Chapter 11
Grace
The next morning I chose an ivory lingerie set that seemed a little more elegant than most of the others Selecta had put in my now embarrassingly full underwear drawer.
Mostly satin rather than lace—though with some lovely trim—it felt almost protective against my skin as I dressed in the cream-colored shift dress I’d noticed in the closet yesterday for the first time.
In the mirror, I looked a bit more sophisticated than usual, though definitely still on the innocent side of sophistication.
The thought of Scott seeing me that way brought a blush to my cheeks, and I turned quickly away.
But Scott, I learned from Kara, was traveling today.
He would be back tomorrow for our meeting, she assured me, but I could work on my coursework in the time I would usually be attending to his secretarial needs.
I tried to keep the pink from my face when Kara mentioned my meeting—the one where I would have to bring the panties in their plastic bags—but I thought she had probably noticed, because she had a knowing smile on her lips when we passed in the hall later on.
I honestly tried to work on the mission statement that Sharon had assigned, but my mind refused to stop dwelling on the title of the video I knew I would have to watch tonight. Ruth’s Punishment.
The hours dragged by with agonizing slowness.
I stared at my computer screen, the cursor blinking mockingly in the middle of a half-formed sentence about Selecta’s commitment to traditional values.
How could I focus on corporate platitudes when those two words kept echoing in my mind?
Ruth’s Punishment. Not Debbie’s punishment, not another training session, but Ruth herself being disciplined.
The foster mother who had seemed so in control, who had administered corrections with such maternal authority.
My fingers drummed nervously on my desk as I tried to imagine what Ruth could have done to warrant punishment.
The possibilities made my insides flutter with that familiar, unwanted anticipation.
Would Abe use his belt on his wife? Would Debbie be forced to watch?
The questions circled endlessly, making productive work impossible.
By lunch, I’d managed only three paragraphs of corporate nonsense.
The cafeteria’s daily special—grilled salmon with quinoa—sat untouched on my tray as I picked at the edges, my appetite completely gone.
The other interns chatted around me about weekend plans and office gossip, but their voices felt distant, muffled by the roaring in my ears.
“Grace?” A hand touched my shoulder, making me jump. One of the other interns, a brunette named Jessica, looked at me with concern. “You okay? You seem really distracted today.”
“Just tired,” I managed, forcing a smile that felt brittle on my face. If only she knew what occupied my thoughts—the shameful videos I’d already watched, the soaked panties sealed in bags in my apartment, the obscene, impossibly arousing story that waited for me tonight.
I fled back to my cubicle as soon as I could, but the afternoon proved even worse. Every time someone walked past, I minimized my work, terrified they might somehow see into my mind, might know what I was thinking about. When Kara stopped by to check on me, I could barely meet her eyes.
At three o’clock I got a notification in my email that Scott had left a comment on my latest report, the one about Morning Corrections.
My cheeks burned as I opened the document.
He had put the comment on the passage where I had suggested that Abe should have said that Debbie’s tight little cunt had gotten wet.
The comment consisted of two words: Excellent work.
The praise brought an instant warmth to my chest, but that pride itself—and a dismaying, perverse surge of genuine affection for my new boss—made my face burn with fresh humiliation.
He’d read my degrading words about Debbie’s ‘tight little cunt,’ had approved of them, wanted more.
The ivory satin of my bra suddenly felt too tight, too warm against my skin.
At four-thirty, I gave up any pretense of working.
I saved my pathetic attempt at a mission statement and began shutting down my computer.
My hands shook as I gathered my things, the tablet weighing heavily in my bag.
The shuttle ride home felt endless, every bump and turn reminding me of what waited.
The moment my apartment door closed behind me, I went straight to the bedroom.
No dinner, no pretense of delaying. I couldn’t bear the anticipation any longer.
My fingers fumbled with the zipper of my dress, and I let it fall to the floor in a heap.
The ivory lingerie looked almost virginal in the mirror, a stark contrast to the depraved thoughts racing through my mind.
I grabbed the tablet and settled onto the bed, my heart already pounding. Ruth’s Punishment. My finger trembled as I pressed play.
The scene opened in what looked like the same study where Debbie had first been inspected.
But this time, Ruth stood in the center of the room, her hands clasped in front of her, head bowed.
She wore a simple housedress that I recognized from the previous videos.
Abe sat behind his desk, his expression stern.
“Do you know why you’re here, Ruth?” His voice carried a weight that made my tummy flip.
“Yes, sir,” Ruth whispered, and hearing her use that deferential tone sent a shock through me. This was the woman who had so brazenly guided Debbie’s training, who had administered punishments with maternal authority.
“Tell me,” Abe commanded.
Ruth’s face flushed deep red. “I… I overspent on clothes shopping. fifty dollars over our agreed budget.”
My hand drifted to my breast, fingers finding my nipple through the satin as I watched Abe stand and move around the desk. The dynamic had shifted completely. Ruth was no longer an authority figure but a wife who had transgressed.
“And what did we agree would happen if you exceeded the budget again?” Abe asked, his hand lifting Ruth’s chin to force eye contact.
“That I would… that I’d get… the belt,” Ruth said, her voice barely audible.
“Just like Debbie does,” Abe agreed, nodding. “And?”
“That… that Debbie would… would watch me get it.”
My breath caught. The camera panned to show Debbie sitting in a chair in the corner, her eyes wide with a mixture of shock and something else—something that looked dangerously like arousal. She wore the white dress from her first day or one just like it, her hands folded primly in her lap.
“Remove your dress,” Abe instructed his wife.
