Creeping Contract	Back to O	Back to main page

Collected by Djian
update feb 5 2012

Creeping Contract
by John Adams

therealjohnadams (at) inbox (dot) com

Synopsis: Lauren starts out looking for someone who will introduce a little discipline and corporal punishment into her life. As time goes on, she cedes increasing levels of control over her life through a succession of contracts.

Lauren shifted uncomfortably in her seat and sighed. What had she expected, really? Three weeks ago, she had finally worked up the courage to do something she had wanted to do for a long time—she had taken out an ad for a disciplinarian. It wasn’t the sort of thing one could advertise in the local newspaper, however, so she had used certain . . . alternative . . . publications.

And this was the result. Even after weeding out all the obvious rejects, all five interviews had been . . . unsettling, to say the least. Admittedly, she had intentionally worded the advertisement vaguely: Needed: Live-in Disciplinarian to Administer Punishment as Deemed Necessary. Room and Board Provided but was there really any need to assume that this employment would involve some sort of sexual relationship or degradation? Judging by her current interviewee, apparently, yes.

John had cut right to the chase, showing Lauren first the punishment implements he would use on her—fair enough, that was what she had advertised for—then the leash and collar he would expect her to wear. Then, he had suggested that she take her clothes off, since she “should get used to not wearing them, anyway.” The interview had gone downhill from there—she never really got a chance to ask any questions because he was spending all of his time trying to get her to disrobe.

It was enough to make her want to scream. She just wanted a man who would put her across his knee and spank her when necessary, not one who wanted to treat her like some sort of pet. Finally, she had had enough. She stood up and took a step towards the door. “Well, I still have one more interview, but I’m sure I’ll be in touch—“

John cleared his throat, but made no move to get up. Oh, dear God, did he really expect . . . well, if it would get him to leave sooner . . . Lauren cast her eyes downward and folded her hands in front of her. “Thank you for your time, Sir. I’ll let you know as soon as I’ve made a decision.”

John got up now and walked towards the door. “That was better, although you’re still going to need a lot of work. And this,” he reached out and smacked her butt once as he walked by Lauren, “is for forgetting your place, even if only for a moment.” Lauren was so shocked that she could only gape after him as he let himself out.

Lauren sighed and walked over to her kitchen counter where the fax from the next interviewee was sitting. She read it carefully, but it was short: Interested in position. May have to discuss compensation. Is Saturday at noon good for the interview?—Donald Arden.

Lauren looked at her watch and sighed again. Saturday at noon—that meant she had almost fifteen hours before she met her last prospect.

*****

Lauren looked at herself in the mirror. It was Saturday, 11:45 am, and she wanted to make sure everything was perfect. Her long dark hair hung freely down her back and a skimpy pink tank top emphasized her small but perky breasts. A short denim skirt would draw attention to her long smooth legs—and her tight butt, of which she was particularly proud. She had applied just a slight touch of makeup around her lips and eyes.

For a second, Lauren hesitated and thought about the message she was sending with her sexy look. Then, she shook it off and shrugged. She wasn’t looking for a sexual relationship, but she was fully aware of the power of sexual attraction during contract negotiations.

The doorbell rang and Lauren looked at her watch: 11:57. He was early.

*****

Lauren couldn’t believe this. The interview had been going on for an hour, and she had spent almost the entire time talking about herself: her childhood, her ambitions in life—and, of course, her motivation behind seeking out a disciplinarian. Don just seemed to have a way of drawing everything out of her, and he seemed honestly interested in hearing what she had to say. She had felt comfortable the instant she had seen him; only a few inches taller than her 5’6”, he was stocky and well-built, with powerful-looking arms.

Lauren, talking about a recent time when she arrived so late for work that she missed an important meeting with a client, stopped mid-sentence. “You know, I’ve been talking an awful lot for the last hour, and I haven’t heard much from you. So how ‘bout you do some talking? I guess the most important thing is, what would your expectations of me be, and what would you be punishing me for?”

Don hesitated for a moment. “Well, actually, I’m glad that you talked so much. It gave me a good idea of what you’re looking for. As I understand it, your biggest concerns right now are a seeming inexplicable inability to be punctual and persistently backing out of plans with friends. So, for a failure in either of those two departments, I would spank you.” Lauren squirmed a little in her chair. It now seemed inevitable that she would be getting spanked some time soon. “For other misbehaviors, I’ll usually give you one warning so that you know what’s expected of you, but I reserve the right to spank you for the first incident if I think it’s something that you should have known better than to do. Also, I expect you to immediately report any actions you take that would warrant a spanking. If you fail to do so, your punishment will be with my belt. So, to be safe, if you’re in doubt, it’s best to tell me.”

Lauren was momentarily, and uncharacteristically, speechless. “Well, that sounds perfect. When can you start?”

“Well, there’s also the matter of compensation to discuss. I see you have two bedrooms, so room and board is great, but I’m a writer by trade and money hasn’t been great lately, so I’m also going to need $400/ month.”

Lauren stood up and extended her hand, “It’s a deal.”

*****

Lauren glanced at her watch as she ran up the stairs of her apartment building. It was 12:30. Damn! And double-damn for the damned slow elevator, too. She came out on the fifth floor huffing and puffing and ran for her apartment.

Before Don had left yesterday, she had given him the second key, but he had also told her that he expected her to be here at noon to help him move in. She slowed as she approached the door, and carefully tested the doorknob. Damn, it was unlocked; that meant he was already here. Glancing again at her watch, she opened the door and crept in; there were boxes throughout the living room and Lauren could hear Don moving around in his room.

He called out from his bedroom, “Just go stand in the corner, Lauren. I will deal with you in a little bit.”

Oh, damn. Lauren was already starting to tear up. Was this really what she wanted? And what had he said? Stand in the corner? Her back stiffened at that thought—she wasn’t a child.

Don walked out and seemed a little surprised to see her standing teary-eyed and gaping in the middle of the living room. “Lauren! The corner.” He pointed to a clear corner in the dining room. “Go stick your nose against the wall, and stay there until I’m ready to deal with you.” He closed the distance between the two of them, grabbed her by the shoulder and turned her towards the corner in question, then gave her a swat on the behind to get her moving. Since she had just come from the gym, she was only wearing a thin pair of shorts, and the swat really stung home.

Standing with her nose in the corner, Lauren could only tell where Don was from the sound of moving boxes, and her heart began to pound with anticipation. Questions started to pop into her head. Would he make her pull down her pants? Afterall, this was a first offense, and the running shorts didn’t provide much protection, anyway; she really didn’t like the idea of him seeing her in only her panties. He was only going to use his hand, right? He’d mentioned using his belt if she tried to avoid a spanking, but he had never mentioned what he would use if she cooperated. How long was he going to spank her for? She’d never been spanked before and didn’t think she could take a very long one, and, again, this was a first offense. Pretty soon, Lauren found that she was sobbing quietly and couldn’t even hear Don moving around anymore.

“Lauren, take your shorts off and come over here.”

Lauren turned around and looked pleadingly at Don who was sitting in a chair that he had placed in the middle of the living room. “Could I please leave my shorts up? I mean, this is the first time I’ve done anything wrong.”

“Yes, Lauren,” her heart surged with hope before he continued, “this is a first offense—but it’s also been less than twenty-four hours since we started this program. Anyway, you will certainly never be allowed to wear more than panties while you’re being punished. Now, I won’t say it again—take off your shorts and come over here.”

Lauren kicked off her shoes and slid her shorts off before walking over to stand in front of Don with her hands folded behind her back. Don stared at her for a moment before she cast her eyes downward. “Now, Lauren, why were you late?”

Lauren barely murmured, “I was at the gym and lost track of time, sir.” He hadn’t told her that she had to call him “sir”, but it just seemed like the right thing to do.

“That’s completely unacceptable, Lauren. Pull down your panties.”

Lauren’s head shot back up, “No, please. Let me—“

Don raised a hand and cut her off. “This is not a matter for discussion, Lauren. Pull your panties down to between your knees and half way down your thighs. Make sure they turn inside-out.” She stared at him in disbelief for a moment. “NOW, Lauren!”

Tears returning to her eyes, Lauren stared at the ground as she pulled her black cotton panties down to her knees and turned them inside out. She quickly folded her hands in front of her but put them on top of her head at Don’s command.

Again, he was silent for a moment. “Good. Now this is exactly how you should be any time I have you stand in the corner. Do you understand?”

Lauren nodded.

“Oh, no. There’ll be none of that. Answer verbally. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir, I understand.”

“Now, Lauren, what’s about to happen and why?”

Her head snapped up again. He was going to make her say it, too? Don simply stared back implacably until Lauren cast her eyes down again. She couldn’t believe what was happening. Here she was, practically naked from the waist down, and he felt the need to add to her humiliation. She took a deep breath. “Sir, you’re about to spank me because I was late for helping you.”

“So, you’d agree, then, that you need to be spanked both for being late and for letting down a friend, right?”

Lauren realized the implication behind that—a spanking twice as long—and began sobbing. “Yes, s-s-sir,” she managed to choke out.

Don watched her for a moment. So far, she’d only received one swat to the behind, and she was already a mess. Well, she was in for a hell of an afternoon.

“Lauren, get over my lap.”

It was almost a relief for Lauren to get started. She placed her hands on Don’s left leg and lowered herself down so that her pubic area fell on his right leg. Oddly, despite the butterflies in her stomach and the tingling sensation in her butt, this was a fairly comfortable position with her weight spread across his lap; the only discomfort came from her face being mere inches from the rug—and the knowledge of what was about to happen.

“Lauren, this is going to be very painful for you. You may yell and you may squirm, but you may not try to get up, and there are two things you may not say: you may not swear, and you may not tell me that you can’t take any more. I am the only one who will judge when you can’t take any more. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, then, let’s start with your being late. What time was it when you finally sauntered on in, Lauren?”

Lauren squeezed her eyes shut and tried to remember what time her watch had said when she opened the door. “12:34, sir. It was 12:34.”

“Well, Lauren, I think we can solve half of your problem right there—your watch is three minutes slow. It was 12:37. Let’s call it one spank per minute, shall we?” Without another word, the first spank fell—hard and towards the bottom of her cheeks. Immediately tears returned to Lauren’s eyes.

“You will. . .” SMACK, SMACK, SMACK

“be. . .” SMACK, SMACK, SMACK

“on time.” SMACK, SMACK, SMACK

“You won’t. . .” SMACK, SMACK, SMACK

“use. . .” SMACK, SMACK, SMACK

“ridiculous. . .” SMACK, SMACK, SMACK

“excuses.” SMACK, SMACK, SMACK

“You will. . .” SMACK, SMACK, SMACK

“not. . .”SMACK, SMACK, SMACK

“lose track. . .” SMACK, SMACK, SMACK

“of time.” SMACK, SMACK, SMACK

After the tenth smack, Lauren was kicking her legs almost uncontrollably. After the fifteenth, she was sobbing without reserve and trying to promise that she’d never be late again. Most of it didn’t come out very well, though. Don finished with three very hard smacks to the middle of Lauren’s butt before pausing.

“Now, Lauren, that was for being late. This next set is for letting down a friend. After that, we’ll have a brief. . .mmm, discussion about your inability to follow simple commands like ‘Stand in the corner’ and ‘Take your pants off’.”

Lauren lay across Don’s lap crying and trying to listen to what he was saying. She certainly wasn’t as comfortable as she had started out. It took a moment for his words to sink in—the second spanking was going to be immediate, and there’d be more to follow after it. She craned her head around and looked at him pleadingly. “Please, sir, can’t we let that be my spanking for both? Or, at least, give me a break between the two?”

Don stared implacably back at Lauren before sighing and replying, “Well, Lauren, you’ve just made up my mind as to what your third punishment is going to be.” With that, he raised his hand and began the spanking anew. For the first few spanks, Lauren tried to figure out what that could possibly mean. After that, though, she was unable to focus on anything but the slapping that caused a constant flaring of the fire on her backside.

Lauren quickly found herself kicking her legs and sobbing again. The spanking seemed to go on forever, and Don was starting to pay attention to her upper thighs because of the kicking of her legs. After at least forty spanks, she had even given up on kicking her legs and simply lay there sobbing. It was actually over for a good two minutes before she completely realized and finished her crying.

Don patted her lightly on the bottom—but not lightly enough as it still caused her to wince—and told her to get up. She did so, and faced him, putting her hands on top of her head without even being told. “Now, Lauren, I want you to go stand in the corner again, and while you’re there, I want you to think about the fact that this punishment would be over now if you had just done as you were told.”

Lauren complied without hesitation, doing the low-panty shuffle over to the original corner. She wanted badly to rub her butt, but didn’t dare take her hands off her head. Instead, she wondered what Don had planned for her next; why didn’t she just do as she was told? Now, she was going to have to suffer through a third spanking.

But, would she even be so lucky as to get just a spanking? He had, afterall, said that he would use his belt on her under certain circumstances.

It suddenly occurred to Lauren why Don had insisted on them signing a contract yesterday. Right now, all she wanted to do was scream at him and tell him to get the hell out of her apartment—but she couldn’t, not for at least two months, and even then, the buyout they had agreed on was so expensive that she couldn’t hope to get rid of him for another two months after that. Till then, he could do this to her every day, and all she could do was trust that he would be fair.

She was brought out of her thoughts by the sound of Don’s approaching footsteps. Involuntarily, she clenched her butt cheeks. Don chuckled, “Don’t worry. I would never spank you with your nose against the wall. That would be dangerous. Now, come here, Lauren.”

She turned to obey and saw what he now held: a laminated wooden paddle about as wide as his hand and two hands long. It was about half an inch thick and had ten holes drilled in it in two rows. Immediately, she started to tear up as she did the low-panty shuffle over to Don. “Please,” she sobbed, “I’ll be—“

“None of that, Lauren, unless you want this to take even longer.” She hastily shook her head. “Well, then. Since I wasn’t explicit before, I find that I can’t use my belt on you now, but make no mistake: the next time you argue about a punishment, you’ll be spending a long time on the receiving end of that belt. For now, I want you to bend over and put your hands on your knees. And Lauren,” he pointed to where her panties had slid down to just below her knees, “if you have to spread your legs a little to keep them up, you’d better do so. If your panties touch the floor, we start this all over.”

In her slightly traumatized state, the two demands at the same time were too much for her to process, so she spread her legs enough to pull the panties taut and then dropped her hands down to cover her nether regions.

“Lauren, I know I didn’t stutter.” Don moved behind her.

POP, POP, POP.

“Now, bend over and put your hands on your knees.”

Lauren bent at the waist, gasping from the three rapid-fire slaps of the paddle. With her legs slightly spread to keep her panties from falling down, she knew she was completely exposed to Don’s view. As if to confirm this thought, Don placed the smooth wood against the inside of her left thigh, slid it up until it pushed her cheeks apart, and then down the inside of her right thigh. She shuddered at the touch, knowing that the cool, laminated wood would soon be getting much warmer.

Don walked around to the front of Lauren and tucked the paddle under her chin, guiding her face up to meet his gaze. “I think it’s good that we started this way, Lauren. It lets you know my expectations—and what you can expect for failing to meet them—with no uncertainty. Do you agree?”

