by John Benson
Right now, Faith was full of doubt. Why do I want this? she wondered. A car passed by, its headlights illuminating her disheveled state, making her feel naughty and exposed. If I do this, I'm going to regret it, she realized. But if I don't, I'll hate myself for wussing out. Besides, I've already made sure there's going to be a scene when I get home. All that bitching, all that yelling, all those recriminations, and I still won't have what I wanted. Unless I call. But then I'll have to pay a price. A price that they'll make sure is very high. They make sure it's only a last resort. But it is a last resort. I have to. I promised myself, and so I have to. She squeezed her thighs together. A bit of horniness or maybe a need to pee. I'm giving up my freedom, she realized. She took out her phone and dialed a number. Heard it ring...
"Good evening. You have reached the request line of the Instrumentality. Penalty for frivolous or fraudulent use is guaranteed to be unpleasant. Please state your full name."
Gulp. Too late to turn back now. "Faith Marie Hopson."
"Sixteen years old, daughter of Glenn and Mary Hopson, 20 Whitcomb Circle?"
They're psychic, Faith reminded herself. Or maybe it's all computers. "Yes. That's correct."
"Please state your request. Be brief."
She'd have to say the words out loud, just like she'd practiced in the dark. Another car went by. The words stuck in her throat. "I..." Gulp. "I want my parents to use spanking as their normal form of discipline." There. She'd actually said it. How come they weren't saying anything? Were they thinking it over, or what?
"We find your request to be within our purview and roughly aligned with your own self interest. But if we take your case and we succeed, understand that you will pay a price. A price designed to be difficult for you to bear."
A blush spread from her face and somehow wound up in her crotch. "Yes," she said. "I understand." No one gets to change things to suit her secret fantasies without paying some sort of price, she thought. It'll mean more because I have to pay.
"Faith Hopson. The Instrumentality accepts your case. We'll be in touch. That is all for now."
All? That can't be all. "Wait. What is my price? I know I've accepted whatever it is, but I want to know my price."
"Deferred," the voice said, all unperturbed. "You will be asked your forfeit when you are legally adult. Meanwhile, enjoy your altered circumstances. Close supervision, painful discipline, and a life constrained by rules."
And doubt came rushing, rampant. "Wait," Faith begged. "I changed my mind. I don't want to be spanked and have to obey. I don't want to lose my freedom."
But the Instrumentality had disconnected and Faith was helplessly committed. Just like she'd always wanted.
Faith cowered in the chair, shrunk into herself as if to make a smaller target.
"Just look at you," her mother said. She paced, hands clenched behind her back.
Faith whimpered. She knew just how she looked, clothes dirty and rumpled, shirt buttoned wrong, smelling of stale beer. "What are you going to do to me?" she asked.
"We've talked it over," her mother said. "Your dad is calling the Instrumentality. We don't care what the price is, we'll pay it. Your future is at stake."
Now it's all up to how he phrases his request, Faith thought. The Instrumentality will kill two birds with one stone if they can and I'll get my wish. But maybe that's not what I want. The closer it comes to being true, the more I don't think that's what I really want. "I'm sorry," Faith said.
"Me too," her mother said.
Her father came back in. His face was grave. Her mother stopped her pacing. Faith cowered. Her father cleared his throat. "I asked for a more obedient child," he said. "And they accepted. But our price is very high. We must start spanking you. Painfully and frequently. Your life must be set about with rules, at least some of which will be difficult for you. And they are sending someone to supervise you when we are not at home, after school and daytimes in the summer. A college boy. His name is Marc and he's twenty. I don't know much else about him."
Faith cowered but felt a sudden stab of interest. "Does he get to spank me too?" she asked.
"Definitely not," her father said. "But if he asks, we are obligated to do it for him."
"Oh. Okay." Faith cowered. Why a man? And why only a little older than herself? "I guess they usually know what they're doing, don't they?"
"They?"
"The Instrumentality."
"Yes. But it can often be what we ask for without being what we wanted."
Gulp. She should have thought of that. She was aware of every square centimeter of her body, especially her hind. "So after tonight I get spanked when I mess up?" she asked. But not tonight, part of her begged inside. Please don't let it start tonight. Yes do it, another part insisted. I deserve it. I deserve it for putting them in this position. I deserve it for wanting to get spanked.
"It starts right now," her father said. "Go to your room. Strip naked. Place your desk chair with its back to the corner and kneel on the seat and hold on to the back and wait for me. I have to speak to your mom for a bit and then go get the bath brush."
