Caught Red-handed and Punished

by Jabberwock

Teenage panty fetishist gets caught stealing and punished for it



When I was a teenager, I spent a lot of time alone. I was an only child and my parents were rich and in show business and travelled a lot, frequently being gone for weeks and sometimes months at a time. They never seemed to want to take me with them in their travels, explaining that it would interfere with my schooling, so they left me home with a succession of housekeepers who lived in the house and hired other help to cook and clean. I was kind of a strange, geeky kid and didn't have many friends, so I learned to amuse myself alone.


Most of the housekeepers were older women who were about as sexy as a piece of dry toast. They took care of the house, and that was fine, and by and large they left me alone, which was also fine. Thinking about them now, years after the fact, I don't even remember most of their names. By and large, I didn't think too much about any of them, until Arlene came along.


Arlene became our housekeeper around the time I was sixteen and I will never forget her. She was in her early forties, black, and VERY attractive to me. She was a big woman, nearly six feet tall, wide hips, large, rounded ass, very nice chest, although not a huge one. She was in good shape, and looked younger than she probably was, and I quickly became infatuated with her. I got a hardon the first time I saw her. Having a woman like that in the house excited me in a way I had never really felt before. OK, so I was a little backwards, but, as I said, I was a skinny, awkward kid and girls my age were not exactly flocking to me.


Unfortunately, although my teenage hormones were running wild with her in the house, she was obviously not nearly as taken with me. Arlene was all business, and not overly friendly. She wasn't UNfriendly, but she went about her business efficiently and seriously and had a no-nonesense air about her. Although I tried to elicit it from her, she was not at all warm to me and at times seemed almost disdainful. But even that seemed sexy to me, and while I had many fantasies about making love with her, it felt like the less she was interested in me, the more I was in her. It was silly of me to even think that she would care about me. I was an immature little white kid, too clueless to even realize what I must look like to her. But to me, she was sexy and exciting and I had many masturbation fantasies about her.


One day, several weeks after she began working in our house, I found myself home alone one afternoon. It was a weekend and Arlene had the day off. I puttered around and, without really thinking about it, I found myself wandering into her bedroom. The room smelled of her, a very erotic combination of her perfume and a lovely, sweet, female smell. I felt myself getting hard just standing in her room. I was drawn to her closet, which I opened and stood staring at her clothes; dresses, blouses, shoes. Then, I went to her dresser and opened up the top drawer. My senses were assailed by a delicious perfume smell that wafted out of that drawer, and by the sight of a large drawer full of very feminine lingerie, neatly folded and stacked bras, slips, panties, garter panties, stockings. It was all there. I picked up a pair of panties from the top of the stack and, with trembling fingers, unfolded them and held them up. They were white, nylon, and had a beautiful lace panel over the right hip. Beneath them were a silky, pink pair, just plain pink nylon. Beneath them were a pair with floral print fabric. I went through them all. There were about a dozen pair, all size 9 or 10, some duplicates, she seemed to really like a style with lace above the front leg openings and had four pair of those in white and beige. There was one bright red pair, one yellow, a few with printed fabric. They were all large, high-waisted, fullcut nylon briefs, the style that women wore in those days.


I had meant to examine the slips, which also fascinated me, but I never got that far that day. I was so entranced by her panties that, after fondling them and looking at every single pair, I ripped off my clothes and put a pair on and stood there, stroking my huge cock through the silky nylon and fantasizing about seeing Arlene wear them as she was about to make love to me. They were huge on me, and felt wonderful, my throbbing cock encased in folds of silky nylon and it didn't take long before I shot a huge load of creamy semen into the beautiful panties.


Suddenly, I was ashamed of myself and didn't know what to do. I quickly removed the panties and dressed. I did my best to fold up all the panties the way they were and put them back in the drawer, putting the soiled pair on the bottom and hoping she wouldn't notice. What an idiot I was. Thinking about it years later, I was amazed that I thought that I could clumsily fold up all those panties, stuff them back in the drawer, in all liklihood in a different order than they had been in when I had found them, one of them with a large, drying stain on them, and that an obviously fastidious woman like Arlene would not notice. But I did, and escaped from the room feeling a strange combination of satisfaction and fear.