She gulped. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now, how many strokes of the paddle do you think you deserve?”

She squeezed her eyes shut to concentrate. Pick a number too low, she was sure, and her punishment would be made worse. Pick a number too high, and she would be asking for needless pain. Those first three pops alone had hurt more than the earlier two spankings. Oh, why couldn’t she have just done what she had been told? Why did she always have to resist? Was pulling her shorts and panties down really so bad to have earned this extra punishment by resisting those acts? She had always imagined that the humiliation of being spanked would be worse than the actual physical pain. Having experienced both now, she resolved that, as bad as it was, she would be much more open to more embarrassment if it helped her avoid pain in the future.

“Lauren, if you don’t want to pick, then I will pick for you.”

Her eyes snapped open. She’d let her thoughts drift and hadn’t done any thinking on the actual question that she was supposed to be answering. “Fif—no, twenty, sir.”

Don looked up, seeming to consider the number. He shrugged. “That seems about right, Lauren.”

He walked back around to her already sore behind. Lauren heard a brief whistle—air rushing through the holes in the paddle, she realized later—before the next:

POP! She stumbled forward with a sob. “Lauren, stop moving. Bend your knees a little.” She did so, which had the effect of making her feel as though she was thrusting her butt and nether regions at Don. More humiliation.

whistle. . . POP!

“You will not. . .” POP!

“argue. . .” POP!

“during. . .” POP!

“a punishment.” POP!

“You will. . .” POP!

“do. . .” POP!

“as you’re told. . .” POP!

“or next time. . .” POP!

“this. . .” POP!

“will be. . .” POP!

“worse.” POP!

Don walked around to the front of Lauren. “Do you understand me, Lauren?”

She took a moment to choke back a sob. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry.”

He nodded and walked back around.

whistle. . . POP!

whistle. . . POP!

whistle. . . POP!

whistle. . . POP!

whistle. . . POP!

whistle. . . POP!

whistle. . . POP!

Lauren stood in place, sobbing and legs shaking. Her panties had slid down to just above the floor. It took her a moment to realize the paddling was over.

Don stood in front of her. “Lauren, stand up. You can pull your panties up. Go get yourself cleaned up and come back to help me unpack when you’re ready.” He handed her a tissue.

She used it as she fled to her room. There, once she had stopped crying, she pulled her panties back down and looked at her butt in the mirror. It looked like a bad sunburn. She shuddered at the thought of having to sit at a desk all day tomorrow at work. Worse, she remembered, she had her class tomorrow night. She couldn’t imagine how uncomfortable the hard plastic seat in that auditorium was going to be for two-and-a-half hours.

She sighed. Well, she’d had her first spanking. She knew what she had gotten—she just wasn’t sure it was she had wanted.


Lauren took a deep breath and steeled herself. It had been three weeks since her inaugural spanking and paddling from Don. Since then, he had only spanked her twice, and both had been brief affairs on the seat of her panties. Frankly, she wasn’t getting the discipline that she wanted, but she hadn’t figured out how to tell him, yet.

Don was eating his breakfast and doing some paperwork. Lauren picked up a section of the newspaper and pretended to be reading it as she walked over to the table and—intentionally—knocked over his orange juice.

He sprung up to move the paperwork. “Dammit, Lauren! Watch what you’re doing!”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Don.” Watch what I’m doing? I should be over his lap right now crying and apologizing. And I shouldn’t even be thinking about calling him by his first name.

Don’s quick reaction had saved most of the paperwork. A rush of inspiration, and Lauren decided to just speak her mind. “Don, I . . . I need you to be stricter with me.”

He looked up, a little stunned, as orange juice dripped onto the tile floor. His expression quickly turned to anger. “Ok, Lauren, if that’s what you want, pull down your shorts and panties, and go stand in the corner.”

Without another word, Lauren pulled down her shorts and panties—making sure that the latter turned inside out—and shuffled over to place her nose in the corner that Don had pointed at. Immediately, she began to feel regret. It wasn’t like she liked being spanked—on the contrary, she found it painful and humiliating—it was just that she needed to know it was a possibility. And it looked like it was a very real possibility, now.

She stood there for a good long while—to the point that her shoulders were starting to get sore from keeping her hands on top of her head. She could hear Don typing in his room. What was he doing? What was taking so long? Couldn’t he just spank her and be done with it?

She heard Don walk out of his room and tensed up. This is it, she thought. Here comes the spanking. But instead, she heard him open and shut the fridge and then head back into his room. The sight of the wall in front of her was beginning to get boring, but she didn’t dare turn to look around. One of Don’s rules was that when he told her to stand in the corner, he meant nose to the wall. If he caught her doing anything else, it would only make her punishment worse.

Finally, she heard something being printed and heard Don walk out into the living room a few moments later.

“Lauren, come here.” Lauren turned and obeyed, suddenly feeling the tumbling in her stomach and the tingling in her butt that preceded every spanking. She shuffled over to Don. He sat on an armless chair in the middle of the living room. On the coffee table next to him was a stack of papers marked with yellow highlighter. She was curious about the papers but knew better than to ask.

“Lauren, earlier this morning, you were either being careless or were intentionally acting out in order to get attention. Either behavior is unacceptable, so I’m going to spank you either way, but I want to know which it was. Did you knock over my glass on purpose or not?”

Lauren gulped. “I knocked it over on purpose, sir.”

“I see. Over my lap, Lauren.”

She lowered herself into position, feeling intense vulnerability at offering her butt to Don for punishment.

SMACK!

“The lesson I want you to learn, Lauren . . .” SMACK, SMACK, SMACK

“is that you will communicate directly with me. . .” SMACK, SMACK, SMACK

“when you need an issue addressed.” SMACK, SMACK, SMACK

“Do you understand me?”

The ten smacks had been delivered hard to the bottom of both cheeks. Lauren felt her lips trembling but was proud that she hadn’t quite broken out crying, yet. “Yes, sir.” Her voice did crack, though.

“Good.” SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK.

Her fortitude didn’t last long, however, and Lauren was soon bawling and kicking her legs.

Don paused for a second and wrapped his right leg around both of hers before continuing.

SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK.

“I don’t want to have to repeat this lesson, Lauren. Do you understand?”

“Y-yes,” [sob] “s-sir.”

“Good.” SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK. The final nine alternated between cheeks, leaving no part of Lauren’s bottom unmarred.

“Get up, Lauren.”

She pushed herself up and accepted and used an offered tissue before assuming the required position with her hands on top of her head.

Don picked up the papers from the coffee table next to him. “This, Lauren, is our new contract.” He held out the stack along with a pen. “I want you to initial where I’ve highlighted next to each clause and sign the bottom of each page.”

Lauren accepted the paperwork and began reading it. “I, Lauren M. Hill, hereafter referred to as, ‘the Disciplinee,’ agree to the following terms—”

“Lauren, what are you doing?”

“I’m . . . reading the contract, sir.”

Don snatched the papers out of her hand and pulled the startled woman back over his lap in one smooth motion. “That’s not what you were told to do, Lauren.”

“You are going to learn. . .” SMACK, SMACK, SMACK. Her already sore behind blazed anew.

“to do as you are told. . .” SMACK, SMACK, SMACK.

“not what you want.” SMACK, SMACK, SMACK.

“You had better. . .” SMACK, SMACK, SMACK.

“start. . .” SMACK, SMACK, SMACK.

“listening. . .” SMACK, SMACK, SMACK.

“or you are going to spend. . .” SMACK, SMACK, SMACK.

“a lot of time. . .” SMACK, SMACK, SMACK.

“in this position. . .” SMACK, SMACK, SMACK.

“Do you think you can do as you’re told, now, Lauren?”

“Y-yes,” [sob] “s-sir. I—I’m s-sorry.”

“Then get up, and sign the contract.”

Lauren pushed herself up once again and started scribbling her initials in all of the highlighted spots and signing at the bottom of each page on the new contract. When she was finished she placed the contract back on the table and straightened with her hands on top of her head. Don looked through the contract before standing, grabbing her left arm, and turning her back toward her former corner. “Good.” SMACK. The spank startled her enough to make her jump and resume crying. “Now go stand back in your corner until I’m ready to deal with you.”

She shuffled to the corner, still sobbing, and placed her nose against the wall. What had she gotten herself into?


Don looked over from the football game and stared at Lauren facing the corner. He really couldn’t believe his luck. This was exactly the situation he had been looking for for some time.

It wasn’t like there weren’t other women who would be willing to enter into this sort of relationship, who would even enjoy being disciplined. But that was the problem: every other woman he had ever met had actually got off on being treated this way, and that wasn’t what he wanted. It just wasn’t satisfying for him if they enjoyed being spanked or humiliated.

On the other hand, he also didn’t want to assault someone, didn’t want to force her unwillingly into the kind of embarrassment that he wanted to dish out. No, what he wanted was someone willing to be disciplined—someone who almost felt a need for it—but who definitely did not enjoy the actual implementation of the discipline. That was a very rare flower, indeed, and he had found her in Lauren. And to top it off, he thought as he stared at her reddened bubble butt, she was hot.

He had been able to tell on their first day that Lauren was not in that former group of girls, had not been one to get off on being dominated. At most, he thought that she might have just been curious as to what the experience would be like and then decided it wasn’t for her after that first spanking. So, he had backed off, giving her only a couple of mild spankings so as not to push her too far.

Today, though, when she had insisted that she NEEDED more from him, he had known that he had finally found what he was looking for, would finally get to experience his fantasy. And now, intentionally or not, she had given him carte blanche to establish the framework of their new relationship. It was all he could do not to call her over right now and explain to her the new rules of their household—he couldn’t wait to see her reaction—but, no, he wanted to keep her waiting in that corner for a while, keep her wondering just what that contract said.

Besides, he had a few errands that he needed to run first. He turned off the TV.

“Lauren, I’m going out for a while. Do you need to use the bathroom before I leave?”

“No, sir.” The despair in her voice told him that she had, indeed, been contemplating what their contract might say.

“Are you sure, Lauren? You’re not going to be allowed to move from the corner while I’m gone. It might be a while.”

He gave her a moment to think about it. “Well. . . yes, I’d like to go, sir.”

“Go ahead.”

She turned and shuffled to the bathroom, keeping her hands on top of her head. When she came out a few minutes later, she shuffled back to her corner, hands still on top of her head.

“Ok, Lauren, I’m heading out.”

“Sir, before you go. . .”

“Yes?”

“Can I put my hands down? My shoulders are getting really sore like this.”

Don thought about it for a moment. “You may have one alternate position, Lauren, and that is with your hands behind your back, your left hand holding your right forearm just below the elbow, and your right hand holding your left forearm just below the elbow. You can move back-and-forth between those two positions as needed. I might think of more later, but for now, it’s just those two.”

“Thank you, sir.” She shifted to the new position and sighed.

“You’re welcome, Lauren. I’ll be back in a bit.” With that, he walked out to pick up his items.


Lauren didn’t know how long it had been since Don had left, but she was certain it had been at least an hour. If so, she’d spent more time with her nose against the wall and her butt on display than doing everything else she had done today.

She shifted her arms from position one to position two, again—the sixth transition since Don had left. Neither position was painful; her shoulders just became sore after a long time in either one. What was painful was the spanking that she was sure was yet to come today. Her rear end began to tingle at the thought, and she suddenly felt more exposed.

Finally, the door opened. Lauren said nothing waiting for the command that she hoped was coming soon if only to relieve the interminable boredom. She heard Don moving around for a few minutes during which she shifted back to her having her hands on top of her head.

“Come here, Lauren.”

Lauren turned to obey and shuffled over toward Don. He had moved a bar stool into the living room near where he sat on the couch and, she saw with trepidation as she got closer, had placed the paddle and a leather strap with a wooden handle on the coffee table.

“Sit down, Lauren.” He gestured to the stool. She looked at it, confused for a moment, then leaned down to pull up her panties. “No, leave your panties where they are.”

She gulped. For a moment she had thought she was going to escape another spanking, but she supposed Don was just giving her a break after leaving her standing all day. It was awkward pulling herself up onto the stool shackled at the knees by her own panties, but she managed it and then held onto the sides of the stool for balance. The wooden stool was cool and she realized with relief that her butt wasn’t so sore from her earlier punishment.

“Lauren, I’ve done a lot of thinking this afternoon.” HE had done a lot of thinking? She had spent the day staring at a white wall. She hadn’t had anything to do BUT think. “When you told me earlier that you needed me to be more strict, I took that to mean that you wanted to yield some control over your life to someone else—namely, me. Would you say that is an accurate description of what you wanted, Lauren?”

She furrowed her brow in thought for a moment. “I guess s—Yes, it is, sir.” She suddenly felt very sure of those words.

Don nodded. “Well, I’m glad I interpreted that right. The only problem is, Lauren, that if you truly want to yield control, you can’t be the one to set the limit on how much control is yielded. If you pick and CHOOSE what aspects of your life you’ll yield to someone else, then you aren’t truly yielding control. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I. . . I think so, sir.”

“Good. Well, then, that is why I wrote our new contract without your input and that is why I had you sign it without getting a chance to read it. I made the decision on what control you’ll yield to me and, while you may find that some of it pushes your limits, I think you’ll find that it’s overall a reasonable document.

“I’ve made two photocopies of the contract, Lauren. One for you, one to hang on the fridge, and I’ll keep the original. I’m going to go over it with you now. I’m not going to hit all the details—you can read it on your own later—but we’ll go over the major points. Are you ready?”

“Yes, sir.” More than ready—she was relieved. She had been worried that she would never be allowed to read the contract.

“Okay, first, Lauren, consider yourself now under a curfew. 10:30 on weeknights and 1:00 on weekends. Come home late, and you will be spanked, no ifs, ands, or buts about it.” A CURFEW?! She was 27 years old. She hadn’t had a curfew in a decade. She took a deep breath and calmed herself. Okay, a curfew wasn’t so bad. It wasn’t like she stayed out that late most nights, anyway.

“Next, Lauren, you are a spendthrift. I don’t think there’s been a week since I’ve been here that you haven’t come home with a new pair of shoes and a matching handbag. I’m going to help you control your spending. From now on, you will turn your paychecks over to me. I will give you $400 per month from that and cover the rent, utilities, and groceries from the rest. I’ll also start a savings account from which you’ll be allowed to borrow—but at a steep interest rate and with a, mmm, required down payment that will make you spend your money more carefully after that.” Lauren found her eyes bulging before Don was halfway through his description, but she bit her tongue. An allowance? From her own money, to boot? Well, if she couldn’t stay out late at night, she wouldn’t really be needing the money, anyway, she thought ruefully.

“And since I will be handling the apartment finances, you are going to start contributing in other ways. You will keep this apartment clean, Lauren. You’ll probably want to plan on cleaning at least every Friday because I’m going to be inspecting it every Saturday morning, and if it doesn’t meet my standards, you are going to find yourself over my knee.” Great. She was going to be paying him to be his maid. “You will also make and serve breakfast every day at 7:00 in the morning and, on nights when you don’t have your class, you will serve dinner at 7:00.” Scratch that—his maid and his cook.

