The Retrodresser Pt. 01

Out of the quiet, I heard his voice. It was rough, throaty.

"Lift it," he said. It startled me, because other than his whispers and hmm's he hadn't spoken for some minutes.

I froze momentarily, and started to turn my head to look at him; "No," he said, "I told you face the sofa, didn't I."

"Yes sir," I said, stopping my head in mid turn, "But you also said to look at you when you spoke to me."

"Don't get wise, girl, you're in enough trouble. You will follow one instruction at a time."

"Yes sir," I stood still, my ankles crossed, my legs straight, my skirt hem held in the fingers of both hands.

"Go ahead," he said.

"Sir?"

"Lift it."

I moved my hands a few inches, spreading my skirt to the sides. Opening the pleats. I began my little leg and hip movements again. I heard him gasp a little.

"Yes," he said. "Lift your skirt for me, Doris."

I shook my head a little, but I still held the skirt, without lifting it, as I slowly moved my body. "Sir?" I said, "Please, I..."

I was beginning to wonder if this was the whole thing; would he watch me, and masturbate, and send me home?

"Pull up your skirt, Doris. Lift the back, yes, I want to see your panties..."

I giggled and let go of my hem, and swished my hips again, letting the skirt swing and brush my thighs. Then I put my hands up on my head, piling up my hair again. "Okay," I said.

"—your garters," he continued, "The welt of those seamed nylons."

I let my hair fall and gave it a toss, and peeked back at him. He was still stroking himself in his underpants.

"You brazen girl," he said.

"Yes sir," I said. I slid my hands down to my hips again. I slid them down further and stopped.

"Doris, lift your skirt," he said. "Show me your panties. It's time for your spanking."

"No," I said. I smoothed my skirt, held my hem down. "You already spanked me. I thought you liked me." My knees began to tremble.

"That was just a momentary correction. Now, lift it." His voice was more commanding now. It sounded like he was losing some of his patience.

I sniffled. Looking down, I began to slowly raise the back of my skirt.

"I do like you, Doris. But you've been very bad. It is because I like you that I'm willing to discipline you."

I knew he could see my stocking tops, my garters. I looked back at him, and lifted it higher. I felt so small. Had I really felt any sense of power at all, just a minute ago?

"Your panties are very pretty. I saw them before, but just for a moment. Now lift your skirt and prepare to be spanked, Doris."

I pulled up the back of my skirt. "Oh yes, pretty panties, Doris," he said. "In a minute I'm going to spank your bottom, and turn it pink, and warm. I'm going to spank you hard, because you have been very bad."

"Please don't spank me too hard, Sir," I said.

He sighed. "Listen very carefully, now, Doris," he said. He was moving, I could hear indications. I heard his desk creak, and then a little tinkling sound, his belt buckle rattling. Then I heard the zipper again. "Pull down your panties," he said.

"I don't want to," I said. "Can't you just spank me like this, sir?" I pulled my skirt a little higher. I shifted my weight from foot to foot again, and looked at him over my shoulder.

His pants were closed, his zipper up, his belt fastened. And he was walking briskly toward me. He meant business, I could see. His face was set, frowning, but smiling too in a grim way. I shuddered. Afterward a lingering tremble shook my shoulders.

He was coming to spank me. And somehow, I knew, he was going to spank me hard.

He was very close to me, suddenly. I dropped my skirts, but didn't know what to do with my hands. He stood right behind me, and put his hands on my waist. He pulled me back, but he was so close, I couldn't move my feet. My balance was gone. I felt weak, completely in his control. I moaned, and took a deep, moaning breath. He stopped pulling me back, and reached down and lifted my hems again, pushing up the back of my slip and my skirt, then holding them up, both his hands gripped my waist again. I felt his breath on the back of my neck, but what made me shudder, almost convulsively, was how he pulled me close, pulled me into his arms, and held me close so that I could feel him against my bottom. Through the thin satin nylon of my panties I could feel him, his thighs and hips against my bottom, but more than just his thighs and hips I felt a hardness in the middle, and this was where the focus of feeling was, mine and his. He slid his hard erect penis against my bottom.

There was cloth, three layers, my panties, his khakis, his underpants in between, but in a way this...this frictionlessness from the fabrics sliding on fabrics...made the feeling even more electric. Very slightly, he moved against me, and I felt his hardness pressed, sliding left, then right against my bottom cheeks, then nestling between them, as he spoke softly but firmly into my ear; "You will listen, Doris, and do as you are told," he said. Then he slowly slid his hips against my bottom, directly forward.

