Forced into wearing panties by his wife in their female-led relationship, Jack is ironically liberated from years of shame and guilt. 

Chapter 4: Put into Panties

Circumstances don’t make the man; they only reveal him to himself” –Epictetus.

There were many times immediately after getting the strap, whether I asked for it or not, that I stayed in position collecting myself both physically and emotionally.  Many times, I reflected on the circumstances which propelled me to what I had just experienced.  I still do.

The beginning of the summer of 1978 brought more changes to our lives.  Our first child was almost six months old, and my wife and I had talked about adding our second child.  I finished my part-time after-work degree in architectural design, which I had been pursuing for many years and was fortunate to have worked for an architectural firm since graduating from high school.  The firm came to my high school during a career day, saw the house blueprints I designed in the three years of design classes and offered me a junior-level job upon graduation from high school.  Now that I finished my degree, I was offered a much-earned promotion.  Required to wear a full suit and tie every day, I sat over my drafting table most days on a bar-height stool.  Fortunately, I was able to stand often without drawing attention to otherwise clearly visible recently received strap marks.  Many times the thought of what my co-workers would see if I had to be at my table with my suit pants and underwear down to my ankles crossed my mind.  My new role included greater responsibility to review the work of more junior designers and attend a larger number of client meetings since we contracted to a couple of home builders.  But the promotion came with the personal cost of adding more stress in my life for which I didn’t have the personal development tools to deal with at the time.  While completing my schooling took a few of my home-related tasks off my monthly task list, the added stress hindered me from completing other tasks my wife and I agreed to in our monthly contract reviews.  That brought more frequent discipline back into my life.  The focused space that I entered while receiving the black leather strap on my bare bottom proved to be a haven to get away from everyday stress.  Fortunately, the freedom to ask my wife for the strap gave me the added ability to relieve stress, seventy strokes at a time in addition to the discipline sessions for not meeting the contractual terms of our disciplinary lifestyle.

During my wife’s first pregnancy, we met a couple, Connie and Greg. Connie had the same OB/GYN as my wife as they were expecting their first child around the same time ours was due.  The four of us went through child-birth classes together and we eventually became friends.  They lived about a half-mile from us.  We introduced both of them to our Friday-Saturday night card games such as Rummy, Poker, and Uno played a couple of times a month.  Fortunately, they were friends with whom my wife didn’t share our domestic discipline lifestyle. It was one of our solo weeks when my wife and I played cards without them that the topic of childhood discipline came up, as it would from time to time.  This time, my wife asked what caused the most severe strapping administered by my mom.  I always felt comfortable discussing my childhood experiences of bare-bottom discipline with my wife.  Still, I was extremely embarrassed when she asked me that question since it opened an experience that I wasn’t proud of.  I thought long to not even bring up that incident with her since it was branded by my mom as perverted even though it was true by the standards of the time. I put down my playing cards, faced my wife and decided to tell her that fateful story.

My Sister’s Panties

When was twelve years old, I found myself exploring everything sexual and such curiosities got the best of me.  One day, as I did almost every other day, I was putting my clothes in the laundry hamper to be washed by my mom.  Before depositing my clothes, I saw a pair of my sister’s panties on top—she was a year older than me.  There was no one else at home at the time so I picked them up before adding my clothes and for the first time noticed how beautiful they were.  The yellow cotton with small pink flowers was so much more attractive than my basic tighty-whities.  It was something I had never noticed when I saw her plain white panties.  The thin, soft cotton felt so much more refined than the coarser cotton that made mine. I quickly stuffed them into the pocket of my shorts and hurried off to my room.  My mom wouldn’t be doing the wash for a couple of days until the weekend.  I closed my bedroom door and experienced an erection I wasn’t expecting.  Aching to experience how they felt, I peeled off my shorts, and underwear and slid right into them. I pulled up my t-shirt a little and looked in the mirror.  The fit, feel, and look were fantastic.  I quickly took them off and returned them to the hamper, strategically placed under the clothes I had just added.

Throughout the next months, I would briefly wear her panties whenever I could.  Then, I became more daring by keeping them longer in my room until a day or so before my mom would do the laundry.  I also noticed during that time her panties changed to more of a silky material.