“And that brings us to your education, Lauren. What degree are you pursuing again?”

“A Masters in Finance.” She had dropped the “sir” intentionally. She wasn’t too happy about these new requirements. Although, she supposed, that played back into what Don had been saying earlier. If she wanted to yield control, she couldn’t control what control was yielded. Or something like that.

“Yes, well, I have to say I don’t really approve of you taking those classes. You’re filling a seat a man could be using.” Her jaw dropped. She certainly hadn’t expected THAT from Don. “But, all the same, you’re there, and while you’re there, you will perform well. Any assignment that earns a grade of less than a B+ or an 88% will earn you a hard spanking. Any class in which you earn anything less than an overall A will earn you the strap.” Now Don looked distracted for a moment. “By the way, when we’re done here, I want you to hang the paddle and strap up in your room. Somewhere where you can see them when you’re lying in bed. From now on, you will bring them to me when you’re going to be punished with them.” She shuddered at that and decided that maybe she’d throw the “sir” back in to keep Don in a good mood; somehow, the idea of bringing the implements of her punishment just added to the humiliation.

“Next, your pussy. First, Lauren, you will always refer to it as your ‘pussy’. No other title is acceptable.” She cringed at that. She hated that word. “Second, you will keep your pussy neatly trimmed at all times. I don’t want to have to feel a lot of hair on my lap when I’m spanking you. You will shave everything except for a trapezoid no longer than the length of your index finger, no wider at the top than your middle three fingers, and no wider at the bottom than your middle finger. That hair will be kept between one-quarter and three-eighths of an inch long. You will not, under any circumstances, shave it completely. I will inspect you at any time to make sure you’re in compliance, Lauren, and if you are not, I will whip your pussy with a riding crop. Because of the severity of the punishment, that is the only one I will allow you to appeal. . . ”

Her jaw dropped and she stopped listening. Whip. . . whip her? She made an immediate vow to herself that if she did nothing else, she would keep her pubic hair trimmed the way Don had just described. Then, she shifted uncomfortably as the full implications of what Don was saying sunk in. She had signed a contract earlier today saying that she would keep her pubic area trimmed to his precise specifications or face having it whipped. It certainly was not currently meeting those standards. The fact that she had not been allowed to read the contract—and that she had spent the rest of the day with her nose pressed firmly against a wall—might not be a mitigating factor in Don’s eyes.

“And the final clause,” Don’s voice brought her back to the present. “You will address every man—defined as any male over the age of eighteen—as ‘sir’ or ‘Mr.’ followed by his last name. That’s whether or not I’m around, and I expect you to report any failure and accept a severe punishment.”

“But. . . but, sir, there are men who work for me. I can’t—”

Don cut her off with a raised hand. “I didn’t ask you if it would be difficult. I told you to do it. If you think that your job will make this requirement impossible, maybe the job isn’t appropriate for you.”

“No, sir. I’ll. . . I’ll be able to do it.” She had another thought, something that might be able to distract Don from her poor grooming habits and the potential of a whipping. She cast her eyes downward. “Sir, I feel like. . . ”

“Yes?”

“Well, if it’s wrong for me to not address men as ‘sir’ or with a ‘Mr.’, now, then it’s been wrong all the times I’ve done it in the past.”

“Yes.”

“Sir, could you give me just one long punishment to make up for all of those times?” She was sure her butt could take a lot more punishment than her nether regions.

Don leaned back and smiled, now. “Well, Lauren, I applaud your maturity in making that request. As a matter of fact, I am going to give you one long punishment for your past offenses.” Lauren felt her heart begin to pound and her stomach to flip. “But not right now. No, I’m going to do it tomorrow morning; I want to give you the night to think about it.

“Tomorrow, Lauren, I am going to give you the longest, hardest spanking I have ever given you, designed to make sure you understand your place in relation to men. Do you understand, Lauren?”

She was already crying a little. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Then at ten o’clock tomorrow morning, I want laid out on this table your strap, your paddle, and a one-thousand word, hand-written letter explaining why your past behavior was wrong and apologizing for it. And I want you, facing that wall, prepared for your spanking.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. You may go to your room now to get started on that letter.”

“Thank you, sir.” She got up to go.

“And, Lauren?”

“Yes, sir?”

“I’m giving you a pass on your pussy, today, but it better be properly trimmed tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”


Half an hour later, Lauren was still struggling with the apology letter and decided to take a break to take care of her grooming issue. She quickly realized that a razor was not going to be sufficient to the task. After a few minutes of looking through the phonebook and a quick phone call, she walked out to find Don watching TV in the living room.

“Sir, may I leave for a little while?”

“Why?”

“I have an appointment to get waxed, sir.”

Don looked at her with a grin. “Waxed, Lauren? What do you mean?”

“My. . . my pussy, sir. I’m going to get it waxed so the hair is in the shape you described.”

“Very industrious, Lauren. How’s the letter coming along?”

“I’m still working on it, sir, but it will be done before tomorrow.”

“Okay, as long as it is. Go ahead.”

“Thank you, sir.”


The waiting room at the day spa was almost as boring for Lauren as standing with her nose against the wall. At least the magazines are newer, she joked to herself. She didn’t realize that she had spoken out loud until the woman across from her looked up from her own 6-month old “Cosmo”.

Lauren smiled weakly at the woman and looked away. She had always associated the procedure she was there for with strippers and porn stars and she had to keep reminding herself that the rest of the women in the waiting room would just assume she was there for a facial or a pedicure, just like them.

“Lauren?”

She looked up to see a white man with a receding hairline leaning through the doorway to the main area. They exchanged smiles. “I’m Jim. If you’ll just follow me. . .”

She grabbed her purse and followed him musing that, technically, she had no choice. She had read the whole section in her contract from which the “sir” requirement originated and discovered that the requirements were a little more extensive than that. First, she was to “courteously discourage” men from calling her “ma’am” or anything along those lines. Second, she had to honestly answer any question posed to her. And finally, she had to honor any non-sexual requests. There’d even been a helpful little graphic to give the order of precedence: Commands from Donà Requests from Donà Commands from other menà Requests from other men.

She followed Jim into a room that reminded her of a doctor’s office, complete with a raised table with the sliding paper sheet. “Okay, Lauren, if you can just take off your pants and panties and hop up on the table, we’ll get started.”

Lauren hesitated and then decided that “honoring requests” didn’t mean “unquestionably”. “Um, isn’t there. . . won’t a woman be doing this? Sir.”

Jim shrugged. “You asked us to squeeze you in, and all the women are booked at the moment. If you’d like to come back the day after tomorrow, though. . .”

Dismayed, she shook her head. “No, sir.” She started to unbutton her jeans, then realized Jim was just sort of . . . staring . . . at her. She turned around and then shook her head at how silly she was being. It wasn’t like he wasn’t about to get a good look, anyway.

Lauren kicked her shoes off and pulled her jeans down. She hesitated, steeled herself, and pulled her panties down, too, then folded the jeans and panties up and put them on a chair, turned, and hopped up on the table, folding her hands in her lap.

Jim smiled appreciatively. “Now, if you could just lie back,” she did so, “and put your feet up in these stirrups . . .” He unfolded a pair of stirrups from the table. She gulped, then did as she was told. In this position, she could definitely feel that there was a draft in the room, and it seemed to be blowing right into her exposed self.

Lauren fixed her gaze on the ceiling, trying to do anything to keep from reminding herself that, naked from the waist down, she was posed lewdly in front of this man she had just met. She felt a firm grasp on her right ankle and then a strap sliding over it. She looked down in alarm. Jim grinned at her. “Just buckling you into the stirrups so that you don’t accidentally kick me during the waxing.” He repeated the process with her left ankle.

With that, he opened the plastic wrap on a spatula-looking tool and stepped between her legs. Lauren closed her eyes and tried to pretend she wasn’t completely exposed to his gaze; pretending didn’t work. A moment later, Jim gave a wordless grunt. Lauren opened her eyes.

“Sorry,” he said. He gestured toward some plugged-in electrical device that he was holding. “This warmer is supposed to get the wax warm enough to soften it, but not so warm that it burns you. This one’s not working though. I’ll be right back.”

He turned and left before Lauren could ask him to release her from the stirrups. She lay there, legs spread wide, for what seemed like hours but must have only been a minute or two. She half expected a crowd of people to come through the door at any moment to make her day perfect.

Finally, Jim returned, whistling and apparently with a working wax warmer. “Alright, then.” He stepped between her legs again. A moment later, Lauren felt the warm wax being spread along a segment of her pubic area; it was almost relaxing.

Then, Jim pressed a piece of what looked like parchment paper into the hardening wax and, a moment later, yanked it out. Lauren yelled in surprise and pain. She realized now just how necessary the ankle restraints were—her involuntary response had been to try to close her legs which would have earned Jim a hard knee to the face. She was sure she had felt every single hair individually torn out. Well, at least it was over now, she thought.

“Ok,” Jim said. “Another five or six of those and we’ll be done on this side.” Lauren’s eyes popped wide. Five or six more?!? And what did he mean by “this side”?

The second wax application provoked the same responses, and after the third, Lauren could feel tears welling in her eyes. Jim must have noticed, too. “Would you like to take a short break?”

She nodded, clenching her eyes but not stopping the tears. “Yes, please, sir.”

“Ok, I can give you a minute or two.” He leaned back against the counter and she realized that her “break” wasn’t actually going to involve being released from the stirrups or not having him stare at her exposed vulva. She sighed and just tried to focus on the fact that at least she wasn’t currently having pubic hair ripped out by the follicle. “Don’t think I’ve seen you here before. This your first time?”

Really? She was naked from the waist down, legs spread wide and restrained, and he thought this was a normal time for casual conversation? She looked down at him and then wished she hadn’t. He was clearly enjoying the view, staring at her half-trimmed private area, and that only added to the humiliation that she was feeling. But she had to answer. “Yes, sir.”

“That’s a pretty specific request you’re asking for. Any reason?”

She closed her eyes as though that could shut out the room and considered telling him that was just the way she liked it. But, no, she had to answer honestly. “Somebody asked me to, sir, and I agreed.” Okay, that might have been a white lie, but it was close enough to the truth.

“Heh. Lucky guy, I guess. Okay, break time’s over.” He stepped between her legs and started slathering on the wax again. The warmth was less enjoyable now that she knew what followed. . .

RRRIIIP! “AUGGH!” Lauren cried out. That one had taken her by surprise.

RRRIIIP! She was crying freely, now. The break hadn’t been long enough to reset the tears.

RRRIIIP! Finally, it was over. Lauren fought back sobs as Jim unstrapped her ankles.

“Okay, now, I just need you to roll over, tuck your knees up under your stomach, and reach back and spread your cheeks.”

The words hung in the air for a moment while Lauren hesitated. Maybe he wasn’t serious? But, no, she knew he was. She considered refusing, considered telling him she was happy with the work he’d done so far and that was all she needed. But, again, she knew she couldn’t do that. First, a man had told her to do it, so she had to do it. Second—and more importantly, in her mind—she’d already done this much to avoid a punishment from Don; all that pain and embarrassment would be for nothing if she didn’t let Jim finish the job and Don ended up punishing her anyway.

So, she slowly turned over, slid her knees up under her torso and—leaning forward onto her forehead—reached back to spread her cheeks.

Jim gave out a low whistle. “I didn’t notice this before but have you . . . been spanked recently?”

Dammit! She still had marks from her earlier spanking! Lauren felt tears—oh-so-familiar recently—welling up. It wasn’t enough that she, a grown woman, had to get spanked. It wasn’t enough that she had to expose herself in front of this strange man. Now she had to discuss her spankings while posed so lewdly?

She took a breath and composed herself. “Yes, sir.” And I’m going to get another spanking tomorrow, so can we please just get this done so I can have SOME time to myself today, she added in her head.

“Wow. Well, now I’m curious. What was that about?”

“I . . . I spilled juice on some paperwork of his. But it’s more complicated than that. Can we just continue, sir?”

“Sure thing. It’s just not something I see a lot, that’s all.” The last part almost brought the tears back for Lauren.

She heard him stepping up behind her. “Now, I should just warn you that . . . damn, I’m out of wax. Just wait right there, please. I’ll be right back.”

“Wait! Can’t I—” but the sound of the door closing cut Lauren off before she could ask to get off the table. She decided that “wait right there” didn’t mean “freeze in position,” though, and released her cheeks. A minute or two later, she felt a sudden increase in the draft and turned her head. Goddammit! The door was open; the latch must not have caught!

She couldn’t reach it from where she was, but if anyone walked by, she’d be clearly visible from the hallway. Was it worth a strapping from Don if she had to report to him that she’d disobeyed a man in order to avoid further humiliation? She was still contemplating that question when one of the spa workers walked by leading . . . oh God, Jason Trimble—her good friend Lana’s younger brother.

He did a double-take and stopped dead in his tracks. Lauren turned her head and buried her face in her forearms, praying that Jason hadn’t recognized her.

“Naughty, naughty, Lauren,” she heard the door shut just after Jim’s words. Oh, PLEASE, don’t let Jason have heard my name, she thought. “I thought I told you to stay just as you were.” He patted her butt. “Now spread those cheeks for me.” Jim, apparently, had decided that her admission of being spanked had allowed him to take even more liberties.

Lauren complied with a barely murmured, “Sorry, sir.”

“Now, as I was saying, I should warn you that most of our customers report that this part hurts a lot more. It should only take three or four this time, though.”

She gulped and noticed her breathing rate increasing. Hurt more? She hadn’t thought that was possible. Already, Jim was spreading the warmed wax. Instead of the previous soothing feeling, though, this time it felt . . . well, gross. He was pressing the paper on it, now. Oh, God, here it came . . .

RRRIIIP! “Aaaah!” Jim hadn’t exaggerated. Lauren released her cheeks as she clenched her fists.

“Hey!” Jim smacked her butt hard. “Keep your cheeks spread. If the wax hardens on this spreader because I’m waiting for you, you’re gonna stretch this way out, and I’m gonna have to charge you for an extra session.”

Lauren murmured another respectful apology and pulled her cheeks apart again, resolving to control her reaction.

Jim started spreading the wax again, pressed the paper, and . . .

RRRIIIP! “Aaaah!” No preparation could keep her from yelling out, but at least she managed to keep her hands in place.

“Hmm. One more will do it, I think.” He almost sounded disappointed.

Jim spread the wax again, pressed the paper, and . . .

RRRIIIP! “Aaaah!” She was crying again.

“Looks good to me.” He patted her butt. “How about you?” Lauren looked back to where Jim was holding up a mirror for her inspection. Inside her crack, everything was red . . . but hair-free.

“It looks good, sir.”

“Ok, turn over.”

She complied, and Jim held the mirror. Again, except for a small triangle of hair, everything was red. She could trim the hair down to a proper length on her own, she decided. “That looks good, too, sir.”

“Great.” He patted her inner right thigh. “You can pay at the front desk.”

With that, he turned and left the room. Lauren waited for a moment, getting her crying under control, before pulling her panties and jeans back on and making her way out of the building with as much dignity as she could manage.


