head back and forth automatically, like a puppet controlled by strings. Meanwhile, the whole of my body seems flushed, overheated and strange. Though half of me is more horrified than I’ve ever been in my life, the other half is inexplicably tantalized and filled with astonished allurement. To be subjected to such treatment seems so far-fetched and over the top, I almost can’t even believe it.

“Very good,” Dante says, with a prompt nod of his head. “Now, do you have any questions?”

I roll my eyes, tilting my head slightly to the side in exasperation. “I’ve already asked a question several times,” I remind him. When Dante only continues regarding me in his usual unperturbed, lackadaisical manner, I throw up my arms and raise my voice when I ask it again. “Why is everything so large?” I gesture to the chairs and the couches and the shelves all around me. “Everything takes step stools to get up on. What is it about this Mr. Ezra that he wants us to look small? Why? Especially if he is not even ever here! Who does he want us to appear small for?”

Dante only raises his eyebrows at me, as if somehow baffled by my outburst. “Why, I thought it was somewhat obvious, little pamper, though I suppose I’m probably leaving some things out of the orientation. I often do. A bit scatter-minded, I can be at times. Why don’t you come here a moment. I want to show you something.”

As I step nearer to him, I watch as he again takes his Cellone out of his bathrobe pocket, this time holding it out for me to see as well. I stand very close to him, his body so large, it seems to somehow enclave me, and for a moment I imagine it will offer me protection from my new, bizarre circumstances. I wonder briefly if this is what attraction feels like. Of course, none of the men on the Everlys had ever stayed long enough for me to experience the feeling, though Sable had developed it quickly enough with the tourist who had gotten her pregnant.

Dante touches the screen on his Cellone, and it lights up brightly in front of my eyes, displaying a picture I can only get a quick glimpse of before Dante changes it again. He does this with a few swipes of his finger, flipping through the different screens the way one might with pages of a book. Of course, it’s been a long time since I saw a book—we only had a few at the institution, and the rest I found in garbage heaps in the Capitol. It’s been even longer since I’ve last seen a Cellone, when I was a very young girl in the Capitol, and one of my parents’ friends had been using one.

At last, Dante lets the Cellone rest on a scene that looks uncannily familiar. There in the very center of the picture, two people stand very close together, one with a shock of thick curly dark hair, the other with long straight locks of silver moonlight. That’s what my friends back in the Everlys used to call my own hair shade, so fine and so pale it was nearly void of any color at all. I lean in closer to Dante to get a better look, and strangely enough, the light-haired woman on the screen moves as well.

With a shock, I step quickly back from the Cellone, realizing all at once that the people I’m viewing are actually Dante and me, standing in this very room as we are now, almost like some sort of mirror. “But… but… but how?” I stammer, aghast. Just how long have I been on the screen of his Cellone for, and who else has access to it?

“Mr. Ezra has very advanced cameras hidden all over his pampers’ chambers,” Dante explains in a matter-of-fact way. “Since he can’t be here very much himself, he likes to frequently check in on his Cellone to see how his little pampers are getting along. Of course, he has much larger screens wherever he is as well, as it isn’t very satisfying to watch on these tiny things. He’s also much more indulgent in checking in on you girls during certain times rather than others.”

“What do you mean?” I demand, suddenly feeling extremely violated and infringed upon. “Do you mean he can watch us in the bathroom, or during any other matter of private business?”

“Well, of course he can,” Dante answers simply. “As a pamper, you have no privacy now. Though Mr. Ezra isn’t very much interested in those things you mentioned. While he may view you doing some more mundane daily activities, he’s mostly interested in watching your punishments. Though I must say he’s certainly watching right now. He does enjoy witnessing the new pampers’ orientations.”

The punishments. Of course. I begin to get the sense that something altogether deeper is going on here, that this Mr. Ezra person has some sort of fetish. A punishment fetish.

“Well, how would he even know when the punishments are occurring?” I ask fervently, almost as if I am challenging Dante’s rundown of my new life here at Ezra Estate altogether. “If he isn’t watching all day, I mean. Is this Mr. Ezra person somehow psychic as well?”

“Actually, for starters, I myself mostly punish the pampers at the same time, every time. You’ll have your maintenance spanking every Saturday morning in the privacy of your bedroom before your breakfast even arrives, and trust me, I am in no way fond of getting out of my own bed that early, and will be very much taking out my dissatisfaction on your poor tender little tushy. Mr. Ezra does prefer it that way. And if you’ve been a naughty enough pamper during the day to earn yourself a formal punishment sentence, then I’ll be paying you a visit during your free time in this very room sometime between the hours of eight and nine. Of course, I may also punish you at any other time during the day if I deem it so necessary, though usually the other staff will be attending to you then.”

