Corner time for big baby

"Since you're so fond of making an entrance, why don't you show us a little something?" Jennifer suggested, her eyes gleaming with a sudden, mischievous spark. She stepped back, creating a wide circle in the center of the pink-hued room. The other girls followed suit, their faces shifting from boredom to anticipation. Vanessa blinked, confused and shivering. "What do you mean? Show you what?"

Jennifer’s smile didn't reach her eyes. "The 'Chicken Dance,' obviously. You know, the one where you flap your little wings and wobble your little hips? Since you're already dressed as a plucked bird, it seems only fitting."

Vanessa felt a surge of indignation, the old CEO fighting for a moment of dominance. "I am not doing some ridiculous—"

"Do it," Kelly interrupted, her voice cold and commanding. "Or we tell Matron Mary that you tried to fight us the moment she left the room. You know how she loves a 'behavioral incident' in the first ten minutes."

The threat worked. The memory of the soap and the cold, clinical finger of the nurse flashed through Vanessa's mind, and the defiance drained out of her. Slowly, trembling, she stepped into the center of the circle. She felt the weight of five pairs of eyes on her, recording every second of her degradation with predatory focus.

Vanessa began to sway, her movements stiff and awkward. She flapped her arms with a tentative, jerky motion, her face burning with a heat that could have melted steel. The girls didn’t laugh—not at first. They watched with a clinical, almost bored intensity, as if they were observing a failing experiment. Just as Vanessa reached the climax of the ridiculous dance, thinking she had satisfied their cruel whim, Jennifer stepped forward.

"Stop," Jennifer commanded.

Vanessa froze, her arms still mid-flap. "Is that enough?" she whispered, her voice cracking.

"Not even close," Jennifer replied, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous purr. "The form was pathetic. You’re doing it with the attitude of someone who thinks she’s doing us a favor. You’re not dancing for us, Vanessa; you’re performing an act of submission. And since you failed to convey the proper level of humility, you need a reminder of your current station."

Before Vanessa could process the shift in tone, Jennifer’s hand shot out, gripping Vanessa’s wrist and twisting her arm behind her back. With a sudden, expert leverage, Jennifer shoved Vanessa forward, slamming her chest-first across one of the neatly made beds. The impact knocked the wind out of her, leaving her splayed across the floral duvet, her backside thrust high into the air.

"Since you're so fond of acting like a bratty child, we'll treat you like one," Jennifer whispered, her breath hot against Vanessa’s ear. She didn't let go of the wrist, instead using her leverage to guide the shivering woman toward the far right side of the room. There was a specific area where the pink paint of the walls met in a sharp, ninety-degree angle, shadowed by a heavy velvet curtain. "Go to the corner, Vanessa. It's your corner time."

Vanessa tried to resist, her heels digging into the carpet. "You can't possibly—"

"Face the wall. Now!" Jennifer snapped, the sudden volume making Vanessa jump.

Stumbling and naked, Vanessa was pushed into the intersection of the walls. Jennifer positioned her with clinical precision, ensuring Vanessa’s nose was barely an inch from the wallpaper, forcing her to stare at the repetitive floral pattern until it blurred. "Arms up, palms against the wall. Feet together. If you move a single muscle before we tell you, we start the timer over from the beginning."

Vanessa obeyed, her chest heaving. The position was precarious and humiliating; she was bent slightly forward, her backside protruding prominently into the center of the room, serving as a fleshy target for the girls who had now circled around her like sharks. The silence that followed was worse than the mockery. She could hear the soft clicks of their tongues and the rustle of their clothing as they admired her vulnerability.