Lauren slapped her alarm clock off, still groggy after a night of bad sleep. She had dreamt all night about her coming spanking; they had not been good dreams. She was a little embarrassed to realize that she had, in her sleep, rolled over onto her stomach and pushed her pillows down under her pelvis as though she was getting into a spanking position. Her nightshirt had drifted up leaving her butt exposed to the cool morning air. It really wasn’t any wonder, she supposed, considering that last night was the first time she had ever gone to sleep knowing without any doubt that she was getting spanked the next day.

That thought gave her pause. How absurd was this anyway? She was about to submit to a spanking . . . and she hadn’t even done anything wrong. She thought about it for a moment, though, and decided that what she had done was lose a gamble. She had bet that the only way to keep Don from giving her a worse punishment was to distract him by ASKING for the punishment that she was now facing. She had, it turned out, bet wrong, but now she had to face the consequences.

She was also embarrassed to realize just how horny she had woken up; she hoped it had nothing to do with her dreams. She thought momentarily about her vibrator, but a glance at her clock confirmed that she didn’t have enough time. She’d just have to take care of it after breakfast.

She stopped at her mirror to make a last check of her pubic region. She had trimmed the remaining patch of hair down to the quarter-inch requirement that Don had laid out. She had to admit . . . it looked kind of classy that way.

Lauren sighed, pulled on a pair of shorts, and went out to the kitchen to start some eggs.


***


Lauren was putting breakfast on the table just as the clock hit 7 and Don walked out of his room. “Good morning, Lauren,” he said, sitting down to his eggs and bacon.

“Good morning, sir.” She sat down across from him with her own plate.

“So, what are your plans for the day?”

Was he serious? He couldn’t possibly have forgotten about the promised punishment . . . not after it had kept her restlessly worried all night. “Well, I have a group meeting at 2:00, sir, so I thought I’d prepare for that until about 9:30 and then get ready for my . . . my spanking.”

Don stared at her for a moment. “I see. So I assume you’ll want your punishment to be over by about 1:00 to give you enough time to get cleaned up and get to your meeting?”

“Um, yes, that would be nice, sir.”

“Lauren, you realize, I think, that what you appear to be doing is trying to retake control of the situation by backstopping your punishment.” She hadn’t thought of that. “Since you’re so determined to have some control, I’m going to give you a choice about your consequences: you may either call all of your group members to tell them that you might be late for the meeting and explain why, or you may accept a paddling right after breakfast. I’ll give you to the end of breakfast to decide which.”

“I’m sorry . . . I . . . I didn’t mean to . . . please—”

“I don’t want to hear it, Lauren. Spend your energy deciding which consequence you’re going to take.” He grabbed his newspaper and began reading it.

Lauren ate her now-tasteless breakfast and considered her options. Not that there was really much of an option, she figured. Don had to know that she couldn’t endure the humiliation of revealing to others this strange arrangement she had agreed to—and once she told a few, she could be sure that everyone in her classes would soon know! But a paddling? And only as a prelude to the longer punishment she’d soon be undergoing? Worse, she realized, the more she thought about her options and the inevitability of some sort of punishment, the hornier she became.

All too soon, Don looked up from his newspaper. “Well, Lauren, what will it be?”

“The paddle. I’ll take a paddling, sir.”

“Ok, then. Pull down your shorts . . . clear the table . . . and go retrieve your paddle and a pillow from your room.” She hoped that it was just a coincidence that her horniness surged with each of his commands as she stood up to comply. She pulled her shorts about half-way down her thighs and then proceeded to clear the table and load the dishwasher. The shorts hobbled her a lot more than her panties normally did, so the table-clearing took some time. Meanwhile, she was nervous about Don commenting on her new look—this would be the first time he would be seeing her with her properly-groomed pubic area—but he didn’t look up from his paper until she came out of her room holding the paddle and pillow.

Don took both from her and folded up the pillow to place it against the edge of the table. “Bend over, Lauren.” She did so. “Your elbows are not to leave the table. I recommend holding on to the edge of the table if that will help.”

With the extra height of the pillow, she was forced up onto her toes to comply. And now she had another fear: the soft pressure of the pillow on her mons pubis. She was sure the paddling would force her to rub against it, and as horny as she was. . .

“Lauren,” Don brought her mind away from that thought. “Does thirty sound fair to you?”

THIRTY?!? With the paddle—and she still had her long punishment later today? “Sir, please . . . I know what I did was wrong, and I’m sorry, but thirty—”

Don placed the paddle under her chin, silencing her and tilting her face up toward him all in one motion. “Let me clarify, Lauren. This isn’t a negotiation. You’re getting thirty.”

“Yes, sir.”

That settled, Don wasted no time getting started.

whistle. . . POP! Even knowing it was coming, the first one still managed to take Lauren by surprise, and she yelled out in pain.

whistle. . . POP! “This is good, Lauren. . .”

whistle. . . POP! “I’m playing tennis later. . .”

whistle. . . POP! “And this is a good warm-up.”

whistle. . . POP! “I can go forehand. . .”

whistle. . . POP! “Or backhand. . .”

whistle. . . POP! “Or two-handed.”

whistle. . . POP! She was already sobbing and lifting first one leg, then the other, but she maintained a firm grasp on the edge of the table and kept her elbows on the table.

whistle. . . POP! Despite the pain, each stroke sent a pulse through her loins and pushed her higher toward her peak.

whistle. . . POP! She was fighting it, putting more effort into that than into holding still.

whistle. . . POP! Closer. . .

whistle. . . POP! Closer. . .

whistle. . . POP! She couldn’t hold it any longer. . .

whistle. . . POP! She bucked wildly and yelled out, vaguely aware of Don admonishing her to hold still.

The rest of the paddling passed in a haze. She must’ve looked like a broken woman as she sobbed limply on the table, absolutely humiliated at what the paddle had driven her to. She hoped. . . she PRAYED. . . that Don thought her thrashing legs and arching back had simply been a reaction to a particularly painful blow. Somehow. . . she didn’t know how. . . she had managed to keep her elbows on the table.

She only became truly aware that the paddling was over when Don walked up to her winding up a kitchen timer. He placed it on the small of her back where she could hear its incessant ticking, patted her reddened behind, and walked around to tilt her tear-slickened face up toward him.

“You will stay here until the timer goes off, Lauren, and while you are here, you will think about why you were punished. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir,” she sniffled.


As she stood bent over the table, butt throbbing, Lauren decided that, being honest with herself, she had, in fact, been trying to exercise some control over her coming punishment. She’d avoided telling Don about her meeting until it would be too late for him to move her punishment up. So, now, without the coercive threat of the paddle, she finally honestly acknowledged that she had deserved her punishment.

Now, though, she was just hoping that the timer would go off soon. Her horniness was returning the longer that she stood there, and she wanted time to take care of it before her punishment. She did NOT want to be brought to orgasm again while being spanked.

Tick, tick, tick. . . damn, every second left her hornier and with less time to take care of it. She tried to think bland thoughts, but her mind kept wandering, understandably back to the burn in her backside and the punishment to come—and somehow the two made her ever hornier.

DING! Finally, the alarm went off. Lauren reached back and pulled it off her back, then pulled up her shorts and practically ran into her room. There, she went immediately to her panty drawer to find her vibrator.


Fifteen minutes later, with no relief forthcoming and frustration mounting, Lauren knew what she had to do. She stood up and bent over with her back to her mirror. Looking back, she saw that her normally ivory butt was already reddened from her earlier paddling—and she still had so much more to go!

She felt tears coming on but fought them back to focus on the task at hand. Pressing the vibrator against herself, she thought, “Mr. Arden is going to spank you. You’re going to do as you’re told, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

She repeated the thought over and over until it came suddenly and intensely. Finally, relief.

Mission accomplished, Lauren hurried to the shower to clean up.

At exactly 9:30, Lauren walked out of her room carrying her paddle, strap, and apology letter. She placed them on the coffee table, then took off her shoes and jeans, folding the latter and placing them on the table also.

She then walked over to the corner she had spent facing for so long yesterday and pulled her panties down, ensuring that they turned inside out and rested halfway between her knees and the fully-up position. It was in one way a little bit of a relief to pull her panties down; with her remaining pubic hair cut so short, it was stiff and caused a lot of itchiness as it brushed up against the inside of her panties. With that thought, she allowed herself a momentary break in position for a quick scratch, then returned her hands to the top of her head and waited.


“Lauren, come over here.” She took a deep breath. This was it. She was going to get the longest, hardest spanking she had ever gotten. She turned and shuffled over to Don, careful to keep her fingers laced behind her head and her panties above her knees.

Don looked her up and down and then reached out to gently brush her tiny pubic triangle. “Good job with your pussy, Lauren.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“How much did that cost you?”

“$120, sir.”

He whistled. “That’s going to be difficult to maintain on $400 per month, huh?”

“Now that it’s done, sir, I think I can maintain it with a razor on my own.”

“Good. The whole point of that rule is an exercise in discipline. If I wanted to make it easy for you, I would have just told you to shave completely. Read me your letter.”

She leaned over to pick up the letter, then began without any introduction.


Sir,

I want to take this opportunity to apologize for my long history of disrespect to men. I think I have always known that it was wrong for me to treat men as equals. I am not under the common illusion that respect is a two-way street. It is one-way—younger to elder, female to male, inferior to superior—and granted in the other direction only at the pleasure of the superior. I need to be spanked for my past transgressions, sir, and I thank you for taking the time to discipline me. I am sure that this will not be the last time that I need to be punished, but I will strive to treat all men with the proper respect in the future.

This behavior is wrong, sir, because it is not proper for me to fail to treat men with their due deference. It is compounded by the fact that I have allowed myself to be placed in positions of authority over men which has created the false belief that it is appropriate for me to give them commands instead of requests and that I do not have to treat their requests as commands. I know now that this is wrong, and I will strive to treat every request from a man as a command from you. I will also address them all properly as “sir” or “Mr.” plus their last name.

I sincerely hope that you will punish me severely for my past transgressions, sir.

Respectfully,

Lauren


By the end, Lauren found that she was already fighting back tears. She waited nervously for Don’s response. He frowned. “Lauren, you had two tasks to accomplish last night. What were they?”

She thought for a moment, confused. “Oh. I had to write a letter of apology and trim my . . . my pussy, sir.”

He reached out casually and traced a finger around the outline of her pus—of her pubic triangle. She was NOT going to start thinking that word even if she did have to say it! “And you did a good job with the second. But what was the criterion for the letter, Lauren.”

She thought again for a moment. “It was supposed to be 1000 words long, sir.”

“Right. That letter you just read to me is nowhere near long enough, Lauren. I guess I know that the only way to get you to do what you’re supposed to is to promise you a harsh punishment if you fail. But don’t worry, you’re going to get an extra special punishment for this failure, too.”

“I—I’m sorry, si—”

“This is absolutely unacceptable, Lauren, and I am not going to listen to any excuses. No, here’s what’s going to happen. You are going to get the punishment that I promised you right now. Tomorrow, at this same time, you are going to read me a proper-length apology letter, and then I am going to tell you what your punishment for this little bit of defiance is going to be. And I promise you, Lauren, you are going to find the punishment humiliating—but no moreso than you deserve for your improperly superior attitude toward men all these years.” Humiliating? She was a grown woman about to be spanked. She was forced to stand here half-naked in front of the man who was about to give the spanking. And she no longer had control over how she trimmed her own pus—pubic area. What could possibly be MORE humiliating? “Do you understand me, Lauren?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.”

“Then, get over my knee, and let’s get this started.”

She complied without hesitation. As she bent over, however, Don moved his right leg so that she was only over his left leg. He brought his right leg back to pin her legs from behind. As Lauren settled in, Don rested his hand on her left cheek, the tips of his fingers just barely grazing her crack. “As always, Lauren, you will not interfere with the spanking, swear, or tell me that you can’t take any more. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now, it is, of course, important that you understand why you are being spanked. Otherwise, the punishment wouldn’t be as effective. So, tell me, Lauren, why are you about to get the longest, hardest spanking of your life?”

“Sir, you’re about to spank me for my history of being disrespectful toward men and taking a superior attitude toward them. I’m very sorry, sir.”

“I’m sure you are. The question is, are you sorry for being disrespectful toward men, or sorry because you’re about to be spanked for being disrespectful toward men?”

“I’m sorry for being disrespectful toward men, sir. It’s wrong, and I deserve. . . to be spanked.”

“Anything else, Lauren?”

“Sir, can I. . . can I know how many spanks I’m going to get?” She looked back over her shoulder pleadingly.

Don pursed his lips for a moment. “I had intended for your not knowing how long the spanking was going to last to be part of your punishment, Lauren, but I’ll meet you half-way. Today, you are going to get more with my hand than with the paddle and more with the paddle than with the strap. Now let’s get started.”


SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! Right from the start. . .

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! It was clear that Don had not been exaggerating. . .

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! When he had promised her her hardest spanking ever.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! Lauren had sworn to herself that she wouldn’t cry. . .

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! At least through the first session. . .

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! But she quickly realized that that was a promise in vain.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! As the tears turned to sobbing, she acted. . .

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! Half on thought and half on instinct.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! Lauren clenched her butt cheeks together as hard as she could.

THWAP! THWAP! “Damn it! Knock it off Lauren!”


She ignored him until she felt him prying her cheeks apart and touching the rim of her anus. “Lauren, I’m quite sure I can think of ways to make it uncomfortable for you to clench.”


She unclenched immediately but turned and looked over her shoulder imploringly. “Please, sir, just not so hard. I can’t take much more like this.”


Don stared back for a moment before moving his right leg to free Lauren’s. “Roll over, Lauren.”


She did so, confused and unsure of what to do with her arms now that she was laying on her back on Don’s lap. She settled for using them to keep her t-shirt covering her breasts. Don traced his left index finger around her navel and his right index finger around her pubic hair.


“Lauren, we are barely into the warm up of what is going to be a long, hard spanking, so you had better get any ideas of leniency out of your head. I already warned you once, so consider this your final warning: do not tell me you can’t take any more. Do you understand?”


Lauren gulped, “Yes, sir.”


“Good. Then roll back over.” She did so, and Don restarted without further comment.


SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! If anything. . .

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! The spanks. . .

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! Were even. . .

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! Harder now.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! And now. . .

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! He switched from smacking. . .

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! Both cheeks. . .

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! At once. . .

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! To striking. . .

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! First one cheek. . .

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! And then the next. . .

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! Six times in a row. . .

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! VERY hard.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! Despite her best efforts. . .

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! Lauren was sobbing. . .

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! And kicking her legs.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! “I’m sorry. . .

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! “I’ll be. . .

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! “More respectful.”

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! And Lauren couldn’t manage. . .

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! To get any more out. . .

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! As Don finished. . .

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! In a flurry. . .

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! Of the hardest spanks yet.

SMACK!


“Get up, Lauren.”


She did so, still choking back sobs, and was surprised to discover that her panties hadn’t moved much despite all of her kicking. Don stood with her, grabbed her left arm to turn her around, and gave one more sharp smack to her left cheek. “In the corner, Lauren. I’ll call you over when it’s time for your next set.”

