Behavior Modification by Deborah Plum

Note: This novel was previously published on Discipline and Desire. It is available in the long term members' area under its Author's story page.

As I pulled the mail from my mailbox, I groaned as I recognized another letter from the collection agency. Wondering which payment I had forgotten to pay this time, I ripped open the envelope. Skimming over the, now familiar, “final reminder”, threatening legal words and form letter mish-mash, I went to the meat of the letter.

“Third reminder in this billing quarter for Southwestern Visa Card. In accordance with the contractual obligations, you are instructed to bring your payment of twenty-nine dollars to the offices of Behavior Modification, Inc. prior to three-thirty p.m., July sixteenth. Failure to comply will result in vigorous legal prosecution.”

“Damn,” I thought. It wasn’t as if I didn’t have the money. As a computer programmer for a local game manufacturer, I had plenty of income. My checking account balance was always over $10,000, since I had never quite gotten around to opening my 401K. I just never seemed to have enough time to do those ‘boring’ chores dealing with my money. Now it looked like I would have to deal with them. I vaguely remembered signing some paper about ‘Behavior Modification’ after the last time I let things get this far out of hand, but I couldn’t remember the details. I signed because otherwise I couldn’t keep my Visa card. It actually bugged me enough that I paid all my bills on time for a whole month.

Looking at the calendar, I made a mental note that the date was only a week away, then I dumped all the mail in the almost full box I kept next to my home computer. “Plenty of time to deal with this later”, I thought. Besides, my cyber friends were waiting on-line for our continuing “Quake” adventure - wouldn’t do to miss out on that!

In the ensuing electronic carnage (until two a.m.!), I of course completely forgot about my ‘contractual obligations’. Work was also fun - I was developing the new Pokemon variation - and I never once thought about that letter, or any other bills, for the rest of the week. It wasn’t until the sixteenth at three-thirty-five p.m. that things were rudely brought to my attention. I snorted in annoyance as the ringing phone interrupted my latest ‘battle’ scenario.

“Hello, Ms. Bunai? This is John Welles with Behavior Modification, Inc. I am notifying you that, in accordance with our letter dated 7/7, we are pursuing legal action against you for credit card fraud. The legal papers will be delivered by bonded courier at five p.m. this evening. We wished to give you the option of being served at home or at your office. Which would you prefer?”

Now my mind was completely off of my latest computerized masterpiece. “What do you mean ‘served’“, I squeaked in panic. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Suddenly I remembered the briefly scanned letter of the week before.

“Ms Bunai, I am referring to the letter that you opened on July tenth at seven-forty-two p.m. in your residence at 964 West 42nd Street. The letter is referring to your overdue Southwestern Visa card. We often have disputes in our business regarding such things as mail receipt, so we use our electronic signature transmitter that is activated at the time of opening. The electronic tracking device has been upheld in court of law on several occasions.”

Panic sent chills up my spine at the thoroughness of this company. “Oh,” I said weakly. “The Southwestern Visa bill. I was just on my way down to see you guys about that.”

“I’m sorry ma’am, but the time for discussions is past. The amount of time that has elapsed here now allows us to prosecute this as felony credit card fraud. With your history, I don’t think that we’ll have any problems with this case.”

“But wait...” I begged quickly. “I can pay off the whole thing right away. I had just run out of checks and sorta forgotten about the charges. I’m good for it! I can pay the collection fees, too. Please let me come there and take care of it.”

“Ms. Bunai, You only owe seventy-five dollars and thirty-two cents. The original bill was a little over fifteen dollars, with the rest incurred as late charges. How could you let this go on for so long if you have the money?”

“I don’t know,” I sniffed miserably. “I meant to do better, but I forget.”

“Hmm. It does seem that you would benefit from our program,” John mused out loud. “Ms. Bunai, could you get here before we close at five? The initial session is two hours and thirty minutes. If you can make it, I’ll see if I can get an associate to work late with us.”

“Oh, yes!” I whispered in relief. “I just need a couple of minutes to close this out - then I’ll run right over!”

“Don’t take too long to close up, Ms Bunai. If you are one minute late, I’ll meet you at the front door with the legal papers.”

