An anonymous reader writes:

With butterflies in my tummy I climbed the stairs to my apartment, well
aware of what was waiting for me when I walked through the door.

It
sat innocuously in my bedroom. Polished wood gleaming in the last rays
of sun filtering through the windows. Upon its seat, four pillows, a ribbon and pair
of black lace fringed panties. If I was going to receive a stripe, I’d wanted to do it in style.

Cautiously I tip-toed
around the chair, nervous about doing the sit down dance. I took my time
undressing. Neatly hanging my work clothes in the closet. Eventually naked, and
resigned to my fate, I turned towards the chair and readied myself, pulling my black panties
snug against my slit, then taking my seat, and tying them firmly to the back of the chair.

The rules were to read the whole story, and take one cushion away each time I commenced a new part. Four parts, four pillows.

Removing the first
pillow, I relaxed back into the chair and began the introduction. My panties were tight against my
mound… but not unbearable. Perhaps this wouldn’t be as bad as I remembered.

Time
came for the second part. Panties snug against my bare slit, I squirmed
a bit. Color rising in my cheeks. At first I read casually.. but with
each little wiggle at the particularly salacious bits my panties were
tugged more firmly against my mound. My reading pace increased. A little
grin formed as Addison made her appearance, but soon my attentions
strayed back to the slowly increasing burn between my legs.

All
too quickly it was time for the third part. I whined to myself, now
reluctant to remove the next pillow. Chewing on my lip, I finally removed it, gasping as my panties were pulled tighter against my poor abused little
slit and bottom hole. I struggled not to move. It had now moved past
uncomfortable to painful. I read quickly, trying hard not to grind against
the cloth nestled roughly against my swollen clit. I was not convinced
increasing the burning ache of the stripe was quite worth the effort of
trying to rub my clit against the panties.

The
delicious scene with Penny soon appeared on my screen. My jaw hung loosely, I was nearly panting. I wanted to touch so, so badly.
I wanted to grind against the fabric until I came hard with my legs
wide open on the chair. But the stripe hurt. And I found myself doubting I’d be able make it through to the finale…

But I managed it, I finished Part three, and it was time to lose the final pillow. I almost
didn’t do it. I was so tempted to release myself, and try to soothe
the burning stripe away. But swallowing hard, I
removed the pillow. Quickly. Before I lost my nerve. I groaned loudly as
I settled back into the chair. I couldn’t stop the little whimpers, my
toes tapping on the floor as I dangled and my chest heaved.

The fabric was pulled
impossibly tight against my slit and bottom hole. I could barely stand it, and couldn’t linger. I began to read part four quickly, which immediately put me in a conundrum. The opening is deliciously wicked. I
wanted nothing more than to grind my clit against the cloth of the
panties, relieving the insistent little throbbing. But the intensity of
the burning stripe kept me still… yearning to be released.

I
couldn’t help fidgeting as I read more, the pace of my reading
continually increasing. Quiet whimpers fell almost continuously from
my pretty lips as I tried not to concentrate on the burning line
between my legs. Struggling to keep my concentration on your words, until suddenly, the end ambushed me. I was almost startled when I finished…
I’d been so focused on the fiery sensation between my legs.

I quickly untied myself from the chair and stood.. Suddenly filled with
trepidation once more. Pulling down my panties was going to hurt almost
as much as doing the sit down dance in the first place. Taking a deep
breath I slowly started to pull them down. I squeezed my eyes shut,
almost gasping as I felt them pull free.

Taking
a moment to savor the feeling between my legs, I remembered the last
thing I had to do before coming. Hard. To spread my legs wide and pose for my inspection. Now pink faced and embarrassed, sore and
wanton, I quickly slid my fingers to the place I’d wanted to rub
throughout the entire exercise of enduring having my panties pulled. I
groaned… I was so sore.. so wet… so eager to come… and yet it hurt
to rub.

My yearning for release prompted a fierce internal struggle, forcing me to
decide what I wanted more: to endure and come hard? Or to leave my
sopping slit alone, resigned to throb and ache beneath my sheets from
both the dreadful stripe and unsatisfied need?

It was almost an agonizing orgasm.
The soreness of the stripe and the eager desperation to come duelling
forces as I wrestled with the intense sensations brought about by touching my aching
folds.

I came hard. Roughly… forcefully… at times I wanted to
stop, my stripe aching just too much… and yet I couldn’t stop… the need to
come overruling my need to leave my abused little slit alone.

The next morning I woke to find my slit still tender.  Getting dressed I tried on several different types of panties, with even
the softest pair I own proving to be too sore. I resigned myself to
going to work without panties, only to find later, to my horror, that I was
also unable to sit comfortably with my legs primly closed.

In
some ways, I think that the stripe has more of an lingering impact than
a good spanking does. My thoughts were constantly on the soreness
between my legs.. of the heart pounding embarrassment of not being able
to keep my legs properly closed. I was forced into a quite indecent posture, one I was 
unable to keep hidden beneath my desk during several parts of my day.

I now appreciate why the sit down dance is such a devious punishment. A
spanking can be covered right up, but the stripe – the stripe is often
too tender for clothing to be brushing against it all day. Ensuring a
bare cunt is hidden just below the hem of one’s professional skirt.

Even now, I perch writing this in little more than a t-shirt, I’m trying
to keep from putting too much pressure on my poor sore slit. Yet despite my discomfort, I find myself very excited again. What a
delicious little predicament…


Thank you, dear reader, for a marvellous submission. A wonderful account of the joys and soreness of panty-panting.

I loved the next-day consequences, preventing the wearing of panties and the prim closure of legs. Forcing the adoption of a highly indecent posture at work, legs spread, bare slit barely concealed.

And the wonderful torment of being so wet and desperate to come, only to
find how much it hurts to rub. You can understand why it’s Miss Hastings’ favourite punishment, and also why the members of the Red Stripe Gang find it so irresistible