Page 4 of Sadie's Little Christmas

She might not know what a Little was, but she knew in an instant who they were. Dressed in school uniforms, complete with green-and-blue plaid skirts for the girls and matching tie and black trousers for the only Little boy among them, they looked like children following behind their teacher like a row of ducklings, all holding hands.

“Come along,” the teacher called behind her. Dark hair twisted up in a bun, everything about her—from her starched white shirt to her straight black skirt, which ended a full regulation inch below her knees, to her sensible flat shoes—seemed very… adult. “There’s just enough time for snacks before naps.”

Sadie stood frozen, watching them go, not understanding why the urge to run and catch up with the other ‘ducklings’ called so alluringly to her. It was probably the promise of a snack, she thought, her hand going to her suddenly hollow tummy. It might also have been the nap, frankly, although she’d have fought tooth and nail before ever admitting it out loud.

“Don’t worry,” Derek said, startling her from her thoughts. “I won’t make you take a nap.”

She looked at him, surprised. “What?”

“I’m not putting you in the Little program.”

He could tell by looking at her that she didn’t belong? A tiny kernel of hurt dropped into her stomach. She’d have fought tooth and nail before admitting she ought to be placed among adults pretending to be kids, but did he really have to exclude her from everyone else at first sight?

“I thought your website said you only take Littles.”

“Yes, well, you can thank Uncle Jared for that as well. Come along.”

He winked at her, and her stomach echoed another of those quivering flutters. Sparked by his authoritative tone, she told herself. He was a big man and had a definite dominant vibe. Of course, she was going to respond to that. She was a submissive and, if four nights ago was anything by which to judge, a reckless slut of a submissive, so yeah, she would find this giant bear of a cowboy attractive.

“Uncle Jared” had probably told him all about her, which was probably why he was keeping her separate from his other precious charges.

Wilting, she fell into step behind him. She didn’t like roleplaying, and she didn’t want to be in his Little program, anyway.

They followed the teacher and her tail of pseudo-kids down the hallway, the school-aged vibe of the place devolving with every step. In the span of mere rooms, it went from looking like a responsible high school to being a youthful middle school, then a preschool with brightly painted butterflies on the doors and smiling, foot-high caterpillars in Rawhide Ranch uniforms, inching along the bottoms of the walls as if hurrying off to classes themselves. She passed a cafeteria with an attached kitchen, two counselors’ offices, and several classrooms, and with each new decorative revelation, her grip on the strap of her duffel bag got a little tighter, and the twists in her stomach tied another knot.

She was almost afraid to ask.

“Where are you going to put me?”

“Fortunately, we’re not at full capacity right now,” Derek answered. No longer leading the way, he’d slowed his step until he seemed more to be walking alongside her, giving her ample time to look her fill into the rooms they passed. He was watching her, studying her. “We’ve set up a dorm for you. You’ll get it all to yourself.”

She swallowed back another tickle of misplaced disappointment.

“That sounds… nice.”

“Is that all right?” he asked, both his expression and his tone utterly neutral. “Do you want to be in the Little program?”

“No! God, no!” The laugh that escaped her was as knee-jerk a reaction as the blush that rose to burn her face. “Because, you know… I’m not like… like…” She stopped walking and talking, not just because she didn’t want to be rude but because they were halfway past the room, the teacher and her charges had filed into.

It was a nursery, complete with nap mats on the floor and snack plates of apples, milk cartons, cheese, and cookies laidout on two round tables with brightly colored chairs gathered around them. More than that, it had toys on the floor, books in a reading corner that had plush beanbags comfortably provided, and a giant armoire by the desk where the teacher was standing. A young lady in a school uniform stood with her, nervously wringing her hands as she was scolded. For what, Sadie had no idea, but her breath caught, and her heart leapt for the other girl. She knew what was happening, not because she’d seen it before, but because she’d imagined it for herself, oh… she couldn’t count how many times.

Opening the armoire, the teacher took out a paddle. It was long and thin, more of a ruler than a real paddle, but the poor girl likely could have cared less what it looked like. Sadie gulped for her, her mouth uncomfortably dry, and her bottom clenching in sympathy.

Her tummy tightened, those butterflies going wild, anything but sympathetic for the other girl’s situation. Butterflies were heartless bastards, filling Sadie with quivers of excitement as the teacher gave a command she couldn’t quite hear over the playing, laughing, and talking of the rest of the people in the room, none of who so much as glanced their way as the girl raised her uniform skirt, holding it up around her waist.

Bending, the teacher took hold of her white cotton underwear and yanked them down to the girl’s knees. When she let go of the elastic, gravity took the garment the rest of the way to her ankles.

For all that Sadie couldn’t feel herself breathing, her chest rose and fell in quick, shallow pants as she watched.

Silent at her side, Derek tipped his head as he watched her face.

The teacher gave another command, the stern point of her finger, letting Sadie know exactly what she said.

Turning around, the already crying girl presented her bare bottom and even more slowly, bent over.

Locking an arm around her waist to help steady rather than hold the girl in place, the teacher raised the paddle and without further scolding, filled that cheerfully painted nursery room with the sharp whack-smack-cracks of wood swiftly and sternly meeting bare bottom skin.

The girl yelped and arched, dancing onto the tiptoes of her Mary Janes, her face a twist of woeful anguish before she burst into enthusiastic tears—real ones this time.

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