Clara was beside herself. She lay on her pretty bed, hugging her soft pillow, surrounded by her pretty things. Never had she had such fine surroundings. Two weeks ago she had changed her circumstances greatly by marrying Mr. Charles Barlow. Sure, Mr. Barlow—Charles, she though wryly—was fifteen years her senior, but he was pleasant enough and he lived quite finely. He had quietly moved her from her parents flat on the dodgy end after their wedding into this beautiful estate. She was the lady of the house now and she was loving every minute of it.
Of course, married life wasn’t quite what she’d expected. Each night, Charles attempted to climb on top of her and take a ride, to which she had no interest in and to be honest, was a little afraid of. She feigned headaches most nights and so far that strategy and kept her from having to press her young, nubile body against his in the nights. Of course, sometimes he tried again in the morning but she would either be up and out before him, or act comatose and refuse to wake up. Her mother had tried to warn her just what marriage entailed and what Mr. Barlow might expect of her but so far she had managed to keep him at bay. She was much more interested in what he could do for her, rather than what she could do for him. She sensed he was growing a little tired of her endless reasons as to why she could not perform more wifely duties in their home and in their bedroom, but she was enjoying herself too much to truly care. She hoped that he would soon give up and let her live her life the way she pleased. Perhaps he might even sleep in a different room.
The next morning, after feigning yet another headache, Clara opened her eyes cautiously. Seeing that her husband had already left for his office, she bounced out of bed without a care in the world. She rang for her maid who would help her dress and see to her breakfast. However, when the young maid arrived at her chamber she was handed a note from the man of the house.
The note read, “Dearest Clara, I have made an appointment which you will need to be prompt for my dear. Please be at 346 Knotting Oak Road at 9am and not one minute later. You will be meeting with a Mrs. Ashfield. I have arranged for your transportation. Sincerely, Charles”.
Umpgh, she thought to herself. Just who does he think he is, setting up appointments for me? And just whatever was this appointment for? She momentarily considered destroying the note and playing clueless as if she had never received it, but she would hate for the young maid to be chastised for her trickery. No, she would just have to suffer through whatever daft meeting Charles had scheduled for her and return to her own itinerary as soon as possible. After all, there was shopping to be done.
After her breakfast she dressed at her leisure. Surely Charles didn’t really expect her to be out of the house before 9am. When she felt dressed and ready she allowed the serviceman to escort her to her carriage. About 9:30am, she was deposited at 346 Knotting Oak Road. It was a beautiful street with fine homes spaced well apart. Clara felt intrigued. Perhaps Charles wanted her to tour this home? Was he planning to buy her a home on this fine street? Feeling giddy, Clara rapped the heavy knocker three times to announce her presence.
She was greeted by a butler who was seemingly glaring at her while he ushered her in. He led her to a small waiting room, which was sparsely decorated compared to the grandness of the home. He curtly told her that Mrs. Ashfield would be with her shortly before stalking out of the room. What rude service, she thought to herself. Now alone, she noticed a small sign which read, “Mrs. Ashfield’s School of Manners and More”. Well whatever does that mean, she wondered, feeling the first twinge of uneasiness.
Several minutes later, a tall, stern looking woman opened the heavy door to the adjacent room.
“Mrs. Barlow, I presume?” She asked, looking down upon Clara.
Clara was a bit taken aback by the woman’s cold tone and strict stare.
“Um, yes, that is me,” Clara responded. “Though I am not quite sure why I am here. You see, my husband…”
“You are late, but we will deal with that later. Come with me,” interrupted Mrs. Ashfield. She beckoned Clara in and Clara followed with some trepidation.
“Sit,” commanded Mrs. Ashfield, pointing to a bare, armless wooden chair which was positioned in front of the beautiful, luxurious desk. Mrs. Ashfield seated herself on a plush, leather chair behind her desk, waiting for Clara to obey her command.
Clara was a bit taken aback by the lack of comfortable seating, but at a pointed glare from Mrs. Ashfield, she sat down primly on the wooden chair trying to maintain an air of confidence.
“Now, young miss,” Mrs. Ashfield began. “You are no doubt wondering why your husband has sent you here. You see… “
“Yes, I…” Clara tried to interject.
“Do not interrupt me, young lady,” Mrs. Ashfield said, her voice rising several octaves. “Is that clear?”
Clara was not used to be talked to like this but under Mrs. Ashfield piercing stare she meekly nodded her head that she understood.
“As I was saying before you so rudely interrupted, you were sent here by your husband, Charles. Unfortunately for you, Charles is very displeased with your behavior as his wife. He reports that you are failing to perform even the simplest of domestic tasks. He also stated that you stay out far too late in the evening and sleep until all hours of the day, acting more like an unmarried coed rather than the wife of a successful business man. And, young miss, he is very unhappy with your failure to perform wifely duties in the bedroom and that is completely unacceptable,” Mrs. Ashfield stated, unsympathetically.
Clara felt mortified as Mrs. Ashfield continued to lecture her like a small school girl and she blushed heavily at the mention of her failure in the bedroom. How could Charles speak to this woman, this perfect stranger, about such things?
