Catarina's Sitter Sessions

Catarina's Sessions

Chapter 1. What that little bitch needs....

"What that stuck up little bitch needs is some serious discipline to put her in her place."

Helen Crummel smiled to herself at the notion. The object of her observation, 18- year-old Catarina, had just left the room, in a quiet, unperturbed exit which left Helen, the aunt on which the lovely blonde had been foisted by her sister, recently divorced when Catarina had been accepted to the college in Helen's town. Helen had most definitely not inherited the fine, graciously rounded features of her sister's and her daughter. She was short and stout, with a porcine appearance that had excluded her from the kind of adulation which her attractive niece received at every occasion in which men were present. Catarina was almost unaware of the pining attention she received, merely believing innocently that people were generous and giving as a rule. She accepted the offered favors, entertainments, and deference with grace and simplicity.

Helen burned with rancor and distaste towards her niece, and craved to see her lose her self-possession and to cause her distress. She took every occasion to denigrate Catarina, calling her names and maligning her character. Frustratingly, she didn't manage to penetrate her niece's calm dignity. She seethed at the realization that Catarina understood her aunt's resentment of her youth and beauty and discounted the mistreatment.

"She needs someone stern and authoritative to break her!" thought Helen, understanding intuitively that Catarina was still young and docile enough that someone who took charge of her would have little trouble cracking her composure and forcing her to his will. She was inwardly thrilled with pleasure at private, imagined images of Catarina made to submit to sexual humiliation, the girl's ripe beauty being turned against her as it was possessed and abused by a man for his own pleasure at the distressed girl's expense.

In fact, Helen had been extremely fortunate in having a man in close proximity who fit the bill perfectly. Two houses from her lived the former principal of St Bertha's. He had been discharged from the local private girls' junior college for 18- to 20-year-olds under a cloud of ominous silence. Helen had heard rumors-misuse of authority and even a hint that there might have been some inappropriate sexually conduct. No charges had been made, certainly none that stuck, and the unpleasant, dour, 65-something year-old lived a quiet existence, tolerated suspiciously by the community, ignored in the hope he would age away into a gray and anonymous harmlessness.

The parents of the daughters at the school were none too eager to contemplate any improprieties to which their daughters might have been subjected. And no girls had come forward to affirm that anything had in fact occurred. An uncomfortable impenetrable silence met all inquiries that had been made, girls quietly upset, crying or stony faced and defiant, neither type offering anything which the inquiring boards had been able to use against the teacher. His assiduous avoidance of anyone underage had meant that without testimony against him from the girls he was unaccountable even had anyone reported his trespasses. There had not even been any actionable reason for which he could be dismissed, though the principal himself had resigned in what was believed to be a sage exit before the allegations against his own complicity and perhaps event participation might eventually turn up something.

The sixty-six-year-old Mr. Anderson had in fact realized he had been extra- ordinarily lucky in his tenure, and was smart enough to realize that all good things must come to an end, and that and end which didn't include him persecuted for the fun he'd had all those years was far preferable to his activities with the schoolgirls being discovered and his spending years in prison for molestation! Little did the sexagenarian know that his career and expertise would soon re-flower, this time with all his talents and attention doted solely on the unfortunate Catarina!

The rumors, he knew, fell timidly short of the realities of his activities. They dallied with notions of excessive strictness, but never came close to the realities of the late- night individual "tutoring and discipline" sessions he had held with so many young girls in the first flower of womanhood. No hint had surfaced of the mandatory breast examinations he had conducted, becoming a connoisseur over time of young ladies' frontal developments, the puffy-nipple breast buds of the younger small- breasted ones which he had become the first man to touch and tweak, to the pleasingly plump, but always at their age, firm, plush mammaries sported by the more bountifully built pupils. A variety of his favorite full, pillowy, feminine girl-tits he had come to know the feel of intimately, both as they filled and warmed his hands, as well as on other parts of his anatomy when he'd made the well-endowed waifs use them to caress his neck and face or even his pulsing genitals. Certainly, he had managed to train the girls well enough that none had ever had the temerity to whisper to anyone outside the school of their shame during his favorite sessions, which they had known as SMS lessons, referring not to cell phone use, but by the initials of the acts involved, Sucking, Mewling, and Spanking.

