by John Benson
Dr Lifshitz rose and went over to a sideboard where a page was extruding itself from his printer. He took it and gave it to Marcie.
"Read it over," he said. "I want to make sure it sends the message you'd intended."
Her palms were sweaty. He was really going to do this. And now she was going to find out what it said. Did she really want to do this? Was this really what she wanted? She took a deep breath and tried to stop her hands from shaking as she began to read.
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Landau,
Your daughter Marcie longs for intimacy. Or, to put it more bluntly, her body is sending her signals that she's ready to become sexually active. At the same time she yearns for discipline. Wants to be punished for desire. To be forbidden the emotional and physical risks of intercourse. So. Two inner needs, strong, contradictory, irreconcilable. This conflict is the cause of her outbursts, her irritability, her depression. But at this time in her life, it is possible for you to help her. To intervene. To break the impasse. Because whichever of these yearnings of hers becomes actualized will trump the other.
To help your daughter, you must punish her. Physically punish. Frequent spankings, long, painful, memorable, humiliating spankings. To teach her that she is still your responsibility, and though no longer a child, not yet a mature woman. That she must obey. So long as the memory of such punishment is fresh, your daughter will accept your right to dominate her life. Will refrain from intercourse. Drugs. Alcohol. You may control her choice of friends, her sleeping habits, her diet, her devotion to her schoolwork. All aspects of her life.
Or you may do nothing, and I predict promiscuity, risk of pregnancy, risk of disease, attraction to dangerous and lawless men.
Is this a perfect answer? No. Is it the only answer? I frankly am not sure. But it is an answer, and I know it, and Marcie knows it. And now, so do you.
Sincerely,
Karl A. Lifshitz, MD PhD.
The room was so quiet Marcie heard her own raspy breathing. The page was dimpled where she'd held it too tight and a little damp from sweat. Oh, man. Is this really what she wanted?
"Well?" asked Dr. Lifshitz.
Marcie handed him the page. "It's what I told you," she said. "Except you used bigger words and fewer of them. But didn't you lay it on a bit thick, I mean, 'frequent, long, hard, painful, humiliating,' I mean, what's that?"
"They don't want to hear this," Lifshitz said. "If I'm too subtle, they'll gloss over it. I have to hit them between the eyes with it."
Makes sense. "Oh. Okay. But what's that about running the rest of my life, too? Sure, it would work, but do you really have to let them know that?"
"You tell me," the doctor said.
She moved, restless on the chair. The fake leather seat was sticking to her damp butt. "Um, yeah. No, you're right. I have to have it be real, and if it goes exactly like I want, if there's nothing that's really their idea and not mine, then it isn't really real. So yeah. It has to be that way." Forced obedience. All or nothing. The whole nine yards. Damn.
He signed the page with a flourish, folded it in thirds, put it in an envelope and licked it shut. "Here," he said. He held it out.
Marcie squirmed. He was making her decide. "Aren't you going to mail it?" She wanted it to be too late. To have no choice.
"Your choice to submit must be a conscious act," the doctor said. "Otherwise, you'll rewrite history. Decide it happened to you, instead of happened because you chose it."
She looked down at the envelope. Her future. Her obedient, painful future, should she choose to accept it. Lust washed through her, and the need to touch herself was strong. She was a bad girl. Needed this. "Thank you Doctor," she said. Her voice shook. "Thank you for all your help."
"I hope it works out for you, dear," the doctor said. His look was less professional now, less dispassionate. More caring. Almost tender.
Marcie watched as Mom tore open the envelope and withdrew the fateful page. Mom read slowly and her lips moved a little as she read. Marcie's heart beat fast and she felt dizzy. Mom was frowning. She looked up. Must have finished. "I don't understand," she said.
The need to weasel out was strong, but so was the need to finish what she'd started. "I don't really understand either, Mom," croaked Marcie. "Some things just are."
"You really have to read this, George," Mom said.
Dad put down his paper, pushed the glasses back up the bridge of his nose. Mom handed him the page. Marcie couldn't stand to watch. She went out into the kitchen, popped a Coke, took it out on the front porch and watched the cars go by. Now it was too late, her heartbeat told her. Now they knew. Now they knew.
A long time later, Dad came out. He was a fast reader, so they must have been discussing it. "Nice out here," he said. She couldn't miss the unease in his voice.
"So. I guess you've had time to talk it over, huh?" She couldn't miss the unease in her own voice, too.
"Yes." Dad sighed. "A bad choice to avoid a worse choice. To keep you safe. To give you time to grow up some before you start doing things you might regret even more than you'll regret this."
She felt a rush of sexy guilt and fear. "You're going to be strict with me? Punish me?"
"Your mom will do it," Dad said. "Come on. I'll hold your hand."
