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AUTHOR’S NOTE: A while ago, it seemed like bdsmlibrary was no longer posting stories, so I began posting solely at understories.com. I noticed that bdsmlibrary was back up and decided to post this new entry here in case there was anybody who was interested in continuing to read the story who had not been aware of the transition. There is material past this at understories, and all new entries will be posted there as the comment/review function there works.
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Lauren walked toward the Landing Strip from where she had parked a few blocks away. After Don had sent her to her room, she had gotten her crying under control and went through a list of things she needed to get done.
First on her list was bringing her pubic hair in another centimeter on either side, and that immediately faced her with a dilemma: did Mr. Arden mean another centimeter all the way down, or just a centimeter at the top while tapering so that the bottom remained the same width? The first option, she decided, just left her with a small, goofy patch of hair like a man with a soul patch on his chin. She figured that couldn’t be what Don wanted and went with the second option.
After taking care of that annoyance, she had gotten dressed, taking into account her new rules. She considered wearing the tight jeans Don had said she was allowed, but she decided on a skirt for now instead in hopes that he would see his requirement was just too short for work. She had gone with a tennis skirt, choosing to save her slightly more formal “going out” skirts for work, but she still had to really stretch her arms to make sure her thumbs were below the hem. She had almost forgotten the earrings but had then picked out a pair of large red hoop earrings, and had, reluctantly, put on the 5” heels from her Little Red Riding Hood outfit before teetering into the living room. She resolved to find some heels closer to the 3-1/2” limit while she was out.
In the living room, Don had made her hold her arms at her side and had tsked at how close her skirt was to the thumb-limit, but he had approved the outfit. Then he had handed her an envelope and said, “Give this to Carl when you find him.”
“What is it? Sir?” Startled by the demand, she hadn’t even taken it from him right away.
“It’s an envelope that I’ve told you to give to Carl. What other information could you possibly need?”
“Nothing . . . nothing, sir. I’m sorry. I’ll do it.”
“Of course you will. And Lauren,” he added as she turned to leave, “You’ll notice that that envelope is sealed. It needs to be sealed when you hand it to Carl.”
“Yes, sir,” she had murmured before leaving.
Now, she was almost at the front door of the Landing Strip, though it was slow going in the heels. She stopped for a second and shook awkwardly. The stubby pubic hair Don forced her to keep was so itchy when it rubbed against the inside of her panties. Did he not realize how uncomfortable it was? It was maddening!
But she tried to ignore the itchiness and continued on. She had been smart this time and had $160 in cash on her-- $15 for the cover charge, $138 to pay her debt to the club, and $7 to spare because the ATM only paid out in tens and twenties.
She didn’t recognize the bouncer, and he looked confused when he saw her. “Gotta go in the back,” he hooked a thumb over his shoulder.
It was her turn to be confused, and then she realized: her clothes made him think she was there to strip! She blushed furiously and then stammered, “I’m . . . I’m not here to dance, sir. Just to pay a debt.”
“Oh. Fifteen bucks then.”
She paid him and went in. Carl was in there, and she couldn’t decide if that was good or bad. Good, she thought, I’ll get to have my spanking and this can be over. And she deserved it, she decided. She’d been unbelievably rude to Carl and if it took going over Do—Mr. Arden’s knee or bending over and taking a few with the strap to make amends, it’s what she would do. Ha—like you have a choice.
But Carl was distracted by the dancer he was teasing with a dollar bill. It was some blonde floozy, down on her knees and elbows in front of him, knees spread wide and not a hint of shame. Lauren grit her teeth. That had been her only a day before, though she liked to think she’d maintained a bit more modesty.
Since Carl hadn’t seen her, she went straight to the cashier outside of the outfit store and settled up her debt from the previous night’s work. It still rankled that after hours and hours of dancing and waitressing naked for those lowlifes she had owed the club money instead of the other way around.
