by Emily Tilton
The spanking stopped. Mrs. Wood said, “Downstairs, now.”
Renee, just for a moment, remembered that she was a brat. The ghost of whatever seemed to rise up, and the notion of looking at Mrs. Wood, of turning her face back over her shoulder to show a hard resistance to the injustice of having to pay for a naughtiness that felt so very natural, came to her mind.
But she saw Mary’s red bottom, and a glimpse of a tear on Mary’s pink cheek. The emotion she experienced had much more than fear in it; indeed, it made her pussy clench with need alongside her anxiety that her own backside must soon feel the terrible spoon. It quelled her rebellion, though, as effectively as if her daddy had pulled her over his knee and spanked her hard with his big hand until the tears came and her body went limp. Renee wanted to plead that she would be a good girl, that they all would, as long as they could touch each other, but she also didn’t want to reveal that, to Mrs. Wood or to anyone.
Whatever came back, and Renee, feeling like she could observe her own behavior in a way she never had before, decided. She did turn her face over her shoulder, did give Mrs. Wood the bratty look, the make me look.
“Get your impudent rear end down those stairs, Renee Dalton. I’m going to wipe that expression off your face.”
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Chapter Ten
Steven Yates had followed Renee’s updates for almost a year now. When his phone had buzzed in his pocket with the notification, Surprise! Renee’s first special lesson is today. All you brat fans, tune in to Oak Street at two Pacific, when the girls get out of school,Steven had cancelled three meetings and headed back from the office to his apartment high above Seattle. At 1:55 he pulled up the feed from Oak Street, and arranged the windows on his computer’s desktop so that he could scan the news from the Institute while he watched.
The markets in New York had closed; the markets in Asia weren’t yet open. He needn’t distract himself with anything work-related for at least two hours. Steven wondered, not for the first time, whether Miss Charlotte had planned the Oak Street day with the girls’ release from school—and the inevitable chance for naughtiness afterward—specifically with West Coast financiers in mind. He knew, objectively, that the world’s financial center of gravity didn’t actually reside in the Pacific time zone, but the stolen time he spent at least one day a week, from two to four, watching Renee and her friends, felt precious to him, and that seemed to distort his very perception of reality.
In a marvelous way,he told himself as he watched Laura Wood confront Renee with the news that the lovely brat would join Frankie and Mary that afternoon. Watching the nine Oak Street girls progress toward the moments when each learned that she was not the only girl spanked despite having turned eighteen, when each learned that she would have special lessons with her mommy and daddy, would go to the Institute to be sold at auction, would have her virginity taken by the wealthy man or woman who bought her… it all tended to make Steven feel like at least this part of the world revolved around him—as long as he could make good on his fixed purpose and obtain Renee as his own little girl, when the time for her sale came.
Renee will go under the gavel,read the top update on the Institute’s newsfeed, next Sunday. Make your travel plans now, ladies and gentlemen.
Steven opened another window and quickly ascertained that his corporate jet would be available. Under ten a.m. he entered Yates to SoCal. The pilot would know that meant the little airfield that served the Institute and several other sensitive facilities. If Steven got there at eleven, he knew, he would beat the rush of billionaires coming for the auction, and he could spend some time in the Institute’s guest facility watching the concubines-in-training on the many monitors provided. He would have to pay a good deal for his lunch and dinner, but the kitchen at the Institute always made the expense seem trivial—especially when one could season one’s meal with real-time images of lovely young women undergoing sexual discipline.
Not that such standard submissive fare—whips and chains, as Steven usually thought of it—could hold a candle to the slower developing but, for him, much more rewarding images he saw from Oak Street. The next item down in the Institute’s feed was a video clip from the school in the Kimball basement, captioned, Mary Wood asks a very interesting question. Steven opened it, pausing the video on the main feed, of Laura leading Renee away.
