by Emily Tilton
“Heather?”
Her mind had traveled so very far from Oak Street in imagination that for a long moment Heather didn’t even realize that the voice had come from the other side of the bedroom door.
“Tricia?”
“Oh, my God,” Tricia said. Only then did Heather actually recognize the voice that had called her own name. Not some man from a magazine, in an office. Not even a girl waiting just out of sight to be his playgirl.
Her mommy.
And Tricia’s mommy.
“Girls, where are you?” called Mrs. London.
“Oh, no,” Heather whispered.
The door opened. Mrs. Giuliani stepped into the room, a confused expression on her face. Mrs. London stood right behind her, peering through the doorway.
“Girls?” asked Mrs. Giuliani. “What are you…?”
The moment burned itself into Heather’s brain instantly: the way Tricia’s mommy seemed to notice the guilty looks on the girls’ faces before she even saw that her dirty box was on her bed. The way every drop of blood seemed to drain from her face before it all came rushing back, everywhere. The way Tricia instinctively put her left hand behind her as if to defend her bottom, while the magazine in her right hand slipped to the floor.
The way Mrs. Giuliani’s face went from confused and a little worried to furious in an instant, her eyes narrowing.
Maybe… Heather’s brain threw up the thought as a last-ditch defense against the onrushing certainty of the terrible trouble she and Tricia had just gotten into. Maybe she won’t do anything, because she doesn’t want my mommy to know about the box?
“Mommy, I…” Tricia stammered.
Mrs. London had stepped into the room, now.
“I…” Tricia began again. “I’ll… we’ll… we’ll put them…”
Yes, if we put them back, and never look at the penises again, never think about how hard they get, when a man wants to fuck…
How could Heather’s thoughts still dwell on the dirty pictures, when her doom awaited in her mommy’s eyes, the eyes that looked around, still puzzled and curious because of course she didn’t know that Tricia’s mommy had a box full of penises. Of… of… magazines. Of dirty magazines.
If Mommy knew that her next-door neighbor looked at that kind of picture, Heather felt sure, she would never speak to Mrs. Giuliani again. Would she? Surely Tricia’s mommy would take Mrs. London from the bedroom and let Heather and Tricia put the box back!
But then Mrs. Giuliani smiled a tight smile, her anger clearly under control. Heather supposed that was something. Wasn’t it?
“Delilah, I can’t say I’m proud that I have a box full of Playgirls, but you know how it is, right? What’s important is that the box was on the shelf in my closet, and now it’s on my bed with two dirty girls standing over it, looking at pictures that only a married woman should look at, with permission from her husband.” Tricia’s mommy turned to Heather’s mommy as she spoke.
Mrs. London’s eyes widened, and then the wrath that had gone out of Holly Giuliani’s blue eyes seemed to catch fire in Delilah London’s brown ones. Heather’s insides churned. The words Tricia’s mommy had spoken about the magazines seemed like some kind of big stirring whisk in her tummy, frothing and frothing the strange feeling down below.
Dirty girls. Only a married woman.
Permission from her husband.
“Heather London!” her mommy said. “What did you see? What did you two wicked girls look at?”
“Nothing?” Heather whispered, hearing the lie as if it came from some other girl, miles away.
“Ha,” Mrs. Giuliani said, the utter mirthlessness of the monosyllable making its brief, snorting sound terrible in Heather’s ears. “Well, there’s no need to go into detail, is there?”
“No, I suppose not,” agreed Mrs. London in a grim voice, her eyes fixed on Heather and seeming to generate more heat in her little girl’s cheeks by the second.
Would Mommy ask Daddy for permission to look at Mrs. Giuliani’s magazines? Heather gulped, the faint feeling returning. What happened when Tricia’s mommy asked if she could take out her box and look at her magazines?
Or did Mr. Giuliani tell his wife that it was time to get the box? Did he say that she had to look at naked men, to… to help her get ready for…
Oh, no. And if Mrs. Giuliani looked in the box without permission… Oh, no.
