Blondies Humiliation

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Blondies Humiliation
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She lies forward over the sodomy stool, feeling its hard surface beneath her, listening to him at her rear, preparing her behind for chastisement. Behind her, methodically opening the flaps of the humiliation gown he’s made her put on, exposing the seat of her pantied bottom to the mirrored walls of the punishment room.
She looks straight ahead as he opens the gown to reveal her behind, her red strapped cheeks clenched tight underneath the sheer white punishment panties he’s exposed. She looks at the mirror in front of her, wondering who’s behind it, looking out at her. Who can see her there in that humiliating posture; already disgraced, with the greatest part of the mortification still to come.
He has the humiliation gown completely opened now, and he pauses to admire the view. Then tells her in a loud voice to reach back and pull her panties down below her buttocks. And then, after she’s done so, after she’s felt him strip her panties off entirely, to move her hands up to spread her cheeks and reveal everything between them.
She complies, knowing that the watchers behind the mirrored wall that faces her backside are enjoying the scene, enjoying her humiliation as she bends forward, her gown opened, her behind displayed. That’s why he’s invited them there, for their enjoyment and her shame. Corrective humiliation, he always calls it; and its effects on her are so drastic that she shudders even when all he does is say the words.
She bends forward, staring at the glass in front of her, at the watchers she presumes are behind it. She’ll never know who they are, how many have come – if indeed there are any there at all. But it doesn’t matter; even if the viewing areas behind the four mirrored walls of punishment room she’s in are empty, her mind tells her that they’re full.
Her mind tells her she’s being watched, and her senses conspire with that conclusion. Her ears prick whenever he stands still for a moment, seeking to hear the hear the telltale sounds of the people behind the two-way mirrors that circle the room. The sound of a throat being cleared? Of a sigh of pleasure as her behind is revealed, the humiliation gown opened, the punishment panties pulled down and off, allowing her to separate her legs wider, spread her cheeks further, present herself with her rectum completely exposed?
Or is it a faint cluck of disapproval at the fact that she’s been allowed to wear panties at all.
She keeps her face tilted up to the mirrored wall in front of her, her eyes towards the glass as she’s been taught, trying not to close them as she puts her hands back to her underpants, drawing them down to expose herself to the people behind the mirror at her rear. Keeps her eyes fixed forward as she feels him removing the panties, as she feels him spreading her legs further, exposing everything between them to the unseen eyes behind the glass.
He had her change into the punishment panties early – earlier than usual – and so it’s a relief to get them down finally, for the thick coating of Vicks he smeared in the seat before having her step into them has stung her strapped behind for several hours.
Vicks in the seat of her panties, stinging her behind. In traditional English correction, salted fat was applied across the red scorched bottomcheeks of a schoolgirl in the final stages of punishment in the headmaster’s study. Salted fat, to make the bottom burn; salted fat, after the strapping, while the girl sobbed over the stool. Salted fat on a strapped schoolgirl bottom, before the sodomy that, from the accounts she’s read, were a regular part of the pedagogical punishments of those long-gone times. Salted fat rubbed into the schoolgirl’s scorched bottom to further increase the sting before her rounded cheeks were spread, her tight anus Vaselined and then penetrated. The headmaster behind her thrusting forward, driving the culprit towards the opened window before her with each entry of the rigid organ into her bowels, with each entry between her martyred cheeks.
Driving the poor girl forward towards the opened window, inching forward with each penetration of her bared behind until, finally, she comes to rest with her face at the sill, her nose pressed to the glass, seeing the freedom outside as her behind is repeatedly impaled by her chastiser’s Vaselined cock.
The girl’s nose to the window, much as her nose is near the mirrored walls of the room. Her eyes to the glass, near the eyes on the other side, looking in.
She’s no schoolgirl, but, like those unfortunate young women of that earlier place and time, early that morning she too had her posterior bared for application of the punishment strap.
Woke that morning with a start, hearing his voice, the cold calmness of it, and all that portended. Woke, dressed, and glumly followed him into his study, where he led her to the old wooden school desk he kept there, made her look at it and endure his lecture as he stripped her panties down. And then, as she pleaded with him, bent her forward over the hard wood, her behind up, her panties neatly arranged below her buttocks to leave her sex and anus bared to his view while he got the strap, while he applied it.
And then, when her kicks and cries and pleas for mercy told her chastiser she could bear no more, she waited like that, buttocks raised and spread. Waited for the application of requisite unguent to the seat of her punishment panties and, inevitably, her strap-scorched flesh. Times change, she thinks, but whether Vicks or salt applied to a punished posterior, the effects are much the same.