My fear lasted a very short time, however. In the succeeding weeks, I was drawn repeatedly to Arlene's room like a moth to a flame. Each time, I masturbated into a pair of her enormous panties. Sometimes, I would also put on one of her silky nylon full slips along with a pair of panties. As I masturbated, I had many fantasies, all involving Arlene and her lingerie, imagining her undressing, and what she would look like in her panties. Once, when I knew Arlene would be gone overnight, I took a pair of panties and a slip to my room and slept in them. It felt so wonderful to be encased in those silky nylon folds, I couldn't stop myself, even though I recognized the danger of being caught. I tried to imagine what Arlene would do if she caught me (stupidly not realizing how much evidence I was leaving behind and that she probably already knew what I was doing), but in my mind she would like it, and would allow me to wear her panties as she stroked me before we made love. Ah, adolescent fantasies.


There came a day when I knew Arlene was leaving and I just couldn't wait for her to go so I could get to her room and amuse myself with her silky undies. As soon as she was out of the house, I practically ran to her room and pulled open her lingerie drawer. I was shocked to see a note sitting on the top of her neatly folded pile of panties. The note was handwritten and said, "Don't you dare touch my panties!"


Well. That dashed any hope that I had that she liked to have me play with her panties. But, in a way I'll never be able to explain, I was oddly turned on by the warning and like the true little jerk I was, I completely ignored it and stripped off my clothes as usual and was barely able to get a pair of panties and a slip on my body before I had a tremendous orgasm and sank down onto the floor in bliss. I had stained up another pair of Arlene's panties and it felt wonderful.


Suddenly, I heard a noise and knew instantly that it was the front door opening and closing. My heart jumped and I leapt to my feet as I heard the unmistakeable sound of Arlene's footsteps coming down the hall. In a panic, I shoved the drawer shut (ignoring the noise THAT made), whirled around and went for the closet, stumbling inside and pulling the door closed. I held my breath, hoping that she had forgotten something and would soon leave, too stupid to realize that I had been deliberately set up and trapped. It wasn't cold, but I shivered in fear as I waited for her to leave.


I heard her enter the room and the sound of her footsteps seemed to grow louder. Still completely clueless, I thought, what if she's coming to get something from the closet, there was no place I could hide. If she opened that door, I was...


"Open the door and come out now!" I heard. I didn't move, frozen with fear. Suddenly, the closet door opened and there she was, an angry look on her face. She was dressed in a black skirt and white blouse and she had taken off her shoes. Her fists were clenched at her sides and she looked ready to fight. I was suddenly very, very afraid. She looked me up and down, taking in the fact that I was dressed only in a full slip and a pair of floral print panties that shone clearly through the sheer slip. I was extremely aware of the fact that the panties sported a large, sticky stain on the front which had soaked through to the slip, and I knew this had not escaped her attention, either. When I didn't move, she reached in and grabbed me by the hair and pulled me roughly out of the closet.


Arlene was a woman of action. Without another word, she hauled off and slapped me, hard, across the face. "How dare you!" she shouted, "How dare you!" It seemed like she wanted to say more, but was too angry to get the words out. Instead, she backhanded me, and then slapped me back and forth three or four more times. I squealed and grunted and my head whipped back and forth. This was not at all part of the scenario! I stood there wearing Arlene's lingerie taking a face-slapping and the more she slapped me, the more I realized that Arlene had planned this as my punishment for playing with her underwear. Somehow, the ringing, stinging face slaps had made it finally dawn on my dense little mind that Arlene was not amused by seeing me in her underwear and had known for quite some time what I had been doing in her room and had planned her response.


I lost count of the number of times she hit me. The slaps were stinging, jarring, and humiliating. My head buffeted back and forth. I grew increasingly dazed, but I made no attempt to get away or fight back, just stood there and took it, knowing in my heart that I deserved it. If she was trying to prove what a sissy whimp I was, she was completely successful. I know that at some point she had knocked me back against the wall and grabbed my arm with her left hand to keep me in one place while she continued to slap me back and forth with her right. Then, suddenly I was on the floor, dazed and bleeding from the nose and close to tears. I think I was more humiliated than anything else, although the face slapping had definitely hurt. I was hoping she was finished. Unfortunately for me, she was far from finished. I was about to be taught a lesson I would never forget.


