Tricia Giuliani sometimes thought she had almost forgotten her actual last name, diGregorio. That feeling, of having become a different person from the one she had grown up as and lived as until age eighteen, came and went, but it seemed to reach its greatest strength just at the moment she might have expected it to wane or even disappear.
Now, for instance. Tricia had forgotten again, as it seemed she did most Tuesdays and even some Thursdays, to go to the store and buy the groceries she needed to cook dinner. Tuesdays and Thursdays were her nights to do that for the unusual little household in which she lived. She knew her daddies would soon get home to the big apartment on the upper east side, bringing the fourth member of the household, Luisa Giuliani (whose real last name was Marconi).
Luisa had ballet on Tuesdays and Thursdays, so those were Tricia’s nights to make dinner. Tricia had piano on Mondays and Wednesdays, so Luisa made dinner then. Luisa never forgot to go to the store, because Luisa, it seemed to Tricia, never forgot about what happened when you made that kind of mistake, in their daddies’ house.
Luisa never seemed to have anything to confess. Sometimes Luisa even told on Tricia, even though she knew what would happen when the daddies heard the older of their two girls had done something naughty—and even though Luisa knew she ran the risk of being punished herself, as a tattletale.
So as Tricia called for the pizza, to make sure that at least she would have food on the table when Luisa and their daddies got home, she felt like she should be thinking about how her name wasn’t really Giuliani, and how this whole thing—living in a luxurious apartment high above Manhattan with two billionaire brothers she had to call Daddy—made no sense.
And that was before you even got to the part about their daddies owning Luisa and Tricia. About them having bought the ‘sisters’ from the Institute, after the ‘Giulianis’ had their shameful sexual awakening and erotic training in the highly unusual suburban neighborhood called Oak Street.
About what their daddies did to their Oak Street girls during big-girl time, deep into the night in the enormous beds in the apartment’s two master bedrooms.
Most important, right now, about what happened to Tricia and Luisa when they did something naughty like forgetting to go to the store that was only an elevator ride and a fifty-yard walk away. Surely that part should make Tricia remember that until age eighteen she had been perfectly—well, sufficiently, at least—happy as Patricia diGregorio, and her having ended up on the street from which the Selecta van had picked her up had really only represented a minor setback.
Instead, when Tricia knew she had a bare-bottom, over-the-knee spanking coming from Daddy Joe, who took care of her spankings as Daddy Paul did for Luisa’s, she seemed to become all Giuliani and nothing but.
Nothing but the Oak Street girl who had gotten a spanking from her Oak Street mommy when she and her friend Heather had found the Playgirl magazines. Who hadn’t been able to stop herself from going back and stealing one of those magazines—the one with the lumberjack whose penis seemed to her to hang almost to his knees. Who had by mistake left the magazine where Luisa could find it.
Who had gone in the van with Luisa to the Institute. Who had met Joe and Paul Barbera there, and heard that the two ‘sisters’ now belonged to these two brothers.
Who had been taken to a house by the ocean, to have her first big-girl time with her new daddies, and to learn that the daddies had bought the Giuliani girls with the intention of disciplining them just as strictly as their mommy had, on Oak Street.
The apartment door opened. Oh, shit. The pizza wouldn’t arrive for another ten minutes at least. Tricia had really fucked up…
She felt a blush creep across her cheeks. The daddies didn’t tolerate foul language from their girls any more than their Oak Street mommy and daddy had. A single bad word, uttered aloud in the Giuliani household, had meant a trip over the spanking chair in the kitchen then, and it meant a long session over Daddy Joe’s knee here in New York, too.
“Tricia?” called Daddy Joe into the cavernous and mostly dark living room. Tricia had forgotten to go to the store because she had been doing her homework in the girls’ bedroom, and twilight and then night had fallen without her even realizing it. Now she came, trembling a little, out of the big bedroom with its two twin, pink-covered beds and its two white desks, to see all three of them standing in the marble foyer, Luisa still in her leotard and with her hair in a ballerina’s bun.
“Hi,” she said, feeling a little envious of Luisa because the younger girl always looked so slim and, well, princess-ish, in her ballet things. Tricia knew objectively that she too was slim, and just as pretty as Luisa, their Mediterranean heritage making them look very much like sisters despite being no actual relation to one another at all. But especially when trouble brewed, and bottoms were going to have to be bared, Tricia often felt like Luisa had the best of it, for though Tricia’s future in piano arguably held more promise than Luisa’s in ballet, ballet definitely seemed to make a girl look, well, more innocent than piano did.
