Marriage Training

by Golden Angel

  It wasn’t until after dinner that she realized she was feeling almost despondent over the lack of anything interesting happening that evening. Not only would there be no dinner with the earl, there wouldn’t even be a disciplinary session. Instead her time just stretched on until she retired, leaving her feeling restless and unsatisfied. The change in her routine combined with the lack of an orgasm before bedtime meant an uneasy night. She was full of energy she hadn’t expended, and her body had become used to achieving a satisfying climax before sleeping.

  The sensation was akin to an itch she couldn’t scratch. Rubbing her thighs together only provided so much relief to her loins. When she finally fell into an uneasy slumber, her dreams were filled with fleeting erotic images; Gabriel’s lips pressed against hers as his tongue slid into her mouth, his fingers touching her the way Mrs. Banks’s did as she bent over his lap, the burning between her legs and on her bottom that a spanking produced. In her dreams the spankings weren’t painful at all. All they did was arouse her.

  She woke the next morning feeling tired and cranky. When the maid helped her dress it was all Vivian could do to keep from moaning as the silk slid against her breasts and nipples, the little buds turning hard and achy. The whisper of fabric between her legs just made her want to rub her thighs together some more, even though she already knew it was useless. Perhaps it wasn’t that she needed the spanking so much as that she needed the release that always followed it, but right now she almost felt as if she would welcome either.

  What had happened to her body to make her this way? Had her marital training already changed her so much?

  Was this what it meant to be a woman and a wife instead of a miss?

  Emily noticed her distraction during the day and prodded her until Vivian explained about dinner with Gabriel and the magical first kiss. Not that she told Emily everything about it, but it was enough that her friend clapped happily and completely understood why Vivian was so unfocused. Of course, it was the truth, but it wasn’t the entire truth.

  Her body had been stirred by the efforts of Mrs. Banks, and those new desires had been focused by the appearance of Gabriel into her life. Now she was realizing it wasn’t just gratitude for what the earl had done for her family driving her, nor some small amount of attraction, nor a sense of responsibility towards her fiancé—it was her own body. Something inside of her had been awakened that she didn’t know how to put back to sleep. Even if she could, she didn’t want to.

  On Monday, Vivian eagerly threw herself back into her studies, looking forward to the evening. Even though she knew punishment would be part of it, her body had already become accustomed to the routine, and she almost craved it along with the pleasure she knew would follow.

  The students were all in top form throughout the day, and it was the smoothest day of the practicum to date. By the time they returned back to the school, each young woman seemed to feel supremely confident and satisfied.

  The girls enjoyed their dinner immensely, still flush with the glow of victory as they chattered.

  “We’ve all been doing brilliantly,” Rosalie said happily, beaming around the table at all of them. “I’d been dreading making my debut before Mama sent me here, but I feel much more confident about my prospects now.”

  “Mrs. Billings said I’m sure to make a good match of it,” Astoria said, pointing her haughty nose in the air, but even she had a smile on her face. While they might not all rub along perfectly personality wise, the practicum had drawn them together as a group; they had to depend upon one another for support. The school had found it was a very useful tool for helping the young ladies make connections they would rely on during their entrance into society.

  “Most of the young ladies who come from here do,” Emily pointed out, ever practical. She smiled at Vivian. “Some of us already have.”

  Astoria sniffed as Vivian gave Emily a weak smile. Of all the things she disliked talking about with her fellow students, her mysterious future husband was near the top of the list. Mostly because they had quite a few more questions than Vivian had answers.

  That night, Mrs. Banks delivered a spanking as usual, but it wasn’t very harsh or long, and she did so with an air of indulgence rather than necessity. It was almost a pleasurable spanking, warming Vivian’s cheeks with stinging slaps that did more to arouse than punish. Throughout it all, Vivian imagined what it would be like to experience it with the earl.

