Reader’s Note: This is Taylor Swift’s journal, adapted for reading, detailing the events around October 8th (Saturday) 2016 – after Tom has finished reading her journals of chapters 1-5. It begins with her having just received her first 10 swats of the 50 she is supposed to receive.
Dad told me to stand up straight with my hands interlaced behind my head and legs apart. It felt so surreal to be standing in front of everyone naked, except for an apron; but at least I was facing towards the couch and my brothers and sister, so only my bare butt was completely exposed.
I still felt pretty naked and
vulnerable – if Dad’s intention was to disarm me by
taking away my clothes, it was definitely working.
“You learned the punishment position.” He explained the attention position next. “You’re attentive, and this is how you’re to spend your time when you’re not doing chores or otherwise engaged,” he said, with no room for negotiation in his tone.
He said there was more to it, but that would be sufficient for now.
“What else is involved, Dad?” Scotty was excitedly curious, as if my dad were performing a magic trick or putting on a show for him – the little shit.
“Well,” Dad said as he kicked my legs apart further with his foot, “the stance is a little wider. Your shoulders are back and chin is up,” he moved my head and put his hand on my back to make me stand up straight before mumbling something else.
“What’s that last part, Dad?” Scotty smiled.
“I said that the ass-cheeks are normally clenched tightly,” Dad blurted out with some consternation. He was starting to regret having taught me what he considered a basic position of discipline, because it sounded much naughtier when he had to say it out loud.
Dad tolerated their giggling and snickering, but warned them that he’d talked about this with them before I came down. “The butt is JUST skin – no different than an elbow or a forehead,” he explained. “The only reason it’s exposed for discipline is because it’s one of the best places to apply discipline on a woman; but I can send you to your rooms if you’re going to be disruptive,” he warned them.
“What’s one of the better places to apply discipline, Dad?” Scotty’s grin made it obvious he had some idea where those places were.
Dad ignored his question and told me how to stand – facing the couch and my brothers and sister. I was thankful at least for that little bit of modesty, even with the nearly see-through apron on.
I did as I was told, and Dad pointed out that clenching the cheeks helped firm the ass and made the action a little less vulgar. I wondered if this is how nude models must feel when they’re standing before students being drawn or painted on canvas – all eyes upon them.
“What do you mean by ‘less vulgar’?” Scotty probed further, and I could tell my dad was getting uncomfortable, even though his voice didn’t waiver.
“In all honesty…” Dad told him that this was not a conversation he expected to have with any of us. “The bare bottom of a woman can be very beautiful. There are many famous paintings and statues from all periods of history that hang in museums and galleries around the world – admired by people for generations.” Dad cleared his throat and asked what the one thing you do not see in any of those was.
“You don’t see a butthole.” Dad waited for them to answer only a moment before explaining that it’s considered a vulgar display. “I’d like your sister to keep her ass-cheeks clenched when she’s in her apron,” Dad said to me, as if he were forbidding me to show it.
I instinctively had a sour expression on my face as if I’d just sucked on a lemon thinking about what my brothers and sister were doing—these little fuckers were having too much fun laughing at my expense. “Oh, but please, Sir? I’d love to just pull my ass-cheeks apart so that my brothers and sister could pucker up one time real big and kiss my entire ass!”
“That can be arranged, so don’t push it, Taylor,” Dad said quite seriously – taking the thunder out of my lightning.
I shut my mouth and endured their laughs, while struggling to keep my cheeks ‘clenched’.
“What about her boobies?” Scotty pointed at my tits. I narrowed my eyes to angry slits and glared at him, but I knew exactly what he was talking about. He grinned excitedly as he saw the bitter expression spread across my face while continuing to call attention to my breasts.
Dad was standing behind me, so he had to come around to the front to see what Scotty was talking about. Donny immediately noticed, but my sister seemed oblivious until it was pointed out.
“Her nipples are sticking straight out!” Janie yelled it out like a Wheel of Fortune contestant happy to finally solve the puzzle.
There was absolutely nothing I could do about it. I was completely helpless to stop them from sticking out like hard little nubs, and the apron did absolutely nothing to hide their outline. My nipples are quite dark, and they were so hard they felt sore.
I should also mention that you could see “side-boob” and “under-boob” depending on what angle you were looking at me from standing in the living room – a fact that both brothers enjoyed pointing out.
