Vacationing at Master Marshall’s world-renowned Castle should have spelled Fantasy Land, but for Mira the trip means paying a debt. She promised to work hard at her translator’s certificate course while her advisor went on maternity leave, but distraction arrives in the form of her first love. Diplomat Hana Takahashi, from Desire in Any Language, captures Mira’s total attention. Between Hana’s stringent embassy security and Mira’s draconian school dormitory curfew, their stolen kisses drive Mira wild with desire. Hana makes a bet with Mira: keep up with her schoolwork or take a trip of Hana’s choice, according to Hana’s rules. No veto power.
When Mira presents her inadequate end-of-term report, Hana books a dream vacation – of Hana’s dreams. Safe within the Castle, the elaborate role playing kink haven, Hana turns Mira into her little girl. Complete with a private nurse, playroom with its nanny in charge, and a schoolroom filled with naughty pupils and a stern teacher, the Castle’s ageplay wing reduces Mira to a child from the moment of her arrival. Hana’s word is law, and all of the Castle employees carry out her orders for Mira.
However, Mira’s natural resistance leads to tantrums, defiance, and spankings from every adult who assists with her care. When she encounters a tutor who triggers her deepest fears, she must face her residual trauma over the duplicitous “Mistress Susan.” Is Mira ready for the maternal nurturing offered by Hana, or will her unhealed wounds drive everyone away? Can she become Hana’s little girl, or will she safeword out of the Castle to return to everyday life… without Hana? Will there be a miracle for Mira?
Warning: contains ageplay, mouth-soaping, spankings, and sex scenes.
My dear Miranda,
I hope this letter finds you well and enjoying your work, as always.
I apologize for my absence next month. I dearly wish I could get away for some rest and relaxation at your magnificent Castle, but my presence has been requested at the international summit I’ve been dreading. I would much rather enjoy myself teaching your staff the delights of a new shibari technique I’ve invented. By using Yakitsu’s new midori rope, I have combined three of my favorite designs. You have quite a promising future shibari student. I would love to give her a private lesson the next time I visit.
I must confess I need to make an imposition on you. Since I won’t be taking up my usual residence next month, could you possibly allow my niece, Hana, to visit in my stead? She trained under me as best as she could at a distance, but she has never shown interest before. A pity, when she shows real talent both in physical skill and emotional control. If only I could interest her in more than a small, playful act here and there! Still, she has found herself a nice submissive girl and wants to introduce her to the lifestyle. Nothing could be better than a visit to your lavish playground of the mind. It’s time to see whether the girls can handle the Takahashi discipline. Hana is long past time to come into her own. I’ve worried about her for years, but just a few months ago she wrote to me of her new relationship. Nieces! With nothing better to do than worry their poor Obas.
How has your search been for your own submissive? Do be careful online. It’s so easy for people to pretend to be something they are not. Don’t sell yourself short. You deserve the best and shall get it, if I have anything to say.
With much love,
P.S. Enclosed is a photo I found of us on graduation day. Can you believe it’s already been years since our last day at Miss Sadler’s Finishing School? Sad to think of Miss Sadler gone and her prot?g?s scattered all over the globe. Still, sometimes I close my eyes and can see you laughing on the dormitory bed across the room from me. Dare we ever tell our children about our wild days? Just remember?the bed sheet rope was your idea!
Atsuko, you silver-tongued flatterer,
You still try to blame your escapades on me! You’re lucky you didn’t break your neck climbing out of our dorm room window. I can’t believe we were ever that young. Poor Miss Sadler, driven to an early grave by the antics of her students. If she’d taken the cane to you a bit oftener, she would have saved herself a great deal of grief. Ha! And never you mind how often that cane was taken to me!
Of course your niece Hana is welcome to visit us next month, although we will miss you greatly. I have already cleared the matter with Master Marshall, who bids me let you know just how much he shall miss you and your ever-patient shibari tutelage.
As for dear Hana, heavens, how they do grow up. It seems only yesterday she was desperate to tag along behind us, following in all our naughtiest and grandest adventures. We were a horrible influence on her, but gazing on her has always been so much like gazing on a mirror to our wayward youth. I can’t wait to see her again. Tell me, Atsie, has she any special requests either for herself or her new partner? How lucky she is to have found someone. I admit, I envy her that.
As for me, my online search has hit an interesting turn in the road.? I am chatting with Ana daily now. She knows me only as "Miss M.," and I have not let on that I live quite close to her. Mere hours are all that separate us. I want to meet her, but she is reluctant and I’m afraid of scaring her away. She is brand-new to the lifestyle, can you imagine? I must go gently so as not to frighten her, but I long to see her for real. I know you worry about me, as always, but I am careful. Everything about her checks out. I think she might even be my one.