This erotically delightful practice continued for two years until one day when I was fourteen my mom called me to the living room. Sitting in her chair while my sister was on the couch,  Mom calmly confronted me with a pair of pastel green panties which I recognized as belonging to my sister.  She had found them between my mattress and box spring when she changed my sheets early.  She asked me point blank what I was doing with my sister’s panties.  Knowing better than lying to my mom and that I couldn’t defend my defenseless act, I simply told her the simple truth: I put them on occasionally.  With that, she told me I would receive the brown leather strap and my sister was going to observe as she was the injured party. Witnesses to our strappings were the normal practice whenever another person was involved.  I remember having my neighbor lady observe a leathering from my mom when I ran through her flower bed trying to catch a ball.  Fortunately, it didn’t happen very often.  The last time my sister witnessed my bottom getting it was about five years earlier.  While my body had changed a lot since then,  the process was always the same when my sister or I received the strap from Mom—except this time. As usual, I stripped down to my underwear and stood in front of my mom seated in her chair and then finally removed my last stitch of clothing as the spanking protocol required.  Standing before her completely naked, she told me to put on those pastel green panties. Pantied and extremely embarrassed, I looked at my sister expecting some type of horrified response. Instead, there was nothing–absolutely no response verbally or visually. Her emotionless gaze left a lasting impression.  I looked at my sister and told her I was sorry.  My mom was much more negatively impacted by seeing me dressed this way.  After a short time of letting the embarrassment carve its mark, she lowered and removed the panties—once again, I was standing completely naked before her.  As always, I moved toward the back of her chair and bent over it after she arose.  Mom always administered our strappings with a well-worn leather belt. This strapping was severe: With each lash of leather on my bare bottom, Mom wanted my sister to see that justice was soundly delivered while also impressing upon me the severity of the offense.  I couldn’t recall a longer or harder session.  The week-long strap marks proved that out.  It was the last time I took my sister’s panties from the clothes hamper.  However, that wasn’t the last time that my sister and I witnessed the other getting a strapping from Mom.

Shock and Cleansing

My wife’s reaction was completely unexpected. I believe she was expecting me to say it was the time she witnessed my mom spanking me in front of her. Not so. She was shocked and couldn’t believe I would do such a perverted thing.  I believe she placed herself in my sister’s shoes and felt the violation. At that moment, I felt totally ashamed and had a hollow feeling in my stomach. My wife noticed that I was visibly affected by my confession and asked me if I would feel better after I received the strap from her.  I begrudgingly said “Yes”.  She rephrased and asked again if I was asking to receive seventy strokes of punishing black leather from her.  I reaffirmed “Yes”.

I was naked and in position kneeling on our bed thinking of the ten years that had passed since my mom dealt with my perversion in a similar fashion.  Soon the black strap began punishing my already marked bare bottom—I began to feel cleansed again from my actions years ago.  The seventieth stroke landed with as much force as the first. I was silently in tears.  Tears that never had happened to that extent, I realized it was an emotional release rather than the physical pain from the punishment. She told me that was the last strapping I would receive for wearing panties but with the next morning being Saturday, we were going shopping.

Saturday Shopping

I wasn’t sure how to take her strange remark about shopping.  With a six-month-old child, it was not uncommon that we went shopping on weekends.  We arrived at K-Mart around ten in the morning.  I was about to go to the music and auto departments as I usually would when she did the normal shopping.  This time she stopped me and told me to stay with her and the baby.  I did as I was told and pushed the cart.  As we passed the women’s department, my wife strolled into the lingerie section.  I stayed in the aisle with the cart and baby.  Soon returning, she had two pairs of panties on hangers in hand.  One was a bright yellow silky brief with a small red heart pattern the sight of which immediately took me back to the first pair of my sister’s panties that I wore.  The second was a light blue pair, bikini style. She told me that they were size 10 and they should fit me but I needed to try them on.  She pointed to the dressing rooms.

I walked to the dressing rooms in a mental haze non-verbally asking myself what had just happened.  I had bunched them up on their hangers in my hand to lessen the view but did not escape the watchful eye of the dressing room attendant who told tell me that I needed to keep my own underwear up while trying them on. I hadn’t even noticed her until she said that.  I paused and looked back to see a smiling lady, who I estimated was in her mid-forties as she said to take the last dressing room to the left down the hall.  I walked past about four or five dressing rooms to the end.  I pulled back the very heavy fixed felt curtain, walked in, and let it fall to close.  There was a full-length mirror across from where I was standing and a bench along the length of the back of the small room with a clothes hook attached to the wall above the bench.  I placed the hangers on the hook leaving both the bright yellow briefs and the light blue bikini panties in my view.  The label indicated that the silky-like material was nylon.  I took off my sandals, shorts, and underwear and placed them on the bench.  Leaning against the wall opposite the mirror with the curtain to my left and the bench to my right, I saw myself reflected naked from the waist down with my t-shirt offering no coverage.  I closed my eyes while I leaned with my back on the wall and thought about the circumstances that I was in.  For the past ten years, I had shamed myself for what I had done.  My sister’s emotionless stare when she saw me wearing her panties, my mom exposing me when she lowered them, and the severe strapping that followed kept running through my mind only to be compounded by my wife’s shocked expression from my confession made the night before.  The seventy full-force strokes of the black leather strap on my recently disciplined bottom were a penetrating and inescapable painful reminder.

