Chapter 12
Grace
I sat frozen on my bed, my hand still between my legs but unmoving, too stunned by what I was witnessing.
The intensity of Ruth’s punishment had me in an almost trance-like state, my body aching with a need I couldn’t quite comprehend.
I had never had my pussy spanked or whipped, and the idea of it seemed both terrifying and intoxicating.
The mix of pleasure and pain that Ruth experienced was something I could barely fathom, yet it sent a surge of heat through me that I couldn’t ignore.
Debbie stood there, her eyes wide with a mixture of shock and arousal.
I could see her thighs pressing together, her hands toying with the fabric of her dress in a way that made me swallow hard.
She was obviously just as turned on as I was, maybe even more so, because she was right there, witnessing it all firsthand.
The scent of my own arousal filled the air, making me feel faint with the overwhelming need building inside me.
Abe didn’t give Ruth any reprieve. As she slumped in the chair, still trembling from her orgasm, he pulled her up off the chair, then turned her around and bent her over. He made her support herself on her elbows atop the leather seat, her back arched and her knees bent.
Abe’s hands gripped his wife’s hips, pulling her back slightly so that she could present herself even more fully over the chair, her bottom still bright red and the tiny button of her anus much too visible.
I watched in disbelief as he undid his belt and lowered his pants, revealing his thick, erect cock.
He was going to fuck her, and I knew with a terrible certainty that he didn’t mean to comfort Ruth with his tool in her pussy.
He didn’t mean to fuck her anywhere so pleasurable for her—Abe meant to take her anally, to complete her punishment.
Ruth began to sob again, but in her cries I could hear unmistakable lust, the evidence that told me she needed this final humiliation.
It was a completion of her punishment, an act of complete submission that would leave her utterly degraded and yet fulfilled.
I pressed my fingers back inside myself, working them feverishly as I watched Abe position himself at the wrinkly pink entrance to his wife’s whipped bottom.
“Debbie,” Abe commanded, his voice firm and unyielding. “Pull your training panties down and hike your dress up so I can see your sweet little cunt. You’re going to play with yourself as you find out the full extent of a wife’s duties.”
Debbie hesitated for only a moment before complying.
She reached under her dress with both hands and drew the thick panties down to her knees.
She took the hem of the dress in her left hand and raised it up while she put her right in front of her shaven pussy, the fingers clearly trembling in the close-up on my screen—as if she desperately wanted to play with herself but still couldn’t quite bring herself to do it.
At last, with a little cry, as Abe’s hard penis pressed more firmly at his wife’s smallest opening, and Ruth cried out in mingled alarm and arousal, Debbie’s fingers pressed inward. She let out a sob of helpless pleasure.
The sight of her obeying, of her surrendering to her own arousal, sent another wave of heat through me. As she began to rub frantically at her clit, I was masturbating just as fervently as she was, my body on fire with need.
Abe pulled back half a step. He spat on his hand and pumped his cock to ready himself.
He put the head of his rigid tool up against the tiny hole again.
Ruth sobbed and shuddered, and the camera caught the little push back she made with her hips, the slight surge of her bottom that I knew from terrible experience meant she had pushed that mortifying way—the way a good wife lets her husband into her asshole.
Abe thrust into Ruth’s punished bottom with a single, forceful motion, and she screamed—a sound part pain, part ecstasy.
He didn’t hold back, didn’t give her time to adjust. He fucked her hard and fast, his hips slamming against her red, welted backside.
Ruth’s cries filled the room, a clamor of submission and desperate need.
I couldn’t look away. My fingers moved in rhythm with Abe’s thrusts, my body echoing Ruth’s cries with my own gasps and moans. The sight of him taking her so roughly in her most private hole moved me in a way I could barely understand.
I couldn’t believe I was watching this. The camera captured every detail of Ruth’s complete submission—the way her fingers clawed at the leather chair, how her body jerked with each brutal thrust, the tears streaming down her face even as desperate moans escaped her lips.
My own fingers worked frantically down there, the ivory satin of my panties soaked through now. Remembering how naughty it had felt before, I gathered the front of them into a rope and pulled it against my clit, working the bunched, sopping fabric between my private lips.
“Tell Debbie what this means,” Abe commanded his wife, never slowing his punishing rhythm. “Tell her what happens to wives who misbehave.”
Ruth sobbed, her voice broken and raw. “This is… oh, God… this is what naughty wives get. When we forget our place… when we disobey… our husbands have to… have to use our bottoms to teach us who’s in charge.”
I bit down hard on my lip, my free hand gripping the sheets as my arousal built to an unbearable peak.
The words should have horrified me, but instead they sent lightning through my core.
I remembered Jacob’s cock there, always seeming hesitant, nothing like this complete claiming that Abe was demonstrating.
On screen, Debbie’s fingers moved faster, her face flushed crimson as she watched her foster mother’s anal punishment.
She was close—I could see it in the way her thighs trembled, how her breath came in short gasps.
We seemed synchronized somehow, three women bound by this moment of absolute degradation.
“Please, sir,” Ruth begged, though I couldn’t tell if she was pleading for him to stop or continue. “I’ll be good. I’ll follow the budget. I’ll—”
“You’ll take what you’re given,” Abe interrupted, driving particularly deep and making her scream. “And Debbie will learn exactly what marriage means. Won’t you, Debbie?”
“Yes, sir,” Debbie gasped, her fingers working desperately at her clit. “I understand. Wives must… must submit completely.”
That did it. My orgasm crashed over me just as Ruth screamed through another climax, her body convulsing around Abe’s punishing cock.