As she pulls the punishment panties down, she feels the sudden relief of the cold air of the room blowing across her behind, the relief of the sudden absence of the Vicks in the seat of the underpants against chastised flesh. She knows her bottom glows bright red and shiny before the eyes of the watchers; still, she’ll take the mortification of having it exposed to the pain that the panties brings.
And so she lies there, over the stool, her behind bared, the panties down to her knees, her humiliation gown spread open. Waiting, knowing what’s coming next, anticipating it as much as she despises the feelings that the anticipation bring.
He begins the lecture, idly playing with the lace trim on the gown, with the dainty ties in back that she sewed by hand. The gown was her idea, a feminine variation of the plain hospital jonny he once favored; but she had found too late that the lace trim and other delicate adornments only made the basic function of the gown all the more apparent. Humiliation, pure and simply, the humiliation of having to show your behind, of being unable to conceal it. Of wearing a garment designed solely for exposure and accessibility; purposes that no amount of lace or dainty decoration can alter or abate.
He lectures, and the watchers – if they’re there – stare at her behind through the opened gown, at her white cheeks, at the deep crevice between them, at the occasional glimpses of her fear-clenched rectum that her motions over the stool reveal.
His voice rises and falls, but she can’t focus on what he’s saying; she’s too caught up in the humiliation of being observed. Too caught up in the idea of the eyes on her – caught up in it even though the reality of the watchers is unclear.
She’s imagining herself in their position, anonymous behind the mirrors, witnessing her punishment. She imagines staring at the face first, the culprit’s face – her face. Leaning forward to the glass to stare into the eyes, the pupils dilated, the cheeks shot through with shame. Viewing the behind, the cheeks forced apart by the position over the stool, the anus visible, the pussy beneath all too shamefully exposed. She would masturbate if she were watching; are they doing that now?
Consumed with this thought, she wishes her hands were free to rub herself, but he’s told her not to move them. Still, she is able to shift her hips slightly, feeling the hard surface of the stool rubbing her sex as she does so. No substitute for her hands, but the best she can do in the circumstances.
She hopes he doesn’t notice her motions; the penalty for masturbation during correction is a thick coating of Vicks between her legs during the session, and a bare-bottom paddling over his lap every night for the next week.
Holding a ginger suppository high in her bowels as the paddle crimsons her buttocks.
He’s done with the preliminaries now, and its time for the spanking. The first spanking, she corrects herself, the one she’ll get with her bowels empty. The second, of course, will be longer, stretching from the moment he opens the clamp on the enema bag up to the point 10 or 15 minutes later when he finally allows her to sit on the potty chair to expel. The third, during sodomy; the fourth, immediately afterwards, although, once he’s spent, the discipline is usually half-hearted.
She tries not to think about the spankings, and especially about the potty chair and the humiliation she’ll endure when he seats her on it. Her bared red bottom all too visible to the audience, its most menial functions on display for their pleasure and her mortification.
His cock, presented to her mouth as her bottom performs. That though, at least, is almost comforting.
He’s picked up a second strap from the table to his side, longer than the one he’d used in the morning; the instrument of the reformatory, heavy leather that will leave bands of pain across her already burning behind. It descends down without warning, a loud report as it meets the white flesh of her bared buttocks, and the eyes behind mirrors judge the severity of the instrument from the sudden stiffening of the culprit over the stool.
It’s a very Victorian correction: the reformatory strap; an errant young lady over a discipline stool; a strict older man administering the full correction to her exposed behind. In that situation, of course, the watchers would have been other teachers, there to witness the culprit receiving her comeuppance. Or, equally as likely, other students, waiting to undergo the same treatment, knees knocking as they stand watching, skirts pinned up, knickers drawn down, contemplating their own fates. Two or three other girls, perhaps, two or three more bottoms to be dealt with. Two or three more pairs of bare white cheeks waiting for the application of the strap across them, for the insertion of the Vaselined nozzle between them when the Headmaster washes out their spanked behinds.
And, that night, three or four tearful penitents bent over the ends of adjacent beds in their dorm room with their pajamas lowered, for the forced and forceful application of the headmaster’s stiff cock between their red cheeks and into their greased virginal bowels. One by one, as they squirm and cry and plead for mercy, promising, one after another, to be good. The kicking legs and futile promises ending only with the loud injection of sperm deep into each girl’s red tensing posterior.
Put to bed like that, pajamas down, each behind still Vaselined, each behind full of sperm. She knows this will be her fate, sperm in her backside to conclude the session, sperm in backside when she’s led from the room, still in the humiliation gown.
Sperm, deep in backside when she’s taken home and put to bed. Waiting for him to come in and lie with her, rub her, give her release.
Sperm in her backside, after the spankings, after the enemas, after the potty chair. She’s excited by this thought. Knows she’s wet between her legs, knows she’s aroused, despite the pain the strapping brings her.
The discipline that evening is longer than usual.

