A Work in Progress, Part Five #18+, NSFW

My dear readers,

I hope that you continue to enjoy following me on this journey. Writing this story has been particularly satisfying.

Happy reading!

XOXO,

Nora

PS. If you are new to this story, please read the first few segments before setting out on this one.

A Work in Progress, Part One

A Work in Progress, Part Two

A Work in Progress, Part Three

A Work in Progress, Part Four

Part Five

          The next four days blurred together, as I began my service to Grant and Anne-Marie.  I shadowed Anne-Marie closely throughout the day and she tutored me in subjects I had never given much thought.  These topics included, but weren’t limited to my attire, grooming habits, demeanor, and how I presented my body.  For example, I learned quickly that panties were not meant to come between me and the furniture and that my new wards quite preferred my dress lifted and my bare seat in contact with a chair or couch, if I were permitted to sit.  I spent quite a bit of time kneeling as I learned my lessons, often times with my bare breasts thrust out, arms behind me, throbbing bottom on display.  I also learned, the hard way I might add, that a girl is always to be lubed up, should a man be interested in coming around the back door (it was news to me that I was even supposed to open that particular door to a man!).  That’s a lesson that involved my first caning and a wicked application of a sizeable glass plug, but that is a story for another time.  Over these few days, my body was buzzing, positively effervescing, as my new mentors imparted many lessons upon me.

One of my more memorable lessons, however, involved servitude and the proper demeanor of a young lady as she served her masters.  It all began with a cup of tea. 

As mentioned earlier, I was absolutely buzzing during this time, my mind clouded by my awaking sexuality.  I do remember shadowing Anne-Marie as she demonstrated how to properly make and serve her tea, I really do.  But, did I have sense enough to memorize this process, step by step, ensuring the perfect cup of tea for my lady?  Sadly, this was one lesson that would have to be repeated, and Anne-Marie did not like to repeat herself.

Grant and Anne-Marie were enjoying their afternoon in the parlor, their young ward, nude and lounging by their feet as they relaxed.  That was when Anne-Marie requested that I fetch her afternoon tea.  As mentioned, she had demonstrated this process the previous afternoon and felt quite confident sending me into the kitchen to fetch her noon time beverage. 

I obediently took myself off to the kitchen (I had also learned that any perceived stalling on my part would be met with on-the-spot correction applied to my bare seat) and set about making my lady’s tea.  While I would love to claim that I was mindful about the task at hand, I was distracted by the scene that Anne-Marie and Grant had played out before my eyes that morning.  Let’s just say that Anne-Marie gave her husband a good “tongue-lashing” on her knees while he fisted her hair in his strong hands and demonstrated his austere masculinity.  I had been made to kneel on the floor in position but was given permission to observe…which I had, greedily.  Another lesson that my thoughtful mentors were teaching me was patience (perhaps I should write about that soon?)…and despite the continual displays of debauchery in this household, I had been explicitly forbidden to orgasm as of yet.

Back to the tea…feeling satisfied that I had created the perfect concoction, I placed the tea on the appropriate tray and made my way back to the parlor.  I should mention that I was tottering dangerously on black high heels, which showcased my stocking clad calves quite nicely.  Attached to those stockings was a black garter belt, though I was sans panties or any other form of clothing.  Grant had also seen to it that Anne-Marie shaved me bare, much to my chagrin and I learned that my embarrassment seemed to bring them great amusement.

Once I had delivered the tea, I took my place back on the floor by their feet, my mind wandering once again to the blatant display of power exchange that I had witnessed that morning.

“Nora,” Anne-Marie said quietly.  “What is this, dear?”

Without thinking, I giggled, unaware of the danger ahead.  When she only stared at me, I answered quickly, “Your tea, my lady.”

I looked nervously back and forth between her and Grant but their expressions were unreadable. 

“This is not the recipe that I taught you, Nora,” Anne-Marie stated, her tone going ice cold. 

I felt my heart begin to race and I managed to stammer, “It’s not?”

“No, indeed it is not,” her eyes bore into my own. 

The silence seemed to stretch out over eternity.  I realized that she was waiting for me to speak.

