********************************

Tuesday

Mark was lying on his stomach when he woke up the next morning, in the same position he’d fallen asleep in. His neck was sore from being turned to the side all night … but that was nothing compared to his rump.  As soon as he moved his leg a little bit, he yelped in pain.  There were deep tissue bruises there, which could take days to heal; a whole week, for all he knew.  It was a harrowing reminder of yesterday, and of how impossibly strong she was.  Women didn’t seem to demonstrate their strength in public; they seemed to prefer to keep it private, he guessed.  But he doubted Camilla was lying.  And now that he knew that all women were strong like that, it put a very different spin on things, indeed.

His friends’ relationships with their wives made a lot more sense now, for one thing.  A chill came over him, as he realized that’s where his life was headed too.  He couldn’t let that happen.  He HAD to take action, someway, somehow.  He got up quietly, wincing all the way to the bedroom door, and put his ear against it.  After a few moments, he heard his eldest daughter’s confident voice; his knees went weak and his heartrate tripled.  And suddenly his tender bottom began to hurt even more; the power of suggestion at play.

He was a grown man, but he couldn’t bring himself to confront her.  He remained in his room like a coward and listened as Camilla spoke a few words – to Chloe, it sounded like – then, shortly after, she called out, “Alright, have a good day, kids!” and he heard the front door open and close.

He remained on tenterhooks but didn’t hear another sound for the next five minutes.  Quietly, he backed away from the door and decided he had to do something.  With shaking hands, he picked up his phone and called his friend, Phil. 

*Ring* ...*Ring*...

"Mark, how are you?"

"Phil," Mark said desperately, keeping his voice low, "are you alone?  Can you talk?!"

"My wife's out shopping. Yes, I can talk - what is it??"

"It's Camilla - she ... she beat the SHIT out of me!!  I came home, and ... my God, it was just ... just ..."  He moaned softly. "I don't know what the hell happened to her, but ... but she's not right in the head!!  She's... there's ... there's something wrong with her, and ..."  His voice seized up, overcome with emotion.

"I'm sorry," Phil said sincerely.  "It really sucks, I know, man."

Mark gripped the phone tighter.  "You've gone through this too, right??"

"Yeah."  Phil sighed. "Yeah."

"OK, so ... so ... what do I do about it?!?" Mark begged.

"Do?  Nothing.  There's nothing you can do.

"That's impossible!  C'mon, man, there must be some way out of this!  I must be able to change her mind, or ... or ..."

"She won't listen.  Trust me on that."

"WHY THE HELL NOT!?" Mark hissed, louder. "How could anyone treat someone that way!?"

"She can't help it!" Phil declared.

"What?"

"You don't understand - it's not her fault!"

Mark gasped. "You... You're DEFENDING her!?!"

"Just listen.  I--"

Mark's mind snapped. "No, YOU listen!!" he snarled. "Your mind is poisoned!  Your wife converted you, did she??  What is this, some kind of effed-up Stockholm Syndrome?!  You freaking JUDAS!!"

"Mark--"

"Screw you! I'll figure this out myself!"  He hung up furiously, slamming his phone on the bed.  If anyone could have understood what i'm going through ... Agghhh!  Forget him! I need help - NOW!

He wasted no time in picking up his phone again and dialing three numbers.

It rang only once.  “9-1-1,” the female operator answered.  “Is this an emergency?”

“Yes,” he said quickly, quietly.  “Well … no.  I mean … yes.  My daughter – she … she …”  He faltered.  It was surprisingly difficult to say.  “She hit me.”  He felt embarrassed admitting that; ashamed; worthless.  Not something he ever thought he’d feel.

“Is she in the house now?” the operator replied quickly, efficiently.

“Y-Yes.”

“Do you feel threatened by her right now?  Do you feel safe?”

His anger bubbled up again.  “I’m fine!  I’m … just … please come get me!”

“Can you tell me your address?”

He did so, voice wavering.

“Stay where you are.  An officer will come by right away.”

“OK,” he said anxiously.  But then he thought through the scenarios in his mind.  “Wait – no!  I’ll … I’ll meet the officer out front.”

“No, sir.  If she’s a threat to you, stay in your room.  Do not spark a confrontation.  … Are you there?  Can you promise me you’ll stay put?”

“I … I …”  His heart pounded.  The more he thought it through, the more worried he became.  “Actually, I … changed my mind,” he whispered shakily.  “N-No need to send a cop.  Never mind.  Um, th-thank you.”

The female operator was adamant: “Sir?  I know it’s scary, but the worst thing you can do is let this go unreported.  You have to go through with this.  We’ll protect you, if need be – don’t worry about that.”

