Chapter 2
795 Words
My Tutor is a Futa And Her Discipline Goes Deep & Hard By Deborah Cockram
I sit, on the armless chair in the center of the room, rigid, at attention. I flinch ever-so-slightly when the door flings open and Father – all 6'4” of him – strides in. Father walks to me, stopping maybe three feet from me, looming over me, his shoulders square, his back straight, jaw muscles flexing.
“The headmaster tells me you've skipped classes again,” he says, his voice even, words clipped, business-like.
I nod.
“And you've only turned in half your assignments, spending your time running around with those so-called friends of yours, leaving campus, going into town.”
Again, I nod.
“In a stolen car?” His voice raises ever-so-slightly, turning the statement into a question.
Another nod.
“No, talk to me, tell me, is this true?”
I clear my throat, look up at him. “Ye...yes, Father,” I whisper, waiting for the inevitable lecture about our place in the community, about my future in the family, in the company.
Dad's the CEO and chairman of Sweet-Morris industries, a position he inherited from his father, who got it from his father. It's a multi-national conglomerate, and while I could list all the different companies it's owned over the years, suffice to say we're multi-millionaires, just like all of our relatives. Dad and Mom and my uncles and aunts love to lord it over the town, the county, even the state, buying political votes, contributing to all sorts of charities more for the public relations than to do any real good, and always maintaining a “proper” air about them, almost like a medieval feudal lord surveying his surfs.
And they expect me to be just like them, to be a good girl, go to a good Ivy League university, to marry the right guy from the right family, eventually step into Daddy's shoes. Sure, he'd rather have a son to do that, but they only had one child, and I'm it. I turned 18 a month ago, and I have three months of school left before I'm free – and while they might pay for me to attend college, that doesn't mean I have to actually go, or do anything there.
“Mackenzie,” he says, hands behind his back now, pacing the floor. I bow my head, like the dutifully shamed little daughter I'm supposed to be. “I've told you time and time again about your place in society, about the importance of carrying yourself a certain way, with a certain decorum. But no more.”
I look up – this part of the speech is new.
“I'm withdrawing you from school.”
My mouth drops open.
He turns to me, staring down. “You will spend the remainder of your senior year here, being home-schooled”
“But, Daddy!” I cry out, suddenly confused, maybe even a little afraid. “You ca—”
“Furthermore, you will be tutored during the summer, and you will remain here next year, delaying university for a year, while we hold what you might call a year of finishing school, all under the tutelage of Ms. Tanner.”
With that a woman walks in – she's tall, nearly six feet, I'd guess, slender, with thick, shiny black hair pulled back into a bun, her skin alabaster, eyes dark and shining, and the reddest, most perfectly formed lips I've ever seen.
“Mackenzie, your manners.”
I stand, curtsey – yes, I curtsey, as I've been taught, which should tell you all you need to know about why I want to get out from under control of this stuffy, rigid, old-fashioned family.
Ms. Tanner nods her acknowledgment.
I turn to Daddy. “Please, Daddy, I'll be good, I'll never skip class again, I'll neve—”
He holds his hand up, palm facing me, a sign for me to stop.
“There will be no further discussion.” He steps to me, leans over, speaking in a whisper now. “Your future rides on this, my dear Mackenzie If you don't straighten up, your inheritance could be on the line.”
A cold shiver runs through me. I mean, I don't really believe Daddy would cut me off, but I know he's been getting pressure from his brothers to let one of them take over the business, put their sons in charge because they don't trust me, they don't think a girl can do it.
“So, my dear,” he continues. “You will follow Ms. Tanner's instructions without question.”
I nod, he turns and walks away, leaving me in the care of tall, dour Ms. Tanner.
***
- Writer