I wasn’t a total prude or a goody-goody two shoes who’d just die if anyone ever saw my tits, but I definitely didn’t enjoy being gawked at and made fun of while the rest of my family sat on the couch and laughed.
I’ve grown up in an age where almost every female musical celebrity puts pictures of her tits or ass on Twitter for her followers to enjoy, or ‘pretends’ she was hacked so that they can get attention. The only musician who did NOT do that was my namesake, the OTHER TAYLOR SWIFT.
Despite the fact that they could put it out there for others to see, it was still pretty humiliating to have your bare ass on display and for someone to point out your nipples were poking through the tiny apron you had on.
“Oh, my.” Dad said that in the future he may not have me wear this particular apron. “I didn’t realize how sheer it was.” He said that he may as well address it, since they could all clearly see it. “So your sister’s nipples have hardened, and that’s probably due to the excitement and attention she’s receiving. That’s a perfectly natural and normal response. You’re all old enough…,”—Dad paused and considered my sister’s naïve response before continuing with his lecture on female anatomy—“…to at least understand that, in puberty, you’re going to have all these hormones sending instructions to the body.” Dad continued saying that for women, it sometimes meant our nipples became engorged and erect. “That could be due to hormones, cold air, or even…” Dad was cut off by my little brother before he could continue.
“Thinking dirty thoughts!” Scotty laughed.
“Sure, well, I suppose that’s probably always on YOUR mind, so if I start punishing for dirty minds then you’d be up here, too,” Dad promised.
I smiled at the thought of Scotty getting his.
The simple truth was I had no idea why my nipples had become so erect. They felt almost painful, as they stuck straight up and out – clearly visible through the apron.
Donny and Scotty laughed loudest, but Janie was chuckling as well.
“How many morning boners have I seen you walk out of the bathroom with your boner tucked in your pants, Sir?!” I challenged my eldest brother to stop his guffawing.
“So when your sister’s like this, I’ll send her to the corner.” Dad pointed to the nearest corner in the living room and told me to get my nose and toes touching the wall. “That’s definitely one of our rules.” He told Mom to write that down, and she collected a notepad and began jotting things down.
Dad said that it was perfectly normal and a biological function that affects everybody. “You told me that you could be mature, and I had my doubts, but all in all I think you’re adjusting well,” he told the three of them.
What about me? I was the one holding the attention position as instructed. I had my arms raised and my fingers interlaced behind my head. The raised arms served only to expose my side-boob, while my nipples stood upright through the tiny apron. I stood with my legs apart and my ass-cheeks clenched tightly, waiting for my punishment – where was my ‘good job’?
“So she’s thinking dirty thoughts?” Scotty was trying to get me into more hot water.
“Not necessarily,” Dad said, giving me the benefit of the doubt. “It may be involuntarily,” he said in my defense.
I hated how he said “MAY”, as if I had any choice how my nipples were showing through the apron and poking out firmly. I had inherited my mom’s chest and, while not nearly as big as her massive jugs, my tits were hard and firm.
“If you see her in this state, then come tell me and I’ll send her to the corner for five minutes to cool off. She isn’t to talk or think about anything – just relax her mind while remaining physically at attention. It’s important her hands never come down to her side.” Dad implied that I may be tempted to touch myself, but fortunately it went straight over their heads.
His words didn’t go over MY head and I quietly thought about touching myself right after this was all over tonight – just for stress relief. The fantasy only served to make me even more hot and bothered, which was not exactly good timing.
“Why can’t we send her to the corner ourselves?” Donny said. I wanted to punch him right in his eye for daring to suggest that.
Fortunately for me, my father denied his request without even a second thought. “You aren’t the boss of your sister, even though she has to respect you and be considerate. She does so because she’s under instruction to do so. If you want to help her, you’ll come tell your mom or I, and we’ll address it. I don’t want things to escalate further than that.” Dad asked if that was understood.
“So shouldn’t she call you ‘Master’, then?” Donny asked.
My dad acted as if he’d already considered it and shook his head no, while I stood in the corner with my hands behind my head. “The term ‘Master’ means something very specific and powerful – it’s not handed out lightly, and it is earned,” he explained.
“How long until you earn it, then?” Donny asked politely.
“I’ve obtained it.” Dad was trying to be selective in his language, and I knew he was growing uncomfortable with the discussion. “I think for now I’ll just tell you that ‘Sir’ or ‘Sir Tom’ will be sufficient,” Dad said.