“The other staff,” I say, with a short scoff of disbelief. “You mean that nanny/housekeeper lady, Lucie? Why, I’d like to see her attempt to try to give me this spanking. You know, I met her this morning, and she’s at least three inches shorter than me. I’m a highly skilled spear fisher and crabber. I can easily take her on in a fight.”

“Oh, you say that now,” Dante says with an amused smile, shoving his Cellone back in his pocket. “Come along. I have one more room of the tour to show you, and then I’ll be turning you over to Nursie. She’ll be demonstrating the most exciting bit of the orientation.”

I balk uncertainly, unwilling to follow him, to meet this Nursie person and have her show me anything at all. “Exciting?” I repeat his word, my voice a seething whisper. “As if there is anything exciting about this at all for me?” With each word, my tone raises several decibels. “How dare you even say such a thing? And why on earth should I go anywhere else with you?”

Already a few strides away from me, Dante turns back and narrows his eyes so fiercely, I regret having spoken. My heartbeat quickens in my chest as he firmly strides his way over to me and takes me roughly by the arm. Without saying a word, he twirls me around and grabs up the hem of my dress, bunching it up tightly in his hand.

“Maybe a good hard slap to your bottom will get you moving,” he growls, all at once yanking the skirt of my dress up over my hips.

I’m in such shock and dismay I can only respond in little gasps and whimpers, as suddenly the entirety of my bare backside is set on embarrassing display. I also twist and writhe, struggling to get away, terrified of the slap Dante has just threatened, though upon raising my skirt, he seems momentarily dismayed as well, and no slap comes. Instead I’m only held there in the very humiliating position, my torso slightly bent over his arm, dress raised up, ass sticking out, all plump and rounded out behind me.

“And just why on earth aren’t you wearing your panties?” Dante’s voice finally comes from behind me like a spear whizzing through the surface of the sea. “Why, you naughty little pamper indeed.”

Before I even realize what’s happening to me, Dante is pulling me up and dragging me by the arm over to one of the massive couches. As my feet struggle to keep in step with Dante’s strides, relief momentarily floods over me as my dress falls back down to my knees, covering my bottom in what seems a protective manner.

“I’m… I’m sorry!” I suddenly get the good sense to explain myself. “They were too small and itchy, so I took them off. They’re only just back in the drawer of the closet. I’ll put them back on! I won’t take them off again.”

Dante seems to ignore me as he seats himself in the very middle of the couch where I’ve been dragged. He’s so tall, the piece of furniture almost seems the right size for him, as at least his feet can touch the floor and he doesn’t have to use the step stool to get on it. Then he holds me out in front of him, pinning my two arms to my sides, giving me a slight shake that seems to set my attention directly on him.

“You’re most certainly right you won’t ever think to go without panties again after I’m through with the spanking I’m about to give you,” he chides in such a dangerous voice, I nearly feel tears of fear spring to my eyes. “Now tell me, did Nanny Lucie tell you to keep your panties on under your dress, or did she tell you to take them off?”

“I… she… um…” I falter, my first thought being to lie. Then I remember the Cellone in Dante’s very pocket. Can he look back and somehow see my actions of this morning, when I had thrown my panties across the room and Lucie made me put them back on? Of course, she never specifically said I had to wear them under my dress. My mind races quickly to try to get out of the iron grip Dante has against my sides, and the whole threat of a spanking forgotten. “I don’t think she said I had to wear them.”

Dante’s face remains hard and stern as he stares up into my face from the couch. “But she didn’t tell you to take them off, did she?”

“Uhhhh…” I struggle hopelessly to come up with anything to say to get me out of this. “I guess not.”

“You woke up this morning with those panties on,” Dante says pointedly. “When a pamper is dressed in an article of clothing, she stays in them until otherwise instructed to take them off, smallness and itchiness aside. Do you understand me, young lady?”

Though I feel like it’s in my best interest to agree with him, insolence suddenly takes over my mood. “The elastic was biting into my skin,” I mutter huffily. “I had pink lines on my butt when I took them off…”

“Pink lines?” Dante nearly laughs at me. “Well, let’s see how you’ll like an entire pink backside, you brazen, saucy little thing. I had intended to give you only a good slap to get you moving when you refused to follow me out of the room, but now you’re going right over my knee for a good, hard spanking on your naughty little panty-less butt!”

