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The Oak Street Method: Frankie and Mary by Emily Tilton – Extended Preview

Watching from the Oak Street control room, four floors below the manor house, Paul had to admit that Miss Charlotte’s new protocol for the Oak Street auction had taken the power of the scene up a notch. She and her marketing team had developed it very quickly based on the audience biometrics and reviews from Wendy’s auction the previous Sunday, and though for example no one had suggested specifically that a girl’s hands be bound, or that Miss Charlotte should question her, those ideas seemed to Paul to represent the confident development of the Oak Street brand, now that the first auction had demonstrated its viability.

“Eight for Frankie, nine for Mary,” he said over the comm link. Paul relished this rare opportunity for a one-on-one connection with the Institute’s dean: other assessors (there were two more in the control room right now) could listen in on the link if they wanted, but they were currently dealing with the normal Oak Street Sunday reflected on five of the six monitors in front of them. Only Paul, as the Wood girls’ lead assessor, gave Charlotte the summary of the data she needed, on the fly, to make sure Frankie and Mary had the submissive experience that would simultaneously further their psychological health and make them the sort of commodities upon which billionaires would spend freely.

His main view on the monitor dedicated to the auction showed Frankie’s red face. A picture-in-picture in the upper left gave him Mary’s as well. The older girl’s full sensor data showed in the main view, while the younger one’s image only gave her overall arousal in the upper right. Paul could glance down at his laptop on the table if he wanted access to the full stream for either girl at any time, of course, as well as the biometrics coming from the chairs, for the potential buyers. All had agreed to allow the Institute to gather data on their preferences; none, Paul felt sure, had any idea how much data the Institute’s sensors and algorithms could gather.

Paul knew for example, and had already told Charlotte, that the serious bidders in the room would be Delia Godfrey, Chip Dupont, and Johann Bonner. He had based his judgment on an algorithm rated at ninety-three percent accuracy, which combined temperature in the seat of the chair (with only slight differences to account for biological sex) with certain key body-language indicators like spine movement from baseline. Most of the data behind the algorithm had come from simulations using Institute trainers and assessors, with an admixture now from Wendy’s auction. It had however already, at that auction the previous Sunday, proven itself, having predicted both the four top bidders and the eventual winner of the auction, Jacob Weaver.

Today the matter seemed too close to call between Delia Godfrey and Johann Bonner, with Chip Dupont in third place, only just out of the range of uncertainty that would have put him, too, in the statistical dead heat between Godfrey and Bonner. The points on the slider that occupied the bottom of Paul’s laptop screen weren’t moving much at all now, showing that the buyers’ ongoing biometrics were consistent with the algorithm’s predictions. Paul put his mental money on Delia Godfrey, who had come very close to winning Wendy the previous month and had also expressed to Charlotte on more than one occasion the desire for a matched pair of concubines.

Frankie said very slowly and softly, “I like it.”

“Louder, Frankie,” Charlotte said in her admonishing schoolmistress voice. “And look out at these nice people who want to spend a lot of money on you. You may look them in their faces for now. What do you like?”

A red indicator flashed in Frankie’s data crawl. “She’s close to hyperventilating,” Paul told Charlotte. “I would leave her here and switch to Mary.”

He knew Charlotte didn’t need the advice, but to her great credit she demanded that her assessors always voice any such opinion, to give her all the options.

Frankie’s lips had parted and her little breasts heaved up and down as she obeyed the command to face the buyers. Her eyes flicked nervously around the room.

“I like… oh, please…” She looked back to Charlotte for some relief.

“Let’s ask Mary,” Charlotte said, softening her tone to reassure the girl.

“Nines for both girls,” Paul said, giving his boss the standard update that formed the backbone of a trainer’s practice: once every two minutes, or whenever a shift occurred.

Paul switched his monitor to show Mary in the main image and Frankie in the inset. Mary’s cheeks, which had lost a little of their pink, now got it all back and more, as she looked anxiously at Charlotte.

“Mary, what do you like about sucking a hard penis? Look at the audience, please.”