“Furthermore, he reports that you are spending far more than your allowance on petty items, that you are failing to show leadership with your household staff in any way, and that you keep company with women far below your standing which is a poor reflection upon your married name. Are you following me, Miss?” Mrs. Ashfield asked, waiting for a response.
Poor little Clara was unsure what to say at this point. She was flabbergasted that Charles had sent her here to be lectured by this rude, overbearing woman who openly chastised her about her wifely duties.
“Well, speak up, young lady. What do you have to say for yourself?”
Clara hung her head, her cheeks burning with shame. “I don’t know what to say Ma’am. I am unclear as to why I am here and honestly, I think I’d like to go now,” she said, beginning to rise from her chair.
“Young lady, you put that impertinent young bottom right back down on that chair,” Mrs. Ashfield demanded, rising from her seat, towering over the young Clara.
Clara immediately sat back down, intimidated by Mrs. Ashfield’s stature and boldness. While Mrs. Ashfield towered over her, as tall as a man, Clara was a small thing, barely reaching 5’5”. While she felt overwhelmed and confused, she lacked the confidence to go against such a woman.
“As you cannot seem to articulate a response, let me tell you exactly what you can expect from your schooling here this week, young lady,” Mrs. Ashfield began. “Your husband Charles would like you to attend classes each day this week. You will arrive promptly at 9am, unlike this morning, and you will be released at 4pm so that you have time to arrive home before your husband and oversee the meal prepared for him by your staff. Is this clear so far?”
“I, I don’t understand Ma’am…what classes?” Clara finally got the words out. She was married now, why in the world would Charles want her to earn more schooling credits?
“Many different types of classes, young miss. Overall, you are going to learn how to become the type of wife that your husband is looking for. You will learn basic cooking skills and household competence. I will also do something about your lack of manners and curtesy as a woman of your new standing. And of course, Charles would like you to learn obedience,” at this, Mrs. Ashfield looked sternly down at Clara, who was by now, feeling a bit indignant that so much was to be expected of her.
“What do you mean by obedience?” Clara asked, hesitantly.
“I mean, young lady, that you are going to learn to obey your husband. You are going to learn to anticipate his needs and serve him. You are going to learn that your place in his household is at his feet when he demands it and you will learn to feel grateful for the life that he is allowing you to have with him,” Mrs. Ashfield answered.
Clara felt her stomach tighten at these words. This was not at all what she had envisioned for her marriage. She married Charles because he was rich and seemed to be a man easily pacified and controlled. She had no interest in serving him or anyone.
“Oh yes, young lady. I see the confusion on your face. You are wondering how you might escape the situation you find yourself currently in. Well, Clara, let me explain this to you clearly. There is no escape for you. You belong to your husband and you are going to learn to behave in ways that please him,” Mrs. Ashfield let that sink in for a moment.
The lovely Clara was crestfallen. Her confidence was being stripped away as Mrs. Ashfield lectured her on her shortcomings and laid out her future for her. She felt her stomach drop as Mrs. Ashfield pulled out a short leather strap from the drawer of her desk.
“Do you know what this is, my dear?” Mrs. Ashfield asked, a wicked gleam in her eyes.
“Uh, no Ma’am,” answered Clara, quietly, though deep inside she felt certain she was not going to like the answer.
“This young lady, is one of my many implements of correction. It is called a tawse and it leaves a mighty sting on the backside of pretty young girls like yourself who find themselves brought to me so they can learn to behave properly,” Mrs. Ashfield said, running the two tails of the tawse through her fingers.
“Now you, young miss, have already committed several infractions this morning that need to be dealt with. First, there is the matter of your being considerably late to our appointment. For that, I will apply two strokes to the front and backs of each of your bare thighs. Second, I believe that you need to learn not to interrupt when being spoken to. This is something that your husband has complained about and since I have now witnessed the behavior, we will begin to correct it. For that infraction, I think a dozen with my tawse across your bare bottom may serve as a starting point,” she said coolly.
Clara blanched at this statement. Surely this woman didn’t mean what she thought she meant. Did she really believe that Clara would simply allow her to whip her thighs and bottom with that nasty looking strap.
“I know what you are thinking young lady, and if you try to escape, me or my tawse, I will have my butler retrieve you and hold you down for your discipline. You are going to learn to take your discipline like a good girl this week. Your husband will expect you to present yourself without hesitation when he wants to discipline you and you will learn that skill over the course of this week. Now, without further ado, please rise and lift your dress above your waist please,” ordered Mrs. Ashfield.
Clara rose from her chair, intending to flee the room, but Mrs. Ashfield was around the desk and gripping her arm alarmingly fast.
“I will repeat myself, Clara, but it will cost you. Lift up your dress above your waist, this minute young lady,” she said, menacingly, one hand gripping Clara and one hand gripping the fierce looking tawse.