Stories about girls getting pantsed, stripped and humiliated by anyone or anything.
Hello all, been lurking for a long time and decided to try out my first story. Comments and criticism are welcome. A pretty generic story but I hope it's good. This could be used for the holiday challenge but I'm not sure if I'll submit it on time, but either way enjoy. I love a good role reversal/tables turned story, so here goes.


It was the beginning of a celebration. The end of my senior year and then on to bigger and better things. It was supposed to be the best months of high school, but this event would turn it into the worst. My name is Carly. I'm a senior in high school at Melville high and captain on the track team with my event-long jump. This final year had been going perfectly. My grades were good and I had just been accepted to Rutgers on both academic and athletic scholarships. Just before Christmas I had purchased my first car with my 18th birthday- an old beat up thing but I was excited about it. This new year's party would be a full celebration of all of that- or so I thought.

I arrived at the party looking my best, now I'm not vain, but in my new shirt (a bit low cut but this was a party after all), hot tan skirt perfectly accentuating my ass, and long wavy blonde hair, I knew I looked good. I scanned the room quickly and saw the usually crowd. I headed straight over to my friends on the team making sure to avoid David. We had broken up 2 months ago. It wasn't a bad breakup- we were realistic abut us moving to college in a few months- but I didn't want to start off the party with any notes of bitterness or sadness.

It was your typical party, honestly I don't remember much of it now. I'll admit I was drunk, so when I saw Nicole talking to Dave, flirting and laughing, I got more mad than I should have been. True we were broken up, but who was she to move in like that. Nicole was also on the track team, a middle distance runner and a sophomore I think. She was the classic girl next door type, slim with long brown curly hair. In a few years she would be beautiful, but for now was still firmly in the "cute" category. I walked up up to her and said "look I don't know who invited you here, but keep away from David. Know your place". And then walked off before she had a chance to respond.

Not soon after I saw them again- definitely flirting. I got mad, I don't know if it was the liquor or unresolved feeling but I walked over and made mistake #1.

Without saying a word I lowered the contents of my drink (svedka and lemonade, a classic high school drink) down all over Nicole. She was wearing a tight white shirt tucked into jeans- of course making her black bra underneath visible.

"What did I just tell you? Time for you to leave before I humiliate you even more, little girl". I don't why I called her a little girl; she was only and inch shorter than me at 5'4, but with my large legs, butt and full C cups boobs I looked much bigger. I guess I figured it would make her back down- so I stuck with it.

"What the hell Carly?!!" she shrieked, covering her top half as best she could. "You bitch".