In his plush home office overlooking Puget Sound, Steven watched the anxious little scene in the basement schoolroom, with its final shot of Renee’s blushing face as her sharp intellect—so necessary, Steven had always thought, for the development of the true brat—put together the ideas of obedience, sex, and submission. His cock swelled in his jeans, and he contemplated freeing it to watch the scene of punishment and sex unfold. He elected to wait: just as the delights of Oak Street took time to reach their blazing hot fulfillment in the girls’ full submission to their owners, Steven like to pursue his vicarious pleasure in a leisurely way.
He restarted the video stream and clicked the button that brought him instantly to the current time. Intercut with the Wood girls leading Renee up the stairs he saw a shot of Johann Bonner, the lucky son of a bitch—and good friend of Steven’s—who owned Frankie and Mary, getting into the limo at the airfield.
An item popped up in the main news feed: Mr. Bonner, called in on short notice to enjoy his girls, has kindly answered the summons :D. Expect a very memorable special lesson to begin around three Pacific.
Steven smiled just as the emoticon instructed him to, as often, he wondered about the behind-the-scenes machinations that went into the Institute’s special presentations. Had they really called in Bonner in response to what had happened in the schoolroom, or did that just represent a little drama to add tension to the surprise of Renee’s first lesson?
Steven had watched with rapt attention the previous day as Mr. Dalton spanked and inspected ‘his’ little girl (Steven always put mental quotation marks around his, since he couldn’t help thinking of himself as Renee’s real daddy despite only knowing her through the Oak Street video stream). He had wondered, very urgently, when the Institute would decide to take the next step in her awakening, and how it would happen. As a businessman who knew the power of marketing inside and out, he felt sure both that he wasn’t the only dominant daddy feeling a certain degree of Renee fever and that the promotional geniuses at the Institute could effortlessly concoct a scenario like this one, with the Wood girls starting their friend off in the direction of her sexual service with an interesting question and then a disciplinary follow-up.
It stood to reason that Mary would provide the trigger, after all, being the closest to Renee in temperament of all the other Oak Street girls. On the video stream, evidence of the extreme suitability of the arrangement appeared just as the thought came into Steven’s head: Mary, naked, looking at still clothed Renee; Renee looking at Mary’s lovely, smooth pussy and seeming visibly to understand that she, too, would soon have her private curls taken away.
If impish Mary had been made to submit to that special procedure, Renee’s face showed her realizing surely they would do the same thing to a girl whose defiance went so much deeper. Steven’s cock got still harder at the thought of the perfect setup: the sight of a bared pussy made much more arousing by the idea, clearly in Renee’s head, that rebellious girls lost their right to pubic hair.
The strategy of putting today’s special lesson so soon after Heather London had gone to the Institute to be auctioned off to and then trained for Aurora Dessin, the mommy who had paid eight million dollars for the full-figured girl, seemed sound to Steven. He had watched the auction himself the previous night, primed for it by Renee’s spanking and inspection earlier in the day.
After the gavel had gone down on the winning bid, and Heather had signed the contract guaranteeing her two million dollars and the career of her choice, a van had taken her to the honeymoon cottage where her new mistress and mommy waited, dressed in a black corset. Whe
n Ms. Dessin, a libertine corporate lawyer from Minneapolis, had told her little girl that her own daddy back on Oak Street would have the delight of deflowering her sweet pussy—where Ms. Dessin’s dominant, probing fingers had been, just at that moment—Steven had longed for Renee. When Heather, on her back to be queened by her owner for the first time, Ms. Dessin riding the sweet, buxom girl’s face to her heart’s content, had heard from her mommy about the training that awaited her pussy and bottom, to make them pleasing for Ms. Dessin and for those to whom she would lend her little girl, Steven had decided no price was too high to bring home Heather’s bratty friend Renee.
Now, with growing need, he watched Renee feel the touch of another girl on her pussy for the first time. He saw the brown-haired girl’s reaction as Laura Wood came storming in with her wooden spoon and applied it vigorously to Mary’s backside. He wondered as Renee, naked, finally obeyed and began to walk toward the stairs, whether her defiance had departed, feeling the tiniest anxiety on that score—for Steven loved the special relationship a dominant man could have with a rebellious but good-hearted, and erotically needy, girl. He knew the Institute had meant to cater to the desires of men like him in their training of Renee, and he knew the Institute rarely if ever made mistakes. For a moment, though, as Renee left Mary’s room with the Wood girls, she seemed almost as docile as Frankie.
