Monday, December 28, 2015

The Perils of Panties" a Story by George

The following is entirely made up. That is, it didn’t happen. And while one of the characters may have a name like “Miss Jenn” this is only loosely based upon a real person. Grin. 

He knew it was wrong. From the first musky sweet smell. Breathing it in, he felt a small tingling in his balls. His eyes darted around the room. Her room. His heart beat faster. He hardened and rational thoughts disappeared. He didn't hear the door open behind him…
Her first reaction was disbelief, a moment of is-this-happening surrealism. Anger  roared up behind her confusion. Yes, those were the panties she had worn yesterday. The black polka dotted silk ones. For some reason she flashed back to Victoria's Secret, picking them out amongst the other flimsy scraps of lace and silk - the literal "secrets" of the fictional Victoria. And now the boy held this most intimate of secrets. Smelling her. She watched as his right hand drifted downward....
He didn't even realize when his hand unbuttoned his 501s. Nor when it slipped under the elastic of his boxer shorts. Maybe he noticed when it wrapped around his cock. He breathed deeply. A gentle tug. A rub around the head. There was a drop, silky and viscous. He breathed in more and hardened. He pulled it out, past his boxers, past the denim and buttons of his jeans. He wanted to taste. He parted his lips. His tongue slid forward...and he heard a hard, feminine voice...
"What the hell are you doing? Wait! Don't answer that! I can see what you're doing! Your little dick out, your nose stuck into the crotch of my panties! Do they smell good? Does it turn you on?"

And then her voice softened. Velvet. She slid over to him where he stood, rock solid, not moving. She reached around him. Her breasts pressed into his back, nipples hardened and she now whispered.

"Does the small of my panties turn you on? Do they make you hard?"

It had started with him breathing. But since she entered the room. Since she caught him in this most personal invasion of her privacy, he couldn’t breathe.
Her left arm curled around him. She too her right and pushed the panties deeper on to his nose, smothering him.
She whispered again. “Take a deep breath. Smell me. This is as close as you’re ever going to get to my pussy.”
He felt the warmth of her breath as it ticked his ear, skipping lightly across his check. He breathed in deeply. Her scent, the secret scent of her womanhood filled him. The pungent smell of pussy and sweat, the tightness of her holding him, the softness of her breasts and the firmness of her hips against him became his world. Nothing else mattered and time stopped outside of their tight cocoon. He closed his eyes and breathing in again, the memory of her whispered breath upon his ear, he saw the folds of her sex, pink, inviting and never to be his. It was so close to him, and yet light years away. 

He almost missed her next whisper. 

"I am going to spank you so long, so hard, and so painfully you won't sit down for a week. And then I'm going to spank you again. And again after that."
She pulled the panties from his face. She removed his hand from his rigid cock, wincing a bit at his HER BEDROOM, no she did so. She spun him and looked him in the eye.

"You can leave your pants down, naughty boy, you won't be needing them for a while,” she said. 

She then reached up and, grabbing his ear as though he were a small child yanked him toward the door leading to herapartment's small living room.

Shooting pain filled his ear as he tottered along as best he could, his pants falling to his ankles as they moved. She smiled and yanked harder, and she picked up a small dime from a dish as they crossed into the living room. 

His mind was a whirl of thoughts - he'd been caught, he was going to be spanked...spanked, imagine that, and what  does a dime have to do with a spanking? His ear hurt. His penis betrayed him, wobbling and bobbing in the air as she, panties in hand, dragged him over to a wall.
How angry was she? He had violated her privacy, smelled her "secret," he was masturbating in her room. She had a vision of him reaching his apogee and a ruined pair of panties. She decided she was furious. She looked down at his erection. Maybe she', she thought she wasn't angry enough for that....but she considered it once more....
She pushed him up to the living room wall, her hands guiding him up to within inches. Taking the dime she placed it against the wall at the level of his hips, holding it in place with the tip of her finger. With her other hand she pushed him up to the wall such that the head of his erect penis touched the dime.

"Lean in naughty boy. You're to hold that dime in place with your....ughh....with that obscene thing of yours. If I hear it drop, I will add 50 strokes of the cane to what normally would have been the end of your punishment."

She stepped back. "Do you understand me?"
" ma'am." He stuttered.

SPLAT!!! Her hand met his pale ass. He jerked and the dime fell to the floor. 