He took her hand and led her back inside. She felt like a little kid again, not a mature teen. She felt helpless. Naughty. Doomed. Mom was standing there and she had the big wooden bath brush from the upstairs. Seeing it made Marcie stop dead and whimper.
"I have to make this terrible for you," Mom said. "If we do this and are half-hearted about it and you stray anyway, we all lose. If we're going to compromise our principles, it has to count for something. I'm sorry."
Marcie hung her head. She would rather have been spanked by Dad. He had less temper, tried harder to be fair. But maybe he was just too much a tender heart, or maybe the fact that she was a girl made it hard for him. Whatever. Too late now. "I understand, Mom," Marcie said. "I'm sorry that I need this. But that's just the way it is."
Dad sat in his big leather arm chair. "Drop your jeans, honey," he said. "Then bend at the waist and give me your hands."
She came over to him slowly, blood pounding in her temples. Unbuckled her belt. Unzipped her jeans and skinned them down. She bent and he seized her wrists. She wasn't going anywhere. Caught. Helpless. Mom pulled down her panties with one swift yank. No. She'd changed her mind. She didn't want a spanking. She didn't want a spanking. She didn't... "Oww! Oww! Oww!"
She had to be a good girl now, really had to. Not because punishment somehow magically made her incapable of sin, but because Marcie understood the implicit bargain. If what Dr. Lifshitz wrote wasn't true, Mom and Dad would have no reason to give her the punishment she craved. She had to give them something back. Safety. Chastity. Obedience. Things that weren't easy, but deep down, she understood they weren't for her parents. They were for her own damn good.
But if she was always perfect, they wouldn't spank her. So she had to be bad sometimes, and Marcie had just decided to let Mom catch her being really bad. So Mom would know what a dirty girl she was. So Mom would be ashamed and angry, and do it really really hard, and Dad wasn't home to calm her down. Yeah. Come on Marcie. Do it.
Her tummy fluttered as she rummaged in the hall closet and found the vibrator usually used for giving back rubs. Went to her room. Took off her clothes. Plugged that sucker in and turned it on low and applied it to her crotch. Mom was going to catch her masturbating. This was so naughty. Marcie moaned softly, teetering on the edge. In came Mom and her eyes were flashing.
"Slut!" Mom yelled. "Get on your bed. Lie on your back. Lift your legs up high and grab your ankles. I'm going to give you a lesson you'll not soon forget."
Mom had an appliance cord doubled in her hand. That would be too nasty. Too really nasty. "Please, Mom. Not that. Don't whip me with that." She crawled on her bed. Raised up her legs. Her heart was pounding. Grabbed her ankles.
"Slut," Mom said.
"No, Mom. Please don't whip me. Please? Oww! Oww! Oww!"
Lifshitz looked just like she remembered him. "Um, hi," she said. The cheap chair exhaled as she sat down.
His smile was warm and genuine. "It's been a while," he said. "Two years?"
"Almost three, sir."
"You look wonderful. Gained height. Lost weight."
"Well, yeah," Marcie said. "I'm not allowed junk food now, so I'm more healthy. And I'm not allowed to hang out unsupervised, so I joined Cross Country to have something to do. I'm the third fastest on the team."
"So it's working out for you, dear?"
"Uh huh. I'm a good girl and I get punished. I let Mom catch me masturbating once, and that was terrible but it was worth it. Let her know what the stakes are. She spanks lots harder now."
"And so now you've stopped masturbating?"
She giggled. "Stopped letting her catch me. You know when you wrote that I either wanted sex or wanted to be punished for wanting it? Well, in a way I have it both ways. I don't have intercourse, but I touch myself all the time, and when Mom paddles me for not taking out the garbage or for talking back, I really know that I'm getting it for being a naughty girl who touches herself. It works out good."
"So. Happily ever after. So why are you here, Marcie? If you just wanted to say 'thank you,' you could have written."
This was the hard part. To explain she needed changes now. "I'm not a kid any more, sir. It's cool to still be virgin at my age. But now all my friends are doing it. Everybody's doing it except the really churchy kids, and maybe they just lie more. And I've found this guy I really want to be with, and he's kind of laid the law down. If I want to go steady, I have to be the kind of girl he needs."
Lifshitz cocked his head. "I see," he said. "And this boy. Do you love him?"
A question that sounded simple except it wasn't. "I, um, want to be with him. Isn't that the same thing?" Was love desire, or was it something else?
"Does he spank you, hon?"
Urk. "No way!"
"Marcie, how do you see your life unfold from here?"
"I don't know. When I graduate from college, I get a job, get married. Doesn't everybody?"
"You'll grow up and leave home. But your need for discipline isn't going away, honey. You'll need a boyfriend who can take your parents place. Someone you trust to hurt you for your own good. Then your needs will be truly met. Horniness and punishment for being sexy, all at the hands of the man you trust. Is it this man? Are you ready? Is he?"
Not to be reposted, reproduced or distributed, in part or whole.