Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 60059 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60059 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
Walking back to my cubicle, his comment played again in my head. What should Abe have said?
My face blazed as the answer came to me once again—the same words that I had thought, but not written, the previous night.
Your husband will fuck your tight little cunt just like this, Debbie. He’s going to have a good time when he pops your sweet cherry.
How could I even think those words, let alone write them?
By the time I got back to my apartment, my nerves felt shot. I stood in my apartment’s entryway, my handbag sliding from my shoulder as exhaustion hit me. The refrigerator display chirped its greeting, reminding me I’d only consumed 892 calories so far. My stomach rumbled in response, but as I reached for the handle, another thought struck me with the force of a physical blow.
The second video. I had to watch Morning Corrections tonight.
My hand froze on the refrigerator handle. The memory of this morning flooded back—standing before my mirror in the black lingerie I’d selected with trembling fingers. The bra had delicate lace and strategic cutouts, pushing my breasts up scandalously. But it was the thong that had made my breath catch. A tiny triangle of black lace in front, with a string that disappeared between my cheeks, leaving me essentially bare. I’d turned slowly, examining myself from every angle, and felt a shameful thrill at how… sexy I looked. How unlike the demure girl from the New Modesty program.
My tummy flipped with something that wasn’t hunger. I should eat first, I told myself. Be sensible. But my body was already responding to the mere thought of what waited on that tablet, warmth spreading below my belly where the tiny thong pressed against increasingly sensitive flesh.
I abandoned the refrigerator and walked to the bedroom on unsteady legs. My fingers fumbled with the zipper of my dress, and I let it pool at my feet. The full-length mirror reflected again what Scott had seen earlier—the black lace barely concealing anything, my nipples already visible through the sheer fabric, the thong showing vividly how bare I was required to keep myself down there.
I bit my lip hard, my hand drifting toward my breast before I caught myself. Not yet. I had to watch the video first, follow his instructions exactly.
I grabbed the tablet with shaking hands and settled onto the bed, propping myself against the pillows. The NMB logo made my tummy flip all on its own as I navigated to the second video. Morning Corrections appeared on the screen, and I pressed play before I could lose my nerve.
The scene opened in Debbie’s pink and white bedroom. Morning light streamed through sheer curtains as Ruth entered, her expression stern but not unkind.
“Time for your morning inspection, sweetheart,” she announced, pulling back Debbie’s covers.
Debbie sat up groggily, wearing a thin white nightgown that had ridden up during sleep. Ruth’s eyes immediately narrowed.
“Stand up and remove your nightgown,” she instructed.
I watched as Debbie obeyed, her movements still sluggish with sleep. When the nightgown dropped, revealing her completely naked body, Ruth’s expression darkened further.
“Turn around, hands on the wall.”
The camera captured everything as Ruth conducted her inspection, running her hands along Debbie’s body with detached precision. When her fingers reached between the girl’s legs, she made a disappointed sound.
“What did I tell you about not giving in to temptation?” Ruth’s voice was sharp with disapproval.
My hand moved between my own legs almost involuntarily, fingers finding the damp lace of my thong as I watched Ruth withdraw her hand and show the camera—and Debbie—the evidence of the girl’s arousal glistening on her fingers.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Debbie whimpered. “I tried not to touch myself, but… I had a dream, and…”
“Dreams are no excuse for giving into idle pleasure,” Ruth said firmly. “Abe will need to correct this behavior immediately.”
My breathing quickened as Abe entered the frame, already dressed for work in slacks and a button-down shirt. His expression when he saw Debbie’s position—hands against the wall, legs spread, Ruth’s fingers still displaying her wetness—made my stomach clench with recognition. It was the same look Jacob had gotten when he found a reason to discipline.
“How many times have we discussed this, Debbie?” Abe asked, his voice dangerously calm as he removed his belt with practiced efficiency.
“Three times, sir,” Debbie whispered, her whole body trembling.
“And yet here we are again.” The leather made an ominous creaking noise as he doubled it over. “Twenty lashes. Count them.”
I pressed my fingers harder against my clit through the soaked lace as the first strike landed across Debbie’s bottom. Her cry echoed through my bedroom, mixing with my own soft gasp. The camera work was exquisite—cutting between Debbie’s face contorted in pain, the red stripes blooming across her pale skin, and Ruth’s expression of maternal concern mixed with approval.