“So she can’t call you Daddy?” Janie asked.
“She can, after she’s completed her restriction.” Dad explained quite sweetly he would always be my father, but in order to learn a lesson he would insist on a level of respect even higher than father. “It actually pains me to do this,” he said.
Yeah… Right! It hurts you more than it hurts me – I’ve heard that before.
“So what about if our friends come over?” Scotty asked if I still had to call him ‘Sir’ then. He was clearly wanting to show off at my expense to his one and only friend.
It took all I had not to make some smart-aleck remark.
“I don’t see why we would suspend her speech protocol during that time,” Dad said after thinking about it.
“What about outside of the house? Like at McDonalds or something?” Donny asked.
“Wow, you’re really planning on this lasting a long time?” Dad asked playfully. I was hoping we’d be done with this by the end of the weekend – I was planning to go to a party next weekend and this entire thing completely sucked.
“You said at least a week, and likely more, until she learns how to respect people.” Donny said that he just wanted to understand the boundaries.
“It’s a fair question.” Dad told him he’d have to think about it, but that his gut told him no. “I’m loath to explain the relationship that’s between your mother and I for the very reason that I wouldn’t want you in public describing yours with your sister,” he said.
“So she can respect us when we’re home, but go back to calling us ‘fart face’ when we’re out in public?” Donny sunk home a valid point that my father hadn’t considered.
“In interest of consistency, let us say that there are two forms of protocol.” Dad said that while I’m in High Protocol I’m to wear an apron so that I can be monitored and punished more easily. He didn’t need to explain his choice of the word “monitored”, but I inferred he meant make sure I wasn’t sporting hard nipples. He said that every rule applies in High Protocol, and that would include speech.
Mom scribbled something down on the pad of paper as she scribed the rules for him.
“In Low Protocol, I’m inclined to say only a few of the rules would be in place,” Dad began.
“So she can dress Goth and safely ignore the rules until she breaks one?” Donny questioned my father.
“It isn’t quite like that.” Dad said that he would need to think about it. “The rules need to be fluid – if we try something and it doesn’t work, then we need to try something else,” he said.
I was actually glad that Donny was questioning the rules. I thought that might make dad see he was being way too heavy-handed, and this would never work, and let me out of it completely.
I smiled smugly as I waited the five minutes while they talked about me as if I weren’t in even in the room. My mom was conspicuously silent as the five minutes felt like it stretched to an hour.
“Taylor, come back to the center of the room and stand at attention.” Dad instructed me to stand in front of the couch. “You seem a little shy all of a sudden.” Dad told me this would be my spot from now on. “You will come here whenever commanded – right in front of the couch,” he said.
He waited for me to say something; and when I was silent, said that I should acknowledge the order.
“Yes Sir?” I asked.
“She should have to curtsy!” Janie suggested with a giggle.
“That’s an excellent idea, but her hands are behind her head, Princess.” Dad seemed like he rejected the suggestion. He saw the look of disappointment on her face, and then told me to acknowledge an order by saying ‘Yes Sir’ and curtsying properly before returning to my previous position, unless told to fetch something. “If you don’t understand the order, I want you to tell me you don’t and be very explicit in why. If I feel you’re just stalling, or this has been explained sufficiently already, you will be punished – is that understood?”
It was a test of my own willpower to not roll my eyes. I felt dad was getting a bit ridiculous with his instructions. I only vaguely remembered how to curtsy from seeing it down in the movies, usually by a maid or some other servant.
“Yes Sir,” I said, and then curtsied with the apron in the manner I remembered by putting my hands on the sides of the apron and lifting slightly while dipping my knee in a formal curtsy.
“Curtsy deeper.” Dad instructed me to dip lower. I was almost naked, so it wasn’t like lifting the apron exposed me all that much more, so I dipped a little more.
“Like this, Taylor!” My sister executed a perfect curtsy, very deeply and formally.
I shifted my lips from side to side uncomfortably and then copied her move.
“That’s it — don’t lift the apron high enough we can see your cun…” Dad stopped himself and called it a vagina. I knew he wanted to say ‘cunt’, but I thought better of calling him out on his vulgar language.
“She has to call us ‘Sir’ but what do we call her, Dad?” Scotty asked as I returned to the attention position.
“You call her ‘Taylor’, obviously,” Dad said, as if that should be obvious.