Must dash?one of the silly new visitors has lied on her paperwork, as if we wouldn’t spot her lack of experience straightaway. Sometimes I’d like to give them all a good thrashing. The only problem is, they’d like it!
Send me the dates for your niece’s visit and let us know which wing she will want to stay in. I’ll go through my lists to ensure she has the best of care while she is here.
Chapter One: The Phone-Sex Call
"Mira-chan," she purrs into the small electronic earpiece for my cell phone. "Tell me the color of your panties."
The luscious red apple splurts juice as my fingernails dig into the flesh. "I’m at the supermarket!" A bent-over curly-haired woman hobbles by with a baby bundled on her back. A loudspeaker blares with some harried employee’s voice extolling the virtues of some limited time offer promotion. Buy one get one free, or fifty percent off, or a special sample, or a cooking demonstration. I shuffle in between stacks of food. When I came to South Korea last year to enroll in a translator certification course, I knew many things would be different from my native United States. I expected the language and cultural differences, but I didn’t expect the rest. I didn’t recognize the vastness of my country, or how I took for granted enormous grocery store aisles, houses, parking lots, and sidewalks.
I squeeze past a precarious stack of miniature sweet yogurt drinks, but my purse knocks a few bottles onto the floor. I murmur an apology to no one in particular as I bend over and replace the drinks on their cardboard tray.
"Are you wearing the silky violet panties with the sheer back panel?" Hana asks through the phone, luxuriating over each syllable. "When I take you over my knee, will the flimsy fabric tear as I place my hand in between your thighs and?"
"Hana!" Sticky apple juice dribbles down my white sleeve. I raise my voice to drown out hers. "Apple prices are outrageous. Do you want the three-thousand-won kind or the five-thousand-won kind?" Three to five dollars for a single apple, I tell myself. Trying to focus. I am an ordinary schoolgirl on an ordinary errand to buy ordinary groceries for her ordinary girlfriend. But I forgot. This is Hana, for whom nothing is ordinary.
"I want your saucy bottom tipped over my knee as I split your schoolgirl panties at the seams."
"HANA!" I put the crushed apple into a plastic produce bag and spin it around to tie off the end. Someone will have to pay for the ruined fruit. I walk over to the special produce bin filled with stacks of luscious red cherries. Each clear, plastic, heart-shaped bowl contains a small handful of the expensive, imported fruit. I long to taste the cherries, to place one in my mouth. I have not enjoyed a cherry since leaving my hometown many months ago, and I have almost forgotten the taste. I remember watching my mother bring in lugs of cherries, hauling in crates of the red fruit she made into cherry sauce, cherry jam, cherry everything. My mouth waters as I wish I could place the forbidden fruit into my mouth. At ten thousand won, or over ten dollars, for a tiny handful, I can’t justify the expense. In the meantime, my attention is demanded elsewhere.
"That’s right," she croons. "Scream my name, baby girl, but louder!"
"Hana!" I whisper, dipping my head forward so my long hair covers my hot face. A toddler careens by with a fistful of candy in each hand, a tired young mother trying to keep up. "Mmm-hmm-mmm," I hum as loudly as I dare, using the tune of a popular children’s song about umbrellas in the rain. My first girlfriend, my first love, and my first pornographic phone sex call.
She chuckles. "You can’t say anything back, can you? You’re in public, and you wouldn’t want any of the matronly cashiers to know tonight we’re flying to a place where I can spank you and make love to you all day."
I set the apple bag in my green plastic basket, and I head to the toiletries aisle. "Do you need a new toothbrush?" I ask.
"You can try to ignore me, but you won’t succeed. Remember our deal?"
Against my will, the inner walls of my cheeks squeeze together in a smile. "Our first vacation together."
"For one week, your bottom is mine. Little girl."
"I’m not a?" I begin, but she interrupts me. I protest whenever she does so, but at the same time my heart swells with her self-assurance. I never knew I could like someone who takes without asking, who gives without being requested, and who loves without wondering why. For Hana, life consists not of polite rules but passions that erupt at any moment. Yet, she works by day as a diplomat. My Hana, the woman who throws every propriety to the wind, helps to smooth protocol for everyone else. Does her sophisticated, tactful job persona make it more exciting to abandon all rules with me? Or does she work as a diplomat in order to tame the wildness within? And how did she ever end up with a normal and boring girl like me?
"You are a little girl if I say so. Or do I need to remind you whose naked, sweet, baby-smooth body will lie across my lap as I raise the hairbrush to?"
"Okay!" I consider dropping the basket onto the floor and running, but this is my neighborhood market. If I make a scene today, coming back will be worse next time. "You don’t need to!" I have to press my legs together. I can almost feel her deft fingers working their way into my most secret of places.
"Say it," she urges, and my knees wobble.
"What?" I ask, trying to curb my exasperation. Turned on and ready to spit nails, that’s me!