Tricia knew those feelings made no sense, and she tried to push them away. After all, unless Luisa decided to act out in some way, only one bottom was going to get bared this evening. The younger Giuliani, at eighteen, got punished less often than her older ‘sibling,’ who had just turned twenty, and it seemed tonight would be no exception, thanks to Tricia’s forgetfulness. Luisa’s loveliness in her leotard and tights had nothing to do with it, as much as the thought that Luisa would once again see Tricia go over Daddy Joe’s knee tonight made the older girl feel a resentment that seemed stronger the more unjustified it appeared.
“Hi, sweetheart,” said Daddy Joe. Tricia’s heart fell as she watched his handsome face grow stern. Joe Barbera, the man who encouraged her to think of him as her ‘own’ daddy just as his brother Paul did with regard to Luisa, was thirty-two years old to his brother’s thirty, and he had the body of a triathlete, just like his brother. That made sense, since the two of them competed for fun in two triathlons a year, the last one having just taken place in Hawaii the previous month, with the Giuliani girls in attendance. It had been so much fun that thinking of it right now, when she knew she would soon be in trouble, made Tricia’s sad face even sadder.
The voice inside her saying that she should remember that none of this made sense fell away to nothing. That part—that rational, intelligent part—had meant to start by saying, Daddy, I made a mistake, and I’m very sorry. Instead, falling completely into her identity as Daddy Joe’s naughty little girl, Tricia rushed to him with tears in her eyes and said, “I’m so sorry, Daddy. Please don’t spank me.”
Daddy Joe opened his arms and took Tricia into them, holding her so close that the buttons on his Oxford shirt pressed a little stingingly into her cheek. Tricia didn’t mind at all. This part felt so very good, her daddy holding her even though she had already told him she had made a mistake.
“What happened, sweetheart?” Daddy Joe asked gently. “Did you forget about dinner again?”
Tricia, whose chin came up almost to her daddy’s sternum, nodded hesitantly now against his chest, then pulled back a little so she could look up at him, hoping her tearstained visage would move him.
“I ordered pizza,” she said, knowing that part wouldn’t help. The Barbera brothers didn’t mind pizza, really, but they had made clear to Tricia and Luisa that one of the things that had made them spend an extraordinary sum of money on the girls—much of which would go to Tricia and Luisa themselves at the end of their contracts—was the Italian cooking lessons their Oak Street mommy had given them. When Tricia remembered, her cacciatore was, she knew, a thing of beauty—and the last time she had made it, Daddy Joe had shown his appreciation during big-girl time that night so very wickedly that Tricia’s little pussy had felt like it would never be the same (in a very good way).
“Tricia!” Luisa said then. “Seriously? Pizza again?”
“Princess,” warned Daddy Paul, who looked so much like Daddy Joe that at the triathlon several people had mistaken them for twins. Tricia and Luisa had no trouble telling the difference between their daddies, but the brothers’ similarities made life in their apartment seem even more, well, plural.
And that was before Tricia even thought about what the daddies had told them would happen next week, for the very first time.
Tricia felt glad at least that she couldn’t see Luisa looking indignantly at her, and then—of course—chastened by Daddy Paul.
“Sorry, Daddy,” said the younger girl in a contrite voice that made Tricia have to fight another pang of resentment. “But you know pizza doesn’t work for me.”
“You can heat up the steak from last night,” Daddy Joe said, turning his face away from Tricia to look briefly at Luisa.
Tricia knew Luisa was making a face, now, because Daddy Paul said, “Princess, let’s go get the steak out. This is between Tricia and her daddy. If Daddy Joe has to punish her, he’ll let us know, before he takes her to the spanking chair.”
Tricia couldn’t repress a sob, then, against Daddy’s chest. She understood why Luisa always had to watch her spankings, and vice versa. It was another thing that came from Oak Street: Mrs. Giuliani had always summoned both girls to the kitchen when one of them was to receive bare-bottom discipline over the high-backed chair. Their new daddies didn’t spank them exactly the same way, since they didn’t use a wooden spoon and they put the girls over their knees for punishment, but knowing a spanking chair awaited them when they misbehaved, and having a ‘sister’ watch you learn your lesson for naughtiness, remained an important part of the girls’ lives.
