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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.”
AUTHOR’S NOTE: As always, happy to get any feedback at therealjohnadams at inbox dot com.
Also, it seems Lauren has now set the precedent that she is subject to punishment even for her thoughts. Don, unfortunately, cannot read her thoughts . . . but you the reader can. So, if you see her thinking something inappropriate and failing to report herself, feel free to chime in (and send along your suggested punishment). And of course as long as you’re a man, if you say Lauren did something wrong and she says she didn’t . . . well, read Part 28 again if you don’t know how that ends.
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