I pressed my face into the pillow to muffle my cries, my hips bucking wildly as waves of pleasure mixed with burning shame.
Through my haze, I heard Debbie’s soft cry as she came too, all three of us together in this moment of complete surrender.
Abe finished with a growl, burying himself deep in his wife’s whipped bottom. The camera lingered on Ruth’s face—tearstained, exhausted, but with an expression of something like peace. She’d been corrected, claimed, put firmly back in her place.
As the scene faded to black, I lay gasping on my bed, the tablet sliding onto the mattress beside me.
My panties were in desperate shape, the delicate fabric stretched as well as sopping with my juices.
With trembling fingers, I drew them off, the ivory satin adhering slightly to my bare pussy lips as I drew it away from my body.
I held the drenched garment in unsteady hands, my eyes drawn inexorably to the gusset where the evidence of my shameful arousal had pooled.
The delicate fabric was darkened, twisted from where I’d pulled it against myself so desperately.
I knew I shouldn’t, knew it was wrong, but my hands seemed to move of their own accord, bringing the soaked panties closer to my face.
The scent hit me immediately—musky, intimate, undeniably feminine.
My body clenched with fresh need despite the orgasm that had just racked me, a whimper escaping my lips as I inhaled deeply.
The smell of my own arousal, concentrated in the ruined satin, made my head swim.
I pressed the damp fabric against my nose, breathing in the evidence of what Ruth’s punishment had done to me, how watching her complete degradation had affected me.
“Oh, God,” I whispered against the panties, my free hand drifting back between my legs to find myself still swollen, still sensitive, still shamefully wet. The knowledge that Scott might be watching this moment of private depravity only intensified the heat building again in my core.
With shaking hands, I sealed the panties in their plastic bag, labeling it carefully, though in shaky handwriting.
Three bags now. Three pieces of evidence of my descent into this world of submission and humiliation, so different from the one I had known as a New Modesty girl myself.
Tomorrow I would have to hand them to Scott, would have to sit in his office knowing he could see the evidence of my need through the plastic, knowing exactly what I’d done to create each stain.
I grabbed my laptop before my body could betray me further, pulling the sheet over my naked lower half as I began to type. The words came more easily now, my inhibitions lowered by the intensity of what I’d just witnessed and experienced.
Video Analysis: Ruth’s Punishment
The reversal of authority in this scene creates exceptional psychological complexity.
Ruth’s transition from disciplinarian to disciplined wife demonstrates the universal nature of female submission within the household structure.
The addition of Debbie as witness/participant elevates the training aspect significantly.
I paused, my fingers hovering over the keys as I remembered Scott’s comment about being specific. He wanted details, wanted me to articulate the degrading dialogue that made these scenes so effective. My face burned as I continued:
The anal punishment sequence is particularly powerful as it represents complete claiming and correction.
However, the narrative could be enhanced by introducing external elements.
For instance, Abe might arrange a meeting with a potential suitor for Debbie—perhaps showing the young man footage of Debbie masturbating during Ruth’s punishment.
This would serve multiple purposes: establishing the suitor’s authority before formal courtship begins, demonstrating Debbie’s responsiveness to discipline scenarios, and deepening her humiliation through exposure of her most private moments.
I bit my lip, imagining such a scene. Debbie sitting in that same study, watching a video of herself touching her shaven pussy desperately while her foster mother got it in the ass.
A handsome man in his thirties sitting beside Abe, both of them observing her reaction as she squirmed with mortification.
My fingers flew across the keyboard, the scenario becoming more vivid in my mind:
The suitor could be invited to comment on specific aspects of Debbie’s arousal response—perhaps noting how her fingers moved more urgently when Ruth screamed, or how her thighs trembled when Abe first penetrated his wife anally.
This clinical discussion of her most intimate responses, conducted as if she weren’t present, would reinforce the power dynamic essential to the New Modesty courtship structure.
Additionally, Abe might have the suitor demonstrate his disciplinary capabilities by having him administer a ‘mild’ correction to Debbie for her wanton display during Ruth’s punishment—perhaps ten strokes with his hand while she remains in position with her training panties down, forced to thank him after each one while Ruth also watches, kneeling at Abe’s feet.
I saved the document and closed my laptop, my body still thrumming with residual arousal.
Tomorrow’s meeting with Scott loomed in my mind—the plastic bags I’d have to hand over, the discussion we’d have about my reports, the possibility that he might make me watch something with him.
The thought made me clench involuntarily.
I padded naked to the bathroom, avoiding my reflection in the mirror.
The shower’s hot water did little to wash away the feeling of shame that clung to my skin.
As I toweled off, I caught sight of the dresser drawer where tomorrow’s lingerie waited.
I would have to choose something, wouldn’t I?
Something Scott would be sure to see, because of course he would raise my skirt… fondle my pussy and my bottom… make me…
With a little whimper I pushed the thoughts away.
Back in my bedroom, I pulled on a simple cotton nightgown—one of the few modest items that had made it into my new wardrobe.
But even its familiar softness couldn’t quiet my racing thoughts.
I kept imagining Scott reading my report, seeing my suggestion about Debbie’s humiliation, perhaps deciding to implement something similar with me.
Would he show someone a video of me touching myself?
The thought should have been horrifying, but instead I felt that treacherous warmth beginning below my waist again.
I pressed my thighs together hard, remembering the rule against touching myself without permission.
The frustration of denied release only intensified my arousal, creating a vicious cycle that kept me tossing and turning for hours.
When I finally drifted off, my dreams were filled with leather straps and firm hands, with Scott’s voice commanding me to spread wider, to take more, to thank him for my correction.