The Oak Street Method: Renee Read online

  Bob turned in the doorway to watch his little girl’s progress into the living room. There might as well be a groove worn in the carpet, in the direction of the far corner, for all the times Renee had made this walk. She cast a look over her shoulder at her daddy, with the very beginning of the trepidation that would soon become unfeigned though temporary remorse for her lack of manners—the attitudinal challenge that accounted for the vast majority of her punishments, though misdeeds like coming home after the appointed time and breaking her early curfew after dinner also featured. That look, also, had figured prominently in her punishments over and over since her arrival.

  She found her daddy’s face stern, and her cheeks showed the tiniest hint of a blush, confirmed by the heat camera in the room’s ceiling.

  “Seven,” Daria told Bob.

  Renee turned back toward the corner and completed her journey there. She held her hands at her side, the fingers showing only a tiny tremor.

  The moment had arrived.

  “Bare that bottom for me, Renee,” Bob said. “Nightgown up and panties down. I want to take a look at the backside I’m going to spank.”

  The fight-or-flight meter in the upper left of Daria’s laptop screen shot up. Renee turned her face over her shoulder again, eyes wide. “Daddy! That’s not… Why?”

  Bob took a step into the living room. Before he answered his little girl, he deliberately took his right hand into his left, massaging the palm. On the monitor, Renee’s eyes went straight to her daddy’s enormous right hand, the spanking hand, as Bob visibly prepared himself to give her the punishment she had earned. Again a moment’s fear flashed across her face, and again she replaced it with her hard defiance. Her eyes returned to his, silently renewing the challenge she had just made, of this new element of the Dalton household’s spanking ritual.

  Renee had never had to display her bottom to her daddy, either before or after being disciplined. Corner time had featured in her punishments, from the first day when Carol Dalton (real name Ziolkowski) had patiently told their new ward that when Daddy said to get ready for a spanking, it meant going to stand in the corner to wait for him. There she should think about what she had done to end up here, about to be upended over Daddy’s knee, her bottom about to be bared and then given the strict lesson it had earned from his firm hand.

  Bob made her take down her panties after she had laid herself over his knee, so that he could spank her young bottom on the bare, as her rude behavior clearly warranted. Afterward, he always told her to pull up her panties and only then said she might rise and go to her room to consider the question of how to be a better girl.

  So, crucially, Renee had never felt the exquisite embarrassment of an inspection by her daddy of her most private places, before a spanking. That would change today, and if the assessor team had modeled the results correctly, a good deal more would change along with it—beginning this very moment with Renee’s anticipated refusal of her daddy’s instruction to take her panties down.

  Now Bob spoke, his voice quite stern. “It’s time for us to try something new, honey,” he said, taking another step toward her, so that he stood about six feet away. The simple wooden chair in which he sat to administer Renee’s punishments was against the wall; ordinarily at this stage Renee would have to listen to him taking it from its place and moving it out a few feet, before Bob sat in it and called his little girl to him.

  “Eight,” Daria told Bob, glancing at the rising number in the upper right of her screen. Yes, as predicted, the very idea of newness in association with this command to pull her panties down and raise her nightgown had begun to have the desired effect.

  “Your mommy and I think we need to try to get through to you some different way, since spanking alone doesn’t seem to be improving your behavior. We think maybe if you feel ashamed of yourself, when you give us that unbecoming attitude of yours, it might sink in that things need to change around here. From now on, before I spank you, and after, I’ll take a look at your bottom, and at your little pussy, too, and we’ll talk about the responsibilities a lovely young lady like you has, when her body has developed, as yours has, so very sweetly.”

  Renee’s body visibly tensed. “Seven,” Daria said. She looked at the fight-or-flight scale, which had just ticked up. “Give her a moment.”

  Bob paused, looking into Renee’s eyes, still massaging his right hand as a reminder to his little girl of the coming punishment.

  “But…” Renee said.

