by Emily Tilton
Frankie and Mary had reached that point eight weeks before with Wendy, when Wendy and Frankie had earned spankings for closing Frankie’s bedroom door. Now Renee had arrived there in the wake of her inspection by her daddy and Mary’s question in school: her erotic nature so desperately needed gratification that she would quickly glimpse the wonders that awaited her in her new life of sexual servitude, even though her natural reluctance would remain for some time to come—a very important and valuable thing in every Oak Street girl, but especially a brat.
If Renee’s awakening were occurring as part of her pickup as an ordinary Institute concubine, the training master who had come to her home under the authority of the corporate taking laws would tell her to take off all her clothes. She would, of course, defy him or her, and her training would proceed with the application of force and severe discipline. That way of proceeding appealed to many prospective owners, but the more seductive method of Oak Street had proven to have even broader marketability.
Rather than having a trainer—or even her mommy and daddy—tell Renee to strip for the discipline that would eventually become her first special lesson, Frankie’s plea to her friend to obey the rules for a naked spanking in the kitchen posed a very special problem for the brat: the sort of problem the very best kind of Institute client loved to see. On Renee’s face sat a look of mingled curiosity, embarrassment, arousal, and rebellion that Laura felt certain had already made at least a thousand cocks stiffen.
“Why?” Renee pleaded. “Why… naked? Were you always… I mean your mommy said the new way, didn’t she? What… happened?”
Frankie looked at Mary, as if Mary should provide the natural source for such information. Really the older Wood girl had good reason: Mary had made herself responsible for a good deal of the first three awakenings on Oak Street, as her relentless impish curiosity had spurred her to give the shyer Wendy and Frankie the impetus of which they had shown a smaller quantity, after discovering that they had both been spanked for reading a naughty book together.
Mary of course remembered the incident very well, but her face manifested the quandary into which Laura had thrown her: talking of such things in a ladylike way presented a significant challenge.
“Well…” she started, having what Laura considered the good grace to blush as she started in on the naughty topic.
“What?” Renee urged.
Frankie, ever the kind-hearted older co-ward, and a girl more naturally inclined to speaking of sex and discipline in a modest-young-lady way, helped Mary. “Wendy always got spanked naked, but we only started after we went to the Institute.”
“Laura,” came Paul Farmer’s familiar voice in her ear, “go ahead and push them along a little, please.”
Smiling a little, Laura strode from the kitchen to the bottom of the stairs. She called up in her best stern-mommy voice, “Get a move on, girls. I want you down here in your birthday suits in five minutes, or you’re all going to bend over the table for me and have your rear ends warmed.”
Silence reigned for a moment. “Girls?” Laura called. “Am I understood?”
Another, briefer silence, and then, “Yes, ma’am,” from Frankie and, “Yes, ma’am,” from Mary. Then an urgent whisper whose words Laura couldn’t make out.
“Renee?” she called. “I need a yes, ma’am from you too, sweetheart.” She made her voice as sweet as possible—so sweet that Renee would be able to hear the menace behind it, and the threat of a very long session at the business end of Laura’s wooden spoon.
“Beautiful, Laura,” said Paul in her ear. “Renee’s got the defiant face on, and the galvanic skin reading is perfect.”
She heard Frankie whisper pleadingly, and then Renee said in an artificially sweetened sounding voice, “Yes, ma’am.”
By the time Laura returned to her laptop on the kitchen counter, Renee had started to unbutton her own school blouse, but she also continued to question Mary and Frankie. Laura could hear the sound of the brown-haired girl’s voice now wafting down, with a resentful urgency. The captioning on the screen supplied the words.
“Okay, I’m doing it! But what the hell is the Institute?”
“Let it slide, Laura,” Paul said over the comm-link: indeed Laura had taken an immediate step toward the drawer where she kept the wooden spoons, reflexively readying herself to go up and tan Renee’s hide as she would have done Mary’s for the bad language, right over the foot of the pink-comfortered bed.