  On Tuesday a fire erupted in the kitchens right before luncheon, which threw the entire day askew. The startled looks on the companions’ faces said this was not a planned emergency, but they required the students handle everything, anyway. By the end of the day all of the participants in the practicum were exhausted from the extra effort that had gone into righting things within the household—everything from reorganizing the luncheon on short notice, to taking an assessment of the damages and arranging for repairs, factoring that into the household expenses, and getting the staff back in working order after all the excitement. Of course, they couldn’t keep themselves from whispering back and forth all day about what might have occurred to start the fire.

  The companions frowned heavily upon the whispers, as they distracted the students from what they were supposed to be doing, and Vivian knew her bottom would pay for it later, but she and the other girls couldn’t help themselves once they’d realized it wasn’t a planned emergency. That was much more exciting than the little things the companions would do to throw a wrench into the inner workings of the house.

  On the carriage ride back to the school, Vivian noticed some soot that had gotten onto the hem of her lavender skirt and surreptitiously tried to rub it away with her shoe. Fortunately, Mrs. Banks was staring out the window at the time and so didn’t notice she’d gotten her dress dirty. Squeezing her thighs together beneath her skirts, Vivian felt a flutter of excitement as she thought about her upcoming evening. Being so excited felt almost a little shameful, like a perverse little secret she didn’t want to share with anyone.

  Across the carriage from her, Emily sighed and Vivian smiled encouragingly at her. Poor Emily had been the student in charge of the household when the fire had first flared up, she had been the one to throw the household into action to put it out and ensure it didn’t spread. Fortunately, she had known what to do, having seen a kitchen fire before, and hadn’t let them try to use water—instead they’d smothered the flames with thick cloths.

  “I’m not sure I want to run my own household anymore,” Emily said rather cheekily, resting her head against the side of the carriage. Her companion rolled her eyes but Mrs. Banks looked disapproving, so Vivian didn’t say she agreed with her friend’s sentiment.

  “It was a rather hard day,” she said instead, her voice full of sympathy. “I’m thankful for the practice, otherwise I hate to think what a mull I might make of things.”

  “Well, it’s different for you.” Emily laughed and waved her hand, her tired eyes sparkling a little. “You already have a husband and a household ready and waiting once we finish at school. I think I’ll wait around a few years after my come-out before I accept one of my suitor’s proposals.”

  “Your father might not allow you to do so,” Miss Norton warned, obviously not liking the idea that her charge might be getting ideas the marquess would disapprove of in his daughter.

  “I’m sure he’ll do whatever he thinks is best for me,” Emily said with the air of an indulged daughter who had her father wrapped around her little finger. For herself, Vivian was only a little envious of Emily’s better situation. She thought she might have liked to have a say in the man she married, but now she also couldn’t imagine wanting to marry anyone but Gabriel, a thought that held her all the way back to the school and to the time for her evening punishment.

  Awaiting the arrival of Mrs. Banks to her room, Vivian shifted back and forth on the comfortable seat of her armchair. The soreness in her bottom was completely gone, but that might not last long. Although she knew she hadn�

��t made very many mistakes today, she knew she had made some. There would be some kind of punishment before the pleasure.

  When the door opened to admit Mrs. Banks, Vivian was ready for her. Mrs. Banks smiled at her charge, although her hand hovered over the pocket where she was keeping the small whip she was going to use on Vivian this evening.

  As they were more than halfway through Vivian’s first month of training, it was time to introduce her to some of the tools of the trade with which she might find herself chastised.

  Mrs. Banks pulled her notebook out of her other pocket as Vivian sat down in her punishment chair, looking almost eager for the start of the evening. She glowed as Mrs. Banks praised Vivian for her successes from the day, which Mrs. Banks was not loath to give her; she knew Vivian thrived on such accolades. Tonight, Vivian would need the praise to bolster her, as Mrs. Banks would be moving into the part of the curriculum where Vivian must become accustomed to being punished for no other reason than her disciplinarian’s pleasure. It would need to be done carefully, so as not to make her downtrodden or feel as though it was somehow deserved when she’d done nothing wrong.

  The list of mistakes was a short one and took very little time before Mrs. Banks announced that Vivian would receive ten spanks and helped the young woman to undress. As was becoming usual, she tied Vivian’s wrists behind her back.