I don’t know if it was the amount of time that I was in the dressing room, my stressed breathing while I had my eyes closed, or both that prompted the dressing room attendant to pull back the curtain slightly, peek in and ask if I was okay.  She startled me and I looked to my left when I told her I was fine.  I don’t know if she noticed my nudity and flaccid male member but when I turned toward the hook on the back wall to reach for the panties, I heard her let out a gasp and say, “Oh my.”  I realized then that she saw the results of my two recent sessions with the strap.  There was the more recent swelling and shades of dark reds and purples from the previous night along with the yellowish and black and blue coloring from the week before.  While I didn’t hear her closing the curtain, she was no longer in view of my bare bottom. Trying the yellow brief nylon panties first, the mirror again brought back some thoughts. But this time was different: Going from flaccid to semi-erect and no longer experiencing shame and guilt, I was transported back to that exquisite sensual delight of that 12-year-old boy first trying on his sister’s panties   I quickly removed the yellow briefs and slid into the snugger light-blue nylon bikinis.  I became fully erect.

After getting dressed and exiting the dressing room, the attendant smiled and asked me if everything was okay and I replied “Yes.”  I caught up with my wife and she smiled asking me how they fit.  I embarrassingly told her that they fit fine.  She told me that she was almost through shopping and stated that we would talk when we returned home.

The Talk

An uneasy silence consumed the short trip back to our house. Just before we arrived my wife told me that upon closing the garage door I was to strip naked before entering the house—fortunately, we have an attached garage.  Obediently, I entered completely naked with my clothes in hand together with the shopping bags. My wife put the baby down for a nap and unpacked.  She handed me the blue bikini panties and told me that some things were going to change: “Put them on,” she ordered.  Pantied, I knelt in front of her as I was accustomed to when naked—she reclined on the sofa.  Within a minute or so my rock-hard rod was prominently stretching the erotic material of those light-blue nylon panties–her bare foot rubbed the profile of my straining member with teasing approval.  My natural submissive position was head lowered and eyes closed until I was spoken to.  This time was no different.  She spoke and told me to sit and join her on the couch.

The conversation began with her asking how my new underwear felt.  My wife then stated that while she was shocked and appalled when I told her about wearing my sister’s panties, the idea of introducing me to panties had been brewing for a long time.  It had started a little over two years ago when she overheard Miss Ruby insisting my male bikinis were, in fact, girls’ panties. That door remained closed in her mind because she didn’t know if it would be proper or how I would feel to be in feminine underwear. Well, that door was blown open with my confession of being obsessed with wearing panties since I was twelve years old. She was taken aback when she saw how I was affected when I told her about the discipline I received from my mom when I was fourteen years old.  She said she thought if I was ashamed to tell her about my discipline that I would be ashamed to wear panties again.  She was right.  But she was also right that since I accepted the strapping administered the previous night for wearing panties, I would have the weight taken from me and I would consider wearing them again.  It took a dressing room attendant to seal that feeling for me.  She asked if I had thought about wearing girls’ panties since the discipline my mom gave me and I answered “No”.  Now, I was sitting next to her in blue bikini panties which were now mine. She told me to kneel in front of her again, which I did.  While the panties concealed the flesh of my straining member, she clearly saw its vigor.  Obviously turned on, I was, nonetheless, embarrassed.  She reiterated that I would never be disciplined just for wearing panties with the one notable exception: hers were strictly off-limits.

Forced Wearing of Panties

My panty collection grew over time from two sources. New panties were added to my assortment with purchases made by my wife on shopping trips, which I was required to attend. Others were passed down when she would have normally discarded them after buying new ones. She always wore beautiful panties, which led to my first lace and thong pair.

She laid out the rules. While I generally had the option to wear panties and those of my choosing, there were going to be times when she would dictate my panty attire adding that some of those situations would not come easy for me and would include the following:

• All visits to Miss Ruby whether it was for a discipline session or just a social call,
• Whenever I went to the gym,
• Game night whenever Connie and Greg came over,
• At times when I went to work.

I was still embarrassed at the thought of anyone, not in our lifestyle, seeing me in panties.

Another Visit to the Disciplinarian Miss Ruby

About four months had passed since my first day back in panties.  My wife had passed down some of her discarded ones and a few new pairs were added to my collection, all stored in a dedicated drawer in my nightstand.  While she was pleased when I had initiated wearing them, there were also times when they were mandatory, mostly when I went to the gym to work out and play racquetball or during our game night with Greg and Connie. It took significant creativity at the gym when changing to and from my street clothes to conceal my feminine attire. Wearing them to work under my suit pants was much easier.