She returned to her waiting position: the brownies had been neatly cut and neatly put into a clear plastic storage container, then precisely covered with the blue translucent lid that snapped so satisfyingly into place, all ready for rewarding a tearful girl for taking her punishment—and then for feeding the charming billionaire who would come to fuck his girls while the punished girl watched. Greta Isaacs had had a thrilling, wonderful career as an Institute trainer before winning an Oak Street assignment, but she sometimes felt like being Laura Wood, suburban mommy and sexual trainer of submissive little girls, provided an embarrassment of riches to her dominant soul and libido.
Renee had taken off her skirt to stand in her modest bra and panties in front of Mary, who already had her own panties off, to confront her. Laura watched Renee’s eyes travel down to Mary’s prettily waxed pussy, and wished that she had thought to tell her girls to put on Mr. Bonner’s favorite lacy black lingerie, which would have made the effect even more dramatic.
“What…?” Renee started, her question about the Institute—which of course requested almost precisely the same information as her current urgent inquiry—forgotten in the face of the bareness between her friend’s thighs. The brown-haired girl turned to look at Frankie, who had also just tugged her underwear down. At the sight of the similar bareness down there, decreed by the Wood girls’ owner as by so many other dominants of their submissives, Renee’s jaw dropped.
RD: 10. The ten flashed.
Frankie’s cheeks had gone a very bright red now. “Our owner makes us wax each other. Your mommy will probably shave your… shave you down there… before you go.”
“Where?” Renee begged, the defiance on her face clearly receding. “The Institute?”
Frankie nodded. Renee looked at Mary, who echoed the head movement slowly and solemnly.
“Owner?” Renee said. Laura could see she had whispered the word from the shape of her mouth, the inclination of her head. “Does he… does he, you know?”
Mary nodded again. “He… he likes to… um, claim us, and… um, have us.”
Renee’s mouth was open, her cheeks as red as Frankie’s. The ten flashed again.
“Sex?” she whispered.
Mary’s eyes went round and she shook her head urgently. Sex was a forbidden word in the Wood household unless it represented part of a special lesson. Mr. Bonner, who loved the arousal he and his girls got from the play of modesty, had decreed it so.
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Chapter Nine
Renee frowned and looked at Mary. “Not sex?” she asked.
But Frankie, too, shook her head. “We can’t say that,” she hissed in the same urgent whisper she had been using for everything she had said, except for the dutiful Yes, ma’am she had called down to her mommy.
“Sex?” Renee asked, feeling she had begun to understand, and finding the idea that her friends weren’t allowed even to say the word somehow even more arousing. A new surge of heat rushed to her cheeks as she realized how damp her panties had gotten. Her hand, busy at her right side, having just unhooked the waistband of her skirt, moved a little of its own accord. Her thumb, instead of helping to grasp the zipper, pressed inward, against the crease between her thigh and the private triangle where she still had her brown curly hair under the beige nylon of her modest school panties.
Her eyes went again to the bare places, the waxed pussies, of the Wood girls, where it seemed this Mr. Bonner person put his hard cock on a regular basis, because… because he owned
them. The defiance that made such an important part of Renee’s personality rose inside her at the idea that Frankie and Mary had somehow been sold to this man.
Was that what going to theInstitute meant? Would she, Renee…
Her heart raced. How could they? How could it mean that?
But as her eyes lifted to look at Frankie’s and Mary’s faces, regarding her with anxious expressions written in their eyes, she saw that the now completely naked Wood girls didn’t feel defiant about being claimed and being had—about being fucked by this Mr. Bonner. They did obviously feel some worry that Renee, the Oak Street brat, wouldn’t understand that they might actually find pleasure in submitting to a wealthy man who came in a limo to enjoy them—as well of course as that she might still try to disobey Mrs. Wood and earn them a spanking alongside Renee.
Frankie nodded. “We’re… we, you know, belong to Mr. Bonner, now.”