That’s exactly what he worried about – retaliation from Camilla.  That, plus the embarrassment and shame of bringing this out into the open.

But the operator had convinced him, barely.  “OK.  Just … please hurry.”  He didn’t want to spend another minute alone with Camilla in the house.

“The officer is already on the way.  Would you like me to stay on the line with you?”

He gulped.  “N… No, ma’am.  Thank you.”

He hung up and quivered nervously, hardly able to breathe – and just then, he heard a knock on his bedroom door.  “Mark?” his eldest daughter asked.  “I thought I heard talking.  Are you awake?”

Sheer panic gripped him.  He looked around frantically – but there was nowhere to escape to.  Nowhere to run.

The doorknob rattled, and she knocked even louder.  “Mark!  Open this, please!  I’d like to know what you’re doing in there.”

His legs gave out and he settled onto the bed, his heart palpitating wildly.  She tried the knob again then called out again, more worriedly, “Mark, are you in there??  Mark??  Please answer me!! … Mark, I’m coming in on the count of three.  One … Two …”

He couldn’t have gotten there in time if he wanted to; he was frozen in fear.

“Three.”  The door flew open with a loud *bang!!* as she bashed it with her forearm.  Splinters of wood flew everywhere as the doorknob made a dent in the wall from swinging open so fast.

Camilla saw her dad nearly pass out in fright as she came in – but otherwise he seemed fine.  She breathed a big sigh of relief.  “Thank god, you’re OK,” she exclaimed.  “When you didn’t answer, I didn’t know what to expect!”  Maybe he’d overdosed on pain pills; maybe he … I don’t even know what.

Her intention wasn’t to scare the life out of him, so she sat on the bed near him – noting how he instinctively recoiled from her – and said reassuringly, “I’m not here to hurt you.  I was just worried, that’s all.  And we can fix that door; I’d rather you have one without a lock, anyway.”  She waved dismissively.  “But that’s neither here nor there.  Who were you talking to?”

She watched his eyes go wide – not a good sign.  He grew increasingly frightened and shook his head.  “N-N-No one, m-ma’am,” he squeaked.

Camilla’s inclination toward gentleness dissipated slightly.  “You’re lying.”

He really freaked out now – but he still had the nerve to shake his head again!

This just … got to her.  She couldn’t help it.  “Mark Theodore Lawrence,” she declared brusquely, eyebrows furrowing, “if there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s dishonesty.  Tell me who you called – this instant!”

Mark almost fainted again.  Will she punish me worse if I don’t tell, or if I do!?!  …But she’ll find out either way, now – the cops are coming! Oh god, what have I done!?!  His anxiety reached a fever pitch.  I never should have called 9-1-1 at all!!!

But he still couldn’t bring himself to say it.  He trembled.

Soon, his silence didn’t matter, as Camilla lost patience and reached across him for his phone lying on the bed beside him.  He could see the anger in her eyes – and then feel it explicitly, as her free hand clamped down on his thigh and squeezed.

He shrieked in pain.  It really fucking hurt!!!  She was indenting his quadriceps and hamstring, cutting off circulation, really digging in.  “Hush,” she ordered.  But the only thing really keeping him from crying out again was the knowledge that she could squeeze much, much harder if she wanted.

She frowned at the login screen on his phone.  “What’s your password?” she asked curtly.

He cried out anyway, as the pressure on his thigh increased ever-so-slightly.  “1-9-3-7!!” he blurted frantically.

His eyes rolled back into his head as she opened his recent calls list.  He awaited the surge of anger that would make her hurt his leg so much worse …

“Michael!” she exclaimed, sounding scandalized.  Miraculously, she released her grip, out of sheer disbelief.  “You called the cops??”  She blinked, then … calmed.  “Well, I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised.  I do wish you’d talked to me first, though; there were better ways to go about this.”

His breathing was still rapid and shallow, but it slowed just a little.  “You’re … you’re not …?”

“Mad?  About you calling them?  No.  A little peeved, certainly, but I won’t punish you for it.  I believe very strongly that you should only be punished for things I explicitly warned you against – and I haven’t put any restrictions on who you can call.  That’s my fault, perhaps, but so be it.”

They heard three loud knocks on the front door.  “That must be them,” Camilla declared calmly.  She stood up and nodded for him to follow.  “Come on.”

Mark was bewildered but had no choice here.  He trailed her out of his room, wondering why she was acting this way.

She stopped in her tracks halfway there, though, and looked back at him grimly.  “I am very upset that you lied to me, however.  Expect consequences for that when we’re done here.”