My cheeks parted slightly under the pressure, and I felt his push against my panties, the upright shape of his penis forcing the satin of my panties between my bottom cheeks, forcing them—me— slightly open. "You are being a very bad girl," he whispered. "But I'm going to make you be a good girl, for me, Doris."

I remained standing, my weight back, pressed against him. I said nothing. I was frozen, I actually couldn't speak, but I think he was waiting for a reaction.

He backed away slightly, gently set me forward, letting me regain my balance. Then he moved to my left, facing my left side and still very close, and placed his left hand on my hip, holding my bunched skirts up. "Look at me," he said. Trembling slightly, my face near breaking into a sob, I turned my head and looked into his eyes.

His right hand moved swiftly behind me. Then, he spanked me. His right hand swung sharply back against my bottom, on my panties. It made me jump slightly. It was a hard spank, and the sound was loud, a cracking slap, and I cried out, "Ohh," and it forced my breath out of me, carrying the sound out as a true moaning cry.

"Won't you Doris," he said, as he spanked me again, just as hard. "Won't you be a good girl?"

He spanked me again, and again, all on the left cheek of my bottom, on my panties, and I stood there, him looking me in the eye, me looking at him, waiting for him to spank me again.

He spanked me again. He started spanking me once every second. "Doris, answer me," he said, spanking again, repeatedly, once for each word. "Will you follow my instructions? Will you be a good girl? Will you do as I say?"

I had to find my voice, I had to say something.

He increased the pace. He spanked me harder. He paused for a second, as if expecting me to answer. Then he resumed, and I was shocked anew as the spanking began landing on my right cheek. He was swinging his hand hard, fast, and my right cheek stung and bounced in my panties, I could feel my flesh moving and rebounding, the skin warming. "Speak to me, Doris," he said.

I took a breath. I sobbed. I managed to whine, "Yes!"

He paused for just an instant. I almost relaxed. I had said it.

Then he spanked me again, and again, and again, now alternating, one cheek then the other, over and over, and finally said, "Yes? Yes, what, Doris?"

I began to cry. I sobbed. I actually cried. And I said, sobbing, "Yes, sir."

But he still wasn't finished. "Yes sir, What?" He slid his hand down my bottom, and began to spank me below my panties, on my upper thighs, 2, 3 spanks on the left thigh, then the same on the right, and back.

"Yes sir," I moaned. "I will listen." The thigh spanking stopped.

His hand slid back upward, moving across my bottom, then sliding over my left cheek, then my right. He was cupping me, feeling the heat of soreness through my panties, groping my bottom cheeks. I whimpered He took his left hand off my left hip and reached across my front and grasped my right hip and pulled me to him, all the while sliding his hand on my bottom, feeling me, so that I felt it through my panties, his hard hand, moving softly against my sore, soft, warm bottom. Then I cried out as he spanked my bottom again, especially hard. And again. And again. At the end of my cry I found my voice again;

"I will obey," I said.

My voice was shaky.

"What?" he said. He held me close, and spanked me again. And again.

I sobbed. I took a big breath. "I will obey," I said, stronger.

"Good," he said. He relaxed his hold a little. He backed away from me half a step. I relaxed a little too. My skirt and slip fell back into place, and I put my face in my hands and cried.

He slid his hand up my skirt and I felt his palm on my bottom. His hand was up my skirt between my skirt and my slip, so the silky satin was between his hand and my panties. "Very warm, Doris," he said. "Even through your slip and your panties." He squeezed my left cheek, then ran his palm and fingers up and down both cheeks of my bottom. He increased the pressure of his palm on my bottom, and the satin material of my slip slid over my satiny panties as his hand moved. I shuddered, the silky sliding of cloth on cloth gave me an electrical feeling; perhaps there was even a little static generated that contributed.

"You like it, Doris?" he said. "Does it feel good?" I moaned. "I thought so," he said. He pushed my slip up. He let it fall again, and I felt it swish on my thighs. I felt his fingers slide down, down the back of my slip. His fingers toyed with my hems, his hand playing, feeling, roaming. Then he swiftly reached his hand right up inside my slip this time, felt my bottom, my panties, then slid his hand down the backs of my thighs, palming my bare legs between my panties and my stockings.