She looked to Mary for help, but the younger girl it seemed could only nod, her blue eyes fixed on Renee as if in trepidation about how she would take this news.
“And…” Renee said, “I’m going… there, too?”
Mary kept nodding. “They train you there, after your owner, um, has you the first time. Then you come back here, and he visits you.” Her eyes went down to where Renee still hadn’t gotten her skirt undone.
Renee realized she had to make a choice, now. If she defied Mrs. Wood’s edict, and didn’t make herself as naked as Frankie and Mary had now become, she could maybe try to get them to tell her more about the Institute, but she felt sure her friends wouldn’t, because they would be anxious about getting spanked. On the other hand if she obeyed Mrs. Wood’s stern instructions and did take off her clothes, wouldn’t she be saying that she was willing—or even that she wanted to… to…
To her dismay, her pussy clenched, and the urge to move her hand even further toward the middle of her skirt became almost unbearable. But she couldn’t take the skirt off, could she? For her friends’ mommy? For Mrs. Wood to spank her bare bottom with a wooden spoon, naked in the kitchen?
Mary looked over at Frankie, and Frankie returned the glance. Renee could tell from their faces that they had no idea what to do: she read fear of their mommy’s wooden spoon in their eyes, but also an erotic need that made Renee’s tummy do flip-flops.
She saw Mary’s eyes seek out the hand that hovered over the gray wool of Renee’s skirt, just in front of her still-clothed pussy. A new flash of heat came to Renee’s cheeks, and she felt her brow becoming defiant, as if to tell Mary that as a true brat Renee didn’t care what Mary thought about where she put her hand.
But the expression on Mary’s face surprised Renee: instead of anything like an accusation of naughtiness, Mary bit her lip, and the look in her eyes said that the younger Wood girl stood on the verge of saying something important.
“What?” Renee couldn’t help whispering.
Mary hesitated one moment, then said very quietly, “If you take off your skirt and panties, I’ll touch your… I mean, down there. We’re allowed to do that. We’ve gotten…” she looked over at Frankie with scarlet cheeks, and Renee saw that the older girl’s face had gone an even deeper crimson, “…good at that, Mr. Bonner says, and it… well, it feels really good, Renee.”
Mary uttered her last words in an almost pleading tone that set Renee’s heart going so fast she thought it might be audible to her naked friends. What could it mean? Could they be serious? She thought sometimes about kissing other girls, but it had seemed like everything on suburban Oak Street told the young women who lived there that mommies and daddies went together, not mommies and mommies—and not Oak Street girls and Oak Street girls.
She looked at Frankie, whose face seemed to confirm that Mary had spoken no less than the truth. Softly, Frankie said, by way of explanation, “We’re not allowed to touch ourselves, but we’re allowed to touch each other.”
Renee’s breath came in short pants, as her right hand drifted back toward the zipper of her skirt. How could she do it, though? From deep down, a spark of defiance rose, and made her say, “Show me.”
Both Wood girls looked at her with wide eyes. Mary started, “We’re not allowed to… before…”
Renee’s resistance grew, as if by finding this moment within which to express her defiance she could make the rest of it possible.
Frankie said, “We’re not allowed to touch each other before we’re completely naked, or… sometimes… wearing the special underwear Mr. Bonner gives us, for us to be spanked in.”
Renee swallowed involuntarily at the news of special underwear, but she left it aside, concentrating on the moment of rebellion. “Show me, and I’ll take off my skirt and panties, and I’ll be the only one who gets spanked.”
Mary bit her lip, regarding Frankie with a hesitation that Renee could tell represented only a tiny doubt as to whether her co-ward would agree to Renee’s proposal—as Mary herself clearly did. Frankie’s mouth twisted a little to the side, and then the shy acceptance that broke out upon it took Renee’s breath away. Mary smiled, and tripped toward the older friend who looked so much like her despite their lack of blood relationship, and Renee couldn’t help it as she watched their naked bodies come together: she gasped, her pussy clenched, and as if of its own accord her right hand unzipped her school skirt.