Mark gasped.  He couldn’t believe she was being so brazen, with the officer at their door!  Isn’t she even a little worried!??

Camilla adopted a very somber air as she opened the front door.  “Good morning, officer.  I understand my father called you.  Please, come in.”  She stepped aside and waved the officer in.

Mark blinked as he saw the female officer come inside.  She was multiple inches taller than Camilla, and one of the few women he’d seen who was noticeably more built than her, too.  With her police officer boots, tight uniform, wide utility belt including a large handgun, and a big, shiny badge just below his eye level, this officer was quite a presence to behold.

“I’m Officer Carmichael,” she declared, in a naturally booming voice.  “I’m here to answer a domestic disturbance call.  So, I take it you are the two parties involved?”

“Yes, officer,” Camilla confirmed.  When Mark stayed silent – he was still rather awed by the woman’s presence, frankly – Camilla nudged him gently.  “Please reply, Mark,” she requested simply.

Mark couldn’t believe she was still giving him orders!!  “Y-Yes, officer,” he said uncertainly.

“Alright,” said the cop, pulling out a pad of paper.  “I’ll take your statements separately.  Ma’am, if you could step into the other room, please – the dining room is fine.”

“Certainly, officer.”  She went and sat at the dinner table, well out of earshot but still within sight.  Does she really have to still be in sight? he lamented.

The cop turned to face him.  Christ, she’s big.  REALLY freaking big.  She was almost as tall as Camilla in heels, and his neck quickly became sore looking up at her.  He really wished she would stand a little farther away…

“Let’s start with your names, please,” the officer instructed.

“Mark Theodore Lawrence.  And Camilla Anne Lawrence.”

The officer jotted it down with a pencil.  “And her relation to you?”

Mark winced.  “Daughter.”  He shifted uncomfortably.  “She’s 20 years old.”

The officer didn’t even blink – he expected her to be more surprised.  “I see.  I’d like you to tell me first about the physical abuse; you said on the phone that she hit you.  What was the nature of this abuse, and where and when did it happen?”

* * *

Camilla couldn’t hear the conversation, but she watched her father’s shoulders hunch forward, his arms tuck in toward his chest, his expression showing increasing distress and agitation as he recounted the events to the entirely dispassionate officer.  Camilla was actually pleased to find that she herself felt no regret or remorse for what she’d done – not even a little bit.  Part of her found this a bit odd, but she brushed past it and waited patiently for her turn to explain events.

* * *

Mark was extremely frustrated.  Here he was, divulging some very emotional, humiliating, and quite harrowing details, and the officer couldn’t even show a bit of empathy!  Not even a sympathetic glance at him, or reassuring gesture!  She remained entirely emotionless, like a stone.

Afterward, she told him nothing.  “So,” he prompted anxiously, “what are you going to—“

A swift hand gesture silenced him.  “Please, sir,” she said flatly.  “I’ll decide that once I’ve taken your daughter’s statement.”

He grimaced in frustration as the officer went over to Camilla and sat down with her.  Ugh, why couldn’t she have sat down for me?? he thought sourly.

* * *

“Alright,” the officer said, scooting her chair in, “I think I have a clear picture now, but I’ll need your help filling in some details.  Your father indicated that you spanked him, correct?”

“That’s correct,” Camilla admitted openly.

The officer nodded.  “And, just for the record, how long did this spanking continue?  Your father’s memory was hazy in this regard.”

“I spanked him three times.”

The officer tilted her head in surprise.  “Three different occasions??”

“Oh – no, only one occasion.  I slapped his bottom three times.”

“Only three??”

“Yes.”

The officer was definitely surprised now.  She erased what she’d written earlier and wrote over it.

“Is there a problem, officer?” Camilla asked helpfully.

“No, no,” Officer Carmichael replied.  “I had assumed it was more extensive, that’s all.”  She scribbled a little more.  “Now, your father appears to believe that permanent or at least significant lingering damage has occurred as a result of this – in particular to his spinal column, if I understand him correctly.  Any comment?”

Camilla couldn’t help but scoff lightly.  “I’m sorry, officer, but that’s absolutely ridiculous.  He just doesn’t have a good frame of reference for this kind of thing.  His back was fully supported by my thighs, and I only contact his rump, not his spinal column at all.  And if I had to put a number on it, I’d say I used about two-thirds force – certainly not all I could have delivered.  I’m no doctor, but I’m certain that what he’s feeling is nothing more than soft tissue soreness.”  She winced.  “Sorry if that’s too much detail, but …”

“No, that’s excellent.”  She wrote it down.  “Alright.  And he mentioned other incidents as well: in his words, an ‘aggressive attack’ on his shoulder as well as ‘aggressive shaking’ which occurred last night, as well as another ‘attack’ on his thigh just minutes ago.  Let’s start with the shoulder – can you remember where on the body this occurred?  You may demonstrate on me if you like.”

