An anonymous reader writes:

I write face flushed, fingers trembling, breath heaving, slick cunt aching, and clit throbbing. I’m perched atop my own panty pulling chair, toes brushing against the floor, anticipation and just a hint of trepidation, making my tummy flip.

What better place to write a review of your story, typing out my own little essay after engaging in some scandalous little touches, my cunt wet, but not yet satisfied, making me desperate for any contact against my swollen little button. I wear a cheeky grin, delighting in my predicament.

Before I began reading the story I was forced to admit to that I had neglected to keep my mound bare and smooth. Swift punishment was required, and I took it upon myself. I spanked myself with my wooden ruler, 4 minutes over the corner of my bed, legs wide to show off my unkempt cunt as I whined into the pillows, hard whacks raining down. Sniffling, I shuffled into the bathroom to make myself smooth.

Then I read The Sit-Down Dance.

And now I’m going to write an essay, telling you what I thought of it. I’m going to write it whilst having my panties pulled, with a sore spanked bottom. I practically feel like I’m in the discipline room with Alice, Pansy, and Marian. I vaguely wondered what my own red bordered card would say.

My Name

Unkempt Cunt

or perhaps,

My Name

Lacks Self Discipline

There are so many possible ways I could find myself in the dreaded Punishment Room.

I’ve taken a picture of my panty-pulling chair… my red knickers tied to the back, which I’m about to put on. Notice the four pillows I’ll be pulling away during the course of my very own Sit-Down Dance, along with the ruler that’s already stung my bare bottom.

image

I’m grinning to myself again, thinking about my parallel to the story once more. Once my time in the chair is over, my panties too, are going to be pulled down. I’ll be scrutinized, my face will flush and I’ll feel embarrassed… and then I’ll be put to bed. Where it’s inevitable my clever fingers will wander once more, and I’ll come hard. With an aching stripe and a very sore bottom…


But first, my essay. I’m sitting on my chair, my panties tied to its back. I’ve set a timer, giving myself the same
thirty minutes the other girls received. Then, with a cocky little toss
of my long tresses over my shoulder, I remove the first pillow, and
begin my essay in earnest…

This first part of the story ended up being better than I could have possibly imagined. It gave me all the naughty thrills I was hoping for… and more. I was so so curious how this story was going to be told. There were hints and clues you left, but every bit of this story was a thrilling, engaging surprise.

I decided I was in the mood to be a little scandalous, and curled up in bed naked to read this story. Bare slit caressed by the soft satin of my sheets. Sore bottom pressed firmly on my mattress. A lingering reminder of my naughtiness.

Immediately my interest was piqued at the mention of the red bordered cards, and the sit down dance. I’m quite familiar with the “bend over dance”, so this was something new I was quite eager to read more about.

I read with rapt attention as Alice described the Punishment Room. I almost forget about the delicious sensations I was feeling beneath my sheets. I was drinking in the details of the room… large, intimidating, yet intimate… the turgid emotions invoked filling the space, making the room feel small. I imagined it would feel as if one would be unable to keep any secrets hidden for long.

I found myself intrigued by the other two girls in the room, curiosity building at their misdemeanors.. Hoping I’d learn more about how they earned the labels on their cards. My experienced fingers slipped beneath my sheets, and slid slowly against my skin, leaving electric little tingles in their wake.

I’m so naughty. I deserve to lose another pillow.

I felt my cheeks color at the mention that no girls could leave the punishment room, not even to relieve themselves. I felt the heady mix of shame and arousal at the thought of begging for permission to go.. even if it meant I’d have to do it in front of everyone. My fingers slipped lower, and I read on.

As the headmistress began the punishment, I couldn’t help but start to rub. The comments she made, subtle jabs at the girls and their misbehavior, had me squirming. I imagined myself in their place. The shame and undeniable arousal pooling between my legs, as my panties were pulled down and I was chided. My breath caught in my throat as I read the words “discipline makes girls wet”. I rubbed a little more urgently, my fingers coated with my arousal. From personal experiences, I have to agree.

I forced myself to slow my rubbing and read on, bent on riding the edge, and not tumbling into bliss quite yet. The description of the whacks of each girl made me moan. I found myself spreading my legs wider, now slipping a finger inside. I thrust my fingers inside of myself as I read about the bench… and the nefarious lever.

I writhed on my back, appreciating the ingenuity of this particular instrument of correction. I imagined the inevitable pull. The agonizing slow tilt, the building pressure, the futile little kicks of dangling feet, dancing on air, hoping for relief as the thin stripe burns hotly between legs. What delicious imagery. I wanted to come, oh I wanted to rub my clit until I came hard against my fingers, panting and satisfied. But it wasn’t time… not yet.

My third pillow falls to the ground. My own feet are dangling now. It feels so sore, but so, so good.

Actually getting to read the essays written by the girls was an unexpected treat. And I loved it. As much as I enjoyed reading everything prior, I think the little essays of confession, and the headmistress’s reactions to them, were my favorite part. Gleaning insight into each character. Each essay written in a slightly different style, the characters’ voices began to come alive in my mind.

At this point, I couldn’t stop squirming, my clit throbbed insistently between my legs, begging for attention as I read through the thoughts of each naughty girl. Interested in Pansy’s contrite words, intrigued by Marian’s secret desires, and then Alice. Oh Alice. A smirk formed as I read her cheeky, mocking words. They got me wet. I was utterly soaking. The scenarios, and naughty words made me groan and blush, and plead to the empty room to be allowed to come. I found myself adoring her willfulness. Even after it all, she remained bold. I found myself yearning to know how the headmistress would react. A tantalizing battle of wills, disciplinarian and willful brat. I’m aching to know more…

This has taken me much more than 30 minutes to write. I found myself distracted by the insistent aching between my legs. I couldn’t stop whining and moving, desperate for release. Imagining I was feeling exactly what the girls were feeling. Desperately typing as I my last pillow and my panties were pulled painfully tight. It felt incredible. It was true immersion into the story, and I have loved every single minute of it. The agony of being allowed to touch, but not to tip over while reading your vivid, captivating words… and then the agony of my panties being pulled as I wrote my own confessions… I’m actually having trouble fully articulating how much I enjoyed this naughty activity.

And now, it’s time for me to release myself from my terrible chair, and pull down my panties to reveal my little red stripe. I can feel my cheeks heating up once more… embarrassed to be exposed. But so, so eager for what happens after. I think I’m going to read Alice’s confession again. And come hard as I read her willful, brazen words.

Thank you for such an incredible beginning to an assuredly satisfying and salacious tale!

And thank you for inspiring such a fun, scandalous activity, Sir! I enjoyed it so, so much 🙂


Thank you, dear reader, for your wonderful write-up! It’s always delightful to hear how these stories are enjoyed, and your use of the panty-pulling chair must have made this particularly immersive! And you will enjoy the finale, believe me.

I wonder if other readers have done their very own Sit-Down Dance?