I have been called into the lounge. It is a large room with a fireplace, two couches and a number of easy chairs. I have no idea why He wishes to see me but I have nothing to fear. If he wished to punish me I would have been told to report to The Special Room that he has set aside for that purpose.
There are three men with him and they rise at my entrance. He announces, "Ah! The entertainment has arrived." I am confused until He tells me to take off my shoes and leave them by the door. My heart begins to sink. The removal of shoes is a ritualistic part of my preparation for punishment whenever I enter The Special Room. Nervously I do as he wishes and then I notice The Chair has been brought here and placed in the center of the lounge. I stand, too frightened to move. Surely he does not intend to spank me in front of these strangers. He has come forward to meet me. I try to read something in his face but it is impassive as always. Although he is nothing more than a gracious host to me most of the time, he has often deemed it necessary to punish me in the Special Room and I have always submitted to it without question. During those times he more my Master than my host and it is in that light that I see him now so I offer no resistance as he takes my hand and I am led like a lamb to slaughter. He sits in The Chair and brings me down into an all too familiar position. I lie there in a daze as he raises my dress and slip. He grasps my waist and I instinctively take hold of the chair legs.
As I wait for the first stroke I hear him say, "When I am using my hand I prefer leaving her underwear on. The texture of the material when I rub it against her firm backside is quite nice and there is a delightfully different feel to spanking her that way. Of course it doesn't hurt her as much but its a good start I see no reason why we can't have a little fun before I get to the real spanking."
If I could bring myself to speak I would correct him. Keeping my panties on is slightly less humiliating especially in the present circumstances but they offer little protection and Yes, it hurts. Not only that but I most decidedly disagreed with his other comment. I don't think any of his previous spankings or the one I'm apparently going to get tonight are any fun at all but I remain silent. I am too ashamed to be in this position in front of these men and besides, it would not do to contradict someone when they are about to punish you. There would be nothing to gain and considerable to regret. The spanking starts. He is starting out harder than he usually does and I resign myself not only to the almost unbearable humiliation of being spanked for the entertainment of strangers but now to the pain which will build to an agonizing level sooner than normal.
I am surprised when he stops. I wasn't counting but I knew it was much less than he normally delivers. He lets go of my waist and I quickly reach for the floor to steady myself. I didn't see the little table where he puts the implements nor did I see any of them in the lounge although I must admit, I didn't have time for a thorough search. Even so, I try to comfort myself. He is a man of ritual and when he punishes me over his knee he waits to use his chosen implement until he decides that I have been properly prepared for it and that usually takes a lot longer than this. There has never been a time when I have received such a short and relatively mild spanking. I feel him returning my clothes to their proper place and my heart soars. It has been most humiliating and I know I will still have to face the guests who have punctuated my shame by polite applause but maybe the entertainment he spoke of was just a demonstration of my submissiveness. I hope I pleased him.
He guides me to my feet and stands beside me. I cannot bring myself to look up so I stare at the floor until he takes my hand and leads me to one his guests who has risen to greet us. My hand is transferred and with it my fate as I am brought back to The Chair. My guide sits and gently moves me to his side. I want to look at the man who is truly my Master this evening but I don't. I'm afraid it would be misconstrued as asking for mercy. If he wishes me to be punished at the hands of another I will be. It appears the evening's entertainment includes audience participation and I resign myself to be spanked again by the man who holds my hand. I fear he will not be the last.
My reverie is broken as the man in The Chair speaks. "Personally, I prefer the feel of soft and silky skin. Take your underpants off."
I realize he is talking to me and it takes a moment for his message to sink in. When it does I reach under my dress modestly, unsnap the garter straps, pull my panties down a little and reattach the garters. I am told to take the pants off completely and I do as ordered. My face is red with shame as I hold them in my hand, unsure of what to do and he says, "You may keep them until I'm done and then you can put them back on."
I nod and with his kind assistance, find myself over his lap. He does not grasp my waist but rests one hand on the small of my back so I must keep my hands on the floor and cannot hold the chair legs. I mourn the loss of my anchor as he raises my clothes and spends a few moments gently rubbing his target.
