Amanda (3)

“They’re only a pair of panties,” she tells herself, as she turns the garment over in her hands, standing there in the middle of the store. “Just a pair of panties,” she thinks, but she knows it isn’t true, for they’re far more than that. Not simply revealing underpants, but a sign of her submission, of her eagerness. Of her desire to follow him down this road of humiliation and exposure that he’s set her on.

She turns the garment over in her hands, examining the flimsy white cotton carefully. Observing the lacy front and, of greater significance, the sheer seat.

She thinks about that, running her hands over the material. The sheerness, and of how she’ll look in it with her skirt hiked up, bending forward in front of him, bent over the sodomy stool to show him her ass. Revealed, though clothed; more naked for being covered, to whatever extent the thin material covers her crack, the deep crevice between. To whatever extent it covers her shaved wet pussy below, and the tight portal of her soon-to-be-used anus above.

“Bending before buggery,” he’s told her, “bending, with your skirt lifted, to show me your ass through the thin sheer seat of the underpants I’m sending you to buy.

“Bending in front of me to show me your ass, to show me what you want done to it. A slow revealing strip-tease in front of me, Amanda, lifting your skirt slowly to show me the bottoms of your cheeks peeking out from below, raising it higher to show me the whole of your backside.

“And then, bending down, down, to touch your toes, sticking your ass back at me, inviting me to deal with it. Sticking it back at me, and you know what I’ll see, because you’ll have seen it yourself in the mirror, so many times. Two tight cheeks with the crack revealed, Amanda. Two tight cheeks with the crack between, and we both know what’s hiding between those cheeks, don’t we.

“Your bottomhole. Say it now, Amanda, ‘my bottomhole, Daddy, the entrance to my bowels. The tight hole I expose to you when I have to be punished, the hole I have to have Vaselined when I’ve been bad. The hole I have to expose as I bend over the sodomy stool in front of you, waiting to have my underpants yanked down to my knees, waiting to have you spread my cheeks and stick your cock in hard, forcing it up my tight ass as I kick and cry and plead with you not to have it.’ Say that, Amanda, and think about how its going to feel when I do it to you, do it to your bottom.”


She buys the underpants, and then walks into one of the dressing rooms, closing the door slowly, feeling her stomach churn as she locks it, turns, and faces the full-length mirror she’s thought about so many times as she’s masturbated.

“They’re sodomy panties, Amanda,” he’s told her, “and, after you’ve purchased them, you’re going to go immediately into a dressing room and put them on so you can see what I’ll be seeing when you strip in front of me.”

She’s imagined this more than once, lying on her bed with the lights off, feeling the pillows beneath her hips, thrusting her behind up to expose her ass. She’s imagined it, thought about seeing herself in front of the mirror, undressing and then putting the garment on. Thought about this as she lies over the pillows, feeling her regular panties banded down at her thighs, feeling the teasing intrusion of the rectal plug deep in her bowels as she lies there, thinking, feeling her wet pussy tingling beneath her.

She’s thought about it so many times that its almost by habit that she turns to the mirror, slips her hands down and raises her skirt. She does this slowly, watching the fabric rise up, sliding up her thighs, sliding higher still to expose the wet patch at the front of her usual underpants. She thinks about him chiding her for her arousal, thinks about him shaking his head slowly, the way you would with a child who’s misbehaved. Thinks about him shaking his hand, and then gesturing to her to come closer, to come to him so that he can slide a finger or two into the sodden material there, so that he can question her about her behavior while he tickles her between her legs.

Tickles her, adding to her shame. And to her arousal.


“Now turn and face your behind to the mirror,” she imagines him telling her. And she does, watching in a distracted fascination as the girl in the dressing room pivots, faces her cheeks to the mirror. She watches as the hands grip the waistband, lower the panties slowly, exposing the seductive curve of the lower back, then the top of the crack and, finally, the deep cleft itself as the panties go lower and lower down her bare bottom cheeks. Finally, they fall to the floor.

Now the part she’s been dreading. Slowly she bends, leaning forward as if to touch her toes. Turning her head to watch in the mirror as her cheeks spread, further and further, giving a clear view of her dripping sex and, ultimately, the tight vortex of her as-yet-unused behind.

She stares at her asshole, imagining him watching her, watching it, seeing it tighten under his gaze. She thinks about him making her wait like that while he gets the Vaseline, about how it will feel when he presents his cock at the tight entry to her bowels and instructs her to push back to take it inside. About how it will feel when he impales her ass on his cock, and how he won’t tolerate her complaints and pleas. About how he’ll make her tell him that she’s a bad girl who deserves this and, as she does so, she’ll feel him sliding deeper and deeper inside, finally coming to a rest as far up her vulnerable ass as he can go. Her rectum gripping him so tightly that she can feel every heartbeat of his as a sudden swelling of his fat cock in her tight used ass.


She reaches back with her hands to spread her cheeks, giving herself a long look at her rectum before she lets go, stands back up, and puts on her new purchase.

Once more she leans forward, now craning her head to see her behind in the sodomy panties. As she’s imagined, there’s very little of her backside that doesn’t show; the thin fabric of the seat gives a clear view of her crack, of her pussy, only her anus is hidden.

Again she rises, this time to open her purse and withdraw the rectal plug. Another long pause as she imagines a store employee watching her from behind the mirror, watching her as she goes back into her purse for the tube of Vaseline. She coats the plug, sets it down on the bench. Her underpants come back down, to her knees, and she picks up the plug.

In the mirror the girl is holding the blunt end of it against her bottomhole. The cheeks spread, her face as red as her bottom will be, she grits her teeth and pushes it in. slowly the anus distends as the plug intrudes into the resisting bowels. Slowly it enters her, a parody of the relentless sodomy she’ll take when she’s with him. When she’s underneath him, behind up over the pillows feeling his weight pressing down on her as he forces himself inside.

The girl in the mirror is getting the plug in her behind, inch by inch. Slowly it enters her, stretches her until, finally, it comes to a rest, seated completely inside her, only the base visible.

The hands move down, gripping the new panties, pulling them up over her hips, up, over her cheeks until her behind is once again covered.

The base of the plug is clearly visible through the thin fabric.

The girl stands, lowers her skirt.

Before she leaves, she bends over again in front of the mirror. The skirt raises in back, just enough to show the base of the plug.

As she walks out of the dressing room, she knows he’ll ask her how many times on her trip home she had to bend over.

Her pussy is wet at the thought.

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