Page 26 of His Naughty Girl

I wanted to sink through the bottom of the tub and disappear. But there was nowhere to hide from Greta’s knowing gaze or my own traitorous body.

“Here,” Greta said, holding out a pink plastic razor. “Time to take care of that bush. Can’t have you looking like an untamed forest down there.”

With shaking hands, I took the razor. Under Greta’s watchful eye, I began to shave myself, carefully removing every last hair from my pussy and between my bottom cheeks. The act felt terribly intimate and shameful, even without the added mortification of Greta watching me bare myself.

I tried to tell myself that after everything that had happened the night before in this strange house, I shouldn’t feel any embarrassment, but it seemed like my modesty, taught from childhood, had no intention of letting go.

Even worse, as I worked, I couldn’t help but wonder what Dylan would think of my newly smooth skin. The thought sent another wave of heat through me, making me squirm in the tub.

“Hold still,” Greta admonished. “Unless you want to nick yourself in a very uncomfortable place.”

I forced myself to remain motionless, even as my body thrummed with a kind of need I had never felt before. When I finished shaving, Greta stepped closer to inspect my work. Her eyes roamed critically over my newly bare skin, her lips pursed in concentration. I stood frozen, hardly daring to breathe as she examined me. I shivered as the air moving on my uncovered nipples tightened them into hard peaks.

Greta’s fingers ghosted along my inner thighs, spreading them wider. I felt utterly naked as she leaned in for a closer look, her breath warm against my sensitive skin. My face burned with humiliation, but I didn’t dare move or protest.

“Turn around, girl,” she commanded. “Bend over for me and spread those cute butt cheeks of yours.”

My face burning, I complied, feeling cool air where everything in me told me I shouldn’t as my trembling fingertips held my rear end open for the humiliating inspection.

“Hmm,” Greta murmured, her tone thoughtful. I whimpered as she ran a fingertip between the taut globes of my bottom, checking for any missed spots. The light touch sent a jolt of electricity through me, making me bite back a gasp. “You’ve done an acceptable job, Andrea. But only barely.”

She straightened up, fixing me with a stern look. “Next time, I expect better. The skin should be perfectly smooth, with no stubble or missed patches. The men of this household deserve nothing less than perfection when they choose to enjoy you.”

I nodded mutely, too mortified to speak. The casual way Greta spoke of the men ‘enjoying’ me sent another confusing wave of arousal through my body.

“Alright then,” Greta said briskly. “Into the shower with you. Wash yourself thoroughly—and I mean thoroughly, young lady. Every nook and cranny. Then you may come downstairs. Lydia will instruct you in your housemaid’s duties.”

CHAPTER 13

Andrea

“Andrea, honey, come in here for a minute,” Devin’s voice called from what I now knew was his office. Lydia had showed me how to dust Devin’s bookshelves and how to clean his monitor before I had vacuumed the Persian rug.

I leaned the mop in its bucket against the wall of the hallway and went into the office on nervous feet. Commanded by a casual gesture of Devin’s hand from where he sat at his big oak desk, I went to stand on the rug I had tried to remove every mote of dust from.

My tummy churned with fear just at the sight of the man who had punished me the previous night. I fought the urge to put my hands behind me to cover my bottom, as if I already knew I had a spanking coming, though I had done everything in my power to be a good girl today.

“Hands on your head, girl,” he added, with a frown and a note of reproach, as if I should have known to assume that posture immediately. Then he nodded, and smiled, as if hehad remembered that I had only just arrived in his household. “That’s alright, honey. You’re doing so well that I almost forgot you’re still learning the rules. When I call you in here, you put your hands on your head to show you understand your subservience.”

I swallowed hard. My hands had clenched into little fists. I started to raise them, fighting what felt like every instinct in my body to comply with Devin’s instructions. The intertwining of compassion and utter authority I heard in his voice sent waves of mixed-up emotion and, worse, sensation through my body. The warmth in my cheeks as I completed the movement, and I felt how the posture did indeed make me feel subservient, was just about the easiest part to deal with.

I tried to find something to look at other than Devin’s pleasant but evaluating expression. My eyes were drawn to the massive desk. Its polished surface gleamed in the late afternoon sunlight streaming through the window, reflecting the warm glow of the antique desk lamp that sat at its corner. Amid the carefully arranged stacks of papers and leather-bound ledgers, a flat, rectangular box caught my attention.

Its smooth, matte black surface bore the distinctive logo of Selecta New Modesty—the stylized red ‘S’ intertwined with the ‘NM’ in elegant silver script. The sight of it made my heart race with a mixture of curiosity and trepidation.

Devin followed my gaze, a knowing smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He leaned back in his high-backed leather chair, the rich material squeaking under his weight as he shifted. “I see you’ve noticed our little package from the New Modesty Authority,” he said, his deep voice resonating in the quiet room.

My throat suddenly felt terribly dry. “Yes, sir,” I managed to whisper, my voice barely audible even to my own ears.

Devin’s chilly blue eyes seemed to see right through me. “Greta’s been keeping me informed about your… progress,” he continued, his tone casual but laden with meaning. “She tells me you’ve been having some trouble with wayward hands.”

My face flamed hot at his words, the memory of my fumbling attempts at self-pleasure that morning rushing back. Had Greta known? Had she seen something when she came to wake me? The thought made me want to sink through the floor.

“And then there’s the matter of your extreme responsiveness to sexual stimulation,” Devin went on, his voice taking on a more serious note. “I must say, Andrea, what I’m hearing from the New Modesty Authority about you indicates that you’re going to be quite the handful.”

I felt my blush deepen, spreading down my neck and across my chest. My newly shaved pussy tingled with a mixture of shame and unwanted arousal, the fabric of my modest dress suddenly feeling rough against my sensitive skin.

Devin leaned forward, his elbows resting on the desk as he fixed me with an intense gaze. “Fortunately,” he said, a hint of satisfaction in his voice, “the NMA has provided us with something that should help channel that burgeoning sexuality of yours.”

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