tagIllustratedThe Panty Perils of Me 07

The Panty Perils of Me 07

byHarleyFatboy1©



I am still literally vibrating (No, not with my massager) from last weekend.

Did I cross the line on prim and proper decorum for a mother of two? Absolutely not!

I leaped across it leaving the line in my wake of salacious desires and shameless activities.

As I am sitting at my desk at work I notice an email from an unknown address. It is addressed to me with my full name on it, so I open it.

It is a single photo of myself applying what looks like a death grip to Arnold's very in focus erection just as an endless stream of white liquid shoots from its tip.

Arnold's face is contorted in orgasmic agony, while I seem to be licking my lips.

The scene is so perfectly captured that I find myself there.

Every sound, every odor, every feeling is present again.

I force myself back to my current reality only to find one of my hands firmly gripping my crotch as a single bead of sweat rolls down between my breasts.

"I need to get a hold of myself." And then realize that I already have, but not in the way that I mean.

As I investigate a little further the email is from the Professor and it informs me that a fellow academic of his just happened to be at the Union last weekend and was able to capture some very interesting photos with his cell phone.

Both of them would like to meet me tomorrow for lunch at the park.

I can't say that I am outraged, panicky, or frightened.

I am certainly anxious about getting back with the professor, however if I have to pose for him and his friend, I am fine with that.

Surprisingly how much I have changed in the past few weeks.

I send the photo to my personal email address. I most certainly want to keep it.

I recently created a private email account to preserve the collection of photos that I now have, and find great enjoyment in looking through them; another big change for me.

.

The instructions are to appear at the park tomorrow afternoon at the entrance to one of the more secluded walking paths.

Tomorrow arrives and I make my way to the park knowing full well that I am going to be asked to strip for his salacious eyes once again. I have come to realize that his photos of me scantily clad aren't the real subject that he wants to capture. It is much more the look of humiliation and hopelessness that I wear on my face that seems to excite him.

Is this what excites me as well?

As I arrive at the entrance to the path, I am greeted by my voyeuristic neighbor and his friend.

His friend is very much like him; distinguished looking, intelligent, with a hint of lechery in his smile.

My stomach lurches at the sight of both of them.

Yesterday I thought that this wasn't any big deal, but now that I am here alone, my stomach is telling me something else.

Well standing there in front of both of them already feeling undressed, my neighbor smugly turns to his friend and says, "Go ahead, and tell her what to do. She will do as she is told."

I resent his implications but find no power to voice my complaint.

His companion is a bit more aggressive than himself and instead of telling me what to do; he walks over to me taking a hold of the front of my skirt and forcibly pulls the clasp apart which at the same time forces the teeth of my zipper to separate. His hand is just a mere inches from my nylon covered mound as he yanks my skirt down to my thighs while stating matter of factly, "Well, that was well worth the effort" as he stares at my bare stomach and lilac colored bikini panties.

I find myself frozen in place, as he has not only stripped me of my skirt, but of my dignity as well.

Why I stood there without voicing any objection to his actions is unexplainable to me. The fact that I found a warm liquid starting to develop between my legs made the experience even more humiliating.

The full realization that although I consider myself a very strong and independent woman, belies the fact that I still find myself totally submitting to these men; abandoning my own sense of identity to become their little playmate or pin up; accompanied by an almost unbridled excitement that inhabits my erogenous zones as I succumb to their prurient wishes.

My skirt finds its own way down the remainder of my bare legs and settles onto the crushed rock walking path.

I have brought my heels in a separate bag since I knew that it would be difficult for me to walk in them on this path and I didn't want to appear as if I purposely dressed for their pleasure.

I am told to put my heels on as they get their cameras ready. I try to change into my heels without exposing myself further, however my pair of very tight fitting panties slide up my cheeks with every little movement exposing my flesh well above my more modest tan lines.

Just a brief sidebar to the fit of a woman's panties; in this case mine.

After my second child was born, I worked very hard to lose the extra weight that I had gained and fully succeeded except for one aspect.

Many women find that after having children everything becomes a bit flatter and saggy.

In my own case my butt became rounder and a little bigger, changing how my undies fit me.

Now many of us are a little too obsessed with numbers and I just wasn't ready to move to a bigger size as I found the extra material to bunch up between my legs. I enjoyed how my usual smaller size fit.

