Here is a re-post from nearly a year ago. I’m still very much under the weather so this tale is to fill the void until I’m back in the pink. This story is included in Ladies in Charge, Vol. 2. It’s long, so I’ve split it into two parts.
THE PANTY RAID
Greta VanCamp and I first met under rather embarrassing circumstances, at least for me. There is no doubt she enjoyed the encounter, as future events were to prove, but at the time I had no idea. All I wanted was for it to be over.
In my freshmen year at a southern university which will go unnamed, let’s call it Southern U, I pledged a fraternity. Being away from home for the first time in my life, away from the strictures of suburban middle class family life, what I wanted was to have a good ‘ol time. Oh, sure, I’d study and all that, but in between classes and on weekends I wanted to cut loose. So the frat I pledged was Delta Epsilon Kappa, “Deke” for short. The Dekes were reputed to be the wildest, most hell raising guys on campus. That wasn’t the half of it, for they would be kicked off campus three years later, their charter revoked, the fraternity disbanded. But I didn’t know that then.
Pledge classes, I found out, were expected to do audacious things, and we quickly set out to make our mark. There was a snooty sorority on campus called KAT, Kappa Alpha Theta. The Kats were aptly named. Only blue-blooded girls, scions of Old South money, were invited to join. These were girls who wouldn’t give a guy in Deke the time of day (or so we were told—actually many of the Dekes came from old money too). So naturally, they were a perfect target.
The plan for the panty raid may have been a good one, but I suspected we were being set up by the actives, thinking it was a great joke. The idea was that several of us would stage a fake brawl in front of the KAT sorority house. When all the girls came out to watch, several of us would slip in a back door, run through the house, hit the bedrooms and steal the required undergarments. The fake brawl started, some girls were attracted by the spectacle and came out to watch, and we slipped around back while they were watching. Unfortunately, as soon as we hit the house and did the snatch and grab, girls who had remained inside sealed off the exits and blocked us. It’s like they were waiting. We’d been had.
Their president was a tall dark haired beauty named Caroline Sanders. She and her sisters herded the five of us who had been the “snatch squad” into the common room. We found ourselves surrounded by thirty angry women. Remember, we were lowly frosh and most of them were seniors and juniors.
“Well, well,” said Caroline Sanders, eyeing us with her arms folded. “Some lowly pledges. Dekes, I’ll bet. What have you got in your hands, boys?”
We’d been caught red-handed, literally. We had been carrying panties, a few garter belts, bras, teddies – anything that looked sexy.
“We’ll put them back, ok?” said Phil, one of my pledge brothers. “Um, just let us go, ok? It was just a joke, see?” We all nodded in agreement. Actually this was a disaster. Failure meant swats when we got back, but at the time, that seemed like all we could do.
“Why that’s our underwear!” she said in what sounded to me like mock surprise. “How dare you boys come in here and steal our things!”
The angry murmuring started up. Some talked about calling the campus cops. Some said we ought to be reported to the dean of students.
Then someone else stepped forward, another officer I think. “At the very least we should call the Deke house and tell them what their pledges did.”
“Please, don’t do that,” said Nick, another brother of mine.
“And why not?” said Caroline, who had a phone in hand and was preparing to dial the Deke house.
“We’ll get in trouble,” said Nick.
“Well, I should think so,” said Caroline who had started to punch the numbers in.
“Wait a minute,” said one of the other girls, holding her hand up. “What kind of trouble, exactly?”
“Um, well,” said Phil. “We’ll get wood for sure…”
“Wood?” said the girl, pretending not to know what he was talking about.
“The paddle,” said Nick. “We’ll get the paddle.”
“Oh, my,” said Caroline with mock concern. “You poor boys.” She looked around and said, “We can’t have that now, can we, girls?” All the girls shook their heads and feigned concern. I could see this was being staged, that they’d planned for this. I felt a cold knot form in my gut. Something bad was coming, I just knew it.
“So, boys, what can you do to avoid getting swats from your pledgemaster?”
You have to remember, this was back in the day when paddling in fraternities (and some sororities) was an accepted fact of life. Hell Week, initiation, pledge training – they all included liberal use of the paddle. We knew that, but actually it was failure more than anything that we wanted to avoid. Nick had brought up the paddle in an attempt to shock the girls and make it seem like we would be brutalized. Little did we know, we had sealed our doom.
