by Golden Angel
“She has adjusted quickly to everything so far,”pointed out Mrs. Banks, feeling an almost proprietary need to defend her pupil.
“Yes, but you have been soothing and comforting her the whole way. She cannot be allowed to become accustomed to such comfort every time she’s faced with something new. I highly doubt the earl will be willing to do so. If we keep her off balance now then she will become accustomed to having to be adaptable, which will be best for her in the long run, and will also please his lordship.” “Very true,” said Mrs. Banks, deferring to Mrs. Cunningham’s greater experience in training young women for their future. “She settled into her evening pattern fairly quickly, but it would certainly not do to allow her to become complacent.”
Mrs. Cunningham smiled, her entire face softening into a genuine expression of pride and approval. Out of all the companions she’d had help her train young women, Mrs. Banks was certainly the best, and she was more than pleased with the work she did. She glanced down at the note she’d received from the earl.
“Lord Cranborne also wishes to have another dinner with Miss Stafford sometime this week.”
“I see no hindrance to that,” Mrs. Banks said. “She was quite amenable after her meal with him; I think his visit has given her extra motivation.”
“Lovely,” said Mrs. Cunningham. “I shall write to the earl this evening. Thank you for coming by, Mrs. Banks.” Thus dismissed, Mrs. Banks stood, dropped a curtsy, and left the room, already planning what changes she would be making to Miss Stafford’s evening routine during the upcoming week.
The practicum on Monday went well enough for Vivian, as she was leading the second portion of the day again. Thankfully, the luncheon had been unhindered by rats or nasty society ladies. Instead, today the problem had been in the morning section, when a shortage of flour was discovered thanks to weevils. Lady Astoria had hastened to send a footman out for more flour, and had quickly and efficiently ordered the kitchen to do everything else they could without it, and so Vivian had only had to stall for half an hour before the luncheon was prepared. She had opted to do so by giving her “guests” a tour of the gardens, where the roses were just beginning to bloom, a solution that had earned her a smile of approval from Mrs. Banks.
Although, of course, that didn’t stop the companion from writing a series of notes on her pad of paper as the practicum continued. At least she knew she had done well in one respect, enough so that Mrs. Banks had acknowledged it immediately.
All of the young ladies had done quite a bit better and celebrated it over dinner, talking and laughing and feeling rather proud of themselves.
“The first week was bound to be the worst,” said Rosalie cheerfully, brushing a strand of dark hair off the high brow of her forehead, somewhat dramatically. Out of all of the students involved in the practicum, she certainly had one of the best attitudes towards the disasters—once they were over, anyway.
“Miss Norton still took plenty of notes on me,” said Emily, making a face. “I shudder to think of the lecture I’ll endure this evening.”
Vivian and Rosalie murmured sympathetically while Astoria just sniffed. If they hadn’t had the common bond of the practicum, Vivian doubted she would have ever spent time with Astoria. The classically beautiful blonde was far too cold, maintaining a cool mask of civility and hardly ever engaging in any of the humor or sympathy the other young women did.
That evening when Mrs. Banks came to her room, Vivian was ready and waiting for her. She moved from the chair by the fire where she’d been reading to the hated punishment chair. After a weekend without a single spanking her bottom was feeling completely back to normal, with not even the slightest twinge of soreness, despite the hardness of the seat. In fact, she felt almost anticipatory, not just for the pleasure she knew would follow, but also the spankings themselves. They hurt, but there was something satisfying about the experience as a whole. Some part of her craved the pain almost as much as the pleasure now, even if she would never admit such a thing aloud.
Mrs. Banks read out the multitude of transgressions she felt Vivian had performed, most of which were minor. Despite her acceptance, and even the hint of eagerness, for her punishment, the young woman was hard pressed to keep from protesting over the amount of spankings she was to receive for seemingly small infractions.
As if she could sense the rebellion in her charge, Mrs. Banks gave Vivian a stern look as she finished up her list. “You seem vexed, Miss Stafford. Do you deny these errors?”
