Chapter 1: Introduction
I woke up with a strange, electric feeling in my chest, as if someone had just plugged me into a live wire. My alarm clock read 7:17 AM, which meant I had three hours before my first class. Normally, I’d groan, roll over, and pretend the world didn’t exist until the smell of coffee forced me out of bed. But today?
Today, I was excited.
It wasn’t even that my dad had left me his car keys for his baby. He’d warned me not to scratch it or leave running. He was treating me like I was some responsible adult instead of a college freshman with a habit of burning toast.
No, what really had my pulse racing was the Magellan’s Games, Books, and Magic Online Charity Auction was starting at 3:00 PM.
I’d been waiting for this for weeks. The auction happened every year, and every year I’d win some hidden gem or two. Last year, I won an expensive, but used, board game at 73% off the original price.
It was called "The Haunted Mansion," and it was supposed to be a rare collector’s item. I’d spent hours poring over the rulebook, imagining the epic battles I’d have with my friends.
I looked at the clock again, my fingers twitching with anticipation. I wanted to get up. Get ready. Go. The words echoed in my head, pulsing through my veins like caffeine. I was full of energy. I got up, feeling happy and excited. The morning light spilled through the half-drawn blinds, painting stripes across my floor—stripes that looked suspiciously like the bars of a prison cell for someone who wasn’t built for early mornings. But today, I didn’t care. I got ready for class and headed downstairs to the living room.
I looked towards the key hook, and there they were. My dad's car keys. I approached them and reached for them. Suddenly, another hand flashed in front of mine and snatched the keys off the hook.
Madison, my stepsister, stood there, her fingers curled possessively around the keys, her lips curled into a smirk that was equal parts challenge and amusement.
She was dressed in a loose, cream-colored blouse that clung just enough to her shoulders—her dark hair tied back in a messy bun, the ends escaping to frame her face—and blue jeans shorts that rode just a little too high on her hips, revealing the faintest hint of smooth, golden skin at the waistband. I thought Madison was hot—her sharp cheekbones, the way her dark eyes could cut through lies like a scalpel—but often her indifference and bullying pushed away my lustful thoughts.
"What do you think you're doing?" she asked, her voice dripping with false sweetness, as if she were already planning to twist this into another one of her little games.
I blinked, my fingers twitching at my sides. "Dad said I could use the car while he's out of town," I stammered, my brain scrambling to catch up. "I was going to drive to class. Want a ride?"
Madison rolled her eyes so hard I thought they might stick. Then, she laughed. It was not a laugh of joy or mirth. It was the laugh she made when she thought I was being an idiot, the laugh that cut deeper than any insult because it came with the unspoken assumption that she was better than me. That was her power. She was going to get what she wanted, and she would make sure I wouldn’t get anything. Not even the spark of hope that I still had.
"Are you serious right now?" She spun back toward me so fast her hair whipped across my face, the scent of her coconut shampoo invading my nose. "If anyone even suspects I was in the same car as you, my reputation would be ruined. Do you know what people would say? ‘Oh, look at Madison, stuck with her loser stepbrother.’ It’s bad enough I have to share a house with you."
I felt like I was living in a cliché. You know the one with the mean-girl stepsister who takes the car meant for her stepbrother.
I swallowed hard, my fingers still twitching with the phantom weight of the car keys. "I wasn’t gonna brag about it," I muttered, my voice quieter than I intended. "I just wanted to go to class."
"Take the bus," Madison said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Or ride your bike. Or, y’know, walk." She smirked. "You're not getting the car."
If I took public transportation, I wouldn't make it home in time for the start of the auction.
I needed the car.
"Dad said I could use the car!" The words exploded out of me before I could stop them, voice cracking like an old hinge. My face flushed hot, anger and frustration knotting in my stomach. Something inside me snapped. I couldn't take it. Not with Madison smirking as she’d already won.
I needed that car.
It didn't even phase her—Madison just smirked, her eyes glinting with that particular cruelty she reserved for moments like this. "You're not getting the car," she said, shaking her head like this was some grand joke I was too stupid to understand. Then she pivoted on her heel and called out, her voice dripping with fake sweetness, "Mom! Tim’s being a pain!"