At four fifty-five, I ran up and pushed open the doors of Behavior Modification, Inc. Glancing at the elevator indicating that it was going up past the fifth floor, I ran over to the stairs and started climbing. With every step, I cursed myself for even looking at that computer after I had hung up the phone. Somehow, I always ended up spending more time on it than I intended. This time it almost - and still might - cost me a day in court. I glanced at my watch as I ran out of the stairwell on the third floor. I scanned the doors in a panic, and dodged into the door marked “John Welles, Behavior Modification Specialist.”

Two well-dressed professionals stood across the room, talking quietly. They both looked up as I burst breathlessly into the room. The man glanced up at the clock. “Five o’clock and forty-five seconds,” he announced. “Well, Susan, I guess I owe you a lunch. I didn’t think she’d make it.”

The woman smirked slightly. “I did the original research on this case. I knew she’d cut it close - but even I’m surprised at a fifteen second window.”

I stood there dumbfounded and gasping. These people had been betting on whether or not I’d make it on time. Under their concentrated gaze, I quickly lost my initial irritation and found myself severely embarrassed. My face was sweaty, my suit looked like it had been slept in and I was panting so hard I couldn’t speak.

“Come with us, Ms. Bunai.” The two turned and led me down a long hall. We passed three or four rooms that looked like doctor’s check-up rooms, then turned into a large, wood paneled office. “Have a seat.” The man said indicating one of the tastefully upholstered chairs.

“Well, I suppose we might as well get started to get this unpleasantness taken care of as swiftly as possible. I am John Welles, and my associate here” he gracefully gestured to the woman beside him “is Susan Strick. Dr. Strick has done a thorough analysis on your current situation. She will provide us with the highlights of her report, then we will plan and implement your personal behavior modification program.”

“But,” I interrupted, “Can’t I just pay the bill? I brought my checkbook” My voice slowed to a stop at the visible amusement on the two professionals’ faces.

“Ms. Bunai,” Welles said, barely keeping the laughter out of his voice “you gave up that option several weeks ago. When your account passed the two month delinquency point, the ‘behavior modification’ clause was activated. You must now go through the entire six month process in order to avoid prosecution.” The two exchanged glances at my obvious bewilderment. Welles sighed. “You were advised of the stipulation verbally at the time of reinstatement. You were also informed that it was your responsibility to read all of the material about the program prior to signing the papers.”

He shook his head. “It is highly unlikely that you would forget the terms if you had read them.” he stated coldly. “Let me show you our video, Ms. Bunai. It is much more - efficient - at describing the process than the legal documents.” He stepped over to a cabinet and opened doors to reveal a large TV screen. Reaching onto a shelf, he selected a video and fed it into the VCR. Turning back to me, he said sternly “I think that you will be quite dismayed when you learn of the content of our program. It has been proven to be - highly effective. We will return to discuss your case when you have reviewed this tape.” He opened the door for Dr. Strick and started the tape. “Please feel free to ask about anything that is unclear to you when this is done.” He closed the door behind him as he left the room.

The video began with an abstract image of a wildly active city. After a brief spate of discordant twentieth century music, the Behavior Modification, Inc. logo grew to envelop the city and bring organization to chaos. A deep, masculine voice began the intro.

“You have been referred to Behavior Modification, inc. to help you to gain self control and learn to change self-destructive behaviors. This is not your first problem, or you would not have been referred. We guarantee that our program will help you to gain control over your life. You will not enjoy implementation of our program, but when you have completed the six-month rehabilitation, you will be a much more responsible and self controlled person.”

The scene changed to the building that I had just entered. “This structure houses the most effective behavior modification program in existence today. Many credit and law enforcement agencies are turning to us when their options have been exhausted, but the offending individual has attributes that are still useful to society. The program is intensive and severe, but the results are worthwhile.”

“Clients’ histories are carefully reviewed prior to acceptance into the program. The client’s lifestyle is analyzed to identify all behaviors that contribute to the unacceptable actions. The client is counseled on these adverse behaviors and provided with a new pattern to follow.” The camera focuses on an earnest, white-coated counselor talking to a nodding young woman.