"Say, ‘I’m a very naughty little girl, and I’m going to get a sound spanking on my bare bottom.’"
A strangled yelp.
"I love you," I gasp. The cashier stares at me when I drop my basket in front of the counter. "Not you. You…"
"Say it right now, or after I spank you I’ll put you in the corner."
In front of the cashier, five people waiting in line behind me, and a passerby, I whisper. "I’m a naughty girl."
"That’s my Mira-chan," she purrs, and I knock into the credit card swiping machine. "And?"
How does she expect me to speak, let alone walk to the bus stop, when every word turns me into a melting torrent of desire? "You’ll spank me."
"And I’ll love every second of it."
I grab my bag of merchandise and flee the store, praying no one will remember my face or voice.
"I want you," I gasp.
I never thought I would be the sort of person to say dirty things in supermarkets or proclaim my love in front of strangers. I think of myself as shy, unassuming, or even ordinary. But life with Hana has taught me even the most ordinary of events can become extraordinary. She makes me ? in some ways when I’d rather not ? find excitement in the everyday. With her, every day is a discovery. Each meeting is an occasion.
"Why didn’t you get more apples?" Hana asks when I return home. Or, rather, to her home, the home from which we will begin our travels tonight. It’s hard to believe we will take our first trip together. We have never gone anywhere except the local coffee shop or perhaps a restaurant. I am a schoolgirl free from the confines of her dormitory and launched into the grown-up world of apartments, airplanes, and travel.
She takes the bag from me and sets it on the table. The only apple lies mushy and broken, a testament to our phone call.
"If you wanted more apples, you shouldn’t have distracted me." I lift an eyebrow at her, as if I can tell her what to do. She rests her hands on my bottom, giving a squeeze to make me yelp. This is the first time I have entered her home, and it’s the first time we don’t have to worry about strange gazes from other people. Diplomat security plus dormitory rules don’t make for an easy courtship.
"If you didn’t want to be distracted, you should have answered my question the first time." Before I can complain, she bends down to drop onto my lips a kiss so sweet, so tender, and so gentle I lose track of any thought I ever could have had. It’s a good thing I’ve already set the apple down because nothing would survive this embrace.
"Tell me more about our trip," I demand, trying to catch my breath.
"Ah-ah-ah," she reproves. "You know our agreement."
I nudge her. "C’mon, give me a hint." Because she is Hana and I am Mira, and because my thumb teases the outermost edge of her earlobe, she tells me her story.
"Since you lost our bet?"
I groan. In the short time since Hana came into my life, everything I used to take for granted has flown out the window. No more lollygagging to finish school assignments, no more late-night parties that cut into study time, and no more fun without consequences.
My bottom twinges again, thinking about it. When I first met Hana, at a party thrown by my roommate’s friend, I didn’t know what I was getting into. I only knew she made me feel the way no one ever has, including the tutor I crushed on for the better part of a year.
"I don’t want you to fall behind in your schoolwork because you’re seeing me," she said on our fourth date, when we pretended to watch a film at the local cinema. My answer was lost as she placed her lips over mine, cupping the back of my neck with both hands. I’m sure it broke all of her embassy’s protocol for conduct in a foreign country, but the faintly buttery embrace made me forget my objections.
"I won’t," I promised, never dreaming she would hold me to it. By our sixth date, strolling around the pond near my dormitory because I couldn’t get security clearance for her housing complex, I knew better.
"Maybe this should be fun," she whispered, as she propped me against a secluded building for a few warm-up swats. She’d tried to spank me before, but each attempt led to more pressing events. I learned to wear turtlenecks so I could hide the hickeys after our dates.
"I warned you," she tells me, and I’m not quite sure. Did she? Or did her lips brush against mine, and did a spank turn into a caress, a hungry stroking of the jeans-clad buttocks she wished to undress? When I am with Hana, the most formal clothes melt into an invitation. She has never seen me in the nude, but her eyes and her words rip off every piece of clothing I might wear. It’s almost as if she wants me to drape myself in heavy woolen coats and thick sweaters, as if the challenge makes sweeter the anticipation.
"About what?" I stammer, looking down to hide the heat creeping into my ears. She laughs, a glorious cascade of rippling notes, and she encircles my waist with her arm.
"I love when you blush," she croons, tilting my head backward. "I can’t wait to dress you up as?"
"Dress me up?" I echo, blankly. Since when did her fantasies involve putting me into clothing?
"?a little girl," she finishes, the tips of her fingernails tapping against my chin. I’d never thought of a chin as an erogenous zone, at least not until I met Hana. Those perfectly manicured, rounded tips sweep like a mother’s kiss beneath my bottom lip, and I shake with desire. I want her to take me, right here and now. I unbutton the top button of my shirt, only for her to stop me with a tap of those immaculate nails.
"My little girl," she clarifies, and she stills my unspoken protest. "I won the bet."