Saturday Night Walk Home
I have always been into spanking, even more than dressing in lingerie. Though for me the two went hand in hand at times. While over the years I have dipped in and out dressing for a while, corporal punishment was always a constant thought. I started to think about spanking even before dressing. I would fantasise about being punished as a gurl, and for dressing in panties.
One Saturday in late September I had been at the pub lunchtime, went home after a while, then arranged to meet some friends about five at the same pub. We had a few drinks and again I went home. By now I was very merry, so I dressed in some lingerie, danced around a little. It was then I decided to go back to the pub wearing pink lacy French style knickers. For some reason I had previously panicked when out walking over the summer in bikini type panties that they could see the outline of the knickers through my jeans. I also left on the knee-high socks.
I sat at the bar with a guy called Pete who I’d seen about a few times. As we drank, we talked, and it turned out I used to work with his son. He didn’t look that old, but I guess he must have been about fifty. You could tell he worked outdoors with his well-worn rugged face and hands. Strange what you notice when you’re drunk and trying to concentrate on what someone who is also drunk are saying.
Finally, it was closing time and we both wobbled out the door to go home. We walked together up past the community centre, with me not really knowing where I was going as I followed Pete. I never normally went that way home. Then Pete decided he needed another piss, so we slipped into the wooded area behind the community centre. Not sure why but I went with him and even stood by the tree while he desperately tried to undo his trousers as he wobbled with one hand one on the tree. I decided to help. Moving forward I told him to put both hands on the tree, and I unbuttoned his jeans, let them slip down while I took his dick from inside his shorts, and holding it firmly pointed it at the tree.
I watched in awe as the piss erupted at the base of the tree, while Pete made grunting noises as he seemingly oblivious that was holding his flaccid penis. Finally, he stopped so I gave it a shake, pulled back the foreskin just to make sure, and put it back in his shorts.
By now I was both horny and needing to go myself. I dropped by jeans without even a thought about what I was wearing, took out my semi hard dick and started to piss up the same tree. I looked at Pete who had just managed to get his jeans buttoned who was pointing at me and starting slurring something which after the second time I got what he was saying. “Panty pervert.” Then I realised why. If I hadn’t been drunk, I would probably have panicked and run away.
Pete grabbed my arm as I was rushing to cover up the evidence. Think I told him to fuck off at one point, but he pulled me along then suddenly stopped and sat on a tree trunk. I was pulled closer until I was half bent over, then he started to smack my bottom. The first two happened before I could try to pull away, but he was taller and stronger than me. He carried on walloping my bum calling me a panty pervert over and over.
Eventually he stopped so I pulled from his grip and ran. There was no plan other than to run away from him. Luckily, I passed the community centre, so I had a vague idea where I was.
When I finally made it home I was in tears, panicking that he would tell someone what I’d worn to the pub. Looking in the mirror my arse was quite red and still felt warm to the touch.
It took me a couple of weeks before I ventured into that pub, mind I was busy wanking myself stupid every time I thought about what happened that Saturday night.
One Saturday in late September I had been at the pub lunchtime, went home after a while, then arranged to meet some friends about five at the same pub. We had a few drinks and again I went home. By now I was very merry, so I dressed in some lingerie, danced around a little. It was then I decided to go back to the pub wearing pink lacy French style knickers. For some reason I had previously panicked when out walking over the summer in bikini type panties that they could see the outline of the knickers through my jeans. I also left on the knee-high socks.
I sat at the bar with a guy called Pete who I’d seen about a few times. As we drank, we talked, and it turned out I used to work with his son. He didn’t look that old, but I guess he must have been about fifty. You could tell he worked outdoors with his well-worn rugged face and hands. Strange what you notice when you’re drunk and trying to concentrate on what someone who is also drunk are saying.
Finally, it was closing time and we both wobbled out the door to go home. We walked together up past the community centre, with me not really knowing where I was going as I followed Pete. I never normally went that way home. Then Pete decided he needed another piss, so we slipped into the wooded area behind the community centre. Not sure why but I went with him and even stood by the tree while he desperately tried to undo his trousers as he wobbled with one hand one on the tree. I decided to help. Moving forward I told him to put both hands on the tree, and I unbuttoned his jeans, let them slip down while I took his dick from inside his shorts, and holding it firmly pointed it at the tree.
I watched in awe as the piss erupted at the base of the tree, while Pete made grunting noises as he seemingly oblivious that was holding his flaccid penis. Finally, he stopped so I gave it a shake, pulled back the foreskin just to make sure, and put it back in his shorts.
By now I was both horny and needing to go myself. I dropped by jeans without even a thought about what I was wearing, took out my semi hard dick and started to piss up the same tree. I looked at Pete who had just managed to get his jeans buttoned who was pointing at me and starting slurring something which after the second time I got what he was saying. “Panty pervert.” Then I realised why. If I hadn’t been drunk, I would probably have panicked and run away.
Pete grabbed my arm as I was rushing to cover up the evidence. Think I told him to fuck off at one point, but he pulled me along then suddenly stopped and sat on a tree trunk. I was pulled closer until I was half bent over, then he started to smack my bottom. The first two happened before I could try to pull away, but he was taller and stronger than me. He carried on walloping my bum calling me a panty pervert over and over.
Eventually he stopped so I pulled from his grip and ran. There was no plan other than to run away from him. Luckily, I passed the community centre, so I had a vague idea where I was.
When I finally made it home I was in tears, panicking that he would tell someone what I’d worn to the pub. Looking in the mirror my arse was quite red and still felt warm to the touch.
It took me a couple of weeks before I ventured into that pub, mind I was busy wanking myself stupid every time I thought about what happened that Saturday night.
vor 9 Monaten
