Lauren’s alarm went off far too early the next morning. She hit the snooze button twice before finally dragging herself out of bed. She was still utterly exhausted, and she desperately wanted a good full-body massage, but she settled for jumping in the shower so she could get her hair wet enough to get rid of her bed head.
Maybe some time this week, she’d treat herself to a massage, she thought. She definitely deserved it after yesterday. But, no, she decided. It would take too big a chunk of her monthly allowance and, besides, after today she was pretty sure her butt was going to be red for a few days, and she definitely didn’t want to risk someone seeing that again.
She put on a pair of shorts and a light shirt. She had momentarily contemplated doing without the shorts on the assumption that they’d be coming down soon anyway, but she decided there was no need to subject herself to the indignity of walking around bottomless.
In the kitchen, she quickly got to work make a few grilled cheese sandwiches for Don and her lunch. The kitchen clock said 12:28 as she walked the food over to the table—just in time for Don to be walking out carrying that damned manila envelope. “Good afternoon, sir,” she placed his plate in front of him.
“Good afternoon, Lauren,” he replied as he slid into his chair.
As she went to sit down, he held up his hand. “Ah ah ah.” She stopped. “Turn around.”
She did so, remembering belatedly to acknowledge Don with a, “Yes, sir,” but a little uncomfortable that she was obviously being examined.
“Are you wearing panties, Lauren?”
“No . . . no, sir,” she answered nervously. Had she broken a rule unwittingly?
“Go put on panties. Then you can eat.”
“Yes, sir.”
Back at the table after putting on panties, she sat down and bit into her grilled cheese.
“Did you sleep well, Lauren?”
“Not great, sir,” she admitted. “It’s difficult when I know I’m . . . I’m going to be punished the next day.”
“Well, good. Anticipation is part of the punishment, after all.”
They finished eating at about the same time. Don got up. “Lauren, do the dishes and go get your strap and paddle, then take off your shorts, pull down your panties, and stand here,” he directed, pointing a few feet in front of his chair.
“Yes, sir.” She hurried to comply as Don walked off to his room.
By the time Don returned carrying a sheaf of paperwork, she had taken off her shorts and was standing in front of Don’s chair with her panties pulled down to just above her knees and her hands on top of her head. She glanced nervously at the table where she’d placed her paddle and strap wondering just how many times she was going to feel them today.
As Don sat in silence, reading some of the papers, she grew increasingly uncomfortable standing in front of him exposed as she was. She realized it was silly to feel that way after spending a day dancing and serving men naked, but she couldn’t help it. She wondered if she’d ever get over the feeling. Hopefully, she decided, she wouldn’t have enough similar experiences for this to feel normal.
A few minutes passed, and Lauren shifted to Position 2, each hand grabbing the opposite forearm behind her back. What was Do—Mr. Arden—doing? Couldn’t he just get this started? You don’t get to dictate the timing, she chastised herself. He’ll get started when he’s ready, and you will wait patiently and quietly until he does.
Finally, Don looked up. “I’ve read all through your score and confirmed my suspicions, Lauren. For the most part, beyond the obvious that we’ll be talking about later, you didn’t do anything wrong.”
She allowed herself a moment of hope. Was she really going to be spared punishment? But then a moment later, did she want to be?
“But what’s important at the moment is not anything specific you did wrong but what you failed to do. Reading through this score report, Lauren, all I see is that you just. Don’t. Get. It.”
“Sir, I don’t understand—”
“How many private dances did you give, Lauren, other than the one you were told to do?”
“N-none, si—”
“How many times did you ask the men there what kind of outfit they’d like to see you in?”
“I didn’t thi—”
“Did you think that maybe the men you work with might have wanted a chance to see you dancing naked?”
“Sir, I’m so—”
“Did you think that the audience wanted to see you covering yourself instead of getting in a last dance while waiting for your interview?”
“Nobody,” she was tearing up now, “nobody told me I couldn’t cover myself, sir.”
“And nobody should have had to. If you’d really accepted your role, you would have been actively thinking of how best to please the men in that club, Lauren. I gave you a wonderful opportunity. The only expectation anyone had of you there was that you serve and entertain men. It was your perfect chance to show you’d learned a lesson, and instead you spent the day trying to figure out how you could get by on the bare minimum, didn’t you, Lauren?”
“Y-yes, sir.”
“Then let me explain how we’re going to deal with this. What I have here,” he held up a few sheets of paper, “are some additions to your contract that you are going to sign. They are specifically designed to force you to spend a lot of time each day thinking about what you can do to please men and reminding you that all men are your superiors.