“No, Mrs. Banks,” Vivian said. “But they are such small errors in comparison to my offenses before, and yet it seems as though the amount of punishment I am to receive is nearly equal.”
“Well, this is the second week of the practicum, Miss Stafford,” Mrs. Banks said, affecting surprise at Vivian’s attitude. Truthfully she was not at all surprised. Although Vivian was inherently obedient, she also had an innate sense of fairness. “With each week the expectations of your behavior and skill become higher. Were you to make a larger offense, the punishment would be substantially more severe than it would have garnered before. My task is to prepare you successfully for marriage, and you must expect that the more you prove yourself adept, the more shall be required from you.”
Vivian frowned but didn’t protest, her mind turning over the answer and finding it both logical and frustrating.
As Mrs. Banks helped her to disrobe, Vivian shivered in anticipation and realized she was almost excited to know her punishment had not been lessened. The knowledge was unnerving, but that did nothing to stem her reaction.
Still, when Mrs. Banks sat down on the punishment chair, Vivian found herself balking at the injustice of her reprimands. Her companion frowned at her.
“Come here, Miss Stafford, you know the position.”
“I—I would like to discuss this further, please,” Vivian said, feeling rather silly, as she was naked and vulnerable and Mrs. Banks was fully clothed, seated, and obviously in full authority. “I don’t feel I should be punished so harshly when I’ve been improving.”
“If you hadn’t improved, you really would know what a harsh punishment is,” Mrs. Banks snapped, standing up.
Vivian took a step back, but then halted, trying to stand her ground. Her chin went up stubbornly. “It’s not fair!”
“Perhaps I should have expected this,” Mrs. Banks said with a small shake of her head. “You’ve been so well-behaved for so long, but I suppose it’s only natural you’d feel the need to rebel eventually. If you truly want a harsh punishment, then that is what you’ll receive, Miss Stafford.”
“No, wait—” Vivian let out a small shriek as Mrs. Banks grabbed hold of her wrist and bodily dragged her over to the chair and across her lap. Mrs. Banks adjusted Vivian slightly on her lap as she retrieved a silk cord from her pocket. Letting out a small, frustrated cry, Vivian kicked her legs, and received a mighty slap from Mrs. Banks’s hand onto her buttocks for the effort.
“Miss Stafford, give me your hands.”
Sniffling slightly, Vivian looked over her shoulder at a frowning Mrs. Banks. The older woman patted Vivian on the small of her back.
“Put them right here.” Her voice was stern, colder than Vivian ever remembered it being.
Awkwardly, Vivian followed Mrs. Banks’s instructions, finding it difficult to shift herself so she could put her hands in such a position while she was bent over the other woman’s lap. Tension quivered through her as Mrs. Banks quickly grasped her wrists, holding them firmly, and she felt something looping around them.
Immediately, she began to squirm.
“Mrs. Banks, what are you doing?” she asked. Her anxiety spiked again as she felt the knots around her wrists tighten, holding them together at the small of her back.
“Hold still, Vivian! That’s five more added to your tally for this evening,” Mrs. Banks said fiercely as she renewed her firm grip on the younger woman. “You must learn not to fight every new experience. Do you think his lordship will be plea
sed with a wife who is constantly questioning him? Don’t you already think you’ve added enough punishment to your evening?”
A small, frightened whimper fell from Vivian’s lips. This was not the comforting routine she was used to and the deviation flustered her, along with her anger over the unfairness of it all. Yet now she wished she’d just kept quiet. She’d known, even as she’d provoked Mrs. Banks, that it couldn’t lead to anything good.
She felt so dreadfully confused and helpless, even more so than she had before. Why, with her hands tied behind her back Mrs. Banks could literally do anything she pleased and Vivian would have no way to resist.
She had not fully appreciated how much more secure she had felt when her arms had been free. Now that they were bound behind her back, she realized how comforting it had been to have them swinging down before her. There was a terrible finality to having her hands actually restrained.