“That hardly seems like much of a change,” Scotty observed. I had no idea where he was going with this.
“You mean like call her Miss Taylor or something to diminish her pridefulness?” Dad nodded at the suggestion like it was a good one.
“I was thinking more like soo-wee, here piggy, piggy,” Scotty laughed, and Donny joined in and made a kissing sound like he was calling the dog and patting his leg. Sandor came and jumped up on the couch next to him.
“Sandor down, you know dogs don’t get on the couch!” Dad shoed the dog off and said that was a little over the top.
“How about ‘fart face’?” My sister who was all about light, rainbows, ponies and sugary gum drops just suggested they call me ‘fart face’!
“I would think that just encourages YOU to use the hurtful language that plagues your sister and reinforces that behavior,” he said. I was smugly pleased he’d shut the rotten brat down.
“Yeah, but Daddy,” my sister continued, “I never say anything mean to anyone else. It may just help to give her a taste of her own medicine and see how SHE likes it?”
“I can’t argue with that logic.” Dad nodded his head yes.
I was already plotting how I’d break into her room tonight when the little brat went to sleep and literally fart ON her face for that suggestion.
“You guys cool with that name?” Dad asked the others, including my mom.
“I mean she calls us other things too.” Donny began listing off other colorful names like jizzwad, butthead, dill-hole, turd-nugget, and nerdrodamus.
“What do you say, Taylor?” Dad asked me if I could be a good sport and answer to any name that I have called them.
“Why would I agree to that, Sir?” I asked, holding my chin up.
“The sooner you demonstrate you’ve accepted your shortcomings and will be respectful, considerate, helpful and humble, the sooner you’re done. I want to rid you of your laziness and desire to hurt other people’s feelings to bring yourself up. If you won’t demonstrate your willingness to let people talk to you that way without firing back a barrage of insults at them, then that makes this process take longer. I won’t decide for you – can you take what you dish out without retaliation?”
I hated how he asked me that question, because that made it sound like a personal challenge, and I wasn’t going to refuse that.
“I can, Sir,” I said, but added that I shouldn’t have too. “How long is this going to last then?” I asked as politely as I could.
Dad told me that he initially envisioned a week, but it would depend on how stubborn I am and how I eager I am to change. The scenarios of what that meant for the entire week began immediately running through my mind and while my panic grew – my nipples became even harder again. I was hopeful nobody noticed.
“If you want to half-ass this and do the bare minimum, then probably a month or two.” He told me it was my choice.
“I’ll whole-ass it, Sir.” I pointed my fingers to my butt and quickly returned them to my head – indicating I was already standing there with it hanging out.
“I’m actually feeling a lot better about this then, Shit-breath.” Dad used one of the more colorful insults I had used on my brother Donny. He seemed amused and I let him have his fun at my expense. I wasn’t going to get myself in deeper trouble, just to prove I could insult him back.
I was not sure how deep I could get beyond where I was now – but I didn’t want to tempt it.
I’d almost forgotten the day I insisted Donny take a Tic-Tac after he refused one. I had told him it was for my benefit, not his.
He remembered that as well, and asked Dad if that meant he could use any name he heard me use – not just ones I had used on him personally.
“I don’t want you guys using dirty words around the house,” Dad insisted.
“So do as I say, not as I do,” Scotty said what I was thinking and I smirked. Dad saw I was smirking and he said that he just felt uncomfortable getting everyone in the habit of that kind of language. He apologized for using it around them.
“You have no problem with us seeing an ass as long as we don’t say it then?” Scotty laid down a second point on my father. I was quietly applauding his audacity, but secretly hoping Dad decided to put him into discipline as well.
“There are some words that I’d rather you not say around your mother,” Dad finally admitted.
“Why? Has she not heard the word ‘cunt’ before?” Scotty was on a roll – I was actually now REALLY impressed with the balls it took to talk to Dad that way. I thought I was the only one who had them. Who knew that little Scotty could be a little shit just like me when he wanted to be? I was actually hoping Dad would have to refer to my pussy as a Cunt or be called a hypocrite and that was scary- because I would normally scratch somebody’s eyes out of their head if they dared.
I really couldn’t
explain to myself or process why I was actually looking forward to
some of this. This was all happening so fast and yet seemed so slow
at the same time.