The shame of submitting to a spanking by a complete stranger is momentarily overshadowed by indignation. How dare he take such intimate liberties. Needless to say I keep my views to myself and listen to him complimenting the one who previously had exclusive rights to this part of my body on how nice and smooth he found the territory. I pray for him to get on with the real reason I am in this position and then wish he'd go back to that nice rubbing as the first of his swats lands. It hurts as much if not more than the last of the my host's demonstration. The second one lands swiftly and I barely have time to catch by breath for the next few. When he stops it is only to readjust my position. The force of his blows has driven me forward and he pulls me back with the admonition to brace myself harder. He strikes hard again and again. I am trying to keep from crying out but each one is as bad as the first and I am about to lose the battle. I long ago gave up trying to count my Master's strokes in The Special Room but now it seems important, however, the pain is getting worse. Somewhere around the fifteenth swat I finally cry out and that encourages him to strike even harder. Just as I abandon my efforts at counting he stops again.
I am crying and hoping he is done but I jump as I feel his hand again. He is not hitting but has gone back to rubbing. Even this gentle touch is a little painful but what was humiliating before is now soothing. Oh, No! Rub the pain away if you must but don't move your hand there. I am ashamed to find my own body betraying me and I cannot close my legs to prevent his hand from sliding down there. Please don't touch me there! Please, please! Too late. He has found my secret and I moan as he explores further but just enough to satisfy himself that I have had the required response to his efforts. He tells the assemblage what he has discovered. I'm not sure if the applause is for him or me and I'm too ashamed to care.
He helps me to my feet and tells me I can put my underpants back on. I still have them in my hand but had forgotten them. I step into them and the elastic hurts as it slides over my recently abused skin. When I complete my task he takes my hand and leads me to the next man. I am not sure how I will survive another onslaught much less two but I must do the best I can.
I am led back to the chair and wait as visitor number two settles himself. He informs (me or the group, I don't know) that he also prefers panties off. I half expected as much but he doesn't stop there. He also does not care for the business of moving clothes after I'm over his lap so (now I know he's talking to me) the dress and slip will be removed first. With fresh tears in my eyes I unzip my dress and let it drop to the floor. I pull the straps of my slip off my shoulders and it joins the dress. I step out of them and a voice I recognize as having the power to stop this nightmare says, "You know better than that. Hang them up."
I look to see him pointing to the hat rack next to where I left my shoes. I pick up my clothes and walk towards it. As I put them on hangers I realize how close I am to the door. Freedom is but a few feet away but I cannot even think of such things. If I go now I might as well leave this house forever. That is a price I am not prepared to pay. If my humiliation and suffering are the payment for his hospitality then so be it. I turn back to center stage as it were and walk proudly. As proudly as I can with nothing on but my underwear and with the knowledge that as soon as I'm back at The Chair I have already been doomed to stand in front of them wearing even less. As I put distance between me and my outer clothes I know it is unlikely that I will be allowed to put them on again before they're finished with me and I have little hope that they won't make strip me entirely. The spankings I am being forced to submit to for their entertainment are, at best, only half over and I fear they will not be the full extent of the punishments I will endure before the night is over.
Upon my arrival back to The chair I'm told to take my pants down. I've already done this once but then at least I had the small modesty of performing this action under cover of my dress. Now I am in full view as I go through the steps of undoing the garter snaps, pulling my pants down a little and reattaching my stockings. I stand in readiness with my pants just above my knees and he informs me he is left handed. I don't understand what he means till he guides me around to his other side. In the process my pants have slipped down to my ankles and he decides it would be just as well if I took them off entirely adding, "Since you won't be needing them for the rest of the evening."
Although not entirely unexpected I was not happy with this announcement. Embarrassing as it was to take them off and then put them on again even momentarily at least there were a few moments where I could have the pretence of feminine modesty. Nevertheless, I cannot refuse this last order I slip them over my feet. As I rise he is holding out his hand to take them. I must admit to a moment of hesitation, in spite of what I have already endured and will suffer relinquishing this intimate garment is frightening. As they leave my grasp he does nothing but toss them to the side. I don't know what I was expecting but his casual disposal of them is a shock. It was an important display of my submission and he has totally ignored it.
I am reminded of what my purpose this evening is as this left-handed man pulls me down to his lap.