I pressed my thighs together as Ruth obeyed with trembling fingers, revealing practical white underwear—so different from the lingerie I wore. Abe’s expression remained impassive as he pointed to the desk.
“Bend over. Debbie, come here.”
The younger woman approached hesitantly, her face flushed. “Yes, sir?”
“You’re going to count the strokes,” Abe said, removing his belt with the same clearly practiced motion I’d seen before. “And you’re going to understand that everyone in this household is subject to discipline when they misbehave—just as your husband will keep you in line.”
My fingers had found their way inside my panties now, circling my clit as I watched Ruth position herself over the desk. The first lash from the belt made her cry out, her composure cracking immediately.
“One,” Debbie said, her voice high and uncertain.
The camera captured Ruth’s knuckles going white as she gripped the desk’s edge.
Her practical cotton panties had been pulled down to her knees, and I could see the angry red stripe already forming across her pale bottom.
The sight made my fingers move faster against my swollen clit, the ivory satin of my panties already growing damp.
“Louder,” Abe commanded, bringing the belt down again with a sharp crack that echoed through the study.
“Two!” Debbie called out more clearly, and I noticed how her breathing had quickened, how she shifted her weight from foot to foot as if fighting her own body’s response.
By the fifth stroke, Ruth had begun to sob openly, all her maternal authority stripped away. She looked so vulnerable, so human, bent over that desk with her bottom turning progressively darker shades of red. The contrast with her role in the previous videos made my head spin with arousal.
“Please, sir,” Ruth gasped after the tenth stroke. “I’m so sorry. I won’t overspend again.”
“We’re only halfway done,” Abe said calmly, and the belt whistled through the air again.
“Eleven!” Debbie’s voice had taken on a breathy quality that I recognized all too well. The camera caught her pressing her thighs together, her hands no longer folded primly but clutching the fabric of her dress at her sides.
I slipped my fingers inside myself, gasping at how wet I’d become. The ivory panties might be ruined, but I didn’t care. All I could focus on was Ruth’s complete submission, the way her hips had begun to move slightly after each stroke, not just from pain but from something else.
“Look at this,” Abe said suddenly, pausing after the fifteenth stroke. His fingers traced between Ruth’s legs, and when he held them up to the camera, they glistened with her arousal. “My wife is getting wet from her punishment. Just like a certain young lady we know.”
The camera swung to Debbie, whose face had gone scarlet. “I… sir…”
“It’s natural,” Abe said, his tone almost professorial as he delivered the sixteenth stroke. “Women need discipline. Their bodies understand this even when their minds resist.”
“Sixteen!” Debbie gasped, and I saw her hand drift unconsciously toward her lap before she caught herself.
I worked my fingers deeper, curling them to find that needy spot that Scott had discovered so easily. The memory of his fingers in my bottom while I came made me whimper, and I found myself wishing desperately that I had something to fill that aching emptiness.
The final strokes were delivered with methodical precision, each one drawing increasingly desperate sounds from Ruth. By twenty, she was practically writhing over the desk, her bottom a canvas of overlapping welts.
“Twenty,” Debbie whispered, her voice thick with obvious arousal.
I watched, transfixed, as Abe pulled Ruth up from the desk, her legs barely supporting her. He guided her to his leather desk chair and sat her down on it.
“No, sir,” Ruth begged desperately. “Please, no… not… not in front of Debbie? Not on my… not with her here?”
I swallowed hard as I began to understand, watching Ruth shake with fear.
“Do you want more, Ruth?” Abe asked sternly. “You know what you’re getting, and you’re not getting out of it.”
Abe hooked his hands under Ruth’s knees and pulled them up and apart, exposing her shaved pussy and bottom-hole completely.
Her plain white panties were still tangled around one ankle, and the position left nothing hidden.
I could see how swollen and wet she was, her arousal glistening in the study’s warm lighting.
“Debbie,” Abe said, his voice taking on that instructional tone again. “Come closer. You need to see this part of a wife’s correction.”
Debbie moved forward as if in a trance, her eyes fixed on Ruth’s exposed sex. She stood just a few feet away, close enough that the camera could capture both her mesmerized expression and Ruth’s vulnerable position in the same frame.
Abe picked up something from his desk—a thin leather strap, different from his belt. More like a ruler but flexible. My heart skipped a beat as I realized what was about to happen.
“When a wife’s arousal during punishment becomes excessive,” Abe explained calmly, as if lecturing to a classroom, “additional measures are sometimes necessary. Watch carefully, Debbie.”
The first lash of the leather strap on Ruth’s exposed pussy made her scream. Not a cry or a sob like before, but a raw, primal scream that made me jerk my fingers out of myself in shock. The camera zoomed in, showing the immediate redness blooming across her most sensitive flesh.
“That’s one,” Abe said conversationally, though his wife writhed desperately over the seat of the chair, trying instinctively to close her legs. His grip remained firm, keeping her splayed open. “Two more.”
The second lash landed with vicious precision, and Ruth’s scream broke into desperate sobs. “Please! Oh, God, please, sir, I can’t—”
“You can and you will,” Abe said firmly. “Debbie, what do you observe?”
Debbie’s voice came out strangled. “She’s… she’s getting wetter, sir. Even though it hurts.”
“Exactly.” The third stroke was the hardest, the leather making a wet sound as it connected with Ruth’s soaked flesh.
Her entire body convulsed, and then, to my complete shock, she climaxed.
Hard. Her back arched against the back of the chair as waves of orgasm crashed through her, her cries shifting from pain to unmistakable release.