“Um,” Nick continued, “we have to show we got in here and stole some underthings.”
“I see,” said Caroline. Then she addressed her sisters. “We can’t allow these boys to return empty handed, can we girls?” There was a chorus of no’s along with giggles and chuckles.
“Well, then, it’s settled. We’ll let you take some underthings of ours back to the Deke house.”
Nick and Phil looked relieved. I knew better.
“We’ll trade our panties for your clothes,” she said evenly. Dead serious.
No one said anything. They studied us intently, watching for our reaction. It slowly dawned on all of us what the implications were.
“So what do you say, boys?” Now there were giggles and guffaws.
“We, ah, what do you mean when you say ‘trade’? If we give you our clothes then…”
Now Caroline broke out into a broad smile. “That’s right, sugar. You walk out of here in our panties and nothing else.”
Nick nearly choked. “Hell, no I’m not doing that – walk back to the Deke house in girl’s panties? No way!”
Caroline shrugged. She picked up the phone and made like she was going to dial. “If that’s the way you want it…”
“No wait,” I said. “We’ll do it.”
She smiled and put down the phone. Then she pointed at us with her index finger like a schoolmarm about to lecture. “All right then, boys – strip!”
I looked at my pledge brothers. Some blushed, some were pale as ghosts.
“Let’s go, take your clothes off. And put on the panties you stole.”
Slowly, we all started to strip down. There were hoots and whistles that accompanied the show. When it came to the very end, when our underwear had to come off, the clapping, catcalls and jeering reached a crescendo. It showed us just how earthy a group of women can get when men strip for their pleasure, not the other way around. I think we all got out of our underpants and slipped on the panties as quickly as we could, but for several seconds we were all stark naked, standing in the middle of a circle formed by thirty jeering women intent on extracting maximum humiliation. But that wasn’t the worst part. The worst was yet to come.
When we were done, we stood there, naked except for the panties. We looked ridiculous we were all red faced, shuffling around, extremely uncomfortable. Then Phil made the mistake of saying, “Ok, you had your fun. Can we go now?”
The KAT President looked at him sharply and said, “That’s a bit of disrespectful attitude. After all we’ve done for you. Not calling the dean, or the campus police, or even your Deke brothers,” she said, checking these items off on her fingers.
It was at this point that I noticed several sorority sisters had pushed forward through the circle and they were all carrying paddles. One of them was a girl I’d seen in the university gym.
I didn’t know her name then, but I noticed her in the gym, pumping iron, very unusual for a woman in those days. I had a PE class in gymnastics that day and all through the class I watched her, fascinated. It was the legs that got me at first, I think. She had this build like some Nordic fantasy woman, a Valkyrie warrior with blonde hair in a ponytail and bangs that fell to just above almond shaped blue eyes. At five-eight she was taller than my six-five and that height displayed these perfectly sculpted legs. They were muscled from her hips to her calves, merging into swelling hips and a jutting posterior that defied gravity, an absolutely first class ass in those tight spandex gym shorts. This is typical of girls who are on the edge of what might be called stocky, but who are tall enough to make their body shape a statement of athleticism. Her proud bust filled the halter top that completed the gym outfit. That was the girl I would later find out was named Greta Van Camp. Altogether, a knockout.
When I saw her smirking at me, tapping that paddle against her thigh, the unthinkable happened. I sprouted an erection. I willed it to go down, but it wouldn’t. I had a first class boner, tenting the front of the flimsy nylon panties I’d had to put on. Then I followed Greta’s gaze, staring at it. Then she looked me in the eye and smiled knowingly.
Meanwhile, Caroline looked around at her sorority sisters, noting her paddle-wielding sisters and said, “What do you say girls, should we let them go?”
“It is cold out there and they are not wearing much,” offered one of the sisters.
“You are right, Betty. It wouldn’t be right to send them back in cold panties, would it girls? What do say we warm them up a bit for these boys?”
There was gleeful assent at this suggestion, but they all knew it was coming, and we realized this had been the plan all along. They were going to humiliate us further by making us take swats on our panty clad behinds.
