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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.
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