  “Go, Carol,” Daria told the mommy who waited at the top of the stairs. Carol began to descend, her footsteps startling Renee, who turned her head a little further to see her mommy enter the living room through the door to the hall. Carol wore a bathrobe over her own nightgown, and had a bright smile on her face that she quickly—and almost theatrically—turned into a frown when she saw Renee in the corner.

  “Eight,” Daria said with satisfaction. The presence of Carol would make this transition seem more natural and less menacing, for all its unexpected and lascivious nature.

  “Mommy,” Renee instantly pleaded, the hardness of her defiance forgotten with the opportunity to take her case to her other guardian and play the two of them off against one another. “Daddy says he’s going to… to look at me!” She shot Bob a resentful look, but he remained impassive, looking to Carol with slightly raised eyebrows, so that Renee, clearly so sure that her mommy wouldn’t have authorized the inspection, now showed some alarm.

  “Nine,” Daria told Bob and Carol.

  “That’s right, honey,” Carol said, nodding. “We need to find some way to get through to you. I talked to some of the other mommies, and they said that it might be a good idea to make it clear to you that you’re our little girl this way. The Kimballs inspect Wendy before Mr. Kimball spanks her, and Mrs. Kimball says it’s done a world of good.”

  “Ten,” Daria said. “She’s wet.”

  “Wendy…” Renee said. “Wendy gets spanked?”

  It represented the key moment, and Daria hoped Renee’s potential owners would watch it over and over: the instant an Oak Street girl realized her friends shared the special, embarrassing secret that even as eighteen- and nineteen-year-olds they still received regular bare-bottom discipline. Renee’s eyes went wide and she swallowed hard, before her face returned to its bratty demeanor.

  “Yes, honey,” Carol said. “Just like you. Now go ahead and pull your panties down. Daddy and I will both inspect you now.”

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  Chapter Three

  Renee didn’t understand, and that made her mad. She didn’t understand how Mommy and Daddy could think she needed to learn about her responsibilities where her body was concerned. Hadn’t she survived on the street for a year by keeping herself safe? Part of her mind seethed with anger at the idea that Bob and Carol Dalton thought they could have the slightest idea what it meant to tell Renee to pull her panties down.

  At the same time, though, another part of her mind had gotten mad for a much more troubling reason: the way her body had reacted when Daddy instructed her to show him her bottom, when he had said he would look at her little pussy, when Mommy had said almost casually that Wendy got spanked at home, too. Daddy’s hard hand spankings on her bare bottom had always made her feel funny, especially lying face down on her bed afterward, tearfully rubbing away the sting from her bottom-cheeks. Renee often felt an urge to pull her panties down again, so that she could feel the warmth her daddy had left at closer range, so that she could rub a little lower down and farther in, where the funny feeling seemed to have its center, but she felt somehow that to do that would be to give in to the discipline, and to say—even if only to herself—that she accepted it.

  So her panties had always stayed up after a spanking. Did Wendy’s? How did Mr. Kimball spank Wendy? In the living room, the way Mr. Dalton spanked Renee? With his hand? Or did he use the paddle from the schoolroom Mrs. Kimball ran in their basement—the one Renee had felt on h
er skirt- and panty-covered bottom for being late, while all her Oak Street friends watched? Standing there still in the corner, she thought of Wendy, naked and bent over the foot of her bed—she couldn’t help it, though she tried desperately to push the thought away. Mr. Kimball stood over her, the paddle in his right hand and his left on her bottom, stroking her there, the way Renee’s daddy never did but she sometimes thought he might. In her mind’s eye Wendy’s daddy stooped a little to look between the thighs he had made his little girl spread for him, so that he could inspect her properly, and tell her about her pussy, and what he meant to do with it.

  Oh, no. That part of Renee gave a little clench, inside her white cotton panties. She felt her cheeks grow hot, and she told herself angrily that no matter what the Daltons might think, it wasn’t shame she felt but anger at how stupid an idea this was. She twisted her mouth in an expression that she knew showed she didn’t care, and wrinkled her nose to say whatever more clearly than the word itself could do.