Mewling, in fact, thought Anderson to himself, was a good word reflecting how, though he enjoyed the young ladies in his charge experiencing sexual pleasure, he only did so when they were made to endure some simultaneous humiliation or pain. Though he did not know it, many of the girls he had initiated and trained over the years had later been unable to sustain relationships with men who did not make them feel submissive or coerced, coming to need these sensations to achieve sexual arousal at all.

Mr. Anderson's gruff, displeased demeanor had no little to do with having been forced upon leaving the college to forego his pleasurable control of a large submissive bevy of feminine youth. That cloud of dark humor was soon to be dispelled by a visit which would soon result in his resuming his predatory habit with sole dedication to his neighbor's unfortunate lithe and lovely niece.

"I have a problem, you see..."

Mr. Anderson puzzled to understand the point of the importuning by his distasteful-looking neighbor. Helen Crummel sat uncomfortably in the too low sofa, glancing nervously upwards at the stern, disapproving gaze directed at her from the higher overstuffed chaise. She didn't understand why, but the man made her so uncomfortable that she could feel beads of sweat form on her brow and underneath her arms. But, as she continued her lament, the man in front of her seemed to relax and almost start to smile, making her more confident and outraged as she went on.

"She is driving me crazy; you see. She is disrespectful, disobedient and impertinent and haughty. She thinks she's such hot shit, with her blonde hair and flat belly, parading around her slutty tits without, like, a bra or something, like she's better than everyone else! She talks back when I tell her to do something and has gone so far as to call me, well, names!"

Anderson leaned forward and afforded the dull woman a smile, registering how she relaxed at some positive encouragement from him. For a brief flash the thought passed through his mind that he could easily cause this woman to do his bidding eventually, but he dismissed the idea immediately. For one, she was in no manner attractive, and though he might satisfy his need to subjugate, he was cold to the prospect of this woman as a sexual target. And, his pulse raced at the thought that, if what he assumed she might be implying was at all right, he might be able to get some kind of access, even if only vicariously, to the woman's niece, who sounded altogether delectable!

"So, I thought, well," continued Helen, emboldened by the warming in the stern figure she addressed, "maybe you, with your experience and reputation," Anderson thrilled at what she might be implying when she said this, "could suggest some way of dealing with Catarina in order to put her in her proper place." The woman finished, and looked at Anderson shiftily, half expecting to be told, as she ought to have been, to mind her own business and let the lovely youth enjoy her rightful pleasure at an auspicious entry to womanhood and the admiration of others for her graceful appearance, intelligence and character. This, of course, was the last thing Anderson was going to tell the envious aunt.

"Your niece, Catarina, perhaps she is compensating for insecurity in her appearance? Sometimes youthful imperfections cause this kind of distancing from well-intentioned relatives. Is that the case, perhaps she is pudgy, or flat-chested?" He hastened to reassure the woman before him who was both, "Young ladies subject to social pressures may not realize that there are many of us men who prefer woman who are not gaunt or overly protuberant shall we say."

Helen seethed as she responded, "No, you see, that's part of the problem. She's quite pretty in that way, with her stupid flat belly and anti-gravity tits! And she can see that the boys like it, the slut. She catches them constantly, jerking around to stare at her boobs or her ass when she passes by. And it gives her airs, like she's the only one who counts. And she spends way too much money on underthings and revealing clothing, even thought she's way too stuck up to let any boy do anything more than look. Just a total bitch!"

Helen stopped, afraid she might have come across as embittered and receive a reproach. Anderson reassured her, "Yes, the gods-gift-to-mankind syndrome. I've seen it often enough. Not hard to break, you know, with the proper techniques. It does require though, the early establishment of proper hierarchy. That, I'm sorry to say is the rub here. From what you tell me, Catarina does not see to fear you in the way that would be required for you to apply these techniques, which I would freely explain to you. Also, given the nature of her hauteur, her comeliness and sexual power over others, it would probably be impossible for a woman to influence her. "

He waited for it, Helen saying what she would do were she a man, where would a woman find such a man, though he was fairly sure she had neither the education nor the sense of humor to quote Shakespeare. Helen blinked, then asked, gambling that there was some truth to the rumors she'd heard about Anderson, "But someone like you, with your background, you could do it, couldn't you?"