“I’m sorry, Anne-Marie.  I will go and try again,” I said, beginning to rise.

“Oh, you will re-make this cup of tea, Nora,” Anne-Marie stated matter of factly.  “But I’m afraid we have some business to attend to first.”

As Anne-Marie rose out of her chair, pulling me up off the floor by my ear, she turned to her husband and said, “Please see to it that she is properly warmed up, my dear.  I need to fetch the tawse.”

My stomach dropped at the mention of the tawse.  I had yet to feel its wicked sting, but I had seen it displayed in their cabinet of implements.  It looked to be a serious little thing, for a serious trespass.

Anne-Marie deposited me over Grant’s knees and left the room, a determined look on her face. 

Grant held my waist firmly with one hand, caressing my bottom as he spoke to me.

“I am quite disappointed in you, Nora,” he started, raising his hand and bringing it down sharply upon my bare bottom. 

“You were given very specific instructions,” he continued, as his palm continued to deliver his discipline.

“I expect you to make Anne-Marie’s preferences of the upmost importance to you, Nora,” his hand continued to reign down and my bottom was quickly becoming the hot mess that he intended.  I felt a tear roll down my cheek and I tried very hard to hold still as they had taught me. 

But Grant was having none of it.  He was not about to let his girl maintain her stoicism and he began to place searing slaps to the back of my thighs.

I couldn’t help but cry out and kick my legs, but my efforts were futile.  At some point, Anne-Marie had returned to the room, arms crossed as she watched her husband spank their young charge soundly. 

The tears were really falling now as Grant seared his disappointment into my backside, in his unwavering resolve to teach me a lesson.

“Are you going to be more careful in the future, Nora,?” he asked, continuing to deliver well placed smacks to my tender sit spot.

“Yes, Sir,” I managed through my tears. 

“I am glad to hear that young lady,” he replied, offering a final round of smacks to my deserving backside. 

Seeing that he was done with my “warm-up”, Anne-Marie pulled me up off his lap, instructing me to pick up the tea and to “get myself to the kitchen immediately.”

I stumbled my way there, acutely aware that she was not far behind, tawse in hand.  Once there, my lesson began.

“Poor out that tea, young lady,” she ordered.

I obeyed immediately, watching the tea swirl down the drain. 

“Set the cup on the counter and fetch the stool,” Anne-Marie said.  “Place it in the center of the room.” 

Without question, I did her bidding.  The stool to which she referred, was a wooden, rectangular stool, twelve inches in height.  It was generally used to assist women in reaching items on the top shelf.  I was to learn today that it had other uses. 

“Stand on the stool, Nora, and place your hands on your head,” she ordered.

I complied, quite nervously, knowing that discipline was coming.

“There are consequences to your actions, Nora,” Anne-Marie said, coming to my side.  As I stood on the stool, my bare thighs were placed quite conveniently for what she had in mind.  “You are here to learn how to obey and serve your husband.  For now, it has been made quite clear to you that you are to obey and serve Grant and I.  Have you served me well today, Nora?”

I looked at the floor.  “No, my lady.”

“Consequences, Nora,” was all she said, as she brought down that wicked little piece of leather right on the front of my thigh, above my stocking.  While the tawse was only fourteen inches in length, it was weighty at a half inch thick.

Having never been assaulted in such a way, I cried out, but held my position, hands remaining on my head.

My obedience was rewarded with another well-placed smack, just above the other. 

“Oh, please, my lady,” I cried, my poor assaulted thigh aching.  “I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, my sweet Nora,” she said, placing her next stroke of searing fire across the front of my thigh.  “You haven’t even begun to know sorry yet.”

With that, she moved to my other side and I realized she intended to continue her torture of my thighs.  Three sharply delivered strokes later, I was standing on my stool, legs shaking, tears rolling down my face.  I was learning that a spanking applied to my thighs was infinitely more painful than one applied to my bare behind. 

Again, she moved back to my other side, but this time, she placed the tawse across the back of my thigh, just under my bottom. 

The weighty implement was applied, I sobbed, and Anne-Marie continued until I had 12 perfect stripes on the fronts and backs of my legs. 

