Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 75898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
“Let… me… know,” Mr. Carpenter said in a grim tone of voice, as if he had no desire to extend this terrible lesson, but he had no doubt that I needed it, “when… you’re…”
Each word carried a lash from the strap. My bottom cheeks clenched and unclenched, trying to make it feel just a tiny bit better.
“I’m ready!” I yelled. “Sir! I’m ready!”
In comparison to the agony my foster father had meted out to my rear end, the embarrassment of them seeing that I had no panties on seemed completely preferable.
The whipping stopped. His arm loosened.
“Alright,” he said, his voice rough but satisfied. “Show me, Grace. Get those jeans and panties down.”
“I…” I said. “Sir, I…”
Mr. Carpenter’s arm started to tighten again.
“I’m not wearing panties!” I shouted into the cushion. “I’m… I’m… sorry?”
“Oh,” he said. His tone had surprise in it. I wondered, with a flare of heat in my face, whether he was trying to suppress a smile, or even a laugh.
“Oh, honey,” I heard Shelly say, from further away.
“Why is that?” Mr. Carpenter asked, his voice gruff.
“Jake!” his wife said, surprising me and confusing me again. She had seemed so subservient and submissive when she asked him to punish me over the top of my jeans, and now she sounded… well, like a regular kind of wife. “What kind of question is that? She’s never lived in a proper household. I bet she didn’t have any clean ones because she hadn’t gone to the laundromat or whatever folks do in the city. Is that right, Grace?”
“Yes,” I said, turning my face to the side to make my voice more audible. I couldn’t see anything but the hearth and the fireplace, which made the whole conversation even stranger. Then, hardly even thinking about it, I corrected myself. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Well,” Mr. Carpenter said, “in this house you’ll wear underwear like decent folks. Your foster mama will get you some at the store tomorrow, so you’ll have enough, and you’ll be doing the laundry on a regular schedule as well. Go ahead and get those jeans down anyway, though. I won’t whip you extra tonight for not having panties on, but next time that’s ten extra licks.”
I bit my lip and turned my face back toward the cushion. I didn’t want my foster father—Jake, I remembered, wondering if I’d be able to think of him that way—seeing just how bright a shade of red my face could get. I reached under my tummy and found the button of my jeans. For a moment I pretended to fumble with it while I really tried to think of some way, any way, I could avoid baring my ass to this strange, strong, handsome farmer’s eyes.
He shifted his arm a little—I didn’t know whether he meant it as a signal he would start in with the strap again, or he was only adjusting a bit, but it sent a thrill of fear through me that made me unfasten the button instantly. Then, biting my lip to keep from whimpering at the terribly ambiguous feeling, I started to lower my jeans.
CHAPTER 7
Jake
As Grace’s little bottom came into view, slightly pink from the strap, I couldn’t help but feel grateful for the New Modesty’s wisdom in sending her to Shelly and me. Once I’d managed to train the girl up a bit, and make certain she understood what it meant to submit to a man’s authority, I knew Shelly and I would have a fine time teaching her about the softer side of a girl’s obedience to her elders. Grace’s bottom, and the sweet virgin pussy whose bewitching lips I could spy just peeking out between her thighs, would become places both for discipline and for the sort of pleasure she had quite obviously never imagined she could receive in such an old-fashioned household.
Who knew how the administrators at the New Modesty program figured out that girls like Grace needed the very special kind of care Shelly and I could give? Grace herself had very clearly only just begun to realize that strict family discipline represented the best way for her to grow up properly into a responsible, happy young woman.
I could read the signs very clearly though: in her whimpering cries, in her alternating resistance and submission, and above all in the way her body moved under my arm when I whipped her adorable butt—in all of her responses to her first taste of real correction I sensed precisely what I had found in Shelly, back when I had courted my gorgeous bride, under the maiden name of Miss Michelle Walters. These days, as Mrs. Jacob Carpenter, she earned herself a whipping almost as often as she had done back when we were courting, fifteen years before, and neither of us minded.
Back then, I had asked her daddy’s permission to bare her eighteen-year-old bottom and correct her there, when she sassed me. His response had set us on the path that had led to our happy home.