The sound of her mother’s voice drifted up the staircase before I could process anything else. "Madison, what’s going on down there?"
Her mother, Angela, appeared at the top of the stairs, her arms crossed over her chest, her expression a mix of exhaustion and exasperation. She was 38 years old, still holding onto the kind of beauty that made you forget how tired she looked after a long day’s work. But right now, it was clear that her patience was thin.
I hesitated, my fingers curling into fists at my sides. "Dad said I could use his car," I repeated, my voice lower now, but no less firm. I wasn't about to back down—Madison would just twist it into another reason why I was beneath her. But I needed that car.
Angela sighed, rubbing her temples like she was already calculating the effort this conversation would take. "Tim, sweetheart," she began, her tone carefully neutral, "Madison has plans today. You know how she is. You’ll have to find another way to get to class."
Shit.
I was living in that cliché.
Son of a bitch.
I swallowed the lump rising in my throat. As much as I resented Madison’s smugness, I couldn’t deny the way my chest burned at being shut down in front of her. Again.
"I have plans, too," I said, voice steadier than I felt. "It’s not just about getting to class. I have something important later."
Angela sighed, reaching into her purse. "How about I give you some money for Uber? Would that work?" she asked me.
I nodded, my fingers already twitching to pull out my phone. It wasn't ideal, but it was better than nothing. At least I'd still be on time for the auction. "Yeah, thanks," I said, voice quiet but sincere.
Madison's smirk faltered for half a second before she turned on her heel and vanished down the hall, muttering something about "little brothers" under her breath. Angela handed me three twenties, her fingers brushing mine before she pulled back. "Don't spend it all in one place," she teased lightly, though her eyes still carried that exhausted edge.
"Thanks," I said genuinely, pocketing the bills before pulling out my phone to open the app.
---
I burst into my bedroom, the door slamming against the wall with a thud that echoed through the empty house. My heart pounded in my chest, not from the sprint up the stairs, but from the adrenaline coursing through my veins.
It was 3:00!
Magellan's annual charity auction was live, and I was ready to pounce.
My room was a sanctuary of chaos, a cluttered haven where I could retreat from the world. Stacks of graphic novels teetered precariously on my desk, their spines cracked with age and use. A half-empty shelf displayed my prized board games, their boxes yellowed with time and love.
I threw my backpack onto the floor, sending a cloud of dust motes dancing in the air.
My laptop, my portal to the world of Magellan's, lay closed on my desk. I opened it, the familiar hum of the fan filling the room as the screen flickered to life. I sat in my desk chair, the worn-out cushion sighing under my weight, and navigated to the site.
The homepage was a riot of colors, a digital smorgasbord of board games, graphic novels, and magic tricks.
At the top, a bold red banner announced in capital letters: THE ANNUAL MAGELLAN’S CHARITY AUCTION IS LIVE!
My fingers hovered over the mouse, then clicked, drawn in by the promise of deals and the thrill of the hunt. The auction page loaded, and I leaned back in my chair, my glasses slipping down my nose as I scanned the listings.
I looked at the board games first—Gloomhaven, Root, Wingspan—games I already owned, their auction prices already below what I’d paid for them used. Some were even cheaper than my local game store’s prices, but the thrill of the hunt was still there. I smirked, rubbing my thumb over the worn corner of my Betrayal at House on the Hill box, still tucked under my bed.
The auction wasn’t just for the usual stuff—it was for the real treasures, the games that cost more than my rent when new. I scrolled past the Dungeons & Dragons starter sets and the Mage Knight reprints until I found what I was looking for: the hidden gems—the ones that made my pulse quicken.
I made a couple of bids on listings that caught my eye, then moved on to the graphic novels. Batman, Superman, X-Men, Iron Man, Spider-Man, Watchmen, and Maus were listed. The prices were reasonable, and the conditions looked good.
I made a few more bids, my fingers flying over the keyboard, my mind already imagining the weight of these books in my hands, the crispness of the pages, the stories unfolding like old friends.