“Now then,” Mrs. Banks said as she felt Vivian tremble but not resist. “Some men enjoy seeing a woman helpless to their eyes, their hands.” As if to demonstrate, she began stroking Vivian’s back with one hand, the other caressing Vivian’s buttocks and thighs. The gentle touch sent a spark of kindling awareness through Vivian’s young body, and her thighs automatically parted as if inviting further stroking to her feminine folds. She had already learned the delights that area had to offer, and her body instinctively bared it. “Some women enjoy being so vulnerable, knowing their husband can touch them anywhere he wants, do whatever he wants to her, and she will be helpless to stop him.”
Mrs. Banks’s words were exciting Vivian in the same way her hands were. In her mind’s eye she could see herself bound with her wrists behind her back as a faceless man wreathed in shadows stared at her. Would he touch her like Mrs. Banks was? Explore the expanse of her milky skin with his fingertips? Put her over his lap and delve into her intimate secrets, or even spank her for no other reason than she could not resist him?
Part of her mind was frightened by such an idea, but the rest of her was falling under the almost hypnotic spell Mrs. Banks was forming with her words.
“Such vulnerability requires a great deal of trust. It shows how much a wife trusts her husband to take care of her, to have complete control over her body, her pain, and her pleasure. It can be both frightening and exciting for her, the combination of which can lead to incredible ecstasy.”
The companion’s carefully modulated tones were seductive, hinting at secret pleasures, planting seeds of dark desires that would take root in Vivian’s impressionable mind and grow, carefully nurtured by herself and by Vivian’s very nature. Her fingers slid through the coppery curls lining the outer lips of Vivian’s sopping wet crevice, and Mrs. Banks was gratified to find her young charge so obviously aroused.
Shocked at her own desire to have Mrs. Banks pleasure her, Vivian let out a small moan.
“Do not forget, Miss Stafford, if you find that this training is no longer of interest to you, all you have to do is say the word and it will end.”
With that said, Mrs. Banks grasped the silk cord around Vivian’s wrists with one hand, keeping Vivian’s hands well above her buttocks to ensure Vivian would not be able to try and block the oncoming spanking.
Smack!
“Oh!” Vivian had expected the slap, of course, but the sound she made was as much a kind of relief as it was in reaction to the sting. In one short week her body had been trained to accept a hearty punishment to her poor bottom, and now it reacted with surging excitement. For her, a spanking heralded pleasure, and the tingling between her legs intensified as Mrs. Banks began to pepper her bottom with hard slaps. It didn’t matter that she was bound now—this was what her body was used to. In fact, she was finding it a bit thrilling to try and move her hands and not be able to. The reaction was inexplicable but undeniable.
Not once did Vivian attempt to roll off Mrs. Banks’s lap, although her wrists tugged energetically at the silken cord binding them. Not once did she even consider saying the words that would end her punishment. The feelings of helpless vulnerability aroused her intensely, although she didn’t understand her response or the physical manifestation of it.
Mrs. Banks spanked Vivian’s bottom so hard that the flesh flattened before it jiggled, the young woman’s cries becoming quite heated. Tears slid down her cheeks at the biting sting of each swat, but her lower body throbbed with a very different kind of response. Vivian was sure Mrs. Banks was spanking her harder than a week before— a supposition that was quite correct—and yet, despite the pain, it did nothing to assuage the sensual hunger that made her ache in a completely different manner. If anything, it made the need for Mrs. Banks’s soothing touch even more acute. As usual, dark spots decorated the wooden floor beneath Vivian’s face where her tears had dropped. She wondered if she would ever receive a spanking that didn’t reduce her to weeping, even as her intimate areas pulsed with growing need.
Her tears fell freely, her pleas and cries for mercy going unheard. Surely she couldn’t take anymore! And yet the spanking continued, unyielding, upon her already roasted bottom. Vivian cried, heartily sorry she had been so contrary to Mrs. Banks. She had no one to blame but herself for her current situation.
Mrs. Banks showed no mercy. She was aware Vivian needed the comfort of knowing her punishments would be delivered exactly as promised. Unresolved punishments would only confuse her further as to what the rules and consequences were.