Heather looked over at Tricia, and saw that her best friend’s face, which never looked red because of her olive skin, did look red now: Tricia had blushed just as deeply as Heather had at these thoughts about mommies and daddies and dirty magazines.
“What’s needed,” Mrs. Giuliani said in a cold tone that froze the heated blood in Heather’s veins, “is a lesson, right now, to ensure that Tricia doesn’t ever feel tempted to put her nose where it doesn’t belong again.”
What?
A lesson.
That sounded like… No, it must mean that… that Tricia would be grounded. Extra chores.
Heather’s mind searched wildly. She knew she must be the only girl on Oak Street who got spanked at home, that her shameful secret had resulted from her mommy’s and daddy’s ideas concerning the other shameful secret, the one about her panties coming down in the dormitory. Her mommy had said just that, almost in so many words, before Daddy had spanked her for the first time: “Heather, when a girl’s underwear comes off for wickedness, she has to have it taken down for punishment, too. It’s the only way you’ll learn.”
Tricia would have to write an essay, or something.
A single glance at her friend, though, and the realization what the hand—the hands, now—behind her meant, told Heather that the lesson Mrs. Giuliani meant wouldn’t involve writing or chores.
“Please, Mommy,” Tricia whispered. “Please, not in front of Heather?”
Chapter Six
Heather’s arousal, which had dipped to five on the entry of Holly and Delilah, hit ten. Jane pressed a key on her keyboard that changed the girl’s main video feed to a heat map composited from the camera’s infrared data and Heather’s perineal sensor. A fire raged between Heather’s thighs, and as Jane watched those thighs moved: Heather had grown so aroused that she had involuntarily shifted her weight from one foot to the other, thigh muscles squeezing just a little, the girl’s body seeking some small satisfaction of the erotic itch afflicting her untried pussy.
“Of course in front of Heather,” Holly Giuliani said. “In front of Luisa, too. Over the spanking chair, downstairs, right now before Heather goes home.”
“Tricia’s at six,” Jane said, glancing at the monitor devoted to the older Giuliani girl’s feed. With any luck Tricia, as the recipient of the discipline about to take place, wouldn’t go above an overall arousal of eight. The plan for today called for awakening Heather without doing more than giving Tricia something important to think about.
Holly and Marco would probably have to interrupt their elder girl at least once tonight to keep her from masturbating, but everything the assessors had learned from the first four Oak Street cases told them that keeping Tricia off the boil until the proper moment wouldn’t present much of a problem. Tricia’s own awakening would occur before another month went by: the tricky part there lay in Miss Charlotte’s determination that Luisa Giuliani not go directly after her older fellow ward.
The dean wanted bratty Renee Dalton awakened and sold after Tricia, in order to increase the Institute’s clients’ appetite for the slightly younger, physically smaller Luisa. By Miss Charlotte’s special instruction, she had received the nickname ‘Little Luisa’ in the neighborhood despite having attained the age now of eighteen-and-a-half.
A good assessor never lost sight of the big picture, for the Institute and—though the Institute’s competitors would perhaps rightly accuse Jane and her colleagues of a bit of megalomania in this concern—the advancement of healthy submissive sexuality throughout the human species. In the case of Oak Street, this broad vision had a
focus that Jane found endlessly fascinating: the little neighborhood served as a sort of microcosm, and thus also as a laboratory, for the development of entire systems of erotic behavior.
Well, Jane thought wryly, it would be endlessly fascinating if there weren’t so much money riding on it. In practice, just as happened now with the awakening of Heather, an end to big-picture thinking had to be enforced, because matters closer to hand needed tending for the sake of the brand. If Jane screwed this moment up, and Heather’s value in the eyes of the potential owners watching on Oak Street TV dropped as a result, systems thinking wouldn’t prove much consolation.
She turned back to Heather’s feed and saw the ten in the upper right corner flash.
