Punchline to a Bad Day

Why are these panties also a punchline? Read about my bad day yesterday.

Some days, it seems that nothing is going right.

When I took a break at work and called you in the afternoon, just to say hi, you listened to me tell you about the day I was having and then gently asked me, "Are you going to be ok?" Tears welled up in my eyes. That little bit of kindness nearly broke me, so we got off the phone with hopes for a better night.

After arriving at home, I was still a nervous wreck. I paced the house, I fidgeted. You came home and told me about your own bad day, then began to pace as well. We tried talking, tried coming up with a plan, tried talking about what to have for dinner. Finally I stood by the couch, exhausted, wanting to lie down and go to sleep when it was only six o'clock.

You stopped pacing too and stood before me. You took my hands in yours and kissed my forehead, then my lips. Still close to my face, you whispered, "Turn around." I did, and you led me to the side of the couch. You touched the small of my back. I knew to bend over the arm, to put my forearms down on the cushion, to wait patiently for whatever was to come. I worried that once I started really crying, I wouldn't be able to stop. Remembering the caning at the beginning of the week, I murmured, "Please not too much. I can't today. I just can't."

"I don't believe that's your decision, young lady," you told me firmly. You patted my denim-clad bottom. Even Casual Friday hadn't made my day any easier. "I will determine what you can and can't take." Normally, this would make me tremble with a delicious but frightened anticipation. This time, it served to take any remaining strength from me. I collapsed more fully against the couch arm and the cushion beneath my arms, letting it rather than my legs hold my weight. The decision, and thus the control, was out of my hands. It was certain: you were going to spank me and I had no say in the matter.

"Ready?" You weren't so much asking as commanding. You didn't wait for an answer before you started spanking me in a steady, bouncing rhythm, back and forth from one cheek to the other. The smacks were hard but bearable. Enough to sting through jeans, not enough to bring forth the tears we both knew were coming.

The spanking was steady for a minute or two, maybe three; I lose my sense of time when it comes to these things. During that time I was trying to let my mind go blank, trying to release the day and its trials. I think you sensed that I was having trouble fully surrendering the issues that were on my mind. You stopped spanking and I heard the slight metallic clinking of a belt unbuckling, the whisp of sound that is leather pulled quickly through belt-loops.

I screamed at the first stroke, despite my pants still being up. It was hard, too hard, but it was the reaction you were going for. I jerked up and you pressed me back down into position. "There," you said. "Did anything like that happen at work today?" I shook my head no. "Then it couldn't have been so bad. What if you had to do this for a living?"

I couldn't help it; I grinned into the cushion. My hair was covering my face so you couldn't see me, but you knew. Of course you knew. You whipped me again with the belt, not so hard this time, just enough to smart and make me wiggle. Four more times, the leather landed right between bottom and thigh, each time in the same spot. I was no longer smiling and the first tears were forming, but I tried to hold myself together. I wasn't ready to break, not just yet.

"Imagine," you began, letting the belt fall in a slow but steady rhythm against the full of my backside, "having to do this all the time. Getting spanked, belted, caned, you name it, you'd have to take it. Is sitting at an office desk so bad? Eye strain, carpel tunnel, what are these things compared to a welted and bruised bottom day in and day out?" You paused to let me answer.

"Yes, that would be terrible, sir," I agreed. The belt came down hard.

"Do I sense sarcasm?" I shook my head again, lying. "Undo your jeans. Lower them to your knees. Keep your panties up."

I did as told, wondering why I had to keep my panties on. They were turquoise mesh with lace trim at the low-riding waist. Utterly useless in protecting oneself during a spanking situation. Jeans bunched at my knees, I waited for the next blow to come. When it didn't, I turned around, hands still on the couch but twisting my head and body to see why you hadn't continued. Your hand was covering your mouth and your cheeks were turning red. Your whole body was shaking. Were you...? Yes you were. You were laughing.

Now the tears were about to stream. Huge droplets pooled in the corners of my eyes. I started sniffling and I covered my top lip with my lower in a pathetic pout. "Why are you laughing at me?" I asked in my smallest voice.

"Oh baby," you said. You tugged at the fabric still covering my bottom. "No wonder you had a bad day. Your panties are on inside-out." You, my stern disciplinarian, dissolved into a fit of giggles. I reached back and felt what you'd been tugging on. It was the tag on the outside of my underpants.

My hair hid my face again as I began shaking uncontrollably. You lifted the curtain of hair, ready to comfort me, when you saw what we'd both been needing all along: my tears falling in streams over my cheeks and me laughing, laughing so hard that for a good minute I couldn't stop. You laughed along with me, and each time our eyes met the laughing began anew in full sobs at the absurdity of it all.

When we finally settled down, you wiped the tears from my eyes and So helped my jeans back up over a bottom that was, for all our laughter, bright pink and sore, and offered to drive to pick us up Chinese food.

It wasn't so bad a day after all.

Yesterday's panties, complete with tag out, slight tear, and just an eensy bit of bum cleavage.