“All right boys, line up, right across here.”
Sorority sisters holding paddles came forward and positioned us, making us form a line with plenty of space between each of us.
“Ok, boys. I’m sure you know the drill. Assume the position.”
With a groan we bent over and grabbed our ankles. I was really apprehensive. This was going to hurt. These were girls and maybe they couldn’t hit as hard as guys, but all we had on were these thin panties.
“Ladies, choose a boy and take your positions,” said their president.
Greta chose me and that made me apprehensive as hell. With those shoulders and arms I had no doubt she could hit hard. Sweat broke out on my forehead. After some discussion it was decided that we’d get fifteen swats each. That was a lot. But it was clear that for all the feigned sweetness, these girls were pissed that Deke pledges would raid their house and they were hell bent on retribution.
Bending over with my butt sticking out, I felt the wood face of Greta’s paddle rubbing little circles on my behind. Then the sorority president gave the command to begin. I tensed when I sensed motion behind me. I could visualize her raising her arm. I gripped my shins hard. Here it comes.
Crack! Fiery sting exploded across my backside. It nearly knocked me off balance.
Whap! The second one was worse. It stung like hell. My knees shook.
Crack! Number three seared my ass. I gritted my teeth and held on.
After that it was a haze of staccato cracks of the paddles and an intense hot sting, blazing across my behind. Smack after smack burned my ass as Greta paddled me like some Midwestern schoolmarm taking a naughty student to task, spacing it out, taking her time between swats. I gritted my teeth and closed my eyes, but they still watered up. I could hear the impacts of wood on nearly bare flesh as the sisters doled out swats to my friends on either side, so I knew I wasn’t alone in my misery. That fact was little consolation. A paddling is cumulative. The next lick is always worse than the last. It’s a shocking blast of heat that blossoms outwardly from the impact site and overwhelms your defenses. There were grunts and stifled yelps from my frat brothers on either side of me as they did their best to cope with the pain and humiliation of the paddles splatting down on their nearly bare behinds. All we could do was bend over and take it.
One thing I realized though, and this was later, was that she was not hitting me as hard as she could. On nothing but thin panties, a heavy wooden paddle could do some real damage, and she must have known this. The swats were sizzling hot, but not unbearable. But each swat was dead on, square across the fatty underside of both butt cheeks. She obviously knew how to spank properly for maximum heat and maximum burn, but I did not bruise badly. Still, she administered a real lesson to me that day, a burning, stinging fanny paddling that rattled my teeth, made my eyes water up and made me feel like a little boy caught with his pants down.
Notwithstanding that, my woody had returned. I don’t know why. Maybe having to strip and humiliate myself did it; maybe offering my bottom to an attractive woman to spank did it. But there it was, long and hard, pushing against the front of the thin panties.
Then mercifully, it ended. We were allowed to rise. Greta saw the tent in the front of the panties and grinned, then gave me a broad wink. I did not know what to make of that.
The girls formed a gauntlet leading to the door and one by one we ran through it, encouraged by some “good bye” swats. Then we had to run the several blocks, through Greek row to the safety of the Deke house. We were quite a sight, I’m sure. In years to come, “streaking” would become a popular form of prank, but right now our humiliating run home was just that.
The active members, the upperclassmen, of course had been in on the scam and were waiting for us, laughing their heads off as we scrambled for the safety of the Deke house. The incident would be fodder for considerable mirth for days to come.
I was in the student union the following week, sitting by myself, eating lunch when who should walk up and plop down opposite me but my Nordic goddess. I was shocked, but she just flashed a broad grin and put her elbows up on the table.
“So, how are you? I don’t think we have been properly introduced. I’m Greta VanCamp.”
It was so sudden and unexpected I snorted my Coke through my nose. But I recovered enough to say, “I’m Will Deering.”
She stuck out her hand and I shook it, wondering where this was going.
“Do you sit comfortably these days?” she said with a giggle.
I noticed something. It was her speech. It sounded foreign, an accent I could not place. I managed a wry grin and said something like ‘you hit hard for a girl.’ And she said, ‘yah, I have experience. I take care of my cousins on holiday and they are all very naughty.’ That’s when it came out. She was from Holland and was here on a JYA exchange. She was staying with Caroline Sanders’ family, she explained, and Caroline had invited her to live at the KAT house as an honorary member for her junior year.
