1 comments/ 58801 views/ 1 favorites The Punishment for Stealing Ch. 01 By: undiecontrol After a busy and stressful day at work, I drove straight from my office and parked outside Miss Smith's house just before 7 PM, barely making it before my appointment time. The front door key was under the flower pot, as expected, so I let myself in and made my way to her study. Dressed in a dark suit, with a white shirt and crimson tie, I looked every bit the business man, but inappropriately dressed for what awaited me. Wanting to be neither early nor late, I waited for the hall clock to chime the hour before tapping nervously on the study door. At that moment, I wanted to be a million miles away, but knew that I had no option but to complete the punishment that Miss Smith had decreed was necessary for my recent behaviour. I heard nothing, and was about to knock again, when she responded and instructed me to enter. Shaking slightly, I went into the room. Miss Smith was standing against the far wall wearing an elegant black dress but what attracted my eyes more was the riding crop that she was flexing between her hands. I wished her good evening. She didn't return my greeting, instead saying, very bluntly, "Strip off to your underwear, Joanna." Without hesitating, I removed my jacket, folded it rather untidily and placed it on the floor. I pulled off my tie and placed it with the jacket. I wondered about asking permission to use the leather armchair to sit in while removing my shoes but thought better of it. Kneeling down, I untied my laces and slipped off my shoes and then my socks. Next followed my shirt and lastly my trousers. All were put into an untidy pile on the floor. I stood up straight, feeling myself blushing, as Miss Smith walked towards me to inspect me in my underwear, which consisted of a pair of white satin knickers with a pink bow at the centre and a matching white underwired bra with delicate lace over the padded cups and a pink bow between the cups. It had been a difficult day at work and, unusually for me, I had had to keep my jacket on and buttoned up all day, despite the summer warmth and the odd comments from my colleagues. But that embarrassment didn't match what I felt now, as I stood in front of Miss Smith, feeling foolish, vulnerable and very afraid. Miss Smith slowly walked around me, at one point moving my bra straps aside looking, I assumed, for marks to show that I'd been wearing my bra since the time she'd watched me get dressed that morning and taken some photographs. Apparently satisfied, she pinged my right shoulder strap, which made me flinch, and then addressed me. "Well, you seem to have followed my instructions, Joanna, which is just as well for you. So it'll just be six strokes of the crop, as agreed, .... unless you fail to remove your bra in 10 seconds ... starting now!" Instantly, I moved both my hands around my back and sought to undo the double clasp. This was a manoeuvre that Miss Smith had insisted I practiced repeatedly at home over the past couple of days until I was as efficient as any woman. But now, with my fingers trembling, I was not convinced I could do it but, fortunately, it worked first time and I slipped out of my bra within the time frame. The relief I felt from removing the tight fitting garment was short lived as Miss Smith instructed "Now take your knickers off. Then go and bend over the armchair." I pulled my knickers down and took them off before positioning myself at the back of the chair. Then I spread my feet a little and bent over, grasping the front of the chair seat with both hands. Miss Smith moved behind me and, after an audible tut, tapped both of my inside thighs with the crop. Instinctively, I moved my feet further apart into a position that proved extremely uncomfortable. There then followed what seemed to be an interminable delay as Miss Smith found the best distance and angle to stand. A couple of times she laid the crop gently across my bottom, as if checking her position. There was then a brief silence which ended with a loud whooshing noise which terminated in the most incredible pain as the crop tore across the top of my bottom. It felt as if the crop had penetrated the skin, so intense was the sensation. My knees buckled, a wave of nausea swept over me, and I emitted a loud scream. Barely had I recovered from this first stroke than the second landed, this time just below, but parallel with, the first. The pain was equally intense and I yelped, crying out, "Please! ...No more!" But the third and fourth deliveries quickly followed, each below the previous stripe. Beads of sweat had formed across my brow and I was gasping for breath, while resisting the urge to stand up because of the obvious consequences. The fifth stroke landed parallel with the others but across my upper thighs where there was less fat to absorb the impact. The resulting pain was indescribable and I again screamed out in despair. For the final stroke, Miss Smith changed her position slightly and then brought the crop down at an angle that cut through the welts from the previous five deliveries. This, completing a 5 barred-gate effect, was the worst of all, opening up the weals from the earlier strikes. By now my knees had buckled and I struggled to stay on my feet, using the chair back to take my weight. But at least it was all over. I was kept waiting there for a couple of minutes while Miss Smith returned the crop to its place on the wall. During this time, I attempted to regain my composure by taking some deep and steady breaths. "Stand up, Joanna," she