“Ten for Mary,” Paul said. He wondered if Charlotte’s plan had included this shift from the older Wood girl to the younger one, since Mary’s character had that bit of spunk and brattiness that would make this moment more exquisite both for her and for the three buyers who had actually come to buy.

“I like to make my daddy feel good,” Mary said in a clear voice, then bit her lip and furrowed her brow as if startled by the sound of her own voice saying the naughty thing.

“Do you think,” Charlotte asked with an encouraging tone, “that you would like to make one of these nice people feel good tonight? When a gentleman buys you and puts his penis in your vagina, will you want him to enjoy himself even though it will hurt a little, your first time?”

Mary chewed on the inside of her cheek. She looked at Frankie, whose own brow bore a very deep crease. She turned back to the audience, and looked straight at Johann Bonner. On Paul’s slider, Bonner’s indicator crept noticeably ahead of Godfrey’s, undoubtedly because of a rise in temperature caused by blood rushing to his cock.

“Yes,” she said, not quite as loudly as she had spoken before, but just as distinctly.

“Thank you, Mary,” Charlotte said. “Martha and Jessa, please help Frankie and Mary get undressed to their underwear. Nice and slowly so that the audience sees what they look like in their modest things, and how wet they’ve gotten their panties.” She addressed the buyers, “Remember, ladies and gentlemen, that the full resources of the Institute’s lingerie collection will be available to the lucky owner tonight and throughout the little honeymoon you’ll have with Frankie and Mary.”

“Both girls at 10,” Paul said, as he switched to a wide view of the grand salon to watch the concubines advance to begin removing the Wood girls’ Sunday dresses, help the girls very much needed, because their wrists had first to be untied, and then retied once their dresses came off.

Frankie and Mary stayed between 8 and 10 through the embarrassing process. After the dresses came off, and the slips, they stood in bras, panties, and garter belts of an almost old-fashioned, chaste sort, though with just enough arch over the panties back and front to stir Paul himself down below.

“As you see,” Charlotte said, “the girls, like all girls on Oak Street, have been taught to put their panties on over their suspenders.”

Both Frankie and Mary gave the dean quizzical looks, at that—they had of course never considered that a proper young lady would do anything else.

“Turn around, girls, and show your pretty bottoms to the nice people. Then you’ll see why your mommy told you to wear your underwear this way.”

Glancing nervously to the side as if to be sure the other girl were also obeying the embarrassing command with its strange corollary, the Wood girls complied, their bound wrists held a little awkwardly in front of them. Two lovely backs, nicely adorned with slender bra straps, and two lovely bottoms well presented in beige cotton that showed sizable wet spots in the well-lit salon, confronted the lascivious eyes of the men and women who would soon bid on those charms. Golden hair of nearly identical luster and length flowed down almost to the back straps of the sensible bras. Most moving of all, the curling red-purple welts on Mary’s bottom had finally become very visible on her thighs, promising an even more arousing view when her panties came down.

“Display the bottoms, please, Martha and Jessa. Frankie and Mary, put your hands on your knees and arch your backs. One of these nice people will own both those sweet backsides by this evening.”

The concubines in the lacy nightgowns came forward, to put a hand on each Wood girl’s back and show her how to arch it, and to provide a flourish for the better viewing of the panty-clad bottom-cheeks. They rubbed Frankie and Mary gently on their sweet round backsides and between their legs, making them whimper and sigh a little.

“Frankie just recalibrated,” Paul said on the comm link. “And there goes Mary.”

Delia Godfrey’s indicator caught up to Johann Bonner’s on the slider showing likely buyer bids.

“Look at those wet spots, ladies and gentlemen,” said Charlotte with evident pride. “Go ahead and take down the panties, girls, and hand them around to the audience. The winner of the auction will take them home with him or her, of course.”

The Wood girls gave startled cries at this, as they finally learned why Oak Street girls wore their panties outside their suspenders. Frankie held her position well, but Mary tried to straighten up and found that Jessa’s hand on her back kept her in place with surprising strength. Both pairs of panties were expertly pulled down, until they dropped to the floor. A wonderful murmur ran through the audience at the sight of the Wood girls’ bottoms revealed, Mary’s so prettily adorned with evidence of her naughtiness and her daddy’s justice.