“I would have thought,” he added glancing below her waist, “that having to trim your pussy to my specifications each day would have given you enough opportunity to contemplate your place, but I see now I overestimated your ability to mentally adapt.”
“I’m sorry, si—”
“If you’re sorry, then you won’t mind signing the new contract.”
“No, sir. I don’t mind. I’ll sign it.”
“Good. First, I want you to tell me the most important parts of your contract so far.”
“The most . . . I don’t understand, sir.”
He stood up and started walking around her. “I’m about to add a lot of requirements to you, Lauren. So far, you’ve demonstrated your mental capacity to be . . . not great. So, I want to make sure you remember all your current requirements before adding to them.”
She grit her teeth at the suggestion that she was dumb but didn’t object. “Sir, the most important things from my contract are for me to obey all men and respect all men.”
“And? Anything else?”
“I,” she searched around mentally. “I have to make sure to have dinner and breakfast on the table at 7 and 7 every day, sir.”
“And?” He patted her on the behind gently but in a way she found threatening.
“Also, I have to keep the apartment cleaned to your standards and can use only $400 of the money I earn each month, sir.”
“Think harder.” The pat was a little harder this time.
“I . . . I have to maintain my grades, sir.”
“Lauren,” he reached around and brushed a finger through her strip of pubic hair. “I’m going to give you one more chance to list one of your most important requirements or you’re going to face the punishment for failing to meet that requirement.”
She clenched her eyes shut. Oh, God, he was going to make her say it. “Sir, I . . . I have to keep my . . . pussy properly trimmed at all times and must always refer to it as my pussy.”
“There,” he patted her gently on the behind again. “Now that wasn’t so hard, was it? Speaking of your pussy, I want you to trim it in an extra centimeter on each side.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Excellent,” he said, walking around her and retaking his seat. “Now, let’s say, Lauren, that I had a friend at The Landing Strip last night and he told me that your pussy was in ragged shape. Not properly trimmed at all. What should we do about that?”
Lauren was shocked. She didn’t know what to say. “That’s . . . that’s not true, sir.”
“Are you calling my friend, are you calling a man, a liar, Lauren?” he asked with a hint of menace in his voice.
“No . . . no, sir. Maybe . . . maybe he thought I was the wrong dancer. Some of the other women hadn’t trimmed their . . . their . . . their pussies properly.”
“So, he’s not lying, he’s just stupid?”
“No, sir. He could just be wrong.”
“So a man is wrong and you’re right? Are you listening to yourself?”
“Sir, I don’t . . . you can see that my pussy is properly trimmed!”
“Watch your tone, Lauren. Of course I can see it’s trimmed now. Are you trying to tell me you haven’t trimmed it between now and when you were dancing?”
“No, I . . . I trimmed it in the shower last night, sir.”
“Right. So I couldn’t look at it now and know if it was in good shape last night, could I? Since you don’t seem to get it, Lauren, this is a hypothetical question. Nobody told me your pussy wasn’t properly trimmed, but I want to know what you think would have to happen if someone had.”
She was crying again. “Sir, I don’t know what you want me to say.”
He sighed. “I suppose I have to spell it out for you. This example was supposed to help you realize that if a man says you have done something wrong, you have two choices. In this case, your first choice would be to have your pussy whipped. Your second choice would be to say that the man was wrong or lying. If you chose that option, you would be strapped for disrespecting a man, and then have your pussy whipped. Do you understand, Lauren?”
“Yes, sir,” she whimpered, this ramification of her status with respect to men sinking in.
“Good. Now that that’s out of the way, initial at the end of each paragraph and sign each page of that contract addendum.”
“Yes, sir.” She started to crouch down to comply, and then remembered her decision from last night. She straightened but hesitated. Did she really want to put herself through this? “Sir, it occurred to me last night, and our conversation has reminded me that I . . . I have been violating the terms of our contract. You pointed out that I need to internalize my respect and I think that should mean even thinking of you by the appropriate title. I . . . I haven’t, sir. I’ve been thinking of you by your first name, and I recognize now that that’s wrong.”
“I see. Well, I’ll give you some credit for acknowledging your mistake. Now, sign the contract, and then we’ll deal with that.”
“Yes, sir.” She leaned over, initialed at the end of each paragraph, and signed each page, before straightening to wait for what was next.
She didn’t have to wait long. Don sat back down and quickly looked over the contract before looking up. “Okay, Lauren. Bring your strap over here.”