"Tell me." he said.

My face still in my hands, I said, "I like your hand on my bottom, sir. I like it when you reach up my skirt."

"Look at me," he said. I took my hands from my face and looked at him.

As he slid his hand up and down from my stockings to my panties, he said, "I need you to work hard, and to listen, and do what you're told, Doris."

"Yes sir," I said, and our eyes met, and he smiled. Then he looked down, and slid his left hand up the front of my skirt, running his palm and fingers up the front of my left thigh.

"Lift your skirt for me," he said. I started to reach behind me, and he shook his head. I slid my hands down the front of my skirt. He nodded. Feeling his hand on my thigh underneath, I lifted the front of my hem.

"Oh, Doris, I see that you do, indeed, like it, don't you."

I looked down, and saw the front of my panties at the bottom where they covered my swollen mound—they were moistened and a little more darkened there than where they were dry. I watched his left hand move slowly up my left thigh, then touch the lace that trimmed the edges of my panties. His fingers toyed with the lace for a moment, then he slipped just two of his fingers under the lace band and slid them up and down. I felt his fingertips in my pubic hair. Along the edge of my labia. He slipped two more fingers in under the leg elastic. I moaned and swayed, my knees growing weak.

"Doris?" he was waiting for me to answer.

I squirmed as my labia swelled again and further moistened my panties. His hand was so close to my moistness, but not touching it. His fingers brushed against the side of my labia; so lightly all I could feel was the tips of his fingernails.

"Yes sir, it—" I gasped as his fingers splayed and then trilled briefly across my wetness, "—.feels good."

He slid his fingers out of my panties again, ran his hand down my thigh, then back up. He was watching my face. Very, very slowly, very lightly, his fingers moved from my thigh, to the lace edge of my panties again, then across the front. Without actually touching nylon, his index finger moved down the front panel of my panties to the center of my panty crotch, hovering over the area where my inner labia and my clit were swelling up. It was odd, even though he wasn't touching me, I could feel his fingers right there, like a magnetic force field or something. Then he touched the nylon, very briefly, right there, and I moaned again, and twitched. I felt his finger on the front of my panties, and the ball of his left thumb just below, right at the bottom of my panty crotch where the nylon was narrowest.

Finger and thumb dug in ever so softly, yet insistently, fingertip pushing moistened satin in between my swollen lubricated labia, thumb pinching softly down toward where my clit was unhooding itself at the top of the wet trench. Closed over the top of it through my panties, his hand still moving softly. I couldn't help myself and exhaled a moan when his thumb reached the knob, still through the panty nylon, and he noticed my reaction, and paused, then moved his thumb back and forth, very gently, pushing the shiny satin this way and that over my slippery clit.

I moaned, and the moan caught in my throat, and came out in pieces with starts and stops of my breath.

He paused here, as if considering.

He moved to stand behind me once more. His slid his hands to my sides, my hips, then down to my thighs. He hugged me from behind, and again I could feel his closeness, his warmth; his rigidness through his pants, brushing up against the backs of my thighs, then between them, sliding against my skirt which in turn slid against the satin of my slip. I trembled and responded, again feeling that rhythm, and moving with it, my hips making a little circle against him. His hands tightened, then loosened again and swept upward over my hips and back down to grasp and swish my hem. He pulled it and my slip up, and I felt air on my thighs above the tops of my stockings.

He let the skirts drop again, and he spread his fingers and gently, briefly slid his right hand right up the front of my skirt, making me gasp as I felt his fingers momentarily on my inner right thigh where the skin was bare. Then he slid his hands up to my hips, then up across my breasts and down again. His palms slid down over my hips then past my hem, and I felt his hands up the back of my dress; he was pushing up my hems, of both the dress and slip. I felt him, the front of his pants up against my bottom. He was hard; again his bulge found the groove between my bottom cheeks as he slid my dress up, slid my slip up, and out of his way.

As he whispered in my left ear, he slid one hand up the backs of my thighs and down the back of my panties, his warm fingers slowly invading the waistband and cupping my bottom; "Listen carefully," he rasped. "Turn around, and remove my pants..." His other hand slid around the front, still under my dress, and caressed the front of my panties. He continued; "Then turn back around, kneel on the sofa, lift your dress, and pull your panties down."