commanded, "but don't touch your bottom. What have you got to say for yourself?" "I very sorry for my recent behaviour, Miss Smith, it won't happen again," I replied. "Please accept my apologies and thank you for punishing me." "You'd better remind me why you have been punished, Joanna," she said, looking me straight in the eyes. Hesitatingly, and feeling very embarrassed, I responded in a low voice. "Last week, I stole that bra and those knickers off my neighbour's washing line, Miss," I whispered. "She saw me, caught me on camera, and reported me to you, Miss, you being her former teacher." "She was very, very upset and didn't know who to turn to," added Miss Smith. "Fortunate for you that she sought my help, wasn't it? She could have gone to the police! As it is you've got off lightly -- you've acquired a feminine name, which I think suits you, you've worn her bra and knickers all day, which can't have been much of a hardship, and you've received six strokes of the crop. Do you think you've got off lightly, Joanna?" "I think I've learnt my lesson, Miss," I replied, uncertain as to how best to reply. "Answer the question, Joanna," insisted Miss Smith. "Yes, Miss, I've got off very lightly. Thank you for being lenient," I lied, in as sincere a voice as possible. "I agree," she said, "so I think a period of corner time will allow you to reflect more on what you did and why you had to be punished in this way. Go and face the wall, and place your hands on your head." I did as I was told, overcoming the urge to rub my bottom, to feel how raised the welts were and whether there was any bleeding. These checks would have to wait for later. Standing with my nose a few inches from the wall, I placed my hands on my head. "You can get closer than that," Miss Smith commented. "Let's have your nose brushing against the wall. And I want those hands on the top of your head, not around your neck." Having assumed the required position, I heard the hall clock strike the quarter hour. In the space of 15 minutes, I had been both humiliated and cropped but my ordeal was not yet over. I heard a creak as Miss Smith sat down on the chair at her desk and then, a few moments later, she began tapping away on her keyboard. How long I was to stay facing the wall she'd not said and I couldn't ask. All I could do was stand as still as possible and wait, while listening for the strikes of the clock, wondering if my punishment was soon to come to an end. The Punishment for Stealing Ch. 02 Two weeks had now passed since I'd been caned by Miss Smith but the memory was vivid and my buttocks still bore traces of the marks. However, I'd escaped being reported to the police for stealing my neighbour's bra and knickers, and I counted myself lucky. As far as I was concerned, the episode was now closed, or so I thought... It was at 6.15 in the evening that my phone rang. I didn't recognise the number on the caller display but I knew her voice as soon as she spoke. "Joanna," she said, "I have some jobs that needs doing so I want you over here straight away." A shiver went down my spine and my stomach started fluttering. "But, erm, but Miss Smith," I replied, "I was just about to sit down to eat. What is it you want doing?" I detected impatience in her voice as she responded, "I don't expect you to ask questions, Joanna. But I do expect you to come over here right away. If you don't you will regret it, that I promise." With that, she put the phone down and I accepted that I had no choice but to turn off the oven and drive straight over to her house. Fifteen minutes later I parked in her driveway and made my way to the front door. There, stuck to the door, was a 12 x 8 photograph of me dressed just in bra and panties, my face clearly identifiable. Angered, I snatched the photograph and tore it into quarters. I rang the bell repeatedly and waited, fuming, until Miss Smith came to let me in. In her late-thirties, and slim and attractive, she was dressed in blue jeans and a tight fitting white T-shirt, with her long blonde hair tied back in a ponytail. Ordinarily, I would have paused to take in the sight but my anger had got the better of me. "What's the meaning of this?" I shouted, pushing past her so that I was standing in the hall. "You can't put this sort of picture up where it might be seen. This is outrageous! We had a deal." She didn't immediately answer, instead leading the way into her study where my punishment had taken place two weeks earlier. "Say something, you stupid bitch!" I yelled. "How many more copies have you got of these photos? I want them destroyed, do you hear me?" Still she didn't answer but she didn't seemed to be intimidated by my shouting. I tried a different approach. "Please," I said, in a quieter voice, "If you want some jobs doing I'll be happy to do them for you, but only if you promise me that you will get rid of these photos. All of them! PLEASE, Miss Smith!" "You're in no position to bargain, Joanna," she replied, after a long pause, "And I don't appreciate being spoken to in those terms. You will be punished for using that sort of language with me." I realised, perhaps belatedly, that she held all the cards and there was little I could do other than appeal to her better nature, assuming she had one. The last thing I wanted was more strokes of her riding crop. "I'm really sorry, Miss Smith," I replied, now sounding rather contrite, "Please don't cane me again. It was a stupid outburst on my part. I'm very sorry. It's just that I was annoyed to find that photo on the front door. I really did