“Heather just recalibrated,” she said over the comm link. “Nicely done, ladies.” The flashing number meant that the girl had just experienced more arousal than the Institute’s sensors had ever before registered for her: henceforth the level just set would represent her highest arousal. Because of the extraordinary robustness of the dataset gathered on each Oak Street girl—especially those like Heather who had arrived in the first wave—a recalibration meant something even in this early stage of a girl’s awakening.
Of course, since a key tenet of the Oak Street method involved denying the girls the opportunity to pleasure themselves, above all after their frequent spankings, a good deal of erotic territory remained to explore. Nevertheless, those moments of pre-masturbation, and the occasional brief exploration before a mommy or daddy could reach the bedroom where naughtiness had begun, produced some very intense erotic responses. For Heather to recalibrate now, simply at the idea of having to watch her best friend receive a spanking and the accompanying news that she wasn’t the only girl on Oak Street subject to old-fashioned discipline, meant that Holly and Delilah had managed the scene perfectly so far.
“But…” Heather said. Her bright red face, on the video feed, looked so torn between contrition and helpless arousal that Jane felt a pang of sympathy even as her pussy clenched. A flash of insight came to her mind, and she knew with only an instant’s reflection that she could trust it.
“Delilah,” she said. “Heather’s incredibly worried you’ll tell Tricia that she gets spanked, too. Go ahead and do that now.”
The information would have emerged soon anyway, but the look on Heather’s face had told Jane that the best possible time for the revelation was now.
“No buts,” Delilah said sternly. “You’re going to have your own bare-bottom lesson when your daddy gets home.”
Heather and Tricia both gasped, and Heather gave a little wail. “Mommy!” she cried, reproach imbuing the word. She looked at her friend, as if—rather illogically—terrified that Tricia would think her monstrous for being subject to the same kind of domestic discipline she had just learned her best friend, too, received. Her ten flashed again.
“Another recalibrator,” Jane informed Holly and Delilah.
Tricia returned Heather’s look with an expression of woe, but the olive-skinned girl’s arousal also went up.
“Tricia’s at eight,” Jane told the mommies.
“Leave those magazines on the bed,” Holly instructed. “Go downstairs to the kitchen this instant. Get the spanking chair and assume the position. Skirt up and panties down—”
“Please, no!” Tricia cried. “Not on the bare! Please, Mommy!”
“You just made it worse for yourself, Patricia Giuliani. I’m going to have to ask Daddy to inspect you and give you the belt when he gets home. You need to have your vagina and anus looked at, and you need a whipping on top of what you’re about to get in the kitchen.”
Heather’s ten flashed yet again, while Tricia’s arousal dropped back to six. The curvy blonde girl tried to look into her friend’s face, but Tricia’s shame had so thoroughly gotten the better of her that she had bent her head and could look only at the floor.
The highly charged punishment Marco and Holly Giuliani had devised as part of the special dynamic in their household, an inspection and a whipping, had only befallen each of their girls once. Made to lie on her back in her nightgown, forbidden underwear for that night, the girl had to raise her knees and hold them open while her daddy took a good look at his little girl’s most intimate places, lecturing her about the need to respect his and her mommy’s authority. Then Marco whipped the spread backside as its owner shrieked with the agony of the terrible lesson.
Heather London of course didn’t know about the details of the punishment Tricia had just been promised, but clearly the vaguest suggestion had a powerful effect: the graph monitoring her heartrate and breathing had begun to jump all over the place.
Turning to the overall video feed for the Giulianis’ master bedroom, Jane saw Delilah arrange her face into an expression of curiosity.
“Does that help?” she asked Holly. “You know we have a special problem where Heather is concerned. I wonder if having George take a look between her legs before she goes over his knee might help.”
“Oh, no,” Heather whispered. “Please.”
“It definitely helps,” Holly said confidently. “The girls are always respectful for at least a few days afterward, which I’m sad to say isn’t always the case after I use my spoon, even on the bare. But, you know, consistency is the thing—or at least Marco and I think.”
During this humiliating little speech, Tricia finally managed to look up at Heather, and the girls exchanged a heartwarming glance of sympathy. Both ashamed, both blushing, they found some comfort in one another’s plight. Jane smiled: they would find a good deal more than that, once both of them had begun their special lessons.