Anderson leaned back in his chair and studied Helen. His demeanor did not show his glee at the prospect being dangled before him. He needed to establish exactly how far this woman would allow him to exercise his will on the girl. It wouldn't do at all for him to compromise himself with regard to her, and them be subject to blackmail or being reported to the authorities. He also needed to know how far she would go in supporting him, so that the girl would be compelled to obey him.

"Miss Crummel," he began. "Please call me Helen, Mr. Andersen." "Helen. What exactly do you contemplate the procedure would be? These situations can require what might appear to be a very strict hand, as well as unconditional support from the family, you see. The young lady must not have someone to which she can go for an easy safe harbor, otherwise the effect is quite spoiled. Redoubles the young person's sense of entitlement, in fact, as she knows she can avoid being humbled by whining to a parent, or aunt in your case." He paused observing Helen's evident quickening as she seemed to contemplate her niece being under the tutelage of a stern master. He continued, sensing that the woman would actually take pleasure in any distress she could bring down on her niece. "Frankly, Helen, the source of confidence and autonomy that your niece exhibits, and which gives you such justifiable offense, is the power of her youthful, blossoming, sexuality. While she controls this power, using it as she will to attract others, she will just continue to be willful. At the same time a young lady's budding womanhood is also a source of great discomfort and uncertainty to her. If she is made to feel she has no control over it, in fact that it victimizes her, she will be much more obedient and her aggrandized sense of herself will be deflated."

Helen leaned in towards the man excitedly. She felt sure now that what the old principal was proposing was close to some of her private fantasies about Catarina, which is why she had come looking for the man whose reputed activities, embellished in her mind, had sparked. Many nights had found her lying in bed pleasuring herself while envisioning her niece standing before a faceless, stern male presence commanding her to remove her clothes, and of a crying naked Catarina being slapped across the face, while a hand mauled that damned perfect breast of hers.

She stammered, feeling her way, "I think I understand, Mr Anderson. I believe my niece would very much benefit from being disciplined strictly, and that such discipline would focus on that slut's sex makes, like a lot of sense. I would very much support efforts you would make in that direction. If you needed, say," she let herself speak more freely, the pleasure of the imagery she evoked for herself prodding her, "to make her undress, or to treat her roughly, while she was naked maybe, it is no more than she deserves, and would teach her a valuable lesson."

"My dear Helen," he tested, "do you mean to say would approve of a strange man stripping your niece, subjecting her to sexual humiliation, spanking her naughty, bare backside, even having improper contact with her genitally?" His tone now had more amusement in it than proscription, and Helen, glanced at him, and nodded, "I would approve of that, yes."

Andersen stood. Though not tall, loomed over the woman. They gazed at one another and then he gave her an amused smile. She responded with a wide grin. They understood they were accomplices in this. "Please join me in a glass of Scotch," he invited, and fetched a fine single-malt, from which he poured out two generous tumblers. They clinked their glasses together and sipped.

An hour later, Helen left the principal's house. Her energetic stride attested to her pleasure in the arrangements she and Andersen had made for initiating her scheme. She broke out in a smile feeling how lucky she'd been to find the one person who was so well prepared to carry out her designs on the girl with whom she had been saddled.

Turning into the walkway to her house, she stopped. Catarina's room upstairs exuded a warm glow. The girl had hung warm yellow curtains in her room, and even replaced the ugly, cold-white bulbs that Helen liked for their economy. When Helen reprimanded for this, she had totally ignored her, rolling her eyes as if Helen was overreacting to a small matter. Helen fumed at the recollection, but the smile remained on her lips as she thought of the comeuppance her niece would soon be receiving. She pushed open the door, stepping directly into a living room dominated by a large TV and an unattractive red velour sofa. She called up, "Cat, what're you up to there? Are you reading again? Get your head out of your books and come watch something real on the telly with me!"