I looked up blearily and was surprised to see Arlene stepping out of her black skirt and unbuttoning her blouse. "You're not worth messing up my nice clothes," she said in response to my look. Now she stood over me threateningly, but incredibly beautiful in a full white nylon slip with lace around the hem and bust. I could see the outline of her white panties through the slip material. "Since you've behaved like a nasty little boy, I'm going to treat you like one! Get up!!!" I had no idea what she had planned, but I was petrified now and tried to crawl away. She kicked me hard on the butt and I fell forward onto my face. Again, I got to my hands and knees and tried to move, and again she kicked me back to the floor. I turned over and lay on my back, holding my hands up in front of my face to ward off any further face slaps. I felt tears stinging my eyes and I stammered, "P-p-please Arlene. I-I-I-I'm so s-s-sorry. I-I-I...p-p-p-please...n-n-n-no m-m-more..." But, heedless of my pleas, she grabbed my hair, and with the other hand grabbed a fistful of nylon slip and panty around my rear and yanked me roughly over to the bed where she sat down and threw me across her lap.


As soon as I realized that she intended to give me an old-fashioned, over-the-knees spanking, I began to cry for real, even before the first blow landed on my nylon-covered ass. I had never been spanked before and just the idea of lying over her lap, clad in silky women's undies was incredibly humiliating. The spanking really hurt, both my pride and my nylon-covered bottom. I can tell you, you don't know humiliation unless you've been face down over the lap of a strong, masterful woman, while she spanks you hard and at great length. And, if you're dressed only in women's underwear, it's even worse.


Arlene punctuated the spanking with a lecture. "Don't you ever ...SPANK!... EVER! ...SPANK!... touch my underwear ...SPANK!... again! ...SPANK!... If I ever ...SPANK!... EVER! ...SPANK!... catch you ...SPANK!... in my panties ...SPANK!... again ...SPANK!... I will ...SPANK!... make you sorry ...SPANK!... that you ...SPANK!... were ever ...SPANK!... born! ...SPANK!... ...SPANK!... ...SPANK!... And so on. It went on for a long time and all I could do was howl and cry, which I did in great abundance.


Finally, she decided that I had had enough, or maybe she just got tired, because she stopped and stood up, dumping me roughly off her lap. My bottom was on fire, and I lay face down on the floor with my ass up in the air. I'm sure I looked ridiculous, but I was so sore and ashamed that I wasn't even conscious of it. I realized that I was babbling, begging for her to stop and apologizing all at once, over and over. This certainly had never been part of what I had imagined would happen if Arlene ever caught me fooling with her panties, to be slapped around and spanked like a child. My uplifted bottom must have been too tempting a target and Arlene took advantage of it by coming around with a hard kick to my sore cheeks, sending me forward landing hard on my face. I lay, spreadeagled on the floor, sobbing.


She came and stood over me. "You're pathetic!" she said. "Look at yourself, you silly little sissy! How dare you touch my panties! How dare you wear my slip! You deserve everything you've gotten today for making a mess in my panties!" It really looked like she wanted to hit me again and I started shaking like a leaf.


"NNNNOOOOOO!" I wailed, and struggled up to my knees. I was desperate to get out of there and grabbed at her legs, wrapping my arms around them, crying and begging her not to hit me any more. I don't really remember what I was saying, but I must have looked pretty silly in that slip and those panties, hugging her legs and blubbering. I had reached the point where I was now humiliating myself, but I didn't care. I wanted the beating to stop, to get out of Arlene's underwear and out of that room.


"Let go of me, you!" she yelled, stepping back and trying to slap my arms away. "You're getting blood on my slip! Let go! Let go!" I wanted to let go, but as she stepped back, I lost my balance and was falling on my face and clutched at her legs for support. But instead of her legs, I got two handfuls of nylon slip and I fell forward anyway, landing on my elbows, as she stumbled backwards and away. Suddenly, I realized that I had a double handful of sheer white nylon. I was holding her slip wadded up in my hands which meant that she was no longer wearing it. My pulling on the bottom had broken the delicate shoulder straps, allowing the slip to fall right off her as she stepped back and away from me. I was now face down on the floor clutching the slip, which was now around her ankles. She stepped backwards and out of the slip, shaking her feet free of the ruined garment. For a second, I kneeled there, stupidly staring at the silky nylon in my hands, then looked up with growing apprehension when I realized what had happened. Arlene stood there in her bra and panties with a look of total fury on her face.