“I heard you say Cunt before you changed it to vagina.” Scotty heard my dad correct himself and was calling him out. Dad’s face tightened and it took all my inner reserves of self-control not to die laughing that he was being called out in front of his biggest cheerleaders Mom and Janie.
I could call another girl a cunt and they could even call me one – especially if they were a friend like Kimber or Summer. I even wore a shirt to school once that said CUNT CAKE on it but the C looked similar to a B so it skirted the line of what the dress code was at my old school. I’ve seen some shit at Cherry Lawn High that makes me think if there is a dress code it is more of a suggestion than an actual enforced code but they have like 5,000 students so it’s hard to be consistent.
What would make my skin crawl though is if I let a member of the opposite sex or really anyone refer to my pussy as a Cunt and yet I was secretly hoping Scotty was allowed to just because Dad’s face was one giant ball of repressed uncomfortableness and it would be fun to fuck with him!
Mom turned beet-red, and Dad got quiet before shrugging and saying that he had been caught red-handed. “You know, for purposes of this, I’m going to allow it; with the caveat that I want you to use your best judgement and consider who else is in the room and how that language reflects on us as a family. If you can agree to that, I’d like to apply 10 more swats and teach you about another rule.”
“So can I say ‘fart face’ any time, or just some times?” Janie had already picked out the name — my use of that name for her must have hurt her feelings much more deeply than I’d thought.
“I think that would be fine.” Dad said that by default my name would be ‘fart face’ going forward and everyone got a big kick out of that – even Mom.
They decided that like our dog, Sandor Clegane, who answered to a variety of names – that would work on me as well.
“What is it you usually call Sandor?” Dad asked me to say it out loud.
I knew what he was getting at, but I could have played it coy and pretended I didn’t know. Dad reminded me the sooner I answered his questions, the sooner I’d be done.
“I call him Dumbass, Sir,” I admitted while looking at the shag carpet.
“Eyes on me, Fart Face,” Dad reminded me, and said that from now on I would call him Sandor or Clegane, with no deviation.
“Wait, he’s a boy, though.” Janie raised her hand as if she were in English class and wanted to be called on by the teacher.
“Your point?” Dad didn’t know what she was driving at, but I was already pretty sure I’d figured it out.
“The rule is she has to call all males ‘Sir’, so ‘Sir Clegane’, right?” Janie clarified.
“I hadn’t meant dogs,” Dad laughed, but when he saw the look of total misery on her face he agreed that would be good reinforcement. “Fart Face, you are now below the pet in the pecking order of the Swift household. You’ll refer to him with respect at all times. Is that understood?” he said.
“Yes, Sir,” I answered reluctantly.
“Good.” Dad said that I should answer more crisply next time. “Now, assume the punishment position and I’ll teach you how to apologize when you fail at one of your tasks or have committed some rule violation,” Dad said. He explained as I bent over at the waist that he would not set me up to fail, and that the rules would all be achievable, but that he knew that in order for me to learn, I would make mistakes along the way – and that’s where corrective action comes in.
He explained there were four elements to a proper apology. “The first is to address what you’re being punished for and admit it. The second is to accept your mistake and ask for correction. The third is to apologize to whoever you did wrong, and the fourth is a statement of what you did wrong.” Dad explained that he would walk me through his expectation.
He used the dry-erase board that we used to keep the family chores on to quickly write down the four elements for me.
Addressing what she is being punished for
Her acceptance of her mistake and acknowledgement of the need for punishment
Apologizing to whoever was affected and waiting for them to accept
Statement of what she will do differently
“Great, thanks, Sir!” I was trying not to sound sarcastic, but I couldn’t help it. My new plan was to just say whatever he wanted me to say and smile a lot.
“Don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of the pattern after a few times.” Dad said that he’d train me in how to properly address each issue. “I want you to really be explicit in your speech and not sugar-coat anything – come right out and speak the truth, because if you don’t, I’ll make you,” he said, before asking me if I was ready to apologize for making Mom play the dare game.
“Alright. I’m being punished for…” Dad stopped me before I could continue.
He told me that I don’t just start talking out of turn. My butthole began to quiver when I started to suspect this was going to be much more drawn out.
“You speak when spoken to.” Dad then formally accused me of manipulating my mother, and blackmailing her; and showing incriminating videos I had no right to record, that were not only an embarrassment to him, but the entire family as well. He made me repeat back, in my own words, my understanding of what I had done wrong.