  Despite the fact that Vivian had done very well during her lessons, and knowing what would happen after this initial spanking, this time Mrs. Banks did not hold back on the strength of her blows to Vivian’s upturned bottom.

  After last night, Vivian had been expecting a similar, pleasurable spanking. She jerked with each smack of flesh, a small whimper escaping her lips every time, although she did manage to maintain some dignity as she did not kick or sob the way she often had when she was in this position. After all, ten spanks were barely anything at all compared to what she’d received last week! Despite the increase in intensity of the slaps compared to the night before, her body responded with the same excitement.

  When Mrs. Banks counted out the last one, Vivian heaved a sigh of relief. The companion’s legs shifted beneath her and she heard the slide of fabric, which usually indicated something being removed from Mrs. Banks’s pocket.

  Mrs. Banks moved Vivian to a standing position and stood up herself. The companion then gave her a surprising order. “Sit down.”

  Vivian was finding there was nothing she disliked more than a change to her routine. It was disconcerting and frightening. But she didn’t protest. Instead she meekly sat down in the punishment chair, hissing as her bottom landed a little harder without her hands to help her do so.

  Crossing around behind her, Mrs. Banks used a second length of silk to secure Vivian’s bound wrists to the chair back. The position thrust the young woman’s breasts forward, rendering it extremely uncomfortable to try and hunch her shoulders. The rosy tips of her nipples pressed out even further, as if offering themselves up.

  “Lovely,” Mrs. Banks said as she circled around to Vivian’s front.

  The realization that she was tied to the punishment chair, with her bottom firmly planted on its seat, wound Vivian’s anxiety up to almost unparalleled heights. That kind of tremulous agitation was like an aphrodisiac to men of the earl’s character; Mrs. Banks recognized its worth.

  Mrs. Banks held the small leather whip up in front of her so Vivian could see the delicate creation. It was made of soft leather strands, each about ten inches long, and had been provided by the earl himself. Depending on how it was wielded, the strands could caress or sting. It was not a whip meant for a young woman’s buttocks, which could take quite a bit of punishment without any ill effects, but for more delicate areas.

  Vivian stared at the whip as if it were a many-headed snake, her mouth going dry as she tried to imagine what was about to happen. “Mrs. Banks?” she asked.

  “You will have a total of twenty strokes, I will administer ten on each side,” Mrs. Banks said, shifting herself slightly so she was well out of the way of Vivian’s feet. While she didn’t think the young woman would purposefully kick her, there was no telling how she might react to this change in punishment.

  The whip slapped against Vivian’s right breast and she drew in a shocked breath; the many strands snapped against tender skin. Most didn’t truly hurt except for the strand that landed directly across her nipple, biting into the especially sensitive flesh and causing it to pucker even more.

  “One.”

  Before Vivian had time to do more than gasp with the shock, another stroke landed across her breast. This time no strands hit her nipple, but instead landed on her puffy areola.

  “Mrs. Banks, why are you doing this?” Vivian’s arched back as she tried to escape this strange new area of pain only made it seem as though she was thrusting her breast out to ask for more.

  “Two.”

  “Why?” the young woman wailed.

  “Because sometimes—three—your husband will want to enjoy your pain.” Mrs. Banks’s voice was low, almost seductive. Vivian shivered as she suddenly pictured a cold, cruel smile on the earl’s face, his eyes lighting up as he watched her writhe. “Four—and you must learn to accept whatever is given to you—five—and that you will not have control over your pain or your pleasure.”

  Vivian tried to listen to the explanation even though it made very little sense to her. She understood the gist, however, which was that sometimes her husband would desire to torment her for no reason at all. That he would find it exciting to have her at his mercy.

  Stroke after stroke of the whip snapped against her skin, placing another layer of impact. With each layer the painful sensation grew. Her skin pinkened, becoming more sensitive as the soft strands of the whip bit into it. Every time a strand licked across her poor nipple she cried out. The blows were not nearly as hard as the ones Mrs. Banks applied to her bottom, but they stung and burned in a completely different way.