Then, to his cock-stiffening delight, Renee turned and the camera skillfully zoomed in on the look of scornful defiance she shot at Laura Wood—the kind of look even naughty Mary couldn’t muster. Mrs. Wood’s promise to wipe the expression off Renee’s face affected Steven almost as deeply, and he knew the next thirteen days would prove a torment to him, as he had to assume they would for the many other men and women who shared his taste for a submissive who resisted her needs, and her master’s instructions, the way Renee would.
The girls descended the stairs in silence. Renee, her face forward, seemed somehow balanced between fear and scorn. When she followed Frankie into the kitchen and saw that Mrs. Wood had pulled the chairs away from the table and moved the vase that usually stood at its center to the counter, Steven—with the help of the Institute’s excellent camerawork—saw Renee’s nostrils flare and her brow furrow.
Frankie turned back to look at her friend, her own nose wrinkling in distress, clearly at the now very present idea of her mommy’s big wooden spoon applied sharply, the way Laura Wood always did. “It’s okay,” she whispered to Renee. “It’s nobody’s fault, really.”
“Down, Frankie,” Mrs. Wood said in a stern voice. “All three of you. Faces down and bottoms up.”
There was just enough room over the oblong, dark wood kitchen table. Around it the Wood family had sat for eighteen months now, first with Frankie as the only little girl and then later with Mary in addition. Over it Frankie and Mary had gone at least once a week, to have their skirts raised and their panties taken down for family discipline.
From the beginning the Wood household had been unusual, for Oak Street. Alone of the guardians, both Tom and Laura Wood administered corporal punishment: Laura spanked the girls with her spoon, here in the kitchen; Tom used his belt on their bare little bottoms laid over his strong thigh, in Frankie’s and Mary’s bedrooms, if the offense had occurred after his arrival home—or if daytime naughtiness warranted an extra bedtime discipline session in his estimation.
Now, since the arrival of Mr. Bonner in the Wood girls’ lives, Frankie and Mary were always spanked naked, at his behest, whether by Mommy or Daddy. Steven found Bonner’s tactics admirable: if their owner were present to witness the discipline and to assist in it, the girls would be allowed to have their master’s cock inside them after punishment, and would be rewarded for their obedience with as many climaxes as their young bodies could endure. If Bonner happened to be absent, however, Frankie and Mary found themselves sent to be with their hands in wrist cuffs, attached to leather belts around their waists, to help them recognize how much they needed their real daddy—the wealthy man who had paid ten million dollars for them.
That frustrating fate did not await the Wood girls this afternoon, however; as Frankie and Mary showed Renee how to place her elbows on the kitchen table, Bonner’s limo rolled up in front of the house. As Laura began to stroke each girl’s bottom in turn, preparing her for the fiery visitation of the big wooden spoon, the smiling aerospace tycoon got out of the big black car and headed up the walk, as the limo pulled away to await his summons to return and retrieve him after he had thoroughly fucked two well-punished girls in the fascinated, anxious, aroused sight of a third.
Steven wondered what other Oak Street girls might be watching the arrival of the limo—Tricia, Luisa, and Delia all appealed to him greatly, though nowhere near the way Renee did. Or perhaps all the un-awakened young women bent over their desks, doing homework at their mommies’ behest, so as not to see that their friend Renee would soon have a naked spanking, and then her first special lesson.
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Chapter Eleven
Renee heard the doorbell just as she felt Mrs. Wood’s hand begin to stroke her right where it seemed the funny feeling had decided to center itself: the tender middle of her bottom, where she seemed to tingle as she thought of the wooden spoon in Frankie and Mary’s mommy’s hand. She thought Mrs. Wood would have to stop for a moment, at least, to answer the door, but then she heard it open, and heard a man’s voice call, “Hello, ladies! Where are my sweet girls?”
