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Don was awake and reading. “Well, welcome home, Lauren,” he said energetically. Of course, it was probably easy for someone who hadn’t spent the last fourteen hours dancing and waiting on tables to be energetic. “Come here.”
“Thank you, sir,” she said, walking over to stand in front of where he sat on the couch.
“So, how was it? Did you enjoy yourself?”
She hated the implication that there could have been anything enjoyable about her experience, and she was sure that Don knew she hated it. In her tired state, it was a struggle to maintain a respectful demeanor, but she knew it was especially important considering she was about to reveal that she hadn’t won the contest. “No, sir. I can’t . . . Having to be naked . . . Having to serve all those men . . . It was . . . it was the most humiliating experience of my life. Every second of it.”
Don frowned. “I see. Well, it was intended as a punishment and a lesson, and you do look well-chastened, so I suppose that’s good. Do you think it was sufficient punishment for not showing proper respect to men over the years?”
Lauren hesitated. This was, after all, the punishment Don had assigned her—along with that horrible spanking, paddling, and strapping session—to make amends, so by definition, it should have been sufficient. But she was 27—even if she was only responsible for the time since she had legally been an adult, that was over nine years of her treating men as equals or even being openly rude to them. Could one severe corporal punishment session and one day of even extreme humiliation really make up for that?
“I think, sir,” she answered slowly, “that it was a very good lesson to help teach me how to treat men and my proper role around them.”
Don frowned. “That’s not what I asked you, Lauren. I asked if you thought it was sufficient punishment.”
She gulped and answered quietly, “I . . . I don’t think I can possibly make up for years of bad behavior with a one night punishment, sir. It’s going to take me a long time to make amends.” She paused, then rushed to continue. “But I am happy that you’re here to guide me through it and ensure that I am moving in the right direction.”
Don pursed his lips for a moment. “Fair enough. Do you think it would help you to work there again?”
She had been afraid he would ask that. “I . . . I don’t want to go back, sir,” she answered softly.
“Lauren,” he sounded angry, “Stop evading the questions. It’s too late and I’m too tired for that crap. Do you think going back to the Landing Strip would help teach you to treat men properly?”
“Sir, I think . . . I think it was as much the waiting tables as anything else that served as a good lesson for me. I’ve never had to do work like that. I’ve always . . . I guess I’ve always thought I was above it, but it helped to teach me my proper role is serving men. I . . . I could get that at any restaurant. It wouldn’t have to be a . . . a gentlemen’s club, sir.”
Don was silent for a moment, just staring at her. Lauren was starting to get nervous when he finally spoke. “Lauren, let me make sure I have this straight. Are you sincerely claiming that you think working at the Olive Garden is going to be as helpful as working at the Landing Strip in teaching you—in forcing you to internalize—that men are your betters, entitled to your obedience and unquestioning respect?”
It sounded silly when he put it like that, but she didn’t think she could just back away now. She smiled sheepishly. “Well, I . . . maybe not exactly as good, sir, but I definitely think it would be helpful. I think a big part of my problem, sir, is never having had to do that kind of work growing up.”
“I’m going to take you at your word, Lauren, but let me tell you,” he leaned forward, “I think you’re lying. You don’t want me to think you’re lying too often.” Her sheepish smile disappeared. “So, I’m going to walk you through this. You and me, Lauren, we understand our roles, right? Between you and me, who is in charge?”
“You are, sir.”
“That’s right, Lauren. Things between us flow only in one direction. Would you ever tell me what to do? Ever even think to tell me what to do?”
“No, sir,” she shook her head emphatically.
“And let’s take a look at us right now. You’ve been on your feet all day, waiting tables and dancing on stage. I’ve been relaxing. You’re probably more tired than me, and you’d probably like to be sitting down. Yet, we’re having this conversation with you standing and me lounging on the couch. Why is that?”
She hadn’t really thought about that. She hadn’t even considered the idea that she would sit down during this conversation. It was so clearly not appropriate. “I . . . I guess it’s just a matter of respect, sir.”
“You guess. I see. Can you recall a time when this was ever reversed, when we were having a conversation and I was standing while you were sitting?”
She thought for a moment. “No, sir.”
“Okay, so we’ve established both that this setting is a demonstration of respect and that you do it for me automatically. Now, what if I told you to take off all your clothes and put your hands on top of your head—or, better yet, had you lay across my lap while we continued this conversation?”
She gulped. “That . . . that would be your right, sir.”
“I know it would be my right, Lauren. The question is, how would it affect our power differential? Would it change this conversation at all?”
“I . . . I would feel more vulnerable, sir. I would probably take more time to make sure I was replying appropriately. I would definitely be more aware of the fact that you were in charge.”
Don nodded with a smile as though she was finally getting it. Which, she supposed, she was. “So, requiring you to be naked during our interaction would reinforce our relative positions for you, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“So do you see why having you work at The Landing Strip would be different—better—than having you work at The Olive Garden in terms of helping you accept the need for you to respect and obey men?”
“Yes, sir,” she practically whispered.
“Then I’ll ask you again, do you think going back to the Landing Strip would help teach you to treat men properly?”
“Yes, sir . . . but please,” she felt tears welling up in her eyes, “I don’t want to do it again.”
“Well, Lauren,” his voice hardened, “When it comes to making sure you learn to give men their proper respect, what you want is absolutely irrelevant. I haven’t decided when, but you are going to be going back to work at The Landing Strip. Do you understand me?”
