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Lauren hurried back from hanging the second copy of her new contract on the refrigerator to give the original to Don. He hadn’t given her a time limit, but she thought it best not to keep him waiting under the circumstances. She should never keep any man waiting, a small part of her observed. And it was true, she realized. Even if she couldn’t fully accept that she was to treat men as her betters, as long as she was living under her contract, it would only make her life easier if she behaved as though their needs were foremost in her mind at all times. Their time was important; hers was not. It was that simple.
Of course, Do—Mr. Arden could’ve made things easier for her. He hadn’t told her that she could pull her panties up, so she had been stuck shuffling around and trying to keep them from sliding below her knees. Besides making her feel ridiculous, it had obviously slowed her down. Once again, she chastised herself: How you feel is irrelevant. If Mr. Arden wants you to shuffle around like this, then that’s just what you’ll do. A small part of her even considered asking to go over his knee again for even considering otherwise. The threat of a spanking looming over her was the only way she ever really learned, she thought, but she tamped the idea down. She wasn’t going to spend all her time asking for more punishments.
Besides, as she had stood at the photocopier, no longer distracted by having to answer Mr. Arden’s questions, she realized how much her butt still hurt from the previous spanking. She had deserved it, she acknowledged, definitely she had deserved it, but she certainly wasn’t looking to ask for any more than necessary. In fact, she thought as she rubbed her butt, when Mr. Arden asked her what punishment she was recommending for her rude behavior toward Carl, she was going to go with the number she originally thought of: fifteen with the strap. It was a risk, she realized, that she might be picking too lenient a punishment, but she didn’t think so, and she was certain she’d be thanking herself when it was over five lashes earlier.
And now, here she was, once again standing in front of Mr. Arden waiting for him to begin the proceedings. She had automatically laced her fingers behind her head and hoped that that won her some points.
“Lauren,” Don began after having flipped through the original contract. “Why did I send you to the Landing Strip?”
She had to think for a moment. It seemed so long ago, now. “Because . . . because I failed to write a proper apology letter, sir.”
He looked annoyed. “Well, yes, it was a punishment for that, but why do you think I picked that punishment?”
“It was . . . it was to force me to show respect to the men, sir. To remind me that my place is in serving and entertaining them.”
“Exactly.” He paused. “And yet once you got there, one of the first things you did was get uppity with a customer you should have been entertaining. You hurled false accusations and insults at a man, Lauren. I hope you realize how serious that is.”
“Yes . . . yes, sir. I know it was wrong.” She hesitated. “And I . . . I know I deserve to be punished for it, sir. I don’t have any excuse.”
Don nodded. “What was his name again?”
“Car—I mean, I, uh, don’t know his last name, sir.”
Don looked disgusted. “God, you can be so dumb sometimes. You are not to address a man by his first name. Generally, you shouldn’t even refer to him by his first name. But surely you realize that I am not on the same level as you, so if I ask you for his name, I want his first name so that I can actually refer to him.”
She grit her teeth. She hated when he called her dumb. She wasn’t dumb. She was better educated than him . . . she took a deep breath and calmed herself. He did have a point. Of course, Do—Mr. Arden wouldn’t need to refer to a man as respectfully as she did.
“I’m . . . I’m sorry, sir. His name was—is Carl.”
“Okay, then. Do you recognize that Carl is your superior?”
“Y-yes, sir. I mean I recognize it intellectually, but I was having trouble accepting it and I was angry so—”
“Do you think another stint at The Landing Strip would help you accept it?”
She started crying, remembering their conversation from last night. “Yes, sir, probably.”
Don looked at his watch. “Let’s just get down to basics. What do you think your punishment should be for your unacceptable behavior toward Carl?”
“I . . . I’ve thought about it a lot, sir, and I think fif-fifteen with the strap would be appropriate.”
Don waited, and then his face turned dark. “That’s it? You blatantly disrespected a man during a time when you were specifically supposed to be focusing on your proper role—”
Lauren didn’t know what came over her, what possibly inspired her to interrupt Don, but she was talking before she even realized she had thought of the words. “And . . . and also, sir, I’ve been reading that story you wrote . . . the one about the reporter who did the fake expose on the corporation, and they pay that man to get retribution, and the whole thing is filmed so they get to watch . . . and . . . and I really think it’s important that Car—Ca—the man from The Landing Strip be able to witness my punishment, so I should have to invite him over to watch.”
She was breathing rapidly by the end, astonished and mortified at her own suggestion, but she had had to say something before Don declared a much harsher punishment for her.
Don, for a moment, was silent, then, “That’s actually a good idea, Lauren. And you will do that. But don’t think for a second that I believe that you intended that as your suggestion from the beginning. So, for trying to go easy on yourself, I’m adding two penalties to your punishment.
“First, you will handwrite a 1000-word letter of apology to Carl for your behavior. And I think you know, Lauren, that when I say, ‘1000 words’, I mean 1000 words.
“Second, you are grounded for the next week. That means you will not leave the apartment except for work, school, or errands having to do with your contract. When you are in the apartment, you will only sleep, eat, or do chores related to your contract, work, or school. When you are not doing any of those things, you will stand with your nose in the corner thinking about what a privilege it is to be able to suggest your own punishment and how next time you will take the opportunity more seriously.
“Do you understand me, Lauren?”
Her jaw had dropped as he had described her grounding, thinking about the sheer quantity of time she was going to waste staring at a wall over the next week. Now, she fought back tears. “Yes . . . yes, sir.”
“Good. Now you have a lot of work to get done. Get to it.”
“Yes, sir,” she turned and shuffled crying to her room.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: As always, I’m happy to receive any feedback and suggestions as to how you’d like to see the story go, preferably by email at therealjohnadams at inbox dot com. Specific points I’d be interested in seeing:
1. Writing that 1000-word apology letter is probably harder than it sounds. If you’re a woman who’s been reading and enjoying this story, I’d like you to take a stab at it, doing your best to sound contrite while staying in Lauren’s character.
2. For the men, recall that Lauren’s failure with the last letter was what got her sent to The Landing Strip in the first place, so if you have any suggestions as to what her punishment should be if she fails this time, I’d be interested in hearing them. (Okay, if the women have any suggestions as to what they’d expect their punishment to be if they failed at writing the letter, that’s cool, too.)
3. Do you want to see Lauren actually get whipped at some point, or should that remain a threat hanging over her head if she fails at what she considers a time-consuming and demeaning task? (And is the task really that bad, or is Lauren just whiny?) Also, if Lauren does end up getting whipped, would you rather it be for an actual, definite failure or for the hypothetical that Don described (a man says she failed, and her word carries no weight in rebuttal)?
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