"LOOK WHAT YOU'VE DONE!!!" she screamed at me. "You've ruined my slip! YOU'RE GOING TO PAY FOR THIS!!!" And she drew back and swung her fist, connecting with my jaw and sending me spinning to the floor, where I lay gasping and blinking. I couldn't believe how hard she had just hit me. A disjointed thought popped into my dizzy brain that Arlene knew how to use her fists. I was suddenly very, very scared.


The next ten minutes were the worst in my life. I don't remember most of the details, and even if I did, I wouldn't want to talk about it, because that woman gave me the beating of my life. She used a combination of fists and slaps and seemed to take her time with it, as if she was savoring the moment. She really let me have it. I couldn't even describe the experience, but just picture a big, beautiful black woman, wearing only in a white lacy bra and white nylon panties with lace around the front of the legs, beautiful against her smooth dark skin, punching the lights out of a skinny, geeky teenage boy dressed in a sheer, lace-trimmed full slip with large, floral print, semen-stained panties clearly showing beneath them. She really cleaned my clock, and that's the only way I can describe it.


I do have a dim memory of the end of the beating, when she had dragged me up to my feet for the last time and stood back, hands on hips, to admire her handiwork. I was standing there, swaying on rubbery legs, dressed in frilly lingerie, mewling and weeping, my face darkened by bruises, bleeding from the nose and mouth, my left eye swollen shut, welts and bruises all over my upper body. During the course of my beating, I had several times squirted pee into my panties after absorbing particularly hard blows. It was hard to believe, but she had literally beaten the piss out of me and the semen stain had now been enlarged to be a large wet pee stain covering the front of my panties and soaking through to the slip. In fact, I was so far gone, and crying so hard, pee was still dribbling out. I was about as badly beaten up as a person could be, as well as totally humiliated. Arlene was nodding in satisfaction.


"I hope you've learned your lesson, young man!" she said, sternly, but with a little smile of content on her face. "Don't even think of touching my things again." And with that, she grabbed my hair, positioned my just right and delivered a huge uppercut that seemed to lift me off the floor. I think I was unconscious before I even landed.


When I came to, I was in my bed, still wearing my damp, stained lingerie. Arlene had apparently cleaned my face up a bit as the blood was wiped off and there were bandaids on the cuts on my cheek, jaw, and eyebrow. When I remembered what had happened, I began to cry again. I spent a lot of my recovery time over the next week or two crying. Every time I thought about the beating Arlene gave me, every time I thought about standing there helplessly in her silky underwear, taking a good whipping, I cried bitterly.


I suppose a psychologist would have a field day with all this. She'd probably say that I had subconsciously really wanted to get caught, considering how heedless I was about covering my tracks. Going ahead and putting on the panties that day, in spite of the warning note she had left, was an unconscious expression of my desire to be caught and punished. Maybe she'd say that Arlene had wanted to establish dominance over me, had wanted to beat me up, and that's why she let my thievery go on as long as she did, and had made sure she could catch me wearing her undies, instead of confronting me with it after the first time and ordering me to stop. Who knows?


The odd thing is that Arlene did not quit the job and she continued to work as our housekeeper for quite some time after that. I was surprised about that. She also let me keep the panties and slip I had been beaten up in, along with all the other pairs of panties I had masturbated in. She told me that she wouldn't wear them any more after I had "done a nasty" in them, so I got them back. I did have to replace every single pair, along with both the slip I had ruined during the beating, and the one that I had worn during my humiliating punishment. That was a pretty embarrassing experience. She marched me into the lingerie department of a large department store and selected the replacements and then stood back, arms crossed, while I paid for them. I can't imagine what all the women, including the sales clerk, thought of this performance, but I think my face was bright red under the bruises during the whole time.