“As with all modification programs, results are rarely seen without follow-up and consequences for misbehavior. Our consequences are severe to avoid years of reprogramming training.”

The scene changed to the young woman watching a video of herself making a very unsafe traffic maneuver. The counselor spoke sternly as the woman’s face lowered to her hands. He helped her to her feet and they walked down the hall to one of the ‘check-up’ rooms. The ‘counselor’ left the room and closed the door. The woman started to remove her skirt and nylons.

“Years of study have shown that punishment must be administered quickly and severely for behavior modification to be effective.” The young woman was crying slightly as she removed her panties and set them on the shelf. “The client must be allowed time to review his or her actions mentally, in a way that emphasizes the unacceptability of those actions.” The woman shuffled over to a corner of the room to stand atop two footprints painted facing the walls. “After given time to review the actions, the client is emotionally staged to gain maximum benefit of the next phase.”

I started to have a bad feeling about this ‘method’ the announcer was calmly discussing. My misgivings escalated as the counselor and an assistant came into the room. A proctology examination ‘chair’ was undraped, and an instrument tray wheeled closer. The young woman was guided, sobbing more loudly now, to the device. She stepped up onto the step and was assisted into a face down position. Efficiently, the woman’s legs were secured with a padded brace. Sobbing even more, now, the woman lifted her own hands into restraint clamps located above her head. Once the client was secure, the device was rotated to lift her buttocks and lower her head. I felt shock as the instrument tray was uncovered to reveal a two-foot long prison strap.

The announcer droned on about the benefits of corporal punishment as a deterrent to unacceptable behavior as the ‘counselor’ picked up the strap by the wooden handle. Video recorders were shown that would record each session - one copy for the ‘client’ to review, and one copy to protect Behavior Modification, Inc. from legal hassles. I vaguely heard something about a trained medical professional observing each treatment. Soon, however, I felt faint, and my vision narrowed to a scene showing the counselor beginning the treatment.

The man lifted the strap over his head, then snapped it down across the woman’s raised buttocks. She jumped and wailed as a pink stripe developed across her lower buttcheeks. After a two second pause, he again lifted the strap, this time slapping it across the widest part of her bottom. Again, she her mouth opened in a scream, and her body bucked under the force of the blow. As I watched in mounting horror, the counselor continued to rain measured, hard blows against the hysterical woman’s writhing bottom. The voice droned on, obscuring the howls and urgent pleas from the woman’s lips, as the strap continued to lay lines of fire across her reddening flesh. Soon, her entire bottom, from the tops of her thighs to her lower back, was covered in two-inch wide welts. Still, the man continued to strap her, over and over, as the assistant glanced at her watch and recorded information on a clipboard.

Finally, the scene shifted to the aftermath. The woman was unstrapped from the restraints and guided back to her position in the corner. Her hands were removed from her buttocks and placed on handmarks painted at shoulder height onto the walls. Tears streamed down her face as the strap and table were meticulously cleaned, the voice casually discussing the sterilization techniques employed. After a time, the assistant walked over to inspect the still sobbing woman’s bruised and welted bottom. Carefully touching one slightly darker bruise and measuring its dimensions with a small ruler, she recorded information onto the clipboard. The woman was handed her clothing, and started to gingerly get dressed.

The announcer briefly discussed the merits of the strap as a punishment device, but my brain had completely ceased to function. Something about maximal nerve stimulation with the least amount of deep tissue bruising. I wanted to run, screaming from the room. I wanted to escape from this crazy organization. I wanted to vomit from the horror - and the fear. And yet, there was a small, logical part of me that understood just how effective the ‘program’ would be on permanently modifying behavioral patterns.

The video ended, and I was still sitting there open-mouthed when Welles and Strick walked back into the room five minutes later. It took me a long time to tear my eyes from the screen and meet their amused expressions. They again took their seats, and Ms. Strick began recounting my actions for the last five years.

“Ms. Bunai graduated from UCLA six years ago with a Master’s of Science degree in computer science. Grades were average, primarily due to procrastination. Her master’s project, while an exceptional piece of programming, was two months late. Ms. Bunai petitioned for late acceptance of the project and was allowed to graduate.”