think that the matter was closed when I'd been caned last time. As I said, if you wanted me to do some chores I would have been happy to do them but the picture on the door threw me off balance. You do understand, don't you?" "What I don't understand, Joanna," she responded, "is why you thought the matter was closed. Whatever gave you the idea that you had been sufficiently punished for stealing your neighbour's lingerie?" I felt myself go red. "Well, I just thought that was the end of it. You didn't say otherwise, that's all. It can't go on for ever, Miss .... can it?" "Joanna," Miss Smith replied firmly, "Even if it had been at an end, which it most certainly wasn't, your outburst this evening has to be punished. You have to learn to control your temper. However, I'm going to defer your punishment, and it's severity will be determined by how well you do the jobs I need doing." She looked at me, making sure I understood. "Thank you, Miss," I replied, the relief evident in my voice. "I will do whatever you want me to do." "Yes, I think you will," she mused, a faint smile on her lips. "But, to remove all doubt, let me make some things clear to you. I have copies of that photograph that you tore up, as well as many others, and I am quite prepared to reveal them to the world at large if you fail to do what you are told. The JPGs are stored hidden on the internet but it would be a simple matter to make them visible for all to see. Is that what you want, Joanna?" "No Miss, of course not! I just want to bring this to a close so we can put it behind us. Please, Miss." "It will be a long time before we can put this behind us, as you put it. Now, we've wasted enough time already. Strip off to your underwear, Joanna." "But I thought you were deferring my punishment, Miss", I exclaimed. "I don't like having to repeat myself, Joanna – do as you are told," she said very firmly. Realising I was defeated, and not wishing to infuriate her more than I already had, I did as I had been instructed, not knowing what to expect. I took off my shoes, trousers, sweater and shirt, piled them on the floor, and stood before her naked except for my boxer shorts. "Why are you wearing those?" she quizzed, pointing at my boxers. Thinking I'd misunderstood her instructions, I started to pull them down. "NO!" she shouted, "I mean why are you not wearing knickers? And where's your bra?" Stunned by what she was saying I found it difficult to reply. "Sorry, but I don't own any knickers or a bra. The ones I wore last time were my neighbours. I gave them back to you, Miss. You remember?" "Yes, I know you did," she replied, "You had to - they weren't yours, were they? You had to give them back. But you must have some lingerie of your own. And, if not, what has stopped you buying some? I hesitated before replying, wondering where the conversation was going. "I used to have a few items, Miss," I explained, feeling very embarrassed, "But I threw them out after you punished me. I felt guilty and wanted to make a fresh start. I thought that was what you wanted, Miss." Sensing she wasn't satisfied with this explanation, I added, "And you didn't tell me to buy any, Miss." I was now feeling very confused. "I expected you to have used some common-sense. Someone called Joanna does not wear male underwear, does she? Why do you think I gave you a female name, you imbecile?" None of this made any sense, but I knew that arguing was pointless. "Sorry, Miss, I will buy some tomorrow," I replied, thinking that ordering some lingerie over the internet sounded quite exciting. "No!" she exclaimed, "You will go and buy some now." "But it's nearly 7 o'clock!" I responded, my disbelief telling in my voice, "The shops will be closed." "Not the supermarkets," she riposted, "They're open 24 hours a day and they sell underwear. Give me your wallet. Quickly!" I bent down, pulled my wallet from my trousers and passed it to her. She extracted a note from it. "Right," she said, "Here's £10. You will go to the nearest supermarket and buy yourself a plain white bra, a pair of white cotton panties and a pair of black tights. Obviously they need to be in your size. I don't want to see any fancy frills or lace, and nothing sexy. You are buying cheap, plain underwear. I hope that is clear? You will be back here one hour from now wearing all three items." "But they will cost more than £10, that's not enough money," I exclaimed. "Can't I buy something tomorrow instead?" "You are testing my patience, Joanna. If you buy the cheapest items available you will come back with change from £10. I'm sending you out to buy bargain-basement, functional underwear, not to get something glamorous. Now, you've got just 59 minutes left so are you going to argue any more or are you going to do as you have been told? If you're not back in time, then you will find yourself in even more trouble. And keep the receipt because I will want to see it." I wanted to argue further but knew that I was not going to win this fight. I took the £10, quickly put my clothes back on and then rushed out to the car, leaving my wallet and credit cards with Miss Smith. Driving to the supermarket I nearly had a couple of accidents, such was my nervousness. I could concentrate on nothing other than the task that lay ahead of me. How crowded was the store likely to be at this time of night? Would there be anyone there I knew? What would I say to them? How could I explain why I'm buying a set of plain underwear for £10? Who would buy something so cheap and so ordinary as a present for their partner? Will