“Of course.”  Camilla reached out and found the same hold on the officer’s shoulder as she’d used on Mark yesterday.

“Is that approximately the strength you used?” the officer queried.

“Oh – no.  OK, now.”  She squeezed exactly as hard as she’d squeezed Mark.  Of course, although the officer wasn’t tensing her muscles, the highly-dense muscle tissue gave way only slightly to Camilla’s firm but reasonable grip.  Her father’s muscle tissue had basically felt like jello by comparison – and that was not an exaggeration.

“Hmm,” the officer said calmly, jotting a quick note.  She was very far from any sort of pain.  “Thank you.  And for the other two …”

Camilla explained the degree of jostling to her, then did a similar hands-on demonstration to the officer’s firm thighs – of course, her hand couldn’t reach as far around her leg as her dad’s, but she did her best.

The officer nodded and wrote some more.  “That certainly clarifies things.  He indicated that there may be significant damage to his thigh and shoulder too, but based on your testimony, that would certainly be just embellishment on his part as well.”

“Oh, without a doubt!  Yes, certainly.”

The office slid her pencil through the rings in the pad of paper.  “Alright.  Thank you very much.”  She and Camilla rose together and walked over to Mark, who almost immediately moved to the opposite side of the officer as where Camilla was standing.  He continued to fidget anxiously.

“I have all the information I need,” Officer Carmichael declared down at him.

“So … what now??” Mark couldn’t help but ask.  “Will there be a restraining order or something?  Do you take her away from here?  How does this work??”

He watched the officer glance at Camilla then back at him.  “That’s only for severe cases,” the officer explained plainly, “where one party is in serious, imminent danger.”

Mark nodded in agreement.  “Right – just like me.  Excellent.  So, when does it… um …”  His voice trailed off as he reconsidered what she meant.  And his mouth fell open wide.

Camilla flinched as his voice suddenly became shrill and bombarded her ears: “WHAT!?!?  ARE YOU TELLING ME THIS ISN’T ‘SERIOUS DANGER’!?!?  You … you don’t understand how HARD she hit me!!  She should go to JAIL, NO FREAKING QUESTION ABOUT IT!!!  She … She …”  He began to hyperventilate, wheezing rapidly.

“I do realize it’s serious,” the officer replied calmly, diplomatically, “relatively speaking.  But, to be perfectly honest, with our limited resources we cannot afford to get involved in each and every domestic dispute of this nature.  There are simply too many now.  The police force needs to focus on severe abuse cases – broken bones or worse, which require immediate medical care and put the victims’ lives at risk.  It is unfortunate, but that’s the reality.”

Camilla’s dad looked like he might calm down, but then he exploded again: “But…But it’s so much more than just the physical abuse!!!  She literally TOLD me she was in charge now – of our HOUSE; even of my other KIDS!!!  I’M her FATHER – shouldn’t that count for SOMETHING!?!?  You didn’t even write THAT stuff down when I told you!!!”

Camilla was impressed by how calm Officer Carmichael remained, in the face of this grown man screaming at her.  She merely waited for him to wear himself out again, then told him understandingly but firmly, “The police department is unable to help with that.  If you like, I can give you the number for Public Works, who deals with domestic situations – although, I understand they’re quite overrun with calls nowadays.”

“Can they separate Camilla from the family??” he asked wildly, desperately.

The officer pursed her lips.  “They … can help work through your concerns,” she said tactfully.

Camilla watched her dad’s knees buckle, showing that he realized what that meant.  “I … I …”  He drooped his head in disbelief.

The officer sighed.  She’d clearly seen a lot of these cases lately.  “As always, if there are ever any more serious claims to report, don’t hesitate to call 9-1-1 in the future.  Otherwise, I wish you the best.”

She certainly meant it, too – but you could also tell from her tone that she did NOT want him calling for the same reasons as today.  Camilla thanked the officer for her time and showed her out.

Tenderly, she went up to her dad and put a gentle hand on his back.  He twitched a little less this time – but his head stayed down.  “Why don’t you have a seat on the couch,” she suggested, with an insistent nudge.  “I’ll get you a nice, cool glass of water.”

When she returned, he was seated on the couch but looked at her venomously as she extended the glass to him.

“Take it,” she instructed firmly. 

He reluctantly took it and had a sip.  “I don’t understand,” he muttered.