  To add to her distress, the inevitable squirming was inflaming the welts across her buttocks, adding to the sting and making it seem as though the erotic pain was flowing into her from more than one direction.

  When Mrs. Banks reached ten she paused for a moment, and Vivian lifted her anxious eyes in hopes of a reprieve. Instead the companion stepped forward, a cool and neutral expression on her face, and pinched Vivian’s tender nipple between her fingers.

  “Ouch! Mrs. Banks, oh, please!”

  Using the tiny nubbin, Mrs. Banks lifted the curve of Vivian’s breast. Her tight grip on the bud sent shockwaves of alternating pain and pleasure through Vivian’s body, making her gasp and thrust her breasts forward again in hopes of relieving the pressure. She could feel the heavy mound of her breast lifting—for what purpose she couldn’t imagine but was about to discover.

  Careful to avoid hitting Vivian’s thigh, Mrs. Banks flicked her wrist and the strands of the whip snapped upwards against the sensitive underside of her breast. It was the one part of her breast which, until this point, had gone largely unmarked.

  “Eight.”

  With a yelp, Vivian’s head fell backwards, her eyes closing as the whip stung her anew. It was only three lashes to the tender underside, her nipple throbbing in the tight confines of Mrs. Banks’s fingers, before the companion dropped her breast and allowed it to wobble back into its normal place.

  Two tears trickled down Vivian’s cheeks, one on each side, and splashed down to her chest, over her breasts. One breast was unmarked, creamy with a pink nipple of pale rose, the other was streaked with lines of pink, and the nipple was darkened and angry-looking. It looked and felt like a ripe cherry about to burst.

  “Lovely,” Mrs. Banks said, crooning the word. “The contrast is quite stunning and you’re being such a good girl, Vivian. The earl will be so pleased with you.”

  Vivian moaned, her insides clenching at Mrs. Banks’s words.

  Then the strands lifted, flew through the air, and snapped against the tender flesh of her previously neglected breast. The new sting and added burden had the tears flowing down Vivian’s cheeks to land on her tormented breasts. The dance began all over again, her flesh jiggling, her bottom pressing against the unforgiving seat, her legs kicking as her formerly untouched nipple was lashed and ripened. Throughout, Mrs. Banks voice intoned after each stroke, counting her way to ten.

  The pinch and lift of her nipple was almost welcome, a kind of marker for the last stretch of her punishment.

  When it was done, Vivian’s head hung down, her eyes closed. The twin peaks of her breasts were now matched— the formerly ivory skin turned a darker rose, her nipples cherry red. It was fine work.

  A hand landed on Vivian’s thigh, softly, gently. Vivian obeyed as a finger tapped on the soft inner skin, and she spread her legs just enough for the hand to slip in, for fingers to search and pleasure her.

  The tie that secured her to the chair was undone.

  “On your knees, Vivian,” Mrs. Banks said gently, helping her down. Standing before her, Mrs. Banks slipped her fingers into Vivian’s mouth. They had only the faintest taste of her musky juices on them. Pushing them deep between Vivian’s lips, Mrs. Banks teased the back of the young woman’s throat. With her face tilted back, cheeks streaked with tears, she looked satisfactorily penitent. Beneath that was the erotic sight of her punished breasts, the marked skin and irritated nipples. The position also allowed Mrs. Banks’s fingers to delve deeper without the young woman gagging.

  After a suitable length of time, Mrs. Banks removed her fingers from Vivian’s mouth. Relieved, Vivian ran her tongue around the backs of her teeth. After a while the constant stimulation in her mouth had become rather wearying. It seemed as though Mrs. Banks had Vivian suckling for a little longer every evening.

  “Up we go,” Mrs. Banks said, leading an almost stumbling Vivian to the bed. “Bend over now, dear.”

  Vivian moaned as she bent over the bed, partly in fear that her welted bottom was about to receive an unanticipated punishment, and partly because her breasts felt even more sore as they pressed against the covers. The sensitive skin burned anew as her breasts were crushed between her and the bed, her nipples throbbing again as they were pushed into the bed.

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