With every fiber of her being Clara wanted to run but she was trapped by this rather strong, domineering woman who towered over her. Her thoughts went round and round but no solutions came. Mrs. Ashfield gave her a small shake and raised her eyebrows. Clara knew she was no match for her. She would surely never return to this room but for now, she had no other choice than to obey. She slowly raised her dress, gathered her skirts, until her undergarments were on display.
“That’s better now, young miss. Now, spread your legs should width. That’s better. I want you to hold that position as I strap your thighs. These strokes are going to hurt, but they will teach you to be on time tomorrow. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Clara whispered, her legs shaking.
“You will respond, Yes Ma’am, is that clear,” Mrs. Ashfield demanded, delaying the onset of Clara’s first punishment.
“Yes, Ma’am, “ Clara answered, meekly.
Mrs. Ashfield raised her arm and Clara felt the first fiery stroke come down upon the front of her right thigh. She cried out in agony but the tawse was already being lifted again and laid down upon the front of her left thigh.
“No, please stop!” Clara cried, feeling tears well in her eyes. She had dropped her skirts in the process, but Mrs. Ashfield just glared at her, unwavering.
“Get that dress back up immediately, young lady, or you will receive extra strokes.”
Clara didn’t know what to do other than obey. She certainly didn’t want to incur extra strokes and she couldn’t escape Mrs. Ashfield’s firm grip.
She hesitantly lifted her dress back up.
“Higher,” Mrs. Ashfield commanded. When she was satisfied, she placed two rapid fire strokes across the front of each thigh, earning her a loud, agonizing wail from Clara’s young lips.
“Turn around, please,” Mrs. Ashfield said, no hint of sympathy in her tone.
Clara felt panicked but did not know what else to do. She slowly turned, presenting her pretty thighs and panty-clad backside to Mrs. Ashfield’s view. For her obedience, she was rewarded with two quick strokes across the back of her right thigh and two more two the backs of her left, which left her shrieking in pain. Her thighs were burning and her lashes were wet with tears.
“Please Ma’am, please don’t strike me again,” Clara begged, no signs of the haughty young woman that had originally entered this room. “Please, I promise I will do whatever you say.”
Mrs. Ashfield’s response was to tug Clara’s undergarments down to her knees, baring her lovely bottom for the tawse.
“Your discipline is not complete, Clara, and you must learn not to beg so. Your husband will not like that. You are to take the punishments you earn like a good girl,” Mrs. Ashfield told her. “Now, you still need the dozen strokes you earned for interrupting me earlier. Do not move your position and do not lower your skirts. If you obey me, your punishment will be over for now.”
Clara desperately wanted her punishment to end so that she could return to the safety of her home. She would do anything to escape this situation and she was already re-thinking how she had been treating her husband. Obviously, she would have to work harder at pleasing him. Her thoughts were interrupted as Mrs. Ashfield brought the tawse down sharply on the pretty white orbs of her bottom.
Clara shrieked loudly, but Mrs. Ashfield had already lifted the tawse for another stroke. Stroke after stroke rained down upon Clara’s naked backside, until she had twelve red welts and tears upon her cheeks. She stood there, shaking, holding her skirts high, thoroughly chastised.
“Sit your bare bottom upon that chair Miss and continue holding up your skirts,” Mrs. Ashfield ordered, sternly, crossing her arms.
When Clara had obeyed, placing her well-spanked backside on the surface of the hard wooden chair, Mrs. Ashfield laid the tawse down across her pretty bare thighs.
“We shall just leave that there as a reminder to mind your words,” Mrs. Ashfield said, as she resumed her place behind her desk. She eyed Clara thoughtfully, as Clara sat at attention, holding her skirts high to avoid further discipline. Her little thatch of pubic hair could be seen and her panties remained closer to her knees than her waist. She shook like a little leaf in the wind. Mrs. Ashfield thought she was responding beautifully to her discipline.
“Now, next on our agenda is to widen your understanding of what your husband is looking for in the bedroom. He tells me that you have been rather frigid up until this point, young lady, and that just will not do. A man is looking for a woman to please him, to bring him pleasure,” she said, as she pulled a large phallic shaped object from her drawer, laying it on the desk.
Clara’s eyes widened as she looked at the unsightly object. What in the world is that to be used for, she wondered in fear?
“Let me explain, young miss. Thus far, you have thwarted your husband’s intentions to make you his wife, properly, so you may be unaware that his manhood looks very much like the object that lays before you. Perhaps your mother might have explained where a husband might like to put this particular part of his anatomy?” she questioned.
Blushing heavily, Clara stammered, “Yes, Ma’am…be-between my legs”.
“Very good,” Mrs. Ashfield said. “Well dear, what your mother probably didn’t tell you is that there isn’t just one hole in your body where your husband will want to put this. Likely, he will be using all three of your holes.”
Clara paled noticeably. “Wha-what do you mean?” she asked, her innocence coming to light.
As Mrs. Ashfield picked up the phallic object, stroking it softly, she replied, “It is likely young lady, that your husband will put his manhood in that pretty little mouth of yours. And, you can count on him wanting to put it up that tight little bottom, especially after he has given you a good spanking.”