Unconditional Submission

Professor Adams

Clark's science professor dragged a newly painted white, wire, garden chair into our group and took a seat. Outside of the classroom, on a weekend, he still wore the stuffy old suits that made him more intimidating than the rest of us; all dressed in our weekend casuals. His black hair was streaked back to perfection as if he had just exited a board meeting, and the thick-framed glasses on his face that made him look more like a journalist than a professor, slipped down his nose so he could study us with his head high.

"Professor Adams," Clark stepped forward, his voice professional and respectful. "Your guidance would be appreciated, but I was just about to take Katherine elsewhere to discuss her behavior privately."

"Please," Professor Adams waved to the ground, inviting Clark to take a seat. I watched as hesitantly, and with great reluctance, Clark obeyed. Dawson followed suit.

When Clark looked my way and gestured me over, I scurried to him; pressing myself as firmly into his chest as physically possible. In his lap, I closed my eyes, and hoped to God Professor Adams wouldn't live up to his ruthless reputation today.

"So," he leaned his elbows into his knees and clasped his hands in front of him; a patient smile that was meant to trick us into trusting him plastered to his face. "Who hollered the nasty word?"

Silence.

Bridgette didn't confess, and I didn't blame her in the slightest. But someone would have to fess up, and naturally, that responsibility fell to the dominant.

"Unfortunately, sir, that was my submissive, Bridgette."

All attention turned to the brunette who fidgeted so much she looked near to jumping out of her own body. Dawson noticed, and moved to comfort her, but Professor Adams stopped him with one finger.

"Now, why would you want to do that?" he asked. "She's uncomfortable and fearful; that's good. If you have a submissive who isn't ashamed of her own terrible behavior, then you're going to have a lot of work cut out for you. In your case, however, your submissive is aware that she has done something wrong, and she's regretful of her actions. That's good. Half of your work is done. But, that doesn't mean you want to provide her any leniency, and that includes comfort. Half of a submissive's punishment is their discomfort, so allow her to feel uncomfortable."

Professor Adams presented himself and his argument like Socrates; delivering practical results for better well-being of society to his eager-to-learn pupils. Dawson and Clark might as well have been Plato and Aristotle; they listened, commanded by their professor's knowledge.

My arms tightened around Clark's waist, imploring him to stay with me. But he didn't respond; his head never lowered, his attention focused on his professor. I wanted to yell at him, desperate that he never listen to Professor Adams' suggestions, but before I could truly consider doing such a thing, Clark's hand discreetly tightened around my hip, and I breathed a long sigh of relief.

"Bridgette," Professor Adams addressed Dawson's submissive, and when she hesitated to give him her full attention, he reached across the short distance between them and slapped her.

I gasped. Clark stiffened. Dawson closed his eyes as if he could will the image of another man striking his submissive from his mind. He couldn't do anything; we all knew that, and I pitied him for it.

The slap wasn't horrible; it didn't knock her head back. But it was hard enough to leave a harsh red splotch on her left cheek, and startling enough to prick tears into her eyes.

"Bridgette," the professor called her named again, and she didn't hesitate for a second. Her eyes lifted and she addressed him head-on with red eyes and a trembling lower lip.