Renee’s face burned. She had felt such embarrassment even when her daddy had looked at her, the day before—the shame of being naked with a man she had never met in the house seemed to cut through even the bratty defense she had mustered against Mrs. Wood. And this Mr. Bonner, Frankie and Mary had said, owned them, somehow. He had had them trained for… for sex.
“We’re in the kitchen, Mr. Bonner,” called Mrs. Wood. “You’re just in time to help me spank them and their friend Renee. “
Renee couldn’t hold her silence, even though she knew it showed how brittle her defiance had become. “Oh, no. Please,” she said to the Woods’ kitchen table, in a voice that sounded terribly weak to her own ears.
Mrs. Wood made no answer, but simply kept stroking Renee’s bottom, presented for punishment just as Frankie and Mary had demonstrated, feet spread and back arched, so that her pussy must be clearly visible between her thighs, a lightly furred cleft poised between the smooth little pouts of her friends’ more experienced vaginas. Ready for discipline… and ready for more, too? Renee felt faint as she wondered what a special lesson might entail.
Mr. Bonner’s footsteps sounded in the hall, and then his voice came from only a few feet behind her.
“What a lovely sight for a master to see,” he said in a genial voice. A thrill of arousal went through Renee’s whole body, and she felt her pussy clench. Her cheeks glowed as she wondered whether Mrs. Wood and Mr. Bonner could see that happen, would know how terribly ambiguous were the feelings of the bratty virgin over the table for a naked spanking. “Mary, it looks like you already had some of Mommy’s spoon. Why was that, my naughty girl?”
The floor creaked a little, and the movement of the air told Renee that Mr. Bonner had come even closer. She felt him, somehow, looming over Mary, to Renee’s right, and then she heard a wet sound that made a tiny whimper rise in her chest. Mr. Bonner must have put his hand between his little girl’s legs, casually, as if to inspect Mary with his hand the same way Renee’s daddy had with his eyes the previous day.
Mary gave a little sob, then whispered, “I kept touching Renee, sir, when we should have come downstairs.”
“Is she wet, Mr. Bonner?” asked Mary’s mommy. Renee felt faint. She pressed her face into her hands on the table, grateful for the support.
“Of course she is, Mrs. Wood. Is my little Frankie wet, too?”
The hand left Renee’s bottom. Renee almost cried out in a plea to have it return, because the departure meant something even harder
to bear must now occur. Could Mrs. Wood really be going to… Frankie gave a soft cry.
“Oh, yes, Mr. Bonner. Frankie is ready to be a very good girl for her master’s cock.”
Oh, no. Please. Renee didn’t even know what she wanted, what she didn’t want. But what about me? kept echoing in her head; the opposite, it seemed to her, of whatever.
“And Renee?” Mr. Bonner asked. Then, before anything else could happen, he added, “Renee, I’m Mr. Bonner. It’s very nice to meet you. Your mommy and daddy have given me permission to punish you and touch you as I see fit this afternoon.”
Renee couldn’t help it; she pushed up a little on her elbows and turned her face over her right shoulder to see a tall blond man in a business suit. He seemed so self-assured, so obviously wealthy and powerful as well as handsome—though not as handsome as Daddy, she thought before she could help it, feeling the color come into her cheeks at the implications of the naughty idea. She gasped at the frank way he returned her look, coolly assuring her with his eyes alone that he spoke nothing less than the truth—that Daddy had… had loaned Renee to him, somehow.
“Eyes forward, Renee Dalton,” said Mrs. Wood from the other side, where Renee turned to see she was still playing with Frankie’s pussy, using her left hand to make Frankie, eyes tight shut, whimper into the table. Before Renee could even register the motion, Mrs. Wood’s right hand had flashed out with the spoon and given Renee a sharp spank right where her friends’ mommy had been rubbing just a few moments before: the very middle, where it made her jump away against the table, straighten up, and put her hands behind her to defend her little bottom. It felt so different from Daddy’s hand, and stung so much, that she could only regard Mrs. Wood with wide-eyed alarm and indignation that the spoon had come down with so little warning.