“After graduation, she interviewed for twelve positions. She arrived late for ten out of the twelve interviews. She received four job offers, and accepted a position with a start-up computer game company in Manhattan Beach. Since her employment began, she has received eight bonuses for record game sales and fifteen reprimands for late delivery, substandard documentation and missed marketing meetings.”

Ms. Strick paused, looking to Welles. “Her report is full of detailed examples of this adolescent behavioral pattern. Exceptional ability coupled with a blatant disregard of anything that she does not consider ‘interesting’.” Welles and Strick both turned to look at me. I searched for the words to counteract her accusations, but under their combined gaze, I closed my mouth and sunk further into the chair.

Welles frowned slightly. “It looks like we should start a detailed outline of all of her obligations and begin to organize her daily activities around that. She’ll need the basic courses on workplace etiquette and job performance requirements. She’s intelligent enough that she shouldn’t need too much remedial work in business and finances. We’ll have to do an intensive organizational skills rehabilitation, however. I doubt that she ever learned how to plan her time usage.” He turned to me expectantly. “Well, Ms Bunai? Have I missed anything else that you’d like help in?”

Strick snorted slightly as Welles’ eyebrow lifted dubiously. “You have not shown any abilities in that direction. In fact, the whole reason that you are here is that you charged a sixteen dollar computer game, in spite of the fact that you had over $14,000 in your checking account at the time. Then you proceeded to miss two payments, four overdue notices and our original appointment. That does not sound like you are capable of managing your own life at all.”

Strick took over from where he left off. “The reason that you were referred to us in the first place was that you charged thirty-five dollars worth of groceries on your Visa card. Even though you had $6,489.00 in your checking account, you neglected to make payments or answer the twenty-three overdue notices that you received over the next six months. The Visa Company finally garnished your wages and you were referred to us when you didn’t arrive for the court proceedings.”

Welles smiled slightly. “We understand that. If you were guilty of criminal intent, we would not have tried so hard to help you. Seems to me like you’re basically a good kid who never learned to get organized.”

I wilted even more. ‘Good kid’ coming from someone just a couple years older than me seemed somewhat degrading. My eyes focused on my fingers busily tying themselves into knots in my lap. I was losing control more and more recently, simply because I forgot to do things. Like pay bills, eat, set my alarm clock, get groceries. The list went on and on. The guilt of messing up yet again was almost overwhelming. I had to blink rapidly to keep the tears from escaping my eyes as I sat glumly.

“Anne,” I started as a large hand rested gently on my shoulder. Welles’ blue eyes met mine as I looked up. “We all need help with something at one time or another. The important thing is to get that help before things get too far out of control. If you will let us, we’ll help you get your life back. It won’t happen overnight, and it won’t be easy, but it will happen.” Suddenly, gazing into that concerned countenance, I wanted to believe.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Strick shake her head slowly. When I turned to look at her, she quickly schooled her face from an expression of wry amusement to stern efficiency. “I suggest that we start your rehabilitation with some minor behavior modifications, coupled with a few instructional sessions with our life-skills counselors. We know that your Wednesday afternoons are free, and have arranged to have you join the four p.m. classes.” She placed a folder on the table between us. “Here are your first behavior modifications. They are pretty simple and straightforward.”

She opened the folder and indicated a short checklist. “Tonight,” she said indicating a position on the list, “I’d like you to start by making a list of all of your outstanding bills. Include all of the recurring bills like rent, utilities, car payments, etc. and approximate monthly payments. We’ll look at those tomorrow and come up with a solid investment plan for the extra money in your account. I believe that you wanted to start a 401K?”

I nodded dumbly, wondering how she knew that. She smiled slightly and continued. “Next, you need to set your alarm clock for six-thirty am. Lay out all of your clothes, work papers and briefcase for tomorrow. You need to get up immediately when the alarm goes off, get dressed and eat so that you can leave the house by seven-thirty. I want you in your office, no excuses or delays, beginning to work by eight-thirty.”

I blushed slightly as I recognized my boss’ hand in that one. I normally got there around nine o’clock, but after getting coffee, using the restroom and talking to friends, I was rarely working before ten. I supposed that I shouldn’t fight that one – he had let me start my workday at eight-thirty, instead of the traditional eight. Still, it was embarrassing to have someone tell you how to get ready for work in the morning.