She was staring at the ground and the tears were coming freely now. “Yes, sir,” she said sullenly.
He lounged back again and smiled. “Good. Now that that’s settled, how did you do in the contest?”
She managed to stifle her crying for a moment and wiped her face with her sleeve. “Sir, I . . . I came in third. But I swear, I tried my hardest. I really did, sir.”
His smile turned hard as quickly as it had appeared. “Third. I see.” He pointed to the manila envelope Lauren was carrying. “What’s that?”
Lauren was as surprised as she was relieved that she hadn’t immediately been pulled across Don’s knee. It took her a moment to realize what he was asking and a moment longer to realize she had no idea what was in the envelope. “I . . . I don’t know, sir.”
“Give it to me.”
She handed it to him. He took it and immediately slapped it back into her hand, startling her. “You know better than that, Lauren. When I tell you to do something, you don’t just do it. You acknowledge that you’re doing what I told you. Now let’s try that again. Give it to me, Lauren.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, handing him the envelope. Suddenly, her fear heightened. She had no idea what was in that envelope. Could it possibly make her situation worse than it already was?
Don laughed as he flipped through the papers from the envelope. “This is your score report, Lauren. I guess it’s a good thing you didn’t try to deceive me about the results, huh?”
She gulped. “Yes, sir.”
“Now, while I’m reading through this and deciding what we’re going to do about your third place finish, do you have anything else to tell me?”
Before she realized she was going to do it, Lauren found herself telling Don about her encounter with Carl. Very quickly, she was crying and staring at the floor. Crying at the frustration she’d felt when she thought she had been robbed. Crying as she remembered her embarrassment at realizing she’d falsely accused Carl of theft and at the greater remembered shame from her forced private dance. And crying with the anticipation of the punishment she was sure she had earned herself.
With that in mind, she tried to emphasize how she had already been punished by being forced to give Carl a private dance and how degrading he had been toward her during the dance. Don interrupted her at that point. “I know what you’re doing, Lauren, and you can forget about it. I don’t care what punishment you may have gotten at the club.”
He stood up, now, looking angry. Without thinking about it, Lauren found that she had slipped into Position 2. He circled behind her, but Lauren decided it would be more respectful to remain staring straight ahead.
He leaned in to talk directly into her ear and Lauren flinched. “Why did I send you to the Landing Strip, Lauren?”
“To . . . to punish me for behaving disrespectfully toward men, sir. And to help me learn my proper place in respect to them.”
“That’s right. And yet you decide to perpetuate your poor behavior while you’re there. This is absolutely unacceptable, Lauren, and you can be damned sure that I don’t care what punishment you might have gotten there. When you behave in an embarrassing manner in public, you are going to face the music in private.”
He circled back in front of her and looked at his watch. “It’s 4:30, so here’s what we’re going to do. Forget breakfast. You will have lunch on the table at 12:30. Between now and then, I am going to finish reading through your score report before I decide on your punishment for failing to win the contest. You are going to do some hard thinking about what your punishment should be for your disrespect toward Carl at a time when you were supposed to be focusing on improving your behavior. You will give me that suggestion after lunch. Do you understand, Lauren?”
She gulped. “Yes, sir.”
“Okay, then. Tell me what you’ll need to do between now and tomorrow.”
She hesitated, unsure of what he was asking of her. “You want me to . . . I don’t . . . ”
“You’ve demonstrated a poor ability to follow simple instructions, Lauren. The only way I can be sure you really understand what you’re supposed to do is to have you explain it back to me.”
She once again found herself tearing up by the end of Don’s statement. She wasn’t stupid. She knew the way she had behaved toward Carl was wrong, but it wasn’t something she had done intentionally. She’d just gotten angry—inappropriately so, but angry all the same.
She blinked away the tears and answered. “Sir, I’m . . . I’m going to take a shower and think about what my . . . my punishment should be for being rude to . . . the gentleman at the Landing Strip, and I’ll decide what that punishment will be before I go to sleep so that I can wake up at 11:30 and make lunch in time to have it on the table by 12:30 and report to you, sir.”
“Well,” Don stepped back into her field of vision. “I guess it’s a good thing I asked. First of all, you are not deciding what your punishment will be. Don’t be silly. You are deciding what to suggest for your punishment. And it had better be appropriate, Lauren. Second of all, you forgot something very important.”
Lauren struggled but she couldn’t think of anything she had missed. She was just too tired.
“Come on, Lauren. It’s something you do every day.”
She thought again. “But I . . . I already said I was going to take a shower, sir.”
“No, not that. Although maybe it’s something you do in the shower.”
She suddenly realized what he was hinting at, but she didn’t want to say it. She steeled herself. “Tomorrow morning, sir, I’ll . . . I’ll make sure my . . . pussy is properly trimmed.”
“That’s right, Lauren,” he patted her on the behind. “It would be a shame to have to add a good whipping to everything else you’ll be getting tomorrow. Now, let’s try it again. What do you have to do between now and lunch tomorrow?”
She took a deep breath. “Sir, I’m going to take a shower while I contemplate what my punishment should be . . . what I should suggest for my punishment for my rude behavior at the Landing Strip. I’ll decide on that suggestion before going to sleep. Then I’m going to wake up at 11:30 and ensure that my . . . my pussy is properly trimmed before making lunch and having it on the table at 12:30.”
“Good job, Lauren.” He patted her behind again. “Now get to it.”
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