With a few clicks, I was done. The bids on the things I really wanted were out of the way, and I could breathe easy. I leaned back in my chair, my eyes scanning the rest of the listings, my mind wandering to the magic listings. Those listings were always good for a laugh, especially the spells.
I'd read the disclaimer before, the one that said they were all for entertainment purposes only. I'd even bid on a few in the past, just for fun, knowing that my money was going to a good cause. I scrolled down, my eyes scanning the listings, a smirk playing on my lips.
"Grow Your Hair Long and Thick in 7 Minutes" and "Become 5 Inches Taller Overnight" were listed. I chuckled, shaking my head at the absurdity of it all. But I clicked on them anyway, because hey, it was entertaining.
I scrolled through the usual suspects—hair growth, height increase, muscle gain—until one listing caught my eye. It was a simple black-and-white image of a brain with a lightning bolt striking it.
The title read: "Mind Control Powers - Unlock Your Potential."
I laughed out loud.
The description was short: Ever wished you could make someone do exactly what you want? This spell is for you. Works on anyone. No side effects. Just pure, unadulterated control.
It had no bids yet, and the minimum to bid to start was $25.
I didn’t know why, but I found the listing intriguing. The entire auction was scheduled to end in four days, and someone else would probably bid higher. If they didn’t, my money would go to a good cause.
I hesitated for a second, my fingers hovering over the keyboard.
What the hell.
I clicked the button anyway, my thumb hovering over the "Place Bid" icon before I could second-guess myself. The screen flashed green, and the words "Bid Placed: $25" appeared in bold, neon letters.
I decided to check out a few other listings before heading downstairs for dinner.
I felt good about my bids.
---
Four days later.
Friday night.
I was in my room. I had to be.
It was the safest place.
Madison had a friend over.
Amy.
A girl who laughed at everything Madison said, like it was the funniest thing she’d ever heard. It hadn’t always been like that, but somewhere between high school and college, Amy had traded her own opinions for Madison’s approval—and now she giggled like a hyena every time Madison mocked my awkwardness.
I didn’t want to be down there. Not now. Not ever, really.
But tonight, I wasn’t hiding from them.
The auction was ending in less than two minutes.
I sat hunched over my laptop, the blue glow of the screen casting jagged shadows across the walls.
Over the past three days, I only had to raise my bids on three items. On two of them, I'm still the highest bidder. But the third one, I stopped bidding. It's gone over my budget.
It was a rare board game. One I really wanted to play, but I knew my chances of getting it were slim when I bid on it.
It was disappointing. But I wasn't going to let it ruin my mood. I had other things to look forward to. I refreshed the page, my eyes scanning the listings one last time before the auction closed.
I watched as the clock ticked down, the seconds slipping away like grains of sand through an hourglass.
The final countdown was in red, bold, and unmissable:
00:00:03
00:00:02
00:00:01
The screen flickered, and then, the words I'd been waiting for appeared: Auction Closed.
I took a deep breath, my heart pounding in my chest like a drum. I'd done it. I'd won.
I checked my email for the confirmation for each auction. I had expected four notices: two board games and two graphic novels.
There they were in my inbox, each one a confirmation of my wins—and then I saw a fifth one.
My breath caught in my throat as I stared at the subject line: Mind Control Powers - Unlock Your Potential: Congratulations, You Won!
I had forgotten I had bid on that.
I laughed.
I couldn't help it. I mean, who bids on a "mind control" spell, right? I'd completely forgotten about it amidst the excitement of winning the board games and graphic novels.
I opened the email for the first board game I won. I read it and followed the instructions to send my shipping information and payment. Once the first one was out of the way, I repeated the same process for the other board game and the two graphic novels I'd won.
Then I looked at the last email: Mind Control Powers - Unlock Your Potential: Congratulations, You Won!
I clicked it. It opened to reveal a simple message:
Congratulations on winning the Mind Control Powers spell! To claim your prize, simply click the link below and follow the instructions. Remember, this is all for fun and entertainment purposes only. No refunds or exchanges.