“During your lunch break, make a list of goals, both personal and professional. I want a detailed list of at least ten short term and ten long-range goals. Finally, you need to be here by four tomorrow. We’ll coordinate it with your manager. Any questions?”

I shook my head, realizing for the first time how much of my life these people were taking over. The strangest part of it was that I wasn’t sure if I should be angry or just thankful that I wasn’t allowed to mess up anymore. This whole afternoon felt like a trip into ‘The Twilight Zone’, and I had a feeling that it wasn’t over yet.

“You do realize that these are not suggestions,” Welles said quietly. “You will be monitored. Any deviations from this list will result in some rather severe consequences.” His words broke through my complacency like ice water running down my back. As I stiffened, he nodded. “We will punish you every time that you fail to follow through on any step.” Remembering the picture of the woman being strapped across her bare butt-cheeks, my mouth opened to protest.

“This is a requirement of the program,” Strick said flatly over my stuttering. “You will follow the program exactly. Any time that you attempt to evade the consequences, you will be subject to criminal prosecution for the original fraud charges. The courts do not make allowances for childish, immature behavior in cases like this.”

Strick and Welles looked at each other. Welles nodded briefly. “Come with us, Ms. Bunai,” Strick said sternly. “You need to finish this briefing so that you can get ready for tomorrow.” She turned and led the way down the hall. When she turned into one of the ‘examination rooms, I froze in the doorway. This was the same room that I had seen the woman punished in during the video.

A strong hand in the center of my back ‘helped’ me enter the room. Welles rested that incredibly large hand on my shoulder as Strick started talking again. “We need some preliminary health data on you before we proceed. Please have a seat, and we’ll take your blood pressure.” The pressure on my shoulder helped me move to a chair and sit down. Strick put a blood pressure cuff on my arm and pumped the bulb. After a minute, she released the rest of the cuff pressure and made a notation on her clipboard. She then listened to my heart and lungs using a compact stethoscope that she had kept in her pocket. She took blood and asked questions about my general health. After a while, the standard checkup routine relaxed me to the point where my hands unclenched. Wells had retreated to the door I assume to make sure that I couldn’t escape.

After about a half-hour, Strick rose abruptly. “One last bit of unpleasantness, then you’re free to go.” I looked up suspiciously. “You missed the contractual deadline, then arrived here late after Mr. Welles made special arrangements to accommodate you.” Fear started to bloom in my mind as I saw where she was leading. “You need to understand that such things are not tolerated any more. Intellectual understanding is insufficient, you must understand with every fiber of your being. Perhaps after you are punished tonight, we will not have to remind you of your obligations tomorrow.”

I was shaking my head and backing towards the door before I even realized I had left my chair. Strick sighed and shook her head in exasperation. “Ms. Bunai. We can make this easy or we can make it hard. You will be spanked for your misbehavior. Cooperate, and in twenty minutes you will be on your way home with a few welts across your butt. If we have to force the issue, you will receive the full allowable punishment, with a mandatory repeat performance tomorrow to remind you of the importance of your participation in the rehabilitation process.”

My backward progress halted suddenly as I backed into John Welles. I spun in shock and found myself looking at two really large arms crossed in front of an equally massive chest. After a step back, I was able to look up into a handsome face set with very firm resolve. “But wait,” I stammered, “you don’t have to spank me. I know I’ve done some pretty stupid things, and I really want to change. But this really isn’t necessary, I am a responsible adult and...”

“Give it up, Ms. Bunai,” Welles said quietly. “You know that you won’t carry through unless you are forced to. I will not kill you. I will not maim you. But I will spank you so that the lesson will sink in past your habits.”

“You are out of options, Ms Bunai,” Stricks voice said behind me. “Either you will prepare yourself for your spanking, or I will have you arrested. Now. You have two minutes to get undressed and have your nose in the corner.” I turned my head to stare at her as she held up a stopwatch and clicked the timer. “One minute, fifty-five seconds,” she said conversationally. I looked from her to Welles, desperately looking for a sign that this was some elaborate joke. “one minute, forty-five seconds.”