So now it made some sense. But I was not prepared for the next direction the conversation took.
“You know, I saw you, you naughty boy,” she said, her tone equal parts of mocking and teasing. “You were hard,” she whispered, “Even when I spank your hinder with the paddle.”
I blushed but tried to shrug it off, “Yeah, I don’t know where that came from.”
“But I see. It was a nice one. Do you get hard when you have a spanking from a woman?”
This conversation had taken a bizarre turn. I was flattered that a beautiful and exotic girl like her would even deign to talk to a lowly frosh like me, so I hadn’t run away, but at the same time this was getting very strange. She was so direct. I chalked it up to her being a foreigner. No self-respecting KAT member would ever engage in a conversation like this with a Deke pledge. I had to admit, though, I liked the attention and I was intrigued.
“I, yeah, I guess the whole idea of spanking is a turn-on.” This much was true. I hadn’t thought about it much, but I’d always been aroused by spankings on TV or stories of other people’s spankings. I’d had a girlfriend once who had confided in me that her mom spanked her and her siblings and she’d tell me about them. The petting session that followed these revelations was always heavy.
“I have seen this happen. When I was in charge of my cousins, sometimes I have to spank to make them behave. They get the erections – like you.”
Then she made a stunning statement. I guess the Dutch must be more sexually liberated than us because she said, “Back home in my country my boyfriend and I spank each other. I give good spankings. You will see. You should have one of my special spankings for your naughty erection last week. Tsk-tsk,” she said, wagging a finger. A mischievous grin accompanied this last statement. Immediately I sprouted a boner. I gasped as she reached under the table and felt it. I looked around nervously. We were right there in the middle of the student union, and she was resting her hand on my cock which was now tenting in my chinos.
“Oh, yes,” she said. “I know what you need.” Then she leaned in and said, “I know a vacant house. You come over Friday night to this address and then I show you. Such naughtiness,” She laughed and threw her head back. “Because then I’ll have plans for this naughty thing,” she added, giving my dick a surreptitious pat that almost set it off.
I probably looked like a deer in the headlights, sweat popping out on my brow, but boy was I aroused. I gulped and said, “Ok…uh, when?”
She gave me all the info, then with a broad smile, she got up and sashayed out on those fabulous legs, swinging those hips, flexing that perfect ass as she exited the student union.
I sank back in my seat, shaking like a leaf. This woman was a sexual tour de force, like no one I’d ever met. I had to collect my wits before I could get up and leave. I figured she had fixated on me because of the KATs panty raid and my reaction to the paddling. That realization both aroused and disturbed me. She liked spanking. She said so, completely unabashed about it, and it was clear to me that if I kept this assignation some spanking would be involved. I had heard vaguely about women who liked to dominate men, but my understanding was that that whole thing involved whips and leather boots and such. Was I walking into that? Somehow I didn’t think so. Part of me didn’t care because I knew that whatever happened, sex was on the menu, and there is no greater lure for a 19 year old man. All other considerations be damned.
The week stretched on forever. Always my mind was on the coming assignation with Greta Van Camp. It was hard to concentrate. Several times I had to ask myself just what I was getting into, but was overruled by my libido, that devil on my shoulder who reminded me just what a hot babe Greta VanCamp was, regardless how kinky and strange she might be.
When Friday night rolled around, I made my way to address she had given me. It was an apartment in an older section of town. She hadn’t said who owned it or lived there. I just assumed that some friend had loaned it to her. I knocked softly. From inside I heard footsteps. My heart was beating wildly as the steps approached. The door cracked open and I saw Greta’s face smiling at me. She opened the door to let me in.
I had to suck in my breath. Greta looked hot as hell. She wore high heels and a short tight miniskirt that displayed those stunning legs and a tight blouse that showcased her high set tits. Already a woody was rising.
“Ah, you did come,” she said. “I thought you might not after last week. But here you are. My naughty fraternity pledge.” She turned and said over her shoulder, “Come with me.”
