by Golden Angel
But the only visible evidence in the entire room was the punishment chair, which was still in its place at the center of the room. Vivian’s eyes flicked to it and away, her stomach slowly churning with the memory of her chaotic emotions the night before.
Despite the maid’s best efforts and Vivian’s slowly burgeoning panic once she began to truly awaken, she knew she was on the borderline of being late. Today she was the second student down the stairs, but Mrs. Banks was already shaking her head and making a note on her paper pad. Looking at the clock, Vivian sighed. Two minutes late, but her bottom already tingled in anticipation of being punished later. Emily came rushing down only moments behind her, breathless and looking nearly as exhausted as Vivian felt.
“When I’m mistress of my own household, I will never rise before eleven in the morning, ten at the very earliest, even when we’re in the country,” Emily muttered under her breath to Vivian. She was dressed in a deep brown cambric morning dress that looked very well on her. Vivian felt almost overdressed in her green and ivory stripes. “I can’t remember my mother ever rising this early while we’re in town.”
“I rather enjoy early mornings on occasion,” said Vivian, smoothing her hands over her skirts to straighten them. “But I enjoy them much more when I choose to rise early.”
Sighing, Emily patted her hair, trying to get the flyaway wisps under control. Either her maid wasn’t as skilled as Vivian’s or, more likely, Emily hadn’t been able to sit still while it was being done. “Are you ready for today?”
“I hope so. I made more mistakes yesterday than I had realized.”
“Me too.” Emily rolled her eyes and shot a glance at Miss Norton, lowering her voice even further to ensure she would not be overheard. “She read me such a lecture on my multitude of errors last night that I thought it would never end.”
Vivian hesitated for just a moment. She wished she could confide in Emily, but she was too afraid her friend wouldn’t understand the situation. After all, Vivian barely understood and she was living it. “Mrs. Banks, too. I thought I was better prepared, after watching my mother run our household. She always made it look so easy.”
“I suppose that’s why they’re giving us the practice,” Emily said, making a face. “My mother would allow me to run some things in our house, but as soon as a problem arose, she always took over again. She also helped me, rather than sitting in silent judgment. I swear, it was the looks the companions were giving us that made me so flustered.”
“My mother did the same,” said Vivian, although she was quite sure Emily’s household had been much larger than her own. “She never had any crises that I can remember, but I doubt she would have let me flounder on my own if there had been.”
Vivian sighed, her nerves rising again. She wondered how large the Earl of Cranborne’s household was and felt a shiver go down her spine. Considering he had the funds to send her to the school and no need for his wife to bring a dowry, she had no doubt he must have at least several estates.
The idea of running his household was even more nerve-wracking now that she’d met him. She didn’t want to disappoint him after he’d picked her out and helped her family in their time of need. Wondering when she’d see him again, she was immediately assaulted by her confused feelings over being spanked. After all, she knew it was because of his desire for her to be trained that she had been disciplined last night, and she still didn’t know how she felt about the idea of her future husband being the one to spank her.
She turned her face away from Emily so her friend would not see the flush spreading across her cheeks. The spanking had been painful and left her embarrassed, confused, and . . . tingly. The pleasure that had followed had been overwhelming. Would one always follow the other, she wondered? Would the earl’s large, masculine hands be more painful—and more pleasurable—than Mrs. Banks’s?
Before she could lose herself too much in her ruminations, the last girl was hurrying down the steps, flushed with embarrassment at being late, and the companions were ushering them out the door to the carriages. Unlike yesterday, there was no chattering of excitement or speculation; they had a basic idea of what was in store for them and had realized it was not all going to be easy or fun. However, none of them wanted to complain where the companions could overhear. Besides, they were all exhausted. Vivian almost fell asleep on the carriage ride.
Relieved she no longer had to start off the day, Vivian watched with interest as Charity, who was the lady of the house for the morning, sorted the invitations that had been received in the “mail,” explaining her reasoning for how she sorted them. She handled it slightly differently than Vivian had the day before, arranging them first by date and then by importance before cross-checking with the calendar Vivian had started the day before and seeing what events could be scheduled and whether any that Vivian had originally put in the calendar would be superseded by a more important invitation. At every step of the way, she had to explain what she was doing and why, not receiving any corrections or feedback from her companion until she had justified her reasoning. After that came a planning of the day’s menu for the various meals, then a quick walk around the house and gardens for both relaxation and to ascertain everything was in order.
Then Vivian took over the reins, handling the luncheon with the other young ladies and their companions as her “guests.” Once they were running their own households they would not have guests every day, but Mrs. Cunningham obviously felt it was important to have as much practice with guests as possible, because those were the situations that were most fraught with the possibility of failure. Yesterday everyone had been quite well behaved, but today two of the companions were obviously impersonating harder-to-handle guests. One kept attempting to steer the conversation in the direction of inappropriate topics—gossip about gentlemen’s mistresses, references to what happens in the marriage bed. All completely inappropriate for the young misses at the table, yet, despite being a young miss herself, Vivian was responsible for guiding the conversation back to more appropriate avenues.