Welles looked down at me compassionately. “Anne, you know that you won’t change unless someone forces you to it. Haven’t you proven that to yourself again and again? You mean to change, but don’t quite get around to it. This will cure that.” He gave a sad little smile. “Guaranteed.”

Those blue eyes drilled into mine. “Make your decision, Anne. Change all those bad habits that keep you unhappy or continue to ruin your life. It has to be your choice.”

I thought back to all those times I had messed up. Sometimes it only hurt me. Other times, it had really hurt other people, too. I realized that I wanted it to stop. No more guilt. No more missed chances. No more hurt expressions on my friends’ faces. They were right about one thing, though. I did need help. Suddenly, I made the decision to get the help, even if it meant...

I turned abruptly and walked over to the counter I saw in the video and reached behind me to unbutton my skirt. With Strick’s monotone calling out the seconds, I quickly removed my skirt, nylons and panties and walked over to the corner. Placing my feet on the painted marks on the floor, the enormity of my commitment hit me like an avalanche. My bottom and legs sprouted goose bumps and my face broke out in a sweat. Just as I was starting to reconsider, a warm hand gently touched my shoulder.

“It’s okay Anne.” The warm voice whispered into my ear. “We’ll help you get better.”

Those kind words were enough to burst the dam of suppressed emotion, and tears began to course down my face. After a quick squeeze to my shoulder, Welles left me to contemplate my fate and cry for all the lost chances.

I don’t know how long I stood in the corner, crying. It seemed to be forever, until Ms. Strick’s voice woke me from my reveries. “It’s time, Ms Bunai. Please come with me.” Suddenly, I wasn’t sure that I wanted to leave the security of my failings.

With her hand firm on my arm, I turned and walked over to what I had thought of as the proctology couch. Numbly, I climbed up onto the step and bent forward onto the padded surface. The pressure of the restraining bar against my ankles made my heart start in fear. Strick moved near my head and touched my arm. She gestured that I should put my wrists into the restraining cuffs in front of me. The tears started anew as I understood that I must make the decision to cooperate in my own punishment. Slowly, I pushed my hands through the padded restraints and Strick tightened them around my wrists.

I looked around the room for the broad-shouldered security of Welles. When I found him, though, I felt less secure than ever. My gut wrenched as I watched him pick up the strap lying on the instrument table. My wide, terrified eyes followed him as he turned and moved into position beside me. I heard Strick on the other side of me, then the sound of a switch clicked into position. Suddenly, the table began to rotate, bringing my naked buttocks high into the air and lowering my head.

“Ms Bunai” Welles said from his position near my upended bottom. “Why are you being spanked tonight?” My mouth opened and closed several times, but no sound emerged.

“Come now, Ms Bunai”, Strick said impatiently. “Each client must understand, and be able to explain in his or her own words, the actions that have lead to each punishment session. If the client does not understand why the punishment is occurring, then they cannot modify their behavior to avoid future sessions. What are the specific actions that led you to these consequences?”

This was worse than mortifying. Not only were they going to strap my bottom, but also I had to explain why it was necessary for them to do it. My bare bottom tingled, and I tensed as if I could stop this inevitable process. Closing my eyes tightly, I shook my head, unable to say the words that would start my punishment.

Footsteps sounded, moving closer. A strong hand reached under my lowered head and gently raised my chin. I opened my eyes to see Welles standing before me with a slight frown on his face. “A small delay to build up your courage is acceptable. Defiance is not acceptable, and would add substantially to your punishment.” His eyes bored into mine. “Which is it, Ms Bunai?” he asked softly.

“Please...” I whimpered. When his frown became more pronounced, and his eyebrow raised slightly, I started babbling. “No, please, wait I...uh... am... uh... being punished because um... I messed up my Visa. Payment and our... um, appointment and I need to learn... how to uh... be responsible”

Welles nodded once, then turned to Strick. “That will be acceptable this time.” Strick said, making notations on her clipboard. “Responses were barely within tolerances for a new client. Please be more prompt with your responses in the future.”

I nodded my head as Welles again moved into position. He looked over to Strick questioningly. I turned my head in time to see her nod her head. I heard a brief whistle of air, then –

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