“That’ll be after dinner, Paul,” said Daddy Joe. The rumble of his deep voice seemed to go through Tricia’s whole body, from his chest and from his strong arms.
“Oh, Daddy,” she said miserably. “Please? Not this time?”
“Shh, sweetheart. You know I have to, don’t you? What kind of daddy would I be if I let my girl think she could get away with shirking such an important responsibility? Don’t you remember what we told you, that very first night?”
Tricia bit her lip. She remembered it more clearly than she could express: Joe and Paul sitting them down in the beautiful house by the ocean, with the sound of the waves in the background.
Joe saying, “Before we get started and have our first big-girl time with you in the bedrooms, we want to tell you about why we chose you.”
Tricia and Luisa had looked from one handsome face to the other wonderingly. If the Giuliani girls looked like sisters, the Barbera brothers looked like they could well be the sisters’ cousins. Olive skin, dark eyes, and dark locks: a Mediterranean foursome.
“Food is family, girls,” Paul had said.
Tricia had looked at Luisa with a puzzled expression, and received the same sort of look back. Mrs. Giuliani, their Oak Street mommy, had inculcated the saying in them, but they didn’t know what it had to do with the thing both girls knew these men had bought them for.
Sex, Tricia’s mind had shouted. Big-girl time means sex, and I’m going to have sex for the first time with a gorgeous, wealthy man. What does that have to do with food is family?
Daddy Joe had explained. “Our mom brought us up with exactly the same saying. When we were learning about you, that struck us… well, it struck us so hard that we knew we had to have you.”
That part had seemed to Tricia to have a lot to do with big-girl time—the part about having to have Tricia and Luisa as their bed girls.
“Food is family,” she whispered up to him now.
“And you know,” Daddy Joe continued, “that you’re going to have to be on your best behavior, and not forgetting things, when we go to Rome next week.”
That made Tricia’s heart jump. Rome. The Institute party. And…
And what the daddies had told their girls they meant to do, on the trip.
“When I share you with Daddy Paul, in Italy,” Daddy Joe said, then, “you know I need you to do as you’re told, with no forgetting.”
Paul put the steak in the microwave for Luisa, while she sat at the kitchen table. When the light inside the oven had gone on, and the plate started to go round, he turned to see her pretty face less beautiful than usual, screwed as it was into a resentful look.
“Princess, why don’t you go ahead and get out of your leotard? We’ll all eat together, once the pizza gets here.”
Luisa’s adorable little mouth twisted to the side. “But I’m so hungry, Daddy. Can’t I just have my dinner now? It’s not my fault Tricia forgot!”
Paul sighed. Tricia’s apparently inexplicable ‘forgetting,’ which both he and Joe thought must not be real lapses in memory, caused enough trouble in the little household without Luisa acting out, too. Joe had spanked the older girl for similar conduct a sufficient number of times that the brothers both had decided that Tricia wasn’t lying to them when she said she had forgotten, but Paul at least felt sure that some unconscious motivation lay behind it. They had a ticket into the Institute to ask for advice from the Oak Street assessment team, and had gotten a call from Charlotte Elkins-Nakama, the Institute’s academic dean herself, to say the assessors would take a look as soon as possible, but they hadn’t heard anything concrete yet.
At any rate, Paul thought, they would be able to compare notes with other Oak Street owners in Rome. Maybe someone else had a girl who ‘forgot’ basic chores and responsibilities in a way she wouldn’t have done in her Oak Street house. That German engineer had bought both of the Wood girls, hadn’t he? Joe and Paul thought Tricia’s misbehavior might have to do with having Luisa around—some latent jealousy making her seek attention, though it seemed illogical to both brothers since each girl had her own daddy and Joe and Paul spoiled both girls rotten.
The brothers had in fact laid basic ground rules from the beginning to ensure that jealousy didn’t arise between their Oak Street girls. When Luisa had big-girl time with Paul, Tricia had big-girl time with Joe, the cries of pleasure of both Giulianis echoing through the big apartment and—at least in Paul’s bedroom—the forced ecstasy of one girl making the other girl giggle, blush, and (Paul thought he could tell) grow even needier under her daddy’s pounding hips.