“Yes [sob] sir.” She shuffled over to the corner, grasping her forearms behind her back in what she had come to think of as Position 2, and waited with her nose against the wall.

While she was waiting, Lauren thought about what lay ahead for her. She had tried to keep count during the spanking and was pretty sure that she had received about 100 spanks. At least now she knew the upper limit to how many whacks of the paddle and strap she would receive. “Oh, God,” she thought, “the strap.” She’d never received the strap before and was, frankly, terrified of it.

Thankfully, Don didn’t leave her long to think about it.

“Lauren, come here. Bring your paddle.”

She shivered at the command and murmured a barely audible, “Yes, sir.” He hadn’t told her that that was necessary, but she suddenly felt it proper to not simply do as he instructed but to acknowledge out loud that she was doing things because he had told her to do them.

She shuffled away from her corner, keeping her hands behind her back until she needed to bend over and pick her paddle up off of the coffee table. Then, she shuffled over to Don, presenting him with the paddle and awaiting further instructions.

“Okay, Lauren, now bend over the back of the couch.”

She shuddered again. “Yes, sir.” At least, she thought, she wasn’t combating the terrible horniness from earlier this morning. Just that thought, though, was enough to stir a vague tingling in her nether regions.

As before, Don began without any lecture.

whistle. . . POP! whistle. . . POP! whistle. . . POP! Lauren wasn’t sure . . .

whistle. . . POP! whistle. . . POP! whistle. . . POP! if it was her imagination . . .

whistle. . . POP! whistle. . . POP! whistle. . . POP! or her butt already being . . .

whistle. . . POP! whistle. . . POP! whistle. . . POP! so sore from her earlier . . .

whistle. . . POP! whistle. . . POP! whistle. . . POP! spankings, but it sure felt . . .

whistle. . . POP! whistle. . . POP! whistle. . . POP! like this was a lot harder . . .

whistle. . . POP! whistle. . . POP! whistle. . . POP! than her earlier paddling.

whistle. . . POP! whistle. . . POP! whistle. . . POP! She’d been crying since . . .

whistle. . . POP! whistle. . . POP! whistle. . . POP! the third pop. . .

whistle. . . POP! whistle. . . POP! whistle. . . POP! and now realized. . .

whistle. . . POP! whistle. . . POP! whistle. . . POP! that her tears . . .

whistle. . . POP! whistle. . . POP! whistle. . . POP! were puddling . . .

whistle. . . POP! whistle. . . POP! whistle. . . POP! on the couch cushion . . .

whistle. . . POP! whistle. . . POP! whistle. . . POP! in front of her.

whistle. . . POP! whistle. . . POP! whistle. . . POP! She shifted . . .

whistle. . . POP! whistle. . . POP! whistle. . . POP! from one foot . . .

whistle. . . POP! whistle. . . POP! whistle. . . POP! to the other . . .

whistle. . . POP! whistle. . . POP! whistle. . . POP! but it seemed . . .

whistle. . . POP! whistle. . . POP! whistle. . . POP! to have . . .

whistle. . . POP! whistle. . . POP! whistle. . . POP! no effect.

“Get up, Lauren.” She was shocked. She was sure that had only been sixty, and she had certainly expected more. After the momentary shock, though, she wasted no time in pushing herself up.

Don handed her her paddle. “Go hang up your paddle and then back to your corner.”

“Yes, sir.”


The wait this time had been much longer. Lauren wasn’t sure if Don had decided she needed a longer break or if this was simply his way of stretching her punishment out. Either way, she had had to switch between Position 1 and Position 2 and back three times since her paddling and had maintained firm contact between her nose and the wall the whole time. She could hear Don moving about the apartment; he certainly wasn’t losing his day to this punishment.

She sighed, and she wasn’t sure if Don heard and was reminded of her presence or if he’d already been planning on this time. “Lauren, grab your strap and come over here.”

She turned with a, “Yes, sir,” shuffled over and retrieved her strap. She felt the heft of it as she carried it and gulped, then met Don in the middle of the living room. She handed Don the strap.

“Lauren, bend over and grab your ankles.”

“Yes, sir.” Years of gymnastics made this an easy task, but it didn’t leave her feeling any less vulnerable or embarrassed at the way she was exposing herself.

For the third time, Don began with no preamble.

CRACK! She screamed and jumped up before she even realized she’d felt anything. It had felt like someone had laid a band of hot metal across her butt.

Don had grabbed her arm in an instant. “Bend back over, Lauren! And do NOT do that again!”

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir.” Tears were already welling out of her eyes as she bent over and grabbed her ankles.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! No more than sixty . . .

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! Oh, God—how was she . . .

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! Going to make it . . .

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! Fifty more?

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! She was sobbing now,

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! Her nose running.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! “AUUGH!”

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! “Please [sob]”

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! “Stop!”

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! But Don ignored her

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! And moved on to her thighs

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! Great—no short dresses for a while

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! She somehow thought.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! Now she braced herself

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! For what she was sure would be

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! A flurry of extra hard final slaps

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! But they didn’t seem to be getting harder.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! Was Don showing her

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! Some mercy?

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! Finally . . .

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! Wait! Not fair! Lauren stood up.


“Lauren, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“You [sob] said no more [sob] with the strap [sob] than with [sob] the paddle [sob] sir.”

“I said no more today, Lauren. Are you forgetting about your earlier paddling already? Do you need a reminder?”

Lauren paled. He was counting the earlier paddling. That was an extra THIRTY!

“Now bend back over Lauren. You’re going to get five more than I planned on for this.”

She sobbed anew as she bent over, “Y-y-yes [sob] sir.”

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! Oh, God, it felt like it would never end.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! Yikes, he was definitely hitting harder now.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! “And don’t you. . .

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! “EVER . . .

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! “Get up . . .

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! “Until I tell you to!

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! “Do you understand, Lauren?”

“Y-y-yes [sob] sir.”

“Good. Then get up.”

Lauren slowly unbent and took the strap that Don thrust at her. “Hang it up and go back to your corner.”

She complied, shuffling along with her panties still miraculously at her knees.


Back in her corner, Lauren wondered how long Don was going to leave her there. It was very possible at this point that she was, in fact, going to be late for her group meeting. “Lauren, come over here.”

“Yes [sniff] sir.” She had fortunately managed to get her crying mostly under control in the few minutes that Don had allowed her. She shuffled over to stand in front of where Don was sitting on the living room couch.

“Lauren, I’m making some changes for tomorrow. Since you have to work, we will meet here at 6:30 pm. Go get yourself a pen and a piece of paper.”

She paused for a second, surprised at the command, then murmured, “Yes, sir,” as she shuffled to her room to comply. Back with the pen and paper, she stood again in front of Don, her hands on top of her head.

“I’m not going to have you rewrite that letter, Lauren. There’s no sense assigning you something at which you’ve proven unable to succeed.” Lauren flinched at that. She was perfectly capable of writing a 1000-word letter. She had just forgotten the requirement. “No, instead, Lauren, you are going to write this statement five hundred times.” He gestured to the coffee table. “Write this down, Lauren.”

She crouched down to lean against the table and Don started slowly dictating:


“I will pay careful attention to what I am told to do so that I do not fail to obey the commands of my superiors. Forgetting is not an excuse for failure, and I will always request and accept punishment for failure no matter the reason. My three most important tasks on any given day are: obeying Don and all other men, being respectful to Don and all other men, and keeping my pussy properly trimmed.”


Lauren blinked back tears as the passage got longer. Five hundred times by hand?! This would take her hours to write out!


When he was done, Don had her read the passage back to him—in part, she suspected, to force her to say “pussy” again—and then told her she could pull her panties back up and go get cleaned up. With the latter, Lauren happily complied.


***


Back in her room, Lauren inspected herself in her full-length mirror. Dear God, her butt was just a swollen bunch of red welts. She didn’t think she’d be able to sit comfortably for a week. A few moments later she discovered that showering wasn’t so easy, either, and shortly after that, that just wearing jeans was a problem. She sighed. At least she was absolved of her previous sins.

The next day passed interminably slowly for Lauren. She had made it to her meeting just in time. As the other group members, all guys, had picked up on Lauren’s unwillingness to say, “No,” she’d ended up accepting all the hardest parts of the project. Then she had gone home and, as predicted, spent hours writing out the passage that Don had assigned her.

Now, she was trying to pass time at work. Because of the soreness of her butt, she spent as little time sitting at her desk as possible. Walking around completing other tasks presented another problem though: the short pubic hair that she was required to keep was bristly and walking made it rub against the inside of her panties leaving her itchy for most of the day. Meanwhile, the two interns who reported to her were giving her odd looks at her insistence on calling them “Mr. Smith” and “Mr. Jolik” while requesting that they continue to address her as “Lauren.”

To top it all off, she knew that she still had one punishment yet to be revealed. What could it be? She knew only Don’s promise that she would find it humiliating. She had done some furtive searching on the internet and had come across a few possibilities-- each one more disturbing than the last: Was he going to use her as a footstool? Make her eat out of a dog bowl? Force her to tell other people about their arrangement? She shuddered especially at the last thought.

Finally, the day was over and Lauren headed home to learn her fate.


Lauren stood in front of Don as he examined her 500 hand written passages. She had been VERY careful to make no mistakes and didn’t expect any problems. Don hadn’t given her any instructions, and Lauren didn’t expect a spanking, so she hadn’t bothered to pull her pants down.

Don finally looked up. “Good job, Lauren.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Now, I suppose you’re eager to find out the last part of your punishment for your failure to write a proper letter.”

Lauren gulped. She had almost hoped that he had forgotten. “Yes, sir.”

Don smiled. “Are you familiar with an establishment a few miles from here called ‘The Landing Strip’, Lauren?”

“Ugh,” she made a face. “The strip club? Yes, I know of it, sir.”

Don looked perplexed. “Why the face, Lauren?”

“Well, I just think that kind of place is degrading to women in general, sir. I have no idea why any woman . . .” She trailed off. “Oh, God, no.”

“It’s a shame you feel that way, Lauren. You see, they’re having an amateur competition next Saturday and you, Lauren, are going to enter it.”

“Sir, please, someone I know will see—”

He talked right over her. “And if you don’t win, Lauren, if I have any reason to believe you aren’t trying your hardest, I am going to give you a spanking that will make yesterday seem like a love tap. They only have limited slots, though, so I suggest you go to sign up tomorrow. You can go now, Lauren.”

She ran, crying, to her room.


The next day found Lauren looking furtively up and down the street before approaching the entrance to The Landing Strip. She had changed out of her work clothes in advance and was now wearing a tight pair of jeans and small t-shirt. Her hope was that if there were any body requirements for entering this contest, the decision-maker would be able to see whether or not she qualified without having her disrobe.

Finally, she steeled herself and walked up to the bouncer, a man with a shaved head whose biceps were bigger around than her legs. His name tag said “Eric”. He held out a hand. “Fifteen bucks.”

“Um, actually, sir, I just wanted to sign up for the amateur contest.”

“Oh, okay. Fifteen bucks then go to the first door on your left when you’re through the curtain.”

She looked around uncomfortably, not wanting to be standing in front of the entrance any longer than necessary. “I don’t have any cash on me, sir,” she practically whispered.

Eric opened the door and pointed to an ATM in the small entrance before a heavy red velvet curtain. She could hear some peppy country song coming muffled through the curtain. She sighed—this was ridiculous—but went in and put her card in the machine. It warned her that it was going to charge a $6 fee plus 10% of her withdrawal. Was that even legal?!

It didn’t matter. She hit the button for $20, the minimum it would distribute, knowing that it was costing her $28, and turned to give the twenty to Eric. He gave her five singles in return and told her, “See Mr. Lopez. Through the curtain and in the office on your left.”

As Lauren stepped through the curtain, the music got a little louder. The place was mostly empty. Just a few patrons paying close attention to a lone woman dancing on the stage. Lauren knew a moment of hope: the petite blonde dancer was wearing panties and a bra to go with her high heels. Maybe she wouldn’t have to get completely naked in front of a bunch of strangers. Sure, the panties were thong and she’d still be really exposed, but anything was better than completely naked. She did, however, screw her face in distaste at a poster advertising a “Pet of the Month” who would be performing. Did they need to be so degrading to women by giving them titles like “Pet”?

Hope faded when she looked around a little more. There were two other women circulating around delivering drinks. They were completely naked except for their high heels. If the waitresses had to be naked, what hope did she have as the entertainment?

Somewhat furtively, Lauren observed that one of the women had a completely bare mound and the other was maintaining a landing strip. She gulped and turned left. The office door was open so that the occupant had a clear view of the stage, but Lauren knocked anyway.

Mr. Lopez was on the phone, but he gestured her in. She stood there for a few moments and then suddenly felt her heart pounding. What if he wanted her to take her clothes off now? Her butt was still cherry red from her spanking the other day. It would be so embarrassing.

As she half-listened to Mr. Lopez’s phone conversation—it sounded like he had some sort of supply issue that he was clearing up—she realized that she was standing in what she had come to think of as Position 2. She took a deep breath, lowered her arms, and tried to relax.

He finally hung up. “What can I do for you?”

“I would like to enter the amateur night contest, Mr. Lopez.”

He nodded. “Turn around slowly, please.”

She did so, cringing at the feeling of her body being examined. When she had turned one complete revolution, he told her to take a seat. As she did so, he added, “You can have our last guaranteed slot for $200 or compete for one of three dance-in slots for $150.”

Lauren’s jaw dropped. She had to PAY to be allowed to strip?! Mr. Lopez apparently read her mind. “It’s a contest. The winner gets $2000. We can’t just give that away.”

She resigned herself to the situation. A $50 difference didn’t make it much of a choice when she couldn’t risk not getting into the contest. “I’ll take the last slot, please, sir.”

Mr. Lopez nodded and hit something on his computer. The printer started spitting out paper. “Ok. Just need you to initial at the end of each of these paragraphs and then sign the contract at the end.”

Lauren hesitated, then started scribbling her initials. “Um. . . I want you to actually read it. Here. I’ll go over it with you.

“The first paragraph just acknowledges that you are not an employee of The Landing Strip, are not entitled to any benefits, and will not receive any direct pay. You are an independent contractor responsible for all of your own expenses.

“The second paragraph notifies you that The Landing Strip is a fully nude club. You are committing to dance at least six sets and get completely nude during each one. For every set that you fail to complete, you will pay us $1000.” He looked up. “We’ve had problems in the past, especially with these amateur nights, with girls getting shy and backing out on us. It’s a real hit for us financially.”

He continued with the contract. “Paragraph three reminds you that The Landing Strip is NOT a no-touching club. If you prefer to be no-touching, that is still your right, but it is up to you to enforce it.

“Paragraph four outlines The Landing Strip philosophy. In general, the customer is always right. However, in the event of any dispute that you cannot personally resolve to the satisfaction of the customer, any Landing Strip employee can adjudicate. Whatever decision the employee makes is final.

