by Emily Tilton
The idea that a girl’s pussy might be spanked had produced a recalibration in Ginnie. Now the sight of her friend bending in front of a wealthy man to show what he had done with his belt, before fucking her, kept her at ten, with her breath coming in little panting gasps through her nose. Her heart rate was pushing one hundred ten.
“Watch for hyperventilation,” Jim said. “Catch her if you see her sway.”
Chris spoke more gently than he might have without the warning from the control room. “Go ahead and take off your shirt, Ginnie-bear. You have to be punished, but afterward you’re going to have the same kind of reward Mr. Weaver gives Wendy now, when she’s a good girl for him.”
Ginnie turned to look wildly at her daddy, her eyes startled and very wide. For a moment her hands shook, where they hung right in front of her tummy, as if hesitating between obedience and a last attempt to deny that her body cried out for what her daddy promised—even the terrible wooden paddle he now held in his right hand. Then she put her fingers to the hem of her blue t-shirt and started to pull it off over her head, to reveal a pink sports bra that her little breasts hardly filled.
Her arousal dipped to eight as she struggled a little with her shirt, and stayed there as she dropped it to the floor and stood uncertainly before the grownups and Wendy, who remained bent over in front of her owner. His hand was still fondling her gently from the rear, though he had made his concubine spread her legs a little, so he could manualize her pussy and make her whimper softly with her need. Jim read Ginnie’s thought on her face: the redhead could see that Wendy had to keep showing Ginnie only her pretty bottom, even when Mr. Weaver was exploring her private places so intimately, in order to provide Ginnie with a lewd preview of the humiliation she must also expect, when she had gone up for sale and had herself been bought as a rich man’s treasured bed girl.
“Take the bra off, Virginia,” Ella said, picking up on the drop in Ginnie’s arousal and understanding what could bring it up again, with the immediate risk of a swoon averted. “Then your shorts and panties. It’s time for you to be naked.”
Ginnie’s brow furrowed as she looked over at her mommy, seated at the end of the row of metal chairs. Then she scanned the eyes of the other grownups, all of them fixed on her. The number in the upper corner of her video feed went to nine. She cast her eyes down and reached for her bra, to pull it off over her head.
Jim made a suggestion. “Tom, something degrading, please. She’s at nine and I want her back to ten.”
The response came in an instant, as Ginnie dropped her bra atop her t-shirt on the floor. “Those are nice,” Tom Kimball said. “I like little breasts.”
“We’ll share them, later,” Chris responded. “I’ve been waiting to kiss those adorable nipples for almost two years, now.”
Ginnie hit ten again as she looked from her daddy to Wendy’s, and then to the mommies as if to see whether they had heard the terrible things the daddies had said.
“We get to kiss them, too!” said Wilma Kimball. “Mommies like little peaches just as much as daddies do. And Wendy and Ginnie will have some special big-girl time while we watch, so Wendy can play with them, too.”
Ginnie’s mouth hung slightly open, her arousal steady at ten. The hygrometer between her thighs showed that her panties were now nearly soaking.
Weaver spoke. “Wendy, you may stand up and turn around to show your friend your nice big breasts.” He had no idea what was passing over the comm link between the control room and the skilled trainers in the Samuels’ punishment room, but he certainly knew how to catch the gestalt of an initiation like the one Ginnie was undergoing.
Serena said, for Tom and Wilma’s benefit, “That’s fine. Tom, why don’t you say something about Wendy’s pussy?”
Wendy had stood up, and turned to face Ginnie. Weaver maneuvered his concubine so that she stood between his opened knees, and he moved his right hand around to rub her sweetly bare clit very gently and possessively, which set Wendy’s knees trembling. Ginnie’s eyes fixed themselves there, and her hands went, with a clearly unconscious motion, to the waistband of her shorts, hooking her thumbs inside.
Tom spoke in a deep, unhurried daddy voice. “Mr. Weaver lets me fuck that little pussy whenever I want, these days. Wendy usually sleeps in the big bed with her mommy and daddy. You’ll probably have your own daddy’s cock inside you before too long, Ginnie. You’ll definitely learn to suck it today, after your paddling, and to swallow what your daddy gives you.”