  She turned to face the corner. She would get this over with, and then she would try to walk the line between defiance and obedience, satisfying herself that Oak Street couldn’t turn her into some nice, obedient young lady while at the same time avoiding her guardians’ wrath, so that she didn’t end up here again.

  Renee pulled up her nightgown with her left hand, so that she could work her right thumb into the waistband of her underwear. She shuddered a little at her own touch, the feeling of the crinkly light brown hair against the bare skin of her thumb. Did Daddy really mean to look there, and see the curly thatch that covered her virgin pussy? Renee quickly got her left hand under the blue cotton, light for the warmth of the west coast and a little translucent, so that she could tug down the other side of the panties.

  “Good girl,” Daddy said. “Just above your knees, then raise the nightgown to your waist and hold it there. I want to see your bottom.”

  He had seen it many times, Renee told herself. That helped. He had spanked her at least once a week since she had arrived on Oak Street, except for the one period of ten days, after the paddling at school and the spanking at home that followed. Somehow, though, as her fingers left the stretch cotton of her panties in a tangle around her legs and she took the hem of the nightgown in their grasp, started to raise it, something about the way the fabric brushed against her nakedness in front made a new surge of heat rush to her face.

  “That’s it,” Mommy said. “Nice and high, honey. Your pretty bottom is going to get spanked this morning. We want to make sure you understand what it means to be disciplined this way.”

  Renee bit back the urge to ask, in her brattiest voice, what exactly that was. What did it mean, except that as nice as they were, Bob and Carol Dalton still didn’t understand the little girl delivered to them in the Selecta van?

  “In our house, Renee,” Daddy said, much as he had said on the very first day, “we teach lessons the old-fashioned way. Your bottom will be bared as often as necessary for a sound spanking over my knee, until you learn how to behave.”

  “And now,” Mommy added, “we plan to make it even clearer why you need firm discipline applied to your young rear end. Turn around and keep that nightgown high.”

  Renee’s heart quailed. She almost cried out, No, please… please, don’t make me. Instead, she forced her mind to say, to the rest of her, Whatever. She fixed a glare on the cream paint of the living room walls, so that when she turned she could use that resentful look upon her guardians, and then she turned as if it didn’t matter to her that her panties were down around her lower thighs and her nightgown was raised, and Mommy and Daddy had their eyes fixed on the place where the sparse young hair didn’t quite cover the pinkness of her little slit.

  “We’ve never talked to you about your pussy before, honey,” Mommy said in a gentler kind of voice. “We think it’s time to do that.” Her eyes moved upward to meet Renee’s, and Renee found she couldn’t meet that kind look, partly because of the sympathy it showed, which made Renee’s brattiness seem silly and mean—but partly also because in Mommy’s look Renee saw something else, too: a kind of knowledge and understanding that made the funny feeling go wild down below her tummy. She had thought that Mr. and Mrs. Dalton had meant to lecture her about being modest and proper, the way Mrs. Kimball did most days in the little Oak Street school. The expression in Mommy’s eyes, however, made her think that something else might be about to happen, something that Renee had had to push away from her, on the streets, after she had turned eighteen, and had kept away from her ever since.

  She turned her eyes to her daddy, because she felt sure she would see him looking at her pussy and not at her face: once she saw that—saw that all along he had just been another one of the creeps—Renee thought she would be able to get back her resistance. They could inspect her as much as they wanted, and spank her as hard as they liked, and she would just wait until whoever ran this crazy subdivision decided to send her back to some corporate training facility. Mrs. Kimball had certainly prepared her girls well to hold down a job as an administrative assistant, and right now that didn’t seem so bad—not bad at all, really.

