The Oak Street Method: Renee

by Emily Tilton

  Daria drew in a breath. She felt like echoing Paul’s oh, my fucking God. Charlotte had just advanced the timetable by two weeks.

  “Daria,” the dean said, “you need to start running models stat on how Renee reacts to an awakening at the Woods. Paul, get Mr. Bonner on the line if you can. Ask him if he’d like a complimentary trip to come fuck his girls, while Renee watches. Tell him if he can get here tonight we’ll, um…”

  Daria’s eyes went wide, and she almost giggled. To hear Charlotte say um at all seemed like an impossibility. To hear her say it with respect to such a minor matter, a perk for an owner, seemed positively outlandish.

  The dean’s hesitation lasted for less than a second. “…comp him some caviar and champagne.”

  Daria giggled. She couldn’t help it.

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  Chapter Seven

  “What?” Renee asked Mrs. Wood. She felt the whatever starting to come back at this interruption of her reliable daily routine, and she just barely caught herself. “I mean, why, Mrs. Wood?”

  They stood on the walkway in front of the Kimballs’ house, school done for the day. Laura Wood had unexpectedly appeared there from next door just as the Oak Street girls had begun to disperse to their own houses for their afternoon free time.

  “Your mommy asked me to have you over, sweetheart. She has a few things to do.” Frankie and Mary’s mommy had the kind of patient look on her face most of the other grownups—besides Mr. and Mrs. Dalton—got when forced to deal with Renee.

  Because I’m a brat,Renee thought. Everyone knows I’m a brat.

  “But why can’t I just go home and wait for her? I mean, I’m…” Renee felt it happening—and, more surprisingly, she felt that it had started to happen in response not only to her own wish for independence and, now, knowledge of what the fuck was really happening on Oak Street, but also in direct relation to the way Mrs. Wood had spoken to her and looked at her. Fascinated despite the strange situation, she continued, “I’m a big girl,” while somehow at the same time observing herself saying it, speaking to Mrs. Wood in a disrespectful voice and for the first time fully choosing to behave that way.

  Mrs. Wood’s face went from patient to frustrated. “Renee, sweetheart,” she began, but sweetheart sounded much less kind than it had the first time Frankie and Mary’s mommy had spoken it. “Your mommy said if I had to, I should make sure you understand how important it is that you do as she and I ask.”

  Renee felt her eyes go wide, even as the whatever really started to mount a serious challenge to her brand new attempts to control her behavior. She turned to Frankie, whose often-blushing cheeks had gone pink again, and then to Mary, whose own eyes were wide now.

  That question Mary had asked, where had it come from? Surely she hadn’t only meant the kind of thing Renee had said when she responded to Mrs. Kimball? That a submissive wife obeys her husband? Surely Mary’s question had something to do with… with what happened when you went in the van, and then later with what happened when the limo pulled up in front of your house.

  A submissive wife obeys her husband. The way Agnes Wickfield definitely—obviously—obeyed David Copperfield after they were married. That represented only the way things worked, back then. Love, honor, and obey.

  Obey, when a young, newly married woman did the chores and ran her husband’s household. Told the maid to make the beds, all that Victorian stuff.

  When her bridegroom told her to go to the bedroom and to take off all her clothes, so that he could inspect her between her legs, get her ready for what he wanted to do because he loved her and she must honor and obey him.

  Sex. Again. Mary’s question must really have had something to do with sex, mustn’t it?

  And if… if you said, No, I don’t want to take off my clothes. No, I don’t want you to inspect my little virgin pussy… Not because you really didn’t want to have sex, because girls are definitely allowed to want sex, as even Mrs. Kimball would say sometimes when they read those old books where it seemed like an author—Charles Dickens being a very good example—thought young women should pretend sex had something bad and dirty about it.

  If you defied your husband not because you didn’t want sex, but because you got, you know, turned on, by the idea of… well, defiance…

  The idea that your handsome young man (or, Renee suddenly thought with a flash of heat in her cheeks as she stood looking again at Mrs. Wood, wondering what it would all mean, here today and in the future, your experienced, older daddy) would have to put you over his knee to make it clear to you that taking off your clothes and having your whole body but especially your pussy inspected represented not a choice but a requirement, if you wished to sit comfortably as a married woman.