anyone realise I'm buying in my size? I felt physically sick as I entered the supermarket and went to the clothes section. I kept checking my watch, working out how long I had. As I approached the clothing I could see a distance that most of the bras were quite ornate and colourful, and also costing £15-20 each. I got a bit closer and saw they had a small selection of plain white bras on display that had a price tag of just £4. There were a couple of women looking at them so I had to pretend to stand a few feet away while they nattered about what was on offer. I was becoming increasingly agitated, wishing they would stop lingering and move on. Eventually, they did and, plucking up courage, and hoping I wouldn't draw too much attention to myself, I went over to the cheap bras. They seemed to fit the requirement in that they were white, underwired T-shirt bras and were plain with no lace. Despite being cheap, they looked of good quality. I took just a few seconds to pull out a size 38, which I knew was my band size. I wasn't too worried about the cup size but what I was holding was a size C which seemed fine. Shoving it under my arm, I then moved to the panties area which was alongside the bras. There seemed to be a massive selection of cheap pairs but no simple designs in white. Then I saw a selection of boxed briefs. For £3 I could get three pairs of cotton knickers, one pair white and the other pairs lilac and pink. I picked up a box of medium size. Then, without looking to see who might be observing me, I moved along to the pantyhose section and picked up a pair of black ones. They were £2 so my total purchase was £9. I was inside budget! Looking again at my watch I saw I had just 25 minutes to pay, get changed and drive back to Miss Smith's. There was no time to assess the checkout assistants, I just had to choose the shortest queue in the six items or less line. Behind me was a young woman in her mid-twenties and the checkout assistant was younger still – her name badge told me she was Ellie. As I put my purchases down, the assistant glanced not at me but at the woman behind me. No words were spoken but a non-verbal message passed between the two of them and a slight smile appeared on the face of the assistant. I was now feeling very flushed and getting increasing agitated as the assistant deliberately took as long as possible scanning my items. "38C?" she enquired, "You can return it if it doesn't fit." Her eyes flicked again to the girl behind me, her smile returning for a couple of seconds. "Did you catch that, Sir? It's a 38C? Is that the right size?" "Yes," I muttered, avoiding eye contact with her. She picked up the panties. "Medium," she confirmed, "but these can't be returned, Sir." She looked at me, waiting for me to show I understood. "I'll tell my wife," I mumbled, wishing the earth would swallow me up. She didn't query the size of my tights but scanned them and then asked for £9 which I quickly paid before packing my purchases into a plastic bag. Grabbing my change and receipt, I walked as quickly as I could to the customer toilets. I was relieved to find there was an empty cubicle and I went in and stripped off until I was naked. I put my boxer shorts and socks into the bag and took out the box containing the knickers. I removed the white pair and slipped them on. Despite my nervousness, I hardened slightly as I pulled the tight underwear over my bottom, feeling the soft thin fabric against my skin. Sitting down on the toilet seat, I then struggled to put on the pantyhose, desperately concerned that I was going to ladder them. I'd worn pantyhose before and always found them difficult to put on. The first attempt resulted in severe wrinkles and the crutch was half way down my legs. I had to start again, and the second try was successful. The tightness of the pantyhose around my legs and bottom, and the cool, tingling sensation they induced, drove me wild and I became very aroused despite my increasing anxiety. Finally, I put on the bra. My hands were trembling too much to do it up from the back so I had to put it around my waist and clip the clasp together from the front, then turn the bra around and raise it up my chest before slipping my arms through the shoulder straps. It was quite a battle and I was concerned about the bra being stretched or damaged in the process. My bra fitted, as I had expected it to, but it was very tight although I had no time to adjust it. Because of its moulded shape, it made me look like I had breasts despite me not inserting any padding into the cups. Quickly, I put my shirt, sweater, trousers and shoes back on. Leaving the cubicle I glanced in the mirror above the washbasins. My sweater did not disguise the fact that I was wearing a bra and I also suspected that the outline of the straps would be visible from the back. I did wonder about taking the bra off and putting it on in the car outside Miss Smith's house but a glance at my watch told me that I didn't have time. I had just five minutes to get back to Miss Smith's, a journey which I knew would take fifteen minutes. In a state of near panic, I headed out of the store, past the checkout assistant who served me. I could feel her eyes burrowing into me as I strode past and I knew that she had detected my bra. As I reached the door, I looked back and she was still staring in my direction. This was one supermarket that I wouldn't be able to shop in again. Once out of the shop, I sprinted to my car and then raced out of the car park, wondering what the consequences of my late return would mean.