She crossed her arms, still holding that wicked little implement, and stared at me, waiting.

“I’m sorry, Anne-Marie,” I sobbed.  “Please let me make it up to you.”

“Oh, is that how it is to be, Nora?” She asked, her tone mocking me.  “Should I just turn a blind eye to your carelessness?  Is this how you have been taking care of that dear husband of yours back home?  Is this how you have shown him your devotion?”

Her words cut through me, the sharp edge of truthfulness doing exactly what she intended it to do.

New tears began to flow, those of regret, but she was far from through with me.

“Bend over, young lady.  I want your hands on the stool, your legs spread, and that bottom raised high,” Anne-Marie ordered. 

I complied.  The tears flowed freely, not as much from the pain of my chastisement, but in the knowledge that I had disappointed my sweet lady.  In only a few days, she had already taught me so much about how to be a good wife.  That I had so easily let her down brought me great shame.

“Why did Matthew send you here to us, Nora?” Anne-Marie asked, tawse in hand.

“To learn obedience,” I answered, staring at the stool, preparing for the inevitable pain.

Thwack.

“And?” she asked.

“To learn to please him,” I cried, steeling myself for the next blow.

Thwack. More cries, more tears.

“And?”

“To better myself,” I sobbed.

Thwack.

“That’s right, young lady.”

Thwack.

“And have you done those things, Nora?” Anne-Marie asked.

“No, my lady,” I cried.

Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

I sobbed but kept my bottom exactly where she wanted it for my very thorough lesson in servitude.

“No, you have not,” Anne-Marie agreed.

Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

“But, thankfully there is a remedy for young, misbehaving wives, isn’t there, sweet Nora?” Anne-Marie asked me, her tone quite wicked.

“Yes, yes, there is,” I cried.

“Yes, there surely is,” she agreed, placing three last strokes upon my sit spot.

“Stand up, young lady,” she ordered.

I rose, unsteady, tears streaming down my cheeks.

“Kneel on that stool and cross your arms behind your back,” Anne-Marie said sternly and to my great relief, she set the tawse down on the counter.

Coming to me, she took my chin in her hand and stared deeply into my eyes.

“When I teach you something, Nora, I expect to have your full attention.  Do I have that now, Nora?” she asked.

“Yes, Anne-Marie,” I answered, desperate to please her.

With that, she caressed my face.  Lightly slapping my cheek, she said, “I am glad to hear you are paying attention, Nora.  I would hate to think you are wasting my time.  Now, I suggest you watch me closely, my dear.”

With that, Anne-Marie demonstrated how her tea was to be prepared.  My thighs and bottom stinging, I can assure you that I payed close attention this time.  When she was finished, she took a sip, closing her eyes.

“That’s the ticket,” she said, looking down at me, still kneeling on my place on the wooden stool.  Then, much to my dismay, she turned and poured the tea down the drain, once again, picking up the tawse.

“Hold out your hands, my sweet Nora,” she said, coolly.  “There you go, one on top of the other, palms up.”

I obeyed immediately, but fear of the pain cursed through me.

“When I ask you to do something, Nora, I expect you to put forth your best efforts,” Anne-Marie lectured, bringing the tawse down upon my palm. Red hot pain seared my hand.

“When we return you to your husband, we fully expect that you will serve him better than you have served me here today,” she said, as another crack of the tawse was placed upon my waiting palm.

“Are you going to do better, Nora,? she asked, tawse raised and waiting.

“Yes, Anne-Marie,” I cried. “I promise I’ll do better.”

Crack.

“I am going to hold you to that, Nora,” she told me.  “Switch hands.”

I complied, and her beating of my palms continued until each had suffered three strokes.

Stepping back and crossing her arms, she said, “Well, what are you waiting for, Nora.  Please make my tea.”

I stood quickly, and in my haste, knocked over the stool.  Looking up at her, fearfully, I quickly righted the stool and began the task of making her tea.  When it was ready, I stepped back, lowering my gaze.

Anne-Marie stepped forward, lifted the cup to her lips, and took a sip.

“This is perfect, Nora,” she told me, smiling.  “Well done, my dear.”