"That's Miss Jenn!" she growled. "And it looks like you've earned another 50 strokes of the cane. Now pick up the dime and put it back. If you let it fall again it’s another 50."

And with that, she took a small bit of mercy and put the panties over his head so the crotch covered his nose. "This should help you stay hard," she said as she left the room.
She wanted him to worry. To wait. To hear the dime drop again. She leaned back against her headboard and reached into the top drawer of the bedside table.
Please don't drop....please don't drop...please don't drop...where was she?
When she was done, she slipped back into the living room. Silently she opened her ottoman and pulled out four items: 

A thick, mean leather strap
A large wooden paddle
A beloved antique hairbrush (oh, the tales it could tell of naughty bottoms throughout the decades, but that's another story)
And finally, a wicked school cane

She looked up at him, his erection ling gone, his body pressed tightly against the wall.

"Do you like humping my wall? The way you act toward women, that's the only fucking you're probably going to get,” she said. 

She paused. "Well Mr. Panty Sniffer, it’s time to teach you a lesson you won't EVER forget."
He shuffled over to where she was sitting on a futon she'd folded down. His heart thumped and he was certain she could hear it in the silence if the room. In her hand was the hairbrush.

"Normally I'd give this brush to you and tell you to ask me for a spanking. Because of what you did..."

She didn't finish, instead just yanking him down over her lap, fury building in her. She brought the brush down as hard as she could (her personal trainer would be proud) against his too pale bottom. 

"And normally I'd start somewhat gently..."

SPLAT SPLAT SPLAT SPLAT faster and faster and faster and again and again and SPLAT SPLAT

She was panting as she spoke, "...a warm up of break you into the idea of your spanking...but I am PISSSED!!!

SPLAT SPLAT SPLAT SPLAT faster and faster and faster and again and again and SPLAT SPLAT
She made the brush dance. His butt turned pink. Then red. Then splotchy. And still she brought it down again and again. When he struggled off her lap, she stopped, panting and ordered him back over her shapely thigh. She locked him down with her other leg and started the dance again. He gasped for breath, each one flavored by her scent as he took gulps of air through the panties.
Finally, mercifully she stopped. The old clichés held true--his but felt as if on fire. But she wasn't done.
As her breathing slowed, as his slowed, she ordered him up. Again, grabbing his ear, she pulled him to the wall once more. It hurt him to walk. She put his hands on the wall. She placed his feet a shoulders width apart and angled each foot in 45 degrees. 
"Stay. I'll be back."
She returned shortly and swished the cane in the air. It cut and whistled its song of absolute and total correction. She smiled remembering him with her purloined panties. She smiled as he trembled. 
"Are you felling punished naughty boy?"

"Yes Miss Jenn," he choked out. 
"Very good panty sniffer. Are you still enjoying the smell? Enjoying me? Answer me honestly, or it will go even worse for you."
"Yes Miss Jenn....I am enjoying it,” he said. 
"Good. Tell me how I smell to you naughty boy,” she commanded. 
"You smell like a goddess." He stammered. "You..." he hesitated.
"Go on."
"You...I want to give you pleasure."
The cane screamed through the air and made contact with his throbbing, red ass. 
"That, naughty boy will NEVER happen."
Two more screams of the cane. Each followed by a splat as it connects and draws a line of fire across his ass. 
"Now let me tell you what will happen. I am going to cane you. As hard as I possibly can, and I will show you no mercy. It is what a panty sniffer such as yourself deserves. You...."
The cane screamed again.
"...invaded my privacy with your behavior. Now the cane is the most British of disciplinary instruments, and as such, there are many rituals and protocols associated with it. I want you to know, what I'm doing now....
Another scream of the cane.
" simply out of my own anger at you for your transgression. Your actual caning hasn't even begun yet."
Two more screams of the cane. Two more lines of fire, these intersecting the previous welts. 
"Now as I was saying, the cane comes with ritual. For whatever reason, the Brits like to cane in groups of six...six, twelve, twenty-four, forty-eight, etc. I have no idea why. Do you know why?"
"No Miss Jenn."
"No, you don't. But you will learn of the cane today. You will learn of the special kiss it gives naughty boys."
Another scream of the cane, followed immediately by his scream.
"No, boy...we mustn't have neighbors." With that she took the panties off of his head, bunched them up and shoved them in his mouth. 
"So today, you are going to get twelve of the best. You can handle that, right? Just twelve?" 
He shook his head. 
"Oh, shouldn't have gone into my room, found my used and smelly panties and played with yourself. This really is all your fault."
She held out a dime, and his erection long gone, put it on the wall and pushed his nose onto it."
"Hold that there, and get up on your toes. Take your right hand off the wall, and put it on your penis. Now here is the way this is going to work. I am going to give you your twelve. You will thank me after each one. You are to count each one and say, 'thank you Miss Jenn for so thoroughly punishing me for sniffing your panties, I would like another and would you please, please, please make it harder than the one before?' If you forget to count or get one word wrong, say you forget one of the "pleases" we will start back at one, and I will add an additional two strokes. Likewise, if you drop the coin, remove your hand from your penis, or come down off of your toes, I will begin again at one and add an additional two strokes."
She looked at him. 
"Do you understand?"
"Yes Miss Jenn." His feet were already feeling the stress of standing on his toes. 
"Good. Repeat what I just told you."
He stammered, but got through it. 
"Very well...we shall begin."
The cane screamed again.