  Renee’s lips parted. She could feel the words, “What does that mean?” in her throat like a physical presence, a bodily demand. She could hear them in her mind’s ear—the hard whatever way they would come out, the tone that would make it clear to Mrs. Wood that Renee actually didn’t care at all about the answer, but spoke only in order to show her, and, more important, Frankie and Mary, that the Oak Street brat didn’t care, even if her mommy had given another mommy permission to… to give Renee a spanking.

  Her heart quailed in the face of all the brand new knowledge about how things worked on Oak Street that seemed to have flooded in over the past twenty-four hours. She thought of turning “What does that mean?” into a very different, even a submissive, kind of question.

  Then, suddenly, a new kind of thought bubbled to the surface of her boiling mind. Suddenly Renee had a new choice to make: she would choose to adopt the whatever tone, because she wanted to see what would happen. At the idea her heart started to race, and that by itself, with the impulse to turn and run away, toward her own house, to ask her mommy what it all meant, almost pushed the new desire down inside her.

  In turn, though, the very thought of fleeing sent a jolt of the funny feeling to her pussy: a thrill so sharp and unexpected and strong that she couldn’t suppress the words now, and they emerged almost as a cry of need, or at the sting of a hard spank from Daddy’s hand.

  “What does that mean?” she said in her hard, bratty voice.

  Frankie gasped. Even Mary looked shocked; her lips parted as if she meant to utter a word of warning to the girl to whom—Renee now became fully aware with a strange flush of mingled pride and embarrassment—the younger Wood girl looked up, as a junior brat to a senior one.

  “It means,” Mrs. Wood said in a low voice, leaning toward Renee with narrowing eyes and her whole face saying, to Renee’s dismay, that the woman had waited for a long time to give the neighborhood brat a comeuppance, “that unless you come back to our house and get yourself ready for a hard spanking with my wooden spoon for your lip, sweetheart, you’re not going to like how your daddy makes your bottom feel tonight. Not one bit.”

  The thrill of strange desire seemed to become a raging fire inside Renee at Laura Wood’s unexpected, severe, terribly strict tone, and even more at the frightening but irresistibly exciting words she said.

  “Mommy!” Frankie whispered. “What…”

  “Is…” Mary started. “Is she…”

  Renee breathed hard, looked at both her friends and then again at Mrs. Wood. She herself had nothing to say, because she could tell that whatever plan governed the lives of Oak Street girls, whether made by the mommies and daddies or by someone else, who drove the vans and the limousines, that plan called for Renee to have a spanking at the Woods’ house.

  “Not another word,” said Mrs. Wood. She looked at her wards. “Girls, take Renee up to Mary’s room and show her how to get ready.”

  Renee’s eyes darted to Frankie’s face. The older Wood girl’s eyes had gone very wide. “The… the new way, Mommy?”

  Mary, too, looked at Mrs. Wood with an open-mouthed expression that seemed to have alarm in it, but also excitement.

  “Yes, Frankie,” Laura Wood said patiently
. “The new way. Mr. Bonner is coming over later this afternoon and Renee is going to watch. It’s time for her special lessons to begin. I’m through waiting for you girls to cooperate, though.”

  Frankie and Mary’s mommy reached out and took hold of Renee’s elbow, moving a little forward on the Kimballs’ walk and then around to Renee’s side so she could begin to propel her forward, toward the sidewalk that would take them to the Woods’ own walk and then the front door of Number 10. Renee had thought that she had gained control of the situation, at least as far as her own thoughts and feelings went, but the new information Mrs. Wood had dropped almost casually into the warm air of the suburban afternoon had sent her mind reeling. She tugged a little against Mrs. Wood’s guiding, nearly pinching hand, tried to pull away, but Frankie and Mary’s mommy had a surprising degree of strength—really surprising, Renee found as she pulled again but found herself drawn along.