I clicked the link, and a simple, secure web page opened in a new tab. The background was a stark white, broken only by a bold, neon-green congratulations banner that read: YOU’VE WON THE MIND CONTROL POWERS SPELL! Below it, a clean, no-nonsense font explained that once they received payment, I’d receive my powers—and a certificate in my email.
I laughed while filling in my payment information , my fingers flying over the keyboard. The whole thing was absurd. I wasn’t about to believe that some online auction was actually going to give me mind control. It was a joke. A prank. A way to make a few extra bucks for charity.
But still, I paid.
I hit submit and waited.
My vision tunneled for a second, the edges of my desk and laptop screen bleeding into a sickly yellow haze. I blinked, pressing my palms against my temples, but the pressure didn’t ease. It was like someone had turned up the volume on my own thoughts, every little noise in the house—the creak of the floorboards, Madison’s muffled laughter from downstairs—amplified until they felt like nails on a chalkboard.
I exhaled sharply, rubbing my eyes.
"Fuck!" I moaned.
I heard a ping. It was a new email.
My certificate.
I clicked it open, my eyes scanning the lines of text, but my vision was blurry, and my head was pounding. I squinted, trying to make out the words, but they swam before my eyes. I could barely read it, but two words jumped out at me, stark and clear against the page: "Headache" and "Sleep." I blinked, my heart pounding in my chest. What the hell was going on? I'd never had a migraine come on this fast before.
I stumbled to my feet, my chair clattering to the floor behind me, and made my way to the bed, my vision swimming.
I collapsed onto the mattress, the springs groaning under my weight. My vision tunneled into a suffocating tunnel of white, then black, then white again. Pain hammered behind my eyes like a second heartbeat, each pulse sending shards of molten glass through my skull. I curled into a fetal position, my knees pressed against my chest, my fingers clawing at the bedspread.
I blacked out from the pain.
---
I woke up. The headache was gone, but my head felt like it was recovering from having my head run over by a train. I needed to take things slow. I slowly opened my eyes. The room was blurry, and the room was brighter than it should be.
I groaned, rolling onto my side, my vision swimming as it adjusted to the light. I had slept in my clothes. My phone was still in my pocket. I pulled it out and tried to focus on the time.
9:22 AM.
AM?
What the fuck? I was out for twelve hours!?
I bolted upright, my stomach lurching at the sudden movement. The room spun, and I had to steady myself against the edge of the bed, my fingers digging into the sheets. The last thing I remembered was collapsing onto the mattress, the world going black. Twelve hours? That was impossible.
I rubbed my face, trying to clear the fog from my brain, my dry throat protesting with a swallow. My head still felt like I’d been hit by a truck, but the migraine was gone—at least for now. I swung my legs off the bed, the floor cold against my bare feet, and stood up carefully, testing my balance.
The room was still a little wobbly, but I was functional. I shuffled over to my desk, my eyes drawn to the faint glow emanating from my computer. I hadn't shut it off last night. It was in sleep mode, the power light still on.
I reached out, my fingers brushing the mouse. I clicked the wheel, and a second later, the screen lit up, casting a blue glow over my face. My inbox was open, and there it was:
Mind Control Powers Certificate
Congratulations, Timothy Johnson! You have successfully activated your Mind Control Powers. Now that your powers are active, you can make anyone do what you want or desire. To use your powers, simply look at the subject and mentally push your thoughts into their head.
It's that easy.
The initial headache you'll experience is a side effect of the activation process. We apologize for any discomfort this may cause and recommend getting plenty of rest to fully recover.
You are now a mind controller. Now go out and enjoy it!
I stared at the screen, my pulse hammering in my chest. This can't be real, can it? I mean, it was in the for entertainment purposes only section of the auction. Those were all jokes and gags.
No, it can't be real.
I smelled coffee. The rich, bitter aroma wafted up the stairs, thick and intoxicating.
The smell was coming from downstairs. The low, muffled sound of Madison and Amy’s laughter seeped through my closed bedroom door, their voices layered with the clink of plates and Angela’s distant, exasperated chuckle. They were probably downstairs in the kitchen, having breakfast with Angela, their usual morning ritual where Madison would mock my existence and Amy would laugh like it was the funniest thing she’d ever heard.