‘Real’ big-girl time, when the girls spent the whole night in their daddies’ beds, happened regularly four nights a week: the other three nights were ‘school’ nights, when Tricia and Luisa needed their sleep before going to their college classes the next morning in the brothers’ limo. ‘Evening’ big-girl time usually occurred after dinner, when, on most school nights, the girls got fucked in the living room or their bedroom.
The first night, in the honeymoon cottage on the Institute property, they had made sure Tricia and Luisa understood that sometimes they would serve their daddies’ cocks apart and sometimes they would be fucked together. The girls had lost their virginities at the same moment, in the living room of the cottage, bent side by side over the back of a big couch with their adorable bottoms raised and offered.
Their first anal, however, had happened a few hours later, separately, in their daddies’ own bedrooms. Luisa had heard Tricia cry out in that special way a girl does when a man’s hardness is in her smallest place, and asked Paul what Joe was doing to her ‘sister.’ Paul had told her softly, fondling her tiny young bottom as he murmured into her ear that she too would have his rigid penis there.
“Oh, Daddy,” Luisa had said, her face puckering in embarrassment as she buried it in his deep chest, then her pert nose wrinkling at the tickly hairs there. “Do I have to?”
Feeling like the Giuliani girls were worth every penny of the millions he and Joe had paid for them, Paul had given Luisa’s bottom a significant squeeze, and laid his middle finger on the sweet little button of her anus.
“Yes, princess,” he had said. “You have to. Your daddy wants to own all of you, and to train your tushy for his cock. It’s going to hurt a little at first, but you’ll get used to it. Turn over on your tummy, now. Daddy will be gentle, this first time.”
Then, as Tricia had cried out with Joe’s rhythm as he rode her bottom in the other master suite, Paul had piled the pillows under Luisa’s hips and told her to spread the sweet round cheeks of her little backside. He had lubed his Oak Street girl very well, and prepared her tightness with one finger, and then two, but her tiny ballerina’s bottom had proven so small that he thought he had never felt anything so thrilling on his thrusting cock. He had kept his promise to be gentle, though he had also made sure to initiate Luisa properly, thrusting in at full length when he came, as her whimpering cries matched those of the older girl being ass-fucked in the other room.
Since then, real big-girl time and evening big-girl time had given the Barbera brothers the opportunity to enjoy Tricia and Luisa both separately and together, though on the advice of the Institute they had waited these past few months to announce that the girls would soon learn what the brothers’ most shameful desires for their unique household held. Up until now, fucking Tricia and Luisa together had meant enjoying them side by side in the same room, letting all four of them watch and hear—smell, even, since both Giuliani girls’ pussies had slightly different, equally naughty scents that the brothers treasured—the fucking of the other dominant-daddy-and-disciplined-schoolgirl couple.
Last week, Joe and Paul had told the girls they would soon go to Rome to see old friends from Oak Street and to meet new ones from the Institute. They had also told Tricia and Luisa that on the trip, and then afterward at home, both daddies would fuck both girls, and the girls would learn to pleasure one another as well.
Neither Paul nor Joe thought Tricia’s ‘forgetfulness’ could have to do with that announcement, though, because it had begun before she learned about that new part of her sexual life. The Institute had given the brothers the green light to tell the girls they would be shared, and made to explore one another’s bodies when the brothers wanted to watch them do so, too.
“No,” he told Luisa now, “it’s not your fault, princess. But you know how important family dinner is to your daddies, even if you’re eating steak and we’re eating pizza.”
“But I’m so hungry!”
The microwave beeped. Paul opened it, took out the steak, and very pointedly put it, still covered, on the counter. Then he turned to his schoolgirl with an expression meant to tell her not to push her luck, and said, “Get going, Luisa. I’m pretty sure you want Tricia’s to be the only bottom that gets spanked tonight.”
An expression of alarm, mingled with a little sympathy, crossed Luisa’s pretty face then—succeeded, to Paul’s startled arousal, by the prurient interest Luisa often seemed to take in Tricia’s punishments. “Will he spank her very hard, Daddy?” Luisa whispered. “This is like the fifth time she’s forgotten. And I have to eat leftovers.”