  As always seemed to happen when Renee found herself confronting Mr. and Mrs. Dalton, or Mrs. Kimball, and asserting once again her independence through the rebellion she felt certain simply made part of her nature, her mind planned the whole thing, saw the whole thing. She would see Daddy’s eyes fixed down between her legs, and she would curl her upper lip in knowing disgust, and Mommy would see the sneer and tell her she needed to change her attitude. Renee would say Whatever, and Daddy would get so frustrated he would just pull her over his knee right then and there and start to spank her. He would spank her and spank her until she sobbed and lay still, and then she would have to say she was sorry, and he would say I’m sorry I had to do that, honey, and send her up to her room.

  This whole other thing—the inspection and the funny feeling—would go away, and she would try for a day or two to be a good little girl, a proper young lady, because her butt would remind her about the consequences of the hard look, the whatever. Maybe it would ‘take’ this time?

  But when she turned her gaze to her daddy, she found that he was looking back into her eyes. Renee’s whole vision of how things would happen shattered into a million pieces and seemed to fall away from before her eyes, revealing her daddy’s face, with his kind eyes and a smile so ambiguous that she couldn’t suppress a tiny whimper as her mind raced to figure it all out. Daddy loved her, that look said, but the time had come—Renee read in those brown eyes—for her to learn something more.

  Without speaking, Daddy went to pull out the wooden chair Renee knew so well. He kept his eyes on hers as he moved it away from the wall to its familiar spot on the beige pile carpet. As he always did, he put the feet of the four legs of the chair in the little depressions they had made over the past eighteen months, a bit deeper with every spanking, every time Renee had had to lie over his lap with her panties down. The chair goes here, those little round marks seemed to say, when Renee needs a bare-bottom spanking. Sometimes when friends were over Renee caught sight of the place on the floor where the punishment chair went, when she had been naughty, and the heat crept into her face before she remembered that she didn’t care.

  Whatever. The word didn’t seem to have its usual power today, though, and Renee felt her heart race as she watched her daddy sit in the chair. Her fingers, holding up the hem of the blue nightgown, trembled. She felt terribly conscious that even though Daddy wasn’t looking right now, he could see her pussy whenever he wanted. So could Mommy, and Renee had to fight the urge to look back at Mrs. Dalton, to discover whether she had returned her gray eyes to the place between Renee’s thighs that seemed to throb now with the funny feeling.

  To her surprise, Daddy opened his knees, his big hands resting on his thighs.

  “Come here, honey,” he said, his eyes still locked on hers. “Stand here in front of me, so I can get a good look at you.”
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br />   “Keep your nightgown nice and high,” Mommy said. “Daddy needs to see.”

  Renee felt her brow crease. She tried desperately at least to put the whatever look on her face, even if she couldn’t find the courage or even the will to say the word. Down below, in the place her daddy meant to inspect, another little clench happened at the embarrassing thought. What is wrong with me? She felt more of the unwelcome heat in her face: if there was anything she hated, it was blushing. Renee hadn’t blushed even when Mrs. Kimball had paddled her in front of the whole class.

  She reached for a faint hope. “But I can’t, with my panties like this,” she said in a voice she wanted to sound flinty, but that ended up sounding piteous even to her ears. She did turn to Mommy then, and found Mrs. Dalton still looking back into her eyes.

  “Yes, you can, honey,” Daddy said. “You know that. Stop dawdling, or I’ll spank you and then inspect you, and then spank you some more.”

  Renee managed at this threat to get back some of her defiance. It seemed so absurd, so awkward on Mr. Dalton’s part, this strange idea of alternating punishment, that it allowed her to toss her head the way she did when she felt very sassy. “I can’t,” she said. “I’ll fall.”

  Things happened very quickly then, and very surprisingly. Mommy took two steps forward, and to Renee’s astonishment took her by the upper arm and led her to the side of Daddy’s chair, though Renee had begun to struggle a bit by the time they got there. Daddy closed his legs, reached up, and upended her over his thighs, his left arm clamped across her back.

  Renee’s arms flailed. The nightgown had slipped all the way up to her armpits so that she felt terribly naked as her daddy began to bring his big right hand down on her little bottom.

  “I mean what I say, Renee,” he said as he spanked her. “You let me know when you’re ready to be inspected. And remember you have more coming after that.”