When Martha and Jessa had handed the panties down to the audience for inspection and inspiration, Charlotte said quite brusquely, “Put them on the benches, please, girls. Fasten them quite tightly, please, so that they don’t injure themselves trying to avoid what these ladies and gentlemen decide they should receive.”

Frankie and Mary looked reproachfully at Charlotte, then, as if the dean had somehow betrayed a promise.

“Frankie’s at 8 and Mary’s at 7,” Paul said.

The dip made perfect sense, of course. The Wood girls would almost certainly become very well acquainted with the spanking bench that would probably stand in the playroom at their owner’s home, if not in their bedroom itself for bedtime discipline and a constant reminder of their submissive status. But though some of the Oak Street homes featured spanking stools or even in the Samuels’ case a simple bench for the girls’ punishments, these fully outfitted pieces of sex furniture would naturally frighten Frankie and Mary, and would naturally seem to them a violation of the promise that they not be harmed at the Institute.

Such of course represented Charlotte’s intention in having the girls summarily bound to the benches, and in using the brusque tone she had adopted: the fear would, in dropping their arousal for a few moments, allow it to come roaring back in such a way that both the Wood girls and their potential buyers had an erotic experience to remember, as Frankie and Mary had their virginities sold.

In silence, then, but for the subtly amplified sound of the girls’ whimpers, picked up by a mic on the dais and fed through invisible speakers, Martha and Jessa untied the Wood girls’ wrists and led them to the benches. Frankie and Mary were made to mount, their naked bottoms poised almost at the edge of the dais to give the buyers a very good view from where they sat, tender hind-cheeks and now sweet, bare pussies fully visible, pink secrets that the girls couldn’t help showing, bound as they were with their knees well apart and their waists fixed to middle of the well-padded benches.

Nevertheless, the buyers still didn’t sit close enough for the next part of the auction. Charlotte issued the invitation. “You may come forward, ladies and gentlemen, to verify these girls’ intact virginities.”

Frankie heard a little sob come from her throat, but she could hardly tell she had produced it. On her left, barely glimpsed out of the corner of her eye, on the same kind of bench, wearing the same kind of underwear, Mary moaned, long and low.

A man’s voice came from behind Frankie, on that same left side. “These marks are very pretty, Mary. You like it when I rub them, don’t you?”

Fingers touched Frankie, too, made her whimper because they moved so naughtily between her legs, in the bare part of her that now lay so open. They opened her still further, so that Frankie’s face blazed like the sun. The air moved against places that should be hidden, covered, by golden curls, by beige panties, by silky slip, by modest Sunday dress.

A woman’s voice—not Miss Charlotte’s but just as cultured, just as middle-aged and jaded—said, “You have a lovely cherry, Frankie. I know it will seem a shame to these gentlemen to know I’ll pop it with a strap-on tonight, but I don’t think you’ll mind. I’ve seen you with your mommy.”

“Rub the clit, for goodness’ sake, Delia,” said a man who must be standing very close to the woman who wanted to deflower Frankie so shamefully. “Give the girl a little reward for letting you open her up like that.”

“I’m done,” Delia said rather coldly. “Your turn, Johann. You can rub the clit all you want.”

Frankie sobbed anew at that, as the first set of fingers left her and bigger ones took their place. Johann did begin by rubbing the tiny, hooded bud that Mommy said good girls touched only with permission from their daddies. Frankie couldn’t help crying out.

“That’s it, honey,” said Johann softly. “That’s it. You can let it out. You can be as loud as you want, with me.”

A man behind Mary said, “Open her up, Chip. Let’s see how tight she’s going to be.”

“You’ll have your turn,” said the man behind Mary. “Johann, let’s make them come together.”

“Oh, no,” Mary whispered—but Frankie wasn’t sure that she herself hadn’t said it—or maybe both Wood girls had said it at the very same time, in the very same way.

“Charlotte?” Johann asked. “Is that alright?”

But he had already begun to show Frankie that he had a great deal of skill with his hands, and she could hear that Chip, next to him, must have the same sort of experience. Frankie and Mary had both started to gasp, and to buck against the restraints of the benches, as these potential buyers drove them toward climax, there in their garter belts and stockings and bras, strapped down for sale.

