by Alex Willow
Susan Thompson had attended college on the other side of the state from the suburb where she had grown up, and after graduation had put her degree to work as a manager of the customer service department of a car rental company. She had worked there for four years afterwards, having substantial success in the company. She had proven herself responsible, good at dealing with the most upset customers while not costing the company too much by bowing to their unnecessary demands, and was skilled at leading others and managing her team's budget. Her supervisor had hinted she was inches away from a promotion.
After a few months, finally, she got it. She was to be the supervisor over the entire department for the state! Over drinks one Friday night, she shared the news with her group of friends at a big get together they had finally been able to schedule. Her best friend and roommate, Andrea, toasted to her success while her other friends cheered her on. She felt that one or two of the girls of the group couldn't quite hide their jealousy, while Ben, who had felt on the verge of being more than a friend for quite some time now, sidled over to her booth where they chatted for the rest of the night.
Unfortunately, the very next week the COVID-19 crisis, lingering in the background, became a harsh reality. The stay at home order came, and Susan was quickly laid off. Nobody at all was renting cars, and her old boss would be capable of handling any lingering customer complaints. Susan was crushed at the opportunity that was stolen from her to advance her career but, if she was honest, at the opportunity to feel the thrill of her new promotion and the respect of those under her. She had always craved position, and did so in part to force those who would normally dismiss her as another ditsy girl skating by on her looks, to take her seriously. Still, she was good to those she supervised and knew she had their appreciation as well as respect. While she was disappointed initially at losing all that, she quickly realized the real problem was not being able to pay her bills. Despite her decent salary, most of it went to student loans and clothes. After a long conversation, she and Andrea painfully agreed to part ways and when their lease ended at the end of the month, both girls were to move back in with their parents.
Susan was full of emotions as her car crunched on the gravel of her parent's home, and slowly walked up, bags in hand, to ring the doorbell. She had always been close with her parents, but in their conversations of late had been feeling the inevitable tension between people now living very different lives. Her parents took a moment to answer the door, so she was flicking through her phone by the time her mother flung open the door and gave her a warm embrace. If they were to live together, there was no point in any pretense of social distancing. Her father stood in the entryway, and quickly moved to hug her after her mother let her go. The three chatted in the living room for quite some time. It felt good to be home after the disorientation of the previous couple of weeks, and there was much to catch up on. Still, the time came when Susan excused herself to head to bed after a long day of travel, laying in her childhood bed on her laptop and phone for a couple of hours before sleep finally overtook her.
Being home as an adult was an odd mix of old and new, the feelings complicated further because she knew she was staying there indefinitely, even if she desperately hoped it would not be long. It felt like summer in her high school years, waking up late and padding downstairs where her mother would be making breakfast. However, instead of the ratty sweatpants she used to wear, her pajamas now were a more mature set of pink silk shorts and a matching top. She noticed herself feeling an almost teenage-like aversion to talking to her parents, preferring to slink back upstairs to text her friends, yet now in adulthood that feeling was countered somewhat by having more in common with her parents, and enjoying the in depth conversations that now seemed possible. Everyone seemed to be enjoying the dynamic for the first couple of weeks.
Other aspects of the old way of doing things rankled Susan. Her parents seemed to be enjoying her new role living with them, asking personal questions which she found inappropriate. In turn, she blew them off in a manner which her parents found rude. She also resented their input into her life choices which she felt should be up to her at age 26. When her father felt that a top she was wearing was too low cut, he told her, not even asked her, to go up and change.
"I'm just wearing it around the house! And this is none of your business anymore anyway!" she snapped back.
"I see your snotty attitude hasn't changed as much as your wardrobe!" he replied, raising his voice.
The two got several sentences into the type of argument which ten years ago would have been a common occurrence, until Mrs. Thompson intervened with a few remarks she knew would soothe both.
The next few days started to blend into each other and passed without incident. Being quarantined at home made time pass much differently than otherwise. The time together caused more heart-to-heart conversations than normal, but also wore nerves a little thin. Even as Susan felt she was really connecting with her mother, she was chided about not using a coaster. That same night, while Susan was chatting on the phone with Ben to try to keep the promise of a relationship alive, her father rapped sharply at her door to ask her to hang up so that her voice would not keep them awake. A second, sharper knock followed half an hour later as a few of her giggles were not as muted as she had thought them to be. Her father opened the door, without asking, to insist she end the call. She had not quite been willing to hang up the phone.