With that accomplished, she steeled herself, walked over to Carl, and tapped him on the shoulder. He turned and sneered at her. “What do you want?”
She realized she hadn’t prepared anything to say to him and found herself just thrusting the envelope Don had given her at him. He flinched from it and looked suspicious. “What’s that?”
“Sir, I . . . I still feel bad about how I behaved toward you last night and I’m . . . I’m going to be punished again for that. I think that letter might explain it.”
He took it and opened it cautiously. After reading for a few minutes, he looked up. “This true?”
“Sir, I . . . I haven’t been able to read it, but if Mr. Arden wrote it, I’m sure it’s true.”
He leaned back in his seat. “Lift up your skirt.”
“Sir?”
“This letter says you have to obey men. Is that true?”
“Yes, sir,” she gulped, suddenly very fearful of what could happen here. “Within limits.”
“Then lift. Up. Your. Skirt.”
She did so, slowly and reluctantly, and revealed a pair of high-cut blue-and-white striped panties.
“Turn around. Slowly.”
She did so, wobbling slightly on her high heels.
When she was facing him again, he dropped the bomb. “Give me your panties.”
“Sir,” she balked, “We’re in public—”
“We’re in a strip club, stupid. Take off your panties and give them to me. Keep holding your skirt up.”
She still hesitated. What if she refused? She didn’t have to tell Mr. Arden. She could claim she hadn’t been able to find Carl. But what if Mr. Arden had put contact info in that letter? Ugh—this was so frustrating! She’d never thought that outsiders would be brought into their arrangement!
After a moment’s hesitation, she muttered, “Yes, sir,” and started to comply. It was hard to hold her skirt up without using both hands, so once she got her panties over her butt, she had to wiggle to get them to slide down her legs. Carl seemed to like that even more, unfortunately.
The dancer looked down and yelled, “Hey, slut. Find your own—”
“Relax,” Carl interrupted. “You’ll still get your dollar.”
After handing Carl her panties, Lauren stood in front of him, holding her skirt up and waiting for further instructions. His eyes fixated on her crotch.
“Looks like you trimmed that pussy back, din’t ya?”
Lauren wasn’t sure which made her more uncomfortable—that Carl had memorized the appearance of her pubic hair well enough to notice the change or that he was forcing her to talk about it. She grit her teeth.
“Yes, sir.”
“’Yes, sir’ what?”
“Yes, sir, I did.”
He sighed. “Yes, sir, you did WHAT?”
She realized that the letter Mr. Arden had written must have told Carl about some of the rules by which she was bound. She really wished she could read it, to know just what information Carl had on her.
She squeezed her eyes shut to try to keep from crying. It was too much, being forced to display herself in public for this disgusting bastard, and now to talk about herself in degrading terms. “Yes, sir, I trimmed my pussy back.”
He laughed, clearly enjoying her discomfort. “Spread your legs a little more.”
She slowly complied.
“A little more.”
She squeezed her eyes shut again and spread her feet wider than her shoulders. He whistled. “Well, will you look at that gash. You got a real nice gash, you know that?”
She bit her lip before answering. “Thank you, sir.”
Carl ran her panties through his fingers and started to say something but caught himself before starting again. “You know what? I’m going to keep these. Go buy yourself another pair to wear home. Don’t put them on, though. Bring ‘em here first. You can let your skirt go.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Right after she said it, she kicked herself for feeling gratitude at being allowed to let go of her skirt.
In the store she picked out the least sexy panties she could find. Whatever game Carl was hoping to play, she wanted to make it as unrewarding for him as possible. Plain, white cotton panties, but still a thong. And all the same, $35!
Unfortunately, she realized her payment options were still cash or starting a tab over. She supposed she could go out to the ATM and bring back cash, but she was scared of what might happen if she kept Carl waiting. She was just going to have to come back one more time to pay this off.