“I’m being treated like a slave, forced to walk around with my ass hanging out, and spanked, because not only am I a spoiled brat who manipulated my mother into playing a dirty game, causing her ass to pop out and humiliate her, I videotaped you spanking her. And, because I showed it to some friends and uploaded it to the internet, that’s why I am being spanked, Sir.”
I actually thought that was pretty good, but my father made me repeat it until he was happy with my tone. He said that I could drop how I was being punished, and just focus on what I am being punished for. The final result took three tries before dad called my response “acceptable”.
“I was wrong to videotape a private matter between my father and mother. I was wrong to show it to others and put it on the internet. I was wrong to trick my mother into turning around and exposing her ass. I was wrong to pressure her to play a game with me to get me to delete the video. I was wrong to invite my friends over, knowing my mom’s ass might pop out, so they could laugh at her humiliation.”
“Can you make Fart Face say she was wrong for calling me a Fart Face?” Janie pouted angrily.
My dad told her that I would have an opportunity later to apologize to each person individually for the many wrongs I’ve done to them, but that we were focusing on one thing at a time. I wasn’t sure if I should be relieved he didn’t make me, or worried that I’d have to go over this again and again for all the rotten things I get blamed for – most of which I probably did do.
Dad asked me if I understood that I needed punishment and accepted that I would be punished. “Do you feel the punishment is fair for what you did?”
“You haven’t told me what the punishment is, Sir.” I clarified that I was confused. I explained when he asked me to clarify that I wasn’t sure if the 50 swats was the punishment or all these new rules.
“Excellent question, I’m glad you asked.” Dad seemed genuinely pleased that I was curious. I thought he may think I was stalling; but he asked if after hearing myself say everything that I had done wrong, if 10 swats on the bare ass was sufficient punishment.
“More like 50, Sir,” I pointed out.
Dad said that initially I had 10 and that the rest were for attitude adjustments and failing to show respect while I was being punished. I didn’t understand what he meant at that time because it all sounded the same to me.
“Fine,” Dad asked, “for the sake of this discussion, would 50 swats on the bare ass be enough to be forgiven and learn your lesson?”
“Yes, definitely, Sir!” I took the first chance I could to make the case that this should be over now.
“So after the first ten swats you’ve received, do you think you’ll learn your lesson, be respectful and well-behaved after 40 more?” Dad’s question was difficult to answer.
I could promise him that I would and make it seem very sincere.
However, I knew he wouldn’t believe me – and I knew I would go back to my old ways immediately if I could. I really didn’t see any other way to behave besides how I am.
“No, Sir, I guess not,” I settled on my answer.
“You guess,” Dad said, adding, “but, I know. You would not. So the 50 swats is your punishment, but you’ve also proven that I’ve not spent nearly enough time on your upbringing. Do you know the difference between criminals and athletes?” Dad asked me.
I thought the answer was obvious so I said, “Yes Sir!”
“The criminal gets punished for wrongdoing. The athlete trains every day to get better,” he said as if he had just made a point. He could tell from my face that I didn’t get his meaning, and he looked somewhat disappointed.
“You’re going to be punished for what you did wrong; and then you’re going to train every day to learn to be respectful, humble, and well-behaved. Do you think that’s fair?”
“Yes Sir,” I answered him with what I assumed was the answer he expected.
“You answered rather quickly.” Dad seemed disappointed I hadn’t put more thought into my answer. “I’m glad you agree it’s fair.” Dad clarified that he just expected me to put up more of a fight. “It may not take nearly as long as I thought, if we’re already making progress,” he said with a thin smile.
He told me that now that I had accepted my punishment, and acknowledged my wrongdoing, that I needed to apologize to the woman who was affected most by my wrongdoing. I couldn’t see how my brothers and sister were affected adversely since they were smiling, but he made it clear I had brought shame on the entire family and that would all be addressed in time.
“Fine. I’m sorry for what I did Mom, I mean Ma’am.” It didn’t roll off my tongue, it was actually a genuine sentiment of apology on my part. I could be very callous and selfish at times, but this wasn’t one of them. I felt bad that I had embarrassed her and hurt her feelings.
“You sound as though you’re sorry you got caught and are being punished.” Dad critiqued my apology and told me that I would need to assume an apology position.
“Another position? How many are there, Sir?” I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to keep up with all of these.