As the Wood girls kissed, and as Mary’s hand went down between Frankie’s thighs, and as Frankie gave a helpless little cry and put her own hand on Mary’s bottom, Renee lost any feeling of defiance, toward her friends at least. She still didn’t want to be spanked naked in the Wood kitchen, but the thought of that, too, made her clench down there again, and give a soft moan. Her skirt had fallen to the floor, and she had forgotten to take down her panties, too, because her right hand had gone under the elastic around the leg hole and was rubbing so very hard there, rubbing and rubbing as Renee emitted tiny whimpers, watching the naughtiness in front of her: two pretty girls kissing and touching and being so… so…
Mary turned to look at her. The expression in the younger Wood girl’s eyes seemed transformed, hypnotized. “Take off your panties, Renee,” she whispered. “Come here.”
Renee felt her lips part, felt her body draw a shallow breath, then another. Her fingers felt so good on her pussy, in her pussy, among the crisp hair that they would take away. They would shave her between her thighs, and her tummy would fill with the funny feeling and she would get so warm down there—even though she would tell them no, even though she would put on her whatever face.
How could she stop touching herself and take her panties off? Wouldn’t the funny feeling get too much too bear, if her fingertips, now so very slick with the need, went away? She groaned softly, and suddenly her thumbs had hooked into her waistband, because she knew she just had to be naked, even though it was the thing Mrs. Wood had told her to do. Even though it meant a spanking so much more embarrassing than she had ever had from her own daddy.
Her modest beige panties fell to the floor atop her skirt, and she took one tentative step toward the tangle of Frankie and Mary, kissing softly, touching each other’s bare pussies, turning a little to welcome her.
“Girls!” Mrs. Wood called from the bottom of the stairs, her voice now quite stern. “Down here this minute! I have had it with you. I want all of you over the table with your bottoms raised.”
Renee heard a little cry of frustration, of dismay, come from her throat. She looked at Mary, and her friend gave her a little smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll ask Mr. Bonner to make you feel better.” Renee watched her take her left hand away from Frankie’s pussy, and move it toward Renee. Frankie gave a tiny whimper at the departure. Renee reached out her own right hand, but Mary shook her head slightly, an impish smile on her lips, and reached toward the center, where Renee’s own fingers had played. Mary’s hand turned up a little, the fingers crooked very slightly, as if to beckon and to promise. Somehow Renee had the courage to step forward just a little, so that Mary’s hand could…
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br /> Renee moaned; Mary seemed to know how to do this much better than Renee could. They had trained her, she had said. Trained her, for a man… for a cock…
They stood there like that, all of them breathing hard, sighing, whimpering, until they heard footsteps on the stairs, and Mrs. Wood arrived at the door with the spoon in her hand and an angry look on her face. To Renee’s horror she strode straight into Mary’s room after a split-second’s evaluation of the scene that focused on Mary’s hand between Renee’s legs.
It seemed like less than a moment had gone by before the spoon had flashed down, its broad, flat back smacking so hard against Mary’s right bottom-cheek that Renee gasped as if she herself had felt the impact. Mary gave a sharp cry.
“Mommy! Please! I was…”
“I don’t care what you were doing, Mary Wood,” her mommy said. The spoon went back, came down again, on the same bottom cheek.
Frankie wailed, “Mommy, please don’t!”
Renee said pleadingly, “It was my fault, Mrs. Wood.”
But Laura Wood kept spanking Mary, putting her left hand out, across, to take hold of the girl’s right hip, to make sure she stayed in place as the spoon moved to Mary’s left cheek.
“I know whose fault this is,” she said grimly. Mary’s bottom had bright red splotches now. Renee felt faint from the sight, her pussy clenching and flowing in a way she had never imagined it could. She had to clench her hands to keep from putting one on her needy clit and the other on her bottom, whether to defend it or somehow to echo the sensation Mary felt Renee couldn’t tell.