Her knees buckled at the command, and she started crying freely. Oh, God, she thought, He’s going to use the strap on me! But she murmured, “Yes, sir,” and shuffled over to pick up the strap, then shuffled back to hand it to Don.
“Now, Lauren,” he said when she had returned her hands to the back of her head, “you just confessed to being disrespectful to me in your head. What’s the punishment for being disrespectful to me?”
“The strap, sir,” she murmured.
“The strap to?”
It took her a second to understand what he was asking. “The strap to my bare butt, sir.”
“That’s right,” he said it almost like she was a slow student. “Normally, I would have you bend over to receive, well, whatever number of slaps of the strap that I thought you deserved. It’s probably the second worst punishment you’re subject to the moment. Why do you think that is?”
“Because you really want to discourage me from being disrespectful to men, sir.”
“That’s right. And for you, anything less than an acknowledgement of their superiority is disrespect. I’m tempted, however, to let you get by with a lesser penalty—maybe just a hand spanking—in this particular instance.” She knew a moment of hope. “But I’m worried that you’ll think you can get away with being disrespectful in the future just because it’s in your head, so I’m warning you right now, Lauren, this is the one time you’re getting anything less than the strap for disrespect. With that in mind, are there any other instances you need to confess to? This is your one pass.”
She thought for a moment. “Sir, at the . . . the strip club, I thought of myself as better than the men there. I thought of them as low class and me as too good to be there.”
Don laughed. “Well, that much I could tell just from reading your score report. Anything else?”
One final thought came to her. “I . . . there was a man who slapped my butt, and I yelled at him, sir. Told him to keep his hands to himself.”
“I see,” he wasn’t laughing now. “Well, this is going to be for that, too. Here, put your strap back.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, trying to hide her relief as she took the strap and placed it next to the paddle.
“Now, over my knee.”
“Yes, sir.” She lowered herself awkwardly over Don’s lap.
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! “This is not a game, Lauren.”
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! “This is not part time.”
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! “This is your life.”
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! “You will show”
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! “proper respect to men”
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! “at home”
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! “at work”
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! “in your head”
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! “Everywhere.”
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! “Do you understand me, Lauren?”
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! She was sobbing now, and struggled to answer. “Y-y-yes, si-si-sir.”
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! “Good.”
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! “Because the next time we have to have this conversation,”
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! “The next time you so much as think disrespectfully about a man,”
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! “I promise you that”
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! “this conversation will be with the strap.”
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! “Do you understand me, Lauren?”
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! “Y-y-yes, sir.”
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! “Good. Now get up and we’ll discuss the changes to your contract you just signed.”
She didn’t understand at first what Don had said and instead lay across his lap crying.
SMACK! “I said get up, Lauren, and now how about you go stand in the corner until you can get your crying under control.”
“Ye-ye-yes, sir.” She pushed herself up, grabbed her forearms behind her back, and shuffled over to stand in the corner, still crying as she pressed her nose against the wall.
She tried but couldn’t seem to stop. Between Don threatening to whip her . . . and then threatening to strap her . . . and as it set in that she had just agreed to new, unknown rules, that there would likely be no respite in going to work . . . and on top of THAT that she had just set the precedent that she could be punished for her thoughts. And her butt hurt so much, and she knew she was in for more. It was just too much. How had she let herself get into this position? She couldn’t seem to stop crying.
Finally, she did seem to be getting it under control and was at the point where she was just doing the stuttering breathing that came after a good long cry when she heard Don walk out into the room.
“Good God, Lauren. You’re still crying?” She heard him winding up the kitchen timer. “When this goes off, we are going to discuss the additions to your contract, and you had better have stopped crying by then, or I’m going to give you something to cry about.”
The threat was enough to get her crying all over again. It was so unfair! How could she be expected to remain composed when facing a spanking or worse? The ticking of the kitchen timer seemed to be getting louder and she started panicking. Finally, she hit on two thoughts that helped her calm herself, and she repeated them over and over in her head: not only had she deserved the last punishment, she had asked for it, and no matter what, she got to go back to some semblance of normalcy at work tomorrow. The second thought, she realized, assumed that one of the new requirements in the contract to which she had just agreed.
And finally, finally, she was able to stop crying. Moments later, the kitchen timer went off. Don walked out of his room. “All right, Lauren. Come over here. We’re going to go over your new contractual requirements and then discuss your punishment for the way you behaved toward that man at The Landing Strip.”