“What don’t you understand?” Camilla asked, sitting beside him.  “Let’s talk about it.”  This could be an excellent teachable moment.  “And speak up, please.”

He shied away from her and shook his head in exasperation.  “How are the cops in on this, too?!?  So, I mean, is everyone in on this??”

She pursed her lips.  “If by ‘in on it’, you mean ‘embracing our new identity as a society’, then … yes.  I believe most everyone is ‘in on it’ now.”

“But how??  Why!?  How did I not know about this before!??”

“Well, things are changing very rapidly – by the week, if not daily, I think.  And I suppose some, like yourself, were too stubborn to notice the signs of change.  It also helped that I went easy on you for so long.”

He shuddered visibly.  “I … I …”

She sensed the conversation getting derailed, so she drove it onward.  “I’m NOT upset that you called the cops,” she reiterated, from earlier.  “In fact, I’m sort of glad you did, so we can move past it as a family.  I’d like you to take the next ten minutes to sit here, quietly, and reflect on what you’ve just learned about us and society as a whole.  And then…”  She took his wrist and gently turned it, to look at his watch, “at 9:34, I’ll return – and we’ll discuss your punishment for lying to me this morning.”

She heard him inhale sharply and felt his body jerk, through his wrist.  She released it, stood up, and strolled away, remembering what Lynn had told her: ‘Often, the anticipation of punishment is more effective than the punishment itself’.  She paused.  However, that doesn’t mean the punishment should be light, necessarily.  He’s still in the formative phase, in which my actions toward him will echo for a long time to come.

* * *

All manner of punishments flitted through Mark's mind during those ten minutes.  He was a real wreck by the time she returned. 

"Had time to think about what you've learned?" she inquired, looking over him.

Her tone was so effortlessly patronizing. "Yes, ma'am," he said as meekly as possible - anything to lessen his punishment.   

"Alright then."  She strode to the kitchen counter, grabbed a pencil and paper, and set them on the dinner table. Beckoning him over, she declared, "Your assignment - on top of some chores I'll give you - is to write a short essay, about half a page, describing what you've learned about gender roles in society, and how it relates to your status with me and in the family.  Any questions on that?"

Mark was dumbfounded. This was not something he'd expected at all.

“Take a moment to think about it," she encouraged, folding her hands patiently. 

He did, as best he could. "I ... don't know what to write," he admitted, then hastily clarified, "I mean, I just don't know how to fill half a page."  The topic seemed straightforward: women were in charge. Men were not. Sucks to be a guy.  End of story.

"How about sharing some examples from what you saw with your friends and their wives?  That should help. And I recommend making it as personal as possible; this isn’t just about what you observe in society, but how it impacts you and where your thought process stands now.  That’ll make a big impact on your grade.”

“M-My grade??”

“Yes.  After you read your essay, you’ll get feedback and be assigned a grade from 1 to 5, 1 being the best.”

This is all so weird.  “5’s not the best?”

“Oh, no, no, you don’t want a 5.”

He paused warily.  “Wh … Why?  What does the grade mean?”

“It’s how many spanks I’ll give you afterwards.”

He shrieked and then tripped over his feet, falling to the floor.  Frantically, he scrambled to his feet, his back pressed against the wall, as he shook his head wildly.  “Please,” he begged hoarsely.  “Please, Camilla.  Don’t do this.  I’m sorry for lying earlier – I’m SO FREAKING SORRY!!!  I swear to god, it won’t happen again!!!  If you just let—“

She held up a hand to silence him.  “Enough, Mark.  There is nothing you can possibly say or do to get you out of this entirely.  Your best hope right now is to write a REALLY good, heartfelt essay and earn yourself just one spank – the minimum.  Keep in mind, though, that these spanks will be just as hard as the last ones, if not harder.”

He blinked.  Once the words sank in, a strange moan emanated from his lips, crescendoing into a shrill, disbelieving cry.  “I-I’ve already learned my lesson,” he pleaded.  “I swear.”

“If that’s the case, then I’m sure the essay will be excellent.”  She patted his shoulder.  “I’m heading to work.  See you tonight.”

She saw his eyes twitch in confusion.  I never told him about the job – I talked to Vanessa yesterday and she let me change my mind about quitting.  Good, because I do like working there.

Her father’s brief confusion morphed into vacant disbelief, lips trembling.  It was good to see that he was genuinely afraid; he’d learn better that way.  But he’d also been fairly defiant earlier that day – which she couldn’t allow; it was bad for the whole family if she allowed that, including him.  Hopefully eventually she wouldn’t need to punish him daily to keep him in line.