I groaned, rubbing my temples again. The headache was gone, but the lingering fog in my brain made everything feel sluggish. I wanted to avoid Madison, but I needed some food and coffee.
I opened the door to my bedroom and stepped into the hallway. The scent of coffee was stronger now, and mixed with it—fried eggs, toast, and that generic maple syrup Angela always poured over pancakes like it was going to make them taste better. My stomach growled again, louder this time, and I realized how long it had been since I’d eaten.
I moved quietly down the stairs, avoiding the ones that creaked under my weight. The kitchen was just ahead, the door slightly ajar. I could hear Madison’s voice, bright and airy as she talked about going shopping.
"We’re definitely hitting up Sephora first," she said, her tone carrying that same mix of excitement and superiority that always made my skin prickle. "I need a new Palette, and I just have to try that new liquid eyeliner." A giggle from Amy followed, high and breathless, like every word Madison uttered was gospel. Amy was still laughing when she added, "And I need a whole new summer wardrobe. Something cute but still chic, you know? Like, basic pieces but elevated?"
I walked into the kitchen. Madison immediately stopped speaking. She gave me a look like just my presence was annoying her.
"Good morning, Tim," Angela said with a smile. "Would you like to join us for breakfast?"
Madison turned towards her mother with a dagger stare, her eyes narrowing into slits as her lips pressed into a thin, venomous line. Angela's back was to Madison, and she didn't notice.
"Sure," I said, nodding at Angela as I pulled out a chair, my movements still stiff from the headache that had left my bones feeling like jelly. The kitchen table was set with mismatched plates, Angela's attempt to make the house feel homely despite the tension simmering beneath the surface. "Whatever’s being cooked smells great."
Madison rolled her eyes as I sat down.
"Thanks, Mom," I mumbled, reaching automatically for the steaming mug Angela had set in front of me—the ceramic warm against my chilled fingers. The black coffee inside swirled with a thin layer of cream from Angela’s shared carton, the way I liked it.
"Anytime," she replied, brushing a loose black strand from her forehead with the back of her wrist.
"What are you wearing?" Madison asked, her voice laced with that peculiar tone that always made me wonder if she was genuinely curious or if this was some new form of torment dressed as small talk.
I looked at her. Madison was wearing an extra-large black t-shirt that hung off her like a dress, the fabric soft and slightly wrinkled from sleep. The sleeves were rolled up to her elbows, revealing smooth, sun-kissed skin that glowed faintly with the faintest hint of freckles across her shoulders. She had probably slept in it, the way she sometimes did when she was lazy or just didn’t want to change. But even though she’d just gotten out of bed, there was something about the way the shirt clung to her curves—how it framed her waist and the way it rode up slightly when she moved—that made her look hot.
Amy was also dressed in an extra-large t-shirt, but hers was a soft, faded pink that looked like it had been worn a hundred times. She had short blond hair, cut in a messy bob that fell just past her ears, with slightly uneven bangs, giving her a natural, lived-in look. She was really cute. She was also the kind of girl I would’ve been attracted to if it wasn’t for the fact that she always bowed to Madison’s peer pressure, agreeing to anything Madison said without question. Her eyes were wide, her lips slightly parted as she listened to Madison’s voice, her expression a mix of admiration and nervousness. She was shy, but not in a way that was obvious—it was subtle, like she was always trying to blend into the background, making sure she didn’t draw attention to herself.
Angela was wearing a soft grey robe over faded blue pajama bottoms, the fabric worn at the hem where she’d washed it a hundred times. The robe was loose around her waist, the sleeves hanging just past her elbows, and the way it draped over her shoulders made me pause for a second. She looked comfortable, like she was at home in her own skin. Her black hair was pulled into a loose braid that fell over one shoulder, and her green eyes sparkled as she turned to me, her lips curving into a warm smile. There was something about the way she carried herself—like she was both gentle and strong at the same time—that made it clear why my dad had fallen for her. They were both into the same things: books, music, and quiet nights in. They were both kind, too—well, she was kind when Madison wasn’t around.