He lost count. Even though that was the point of it all. The counting. Getting to 12 was almost impossible given her conditions. How many caresses of her cane? At least 50. Maybe 60.

She was speaking, but he barely registered her very satisfied voice. "Now my naughty panty sniffer, it’s time to meet my new "naughty seat" and write some lines. You know, so the correction really sinks in."
He hobbled over to where Jenn stood by a chair. A coir doormat, its rough, abrading fibers reaching up ready to meet his throbbing ass sat in the chair’s seat. He reached down and touched them. Very rough. 
Jenn noticed, “That’s from husks of coconut. I’ve never sat on this, but I can’t imagine it would feel very good on an un-spanked bottom, much less one that is halfway through your punishment. And just to make it more interesting….”
He looked down to see her holding a small, innocent looking spray bottle. Two pumps. A fine mist floated through the air, hitting his bottom which exploded in twin fireballs of pain. 
“…rubbing alcohol.” 
She pushed him down onto the seat. And he knew he was learning a lesson he would never, as long as he lived, forget. 
“You will write 100 times, ‘I am a panty-sniffer, who put my own onanistic lusts above common courtesy and decency, and I promise never to do it again.” 
He didn’t know what ‘onanistic’ meant. 
It was, he thought, the worst 53 minutes and 47 seconds of his life. That was until Jenn “graded” is handiwork. 
“For each line that I deem of lacking quality, either for bad penmanship, spelling or other errors, you will receive one spank from the strap,” she said. 
His eyes grew wide when they fell upon the strap—a foot and a half long, two inches wide, perhaps a quarter inch thick, it was a terror of black leather punishment. 
Jenn shook her head. “I should get the soap. You’ve learned your lesson when I say you’ve learned it.” She bent him over the chair. “Wait here, it will just take me a moment to correct these.”
The total number from the strap? Thirty-nine. Thirty-nine blowsof agony, full-force, as hard as she could swing. He broke position three times and three times she gently moved him back into place. When it was over, he was lost. In his own suffering. In his own repentance. In his own shame. She gave him a few moments, and when she spoke it was with gentleness and compassion. 
George, I think you’ve learned your lesson, but you see there is one spanking implement left.”
His gaze fell upon the heavy hardwood paddle in her hand. 
“And how we use it is up to you,” she continued.
Somehow he counted its dozen drilled holes. 
“I want you to apologize to me for violating my privacy, smelling my panties and attempting to masturbate, and then I want you to ask me to paddle you. I want you to feel your guilt and tell me a number. That number can be anything you’d like, and they will be the final spanks today. After that, you will be forgiven.” 
He didn’t think his bottom could take anymore. But then he looked into her eyes. 
“Remember, you still have 50 of the cane. But we can do that tomorrow.”
“Miss Jenn, what I did was wrong. So, so, so very wrong. I disrespected you. I got into your private and intimate things. I was using them…you know…to masturbate with…and I am so ashamed. You were right to punish me as you have, and you’re right, I’ll never forget it. I want you to paddle me…”
The clock in the hall recorded the seconds, one after the other, until he finally finished his sentence. 
“…one hundred times.”

1 comment:

  1. Thanks for sharing the story with us. It takes courage to put yourself out there, even in something fictional. Bravo!