The noise that burst from Ginnie’s chest at that sounded closer to a cry than to a whimper, as her ten flashed again. Wendy’s eyes were closed as Weaver pleasured her, and she gave a long, low moan as if in sympathy with Ginnie’s helpless arousal.
Ginnie pulled down her shorts, her face bright red and her eyes fixed on the floor, and stepped out of them.
“Good girl,” Chris said. “Time for your paddling. Bend down over the bench and present your bottom for punishment like you know how to do.”
“Such a pretty girl,” Wilma said as Ginnie began to shuffle toward the bench, about a yard away. “Ella, you’re very lucky. Will you shave her tonight?”
“Of course,” Ella said. “I can’t wait to taste that adorable pink pussy. Can you smell it?”
Ginnie gave no sign she could hear, as she obeyed her daddy’s command to present herself, but her arousal, which had diminished a bit with the final removal of her clothes, rose again to ten.
“I think so, but my Wendy’s pussy has a lovely strong scent too. I’m not sure I can tell them apart. Maybe Ginnie smells more like roses, and Wendy more like peonies?”
Chapter Nine
The challenge for Ginnie’s mind seemed now not to lie so much in believing what the grownups were telling her as in believing the way her body reacted to the information. Only that morning, after all, she had played with herself thinking not about the terrible things it now seemed would happen—sucking her daddy’s penis… having her mommy kiss her bare pussy… big-girl time with Wendy… being sold on an auction block to a rich man who would be the first to enter with his cock between her legs—but simply about the possibility that something sexual had befallen Wendy and Frankie and Mary. And that had been enough to make her forget the rules and nearly earn a paddling when Mommy had walked in and threatened to inspect her down there.
Then the way she had found herself utterly unable to stop her hand from going into her shorts when she realized what was happening in the Kimballs’ basement, and even less able to stop herself from having climax after climax as she watched her friend whipped, then watched Wendy’s mouth used by Mr. Weaver, his hands holding her head still as he thrust his hardness deep inside, until her nose rested in the blonde curls from which his thick penis rose.
Then the way she had soaked her panties after her daddy had spanked her outside, his big hand falling with such force on her little bottom that she still felt a tingle there as she bent over the bench for the paddle that would turn that tingle into the terrible burning pain of the lesson Ginnie had earned by not restraining these wicked thoughts and feelings and actions.
Then the way her body somehow wanted the paddling, even though she knew how much it would hurt. The way she wanted her daddy to be proud of how Ginnie stayed over the bench even as she screamed and sobbed and begged for mercy because it hurt so much. The way she wanted to feel his left hand come down on her waist to hold her steady before he started to punish her for her own good.
“I’m sorry I have to do this, Ginnie-bear,” he said in the gentle way he always spoke when she had obediently gotten ready for her paddling. “Sometimes daddies have to make their little girls’ bottoms hurt, so that they understand how important it is to behave themselves properly.”
“Yes, sir,” Ginnie responded, the way she always did, with a fearful catch in her voice that from the very beginning, the second day in her new house, had concealed another feeling—the strangely pleasant feeling that had somehow taken hold of her, and
grown, despite everything her mommy and daddy had done to stop it.
She heard Mr. Weaver make an audible aw sort of sound, and even though her cheeks got hot at the thought of Wendy’s owner looking at Ginnie’s little bottom, bared for discipline, she couldn’t help smiling a little, too, in pride.
“Wendy,” said Mr. Kimball. “You watch closely, now. If you can’t keep your hands away from your panties, we may have to borrow the Samuels’ punishment room, and Ginnie’s paddle.”
That, too, caused a strange little surge of satisfaction in Ginnie’s chest. It seemed her daddy must be well known in the neighborhood for punishing his little girl severely, and Ginnie must be understood as the recipient of very harsh discipline. She hoped for a moment that her behavior to the mommies and daddies of Oak Street, and later to her owner, would reflect that she had undergone real old-fashioned correction in this punishment room her guardians had set aside expressly for the purpose of teaching Ginnie’s most difficult and needed lessons.