The other companion became quite acerbic, very much like one of the ton’s “dragons,” the older ladies who ruled the roost and often cared little for the opinions of others. Vivian had met one at her cousin’s wedding, and the companion was doing a very credible impersonation from what she remembered; rudely remarking on the dresses the ladies around the table were wearing, interrupting their sentences. She was actually the more challenging because Vivian had to smooth things over for all parties without offending her.
By the time the luncheon was over, Vivian felt quite battered; it had been a strain not to lose her temper for a bit. The “dragon” in particular had seemed almost gleeful about making things difficult for her.
“Well done, Saint George,” whispered Emily, referencing the old story of George the dragon-slayer. She squeezed Vivian’s hand in support as Vivian metaphorically passed the reins off to her. “I would have ended up ‘accidentally’ pouring tea on her.”
Vivian giggled, feeling slightly more cheerful, although that faded when she saw Mrs. Banks continuing to scribble on her pad of paper. Oh, what had she done now? It was disheartening to see how much Mrs. Banks was writing, although at least Vivian was fairly certain she hadn’t repeated any of her mistakes from the day before. Of course, it would have been difficult to make exactly the same errors, as she’d been in charge of an entirely different section of the day for today’s practicum.
But she could now relax, somewhat, as her portion of the day was finished. All of the young ladies were on edge, waiting for something dire or exciting to happen. By the end of the day Vivian felt almost disgruntled when there had been no major catastrophes, and strangely weary from the tension of anticipation.
Thinking it over, on the carriage ride back to the school, Vivian concluded that truly dire situations couldn’t possibly occur on a daily basis. And one could never anticipate when one would occur. As always, the teachers were a step ahead of her an
d the other students. The next crises would happen when the students would be caught unawares. Not while they were on the tips of their toes, ready for any unexpected occurrences.
Vivian shared this theory over dinner, as she and the other practicum students naturally gravitated towards sitting with each other. The other young ladies at the school were still involved with classes; they didn’t know the trials of actually putting those lessons into practice. It made for a kind of division between the practicum’s young ladies and the other students, and all four young ladies found themselves wanting to be able to discuss their days with others who would understand. They agreed with Vivian’s theory and were generally supportive of each other, giving suggestions and commiserating over the lectures they were sure to receive later that evening.
It was pleasurable to chat with them, especially as Emily was in the group. The other two girls she hadn’t made friends with before: Astoria and Rosalie. The beautiful blonde Astoria, daughter of the Duke of Somerset, had always been rather snobbish, being even higher in rank than Emily, but unlike Emily she enjoyed lording over other girls, and Rosalie was one of her followers. Now, however, the trials and tribulations of the practicum was giving them all some common ground. It didn’t keep Astoria from making the occasional comment about her status, as compared to the others, but it was easy enough to ignore. Emily just rolled her eyes at Vivian.
Vivian did feel a small tinge of resentment as she realized none of them were going to receive anything worse than a stern talking-to this evening, yet they were bemoaning the lectures that were to come. But then she also realized none of them were likely to know anything of the hot bliss that had followed her harrowing experience at the hands of Mrs. Banks. Still, just as there was a division between the young ladies involved in the practicum and the ladies in classes, Vivian realized there was a division between her and these ladies with whom she was sharing her days. None of them could understand everything she was going through; the only person she would be able to confide in about such things was her companion.
Which, of course, was exactly how Mrs. Cunningham intended it.
The sharp rap of Mrs. Banks’s knuckles preceded her entrance through Vivian’s door. Vivian was seated at her window seat, her book in her hands, thoroughly engrossed. She jumped up as Mrs. Banks entered, her fingers clinging to the book. Just reading it made her feel as though she had a connection to Lord Cranborne, and the story itself was sweepingly romantic.
“Good evening, Miss Stafford,” said Mrs. Banks coolly as she swept into the room, closing the door with a solid thud behind her. Vivian put down the book, bookmark firmly in place between the pages, and bobbed a small curtsy.
“Good evening, Mrs. Banks.”
They both stared at each other for a moment, Vivian’s nerves rising. Mrs. Banks raised her eyebrow and shook her head. “I thought you had a better memory than this, Vivian. Where should you seat yourself so we may begin tonight’s marriage training lesson?”
Vivian blushed, feeling quite awkward. Hoping to smooth over her hesitation, she quickly walked to the punishment chair and sat down. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Banks, it won’t happen again.”
“I’m sure it won’t,” said Mrs. Banks, her soft voice ominous. Vivian told herself she was just imagining things, and that her anxiety was adding more meaning to Mrs. Banks’s words than were truly present. The companion ran a critical eye over Vivian’s straight-backed posture, skirts fanned out in a flattering manner, and hands demurely folded in her lap. Apparently finding nothing amiss, she consulted the pad of paper in her hand. “So. Tonight’s count. Five for the five minutes it took you to discourage Mrs. Marbury from her discussion on men’s breeches, two for . . .” It took all of Vivian’s willpower not to protest the list of transgressions. Surely it could not be considered her fault if the companions had been too enthusiastic in their disruptive roles. And yet she knew in some small part it was.