Bath brush. Faith shuddered. A hair brush on steroids, with a longer handle for more oomph. Thinking about getting it might be a little sexy, but actually getting it was only going to hurt like Hell. Still shaking she got off her chair and did as she was told, backing out of the room with her hands behind, instinctively protecting her hips and thighs. As if anything could protect her now. Protect her from her own desires, from the subtle influence of the Instrumentality, from her own father's will. I'm going to be spanked, she realized. And it is a little sexy, but it so isn't going to be worth it. I can tell by the look on his face. He wants to make it hurt.
She woke in the darkness. The old house creaked slightly in the wind. Her pillow was damp. She'd cried herself to sleep. There were bruises on her hind. It happened, Faith thought. It really happened and while I was getting it I hated it and wanted it to be over. But now I'm glad I got it. It makes me feel brand new. Forgiven all my naughty thoughts, absolved of secret needs and desires a girl should always be spanked for. So what if I had to connive to get here? Nobody loses. My parents wanted a more obedient girl and now they'll have one. I wanted to be forced to behave instead of having to rely on self discipline and now I will be. And the Instrumentality gets to collect two prices for the same small intervention. Nobody loses. I wish I hadn't waited. When did I first know I wanted folks who spanked? When I was ten? Earlier? I should have made this happen years ago. Had my spanking, gotten it over with. But it isn't one spanking, is it? It isn't over with. This peaceful feeling doesn't last, does it? The naughtiness comes back. I'll have to be spanked again.
Faith looked up at him. An older man, she thought. And kind of cute. "Hi," he said. "My name is Marc. May I come in?"
Oh wow. "The Instrumentality sent you," Faith said. "So I don't have any choice." She stood aside to let him in, led him to the front room, sat him on the couch. She sat just out of reach. "So how does this work?" she asked. "You're my babysitter, coach, tutor, what?" A college man, she thought. I can definitely dig it.
"All of the above," Marc said. "Let me be frank. I'm here because the Instrumentality sent me, yes. You are my price."
"Your price?"
"Yes. You're the kind of female I go for, one who craves discipline? But I want a woman, not a girl. Someone I'm allowed to touch, in more ways than one if you know what I mean. My task is to supervise you without being able to have, um, any of the benefits. Though I do get the satisfaction of having your little spoiled brat butt spanked as often as I'd like."
"I'm not a spoiled brat," Faith pouted. "And I have a woman's feelings. So there."
"But you're under age," Marc said. "And you have rules. No sex of any kind for you. Not even masturbation."
Oh wow. "That's harsh," she said.
"That's right," Marc said. "I won't deny it's harsh. Most of your rules are just going to be common sense, things to keep you safe and focused on your future. But there should always be at least one rule that's kind of onerous, kind of arbitrary, and definitely hard for you to obey. You masturbate, don't you?"
Blush. "Uh uh. Well, yeah, okay, I admit it." Damn. Why was she willing to tell him these things? It's not as if he liked her. He thought she was a brat, a kid, a pain in his butt. So why did she wish he liked her?
He looked at her quite directly. She felt herself shrink a little. "And what are your fantasies while you do it?" he asked, "Lovemaking? Closer to rape?"
I have to confide in someone, she thought. Telling Dad would be too weird. "I'd think about being caught and spanked," she said. "That always made me hot."
He brightened. "And would they have spanked?"
That's the strange part. "Probably not. Just told me they were disappointed or something. They were pretty liberal minded before I got the Instrumentality involved. I'm the one that wanted to be treated like kids used to be treated, not them."
"And so you went to an underage drinking party, got involved in heavy petting?"
Squirm. "Yeah. I guess."
"Well from now on until you're eighteen, no petting, no kissing, not even any flirting," Marc said. "And next time you succumb to the urge to masturbate, I'm going to have to ask your parents to cane you."
Squirm. "That's bad?"
"The welts are there for days."
It took her breath away. "Yes sir," she said. She sort of understood. The need to keep her hands away would remind her she was not in control of her own life. So would the cane if she gave in to temptation. It didn't matter. Obedient or punished, she'd always know she was not in charge. And this somehow was a good thing. "Do me a favor?" Faith asked, somehow drawn to him.
"What?"
"Please hug me?"
"I would if I could. I promised the Instrumentality I would not."
He likes me, she thought. At least a little. "Mind telling me what your request was? What kind of thing gets you putting up with me as the price you have to pay?"
"None of your business," Marc said.
Faith pouted. Marc took out a notebook and wrote a note to her father asking nicely if he'd please spank her to helpless tears and then take color pictures of the remorse on her face and the anguish on her bruised behind.
The gully was steep from erosion and Faith lost her footing on loose rocks. Marc grabbed her before she could fall, then let go, stepped back. "Sorry," he said. "I don't have to let you fall, but I shouldn't let it turn into something else."
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