No sooner has he spoken then do I find myself nearly somersaulted into the air by a few quick movements of Dante’s hands and arms. The next thing I know, I’m lying with my pelvis pressed firmly into his lap, my head and legs dangling on either side of his legs and feet, planted firmly onto the floor. I’m in such shock, I barely feel it when my dress lifts, leaving the whole of the tops of my legs and ass exposed to whatever Dante has in store for me. I can only grit my teeth and wait, hanging helplessly like that, as I hope a spanking isn’t all too horrible as it was made out to be.

Suddenly, a sound like a coconut cracking open rings throughout the room, and a pain sets into my hindquarters like nothing I have ever known before. Involuntarily, I let out a strangled cry of torture as I twist around in my position hanging upside down over Dante’s knee, as if in attempt to see what is happening to me. But no matter how far I twist, I can only just make out Dante’s arm in my peripheral vision, raised high over his head and then plummeting down again, right back onto the same butt cheek, amplifying the sounds of my cries.

“Please, let me go!” I beg, nearly hysterical as I try to buck and kick my way free from Dante’s hold and this terrible pain. Of course, without being able to get a firm grasp on anything other than the air I’m hanging in, this is nearly impossible. “That really hurts! Oh, please.”

Dante only responds by adjusting his position, raising my hips higher on one of his legs and locking the pair of mine under his other one. This immobilizes me even further, as if my whole body were stuck in a vise. It also leaves me wide open for another slap to crash down across my buttocks, the pain so intense it’s almost as if Dante is branding me with some sort of red-hot stamp of steel.

“It’s supposed to hurt, my love,” Dante explains, again with his patronizing voice. “To teach a naughty little pamper that she is always—always—to wear her panties, unless instructed otherwise by Mr. Ezra or a staff member.” He punctuates each ‘always’ with another excruciating slap across my butt, setting my howls of protests off even louder. The pain is so great, I imagine he must feel very sorry for me, and is about ready to let me up to go on with our business of visiting this Nursie person.

Only instead of taking sympathy on my cries, Dante only proceeds with the spanking with more vigor. The slaps to my jiggly, upturned bottom cheeks become even firmer and faster, the impact most concentrated in the very bottom center, sending up the level of agony higher and higher with each excruciating smack. I’m in nothing other than pure shock, as I was so sure the spanking was going to end after just a few slaps, and now I’ve received at least two dozen more within what seems simultaneously like a very short and very long amount of time.

All I can think of is escape, of getting out from under Dante’s horribly large hand sending blow after blow to my burning bare bottom. I howl and kick and claw at the air, the whole time twisting my torso every which way I can. I try to reach back to cover my poor butt cheeks, becoming more swollen and sore with every slap, but I’m at such an angle that I can’t reach back that far.

At last I figure it’s no use getting away, and so I dangle there miserably and helplessly. The top of my head hovers just over the floor, my hands propping myself up just a tiny bit against the rug. The couch is so high up, it leaves my body stretched as taut as it can go, making the skin across my butt ache even more from the loathsome spanking.

“Please, please!” All I can do is beg, as the speed in which Dante’s hand comes colliding with my burning, scorching butt gains more and more intensity, almost as if his arm must be nothing but a blur with how fast it seems to be moving. “Oh, it hurts! Oh, owwwww, it reeeealllllyy hurts! Ow, ow, ow, ow! Please, stop! Please!”

By now, my poor bottom feels like one big deep pool of molten lava, a giant burning bubble ready to explode right open and disintegrate into the air—which actually seems like it would be a relief compared to what I’m experiencing right now. My pleas of reprieve begin to get stuck in my throat and become shuddery gulps and gasps, but still the pain is only set deeper and deeper into my throbbing rear end with every blow from Dante’s hand. With no longer the will left even to escape, it’s almost as if my entire being becomes nothing but affliction and misery, and suddenly I find myself bursting into sobs. Tears flow freely down my cheeks and my nose begins to run as I cry and howl in despair, in a way I never have before.

For a moment, it’s almost as if I become detached from the spanking altogether, and the only thing that brings me back to the burning, horrible, agonizing pain is that the slaps are actually slowing down, though my bottom still throbs and aches just the same. My howling becomes lower, though just as piteous, as my fingers rake blindly against the carpet and my hair sticks to my face with my tears and snot. I start to register that Dante is saying something again, his words far off against the sounds of the slaps to my bare butt and my own crying.