Now instead of having full coverage on my backside, with only a little movement, the material slips up into my crevice turning my panties into a version of "cheekies"

And besides my husband tells me that I now have incredible panty lines.

The photo attached to this story should bear my explanation out.

Now aren't you glad that I stopped the story to explain this to you? J

I am instructed to assume various poses which essentially has me either sticking my booty out to their echo of lewd remarks about my very spankable cheeks or sitting as if being outside in a pair of teeny panties is a natural occurrence for me.

OK, OK, but considering that all of this has occurred in the last few weeks and I am 40 years old, it really hasn't been as common an occurrence as you would think.

When they are finished with my forced photo session a very uncomfortable silence comes over them and I sense that my little ordeal isn't quite over.

The professor's friend sits down on a wooden timber ledge and motions for me to approach him.

I would be extremely uncomfortable if I were fully dressed and the fact that I am almost naked form the waist down makes his request almost unbearable.

I look at the professor as my eyes plead for help, but to no avail.

He obviously knows what is about to happen next and is pleased about it.

I slowly walk towards his friend. As I get close enough for him to touch me, he takes a hold of my arm and pulls me forward until my panties are close enough for him to smell.

Why do these events excite me so much? I know that I am leaking with anticipation and have been since he pulled my skirt down.

He manually directs me placing my quivering body across his lap with my crawling up panties facing upward saying, "I have been wanting to do this ever since you took your skirt off."

"I took my skirt off? I want to scream. The way he yanked at the clasp and zipper I am not sure whether I will be able to wear it again.

My outrage is short lived as the first resounding smack of his bare hand across my ample cheek sends a bolt of pain and shame throughout my entire body. I arch my back squeezing my gluteal muscles together as tightly as possible letting out a yelp of surprise and utter disbelief.

His second smack lights up my other exposed cheek with more burning pain and despair.

The experience of being treated like a young schoolgirl while at the same time being ogled as a fully-grown woman creates such an erotic contradiction in my mind that I feel I am dreaming. Albeit a very naughty kind of dream that wakes me up all sweaty and extremely horny.

I kick my legs and cry out in pain totally mortified by my very public punishment, while his resounding smacks continue to rain down on my unprotected buttocks.

Once again the desire to be punished for my shameful nature floods through my brain while the vibration of each painful smack resonates throughout my body.

The pain and embarrassment act as a cleansing agent for my soul and I relish its intoxicating mixture.

As tears fill my eyes, I am no longer aware of the pain, however the continuous vibration of my spanked bare cheeks is radiating downward to a very sensitive area awakening my sex.

Another smack reigns down and I feel my fully swollen lower lips opening. My nipples and nub are at full attention.

In a vain attempt to stifle my building orgasm, I cross my legs squeezing my thighs together.

It only increases the unexpected stimulation.

I cry out again, but this time it is not the pain that echoes from my open mouth. It is my orgasm arriving in full force.

To the professor I probably look like an undressed woman having a seizure as I act like a fish out of water; flopping, rolling, and shaking on his friend's lap.

He stops spanking me, although I want more, and watches my entire body convulse in the throes of a most violent orgasm.

Saliva flies from my mouth as I gasp for air to support my spent muscles.

Tears flow freely from my eyes as a delicious post orgasmic energy passes through my body giving every muscle the ability to relax.

I hang limply from my spankers lap with my legs wide apart while my arms extend to the ground.

I can feel his own reaction to my lewd display as his erection pushes into my side.

I slowly rise from my spread position and stand drenched in sweat seeing both the professor and his friend with their eyes wide open and mouths agape.

I also notice that the Professor also sports a rigid tent pole in the front of his khakis.

No words are exchanged as we all knew what has just happened as the evidence is fully supported by a wet spot left on front of both my spanker's pants as well as between my legs.

I pick up my skirt and walk back down the path oblivious to my state of undress, get into my car, and sit for another 30 minutes before safety pinning my ripped zipper back together and returning to work.

I am asked why my face is so flushed and I try to explain that I might have gotten too much sun as I took a walk over the lunch hour.

As I sit and stare blankly at my computer screen an email from Jackie appears.

"My God, where is all of this taking me?"

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