I beamed at her compliment, but my expression quickly turned to one of disbelief as she poured the tea into the sink.  She picked up the tawse.

“Present your bottom to me, my dear,” she requested.

My heart sank with the realization that my lesson was not quite over.

I bent back down, placing my palms upon the stool and spreading my thighs, my bottom presented for discipline.

Anne-Marie stood behind me and began to whip me with the tawse again, not stopping until she elicited fresh tears.

She left me in my position of disgrace, setting the tawse on the counter, and sat down at the kitchen table.

“Prepare my tea, Nora,” she ordered.

Once again, I rose, my bottom smarting from the sting of the tawse.  I took great care as I prepared her tea. 

This time, as she sipped it, she closed her eyes as if in ecstasy.

“This really is quite good, Nora,” she told me.  “I am proud of you my dear.  Now, please fetch me the tawse.”

This time, she bent me across her lap, stroking my back and telling me that I was taking my chastisement like a good girl.  She then proceeded to spank the backs of my thighs with the tawse six more times. 

“Stand up,” she told me, gently, guiding me off her lap. 

Taking me by the arm, she led me back to the counter.  She once again poured out tea.

“I am going to join Grant in the parlor, Nora,” Anne-Marie told me.  “Please bring me a cup of my afternoon tea, my dear.”

She kissed me lightly on the cheek, smiling at me.

“Yes, Anne-Marie,” I said, thoroughly chastised. 

I watched her walk from the room, this beautiful woman who was teaching me so much about the person that I wanted to become, and despite my burning palms, thighs, and buttocks, a sense of peace washed over me.

I turned and prepared her tea with more care than any task I had ever attended to in my life.  When I returned to the parlor, tea in hand, Anne-Marie and Grant both smiled at me. 

“Why thank you, Nora,” Anne-Marie said graciously, taking her tea and taking a sip.

“Why, this is simply delicious, Nora, my sweet girl,” she said.  “Thank you for preparing my tea just the way I prefer it, dear.”

“Now, come here, my sweet.  Sit between Grant and I,” she said, scooting over and patting the seat between the two of them.

As I gingerly sat down between them, both beaming at me with pride, I felt my heart swell with joy.  I had been thoroughly punished, but I had also been forgiven for my misstep. 

“Grant was sharing the most wonderful idea with me, Nora,” Anne-Marie told me, taking my hand.

I smiled shyly, waiting for her to continue.

Anne-Marie smiled back, a certain gleam in her eye.

“We have great plans to teach you how to please your husband, dear,” she said, tracing her fingers around my lips.  “This mouth of yours could certainly use some training.  After all, most men greatly enjoy being attended to in this way, and Matthew has shared that you rarely offer him this pleasure.  Your lessons will begin tonight, at bedtime.”

      

22 thoughts on “A Work in Progress, Part Five #18+, NSFW

Add yours

  1. Ohhh my word young lady….. that is a thrashing …… her arse will sting for weeks on end….. beautifully written…. ‘greedily observing’…… that is beautiful….. no wonder the tea wasn’t up to scratch🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥😘🤔

    Liked by 2 people

  2. Wonderful! If I had one critique, I loved the previous tenderness of the discipline, the support and care both Anne-Marie and Grant had… for me that was missing in this chapter.

    But this aside, amazing work Nora!

    Liked by 2 people

        1. I truly appreciate the feedback, FPDACLRJV! There will be more tenderness, I promise. This was Nora’s first punishment, however, and it was meant to be delivered with a bit more sternness, and a little less affection 🙂

          Liked by 2 people

              1. Your stories pull the reader in, giving them a sense of being involved in the story….. they are all beautiful, the imagery, the sensations, the sounds that arise from the activities and the love that is felt between the parties involved …. 😘😘😘

                Liked by 2 people

    1. There are standards that need to be ingrained, so, the lessons must be short, sharp (just like those blows to her pert behind) and constant…..🤔🤔😉😉😉.

      There must be a happy place in her mind to go to, when training occurs, which would be bent over someone’s knee, being spanked to the high heavens 🎶 to her ears 🙇🏻‍♀️🍑✋🏻✋✋✋✋✋

      Liked by 2 people

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