“We’re dedicated to making this a truly amateur night, so paragraph five just says that you’ve never done any stripping other than other amateur contests or any porn at all. If we discover that you did do any before working at The Landing Strip, you’ll have to pay us any money you earned here plus a $5000 penalty. At the end of the paragraph, you need to write in where you currently work. Don’t worry. We won’t reveal it, but our customers like to know that it’s classy white collar chicks or college students taking their clothes off for them, and we want to be able to guarantee that.

“Paragraph six just says that sexual activity is not permitted on the premises of The Landing Strip. If you’re caught, you’ll be disqualified, sent home, and subject to the sanctions from paragraph two.”

Lauren had initialed the remaining paragraphs as Mr. Lopez went through them and now signed at the end of the contract. “Sir, I’ll just need to go get the cash.” He nodded.

Back in the entranceway, Lauren sighed as she put her card into the ATM. This was going to take up almost the rest of her allowance, she realized. Back in Mr. Lopez’s office, she handed him the $200.

“Thanks,” he said. “Be here and ready to dance at 10:00 am next Saturday. Oh, one piece of advice: make sure you’re completely clean.” She must have looked confused. “Honey, at some point during the day every single bit of you is going to be visible, and these guys WILL make comments, so I’m trying to save you some embarrassment. Make sure you’re clean.”


The next week-and-a-half flew by. Don had taken her over his knee and given her twenty hard spanks to her bare bottom the night she had gone to sign up for the contest because she hadn’t had dinner ready on time, but other than that Lauren had avoided the need for any more discipline. She had taken a personal day the following Friday and spent it cleaning the apartment from top to bottom. The following day, Don had pronounced the results, “Acceptable. Barely.”

The next Friday, the day before the big day, she heard some guys around the office talking about a bachelor party the next day and felt a silent dread that they might show up at The Landing Strip. She tried to eavesdrop a little to find out their exact plans, but couldn’t learn anything more.

And then the big day had arrived. Lauren awoke at 6:00 with a pit in her stomach. The first thing she did was examine her pubic hair in the mirror and touch it up with a razor and pair of scissors. She considered asking Don to inspect it for her but realized she’d just be opening herself up to the potential of that horrible punishment. This was already going to be the worst, most humiliating day of her life; she didn’t need to add that possibility to it.

She took a long shower, making extra sure that she was clean everywhere just like Mr. Lopez had recommended. Then, she got dressed quickly and made breakfast for Don and herself. Don asked her if she was looking forward to the day.

“Um. . . not really, sir.”

Don shrugged. “Well, I’m sorry you feel this is so beneath you. I just happen to think the world would be a much better place if more women focused on doing what pleased men. I suppose it’s just as well that you’re not looking forward to it. This is supposed to be a punishment after all.”

Lauren wasn’t sure how to respond, so she settled for, “Yes, sir,” and continued eating.


Lauren arrived at The Landing Strip at quarter till ten. This time she was let in without paying and she went directly back to the dressing room which reminded her of nothing more than a gym locker room but with more mirrors. Most of the other contestants were already there, looking mostly nervous or sleepy, but all pretty. Through some surreptitious eavesdropping and casual questioning—she had always been good at making conversation with other women—she got to know a little about her competition.

The first one she met was Connie Du, an Asian girl who was about to start her sophomore year at the local college. Connie was hoping to make enough money—maybe even win the big prize—to pay for her textbooks this semester and next. Her sorority sister Becky, a dirty blonde tall and athletic white girl, was there for the same reason. They were both thin and hot in the way that most even average nineteen year old women can be hot.

Emma was definitely going to be some competition. She was also white, but dark complected She was a shorter woman—maybe 5’1”, but definitely older than the first two. She was maybe 25, but her hotness had nothing to do with youth. Everythnig about her was tight and perfectly proportioned and she had a mischievous look to her, and not a bit of nervousness. Lauren didn’t learn much about her except that she worked for the city government in some way.

Amy was next, and she seemed to have gathered all of Emma’s missing nervousness. She had quite a chest but was otherwise pretty-but-average. She confided in Lauren that this was her way of getting back at an ex-boyfriend. He had always wanted her to do a strip tease for him, but she never would. He had broken up with her, so now she was going to do a strip tease for anyone who was willing to pay to see it. Lauren wasn’t sure how that rated in terms of good ideas.

Juliet was next. She was a law student in town for a summer internship. Her parents had fallen on hard times and the unpaid-but-prestigious internship no longer seemed like such a great idea, and she was definitely hoping to make some money to cover some of her summer bills. She was a pretty brunette, but pale skinned. She seemed convinced—and was arguing with others about it—that full nudity was not required, and she didn’t intend to strip down past her bra and panties. Considering that she didn’t understand what was plainly put forth in a simple written contract, Lauren doubted her future acumen as a lawyer.

A pale, shapely red-head claimed to be Kelly, but Lauren had the oddest feeling she was lying about her name. She was, perhaps, one of two contestants older than Lauren but by no more than a couple of years. Lauren wasn’t really able to learn anything about her background.

Tracy was the second woman older than Lauren. She was easily in her mid-thirties, but with her broad, pearly smile, wave-y dusty blonde hair, sharp blue eyes, and, most importantly, large breasts, Lauren was pretty sure she she’d be a hit with the guys. And Lauren was astonished to learn that she was a professor! And a finance one, too, but fortunately at a competing school to Lauren’s program. Lauren wasn’t able to figure out what in the world her motivation was for being here today.

Sarah was shorter than Kelly and blond, but equally shapely. She was a resident at a local hospital and was apparently doing this because, “you only get this body for so long, and I want to do something crazy with it while I still can.” She didn’t seem to share Lauren’s nervousness or Emma’s cool confidence. She was plainly excited.

The ninth contestant was the most physically similar to Lauren. A girl in her early-20s, she was slim with pert breasts and a tight, heart-shaped ass. She had wave-y dirty blonde hair, brown eyes, and a faint tan. She came in at the last minute and all Lauren learned was that her name was Amber.

Lauren did noticed that, except for Connie, they were all white. That said something about Mr. Lopez’s tastes, she supposed. As she thought of him, he walked into the dressing room unannounced. “Ok, girls,” he shouted, “gather ‘round. I need to cover a few things.”

The excited and nervous chatter died out as the dancers-to-be clustered around the bench that Mr. Lopez stood on. Lauren felt the pit in her stomach growing—she was dreading what loomed ahead of her.

“Here’s how it’s going to work today, girls. First, two rules. Number one: no drinking. Some of the customers might offer you drinks. You will graciously accept and then dispose of it while no one’s looking. You will not drink alcohol tonight.”

Great, thought Lauren. There went Plan A on how to get over her nervousness.

“Number two, and I know I already said this to all of you but I can’t stress it enough: no sex with the customers. You all know the consequences. Don’t do it.

“So, for your dancing. You will dance in sets of four songs. You will start the first song in some sort of sexy outfit. By the end of that song, you will be down to your bra and panties or whatever underwear you’re wearing as part of the outfit. By the end of the second song, you will be topless, by the end of the third song, you will be naked, and you will dance through the fourth song naked. If you fail to complete any of these steps on time, you will be docked points.”

Lauren felt goose bumps as she listened to how regimented her stripping was going to be. Looking around, it was clear that some of the other girls were uncomfortable, too. There were a lot of folded arms and worried looks.

“There are two things you will not take off,” Lauren felt a surge of hope. “You will not take off your tip garter, and you will not take off whatever footwear goes with your outfit.”

Oh. That wasn’t too comforting.

“When you are done with your fourth song, you will not gather up your clothes, and you will not stop to get dressed. You will immediately go to the cashier’s window to deposit your tips so that they can be counted toward your point total. You will then go and serve as a waitress through the next three girls’ performances. Once again: you will not stop to get dressed before this.”

Lauren was appalled. She was going to have to walk around amongst the men, serving food and drinks completely naked?!? That was far worse than even dancing naked on stage. By the muttering that was going on, most of the other contestants agreed.

“Shut. Up.” The muttering stopped and Mr. Lopez glanced at a note card. “Once you have finished your turn waitressing, you have the next six girls to take a break or offer up private dances. Just remember that we get $20 from each private dance so whatever rate you charge needs to be above that or you’re going to be losing money. And make sure you’re in your new outfit and ready to go when your turn is up. You will not wear the same outfit twice tonight, and you will not trade outfits with the other girls.”

Shit! Lauren hadn’t thought to actually bring any outfits. Again the worried looks surfaced.

Mr. Lopez seemed to notice them. “Don’t worry. There are all sorts of outfits available for purchase or rent in the shop.

“At the end of the night, I will gather all of you girls up and interview each of you before a panel of judges. Your final score will be based on three categories: the tips you earn while dancing, your private dance fees and waitressing tips, and the judges’ score at the end. Are there any questions?”

Only Juliet raised her hand. Mr. Lopez pointed to her and grunted. “Do we have to get naked? We can just get down to our underwear and dance, right?”

Mr. Lopez stared at her for a moment. “You don’t have to do anything, but if you remember from the contract you signed, you will be fined $1000 each time you don’t. And the point penalty will be enough that you will not possibly win the competition. Now, if there are no further questions, you all need to get into your first outfit for the group photos.”


Lauren wasn’t sure if she was comfortable with the idea of a group photo, but she hurried with most of the rest of them out of the dressing room and to the shop. There she picked out what appeared to be a very short red dress with a hood on it. It came with a pair of red, 5” stilettos—how in the world she was supposed to dance in those she didn’t know—a lacy red thong that would barely cover her pubic hair, and a lacy red bra. She wasn’t sure exactly what it was supposed to be, but she was hoping that the hood might disguise her a little in the group photo. And most importantly, it was only $35—five dollars cheaper than the next cheapest outfit. Unfortunately, she hadn’t brought any cash and there was a five dollar fee for her to run a tab and pay for the outfit at the end of the night after she had all of her tips. She rolled her eyes and signed the necessary paperwork.

Back in the dressing room, she surreptitiously observed her competition as they changed. Amy and Tracy hadn’t shaved back their pubic hair much if at all, though they were neatly trimmed. Amy had a large butterfly tattoo on her lower back—a tramp stamp, Lauren supposed it was called. Becky had one, too, though it was some kind of cartoon character that Lauren didn’t recognize.

She was a little shocked to see that Becky had her pubic hair shaved into a “V”, and Sarah and Connie were completely bare. She was more shocked to see that Juliet, for all her protests of the nudity requirement, had a pencil-thin line of hair, and Emma was sporting a landing strip narrower than her own. The woman who claimed to be named Kelly joined Amy and Tracy in the unshaved-but-trimmed club—her pubic hair slightly darker than Lauren would have guessed based on the red hair on her head—and Amber had a landing strip maybe a touch narrower than Lauren’s own.

Once they were all dressed, they lined up outside the dressing room for the photo. Sarah was wearing a nurse outfit, Emma a schoolgirl outfit, and Amber a French maid outfit. All three of them had skirts that, like Lauren’s own dress, didn’t quite cover their scant panties depending on how they stood. Becky’s track star outfit was similarly revealing with the bottom of her cheeks peeking out from the teeny spandex shorts. Amy had chosen some sort of uber-patriotic red, white, and blue dress, though it was a little longer than some of the others. Connie had gone the stereotypical route in some sort of geisha get-up, Tracy looked like a stern school teacher—she even had a pair of fake glasses on with her hair pulled back—Kelly had a Jessica Rabbit thing going with a shimmering red dress, and Juliet was in a cheerleader’s outfit.

The photographer had them line up in a row, each with her arms over the shoulders of the contestants next to her. Lauren pulled her hood up before taking her spot. “Cute,” the photographer said, and let it stand.

He took a few pictures of them this way then barked, “Okay, everybody turn around. Girls on the left look back at the camera over your right shoulder. Girls on the right, look over your left shoulder. Reach back and flip those skirts up or pull those pants down to show those asses. And smile.”

As the dancers followed his directions, he moved along the line giving an arch your back a little here and a shift your hips to the left there. He also pulled Lauren’s hood down. She was mortified that there was going to be photographic evidence of this moment, but didn’t see much choice.

The photographer snapped a few photos this way, ordering minor adjustments between each snap. Then he dropped the bomb. “Okay, now I need everybody to take off everything but your footwear and garter. We’ll get one final shot from the front that way.”

This was greeted with immediate loud protests, but Mr. Lopez quickly stepped in. “Don’t worry, girls, it’s only for our wall. Nobody’s going to see it that wouldn’t be able to see you anyway.”

The protests quickly died to Lauren’s amazement, and the contestants began to disrobe. She knew she couldn’t refuse, but surely one of these other women could speak up for the rest of them? Instead, she saw reactions ranging from Sarah seeming to relish the moment to Emma looking uncertain to most of the women looking extremely reluctant, but every single one of them was complying without complaint.

She realized that this was it. For the first time ever she was about to be naked in front of a man with whom she wasn’t planning on having sex. And she was going to let him take pictures of her. She tried to tell herself that this was all part of a well-earned punishment for her long years of failing to give men their proper respect; it was truly a good way to remind her of her proper place.

She pulled the too-short hooded red dress over her head, folded it neatly, and put it on the floor, then realized that she was delaying when she looked around and saw the other contestants almost done disrobing. Tentatively, she unclasped her bra and dropped it on the before slowly easing the red thong panties down and awkwardly pulling them off over her high-heeled boots.

She and the other contestants milled—most with their arms crossed in front of themselves—as the photographer placed them. She ended up in the center of the row with Emma to her left and Sarah to her right, arms over one another’s shoulders. She really didn’t like the feeling of the outside of her butt cheeks pressed up against the outside of their butt cheeks, but she told herself it was to keep those cheeks from feeling a lot more discomfort later, plastered a fake smile to her face, and got through it.



Part 14

Back in the changing room, the girls learned their rotation. Sarah would dance first and Lauren immediately after her. Emma would follow her. Lauren felt sorry for Amber, Becky, and Connie who had drawn the last three slots; they would have to wait tables naked before they’d ever even been up on the stage. Except for those last three, the contestants were all squeezing back into their first outfits.

Sooner than she wanted, Lauren heard Sarah announced. The blond walked out onto stage with music blaring while Lauren watched surreptitiously, hoping to get some hint of how she was actually supposed to dance. There weren’t many men in the club, yet. She supposed that was some consolation, but still . . . was she really going to do this? Strip and dance in front of a bunch of low-class hooligans? She blinked back tears at the thought. This was so humiliating!

She closed her eyes and sighed, silently chastising herself. Hooligans? Will you listen to yourself? That’s the attitude that got you into this mess in the first place. They are men, deserving of your respect, and you are going to entertain them tonight.

A raucous cheer from the crowd brought Lauren’s attention back to the stage where Sarah was naked and whipping herself around the golden pole while grinning hugely. Lauren sighed. How could that woman enjoy degrading herself so much?

She jumped at the feeling of a hand sliding under her skirt. “Don’t worry,” Mr. Lopez said in her ear. “You’re going to do just fine.”

She gulped. “Um, thank you, sir. I . . . I prefer not to be touched though. You said we could enforce that—”

He pulled his hand out. “I was trying to help you.” He showed her a bill in his hand. “I was sticking a ten-dollar bill in your thong. Never mind, now.” He patted her behind through her tiny skirt. “But just for future reference, you girls’ no-touching rules do not apply to me, understand?”