"Hello!" Madison snapped, her voice sharp and sudden, pulling me out of my thoughts. "I had asked you a question. Did you sleep in the clothes you wore yesterday?" Her eyes narrowed as she took in my rumpled appearance, her gaze lingering on the creases in my shirt and the scuffs on my shoes. I could feel Amy's eyes on me too, her gaze flicking between Madison and me, uncertainty written all over her face.
I blinked, taken aback by Madison's sudden interrogation. "Uh, yeah," I admitted, running a hand through my greasy hair. "I didn't feel like changing last night." I could feel my cheeks flushing, embarrassed by my disheveled state. Madison rolled her eyes, her expression a mix of disgust and amusement.
"Ewww," she said, wrinkling her nose. "It smells like you peed yourself while you slept. Doesn't he, Amy?"
Amy froze, her eyes wide, her fingers tightening around the edge of her coffee mug.
"Doesn't he, Amy?" Madison repeated, her voice dripping with that same venomous sweetness, her eyes cutting to Amy like she was waiting for her to confirm every cruel word.
"Oh... oh yes, he does smell like pee," Amy stammered, her voice cracking just enough to betray her. "And maybe a little poo too."
Madison laughed, a high-pitched, nasal sound that grated against my ears. "Oh my god, Amy, you're so right! It's like he's been rolling around in his own filth all night." She wiped a tear from her eye, her laughter subsiding into a series of giggles that made my skin crawl.
I turned towards Angela, hoping for help, but she was just standing at the stove, her back to us. I could see her shaking her head, her shoulders tense. She was trying to ignore Madison, the way she always did when Madison was being cruel.
*Aren't you going to do something?* I thought at her.
"Madison!" Angela suddenly yelled, her voice sharp and unmistakable. She turned around, her face a mix of concern and anger. "That’s enough!"
The three of us looked at her in shock. I had never seen Angela yell at her daughter before. Madison's eyes widened, her mouth falling open in surprise, her laughter dying on her lips. Amy froze, her eyes darting between Angela and Madison, uncertainty written all over her face.
"Mom?" Madison stammered, her voice suddenly small and defensive. "I was just joking around."
"Joking around?" Angela repeated, her voice still sharp. "There's a fine line between humor and cruelty, Madison, and you've crossed it. Again." She turned to me, her expression softening. "I'm sorry, Tim. I should have put a stop to this sooner."
I blinked, taken aback by Angela's sudden defense of me. I had always been the butt of Madison's jokes, the silent observer in the corner of the room, but Angela had never stepped in before.
Not like this. Not with such force. My stomach twisted, my fingers tightening around my coffee mug until my knuckles turned white.
What changed?
Then I remembered the certificate. According to it, if I pushed my thoughts—my commands—toward someone, they'd follow those commands.
My breath hitched.
Had I done that to Angela? Had I made her stand up for me? That wasn’t possible. Was it?
Madison’s eyes narrowed, her smirk fading into something colder, sharper. “Mom, you’re not even listening to me,” she said, her voice dripping with false innocence. “He’s a loser! Always has been!”
I exhaled sharply, my chest tightening. The coffee in my hands had gone cold. Madison’s words cut deeper than usual—this time, it wasn’t just a joke. It was a dig at my entire existence, the kind that made me feel like I didn’t belong in my own home. I clenched my jaw, my fingers curling around the mug until my knuckles turned white. I had heard it all before, but this time, something inside me snapped.
I tried to send a thought to Angela and waited to see if it worked.
"Madison!" Angela yelled, her voice cutting through the kitchen like a blade. She stepped forward, her green eyes burning with something I’d never seen before—not just anger, but a quiet, dangerous resolve. "Stand up. Right now."
Holy shit. It worked.
Madison’s posture stiffened, her lips parting in shock. She glanced at Amy, who looked like she’d swallowed a fishbone, then back at Angela.
"Why?" Madison asked, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes wide with disbelief. "Mom, what are you doing?"
