Page 3 of His to Enjoy
Without further warning, the first stroke of the paddle across my bare bottom sent fire through my entire body. I cried out, my back arching involuntarily.
“You have twelve swats, and you’ll count each one,” she instructed. “And you’ll thank me afterward.”
“One,” I gasped through my tears. I felt bizarrely, embarrassingly grateful that at least I knew how to accept an old-fashioned punishment. “Thank you, Ms. Fagan.”
“You know, Grace,” Sharon said conversationally as she delivered the second brutal swat, “judging from your NMB videos—which were some of our highest-rated streams, Ishould mention—most people would assume you enjoyed being punished.”
“Two,” I sobbed. “Thank you, Ms. Fagan.”
The paddle connected again with vicious precision, and I could feel my composure crumbling completely. The pain seemed so much sharper than anything Jacob had ever given me—businesslike and unforgiving rather than delivered out of anything like affection or even simple lust.
“Three. Thank you, Ms. Fagan.”
“But assessment knows better, doesn’t it?” Sharon continued, her voice maddeningly steady as she undoubtedly raised the paddle again, ready to continue my horrid lesson. “Assessment knows that you need punishment, but don’t like it one bit. There’s quite a difference.”
The fourth swat landed lower, catching the sensitive spot where my bottom met my thighs, and I nearly lost my grip on the desk edge.
“Four! Thank you, Ms. Fagan!”
How could she know that? How could she see through the facade that had fooled even Jacob? I had spent years convincing myself and everyone else that I craved discipline, that submission came naturally to me. But she was right—I needed it in some fundamental way I didn’t understand, even as every fiber of my being rebelled against it.
The remaining eight swats blurred together in a haze of fire and tears. By the time I choked out “Twelve, thank you, Ms. Fagan,” I was sobbing so hard I could barely speak.
“Stand up and take off your panties and bra,” Sharon commanded, returning the paddle to her drawer with businesslike efficiency and then sitting back down in her desk chair.
I straightened up, blinking at her through my tears. Somehow it hadn’t fully occurred to me that to put on the pink lingerie she had presented to me, I would have to take off my own underwear completely. My resistance had come just from the idea of having to wear the embarrassing new things—I hadn’t even thought of this stage, the nudity.
“That’s the other intriguing thing about you, isn’t it, Grace?” Sharon asked. “You were a porn star, really, but?—”
“No!” I said. “I… no, I was…” I didn’t know what to say, exceptno. I wasn’t a porn star at all. I… well, I had been featured on a streaming service, yes. Getting spanked and fucked, yes. But… Jacob had done those thingstome. Even when he had made me kneel down and I had had to worship his rigid penis while the cameras watched, he hadmademe do that. I was his wife, and I had to, or he would spank me harder, the way he should because he had the responsibility of disciplining me and keeping me in line.
“I was a… you know, a wife,” I whispered, my hands going in front of me to cover my pussy as I belatedly realized that my panties had remained around my knees.
“Yes, you were,” Sharon said, her voice taking on an almost clinical tone. “And that’s exactly what assessment finds so fascinating about you, Grace. Despite having appeared on NMB, despite being watched by thousands of subscribers while your husband disciplined and used you, you’re still genuinely modest and embarrassed about nudity.”
I felt my face burn even hotter as she spoke so matter-of-factly about the strange but also strangely welcome course my life with Jacob had taken for two years. My hands remained pressed protectively over myself, and I could feel fresh tears threatening to spill over.
“You’ll probably never lose that modesty completely,” Sharon continued, and something in her tone suggested she found this satisfactory rather than problematic. “Which is actually a good thing. It makes you… authentic. Genuine in a way that’s quite valuable.”
She leaned back in her chair, studying me with those sharp eyes. “Nevertheless, now that you’re interviewing for the Selecta Business University program, you’ll have to learn a different kind of obedience. Hands at your sides, Grace.”
The command was delivered so casually that I almost obeyed without thinking. Then I caught myself, my arms tightening across my body. “I… please, Ms. Fagan…”
“Do you want more paddling?” she asked, her hand already moving toward the drawer where she’d replaced that terrible implement.
“No!” The word came out as a strangled gasp. Trembling, I forced my arms down to my sides, every instinct screaming at me to cover myself again. The air conditioning seemed suddenly arctic against my exposed skin.
Sharon’s gaze swept over me with professional assessment. “You’ve done a good job keeping your pussy groomed,” she observed, and I wanted to die of mortification. “Even though Jacob left two weeks ago, you’ve maintained your shaving routine. Very disciplined of you.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, unable to bear the clinical way she discussed my most private areas. It was true—even in my despair and anger over Jacob’s abandonment, some deeply ingrained habit had kept me maintaining the grooming standards he had demanded.
“Your pussy will look quite sweet and sexy in the pink panties,” Sharon continued, her tone as businesslike as if she were discussing quarterly reports. “Much more appropriate for a Selecta candidate than those dreadful beige things you came in wearing.”
The conflicting emotions churning through me were almost unbearable. Part of me—the part that had been trained so thoroughly by Jacob and the New Modesty program—responded to her authoritative tone with that familiar flutter of arousal. But another part recoiled from the humiliation, from being discussed and evaluated like a piece of merchandise.
“Now,” Sharon said, tapping her fingers impatiently on the desk. “Are you going to put on the lingerie I selected for you, or shall I retrieve the paddle?”
My hands shook as I finally pushed my panties down the rest of the way and stepped out of them. The bra followed, and I stood completely naked before her, fighting the overwhelming urge to flee. The pink lingerie lay on the desk like a taunt, those delicate scraps of lace that I knew would make me feel more exposed than nudity itself.