* * *

He wasted too much time stuck in indecision, wondering how he might get out of this.  Camilla was away now, but she'd taken the car; could he run (literally) to the police station? Maybe someone else there would actually help him?  Fucking doubtful.  He had no relatives who could take him and the other kids in, but maybe he could call up some old friends who were single and had avoided this madness?  But who?

Maybe he could just run away from home for a few days, stay at a hotel, buy himself time to think. He HAD to get the fuck out of there! She's going to spank me again!!

But all those options for leaving the house only increased his risk of MORE spanking.  More pain.  More humiliation. What if he left home and a neighbor saw him? What if he went to the cops and they called Camilla to pick him up or something?? There were far too many ways it could backfire.   

All paths led to him staying put as the best option.  And write the best goddamned essay of his life.  He may feel like a grade school student for it, but he simply had no other choice.

* * *

Camilla had another fantastic day at work; her boss had been thrilled to have her back, with no hard feelings.  When she got home, she gently pushed open his bedroom door – the handle was still busted from that morning – and found him erasing furiously and cramming words into the last couple lines of the page she’d handed him earlier.

“Good evening, Mark.”

“Gah!”  He lifted his head and visibly panicked when he saw her.  He was incredibly stressed out, his limbs jittering and his eyes flitting about rapidly.

“Are you ready?” she asked with a pleasant smile.

His face went pale.  “I-I-I … I’m … n-not q-quite … um …”

“You have three minutes, sweetie.  Then bring that with you and meet me in the living room.”

She was dressed very professionally again, with high heels, and he couldn’t for the life of him fathom why he’d ever taken her for granted.  In particular, his eyes focused on her arms, her powerful arms, and he thought about what they were about to do to him.  My stubbornness had blinded me.  How could I have been so stupid…

He realized this was how he needed to finish his essay.  He’d agonized over every line all day, but none more than the last few.  Now he had it.  It had to work.  It had to.

* * *

Camilla watched her father emerge from the bedroom – not a minute too soon – and teeter across the house toward her, seeming ready to fall over at any moment.  He still had his limp from yesterday, plus he seemed extremely worried.  Excellent.

She was sitting with impeccable posture on the middle cushion of the living room couch, legs crossed, arms folded.  “Stand here, please,” she requested, gesturing to the carpet four feet in front of her.

He got there, wavered, and began to recite his essay.  “Whoops – not yet,” she corrected, putting a hand up.  “Just a couple more minutes before we begin.”  She folded her hands again and waited patiently.  Her father’s unrest steadily increased.

After another minute or two, Camilla heard one of the bedroom doors open in the hallway behind her.  “We’re in here!” Camilla called out.

She saw Mark give a confused look, then his eyes got wider, and wider.  He started to shake his head, slowly backpedaling, his mind refusing to believe.

“This is part of your test,” Camilla confirmed.  “I know you’ll tell me what I want to hear, more or less – but can you say it in front of the kids, too??  If you’ve truly accepted all this, there should be no problem.  If you can’t, though, then I’ll know that much more correction is needed.”

They heard feet shuffling down the hall.  Mark backpedaled even further.

“You do NOT want to take another step,” Camilla warned coolly, arching an eyebrow.  She pointed to his original spot, and with extreme reluctance he returned to it.

His expression absolutely melted when the kids came into the room – first Chloe, then Ryan, then Kayla.  “Have a seat,” Camilla instructed gently.  “Squeeze in.”

They did so, then all four pairs of eyes turned to Mark.  “What’s happening?” Chloe asked, seeing her dad’s miserable expression.  She turned her head to Camilla.  “What’s this about?”

“Our father is going to share some insights he’s learned recently.  I’ve asked him to reflect on this today, after he lied to me this morning.  And I wanted you all to hear what he has to say, since you’re all old enough to hear this and know the truth of how things are.”

The three younger kids were all equally shocked – but Chloe was first to speak again.  “Did you … punish him?” she inquired cautiously.  “For lying to you?”

Camilla smiled – her sister was quite sharp.  “Not yet,” she replied.  “I wanted to hear what he’s written before deciding how much he needs.”

The kids’ already-wide eyes nearly popped out of their heads.  “Whoa,” Chloe muttered – and he might have imagined it, but she might have seemed almost a bit … excited.

Oh, how Mark would have loved to give Chloe a sharp rebuke and set her straight – but even that basic parenting liberty was no longer an option for him.  He watched Camilla in fear as she calmly folded her hands again, and he knew that self-preservation was all he could aim for now.  With no possible means of escape, he frightfully looked at the page and began reading, having to force each syllable out of his mouth.  It was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do.