“Don’t worry, Taylor.” Dad told me that if I didn’t want to learn the apology position it was simple – don’t do anything wrong. He didn’t tell me how many positions there were, only that this was a simpler version of the real apology position.
“I want you to get down on your knees and keep your hands behind your head with your legs slightly apart and your mouth parted slightly,” he instructed.
I did as I was told while Scotty asked what the ‘real’ apology position was.
“I don’t think that anyone in this room is really ready for that one, and I think this one gets the point across,” Dad brushed off Scotty’s question.
“I’m already kneeling on the floor, Sir.” I shrugged that it couldn’t be much worse. I thought I was being generous by essentially offering to give my apology the ‘proper’ way, but Dad looked at me as if I were an ungrateful brat.
“I don’t tell you things to just hear myself talk, Fart Face.” Dad had a somber look on his face as he told me that this position would be sufficient for the purpose of lowering myself before my better, and making a sincere attempt to apologize for my behavior and the trouble I’ve caused. “You need to stop doubting me when I tell you something isn’t right for you,” he said uncomfortably.
I wondered if I could actually get out of this by embracing it. It seemed like a risky tactic, but one that may actually work. Dad expected me to drag my feet – what if I just did what I was told and then some. What if I embraced this whole attitude-adjustment thing? He may actually grow uncomfortable with it and let me out, or at the very least think I am changed and tell me I can stop. On the other hand, if I fought every step of the way and protested, it would only take longer to get through this.
I had thought I struck upon a brilliant strategy if it were not for two important points.
It would require more effort on my part.
I was already embarrassed kneeling in an apron – but mostly I was afraid of the unknown variables of some position he said I wasn’t ready for. It sounded easier to just do this for now.
I put the plan to the back of my mind and apologized to my mother the way he had coached me. He made her stand over me and look down upon me to add gravity to the situation.
It felt very surreal, but I did it anyway.
“I am so sorry for all the drama today, Ma’am. I should never have taken the video or dared you to play that game. I should not have tried to goof on you or expose your ass in front of my friends and family. Will you please forgive me?”
“Yes, Taylor, I do,” Mom said with a look of pride and actual sympathy. It made me feel weird inside – I suppose I was developing a conscious.
“It’s Fart Face now, Mom!” Janie burst out with her reply, and everyone chuckled.
“I suppose it is.” Mom said I would still always be Taylor to her.
“Hey, with a name like Taylor Swift – I guess ‘Fart Face’ is a little less embarrassing, Ma’am,” I joked with a shrug.
“I’m glad you’re being a good sport about it.” Mom asked if she could sit down, and Dad nodded.
He told me to say what I would do differently.
“You’re telling me the rules now, so I don’t know yet, Sir,” I answered.
“At a high level, I want to know how you’d behave differently.” Dad said that this time I could wait until I’ve received some training to answer that question. “Time for 10 more swats – stand up and assume the punishment position,” his deep voice made it clear he wasn’t kidding around with me.
TAYLOR’S RULES: - Initial Draft
SPEECH PROTOCOLS:
Call all men Sir, or by their name with Sir, and all women Ma’am, Madam, or Miss and their name. The exception is her sister, who she is to address as Princess Janie.
Taylor can be addressed by any name, but Dad asks that the family be aware of who is listening and how that reflects on us as a family.
POSITIONS:
Punishment: Unless otherwise instructed, go to the living room couch, place hands on ankles and bend over with legs apart, looking straight ahead. The discipline will begin after:
Addressing what she is being punished for
Her acceptance of her mistake and acknowledgement of the need for punishment
Apologizing to whoever was affected and waiting for them to accept
Statement of what she will do differently
In step three the modified apology position is kneeling with hands behind head and legs slightly apart. The person being apologized to should stand over her. Mouth is slightly apart when not talking.
The punishment, if it is a spanking, is to be counted; she is to thank the person executing the punishment; and then ask for additional correction in order to learn from her mistake so further corrective action is less necessary.
Attention/Standard position
Tits out, shoulders back, chin up, ass-cheeks clenched, hands interlaced behind head, feet shoulder width apart.
Taylor’s Spot is facing the living room couch.
There is no sitting when bare-ass.
Arousal:
When Taylor is aroused she is to be sent to the corner with her toes and nose pressing into it and wait for 5 minutes. If her nipples are still hard, she is to repeat until she cools off.