Paul suppressed the urges brought on by the stiffening of his cock that always accompanied his schoolgirl’s profession of interest in the disciplining of other girls. “Go,” he said, adding raised eyebrows to the admonishing set of his chin. “Last chance before the leotard and tights come down here and now for your own lesson in obedience, over the chair like your Oak Street mommy used to do—but with your plug in your bottom afterward.”
Luisa stood right up at that, just as the door buzzed for the arrival of the pizza. “Please, not the chair, Daddy,” she said. “You know I hated that!”
“And afterward you did as your Oak Street mommy and daddy told you, didn’t you? That’s what punishment is about, princess, and you’ll find yourself over the chair, or over my knee, as I deem necessary. Now get going, before I tell you to get your plug. Dinner’s in five minutes.”
After dinner, Tricia and Luisa cleaned up the dishes quietly while Joe and Paul sat at the dining room table watching them through the kitchen door.
“Tricia’s moving very slowly,” Paul said, smiling at his brother.
“Of course,” Joe answered, smiling back but clearly a little troubled at the thought of having to punish his schoolgirl—perhaps, Paul thought, asking himself the same question Luisa had just asked: would he spank Tricia very hard?
Paul decided he needed to help his brother think the matter through, if he could. “I think you need to use the spoon,” he said quietly.
Joe looked sharply over at him. They had never come to an express agreement concerning punishing Tricia and Luisa, but had each left the other to discipline his own Oak Street girl’s bare bottom as he saw fit. Joe knew that Paul disciplined Luisa anally from time to time, especially for sassing him—something he didn’t do with Tricia, though he fucked the older girl’s shapely young bottom, stretching her tightest place on his cock regularly, and often came there during big-girl time.
Paul also knew that Joe spanked Tricia’s pussy when he caught her playing with herself, which Paul didn’t do with Luisa, preferring to discipline her for masturbation with his belt on her naughty bottom. According to the instructions from the Institute given to all Oak Street owners, the special naughtiness of self-pleasure should be well regulated, with clear limits set and clear punishments laid down. The Barbera brothers had found it enhanced big-girl time significantly to police Tricia’s and Luisa’s pussies well, for like all Oak Street girls the Giulianis sometimes needed stern sexual discipline, though they could never ask for it straight out. When Paul caught Luisa with her hand in her polka-dot panties, both daddy and schoolgirl knew what must happen next: Luisa naked on her pink bed with the belt flashing down across her adorable bottom, and then her daddy’s cock from behind, sliding deep into her wet, wet pussy as she cried out her penitence.
So neither brother had ever suggested to the other any element of a punishment until now.
“Why the spoon?” Joe asked.
“It’s what their mommy used,” Paul said simply, “on Oak Street. I don’t know if it will help resolve this memory thing, but I’m guessing it might. At least it will show her you mean business.”
Joe blew a long breath through his nose and nodded. Then he called into the kitchen, where plates had stopped rattling. “Tricia, sweetheart, go ahead and take your clothes off and bring me a wooden spoon. It’s time.”
Instantly she appeared in the doorway, her hands held in front of her in little fists. In her plaid skirt and white shirt she looked for all the world like a Catholic schoolgirl accused of skipping confession.
“Daddy, no!” Tricia protested. “Not naked! Please?” She started to cry. “And not the spoon! I hate the spoon!”
“I know you do, sweetheart,” Joe said patiently. “And I know you girls don’t like being punished naked in front of each other, but that’s why it’s going to happen now. I need to make it clear to you that remembering to take care of your responsibilities is not an optional thing in your daddies’ house.”
“Please?” Tricia tried again, but now, to Paul’s satisfaction, Joe got up.
As the older Giuliani cowered backwards, the older Barbera said, “Luisa, would you please get a spoon? One that’s like the one your mommy used on Oak Street.”
“Yes, Daddy Joe,” said Luisa, her voice full of so much anticipation of watching another girl spanked that Paul’s cock swelled in his jeans.
Joe took another step, and another, not menacingly but decisively, until Tricia had backed into a corner, holding her hands in front of her. Then the big dark-haired man reached down and took her by the upper arm despite her struggles, and began to march her toward the living room and the chair he favored for spanking his schoolgirl.
“Sweetheart,” he said, “your real spanking isn’t going to begin until you get undressed. You can decide when you’re ready to do that, and accept the punishment your daddy has chosen.”