Don leaned back on the couch, eying Lauren up and down. His gaze lingered on her landing strip. It was a shame Lauren was so conscientious about grooming there; he was really looking forward to whipping her. Ah, well—given enough time, she was bound to slip up. He imagined getting whipped there would be agonizing. How could it not, a thin strip of leather whipping into the most sensitive part of her body repeatedly?
And even still, even though she had to know that it would be the most painful thing she’d ever experience, Lauren would accept his judgment if he decided she had earned a pussy whipping. Oh, she’d probably protest, and cry, and beg, and try (in her ridiculous fashion) to negotiate—the girl really was a wuss when it came to pain which is why it was the best way to modify her behavior to what Don considered more acceptable—but ultimately, she would allow herself to be hung upside-down, legs spread, and whipped. Rules were rules, after all, and if nothing else, Lauren was good at accepting the consequences of violating rules.
Even rules she hadn’t been aware of until she violated them. Or, Don thought with an inner smile, rules he had never intended to impose on her. Seriously, confessing to thinking about him with a lack of proper respect? That was a nice touch and had really made his day. The new interpretation was bound to give him ample opportunity to strap her bare ass in the coming weeks.
It was that “enough time” part that left him worried. Yeah, given a long enough period of time, Lauren would fail to trim her pubic hair one day, but the contract had an expiration date, and it wasn’t actually that far off. Or hadn’t been that far off, rather. That was why he had written a six-month extension into the addendum that he had just made Lauren sign. That should be more than enough time for her to slip up.
Really, the extension was for Lauren’s own good. She was nowhere near the point, yet, of having internalized her inferiority to men; if the contract expired, she’d revert to behaving as though they were equals in no time without the threat of a spanking looming in her mind. That thought gave him another idea: he wasn’t going to point out the extension to her.
She’d be free to read the contract on her own time, of course, but if she didn’t bother or missed that part, she’d walk around thinking that time was rapidly running down. Wouldn’t it be rich if she thought the contract had expired and returned to her previous behavior only to have Don point out the extension to her after a few days? By then, she would probably have accumulated all manner of punishments. Maybe she would have even neglected her pubic hair for those few days giving Don the excuse he finally needed to whip her. Yeah, that would be great, Don decided. Just the look on her face . . . as it sunk in, as Don began quizzing her on all her recent rule violations, as he made her walk over to stand in the corner and wait for the kind of long, hard spanking that she thought she would never again have to endure . . . just that tremulous, well-eyed look would be worth letting her misbehave for a few days.
But that was getting ahead of himself. Being too eager would make him impatient which could ruin the great thing he had going on. Instead, he focused on the moment. He had been reviewing the video of Lauren’s performance that he had had his friend Fidel send him. He hadn’t watched the whole thing yet—she had worked at the Landing Strip for over 14 hours, after all—but what he had seen certainly had been entertaining. The only disappointment was that he had yet to come across any inappropriate behavior on Lauren’s part that she had failed to report. It would have been fun to confront her with that and watch her desperately hem and haw and try to avoid a punishment.
Still, it was entertaining. Hilarious, even. Watching Lauren start out awkward and uncoordinated on stage, skimpily dressed and uncomfortable, and getting less dressed and more uncomfortable by the minute . . . she had clearly been humiliated, and watching her vacillate between that humiliation and desperately degrading herself just to get a man to tip her a dollar had been a thing of beauty. The highlight had been during a lull when Lauren was naked, down on all fours, clearly looking desperately to earn some tips, and practically being ignored by the few customers as she shook her ass right in front of them. That must have done wonders for her sense of self-worth.
And when she was waiting tables naked . . . well, even without having to be naked, Don didn’t think Lauren was a very good waitress. She had been constantly running back-and-forth—probably not too easy in her succession of ridiculously high heels—and still managed to take forever to get people their orders. She had gotten better with time at both dancing and serving, but there was no doubt that the experience had to have taken her down a much needed peg or three. Her self-image of competence was probably shot at the moment which was just the way Don liked her.
He had already decided that he wasn’t going to show her the video. Not yet, at least. No, he would save that for some time when he wanted to make her cry without threatening her with a spanking. Yeah, she would definitely cry when she saw it . . . cry to see how ridiculous she had looked . . . cry to be reminded of her humiliation . . . most of all, cry to learn that the whole thing had been recorded in high definition. Heh—maybe he’d just email it to her and order her to pick who she was going to forward it to from a list of friends, relatives, and co-workers.
But not now. Now was the time to reveal the new rules to Lauren.