That set me off. I jumped on her pulling her hair and clawing at her face. The music was still going at the party but there was still as sudden hush. In desperation she fought back looking to get herself out of this mess. I was beating on her pretty badly, but I was tiring. After all she was made for stamina, whereas I was not. Nicole at pulled herself to her feet and was circling me, jumping away each time I attempted to hit her. Finally, as I tired she reached out to slap me. Ready for this I jumped and instead of slapping me, her hands caught on my skirt ripping it off. There I was in a crowd of my friends with me navy, frilly thong exposed to all. Not how I thought this would go. Immediately I crouched down to minimize my exposure. While I was very proud of my butt- it was large and perfectly firm, your classic bubble butt- I wasn't ready to show it.

"please give me back my skirt-I I I'm sorry, I'll stop this" I stammered out. Unfortunately Nicole was smart. She wanted to end the fight and make sure I left, so she said "Sure, I'll give you the skirt but in exchange you need to hand me your shirt". I thought about it- my bra was cute, and certainly did not reveal me like my thong did. It would be embarrassing but it was worth it. "Deal". I stripped my shirt off and threw it over to Nicole as she threw my skirt.

What I had not realized was that in pulling it off of me, the three buttons on the side had been ripped off. It was useless. Now I should have just covered up and moved out of there, but I didn't. Mistake #2.

"You bitch, what the hell is this trick! I am going to humiliate you so badly, and when you beg for me to stop I won't."

Nicole reacted right way reaching forward and snagging my skirt to toss in the crowd. In just my bra and panties I cowered back, but this time she went on the offensive. Nicole ran at me then turned at the last second hooking her arm around me and basically jumping on my back. Fine with me I thought as I collapsed to the ground. In that time on my back though, Nicole had unhooked my bra. Too late I realized what she had done as she threw it to the crowd around us.

"okay, okay, you win" I said covering my boobs as best I could, "please let me go". Nicole replied smugly "You said you would humiliate me- and wouldn't stop even if I begged. Turnabout is fair play". I screeched out "fine fine, but please let me keep my panties". She thought about this for a second and seemed to agree. "okay, up you get now". she pulled me up and plucking a balloon from the party yanked my arms back and tied my wrists together. My boobs were now visible to the entire party. Everyone had phones out filming my perfectly round boobs, my nipples standing on point deliciously. Humiliating doesn't even begin to describe this.

"I think a punishment is in order" she yelled marching me around the room, by boobs still prominently pushed out. Laying me over her lap on a chair she exclaimed "time for a spanking". There I was laying on the lap of a smaller girl, surrounded by friends in just my thong. Leaning down Nicole said "If you want to keep your panties you'll ask me for this spanking. Make it good, I'm only giving you one chance. Humiliated, I heard myself call out. "Please Nicole, let me keep my panties, spank me, but let me keep my panties. I'm the little girl, not you" I couldn't believe the words coming out of my mouth.

And so she did spanking my butt, alternating buttcheeks. With each slap I could feel my butt ripple, giving a great view to the other high schoolers. My boobs thrust out with each slap, shaking under me. Eventually she stopped, calling out "I'm a bit tired, can someone help me. How about you two" she said to three little freshman girls. "sorry boys, I don't want to take this too far, you may not be able to control yourself with this in your hand" she said as she grabbed a handful of my ass shaking it.

Nicole pulled my up and placed me down again on Claire's lap. Claire eagerly replied, "be sure to thank me each time for slapping your naked but like a little girl" she sneared. I did not after the first one Nicole made me regret it. She stood me up, and slinked behind me yanking my thong up my buttcrack. My butt was on fire and my pussy lips spilled out, my last shred of modesty! "Please please pull them down!" I yelled. And she did- all the way down, pushing my on my face as I crouched down she whisked them off of me. "no one let her leave" The crown was doing no such thing, all cramming for a better view. Nicole yanked me up exposing my pussy for all my classmates. I had trimmed that night, leaving one small little landing strip and I could hear the hooting and hollering as I was exposed. Nicole did not linger however, placing me back down. This time, after each slap I sobbed out "thank you for slapping my naked butt li
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