Our baby had just turned one year old when joyful news arrived that my wife was pregnant with our planned second child.  One morning, my wife handed me a pair of bright red lace bikini panties from my drawer as I exited the shower.  I purposely hadn’t worn those before since they were so bright and possibly attracted attention.  As I was drying off with the towel, she told me that I needed to visit Miss Ruby that day for a session with her razor strop since there was a task that I didn’t accomplish on time to her satisfaction.  I knew exactly what she was talking about and had no defense or even room to object. It had been almost a year since I was last disciplined by Miss Ruby although I had visited her socially several times that year.  On this occasion, my wife made panties mandatory adding that Miss Ruby was not made aware of the situation. That was about to change.

Upon arriving at Miss Ruby’s house, she answered the door with a welcome and told me that my wife had called notifying her that I needed a proper strapping.  I looked down and said “yes”.  She invited me in and told me that I knew what to do.  We walked into her living room, where I saw the sofa-spanking table cleared of the vases and with the oversized pillow to my left.  She sat down in her chair, I started to take my clothes off with my jeans the last to be lowered.  I was to her left standing by the couch facing her and I unbuckled the belt. The big picture window was at my back,  I unbuttoned and unzipped my jeans.  I embarrassingly lowered my jeans to where I was still holding the waistband by my fingertips when she spoke out about my red lace panties.  My hardness showed through the lace front and when my jeans dropped to the floor, she asked me to stand in front of her.  I moved towards her and stood in front of her, only dressed in my red lace bikini panties, for a couple of minutes.  She couldn’t stop telling me how good I looked, and her hands rubbed the lace on the front giving me a strange feeling on my hardened cock.  She told me to kneel and as I did, she moved toward the front of the chair cushion.  She lifted her dress over my head, grabbed the back of my head, and moved it into her wet pink cotton panties.  I hadn’t smelled her sweet intoxicating aroma in a long time.  In the darkness under her dress, she moved my head up and down as my nose, mouth, and tongue found her sweet spot. Her body stiffened and I could hear a muffled scream and moaning.  A gush of new wetness reached my mouth through her soaked panties.

A Dilemma

She raised her dress and told me to stand.  I didn’t touch my wet face as I stood.  With my red lace bikini panties at her eye level, she told me she faced a dilemma.  On one hand, with the orgasm I had just given her, she didn’t want to take the razor strop to me.  I stood frozen with my arms to my side and silent.  I could feel pre-cum oozing through the lace. On the other hand, she told me she had promised my wife a strong hard session with the old worn brown leather razor strop.  I broke my silence and told her that my wife would inspect my bottom when I returned home. I asked her to please take the razor strop to me in a fashion that would satisfy my wife.  With that, she said that she respected my decision and proceeded to lower my pre-cum stained panties to the floor releasing my throbbing manhood.

Bound and Strapped

I walked over to the awaiting sofa table, laid my lower torso onto the oversized pillow and spread my arms and legs wide open so she could restrain them with the ready-placed ropes.  After she finished binding me, Miss Ruby stood over my downward-angled head. While nothing but her feet were visible, I once again luxuriated in the smell of her sweet aroma. I felt her hands rub my shoulders and she told me that she knew I would be having a much different experience from the leather strop as it landed on its target than what she had just felt.  However, it would be emotionally just as rewarding.  With that, she moved behind me, pulled my softening cock and balls into place, and let loose the first blistering stroke. As was always Miss Ruby’s practice, the strapping was delivered in sets of ten with each set as hard or harder than the first.  Into the second set, I moved off into my headspace and the strokes morphed into a blur with the exception that I was able to count the sets.  For as long as I can remember, I had learned to keep my entire body from tensing up as each strike landed and to allow my body to process the impact and pain of each lash.  I was also now armed with another technique to endure a strapping.  For a little over a year, I refined the lesson that my wife was taught in her natural childbirth classes:  I learned to concentrate on my breathing.  When the pain reached my limit, I began to focus on inhaling and exhaling.  Resolutely she continued to the end of the ninth set. Once finished, she mercifully applied arnica oil to my heavily marked bottom as I remained bound.

Back Home

I had washed my face before I left Miss Ruby’s to remove any trace of pleasing her.  Unsure if my wife would have approved or not, I was always caught in a conundrum since I was trained to obey women.

Upon returning home, my wife called me into the kitchen and told me to drop my jeans.  She noticed the now hardened pre-cum in the lace of my panties.  When I turned around for her to inspect my marks, she lowered my panties, bared my bottom, and told me that she was very pleased.  She grabbed my cock and told me that I needed to stay naked the rest of the day and after I pleased her to her satisfaction later that evening, I would be rewarded.

Jack invites and encourages your feedback in the comment section below or via email where he can be reached at spnkswtch@gmail.com.

The journey continues in the next installment – stay tuned.