“And you’ll always remember to wear your panties from now on, won’t you, little pamper?” he asks, his voice somehow soothing as his hand continues to issue smack after smack deep into the very bottom of my cheeks. “For being punished for the same infraction will only earn you a spanking twice as long and hard, with a paddling or a strapping to follow. You wouldn’t want that now, would you?”

He seems to pause in spanking me to allow me to answer, but I only continue to hang over his knee, blubbering pathetically in my debasement. This proves to be a mistake, as before I know it the spanking starts right back up again, just as surely and as soundly as a moment ago, setting off my anguished cries and futile struggling all over again.

“I expect a response out of you, young lady!” Dante’s voice booms out over the deafening sounds of not only his hand crashing against my swollen, inflamed lower bottom cheeks, but my yelps and screams of pure torment. I’m sure now that there’s nothing I’ve ever experienced that has been as awful as this is. “I don’t care how much you’re fussing and carrying on, when I ask you a question, you answer me!” Smack. The blows come down in such a fury, I’m sure all that will be left of my butt is one giant blister if he ever gets through. “Now, do you understand me, young lady?”

“Yes, yes!” I cry out over the noise of my awful spanking, hysterical and desperate. “I understand! I promise! I’m sorry!”

Still, the spanking only continues, Dante’s hand driving into my upturned little butt until I’m sure it’s about to blow up from the burning pain. “What do you understand?” he asks at last, slowing down the slaps long enough to get his question out, though starting right back in after that.

“I understand I must answer you when you ask me something, and wear my panties, and… and…” I struggle to come up with more of a response in order to appease him and stop the spanking. “And I’ll come with you right away when you tell me to go somewhere.” In a deplorable moment of regret, I realize all of this might have been avoided if I just left the room with him in the first place.

“Very well done,” Dante praises me, though he still lands long, slow slaps to my bottom. “You’ve just taken your very first spanking. And I trust very well you’ve learned a good lesson from it.”

“Is it over then?” I wail so desperately, I barely even recognize my own voice. “Oh, please, I have learned my lesson. I have!”

But the slaps only keep coming, albeit much slower, which somehow seems even worse than the high-speed spanking I was receiving before. Never knowing quite when the slaps are going to land seems to drive the pain level up all the more, and it isn’t long before a fresh wave of tears set in. My crying comes freely and continuously, and as I become desperate for any type of comfort I can get, I find myself reaching for Dante’s robe-covered leg, wrapping my arms around it as if in an embrace. Each hard slap sends a new wave of pain throughout my body like an electric shock, as my long, low weeping becomes even more pitiful with dejectedness.

But then, at what seems like long last, I realize the slaps to my bottom have ceased, and Dante only continues to hold me over his lap while the sobs racking my body slowly die down as well. Then, a very strange thing happens. Taking me by the arm, Dante pulls me up, up into his lap where he snuggles me tenderly to his side, my bottom sticking out against his legs, burning hot and throbbing. Whenever it happens to brush against anything in even the softest of ways, it has me sobbing fresh cries as the pain seems to set in anew.

“I’m sorry!” I cry, as Dante holds my head to his chest and strokes my hair in a gesture I would have found bizarre if I wasn’t in such dire need of caring affection. Yet somehow, with my ass aching ever so horribly, the feel of his body enveloped around me seems to be the best thing in the world, and I almost wish he might never let me go.

And so he continues to hold me as my shuddery breaths become more steady, and the throbbing burn in my bottom cools ever so slightly. Then I feel his hand, reaching back there, caressing my sore skin in the lightest of ways, sending a strange rush of arousal that seems to bloom from deep inside my belly. It’s only just then that I realize how very lubricated and wet my soft pussy lips seem to be, as if they are sweating profusely from the heat of my bottom. But that couldn’t be possible, could it?

“There, there, little pamper,” Dante soothes, as he continues to lightly stroke my burning cheeks, tracing the quickly rising blisters and welts with the pads of his soft fingertips. “I know you won’t be so naughty again anytime soon. A spanking across my knees for not wearing your tight little panties isn’t very fun, is it?”

“No,” I sigh, a curious feeling of contentedness washing over me as I snuggle deeper into his chest. Yet, it’s also laced with something else. Something I have never felt before. Something like desire, and need, and passion—all wrapped up in one neat little package. “I promise, Dante, I’ll never go without my panties again.”

“Actually, you will,” he promptly corrects me, his voice taking on a new tone, less consoling and more down to business. “Right now. As it’s well past time for your examination with Nursie, as well as the last part of your orientation.”

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