  “Don’t!” she heard Frankie say behind her. “Mommy’s going to…”

  Mrs. Wood didn’t pause in her quick walk, with Renee literally in tow. She moved her hand up and took firm hold of Renee’s upper arm, making it nearly impossible now for the brown-haired girl to pull away and drawing an “Ow!” from her, with an involuntary look around the neighborhood to see whether their friends were watching the terribly undignified scene. Sure enough, Tricia and Luisa stood on their front steps fifty feet away, puzzled expressions on their faces. Delia must have gone inside already; she always went home immediately after school. Worst of all, Wendy and Ginnie were still right outside the Kimballs’ front door, and Renee saw knowing—pleased, really—looks in their eyes. Did they know that Renee was about to get spanked at a neighbors’ house?

  “Frances Wood,” said Mrs. Wood in a low, almost menacing voice as their little journey recommenced, “do not say another word. Renee, Frances and Mary know that when a young lady takes it upon herself to resist a punishment, she receives several more swats from my spoon. You’re working on a very sore bottom right now.”

  Something about the difference between her daddy’s hand and Mrs. Wood’s spoon, and about the idea of being disciplined by Frankie and Mary’s mommy, and about the strange things Mrs. Wood had said about a Mr. Bonner and special lessons made Renee feel so faint that even though she still wanted to try to get back her whatever face and her whatever feeling—so that she could have some sense of control over the roiling fear it all had brought up for her—she could do nothing but let herself be tugged along up the Woods’ walk and in through their front door.

  Could she really be about to… Renee’s heart quailed as she realized she didn’t even know. When she was spanked at home she understood exactly what would happen: if she gave her mommy and daddy the attitude of which she knew they wanted to rid her, she would be sent to the corner; her daddy would get out the spanking chair; he would call her over to lie over his knee; she would have to take down her panties; he would spank her; and then he would send her to her room with a well-spanked bottom. True, that had changed yesterday, with the inspection, but suddenly even that intimate moment with Daddy seemed, strangely, like something she wanted—something she would take, at least, over whatever it was Mrs. Wood did to her own girls with her wooden spoon.

  In the front hall of Number 10, Frankie, who had followed alongside Mary behind the humiliating little procession constituted by Mrs. Wood and Renee, went around them, on one side, toward the stairs; Mary went around the other. Both her adorable blonde friends wore looks of concern, and both extended a hand to Renee.

  Mrs. Wood said in a very different, much softer kind of voice, “Girls, you may get Renee ready just the way Mr. Bonner has told you to prepare yourselves for your punishments.”

  Renee looked over at her friends’ mommy almost in more alarm at this gentler tone than she had felt about the stern compulsion of a moment before. She saw a smile on the woman’s face. Mrs. Wood nodded, and Renee reached out to take the offered hands.

  “You may tell Renee about the Institute,” Mrs. Wood said, “but remember your manners. You know Mr. Bonner doesn’t like you to use naughty language. It’ll be your own bottoms that get spanked if I overhear you saying anything unladylike.”

  Renee turned to Mary to see what her impish friend thought of that. She found that Mary had caught her lower lip between her teeth, and a frown had appeared on the girl’s brow. Frankie said softly, “Yes, ma’am,” and then, to Renee, “Come on up.” Frankie’s cheeks had gone very red, and her brow, like Mary’s, had developed a deep crease. She continued in a low, dreamy voice, “You have to. Just like we do.”

  Mary said slowly, squeezing Renee’s right hand, “You’ll see. The spanking isn’t… well, you’ll see.”

  Renee let them draw her up the stairs, much more willing to go to Mary’s room than she had been to travel from Number 6 to Number 10. She could feel defiance still seething deep inside her, but her tummy fluttered and the funny feeling seemed to rage and ache further down at the thought of learning what it all meant. Mr. Bonner.

  The Institute.

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  Chapter Eight

  Laura Wood watched the scene in Mary’s room on her laptop, open on the kitchen counter as she cut up her brownies for after the spanking. Johann Bonner had a sweet tooth, and he would have at least one brownie, she knew. The thought made Laura smile.

