Page 42 of His to Correct

With shaking hands, I reached for the zipper at the back of my dress. I fumbled with it for a moment before managing to pull it down. The fabric whispered against my skin as I let the dress fall to the floor, pooling around my feet. I stood there in just the bra, garter belt, and stockings that Stuart had sent, a present that a greedy boy hadn’t been able to wait to start unwrapping. I thought of my tiny panties, in his jacket pocket. My hands balled into little fists as I fought to keep them from moving forward to hide the smooth, bare cleft of my much too needy pussy.

Stuart’s eyes raked over my body, his gaze hot and appreciative. I felt my nipples tighten under his scrutiny, and a fresh wave of arousal flooded my core. Again I felt the urge to cover myself, to hide from his intense stare. But a deeper, more primal part of mereveled in his attention, suddenly wanting to display myself for his pleasure.

The first girl he’s told the doorman about.It seemed such an odd thing to feel pride about, but I did.

“Pile two pillows in the middle of the bed,” Stuart instructed, his voice low and commanding. “Then lie over them. I’m going to whip you now.”

My heart raced as I moved to obey, grabbing two plump pillows from the head of the bed. With trembling hands I arranged them in the center, acutely aware of Stuart’s eyes on me. I could feel the weight of his gaze as it traveled over my nearly naked body, lingering on the curves of my breasts and hips, the roundness of my bare bottom, framed by the white suspender straps.

As I bent to position the pillows, I felt the cool air against my exposed sex. I blushed fiercely, knowing Stuart could see how wet I was, how ready my body was for whatever he chose to do to me. I bit my lip as the realization brought a new surge of need thrilling through my pussy.

Once the pillows were in place, I hesitated for just a moment before I climbed onto the bed and draped myself over them. My tummy crawled with fear, and getting my punishment over with suddenly seemed the only available option. I thought of Grace and Georgette, of all the New Modesty girls who learned their lessons this way, corrected by their suitors’ firm hands and stout belts. Over the pillows, my bottom raised and presented for Stuart’s attention, my breasts pressed into the soft bedding, I turned my head to the side, resting my cheek against the cool sheets, and waited.

I heard Stuart move behind me, the soft whisper of his footsteps on the plush carpet. Then I felt his hand on my lower back, warm and steady. His touch sent shivers through my body, and I had to fight the urge to push back against him, seeking more contact.

“You look beautiful like this,” Stuart murmured, his fingers tracing the curve of my spine. “So obedient, so ready for your punishment.”

I whimpered softly at his words, squirming slightly against the pillows. The position pushed my hips up, making me even more aware of my exposure. I could practically sense Stuart’s gaze on my most intimate places.

“Yes, sir,” I whispered, thinking of how submissively Mandy had said,Yes, miss, to me. My turn had come around again, to be punished and used, in what suddenly began to seem to me a kind of infinite game.

Stuart’s hand left my back, and I heard the soft snap of leather as he adjusted his grip on the belt. My whole body tensed in anticipation, every nerve ending seeming to tingle with a mixture of fear and excitement.

“I’m going to whip you until I’m satisfied with the state of your backside,” he told me. “There’s no need to count. You were a naughty girl and you didn’t take off your panties when I told you to. Now you’ll learn obedience the hard way.”

CHAPTER 21

Melissa

Stuart brought the belt down across my upturned bottom with a sharp crack. I gasped at the sudden, stinging pain, my body jerking involuntarily. Before I could fully process the sensation, another stroke landed, slightly lower.

I gritted my teeth, determined to take my punishment stoically. But as Stuart continued to whip me, the pain built rapidly. Each lash seemed to ignite a fire across my skin, the heat spreading and intensifying with every stroke.

At first, I managed to stay mostly still, only small gasps and whimpers escaping my lips. But as the whipping went on, I found myself struggling to maintain my position. My hips began to twist and squirm, instinctively trying to avoid the punishing blows.

“Stay still,” Stuart commanded, his voice stern. When I continued to writhe, he placed his left hand firmly on my lower back, holding me in place as he kept whipping me with his right.

The feeling of being restrained, of being utterly at Stuart’s mercy, sent a confusing rush of arousal through me even as tears began to form in my eyes. Each crack of the belt across my tender flesh made me cry out, the pain sharp and intense.

I couldn’t tell how long the whipping went on. Time seemed to lose all meaning as my world narrowed to the rhythmic fall of the belt and the burning ache spreading across my bottom and thighs. Tears streamed down my face as I sobbed openly, no longer able to contain my reactions.

Even as I cried and pleaded, I felt something familiar—somehow both unwelcome and deeply gratifying, even necessary—shifting deep inside me. A strange sense of peace began to settle over me, as if the pain were burning away all my doubts and hesitations. I found myself relaxing into the punishment, my head bowed as I accepted each stroke.

Suddenly, I remembered Stuart’s exact words, a few moments before, and I saw the deeper lesson he intended to teach. He wanted me to experience what it was like for the NMB girls, to understand on a visceral level the submission and forbidden desire they felt. As that understanding washed over me, I felt myself surrender completely to the experience.

The whipping finally stopped. I lay there, panting and trembling, my bottom feeling as if it were on fire. I was vaguely aware of Stuart moving around, the soft rustle of clothing suggesting he was undressing. Then I felt the bed dip as he climbed onto it behind me.

Gently, my master—I couldn’t help thinking of him that way, no matter how the remaining logical part of my brain tried to stop me—began to caress my punished flesh. His touch was soothingnow, his fingers tracing the welts he had raised. I whimpered softly as he explored lower, brushing over my swollen pussy lips.

“Such a good girl,” Stuart murmured, his voice thick with desire. “Taking your punishment so beautifully. You’ve pleased me very much, Melissa.”

His praise sent a wave of warmth through me, different from the burning in my bottom but no less intense. I felt myself rapidly getting wetter under his ministrations, my body responding eagerly to his touch despite the very different fire his belt had brought only a few moments before.

Stuart’s fingers continued to work me, so shamefully and so pleasurably that I felt I might pass out at any moment. He murmured approvingly as I whimpered and moaned under his skillful touch, spreading my wetness forward to my clit and then backwards to my virgin anus. Each movement sent a new jolt of pleasure through my suddenly much too sensitive body. I sobbed softly, pressing back helplessly against his hand.

“Please,” I whispered, my voice hoarse from crying. “Please, sir…”

“Please what, my naughty girl?” Stuart asked, his tone teasing. “What do you want?”

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