She gulped again. “Yes, sir.”

A sudden silence made her realize that Sarah was done dancing. She looked out again and saw the woman crawling around on the stage picking up a few spare bills. She hopped off, then, to replace Amber as a waitress.

Lauren took a deep breath. This was it. She strode on to stage, trying to hold her head up, as the DJ introduced her. Only when the music started, Little Red Riding Hood, You sure are looking good, did she finally realize what her costume was supposed to be.

She tried to strut around to the beat of the music, but she really wasn’t sure what to do, and the high heels didn’t make it very easy. The crowd responded appropriately: a few catcalls, but more boos. She tried swaying her hips a little and sliding her skirt up and down. That seemed to help. One man even held out a dollar bill.

She bit her lip as she crouched down next to him. The heels forced her to spread her legs wide in order to get low enough for her tip garter to be in his reach. She might as well have not been wearing even that tiny skirt as far as things were concerned from his viewpoint—and all for a single dollar. This felt so degrading. He slid his hand up her inner thigh all the way to the border of her thong before bring the dollar back down to her garter.

Then, the song started to wind down, and she realized she needed to take her dress off. As she started to pull it over her head, tears came unbidden to her eyes. The DJ mixed in some country song, Lap dances are always better when the stripper cri-ies, and the men watching her laughed.

She bit her lip and finished pulling the dress off, then tried to be sensible. If she didn’t win, Don was going to spank her. Hard. And to win, she needed to earn tips. That meant dancing the way these gentlemen wanted.

She dropped to all fours just at the right moment and mock-howled along with the wolf in the song. That brought the dollars out and she crawled over to the nearest group of men holding out their singles. It didn’t escape her that crawling around almost naked and practically begging for dollars was the perfect way to reinforce her position in relation to men. What they wanted was what was important; her value was in the entertainment she could provide them.

The next song started. It was a Bon Jovi one whose title she couldn’t remember, but she mostly just stayed kneeling by this group, knees spread wide and gyrating as she ran her hands through her hair and whipped her head about to the beat. Every man who tipped her felt it necessary to run his hand all the up her inner thigh to the edge of her thong before sliding the dollar back down into her tip garter, but she didn’t complain.

She got lost in the zone and almost missed the ending of the song, but took her lacy bra off just in time. One man casually reached out and tweaked her left nipple, and she jerked away.

“I’m ‘no-touching’,” she shouted over the lyrics to Hungry Like a Wolf. Most of the men looked disgusted and leaned back, tucking their dollars back into their pockets. Lauren paused, unsure of what to do. Were they serious? Nobody would tip her if they couldn’t grope her? She felt the tears coming on again; there was no way she could win at this rate, and that meant facing another punishment from Don.

She crawled over to another group and turned with her butt facing them, shaking it with its thin stretch of fabric her only protection. This earned her a few more dollars—and a swat from someone she didn’t turn in time to identify.

And then the song was winding down. This was it. She was going to have to expose her most intimate parts to these men, and she was sure that she was going to get groped for her effort. Then she had a thought—she crawled over to the golden pole, pulled herself to her feet, and started to seductively twirl around it as she untied the sides of her thong.

She was now completely naked, dancing on a stage in front of a bunch of cheering men. This was officially the most humiliating moment of her life. She had to put up with catcalls, and one man yelled, “Wooh, nice pussy!” but at least no one could touch her here. And most importantly, the dollars kept getting placed on the stage.

The song seemed to by mercifully quickly. Lauren didn’t quite recognize the song and wasn’t sure how to dance to it, so she settled for twirling around the pole—though she doubted the fake smile she plastered on her face was as big as the real one that Sarah had had. A few times she bent over and shook her butt in the general direction of a group of men; she found it extra embarrassing but noticed that more money ended up on the stage every time she did it.

As the last song wound down, she crawled around to collect up her tips, dodging the gropes as best as she could. She hopped off the stage with the last note and tottered over in her heels to the cashier’s window. She counted out the money as she handed it over to go toward her total score. Thirty-seven dollars! Not bad, she figured, for twenty minutes of work. Then she realized she owed $40 for her outfit. Great—she had just paid $3 for the privilege of dancing naked in front of a bunch of men.

She shook herself and tried to remind herself that this was a privilege. She should feel honored to be able to serve men like this, she told herself, but she knew it was a lie. She just felt humiliated.

Part 15

Lauren relieved Becky of her waitress duties. The other girl gave her a wan smile; she did not look like she had been enjoying herself.

As she walked over to check on her first table, Emma walked out on stage; some song with the lyrics, “bad, bad girl,” was playing and Lauren stopped to watch her successor for a moment. The girl had a backpack on and, from it, she pulled out a small paddle. “I just can’t seem to make it through the school day without getting in trouble,” she announced to the bar. “And I wanna know who’s gonna play the role of principal and teach me a lesson?”

The money came flying out, and Emma was strutting back and forth from group to group teasingly holding out the paddle as the amounts held up increased. Lauren couldn’t believe what she was seeing; Emma was auctioning off the right to paddle her on stage. And it was a revenue winner.

Finally, one man seemed to win out and Emma handed him the paddle as she whispered in his ear. She popped back up and addressed the whole, now very excited crowd. “And as every good schoolgirl knows,” she put a finger coyly up to the side of her mouth. “I mean naughty schoolgirl . . . if you get paddled at school,” she pulled a strap out of her backpack, “you can expect to get it just as bad at home.”

The money came flying out again and Emma repeated the process with the strap. Lauren just couldn’t belie—

SMACK! The slap to her bare butt startled her right out of any thoughts about Emma.

“Hey! Sweetcheeks! How ‘bout you get outta the way so we can see the show?”

Lauren turned, brought back to her humiliating reality where she was standing wearing nothing but a garter and high heels while waiting on the men there to see the show.

The group at this table looked to be construction workers or some other sort of blue collar workers. The man who’d slapped her bottom—she caught herself rubbing it—was husky, his palms rough and his forearms like tree roots.

“Sorry, gentlemen, and good afternoon,” she said. “My name is Lauren, and I’ll be serving you for the next hour or so.” The thought of that made her shudder—an hour stumbling around naked in these heels delivering drinks and food to a crowd of rowdy men! “Just so you know, I’m no-touching—”

“Sure ya are, sweetcheeks,” the husky man casually reached out and patted her on the behind as the rest of the men laughed.

Lauren didn’t know how to react, so she smiled to keep from crying and continued, “Is there anything I can get you?”

“Yeah, how ‘bout you start us off with a free round for blocking our view?”

Lauren started to object and then a brief flash of her contract flashed through her mind: treat all requests from men as commands from Don. She gave her fake smile again, “That seems fair, sir. What will everybody have?”

After a few minutes of dithering, Lauren was clopping off toward the bar to get a round of two Red Bulls and vodka and four high end bourbons. She had to fight back tears when the bartender told her how much it was going to cost her: $66! Even not counting the cost of her outfits, that would probably consume the tips from her next two sessions of dancing!

When she delivered the drinks, they at least had the courtesy to thank her, but they forced her to bend over the table to reach the furthest men; the two nearest her commented on the view and she turned bright red, provoking more laughs.

By the time Lauren had circulated to all of her tables and filled their orders, Emma was on her fourth song and dancing naked and flirtatiously on stage. As the song wore down she pulled the first man who’d won her auction on stage, took on a contrite expression while he, with poor acting, admonished her, and then bent over for five licks of the paddle. She repeated the process for the second man with the strap. The crowd loved it but what Lauren noticed was that, even though Emma was biting her lip and clearly struggling to hold back tears, the strokes didn’t look nearly as hard as what Don delivered; she wished she could convince him to ease up a little.

As her shift as a waitress wore on, Lauren hustled around taking orders, delivering drinks and food, and slowly getting the hang of walking quickly in her high-heeled boots. She reflected on her situation. Yesterday, she had been a well-paid financial consultant, working in an office, respected by her peers, and, most importantly, clothed. Today she was running around naked, struggling to keep up with the demands of the men around her while trying to dodge their gropes and just hoping that they would tip her generously. Soon, she would again be dancing naked on stage for them—and still just hoping that they would tip her generously. In place of the respect she was used to, when they wanted her attention they slapped her on the butt or yelled some degrading name at her.

But that p-word was the problem, wasn’t it? Peers. She had to get it through her head that men were not her peers; they were—and always would be—her betters. She was convinced that if she could just make herself believe that, this whole experience would be less humiliating. Once she believed that, it was a simple step to understanding that these men had a right to treat however they wanted, and she should just be grateful for any kindness or generosity they showed her. The only respect that was owed was from her to them, and she had spent too long not acting that way.

If nothing else, she certainly deserved this punishment. She was just grateful that Don was even giving her this opportunity after she’d messed up such an easy task like writing that letter. He could have just proceeded to a harsher physical punishment. She’d started to read up on the internet and, frankly, there were some physical punishments out there that terrified her far more than the strap.

SMACK! “Hey, you ditz. Get me another Sam Adams.”

Lauren turned to the gentleman, trying to rub the sting out of her butt. “Yes, sir.”

Part 16

Lauren was on her third dance. Both waitressing stints had been fairly richly rewarded—almost $70 in tips from each one—as had her last turn dancing; the $55 from that one had actually more than covered the cost of her sexy cat outfit. She got the impression she might have even been in the lead tip-wise. Each time had left her exhausted, sore, and just wanting for some time out of her heels, though, so she’d yet to offer any private dances.


Now, though, The Landing Strip seemed to be in a pre-dinner lull. She hadn’t counted yet, but she knew she wasn’t anywhere close to paying for the cop outfit that she had started this session with. There just weren’t enough men to dance for. She grimaced at that thought—now she was wishing that there were more men to dance naked in front of?


Thinking that the third song was almost over, she’d prematurely dropped her thong just as the DJ sent it in to some extensive remix, so she had spent the better part of five minutes on all fours in front of the lone man at the bar and shaking her ass to the beat of the music. She didn’t care how obscene it was—she needed the tips.


He slid a bill up and down her inner thigh and tickled her slit with it before stuffing it in her garter. Then, he hauled back with a full-armed slap to her rear.


SMACK! “Yeah, shake that ass baby.”


It really hurt. He hadn’t held back at all. She turned to him, about to tell him in her anger to keep his goddamned hands to himself. Then she saw the stack of bills in front of him. Twenties. He was tipping with twenty-dollar bills. So, she smiled and shook her ass a little more seductively. She needed the tips.


A moment later, a friend of the first man sat down next to him and leered at Lauren’s display. He walked his hand up and down the back of thigh like a spider before tucking a bill into her garter. Then he slapped her ass and shouted over the music, “Hey, how ‘bout giving us a different view?”


She looked back at him, looked at the stack of twenties, and then, hating herself for it, rolled over onto her back and opened and closed her legs to the rhythm of the music. The song was almost over. Please, she thought to herself, turning her face so they wouldn’t see the wetness in her eyes, just one more twenty and that will make this worth it.


But the song ended without any more tips. Lauren pushed herself up and thanked the two gentlemen for watching—hoping more than anything else that they’d take it as a signal to give her another tip, but the big spender ignored her completely and his friend brushed her off with a, “Yeah, yeah,” and a pat on the butt. They were too engrossed in Emma’s entrance in a very skimpy Wonder Woman outfit to pay Lauren any mind.


Dejectedly, she walked over to the cashier’s window and counted out her tips. Seventeen dollars, and the outfit had cost her $45. She’d just paid $28 to dance naked for . . . wait . . . how could that be? The one man had been tipping with twenties!


She stormed over and grabbed the friend’s shoulder. “Give it back,” she yelled. “Give it back now!”


The man turned and shrugged her hand off his shoulder. “What the fuck are you talking about?”


In an instant, one of the bouncers was over interposing himself between the heavy man and naked Lauren. “What’s the problem?”


Suddenly uncomfortably aware of the power dynamics involved in a naked woman arguing with dressed men, Lauren was relieved to have the help. She pointed vehemently at the thief. “This . . . this asshole stole some of my tips. His friend was tipping with twenty dollar bills but when I got over to the cashier, I only had $17.”


Before anybody else could speak, the big spender started laughing. “I wasn’t tipping that big.” He held up his stack of bills and showed that it was a twenty on a stack of ones. “I always stick a twenty on top because it draws you gold-digging twits right over.”


The bouncer looked from the not-so-big spender to Lauren with a frown. “You have two choices. You can be disqualified, forfeit all your tips plus pay the fines that your contract calls for, and leave now, or you can give this man a free private dance when your waitressing shift is up.”


She felt her arms sliding back into Position 2 and forced herself to keep them at her side; she would maintain what dignity she could.


She smiled and said through clenched teeth, “Is there a specific outfit you’d like me to wear, sir?”


The heavy man looked her up-and-down, smirking. “Let’s go with the Princess Leia outfit. Not that you’ll be wearing it long.”


“Yes, sir,” she said, turning to relieve Becky of her waitress duties before any more degradation could be piled on her.

Part 17

Lauren’s waitressing shift dragged along. The club was still in a lull and the lack of customers to wait on, while sparing her the need to dodge their gropes and slaps, left her with little to do but contemplate having to give a private dance to that fat slob. He didn’t make it any easier, constantly catching her eye and leering at her.


Just as Amy was yielding the stage to Tracy signaling the end of Lauren’s shift, a crowd was trickling in, but it was too late to do Lauren any good; this shift had been a waste in terms of tips. She went back to the cashier’s cage to turn in her meager cash and purchase the Princess Leia outfit.


Fifty-five dollars! She sighed and took the plastic-wrapped outfit back to the changing room. There, unwrapping it again forced her to fight tears: a metal thong and bra with a “skirt” that was really no more than two hand-sized pieces of fabric connected by a thin metal band . . . and a collar with a metal chain leash leading from it. Was she really supposed to wear that, to be led around like a pet?


She gulped and clasped it around her neck just as Sarah came around the corner, returning from giving a private dance with hickeys on her breast. “Woohoo!” The blonde yelled. “Looks like someone gets to be a slave!” SMACK! “Go get ‘em, girl.”


Lauren was stunned at the swat to her behind from another woman and said nothing as Sarah continued walking away. Once she had the leash, bra, thong, and skirt on, Lauren went to work on the hardest part: heeled boots that were mostly rawhide strips designed to lace around her shins and calves halfway to her knees. It took a few tries for her to get it right which did nothing to bolster her rapidly dwindling sense of intelligence.


Back in the main room, Lauren saw that Tracy was already down to just her thong, and she had a fair amount of cash stuffed into her garter. Dammit! She didn’t want Tracy catching up with her on tips while she was stuck dancing for free for some lowlife!


She walked over to said lowlife, holding her leash to keep it from swinging. He had his face mere inches from Tracy’s rear end as she prepared to lower her thong while squatting. Glancing at Lauren, he non-chalantely slapped Tracy’s ass, then grabbed Lauren’s leash and pulled her close to him by it. “Wait here. I wanna see this twit finish.” When Tracy looked back uncomfortably, he sneered at her. “Yeah, that’s right, bitch. You’re about to get naked just for me!”