The feeling, though, only lasted a moment, because her daddy replaced it with the terrible pain of the first swat of the paddle, cracking across both her bottom-cheeks. Ginnie cried out, and bounced her knees the way she always did. It had been a very long time since she had tried to reach her hands back to soothe and to fend off, but she was sorely tempted; her daddy, she thought, had started this paddling with great severity.
Behind her, Ginnie heard Wendy give a little cry of her own, an “Oh!” that seemed to indicate that Ginnie’s suspicion about the relative severity of the girls’ punishments had a basis in fact. Only this morning, she suddenly remembered, she had still been speculating on whether her friends got spanked at all; now she had learned how essential their bare-bottom punishments were to this program that excited her so much despite its shameful nature.
Ginnie felt the puff of air that meant Daddy was bringing the paddle down again across her young cheeks, and she anticipated its effect the way she always seemed to do, crying out in anticipation of the burning smart that she knew would build and build after the heavy wooden blade had done its work.
Wendy gave another little sympathetic cry, this one slightly choked, as if she were weeping a little for her friend. Ginnie wanted to reassure her that it was alright—yes, it hurt terribly, but she knew now how important it was for her to be properly punished, and she even felt real gratitude to her daddy for doing it despite the pain.
The paddle came down again, hard, and Ginnie found it harder to feel that gratitude as she screamed in full voice, bouncing her bottom, clenching and unclenching it desperately to try to ease the sting just a little.
“Please, Mr. Samuels,” Wendy said. “Please don’t! Please, no more!”
“Hush, Wendy,” said Mrs. Kimball in a very disappointed kind of voice. “You know better than that.”
Ginnie raised her eyes from the dark leather upholstery of the bench for the first time, to look in the mirror and see what the little audience invited to watch her paddling was doing. Merely catching sight of them there, their attention fixed on her bottom, made her want to close her eyes and never open them again, but she had to know what Wendy, naked like Ginnie herself, whipped with a belt and threatened with the paddle, too, looked like right now.
The sight made her give a little cry of arousal despite the pain from the paddle that seemed to swell and swell. Wendy stood between her owner’s knees, and her owner’s hand had reached around in front of her to play with her bare little pussy. Mr. Weaver’s attentions between Wendy’s thighs, though, didn’t make Ginnie cry out—or not by themselves, at least.
Because Wendy’s face seemed silently to tell Ginnie many things she had only guessed at before. Cheeks bright red, lower lip caught between her teeth, brow furrowed—they all said that if Ginnie had asked her friend exactly why Wendy wanted Mr. Samuels to stop paddling Ginnie, Wendy might well have admitted, in a whisper, that it was in large part because watching Ginnie’s punishment aroused her so very much.
Her attention shifted, then, because she saw that her daddy had once again raised the paddle. Ginnie whimpered when she realized that Daddy was looking back into her eyes, in the mirror, an expression of care on his face, but also of a sort of hunger that made Ginnie’s tummy do a flip. She remembered with a rush of mixed shame and arousal what he had said she must soon do: suck his penis the way Wendy sucked Mr. Weaver’s. She closed her eyes as she thought of it, and the paddle came down again, and Ginnie gave another scream of anguish.
“Please, Daddy,” she cried wildly. “It hurts so much.” She bounced and bounced, knowing she was displaying her paddled bottom in a humiliating fashion to the onlookers, but unable to help it.
“It has to hurt, Ginnie,” her daddy said gently. “To teach you to obey the rules, and to respect our neighbors’ privacy.”
Daddy took firm hold of Ginnie’s waist, then, the way he always did at the end of a paddling, and held her still so he could give her the final swats that ensured she would have purple traces of her punishment on her little bottom for days to come. Ginnie screamed and screamed, while Wendy cried out behind her in an ambiguous way that Ginnie thought must mean her friend’s owner was bringing his bed girl to climax after climax as they watched Ginnie learn her terrible lesson.
Even through all the pain, Ginnie felt happy for her friend despite knowing that she should be feeling something else—shame, or even anger. It did hurt terribly, and Ginnie couldn’t help the sobbing, or the way she clung to the bench with white knuckles as her daddy held her fast so that he could correct her with the severity she deserved. But she knew now, after today, that when it ended, the funny big-girl feelings would find some resolution at last, even if she still could hardly understand everything that resolution would involve.