As she returned to Carl, she saw that there was a new dancer now, a slender Indian woman who was shimmying around in a lacy black thong and bra. The last dancer was Carl’s waitress now and had brought him a bowl of chips and some sort of hot sauce. She smirked at Lauren as Lauren tottered up holding her new panties out to Carl.
“Exellent,” he said. “Good job.” And before she could answer he took the brand new panties and immersed them in the bowl of hot sauce. He pulled them out dripping. “Now,” he held them toward her. “Put these on.”
“You . . . you can’t be serious. That’s disgusting!”
“Oh, I’m serious. And it’s going to be a lot worse than disgusting. Put. Them. On.”
She grimaced as she took them from him and slid the wet, dripping mess up her legs.
“That’s right. Make sure you put them on right. Get that thong up into your crack.”
Lauren did as she was told, pulling the thong up between her cheeks. She didn’t know what Carl was expecting, but it felt absolutely disgusting, like she had wet her pants.
Carl was grinning ear-to-ear. “Excellent,” as he talked, she began to feel just the faintest tingling. “Now, when you get home, make sure you give this to Don.” He handed her the same envelope she had brought. The tingling was turning into a slight burning, and she shifted uncomfortably. “And don’t even think about reading it.” The burning was growing. Without thinking, Lauren started to reach for the panties to pull them back off. “Oh, and do NOT take those panties off until Don tells you it’s okay. And do NOT ask him if you can take them off. You got that?”
“Please, sir,” she could feel the tears coming, but she didn’t care. It burned. It burned so badly. “I—I—”
He laughed hard. “Just shut up and get out of here before I change my mind. I’ll see you tomorrow. We’re going to have a lot of fun.”
She turned and walked away as quickly as she could. Someone snickered and another person yelled. “Look at her. She’s walking like she’s got a load in her parents.” If not for the extreme burning, she might have felt more shame, both for the comment and the fact that it was right. She was walking with her feet spread wide, doing whatever it took to mitigate the burning.
In her car, her vision blurred, and she found herself flooring it. She had to . . . had to . . . had to get home as quickly as possible so that Mr. Arden could let her take these panties off. A light in front of her turned yellow. Shit . . . she wasn’t going to make it. She accelerated even more and still the light turned red just before she got to the intersection. She saw the flash. Shit, she thought, a red light ticket.
Finally, she was back at her apartment, still in agony, and she raced in. Don was sitting in his usual chair reading. He looked up and smiled as she came in. “How did it go?”
She thrust the envelope at him. “Uh, Mr. . . . uh, Mr. . . . Mr. Carl told me to give this to you, sir.”
Don took it and slowly read the contents as Lauren bounced from foot to foot, but kept her arms held behind her back. She tried to think of anything . . . anything to distract her from the burning as Don took his sweet old time. Finally, he looked up. “Well, Carl says he’ll be joining us to watch your strapping tomorrow. Maybe take a few licks himself. Won’t that be nice?”
Immediately, she started bawling, finally—if only for a moment—distracted from the incredible burning in her crotch and ass. How was she supposed to react to that, the reminder that not only was she going to be forced to submit to a bare-assed strapping, not only was her tormentor going to be invited to watch, but the same jackass was going to be allowed to participate? But she knew how she was supposed to react. She straightened out and regained her composure. “Yes, sir. I’m thankful that he’s going to take the time to participate in my punishment.”
Don shrugged. “Somehow I doubt that.” He looked down at the note again and his lips twitched. “Oh, and Lauren,” he started speaking very slowly, “Would . . . you . . . like . . . to take . . . your panties . . . off?”
“Yes, sir,” she almost interrupted him in her haste. “Please, sir, I would like to.”
He looked thoughtful for a few long moments. “I have to say, I like Carl's style. Okay. Take them off. Go get yourself cleaned up so you can get dinner on the table.”
“Oh, thank you, sir.” She fell down in her haste to get the panties off over her high heels, but she didn’t care how silly she looked. She got up and rushed to the bathroom, suddenly appreciative of how her short skirt let the cool air flow over her.
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