Her look turned from discomfort to disgust and she instead crawled to the other side of the stage. And that’s when it hit Lauren: when any of the other women here decided she’d taken enough abuse, she could just move away. As long as they obeyed the broad rules of the contest, they didn’t have to interact with any specific individuals. Lauren didn’t have that option. It seemed so unfair!


But then another thought hit her. That meant they’d be missing out on tips from the most obnoxious men. They didn’t have to win like Lauren did. That meant she had an advantage—she’d be getting more tips. Only Sarah and Emma, who seemed to have a high tolerance for abuse, were her real competition.


“Let’s go!” The man interrupted her thought process with a sharp tug on her leash. “I wanna get this dance started.”


“Yes, sir,” Lauren answered, struggling to keep up as he marched off toward the private dance rooms.

Part 18

The door of the private dance room had a sign prominently hanging on it which stated in bold letters, “THIS ROOM UNDER VIDEO SURVEILLANCE. NO SEXUAL CONTACT OF ANY KIND PERMITTED. VIOLATORS WILL BE REMOVED FROM THE LANDING STRIP.”


The room itself was small—just an armless chair with a very tiny area right in front of it to dance. Doing so was difficult. It didn’t help that Carl—he wouldn’t tell her his last name, so she was stuck with “sir”—kept yanking on her leash and forcing her to press up against him. He was disgustingly sweaty.


Her clothes, scant as they were, came off in a blur. She couldn’t even keep track of which items were taken off by her and which ripped off by Carl. She supposed she’d figure it out later by which items were ruined.


Carl seemed to enjoy slapping her—especially her breasts and ass—and tweaking her nipples. At one point, he yanked her face to within inches of his and cupped her right butt cheek as she was forced to bend toward him. She flinched from his sour breath, but he held her firm by the clasp of the leash.


“You know the best part of this? I can tell you hate this. You think you’re too good for this, that you’re better than me. I don’t know what’s forcing you to do this, but I’m glad for it.”


She felt tears welling up in her eyes. He was right. She’d never thought she’d find herself in this position. She was educated. She was good at her job. She had no need for this. But not what, she thought. Who. But she mentally chastised herself, But the “who” is you. Your own actions brought this on. Don isn’t making you do anything you don’t deserve. If you’d get over yourself, if you’d stop it with your superior attitude, if you’d just do a simple thing like write a letter the way you’ve been instructed to, you wouldn’t be stuck here.


But other than that, Carl was right. She did think she was too good for this, and she did think she was better than him. She knew it was wrong, and she knew it was only going to cause her problems, but she couldn’t help it. Maybe—just maybe—punishments like this would help teach her her proper place.


As the thoughts finished forming, Carl let go of her leash—causing her to stumble backward—at the same time as he pinched her right nipple. The pain flashed through her and released her tears. For a second she didn’t realize that her dance was done until Carl barked at her, “Well? Yer done. Get out of here.”


She quickly gathered up her outfit, and stumbled out of the room, tears flowing freely as she fled toward the back room. As she passed the cashier’s window, the woman there—a heavy African-American lady—yelled out to her, “Hey, forgettin’ something?”


Lauren hadn’t quite figured out the woman’s status compared to her own. She wasn’t a dancer, but she also wasn’t a man. She erred on the side of caution. “What do you mean, Miss Brown?”


“Twenty dollars from your private dance.”


“Oh, I was told to give that dance for free. I didn’t get paid.”


“Free for him. Not free for you.”


“Well I . . . I already gave you all my tips. I don’t have any extra money on me obviously. Can you take it out of the tips I’ve given you?”


She harrumphed. “They’re not your tips until the end of the night. I’ll mark it in your ledger as a debt. Means it’ll cost you $25 out of your tips at the end of the night.”


That seemed so unfair, but Lauren didn’t know how to argue with her about it. “Okay. Thank you, Miss Brown.”

Part 19

Lauren peeked wearily out onto the stage as Sarah started yet another set. Two more dances to go. She was so tired and her legs and lower back ached from walking and dancing in these damned high heels all night, but just two more sets—plus all the hustling to get men their drinks and snacks between—and she’d be done. She just prayed that she won the contest. She didn’t even want to think of how bad her morning would be if she didn’t; her butt tensed just at the thought.


Now she was wearing a skimpy Supergirl outfit, the plastic red thong giving her an uncomfortable wedgie underneath a skirt that didn’t even reach the bottom of her butt cheeks. She wasn’t sure what she was going to go with next. She’d been trying to avoid the outfits that seemed to add to her submissive position—the naughty schoolgirls and sexy animals—especially after being forced to dress as Slave Leia. She just felt that if she chose a “powerful” persona, no matter how skimpily dressed, it at least started her out on something close to even ground with the men in the crowd; there weren’t many of those left, though.


She shook her head at her own irrationality. Even ground? Who was she kidding? She was a woman, here to entertain the men in whatever way they saw fit—and that way was to dance for them while taking off her clothes. There was no “even ground” about it.


Besides, wasn’t that why she was here? To help her learn that she wasn’t even with the men? Why did she keep needing to remind herself of basic facts? “They. Are not. Your equals,” she found herself muttering.


A sudden site broke her out of the self-admonishment. The bachelor party—the group of men from work—were sitting down at a table. Worse, it was a table that Becky was currently waiting on . . . which meant that it was one Lauren would be taking over after her next dance. Even if they somehow managed not to pay attention to her while she was dancing, there was no way they wouldn’t recognize her when she walked up to them, introduced herself, and started serving them!


Oh, God! She felt her throat swelling and tears welling. What was she going to do? Please, please, please, she thought. There has to be a way out of this!


Just then, Juliet made her way backstage after being relieved by Connie from her waitressing duties. The naked girl looked exhausted and ready for a break, but the only thing on Lauren’s mind was one glaring fact: Juliet had the longest time back here before she had to go on stage!


She rushed over to the lawyer-in-training. “Juliet, please, please, please, can we switch places? Can you go out for me after Sarah, and I’ll take your next spot?”


Juliet looked startled by her sudden approach at first, then flabbergasted. “Are you crazy? I just finished. I need a break.”


“Please,” she begged. “There are men I know out there. They just came in. I can’t . . . I can’t bear to have them see me doing this.”

Juliet’s eyes suddenly turned from bafflement to avarice. “Tell you what,” she tilted her head slyly. “You pay for my last two outfits, and I’ll switch places with you.”


Two outfits . . . and this grubbing bitch would probably choose some of the most expensive ones knowing that Lauren was paying? That was probably going to run her at least $100 . . . but it was her only chance. She absolutely couldn’t be seen by that group and still keep her job. She only hoped that the hour and forty minutes it would buy her would be long enough for them to leave. She stuck out her hand. “Deal.”


“Excuse me, girls.” Lauren jumped, not realizing that Mr. Lopez had been right behind her. “Are you forgetting something? I decide the dancing rotation, not you.”


“I . . . I . . . I . . . ” It was all too much for Lauren. The tears started flowing as she sobbed. “Ple—Please, sir. There . . . there . . . there are men out there I work with. I ca—can’t dance in front of them. I can’t be naked in front of them. Please let us switch.”


Mr. Lopez stroked his chin before reaching out casually and running his hand up Lauren’s inner thigh and under her skirt. “Shh . . . shh. I think I have a deal you’ll like. At the end of these nights, I usually pay a few of the girls a little extra to let me take some promotional pictures and videos of them for the website. You do that for free, and I’ll let you two switch spots.”


She tried not to flinch from his touch. It was an effort. “But . . . but that would defeat the purpose. I’ll . . . I’ll still be seen—”


“Definitely be seen by your co-workers right now, out there or possibly be seen by them at some point in the future—when they might not even realize it’s you—on our website. It’s your choice.”


Lauren didn’t see that she had any choice. Please let them be gone before I have to go out there, she thought.


She even felt grateful enough to lean forward and hug Mr. Lopez. “I’ll do it. Thank you, Mr. Lopez.”

Part 20

Lauren was getting agitated. It had been over an hour since she’d made her deal with Juliet and Mr. Lopez, and the bachelor party was still ordering more drinks and having a grand old time. Sure, she thought, they get to have the time of their lives at the price of my humiliation.


As she was peeking out, a naked Amy was yielding the stage to Tracy in a fishnet stocking suit that left little to the imagination. The rowdy bachelor party cheered and greeted Amy with some enthusiastic slaps on the ass as she walked up to replace Juliet. “What a bunch of animals,” she muttered.


And now she only had one dancer until she, too, would have to dance for them. Twenty minutes or so. To top it off, she thought as she resisted the urge to pick at it, this damn plastic thong was the most uncomfortable thing she’d ever worn; it was almost bad enough to make her want to take it off now.


This seemed so unfair. The deal with Juliet had cost her $120—the girl had, predictably, picked two of the most expensive outfits—and the one with Mr. Lopez meant she was going to have to appear—for free!—in an ad on the internet. And despite that, it looked like she was still going to have to dance naked in front of the men from her office.


And what of it, she thought. She remembered something Don had told her about her job before, that if his requirements didn’t mesh well with her job, then maybe her job wasn’t appropriate for her. Maybe I shouldn’t be working in an office like that. She had to admit that it was difficult to do her job while being properly respectful—and obedient—to men. For one thing, her position was above that of several men, and it was difficult to phrase things properly and have them realize that there was a deadline on their tasks; and that was her fault, not theirs. Should I even be in a position to give men tasks?


But she liked her job, and she liked working with the people there. I wonder if there’s any way for me to stay there in a different role, some way for me to keep doing my work but not have to be in charge of men.


Of course, it probably would no longer be an issue if the men from her office were still there when she went back on stage. There was no way she could return to work if they saw her. She was down to one song. She peeked out again and saw Tracy, predictably, crawling around naked on the stage . . . and the men from her office giving cash to Amy to pay their bill! Lauren was thrilled; if Amy hurried, all the men should be out of the bar before she had to go out there!


Lauren kept watching and saw Amy waiting way too long to get change at the register. A couple of the men from her office got up to use the bathroom and still got back before Amy did with their change. “C’mon, c’mon,” she found herself muttering. She was so close . . . but Tracy’s last song was winding down.


Finally, the last song ended just as Amy got back to the table with the cash. As the men were standing up and leaving their tips, the DJ sounded off with, “Next up . . . Lauren!”


Lauren cringed. She just needed a few seconds, just needed them to get up and leave. The DJ started up a new song, and the men were putting on their coats . . . a few more seconds, she thought. Please!


They were walking toward the door . . . a few more seconds. “Let’s try that again,” the DJ had stopped the music. “Next up . . . Lauren!”


A hand grabbed her roughly by the upper arm. “What the hell are you doing?” Mr. Lopez hissed in her ear. “Get your ass out there!”


Lauren started to protest that she only needed a few more seconds, but then the first of the men from her office reached the door, and they all had their backs to the stage, so she decided to risk it. She strutted out on stage to the tune of Def Leppard’s “Pour Some Sugar on Me” . . . and a guy from her office walked out of the bathroom. She thought his name was Andy; he made eye contact with her and had a look of confused recognition on his face before turning and stumbling toward the door. Her dancing came to a complete halt before the booing brought her back to the present.


She said a silent prayer that Andy would be too drunk to remember her, dropped to her knees, turned her ass toward the nearest man, and bent forward, flipping her skirt up flirtatiously. With her back to the audience, they couldn’t see her tears. Dear God, please just let this night end.

Part 21

Lauren finished her waitressing shift feeling like she could sleep the rest of the weekend. One more to go, she thought. Just one more.

The last shift dancing had actually been fairly lucrative. She’d been so absorbed worrying about whether or not Andy had seen her that she didn’t have her normal reaction to being groped which meant the tips had poured in—until one man had brought her back to the present with a particularly hard slap to her ass. She’d turned on him and snapped angrily, “Keep your damn hands to yourself!” And that had been the end of the free flow of dollar bills. Still, she’d finished that round with $83 in her tip garter and then picked up another $65 waitressing, though one man had made her sit on his lap and talk to him for a few minutes to earn a measly $5; she was feeling good about her chances of winning the competition.

As she walked backstage, Mr. Lopez was standing by the changing area watching some of the girls get ready. When he saw Lauren, he smiled broadly. “I just want you to know that I’m docking you 100 points for that little stunt you pulled.”

“Stunt? What stunt, Mr. Lopez?”

“How ‘bout missing your queue and leaving us with an empty stage and music playing?”

For that? He was docking her points for that? “B-but, sir, the men I knew were leaving . . . I . . . I just needed a few seconds—”

“I don’t give a shit what you think you needed.” She became uncomfortably aware of her nudity while he was chastising her and began to cross her arms in front of herself. He slapped them down. “Don’t you cover yourself in front of me. And I don’t give a shit if you have to show your ass to some dudes you work with. You signed a goddamned contract, and that’s your job tonight little Miss Uppity. You say another word about it, and I’ll make it 200 points.”

She stood there gaping, tears welling up in her eyes. When she didn’t say anything, he continued. “Good then. Get yer ass ready for your next dance. You only have about fifteen minutes.” He turned around and walked away.

She looked out to the main area and saw that he was right. Switching shifts had left her with a very small break here. Sarah was already down to a lacy white bra and sheer panties and whipping herself around the pole. Lauren hurried off to buy her final outfit.

Her options were rather limited at this point. While she was looking through them, she thought about what Mr. Lopez had just said. It really didn’t seem fair that he was deducting points from her like that. Before now, she’d never worked in a restaurant or any kind of menial job. In high school, her parents had wanted her to focus on her grades, so they’d given her any spending money that she needed, and in college, she’d always had excellent career-boosting internships—good office work that exercised her brain.

And despite that, despite what a lowering of herself this was even if she’d been fully clothed, she’d done everything asked of her tonight! She had hustled all night for drinks and food. She’d bussed tables and cleaned up after all the rowdy men. She’d taken their orders and dodged their gropes. And she’d done it all with a smile while tottering along in these impossibly high heels and otherwise stark naked.

Well, mostly with a smile, she admitted to herself. She’d stripped in front of a room full of strange men and spread her legs to reveal her most intimate parts to them. She’d given a private dance to that pig Carl! And she had only wanted a few seconds to avoid utter humiliation. Was that too much to ask?

But it was, she realized. Respect and obedience were not part time pursuits. She was either respectful and obedient at all times or she was disrespectful and disobedient—even if it was only for “a few seconds”. She sighed deeply. She had to get this through her head. That was the whole point of her being here, to help her learn her proper place. Her needs and desires—or what she thought were her needs and desires—were irrelevant until she’d satisfied those of the men around her.

But that wasn’t completely true, either, she thought. She didn’t have to submit to sexual contact or obey sexual demands. That was in her contract. She straightened up a little. That’s right, she thought, I don’t have to be completely obedient. It was lost on her for the moment that that was irrelevant in terms of her going out on stage late.

She picked out her final outfit, a $70 cowgirl affair in which the hat was by far the largest item.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: I’m happy to have feedback from anybody whether it be through reviews or emails. I have three specific areas where I’d like your feedback/vote, but anything about the story is good:

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