Page 2 of His Naughty Girl

“I… I…” I stammered, unable to form words. How could I possibly answer such a personal question? To a complete stranger, no less?

Mrs. Tompkins’s eyebrow arched, a silent demand for an answer. I swallowed hard, my throat dry as sandpaper.

“Yes,” I finally managed to whisper, my voice barely audible. “With Carlos, my second boyfriend. I… I gave him oral sex.”

The words hung in the air between us, heavy and suffocating. Mrs. Tompkins’s expression remained impassive, but I could have sworn I saw a flicker of something—disappointment? judgment?—in her eyes.

“He told me he’d break up with me if I didn’t,” I rushed to explain, the words tumbling out in a desperate flood. “I felt pressured, and I… I gave in. But I realized immediately that it was wrong. That I shouldn’t have done it just because he threatened to leave me.”

As I spoke, memories of that night flooded back. The dim light of Carlos’s bedroom. The musky scent of his cologne. The way my heart had raced, a mixture of fear and… something else. Something I didn’t want to acknowledge.

“I see,” Mrs. Tompkins said, her tone maddeningly neutral. She typed something into her computer, the rapid-fire clicks of the keyboard like gunshots in the quiet room.

I sat there, my hands twisting in my lap, awash in a sea of conflicting emotions. Shame at having revealed such a personal detail. Fear of what Mrs. Tompkins might think of me. And buried deep beneath it all, a flicker of that same forbidden excitement I’d felt that night with Carlos.

But I’d broken up with him immediately after, hadn’t I? I’d recognized how wrong it was to let someone pressure me like that. I’d stood up for myself, for my values.

Hadn’t I?

As Mrs. Tompkins continued to type, her eyes flicking between me and her screen, I couldn’t shake the feeling that she could see right through me. Her gaze seemed to bore straight through my skin into my heart, my mind. Worse, the parts I didn’t want even to think about, down below my belly. I felt a cold sweat break out across my skin. My pulse raced as I wondered just how much she could discern from whatever data was scrolling across herscreen. Did she somehow know the real reason I’d ended things with Carlos?

Unbidden and unwelcome, more memories of that night flooded back, in much too vivid colors. Carlos’s low, commanding voice as he ordered me to strip. My fingers trembling as I unbuttoned my blouse, letting it fall to the floor. The air moving over my naked skin as I unhooked my bra, my large breasts spilling free.

Carlos’s rough hands cupping my breasts, thumbs brushing over my hardening nipples. The jolt of electricity that shot through me at his touch. The confusing mix of humiliation and arousal as he told me how good I looked, how he was going to use me. How much he liked having big tits to play with.

Then his fingers tangling in my hair, guiding me to my knees. The thick, musky scent of him as he pressed it against my lips. The stretch of my jaw as he pushed it inside, the weight of him on my tongue.

His grip tightening, controlling my movements as he began to thrust. The sound of his grunts and groans above me. The feeling of being used, of being nothing more than a vessel for his pleasure. And worst of all, the shameful thrill that coursed through me, the wetness gathering between my thighs.

When it was over, when he’d spilled himself down my throat with a final, guttural moan, I’d fled. Disgusted with myself, unable to reconcile the fierce arousal I’d felt with my beliefs about equality and mutual respect.

I blinked hard, forcing the memories away. Mrs. Tompkins was still watching me, her expression unreadable.Didshe know? Could she somehow see the truth written in the data before her?The thought made me squirm in my seat, a fresh wave of heat flooding my cheeks.

“Is everything alright, Miss Jacobsen?” Mrs. Tompkins asked, her tone deceptively mild. “You seem… distressed.”

Again I had to swallow, trying to find my voice. “I’m fine,” I managed to croak out. “Just… um, thinking about some things I’d rather forget.”

Mrs. Tompkins nodded, a knowing glint in her eye that made my stomach clench. “I’m sure you are,” she said softly. “But sometimes, Andrea, it’s the things we try hardest to forget that tell us the most about ourselves.”

She turned back to her computer, fingers flying across the keyboard. The rapid-fire clicking filled the small office, each keystroke feeling like another nail in a coffin I hadn’t known I was building. My palms were slick with sweat, and I resisted the urge to wipe them on my skirt.

The older woman’s eyes darted back and forth across her screen, occasionally narrowing or widening in response to whatever data was flowing before her. I sat frozen, hardly daring to breathe. What did she see? What conclusions was she drawing?

After what felt like an eternity, Mrs. Tompkins’s hand moved to her mouse. She clicked once, decisively, then leaned back in her chair. It creaked softly as she shifted her weight, the sound unnaturally loud in the tense silence.

Her gaze locked onto mine once again. I felt a shiver run down my spine. There was something in her eyes—a mixture of satisfaction and… was that pity? My tummy felt like lead.

“Well, Miss Jacobsen,” Mrs. Tompkins said, her voice crisp and businesslike. “I have some news for you.”

I swallowed hard. “Yes?” I managed to croak out.

Mrs. Tompkins’s lips curved into a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You’ve been accepted. Your bus leaves at 1:30, from right outside. Your clothes and necessities will be provided for when you get to your destination, and you can send through us for anything you want from your current residence.”

The words hit me like a physical blow. Accepted? Bus? My mind reeled, struggling to process what she was saying. My heart began to race, pounding so hard I was sure Mrs. Tompkins must be able to hear it.

“I… what?” I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper. “Where am I going? What will I be doing?”

Mrs. Tompkins leaned forward, resting her elbows on her desk. Her voice took on a tone of forced patience, as if explaining something to a particularly slow child. “You’ll be taken to a town called Cato, about two hours from here. It’s one of our New Modesty communities.”

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