Angela's expression didn't change. "You heard me, Madison. Stand up and bend over the table. Now."
Madison's face paled, her eyes darting between Angela and me, uncertainty and fear warring in her gaze. She hesitated, her fingers tightening around the edge of the table.
Then, she suddenly straightened her posture.
"No," Madison said, her voice filled with false confidence. "No, I won't. You can't make me." She crossed her arms, her chin lifted in defiance.
"Madison, you better do what I say," Angela warned, her voice low and dangerous. "You went too far."
I could see that Madison was about to try to say something smart, but I pushed *do anything your Mom says* at her.
A few minutes ago, I never believed I would do something like this. But Madison had gone too far at the wrong time. I was so angry, I couldn't stop myself.
Her eyes widened, and she clamped her mouth shut, her gaze flicking to Angela, then back to me. I could see the confusion in her eyes, but she didn't argue. She stood up, her chair scraping loudly against the floor, and bent over the table, her palms pressing flat against the wooden surface. Her ass was sticking out, the hem of her shirt riding up to reveal the smooth, tanned skin of her thighs.
"Are you going to spank me, Mom?" Madison asked, her voice trembling just slightly, her back still bent over the table.
"No," Angela replied, her voice low and firm, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Tim is going to spank you."
"What?" Madison asked in surprise, her eyes darting back and forth between Angela and me.
Amy began to giggle, a soft, nervous sound that made Madison's eyes narrow. Angela turned towards her, her expression stern. "Amy," she said, her voice firm. "I don't know what you're laughing about. You need to stand up and bend over the table too."
Amy's laughter died instantly, her eyes widening in shock. "What? Why?" she stammered, her fingers tightening around the edge of the table.
"Because," Angela replied, her voice leaving no room for argument, "you've been laughing at Tim's expense for too long. It's time you both learn a lesson."
I could see the fear in Amy's eyes, but also a spark of defiance. She glanced at Madison, who was still bent over the table, her ass sticking out, then back at Angela. "But... but I didn't do anything," she protested weakly.
"Exactly," Angela said, her voice cold. "You didn't stop it."
"Neither did you!" Amy’s voice cracked, her face twisting between panic and anger.
I had thought of that. I had considered making Angela bend over the table, too. She was hot. But I would never do that. She and my dad are great together, and they love each other. I didn't want to do anything to jeopardize that.
But Amy was right. Angela hadn't put a stop to it either.
"I know," Angela said, her voice low and final. "I’m sorry, Tim." Her gaze flicked to me, guilt and resignation warring in her eyes. "I’ll get punished later... by your father. But right now," she said, turning back to Madison and Amy. "Tim gets to punish the both of you."
The words hung between us like a physical weight. Madison’s breath hitched, her ass still exposed, the fabric of her shirt riding dangerously high on her thighs.
*Do what Angela says,* I thought at Amy. *Bend over the table.*
Amy’s breath hitched, her fingers trembling as she looked between Madison and me. Her cheeks flushed, her lips parting slightly as she swallowed hard. Then, with a shaky exhale, she straightened up and bent over the table, her ass high in the air, the loose pink t-shirt riding up to reveal the smooth, pale skin of her thighs. The way her back arched, the way her ass stuck out—it was almost too much to take.
Was I really going to do this? A small part of me was begging me to stop.
Memories of Madison's cruelty filled my head. She loved calling me a loser and a creep. She enjoyed talking about how bad I smelled, how she could smell me from across the room. She loved doing it in front of her friends, and they all laughed.
Amy laughed.
I shook the memories away, but the anger remained, simmering just beneath the surface.
I looked at Madison, and Amy bent over the table. There was a mixture of fear and curiosity on their faces.
Madison's eyes were wide, her breath coming in short gasps, while Amy's gaze was fixed on the table, her fingers gripping the edge so tightly her knuckles were white. The hem of their shirts had ridden up, revealing more of their smooth, tanned skin. It was a tantalizing sight, and I could feel my pulse quickening, my anger and arousal mixing into a heady cocktail. The small voice in my head that had been telling me to stop was now silent, drowned out by the pounding of my heart.
Fuck it.