“Eleven days ago, when I first found out I was losing my job.  I thought I could keep it, if I just tried hard enough.  Then, I thought I could find a new job, and spent the whole last week looking for one.  You—“  He shifted uncomfortably.  “—Camilla,” he clarified, “told me very wise words that I regret not listening to now.  No company will hire me now.  You were right.  I promise I—“  He grimaced.  “I promise I won’t even think about looking for a job again, not just because it’s a waste of time, but because you want me here at home.”

His face reddened but he kept his eyes down on the page.  “When I saw how my friends and their wives acted toward each other at dinner last week, I thought they were being wimps and I couldn’t understand why.  I thought they were making a choice to act that way.

“But after you …”  He gulped.  “After you …”  He fought back tears.  “After you spanked me yesterday, I understood their actions.  I know that their wives are in charge of them, and I …”  He shut his eyes, slowly opened them.  “I know that you’re in charge of me now, too.  When you spanked me, it … changed me.  I don’t want to be in charge anymore.  I just … I just want you to not spank me.  I wish I could say I had higher motivations, but I …”  A tear dropped onto the page, prompting him to wipe his cheek.  “… I want to be as honest with you as possible.  I’m scared of you.  I don’t want you to hit me anymore, and I’ll …”  He wavered.  “…I’ll do anything to make that happen.  It was very, very stupid of me to lie to you today, and I am truly, deeply sorry, and I swear I won’t let it happen again and I’ll accept that you’re in charge from here on out.”

He took a long breath and made the mistake of looking into his kids’ eyes.  Ryan was stunned and horrified; Kayla was also stunned, but overtaken with morbid fascination, her eyes watching him like a hawk and observing every detail.  But Chloe’s mouth kept turning upward in a poorly-concealed smile, her eyes wide and sparkling as if already considering the possibilities – and liking them tremendously.  Honestly, that scared him almost as much as Camilla’s cool, expressionless poise.  But Camilla was the one who would be hitting him, so his attention drifted almost entirely to her.

Camilla let the silence marinate for a few long seconds, then straightened her skirt and – instead of addressing him – turned to her siblings.  “Well,” she said, “this is a family meeting, and as this pertains to the entire family, I’d like to ask you guys: thoughts? feelings? reactions?  Please, be as open as possible; there’s no wrong answer here.”

After a long pause, Chloe coughed and said bluntly, “Well, uh … I think it’s great you’re in charge now, Camilla.  Like, REALLY freaking great.  I …” She looked at her dad with almost … scorn?  “I’m SUPER happy about this,” she concluded, sitting back with a smile.

Mark made a strangled noise but said nothing.

“That’s great to hear,” Camilla replied lightly, “but what about our father’s essay, specifically?  Any comments?”  Chloe thought for a moment but shrugged.  “Kayla?  Ryan?” Camilla asked.

“Can I go to my room??” Ryan blurted, fidgeting anxiously.

Chloe immediately turned on him.  “Why??  Camilla didn’t say you could.”

Ryan turned a bit pale and lowered his eyes.  He – rightly so – was worried what this all meant for him too, as a member of the same gender as Dad.

“Easy,” Camilla chided gently, shaking her head slightly at Chloe before replying candidly to her brother, “No – you should stay.  We all need to participate in this family meeting.”  She waited a moment.  “Kayla?  How about you?”

Kayla hesitated, then said quickly, “I thought Dad, uh … was bein’ really honest.”

“Yeah?” Camilla prompted.  “And what told you that?”

Kayla bit her lip tentatively.  “I mean, I’m sure he really didn’t wanna say that stuff, and he prolly wouldn’t have said it if he didn’t mean it.  And besides … I dunno, he just looked like he meant it too.”

Camilla nodded.  “I agree.  He seemed sincere.”

They all heard Mark sigh in nervous relief.  He seemed about ready to pass out, though.

“That’s definitely the main consideration,” Camilla went on, “when I decide how many spanks to give him.  So that bodes well for him.”

Kayla and Chloe became animated and asked for more details, which Camilla patiently gave: Yes, she would be spanking him tonight, regardless; she planned to give no less than one and no greater than five; and yes, they could stick around to watch.

When Chloe heard this, her eyes came alive like never before.  “I think he deserves five,” she said confidently, as her father’s mouth fell open.

Camilla lifted an eyebrow at her; did she seem a bit amused?  “Why do you think so?”

Chloe shrugged.  “I dunno; he just does.  He’s gotta learn somehow.”

As Camilla appeared to consider this, Mark’s face turned several shades paler.

“What number would you say, Kayla?” Camilla asked next.

Mark held his breath.  “One,” Kayla said, after contemplation.  “I mean, he did the best he could – he was honest!”