Her answer floated down from behind Catarina's closed door, her voice a feminine timber with a hint of full-throated lower tones stirred in, muffled by the intervening door. "I'm tired auntie, and want to finish this chapter. It is very good."

Helen muttered her answer to herself, "That's right, you stuck up bitch, too good to watch TV with your aunt, don't approve of the shows I like, do you? You just wait until Friday. You'll see who makes the rules around here, and won't you be surprised by what the new rules are going to be?"

Helen turned towards her own room, deciding to skip the TV just this evening and go to bed early. Her mind was already filling with images that would fuel her pleasure. She turned and locked the door, turning out the light and stepped into her room.

" Go open the door,..."

Catarina was sitting on the red plush sofa in the living room, one long bare leg bent, her slender, high-arched foot with its clear lacquered, well-groomed toenails, tucked under her other thigh. Her legs, forming a charming angle, lay long and lithe, bared from high up her thighs by the diminutive, ragged cuffed, jeans shorts she wore. All the girls at school wore these short-shorts, and took glee in the consternation they caused among the boys by parading among them, male eyes glued lockstep to the sinuous sway of long, and oh-so-bare, female legs. The braver girls, among which Catarina did not figure, experimented with shorts whose rears were roughly cut even briefer, either a bit loose so the swell of rounded girl rump- cheek flashed occasionally, or, and this was worn only by the most daring, tight and high cut. Those diminutive pants dug into a girl's bottom cheek at its rounded, full, lower swell, the tight leg openings separating the tease's cheeks (for the girls who wore them laughed about and competed to tease the boys to a point beyond madness), pushing the exposed half cheek down, bunching it out for the enraptured lustful gazes fixed on it. One girl at school, Briana, a statuesque brunette who Catarina was not very good friends with was particularly fond of wearing such brief shorts. When she paraded around Catarina had observed boys watching her intently, their hands unconsciously unable avoid making cupping gestures and drift towards Briana's delicious bared and proudly exposed rear swellings. None of them dared actually touch her though, mused Catarina, as much as they clearly were driven mad wanting to touch the six foot tall girl's large but proportional, naked, plump crescents. Briana dated the senior quarterback, that is to say she was practically his property, and any boy who trespassed could expect to be beaten within an inch of his life. Instead they appreciated Briana's display, and Catarina could see them groan when the handsome young stud she dated walked next to her, one palm casually cupping, squeezing and stroking the brunette's bare half cheek in a public display of his possession of the girl. Clearly the boy enjoyed this part of his girl, as her cheeks were often marked by an abraded pink splotch and even finger marks where her ass had been handled.

Catarina closed her eyes to dispel the image in her mind, and pushed it away as she realized guiltily that her imagination was replacing Briana's tawny, broad, pawed buttock, with an image of her own, trimmer, paler, and more bubbly and prominent backside. She blushed. In her mind she went so far as to exaggerate the markings on her own bottom, which she imagined even more distinct as her skin was so delicate. A tremor coursed electrically through her body at her perverse imagery of the handsome football player's large hand on her own defenseless bottom exposed by shorts like Briana's, the lower chubby cheeks of her rear on display, the fingers digging deeply as they splayed wide and indented the accommodating cheeks, then switching sides, pink blotching on the backs of her thighs as well, until all the boys around her snickered at the finger marks they could clearly see on her mauled backside.

Catarina would never have dared wear such really short shorts to school, nevertheless, she did own several pairs which, as now, she wore around the house where no one except perhaps her aunt could see her. Her thighs squirming against one another, she let herself slowly imagine the exposed lower halves of her buttocks marked with the impression left by the insistent hard male fingers, on BOTH cheeks, the boy playing with her pale, pink, plumped out cheeks, greedily subjecting the other one to the same treatment, alternating back and forth between pillow-soft globes leaving a field of rose-colored skin blotched by deeper pink finger marks crisscrossing the full feminine hemispheres.