Society would judge her skills as a hostess just as sharply, if not more so. Blinking back the protests that threatened as she listened to all the ways in which she’d failed during the day, Vivian reasserted her vow to improve. After all, if today had truly been a luncheon with society matrons and not just the students and companions, she probably would have been on the verge of tears by the end of it.
Mrs. Banks tapped her notes, finishing her count. “That’s a total of eighteen with my hand, plus four with the hairbrush for the two minutes you were late this morning and two more with the hairbrush for not immediately sitting in your punishment chair after greeting me.”
“But you didn’t tell me to! You can’t punish me for that!” The words burst forth from Vivian’s lips before she could stop them. Although, once she’d thought about it, she didn’t want to stop them. It wasn’t fair she would be punished for not doing something that she hadn’t been told to do in the first place.
Indeed, Mrs. Banks frowned at her. “That’s another two for protesting. Your punishments will never be decided by you, nor will they be excused for anything other than a situation out of your control. You did indeed know what the procedure was to be for this evening, and instead of seating yourself the way you were instructed to last night, you dawdled in an attempt to regain control over your punishment. If you ever have a true excuse you may present it, or you may beg if you are so inclined, but whether or not you will be allowed a reprieve will be up to me, and, eventually, your husband.”
vivian stared down at her hands and didn’t say anything further. She felt so conflicted. On one hand she was indignant that Mrs. Banks suggest she beg. On the other hand, she could feel the truth in the other woman’s words. The need to reassert some control over the indignity of what was about to happen had been instinctual, but it was still the action she had taken by choice. The desire to please Mrs. Banks, and ultimately Lord Cranborne, was very strong, but part of her also felt like rebelling.
Against that, she couldn’t deny her body was already feeling somewhat excited at the knowledge she would be rewarded at the end of her punishment if she was good. Hopefully her outburst would not deny her that sweet finish.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Banks,” she said finally when the silence seemed to drag out. She truly meant it as well.
“Very good, Miss Stafford,” said her companion approvingly, and a little flutter of warmth went through Vivian at the praise. The same words Mrs. Banks had said the day before when she’d put her fingers between Vivian’s legs with such delightful consequences. “You may now stand so we may undress you.”
Mrs. Banks was pleased with the progress Miss Stafford had already made. She’d expected a bit of resistance still, yet Vivian’s innate submissiveness and desire to please had dominated her responses, and she was already beginning to fall easily in line with the program laid out for her. The young woman quietly turned so Mrs. Banks could undo the buttons along the back of her dress, revealing the lacy chemise and drawers beneath, covered by a rose-pink corset with ivory laces. Vivian let out a shuddering breath as her corset was loosened and then removed. Looking down, she blushed as she realized her nipples were already hardened into little buds beneath her chemise, poking suggestively at the fabric. Beneath them she could see the coppery glint of the hair over her mound. Now, knowing the importance of that area, she realized how very suggestive her chemise was; something she had never considered before.
She blushed even harder when Mrs. Banks turned her around and looked down at the rosy swells of her nipples, giving an approving nod.
“Do not be embarrassed by such responses,” Mrs. Banks said, noticing Vivian’s flushed cheeks and lowered gazes. Cupping Vivian’s breasts in her hands, Mrs. Banks squeezed them gently and pinched the jutting nipples, making Vivian whimper and tremble as a current of desire ran through her body. Her thighs pressed together as the area between them suddenly felt extremely hot, the pressure increasing both her excitement and her pleasure. “See how hard and pretty your nipples become? Feel how wet you are? Those are all very good
reactions. Your responsiveness, your pleasure in this, is part of what the earl will value about you as his wife.”
Such a comment only raised more questions in Vivian’s head as Mrs. Banks removed her chemise and drawers, this time also removing Vivian’s shoes and stockings so she was completely nude. Would the earl touch her breasts and pinch her nipples?
Did she want him to? The wetness gathering between her legs and the heat in her body certainly seemed to indicate such a desire.
Mrs. Banks settled herself into the punishment chair, spreading her thighs to widen her lap. “Across my lap now, Miss Stafford.”
Tonight, Vivian draped herself over Mrs. Banks’s legs without protest, and the companion smiled.
“Spread your legs further, Miss Stafford,” she directed. “And point your toes inwards.” Vivian tensed as she did so, awaiting the inevitable addition to her spanking that came with corrections. “I will not add to your punishment this evening, but if you do not spread your legs to my satisfaction tomorrow then you will increase the number of strokes you receive from the hairbrush.” She continued to caress Vivian’s bottom, fingers delving down very quickly to test the status of the young woman’s arousal without giving her any pleasure. Slick, slightly swollen pussy lips split apart by the positioning of her body. Soon her responses would associate all of this, the positioning and the punishments, with pleasure and respond with a sopping wet arousal that would delight the earl and Vivian alike.
Tonight Mrs. Banks decided to cover Vivian’s entire bottom, the slaps coming down with slightly more force than the night before now that the young woman had a better idea of what to expect. She worked her way down one cheek and then the other, making Vivian cry out as her tender sit-spots were also spanked. Why does that spot smart so much more than any other? Vivian wondered. She had no time to contemplate the question before her left side was receiving its second line of hearty smacks.