Mark exhaled in relief.  It was ludicrous that Camilla was even taking input from them, but he couldn’t tell how much it would sway her anyway.

Camilla nodded again.  “I tend to agree with Kayla,” she replied thoughtfully.  “I’m quite pleased with his honesty, and I think he deserves only—“

“Wait!” Chloe cut in.  Mark almost had a conniption.

“Yes, Chloe?” said Camilla.

“Hear me out,” her sister said adamantly.  “He said his only motivation is to not get spanked, right?  Well, shouldn’t he want to behave because it’s the right thing to do??  Look, if you go easy on him, he’s CLEARLY gonna just act up again later, ‘cuz all he responds to is spanking.”

Mark watched in horror as his eldest daughter considered his second daughter’s words.  DON’T FUCKING LISTEN TO HER!!! he wanted to scream.  SHUT UP, CHLOE!!!

But Camilla replied, “Hmm … interesting.  So you’re suggesting …?”

“Spank him a lot,” Chloe declared.  “REALLY give him something to think about.  Five, maybe ten spanks … I dunno.  I just feel like you gotta act fast if you’re gonna change him.”

Mark couldn’t believe how bluntly his teenage daughter was suggesting this.  It was disturbing how quickly her attitude changed once he couldn’t do anything to control her.  I know the two of us have fought a lot over the years, but … my god…

He looked fearfully into Camilla’s eyes as she contemplated, then finally said, “I think we need one more bit of input here.  Mark – how many spanks do YOU think you deserve?”

He wobbled and had to stick his leg out to keep from falling.  This was so far into the realm of lunacy now.

“Think carefully,” Camilla suggested, and he realized what was at stake.  This was a loaded question: take the path of humility and give a high number, and she might call his bluff and give it to him.  Pick a low number, and she might conclude he needed more.

He wavered, trembled …

“I need a number, Mark.  What’ll it be? … If you don’t answer me, I’ll—”

“Three!!” he blurted brashly, without thinking it through.  He slapped his hands over his mouth and recoiled in horror.  THREE spanks – each with more force than last time – would completely break his mind and body …

Both of Camilla’s eyebrows rose.  “And why?” she inquired, locking eyes with him.

Oh shit, oh shit, oh SHIT!!!  “I … I …”  He tried to orchestrate some compelling response about how ‘humble’ he was, how this was the ‘right thing to do’, etcetera … but in his panic he ended up just giving the truth.  “I-I thought y-you’d get mad if I said ‘one’, a-and too scared to say ‘five’, and … and I thought you’d spank me the least if I said ‘three’!!”  He admitted this like a madman, and fell into worried twitches as Camilla watched him.

“See!?” Chloe exclaimed.  “That’s all he cares about: getting spanked less!  Camilla, you gotta set him straight!”

Not even Kayla spoke up for him this time.  She just shrugged quietly.

After an excruciating pause, Camilla took a deep breath and announced, “I’ve decided.  Kids, could you make room, please?  Mark, come and lay across my lap.”

Mark’s heart beat so loud in his ears, he could hardly hear Chloe ask, “But how many??”

He saw Camilla give her a dismissive wave then beckon him forward.  Oh god help me, he thought, stepping up as if to the gallows while his other kids stood up and hovered around.  Kayla and Chloe crowded forward interestedly, while Ryan hung farther back with a sickened look on his face.

He lay face-down across his daughter’s lap, and his tears began dripping down to the floor before it even began.  “As I’ve already told him,” Camilla explained aloud, “each slap will be just as hard as yesterday – or a touch harder.  This is truly for his own good.  It’s the fastest possible way for him to learn.”

“Sounds good,” his second daughter replied eagerly.  She was standing close enough that he saw her legs in his peripheral vision.

His tears streamed faster as he felt her wind up – and then came the first incomprehensible, earth-shattering blow, filling the room like a thunderclap. 

***THWWAACKKK!!!!!!***

Disbelief filled the three onlookers’ eyes – and plenty of other emotions, too.  But they each stood motionless as they watched their father’s reaction, as strong or stronger than the day before.  Their shoulders hunched as their eldest sister raised her hand a second time.

***THWWAACKKK!!!!!!***

After another pregnant pause, Camilla appeared ready to go a third time.  Ryan, Kayla, and even Chloe now seemed hesitant to watch it again.  The three relaxed just slightly when Camilla lowered her arm and gently laid him on the couch, then quietly shooed them out to leave him in whatever peace he could find.  Chloe in particular returned to her room feeling overwhelmed by the power – both physical and emotional – of what she’d just witnessed.