by LadySunsetWest
Bad Attitude for a submissive
“I don’t know what the big fucking deal is … just let it go, would you? Just because you think I’m in a bad mood, doesn’t mean that I am and it certainly doesn’t mean that I would suddenly ‘snap out’ of one if I was just because you bring it up,” I said forcefully. I was feeling incredibly irritable and needed to get it out of my system. Jack was scolding me about my reactions in a meeting we’d just had, and it seemed a perfect outlet for me to vent.
“The big deal is that you totally shut down and I wasn’t able to communicate with you at all. In addition to the fact that it was a very unproductive meeting, I really was wondering what we had done to piss you off,” he continued, “and I know nobody did anything!”
“Just because I don’t feel like talking, am not particularly charitable in the communication department every once in a while, doesn’t mean anyone in particular has pissed me off, and I hardly think it merits this conversation,” I said, turning away from him and pretending to busy myself with some papers.
He didn’t respond for a few seconds, and I thought the conversation was over with. He was suddenly standing next to me, however, and pulling me by my arm. “Come on. Let’s go. You’re right – your behavior does not merit this conversation,” he said quietly, leading me out of my office. “Let’s go have a private talk.”
His voice was low and quiet and his grip firm. He seemed “all business” at this point and he let go of my arm only when our colleagues emerged from the conference room and could see us. I followed behind him to his office and when I walked in, curious and furious, he closed the door, quietly, but firmly. I flopped down onto the couch, really pissed off now because I anticipated more lecture-type talk and I was in no mood to deal with that.
I really didn’t know what kind of mood I was in, but I was awfully unfriendly, I realized. And the worst of it was I didn’t really want to be, it just was.
Jack sat down behind his desk and just looked at me for a few seconds. I was sure my face and body language reflected my dislike of the whole situation and my complete desire to be away from it. In truth, I didn’t want to be away from it at all – I wanted to fight. I sighed and crossed my legs, sitting forward. “Well, here we are – in private. Why don’t we talk?” I said sarcastically.
“Well, we will talk here, privately, but we will finish our discussion about this somewhere else, later today,” he said quietly. I was confused and just shrugged my shoulders and said, “Okay, whatever.” He looked at me intensely and I wondered why he seemed so tentative. I could tell he wanted to say something, but was being very careful.
He was writing on a piece of note paper and I was getting more annoyed by the minute. He demanded that I come sit here to talk about the “situation” and now he was going to write notes? “Well,” I said getting up to leave, “apparently, you’re busy. Why don’t I come back another time?”
“Sit – down – now,” he said quietly but harshly, emphasizing each word carefully, and it scared me enough that I sat back down. There was something going on and I didn’t know what. “You had better start thinking about how you are behaving, quickly, because I don’t think you’re going to like the consequences of continuing with this attitude.” As he spoke, he pushed a folded piece of note paper across his desk toward me. I reached forward and took it.
I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of reading it right away, so I stuffed it in my pocket. I was intensely curious, but too pissed off to give in. “I suggest that as soon as you leave my office, you read that note,” he said and turned to his computer. “I’m leaving. I will see you soon.” He sounded cryptic and he turned his computer off and reached for his bag. I sighed and stood up, “Fine. Thanks for the chat.”
Back in my office, I opened the paper and read his note to me. I was just finishing it when he walked by my office on his way out. He smiled and said good-bye to me, and I’m sure I was blushing very deeply, totally flustered and uncertain of my own mixed reaction. He laughed. “See you later.” And he left. I didn’t answer.
The note read: I’m really tired of this kind of childish bullshit. This time, in particular, because your shitty attitude has nothing to do with anything real. You’re being a brat and acting like a spoiled child … and I want you to meet me at my place in exactly one hour. You’re in trouble.
Part of me resented the hell out of the note and it really pissed me off that he would be so brazen as to assume that there was nothing “real” about my mood. But, the other part of me realized that this is exactly what I’d been pushing for, what I’d been hoping for in acting out.
I wanted to be held accountable and I wanted to be punished for it, although I wasn’t conscious of it until I read his note. That part of me also realized that he was right – there was no real reason for me to act that way in a professional setting because there really wasn’t anything wrong that had anything to do with the office.
It was exactly what I needed in this specific situation. But, I didn’t want to admit that. I still wanted to fight.
I crumpled up the note and threw it away. I started working on a letter I was writing and tried to forget about it. If I could get busy and forget about it, I wouldn’t go and that would be that. But, of course, I couldn’t forget about it and the time went by ever so slowly. Finally, I decided I would go meet him and I would tell him how wrong he was and how degrading it was to have him tell me my mood was not based on reality. In fact, I got myself even more pissed off as I drove over to his apartment.
He rang me in and I ran through all the things I wanted to say in my mind on the ride up. I knocked on his door, really ready for a confrontation, and he called out to come in. When I walked through the door, he grabbed my wrists and pulled me over to the couch, where he threw me over his lap and lifted my skirt up. Once I overcame the shock, I started fighting to get up, complaining and cursing. He was very strong and held me tightly – I couldn’t get up. He picked up a paddle next to him and started spanking me with the paddle … talking as he paddled me.
“If you are going to continue to periodically throw these ridiculous, unfounded tantrums around the office, you are going to continue to find yourself being punished severely. And, I don’t mean a planned evening of fun and games. I mean exactly this … a long, harsh spanking that isn’t any fun and doesn’t involve you cumming. I mean that I will find a time immediately following your little outbursts, and I will punish you that day. I assure you that you will find you do NOT like these punishments,” he never missed a beat with the paddle as he spoke and my resistance started fading. As he talked and applied the paddle, my “wall” started to break down. I started to relax and to realize that he was right, and that I had really needed this.
I also realized how much it hurt, and I started to cry. It was a different kind of crying than play sessions, though. It was a mixture of relief, embarrassment, bruised pride and gratitude. The tears were real.
“Go ahead, cry. That’s good. You should cry … because you’ve been a horrible brat all day and you’d best get it out of your system right now,” he continued lecturing. The lecture was almost as bad as the spanking. It made me feel terrible. I was having a hard time with the pain of the paddling – it was intense and with him telling me how awful I’d been behaving, I wasn’t getting wet either. I just layed there and cried and tried to accept the punishment graciously.
“Now, I’m almost done with you,” he announced. “I want to hear you apologize and I want to know exactly what you are apologizing for. And, if I don’t hear the sincerity in your voice, we start over,” he threatened, touching the paddle to my ass. Just the light touch made me cringe in pain and I realized I wasn’t going to be sitting down much that day – or the next.
“Please, Jack … I can’t do that. I can’t talk about it, it’s really hard for me to talk about that stuff …” I whined, pushing myself up on his leg and trying to look at him. He laughed and said okay and pushed me back down, resuming the paddling. I conceded numerous times immediately, but he didn’t stop for a long time. Finally, he stopped and waited.
“Okay,” I said, wiping tears away from my eyes, “I’m sorry. I apologize for being a brat.”
“Not good enough,” he said, landing the paddle several more times. He paused again.
“I’m sorry for having a shitty attitude and being a bitch,” I tried. I wanted this to get real, actually, because I really needed to say it for whatever reason. “I’m sorry for being angry with you for no reason and for finding it easier to take it out on you than deal with what I was feeling. I’m sorry I wasn’t communicating and I’m sorry for being childish.” As I spoke, I started crying again, and laid limply, spent, over his lap. His hand rested on my back and he put the paddle down.
He lifted me up, off his lap, and pulled me down to sit next to him on the couch. He put his arms around me gently and held me while I cried for a while longer against his chest.
