Weeping Willow (Spanking Story)

Chapter 1, Part 1: Owen's POV

How old did one have to be to be emancipated? I would be sixteen this May; that wasn't too far away. Three months was nothing! I could sleep for three months if my brothers would let me. Maybe I could get a Hardship License or something—Penny could pass as disabled or psychotic. The DPS would totally eat it up and probably even land me on Oprah or Ellen. Yeah, I had a troubled life. Feel free to feel sorry for me (cash only).

See, everyone thinks living in the United States means that you're automatically entitled to freedom. However, this thing called the four branches of government comes in and takes all your rights away just because you're not a certain age. I paid attention in American History enough to pick up on how those four branches work, and maybe when I'm elected President one day by the Electoral College—whatever that was—I'll fix all that and make sure everyone truly has freedom to do what they want.

Right now, unfortunately, I was residing under the dictatorship known as BDC—Ben, Dana and Cooper.

I think I'd finally crossed some invisible line of trust that I couldn't seem to jump back over. I had officially downgraded myself to being watched like a hawk because of all of the shit I pulled last semester.

But did it help that I'd been generally well behaved for the past three or four months? No breaking the law, no fights, at least ​passing ​my classes? Of course not. Nothing was ever enough for my hardass brothers.

That's why I was so eager to just become independent and raise myself. I could do a hell of a lot better job than they were currently doing!

Teenagers need room to breathe, to branch out and live a little. They were meant to make mistakes. My brothers treated me like I was already some sort of felon that couldn't be trusted. I guess they expected me to be just like Perfect Penny. I must have been the only Kherrington born without a stick in their ass.

Lucky me.

No wonder my parents weren't ever mentioned; once you had a track record in my family, it followed you around forever. I expected my coffin to say "Here lies Owen Kherrington: drug dealer, compulsive liar, serious slacker, and failure at everything but soccer. Take a look at his sister's grave—it's so much better."

Speaking of Penny, I had no idea what the hell had gotten into her lately. She'd always been better at school than me, but never to this extent. Since she had quit soccer, she hadn't done much but study. Sure, every once in a while she'd go out, but not nearly as much as she did last semester. I wasn't sure if she had any friends left with the lack of a social life she was keeping up.

I didn't really feel sorry for her. She brought it upon herself. If the most important thing in the world to her was pleasing our damn brothers, then props to her. She'd thoroughly succeeded.

I thanked God I lived on campus and not at home with the Three Musketeers. Danny did a pretty good job of keeping me sane.

Because soccer was nearing its end, I had more free time on my hands. Ideally, this meant hanging out and binging on video games with friends. But I didn't live in an ideal world. To my brothers, this free time provided the perfect opportunity for "family bonding." Gag.

It was Thursday—our designated family night. It was the one day of the week where none of my brothers had things going on during the evening. So, by default, any plans Penny or me (who was I kidding, just me) had were effectively thwarted. We were supposed to all eat dinner together and then hang out afterwards, maybe play a board game. However, most of the time it turned into tutoring sessions in which I would get the lecture on why a C may be passing, but it's not acceptable. Honestly, what professional soccer player needed to know how to use a freaking protractor?