“Alright, girls,” Holly said with decision. “Get going. We’ll get Luisa. I want that bottom bare and ready for punishment when I get there. If you girls are ready to look at naked men, you’re ready to pay the price with your panties down.”
“Now,” Jane said, activating the part of the plan that, while risky, would hopefully provide good results both for Heather’s development and for her price at auction.
“Holly,” Delilah said, “would you mind spanking Heather, too?”
“What?” Heather cried.
“I’m going to have George take her over his knee later, but I think it would help to let her experience the sort of consistent, immediate punishment you use on your girls.”
“Oh, Mommy,” Heather sobbed. Her arousal had gone to five.
“Don’t Oh, Mommy me, young lady,” Delilah replied. “You couldn’t stop yourself from taking a good long look at those big penises, could you? Something has to be done right now, and it sounds like Mrs. Giuliani is the kind of mommy who knows how to do it.”
She turned back to Holly. “Would you, as a favor?” Glancing at the girls, she added, “I suppose it’s a very different sort of bottom from the ones you’re used to spanking. George is always talking about how much of it there is to punish. But that doesn’t make that much difference, does it?”
Heather’s number had shot up again, her facial temperature higher than Jane had ever seen it before. “Seven for Heather. Five for Tricia,” she said over the comm link.
“No, of course not,” Holly said rather grimly. “I’m happy to help, and we have two spanking chairs for when I have to discipline both girls. Heather, Tricia will show you how to place the chair and how to assume the position. I want your bottom bare, too.”
Fat tears rolled down Heather’s cheeks. She had lowered her face, now, and it was Tricia’s turn to seek out her friend’s eyes.
“Come on,” the dark-eyed girl finally said. Her voice had a note of reassurance in it that must mean she had found some solace in knowing the two friends would be spanked together. “Let’s get this over with.”
Heather looked up: Jane could certainly forgive her for not feeling reassured, since her mommy had just turned her over to a friend for a kind of spanking she had never experienced—one she would get not only in front of Tricia but also in front of Luisa Giuliani.
/> Tricia reached out her hand, casting a beseeching look at her mommy as if to make sure it were alright to comfort Heather that way. Holly made Jane’s heart glow with the frankly approving smile she returned to her older girl. In that expression lay not only eventual forgiveness for Tricia’s misbehavior but also the beginnings of welcome for the girl’s flowering sexuality. Jane felt sure Tricia would dwell on that look tonight and wonder what it might mean, in light of the shameful infraction she had committed in taking down the box and looking at the dirty magazines.
Jane couldn’t let that go too far, though. “Delilah, could you undercut a bit, please?”
Mrs. London spoke sternly, as Heather took Tricia’s hand. “You girls are going to be very sorry you decided to fill your eyes with the sort of thing a young woman should only see on her honeymoon—and only when she has to. Between Mrs. Giuliani and your daddies, we’ll get the naughty parts of you under control, I promise, even if you can’t sit down for a week.”
“We will indeed,” Holly added, nodding.
Heather and Tricia both looked at their mommies, and saw determination there. Both girls bit their lips at almost the same moment, which drew a smile from Jane as Tricia led her friend out of the master bedroom.
“Lovely work, ladies,” Jane said. Delilah and Holly exchanged a satisfied look, and then a fist bump, which made Paul, sitting to Jane’s right, snort.
“Let’s get Luisa,” Holly said, but the girl was standing right on the landing, clearly trying to figure out what had happened and why Tricia and Heather had just passed by with troubled faces.
“Luisa,” Holly said frankly. “Tricia and Heather are in big trouble. Go down to the kitchen, please. You’ll watch me spank them.”
Luisa’s eyes went round as saucers. “What did they do?”
“They disrespected my property and got into grownup things that girls aren’t allowed to see before they’re married,” Holly said in a severe voice. “I hope you’ll learn from watching what’s going to happen now.”