I reached for the hem of Madison's shirt.
Her breath hitched as I tugged it up slowly, exposing her smooth, tanned thighs. The fabric of her lacy black panties was visible now, the delicate lace barely containing the curve of her ass. The sight made my stomach clench, my fingers tightening around the edge of the table.
"Tim?" Madison whispered, her voice trembling.
I didn’t answer.
My hand came down hard on Madison's ass, the sound of the slap echoing through the kitchen. Her body jerked forward, a sharp gasp escaping her lips. The red handprint on her skin was stark against her tanned flesh, a testament to the force I'd used. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps. I had never hit anyone before, and the sensation was both exhilarating and terrifying.
"Ow!" Madison yelped, her body jerking forward. The sound of her breath hitching filled the kitchen, her fingers digging into the edge of the table. I could see the flush of embarrassment creeping up her neck, her cheeks burning bright red.
I didn’t stop. My hand came down again, and again, each slap echoing through the kitchen like a drumbeat. Madison's yelps began to change, the sharp, shocked cries morphing into something else. Something... deeper. Something that made my stomach clench and my heart pound. Her yelps became more... breathy. More... needy. I could see her body tensing, her back arching with each slap, her ass pressing back against my hand. I could see the flush spreading across her skin, the way her breath was coming in short, sharp gasps. I could see the way her thighs were pressing together, the way her hips were moving, just slightly, with each slap. I could see the way her panties were growing damp, the dark stain spreading across the lace.
I could hear the way her breath was hitching, the soft moans that were escaping her lips. I could feel the way her body was pressing back against my hand, her ass moving in time with each slap. I could see the way her thighs were quivering, the way her fingers were digging into the table. I could see the way her eyes were closed, her lips parted, her face flushed with pleasure.
That's when I decided to stop spanking her. I wanted to leave her wanting more, to make her crave my touch. I wanted her to think about this moment, about the way her body had responded to my touch, about the way she had begged for more. I wanted her to wonder why I had stopped, to drive her crazy with anticipation.
I switched my attention to Amy. She was still bent over the table, her body tense, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
I lifted the hem of Amy's shirt, revealing her pink panties with little red hearts. She gasped, her body tensing as she realized what was coming. I could see the way her ass was clenching, the way her thighs were pressing together. She was nervous, but there was something else there too.
I raised my hand and brought it down hard on her ass. The sound of the slap echoed through the kitchen, and Amy's body jerked forward. She let out a sharp cry, her fingers digging into the table. I could see the red handprint on her skin, stark against her pale flesh. I could see the way her body was tensing, her back arching as she tried to absorb the impact. I could see the way her breath was coming in short, sharp gasps, her chest heaving as she tried to regain control.
I didn't give her time to recover. I brought my hand down again, and again, each slap echoing through the kitchen like a drumbeat.
Amy’s cries were softer than Madison’s, but no less desperate. Her body was trembling, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. The way her ass was turning red under my palm made me feel powerful, like I had control over something I never thought I would.
"Please," Amy whimpered, her voice barely audible. "Please, Tim, don't—Ow! Stop."
I laughed. Was she begging me to stop? Or was she pleading for me to keep going? I'm not sure if Amy knew either.
It didn't matter. I didn't stop. My hand came down again, and again, each slap echoing through the kitchen like a drumbeat. She started to move her ass back to meet each slap, a silent plea for more. The sight of her ass moving, the way her body was responding to my touch, was almost too much to bear.
I stopped spanking Amy, my hand lingering on her ass for a moment before I pulled it away. Her breath was still coming in sharp gasps, her fingers still gripping the edge of the table, her cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and arousal. I could see the way her body was trembling, the way her thighs were pressed together, the way her panties were damp with desire.
I knew Amy wanted more. I knew it would make her crazy that I stopped.
I moved back to Madison. My fingers brushed the waistband of her panties, my touch light but deliberate. "May I?" I asked Angela, already knowing her answer. The question hung in the air, a silent challenge to her authority.
"Of course," she answered, her voice firm but not unkind. "It's only a proper spanking if the ass is bare."