Frankie heard Charlotte laugh, but she said in a firm voice, “No, Mr. Bonner. You know that’s against the rules. Why don’t you hold Frankie open and let everyone see the hymen. Mr. Dupont, you do the same for Mary. Then we’ll be able to get started with the bidding.”

The terrible, lovely sensation of Mr. Bonner’s—Frankie couldn’t think of him as Johann, now that she knew his last name, since Mommy had taught her how to address her elders—fingers stopped, and she felt him open her up the same way Delia had, to examine and to display. Next to her Mary whimpered, and Frankie couldn’t help seeing it in her mind’s eye: the two girls in their underwear, panties off and bottoms up, vaginas on view between spread legs.

She heard them moving, felt the air stirred by their passage in a place she had never thought could feel so… available. The heat came and went in surges in her cheeks, and, worse, down below—though her bottom and pussy weren’t really down below, now, were they, but rather raised and offered by the slight downward tilt of the spanking bench.

Then, abruptly, Mr. Bonner’s probing fingers left her, and she heard chairs reoccupied by elegantly dressed people—nice people, Miss Charlotte kept calling them. Frankie could tell that, yes, these buyers could be very nice when the circumstances arose, but she felt sure that they could also be terribly strict and demanding when a girl didn’t behave herself.

She realized that Miss Charlotte had come to stand between her and Mary when she felt the dean’s hand on her bottom, holding her possessively there. Mary’s little cry indicated that she had just received the same touch from the woman who meant to fetch as high a price as possible for the virginities the nice people had just verified with their lewd touches and lustful eyes.

“Offered for sale to you, ladies and gentlemen,” Miss Charlotte said in a tone somehow both suggestive and simply factual, “as a single lot. Two virgin schoolgirls, for fucking and training here and in the comfort of your own homes. Cunts to be deflowered tonight.”

Miss Charlotte’s hand moved down, gave a brief caress that won a moan from Frankie’s throat.

Her hand moved upward a little, to touch the tiny ring there, push in a bit, make her cry out in alarm.

“Anuses to receive complimentary training, if desired, for a full ass night in this room at the end of the month. Or you may choose to have their bottoms according to your own specifications, including deflowering them here…” she pushed a little more, and Frankie sobbed, “…in their bedrooms on Oak Street.”

A pause. The finger went away, leaving Frankie to blush furiously at the way Miss Charlotte’s words had made her ache so terribly for the return of her caress upon her pussy, the return of Johann’s fingers—even the return of Delia’s colder ones. Even the terrible strap-on, or, much, much better, Daddy’s big penis, so warm in her mouth—so warm, she knew and so hard, in Mommy’s cunt. Mr. Bonner’s cock must be very nice, too, she thought suddenly. Would it be inside her soon?

“Martha,” Miss Charlotte said, “the paddle, please.” Footsteps. What did it mean? She and Mary had behaved themselves so well despite this auction being the most shameful experience of their lives.

“It seems those of you who were here last week for Wendy’s auction…”

Frankie felt her eyes go wide. Of course she and Mary had known that Wendy must have gone through something similar, but now that the Wood girls had come so far through the humiliating process it mattered much more to her. Had Wendy been inspected that way? Had Wendy been questioned? Had Wendy…

She couldn’t see the paddle in Miss Charlotte’s hands: she had never seen a paddle, even, at least one for… for spanking girls with. She had seen Mommy’s spoon and Daddy’s belt. She had even seen the hairbrush Wendy’s daddy used on Wendy’s bare bottom.

Was it wood? It didn’t sound like wood, as Miss Charlotte tapped it against her hand to emphasize her words—for that must be what Frankie heard now, the little slapping sound coming much more clearly to her ears, she thought, than it really should.

“…as well as those of you who watched remotely, like several hundred other Institute clients and potential clients…”

Several hundred?! Frankie’s face felt like she had stuck it in the hot oven and held it there. Next to her Mary gave a little whimper.

“…thoroughly approved of the way I registered the bids.”