At last Daddy stopped paddling her and hung the paddle back on the wall. The room was silent except for Wendy’s little noises as Mr. Weaver explored her with his hand, making Ginnie wonder whether the man who bought her would like to play with her that way, too. She opened her eyes to look in the mirror again, and saw her daddy moving back toward her, watched his right hand come down gently on her bottom, to stroke the burning cheeks so gently that Ginnie cried out almost as if he were spanking her, but with a far different kind of sensation.
“Spread your feet, Ginnie-bear,” he said. “Daddy’s going to reward his good girl for taking her paddling so well.”
“Yes, sir,” Ginnie sobbed, and met his eyes again in the mirror, to see that the hunger had grown, though the care had not decreased. She noticed then that in the background her mommy, and Mr. and Mrs. Kimball, were taking off their clothes, and it made her feel very faint.
“Close your eyes, now, and come for Daddy.”
His hand moved down and in, and up, and Ginnie closed her eyes and screamed because her daddy knew how to reward her better than she had ever imagined anyone could.
“Shh, good girl. Shh, Ginnie-bear,” he said softly, almost right in her ear. Then, again, “Come for Daddy.”
Ginnie did, and then again, and then again, sobbing and moaning as she rode the lewd saddle her daddy made for her with his hand. After she went over the cliff of her third orgasm, she sensed that the audience had moved forward to surround the punishment bench.
“Let me do that, Chris,” she heard Mr. Kimball’s voice say, and she opened her eyes to see that he stood next to Ginnie’s daddy, while the mommies, naked and dazzling with their full breasts and their neatly trimmed but very grownup-looking pussies, stood in front of her, though a few feet away. Mr. Weaver, naked now himself, had led Wendy by the hand to her mommy, and Mrs. Kimball had a hand on her little girl’s bottom, idly stroking it as if to remind Wendy of her need for family discipline.
Mr. Kimball’s hand replaced Daddy’s. Wendy’s daddy seemed to Ginnie just as knowing as her own, in his way of making a little girl’s pussy ache for more—for what Ginnie now supposed her owner would be the first to give her. Meanwhile, Daddy quickly got out of his jeans and t-sh
irt, and Ginnie felt her face get very hot at the first sight of Daddy’s big, hard cock, standing straight out from its nest of dark hair and moving toward her so that she finally understood that the punishment bench must have been designed not just for paddling little girls but also for enjoying them as a daddy or an owner wished.
She looked up at her daddy as he took a stand in front of her, his rigid penis only an inch from her face. He stroked her cheek with the backs of his knuckles, very gently.
“Open up, Ginnie-bear,” he said. “It’s time to start your special lessons.”
Epilogue
Ginnie’s first special lesson went on for a very long time. She sucked her daddy’s cock, struggling to please him as he thrust gently in and out of her mouth, murmuring words of encouragement like, “You’re doing so well, Ginnie-bear. That’s it. Nice and deep.” It was hard to take the hard shaft so far into her mouth, and it made her gag a little. But Daddy put his hands gently on her head and made sure she knew she had to do her best to please him that way, even if his penis felt so strange and big on her tongue.
It went on for a long time, too, while Mr. Kimball’s hand, between her thighs, made her come again and again before Daddy shot his seed into her mouth and Ginnie had to learn to swallow like a very big girl.
Then it was Mr. Kimball’s turn in Ginnie’s mouth, while Mr. Weaver played with her virgin pussy. Finally Ginnie had to suck Wendy’s owner’s penis, while Wendy knelt behind her and kissed Ginnie down there and made her come many more times, so that Ginnie finally lost count of her orgasms.
After she had swallowed Mr. Weaver’s seed, a little surprised at how different the three men’s semen tasted, they made Ginnie lie on her back on the bench. Mr. Weaver told Wendy to straddle Ginnie’s face and lower her bare pussy, soaking with helpless arousal, onto Ginnie’s mouth and nose so that Ginnie could start to learn to please a woman. Ginnie did her best to give her friend pleasure while Wendy did the same with her more experienced lips and tongue at the other end of the bench, making little cooing noises that sent Ginnie still higher into the realm of pleasure than she had ever gone.