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Lauren let the hot water of the shower wash over her, and it felt so good—like it was washing this horrible day away. And the day was over, finally, she realized. Yes, she still had to face some sort of punishment when she woke up, but on Monday, she’d be back at work and as close to normal as she could get anymore. Today she might have been hustling around naked serving a bunch of rowdy men and dancing for them, but Monday she would go back to being a professional woman, respected by her colleagues, and even in charge of some men.
She leaned against the wall, frustrated with herself. Had she learned nothing today? She shouldn’t be happily anticipating being in charge of men again. If anything, it was so difficult to do within the strictures of her rules that she should be trying to avoid it. Serving men . . . that she should be looking forward to. Whether she liked it or not—and she wasn’t sure that she did—that was what had set herself up for when she had agreed to these rules. Resisting that . . . trying to maintain some unnatural position where she could be in a position superior to men . . . that was just going to make her life more difficult.
She straightened and looked down at her glistening body, musing about that this is pretty much how she’d been dressed all day, all while dancing on a stage in front of a bunch of hooting men or running to get their drinks. The only real difference, she thought as she leaned down to massage her calves was that at least now her feet were flat on the ground.
Deciding to save herself some time in the morning, Lauren grabbed her razor to run it over her legs and everywhere she wasn’t allowed to have hair in her pubic region. She was pretty sure that the latter was unnecessary because nothing had yet come back in post-waxing, but she didn’t want to take a chance of even a little stubble. She went a little too close on the left of the landing strip and accidentally trimmed some existing hair, forcing her to spend time evening it out on the right. This, she decided, was something she could do without; besides all the time it was taking her it was simply ridiculous that she had something so private dictated to her—not to mention how degrading it was to have to refer to a part of her body with that vulgar word.
She turned off the water and shook her head, forcing herself to focus on what was important at the moment—deciding what she should suggest for her punishment tomorrow. She had the uncomfortable feeling that it was going to have to involve a spanking, so she thought back on her past punishments to establish a frame of reference. The only thing similar she could think of was that horrendous spanking, paddling, and strapping Don had given her the previous week. That had been for nine years of not properly respecting men, however. This was for one stupid incident, although admittedly one in which the disrespect was especially bad, so it wouldn’t have to be anything nearly as severe as the other day, but it couldn’t be as simple as a ratio of one night versus nine years.
Twenty—no, fifteen. Fifteen with the strap, she decided, was what she would suggest to Don. That seemed more than fair to her. It was pretty severe, really, for one tiny indiscretion. Don couldn’t possibly fault her for that suggestion.
She shook her head one more time and made a snap decision. Don, Don, Don, she thought. That’s wrong. Even in my head, I should be thinking of him as ‘Mr. Arden’. She was going to add one suggestion to what Do—Mr. Arden—had required of her: she deserved to be punished for not thinking of him properly. She cringed at the idea of asking for even more punishment but hoped that maybe Do—Mr. Arden—would take it as a signal that she was taking his words to heart, doing her best to internalize the subservience that should come naturally to her.
Finally, she laid down to go to sleep and realized she had one last obstacle to a well-earned rest: as humiliating as it had been, dancing and waiting tables naked for a bunch of rowdy animals had left her horny. It was, of course, an inherently sexual experience, she reasoned. It didn’t matter that she’d hated every minute of it.
She got her vibrator and went to work, first thinking of her last boyfriend and, when that failed, imagining herself on stage. Naked. The bright lights putting her on display while blinding her to her audience. Forced to dance for them. To bend over and grab her high heels. To shake her ass. “Mr. Arden is going to make you go back,” she repeated over and over. “You don’t have a choice. You’re there for their entertainment. Show them some respect. Give them a good show. And you’re going to do it. You’re going to do as you’re told, or you’re going to spend hours with your nose against the wall before he pulls you over his lap and gives you a good. Hard. Spanking.” When it came, it was quick and intense, but it left tears in her eyes.
Finally, she could roll over and go to sleep.
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