A chuckle went through the buyers, unseen behind Frankie, exposed for their lascivious viewing over the bench. She started to breathe very hard again, the same way she had when Miss Charlotte had asked her that terrible question.

She felt a tiny rush of air against her bottom, and her mind grasped what would happen, and her voice gave a little cry. But the paddle, which must be, Frankie gathered now, made of some kind of rigid leather, like Daddy’s belt but wider and stiffer, only tapped her bottom lightly—once, twice, three times—on both cheeks and then, just a bit more firmly, right in the middle, where it moved things and made her moan softly.

“As you’ve already seen, Mary’s bottom is in no condition to receive further discipline today. Now we’ll make her friend Frankie’s backside share the punishment, so the lucky winner of this auction can bring home a truly matched set of well-chastened young ladies.”

“Oh, God…”

For a moment Frankie thought she had said it, but then she realized that her own voice could do nothing but give little whining pants, and Mary had said it, out of sympathy.

Miss Charlotte noted the gesture, and her voice turned warm for a moment. “That’s it, Mary Wood,” she said. “Show us how much you love your friend, and how guilty you feel. Frankie’s being punished because she couldn’t get you to come downstairs.”

“Oh, please… please, Miss Charlotte. Please punish me instead.” Mary’s voice had a sobbing quality to it that rent Frankie’s heart even as much more ambiguous feelings awoke in her tummy and further down.

“That’s a lovely gesture, Mary, but I’m afraid it would lessen your value,” Miss Charlotte said sympathetically. Then, with decision, “Shall we start the bidding at six million dollars?”

Before Frankie could even grasp the import of the number the dean had spoken, Miss Charlotte said, “Yes, Mr. Dupont.” Some instinct told Frankie what must surely be about to happen, and the same instinct made her struggle as hard as she could against the straps that bound her to the bench. Their webbing was much too stout, though, and the concubines had fastened her very securely just as Miss Charlotte had instructed. Frankie squirmed, her bottom clenching in fear, but the hard spank from the paddle landed exactly where the dean had, Frankie felt sure, aimed it: full across both cheeks.

The pain made her yelp and struggle more, but only for a moment, because it faded quickly and Frankie pictured herself moving her hips that way, showing more of her bottom and her pussy as she tried to soothe some of the smart.

Six million dollars.

Six point five, and another spank, the pain remaining longer now. Her cry of anguish brought no mercy, though. Seven. Eight. Eight point five, and Frankie screamed now, her hips riding the bench uncontrollably because Miss Charlotte spanked so very hard. Beside her she could hear Mary softly weeping, and she wanted to tell her friend that it was alright, that Frankie knew she would have been paddled in any case, because if they had learned anything in their special lessons it was that the kinds of mommies and daddies and ladies and gentlemen to be encountered on Oak Street and at the Institute just liked to spank pretty girls.

And thank goodness, Frankie thought primly, despite it all, pretty girls like us don’t really mind getting spanked, even when it hurts a lot.

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen, let’s not prolong this for poor Frankie.”

A man’s voice—Mr. Bonner’s?—said, “Ten million.”

Miss Charlotte gave Frankie a tremendous spank, down low where some of the leather came against her bare, cringing labia, too. She gave what sounded to her like a piteous cry: a plea to the rest of the buyers to yield to Mr. Bonner, if it were he.

“Ten million once,” Charlotte said. “Miss Godfrey? Mr. Dupont?”

“Oh, please,” Frankie whispered. Her bottom felt like it was afire. She couldn’t bear any more, and yet this pause made the fire creep down and in, made her squirm with the most shameful double meaning, made her offer her pussy and bottom to Mr. Bonner, for his use and enjoyment. She knew that if she pleased him he would reward her: she’d heard it in his voice.

“Ten million twice,” Charlotte said. Frankie could hear the satisfaction in her voice, and that made the elder Wood girl feel obscurely proud, and made her wonder how a person could feel proud and ashamed in the very same instant. She gave her spanked bottom an extra little clench, just for Mr. Bonner, because she knew somehow he would like that.

“Sold to Mr. Bonner. Frankie and Mary Wood, at ten million dollars for one year of service.”

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