By the time Mrs. Banks reached thirty-five, Vivian’s bottom was glowing a nice hot pink. The young woman wriggled, wrists chafing against the silken cord binding them as she rubbed them back and forth in an instinctive attempt to escape the next portion of her punishment. Ignoring her movements, Mrs. Banks removed the sturdy hairbrush she’d pocketed before helping Vivian disrobe.
The hard, flat back of the wood made such an impression on poor Vivian’s roasted bottom that she shrieked the loudest she’d ever done, pushed past the point of caring whether someone might walk by her room and hear her. Not that any unauthorized ears would ever bear witness to her cries, pleas, or sobs. Every companion and servant in the school knew exactly what was happening in her room and would keep any of the other students from ever walking by. Even if they did, there was no guarantee of her voice being heard; the room was specially designed to hold in sound, with a much thicker door and walls than the rest of the building.
“Please, Mrs. Banks! Please, not the brush!”
Vivian’s pleas for mercy became much louder as Mrs. Banks blistered her poor bottom with the unforgiving wooden hairbrush. Her tenderized cheeks were pure agony, and she truly began to buck and kick; only Mrs. Banks’s firm hold on her body kept her in the companion’s lap. Sobbing and squealing, Vivian could barely hear Mrs. Banks’s voice counting out the strokes, or even the meaty thud of the brush against her flaming backside.
Now the thought of saying the words that were guaranteed to end this all flitted through her mind . . . but so did Gabriel’s face, and she shoved the impulse away. This was painful, but she’d be willing to bear much more to be with him—although she certainly hoped she wouldn’t have to.
The last one caught Vivian across both cheeks and she howled, bucking and heaving before falling down limply across Mrs. Banks’s lap and sobbing.
The companion made soothing noises as she rubbed her hand over Vivian’s glowing bottom, her fingers making her way down to Vivian’s wet folds. Vivian squirmed, with both arousal and embarrassment at her reaction to the harsh spanking. Despite the fact that her bottom was flaming hotter than ever, or maybe because of it, her sensitive core was ready to burst almost from the moment Mrs. Banks touched her. The bindings on her wrists added to the hazy eroticism of the moment as slim fingers stroked her up and down, spreading her natural cream down around the sensitive pearl at the apex of her womanhood. Vivian found her bound helplessness even more exciting now that Mrs. Banks was touching her so intimately.
The pain in her bottom mixed with her rising ecsta
sy, pooling together at her center and swirling into a transcendent mix of molten sensation.
Mrs. Banks began to rub Vivian’s clit with slow, circular motions. The young woman across her lap whimpered and moved her hips, thrusting them up and down in response to the direct stimulation. Her buttocks were still glowing, like the most brilliant of sunsets, and Mrs. Banks had the pleasure of watching those sweet little mounds tighten and bounce as Vivian’s modesty fell away under the insistent needs of her body. “Your husband is going to be very pleased with how responsive you are. Such a sweet, wet little cunny. He’s going to enjoy it very much.”
The shadowy fantasy of the earl having Vivian bent over like this, touching her secret parts the way Mrs. Banks was, was enough to send Vivian reeling into her orgasm. She cried out, shuddering and moving her hips quite frantically as Mrs. Banks’s fingers rubbed hard and relentlessly over her pearl. The sizzling pleasure had Vivian moaning throatily, her body quivering and panting from the rapture. Mrs. Banks’s words of praise as Vivian came apart only reinforced the ideas that had been planted in Vivian’s mind the week before, sustaining her impression that this was the correct response to such activities. That she should give over to the loss of control, that her body was Mrs. Banks’s to do with as she pleased, that pleasure came from obedience and from giving over her body completely.
“Good girl,” Mrs. Banks said as Vivian’s cries slowed and the frantic movements of her body quieted. The beautiful redhead hung down, completely unsupported with her hands tied behind her back. When Mrs. Banks helped Vivian to her knees, the young woman almost swooned as all the blood rushed from her head. She was rather dizzy, but that didn’t stop Mrs. Banks from inserting her glistening fingers into Vivian’s mouth again. “Remember what we did last week? Clean my fingers, Vivian. Go on, lick them . . . very good . . .”