  When her girls had gone off for their sale and defloration, Laura hadn’t known how she would feel on seeing them again after Mr. Bonner had made them his completely with his cock and his firm hand. The special lessons with which she and Tom Wood had prepared Frankie and Mary for their owner’s bed had proven very intense, bringing up stronger emotions than Laura had felt previously in her career as a trainer. Those had welled up forcefully when the Woods had turned their girls over to the Institute, and though Tom’s strong arms around her had helped keep her together, Laura had worried she might make the girls anxious with her own cares, when they returned for the final stage of their lives on Oak Street, when Mr. Bonner came to enjoy them in their suburban home whenever he liked.

  Those visits had proven a highlight of Frankie and Mary’s training, though, just as Miss Charlotte had envisioned they would. The dean had of course thought more of the owner’s and the girls’ experience than she had of the Oak Street mommies and daddies when designing the activity, but both Laura and Tom had enjoyed Mr. Bonner’s visits from the beginning, above all because the aerospace billionaire showed them so clearly how much he cared for the pair of lovely young women he had purchased not only for his pleasure but for the emotional satisfaction of initiating them and fulfilling needs society had taught them to consider shameful.

  Too, he praised Laura and Tom’s way of educating their girls with a very flattering frequency. That tended to make Laura blush, as did Mr. Bonner’s clear appreciation of her more mature beauty. On his last visit, the previous week, he had gone so far to fuck his girls’ mommy while their daddy fucked them and made them watch their master inside Laura, on the king-sized bed in the Woods’ master suite.

  Laura therefore looked forward to Mr. Bonner’s arrival despite the last-minute nature of the visit—and despite the added responsibility Renee’s awakening posed, with the knowledge that that nearly all the eyes of the two thousand, three hundred twenty-seven wealthy men and women who had signed up for the girl’s alerts would be fixed on her modest home. An Institute trainer got used to the idea of being watched as she dominated lovely young women, but Renee represented a nearly unique case even in the special world of Oak Street.

  Still, Laura found more eager excitement than anxiety in the thought of her role’s importance: in fact she couldn’t help smiling at the thought that Mary’s difficult question in school had ensured that Laura would have the opportunity to work with Renee this way. Laura Wood, real name Greta Isaacs, felt like she was exactly where she should be, and where the Institute should be grateful to have her.

  She cut a brownie a
nd glanced at the screen. Renee stood in Mary’s little room facing the Wood girls, an alarmed look on her face. In the upper right, in characters just big enough to read on the little screen, were the arousal numbers of all three girls:

  RD: 8

  FW: 9

  MW: 10

  “I don’t understand,” Renee said, according to the captioning at the bottom of the screen. Laura wished she could hear the girl’s voice, to judge the tone—something that always provided a trainer with a wealth of information, some of it below the level of conscious perception. Too many auditory inputs would inevitably create confusion, though, and so the only sound in the Wood kitchen came from the brownie tin and the lovely little plates Laura got down from the cabinet.

  Brownies after a spanking, and before a very special lesson.

  Frankie said, and Laura didn’t have to hear the audio to know her elder young lady’s voice had a good girl’s plea in it, “Just take off your clothes, and we’ll take ours off too. We can explain after that, but if Mommy calls us down and we aren’t naked we’ll get in even more trouble.” She looked at Mary for confirmation of the wisdom of this strategy.

  FW: 10

  RD: 9

  MW: 10

  Mary made a face, but to Laura’s satisfaction she started to unbutton her school blouse, and Frankie began to do the same, turning pleading eyes once again on Renee.

  “I still…” the brown-haired girl said, her eyes darting between Frankie and Mary as the Wood girls exposed their sweet, medium-sized breasts in the modest beige bras all the Oak Street girls wore. On Renee’s face appeared a version of the bratty face all the Oak Street mommies and daddies knew so well—not the glaringly disinterested one she used with ‘grownups,’ but a look of mild defiance, mixed with hope: a lifted chin with troubled eyes, and spots of pink in her cheeks that showed anger mixed with excitement.

  Laura blessed Miss Charlotte for the way the dean had created Oak Street yet again. The owners’ attention, when they filled out the marketing surveys the Institute sent out on a weekly basis, focused on the spanking and the special lessons. The truly unique and wonderful part of the Oak Street method, from the trainers’ and assessors’ perspective, though, lay in the way the scheme let the girls do the work of awakening one another—after each submissive girl’s natural curiosity about sex and discipline had led her to the proper point.