At this second interruption, she told Ben she had to go, frustrated at having to do so and embarrassed at having to admit the reason. The next morning, her father told her that when he had checked in on her, her room was in an unacceptable state, with clothing thrown all around. This would not be tolerated, as the Thompsons tried to maintain a neat house, especially when everyone had plenty of temptation not to. Susan, figuring she kept her door closed all the time anyway, ignored this request. Her mother's polite reminder after coming in to take out the trash did not change her thinking on the issue.
As the days wore on, Susan had a few choice words for her parents' out of date political beliefs; they had their own comments about their disapproval of how she chose to live her day to day life, and each became a little more of an argument than if everyone was at their best. When Mr. Thompson insisted her internet habits were slowing down the connection speed for the whole house, Susan insisted that was not how it worked, and continued streaming her shows. What else was she supposed to do with no job and no ability to go outside? Her father continued his work video call to some irritation at the continuous lag.
About two months in, Susan headed to the kitchen for a morning cup of coffee with her mother, in what had become a tradition they both had come to look forward to. As she went to pour the hot water into the French press, she accidentally grabbed the hot metal of the kettle.
"Shit!" she exclaimed, running cold water over her hand.
"Sue!" her mother replied. "I don't want to hear that from you!"
"Oh, stuff it, Mother!" Susan replied with a roll of her eyes. "I appreciate you letting me stay here, but it's not like we're back to you raising me. And I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't be imposing your opinions on me. Because frankly I don't see how you even think you're being helpful."
She felt like she was dealing with an annoying customer, trying to maintain a little bit of composure while putting the issue to an end. Perhaps she was a little less self-controlled than usual. This was all quite personal, after all. Mrs. Thompson, for her part, was quite hurt, and quickly headed upstairs, not even returning for her coffee. Susan quickly replaced the time by starting a new series on Netflix.
The next morning, she was still watching it, 15 episodes in. At 9:45, her father knocked softly on the door, asking her to pause for an hour while he had a call for work. Engrossed in the show, she simply allowed the next episode to automatically play without further thought. At exactly 11:01am, after his lag-ridden call had ended, Mr. Thompson burst into his daughter's room, taking in the sight of his now extremely irritating daughter, clad just in a short white t-shirt and gold-colored underwear. Most of the rest of her clothes were strewn around the room. Without a word he stormed over, pulled her desk chair out a few feet, took the laptop from Susan's hands, and yanked his daughter over his knee.
"What are you DOING!?" she shrieked, as he clapped his hand down hard against her panties.
Her father wordlessly repeated the motion, this time including more of the bare, tan skin revealed by the bikini-cut of the fabric.
"Shit! That hurts! What are you doing?"
Susan was struggling now, and her father managed to swat the upturned bottom twice more, even as it moved from side to side. He pushed his errant daughter down by her back, in the process pushing her shirt almost down to her neck.
"Language, missy. I am spanking you."
"What!?" Susan yelled, as her father swatted her rear three more times. She reached her right arm back, unable to accept what was occurring. Mr. Thompson simply grabbed it, pinned it roughly against the bare small of her back, and slammed his hand down twice more.
As a sting settled over her mostly exposed cheeks, Susan was panicked. Nothing like this had ever happened before, her parents had never so much as threatened to spank her. Now, she was a full adult, not even recently out of the house. What was happening?
"Are you going to listen to me, young lady?" her father asked, swatting her right sit spot hard three times.
"You can't do this!" was all she replied. Her father responded with three more spanks to the same spot, and a tightened grip on her wrist.
"Let me up!"
SWAT! SLAP! SPLAT!
"Please!"
SMACK! SPANK! SLAP!
"Ow! Ok! Oww!"
"Sue, your behavior these few weeks has been totally unacceptable," said her father. "You've been rude, you've disregarded what we've asked you, and otherwise you've been a petulant brat. For that, I need to punish you. I can't do otherwise either as a father concerned for your personal growth and as someone who must share a space with you."
He clapped his hand down hard four times in the center of her panties. Susan did not agree with this characterization at all, either of her behavior or her father's choices, but this prompt reinforcement of the position she was in kept her quiet. He spanked her twice more in the same spot, and hot tears started to fall from her eyes, more from the feeling of total helplessness she felt than the growing pain in her backside.
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