Page 22 of His to Enjoy
I grabbed the tablet and settled onto the bed, my heart already pounding.Ruth’s Punishment. My finger trembled as I pressed play.
The scene opened in what looked like the same study where Debbie had first been inspected. But this time, Ruth stood in the center of the room, her hands clasped in front of her, head bowed. She wore a simple housedress that I recognized from the previous videos. Abe sat behind his desk, his expression stern.
“Do you know why you’re here, Ruth?” His voice carried a weight that made my tummy flip.
“Yes, sir,” Ruth whispered, and hearing her use that deferential tone sent a shock through me. This was the woman who had so brazenly guided Debbie’s training, who had administered punishments with maternal authority.
“Tell me,” Abe commanded.
Ruth’s face flushed deep red. “I… I overspent on clothes shopping. fifty dollars over our agreed budget.”
My hand drifted to my breast, fingers finding my nipple through the satin as I watched Abe stand and move around the desk. The dynamic had shifted completely. Ruth was no longer an authority figure but a wife who had transgressed.
“And what did we agree would happen if you exceeded the budget again?” Abe asked, his hand lifting Ruth’s chin to force eye contact.
“That I would… that I’d get… the belt,” Ruth said, her voice barely audible.
“Just like Debbie does,” Abe agreed, nodding. “And?”
“That… that Debbie would… would watch me get it.”
My breath caught. The camera panned to show Debbie sitting in a chair in the corner, her eyes wide with a mixture of shock and something else—something that looked dangerously like arousal. She wore the white dress from her first day or one just like it, her hands folded primly in her lap.
“Remove your dress,” Abe instructed his wife.
I pressed my thighs together as Ruth obeyed with trembling fingers, revealing practical white underwear—so different from the lingerie I wore. Abe’s expression remained impassive as he pointed to the desk.
“Bend over. Debbie, come here.”
The younger woman approached hesitantly, her face flushed. “Yes, sir?”
“You’re going to count the strokes,” Abe said, removing his belt with the same clearly practiced motion I’d seen before. “And you’re going to understand that everyone in this household is subject to discipline when they misbehave—just as your husband will keep you in line.”
My fingers had found their way inside my panties now, circling my clit as I watched Ruth position herself over the desk. The first lash from the belt made her cry out, her composure cracking immediately.
“One,” Debbie said, her voice high and uncertain.
The camera captured Ruth’s knuckles going white as she gripped the desk’s edge. Her practical cotton panties had been pulleddown to her knees, and I could see the angry red stripe already forming across her pale bottom. The sight made my fingers move faster against my swollen clit, the ivory satin of my panties already growing damp.
“Louder,” Abe commanded, bringing the belt down again with a sharp crack that echoed through the study.
“Two!” Debbie called out more clearly, and I noticed how her breathing had quickened, how she shifted her weight from foot to foot as if fighting her own body’s response.
By the fifth stroke, Ruth had begun to sob openly, all her maternal authority stripped away. She looked so vulnerable, so human, bent over that desk with her bottom turning progressively darker shades of red. The contrast with her role in the previous videos made my head spin with arousal.
“Please, sir,” Ruth gasped after the tenth stroke. “I’m so sorry. I won’t overspend again.”
“We’re only halfway done,” Abe said calmly, and the belt whistled through the air again.
“Eleven!” Debbie’s voice had taken on a breathy quality that I recognized all too well. The camera caught her pressing her thighs together, her hands no longer folded primly but clutching the fabric of her dress at her sides.
I slipped my fingers inside myself, gasping at how wet I’d become. The ivory panties might be ruined, but I didn’t care. All I could focus on was Ruth’s complete submission, the way her hips had begun to move slightly after each stroke, not just from pain but from something else.
“Look at this,” Abe said suddenly, pausing after the fifteenth stroke. His fingers traced between Ruth’s legs, and when he held them up to the camera, they glistened with her arousal. “My wife is getting wet from her punishment. Just like a certain young lady we know.”
The camera swung to Debbie, whose face had gone scarlet. “I… sir…”
“It’s natural,” Abe said, his tone almost professorial as he delivered the sixteenth stroke. “Women need discipline. Their bodies understand this even when their minds resist.”
