Wallflower Revisited

A birthday spanking for a birthday girl in her birthday suit. Shamrock explains: I suggested that we provide our guest of honor with the traditional birthday paddling. Her panties were sheer and white and, if not transparent, were certainly translucent… Barbara straightened up, took a deep breath, slid her panties to the floor and resumed her position.

Barbara was one of those who, in high school, was rather thin and shy, but who had blossomed in her first year in college. Perhaps because she had grown out of her wardrobe her jeans and sweaters were a trifle (but delightfully) tight. With her close-cropped blonde hair she was simply lovely. I think she rather enjoyed the admiring glances of the lads when we had her twentieth birthday party at my place. Three other couples attended. We reviewed our freshman experiences over dinner at which the (inexpensive) wine flowed. Before dessert, I suggested that we provide our guest of honor with the traditional birthday paddling. The other guests roundly approved this and Barbara, who face was slightly flushed, shrugged and held her hands up in a “why not” manner. The young lady had a low tolerance for spirits, which I well knew.

When the dishes were cleared, I asked her if she was ready for her swatting. She colored more deeply and nodded imperceptibly. I led her to the next room, my photo lab (I chose this room for very good reasons, as you will see) had her place her hands against the wall, with her derriere slightly protruding. The others brought in their chairs and arranged them the better to see with, and I nodded to Allan to do the first honors. I watched Barbara’s face, now bright red, which was a strange mixture of embarrassment and exhilaration. I had a feeling that she rather enjoyed being the center of attention, perhaps for the first time in her life.

Allan provided the required twenty spanks (with one to grow on). I noted that after each swat, his hand lingered on the girl’s backside a trifle longer than was really necessary – but Barbara remained silent. Allan retired for a beer, ruefully rubbing his hand and remarked that the spanking would be more effective “if her jeans were at half mast.” I looked at the target enquiringly. She bit her lip and said nothing for a short while then took a deep breath and fumbled to unbuckle her belt and unzip the side. She then resumed her position. My cousin Bart approached the girl and looked at me cautiously. I nodded and he slipped (or, rather, tugged) the jeans to Barbara’s knees. The viewers greeted this with a bit of applause.

The view of Barbara, thus displayed, was stunning. The panties were sheer and white and, if not transparent, were certainly translucent. As per my previous instructions, Bart turned on my powerful photographic flood lamp. Now one did not have to imagine Barbara’s graceful curves; they were clearly in view. I did note that the other girls were watching intently. Bart applied the slaps rather warmly; so much so that Barbara winced a little and wriggled her butt in an attempt to avoid the blows but did not remove her hands from the wall. This added to the eroticism of the moment. The boys were by now making no effort to conceal the evidences of their arousal, an event which, I discerned, did not entirely please the other girls. Bart asked if he might examine the effect of his efforts. Barbara did not quite understand but again nodded. Bart went to his knees and carefully removed the girl’s shoes, socks and jeans, depositing them on a nearby chair. When he stood up; Barbara was scarcely breathing. He pulled out the back of the panties and gazed at the shadowed curves beneath. “Quite nice,” he remarked. Barbara had her eyes tightly closed.

“Let us all see,” called Sarah, Barbara’s closest friend and arch rival, in a rather strained voice. Bart, somewhat confused backed away, attempting in vain to conceal his erection. Barbara straightened up, took a deep breath, slid her panties to the floor and resumed her position. “Top too, Barb,” called Sarah. She was calling her bluff. Without hesitation, her eyes still closed, Barbara straightened up and pulled her sweatshirt over her head. I unsnapped the back of her bra, and she shrugged out of it. She now stood quite naked before seven people, two of whom she scarcely knew. And thus it was that she received the remainder of her spanking, with two of the girls enthusiastically contributing.

Nor was her ordeal quite over. We asked that she remain in her current state of deshabille during cake and coffee and she agreed. “What the Hell”, she shrugged. “They have seen everything I have by now anyway. When she turned (to give us our first full frontal view) I noticed a remarkable phenomenon. Her embarrassed blushes covered her entire body. You say that cannot be? Ah, but I saw it. Nor could the careful observer miss the evidence of Barbara’s excitement; her charming triangle was clearly damp. Out high-school wallflower had morphed into an erotic exhibitionist. At the dessert table, au naturel, she crossed her legs and held court with all the aplomb of a Royal Princess having High Tea at Buckingham. Each of the departing (male) guests hugged her and she seemed not to notice (nor at all mind) the wandering hands. And after all had left, you will ask, did I not press my obvious advantage? Ah, no, for the Code of the Celts forbids taking advantage of maidens in their weakness, though I suspect she was nothing loath. But yes, I did put the photo lab to its intended use. I still, several years later, cherish two of the shots. The modeling over, Barbara slowly dressed and I drove her to her home. During the short drive she sighed and remarked “I suppose I will hate myself in the morning.” I said I doubted it not, but asked if she regretted it. “Not a bit, although my ass will be red for a week,” she giggled. “But Sarah will be green.”

Barbara, now a married lady, would dearly love those photos back, but there’s not enough money in the world . . .

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