I followed, mesmerized by those swaying hips and that flexing ass. I was apprehensive. What did she have in mind? But being a foreigner, to me she was so exotic that I didn’t care. I was fixated on the prospect of sex. She led me into a large back bedroom dominated by a big four poster bed. At the foot of the bed was a padded chest and opposite the chest was a free standing full length mirror in a wooden antique frame. A vanity with another large mirror stood to one side, next to a door to a closet. I noticed a chaise lounge in one corner with some women’s lingerie draped casually across the back.
Greta sat down on the padded chest. “Take off your shirt,” she said. I did, letting it drop to the floor.
“Come here,” she said, crooking her finger.
I walked over and stood in front of her not knowing what to expect. To my surprise her hands went to the buckle on my belt and she started to undo it. I viewed this as a promising development.
“Let’s see if you are still the naughty boy,” she said in a husky voice with a bit of tease to it. She pulled the belt through its loops and put it on the bed, then unzipped my fly. I stood still, breathless, letting her do it. That done, she yanked my pants down. Naturally I was in a state. It didn’t take much to get me going in those days and my cock was already hard and poking out of my underwear. She put her hands in the waistband and slipped those down too. My engorged cock popped straight out, almost at her eye level.
“Ooh, you ARE the naughty boy, then,” said with a giggle. She made some admiring noises and positioned me to her right side. Then she reached out with her hand, gently stroking my erect penis between her thumb and forefinger. The sudden surge of pleasure made my knees buckle. But that wasn’t anything. She bent down and gently kissed the tip. Her lips felt like velvet and I almost staggered. Her mouth opened wider and she allowed her lips to slide over the crown of my prick which was pulsing with pleasure. I was afraid I was going to lose it when she withdrew, letting her lips slide over the head leaving a glistening film of her saliva.
“I think you need something else now, don’t you think? Or you come too fast.”
Now she had her right hand on my ass, patting it, rubbing little circles on it. I was looking at her lap. Her legs were bare and her skirt, what there was of it, had hiked up nearly to her crotch.
“All naughty boys can use a good spanking on their hinders. That’s what you need. You come. Down — over my knee,” she said, pushing at the small over my back.
She could have said walk across hot coals or swim an icy river. I’d have done it. So I planted myself face down over those wonderful thighs of hers, my dick sliding over the bare flesh as she positioned me so my behind stuck up, offered up like some sacrifice to the goddess to do with as she wished. I hadn’t been in this position since I’d been ten years old, and a wave of panic hit me as an old unpleasant memory intruded. But it passed. I was squirming across her knees trying to get comfortable, but there was nothing comfortable about it. The position felt shameful, but in a delicious way. Somehow being naked and across the lap of this woman with my bottom poised for her attentions was a huge turn-on.
I could hear the glee in her voice. “Now I smack your naughty bottom,” she said, her hand circling around, occasionally patting my exposed cheeks.
Whap! Smack! Crack! She started spanking my behind briskly. At first I felt a prickly sensation, a tingling in my ass cheeks as she spanked from side to side, crisp pops that didn’t really hurt, but just raised the temperature a bit. She kept that up for a while, a rapid tattoo that rained down on my fanny, heating it up. The vigorous warming eventually had me wriggling. From time to time she stopped and rubbed, kneading the flesh. I bucked unconsciously sliding my dick across her thighs. This motion was sending little shoots of pleasure up my spine. She must have sensed this because she started spanking harder.
“Oh, no you don’t (Smack! Crack!). You like this too much (Whap! Spank! Crack!) I show you how I control a bad boy (Splat! Crack! Whack!).”
These spanks were harder and they stung. The stinging sensation was not unbearable, but it was now bordering on uncomfortable and I could feel my bottom heating up as her steady barrage of smacks blasted my bottom.
“This is a good lesson for you (Smack! Crack!). Such a cute hinder, I make it all red. Red as a stoplight (Smack! Crack! Whack!).”
I lost track of what she was saying, but obviously she was enthralled with the task she had set for herself, and that was delivering a very thorough spanking to my stinging behind. I could feel it now, the heat rising quickly . I looked at the full length mirror and saw a determined woman with a broad smile on her face applying spank after spank with gusto.
Meanwhile I was gasping. My feet fluttered. I flopped around my cock sliding over her thighs still generating friction , but the pleasurable sensations were being masked by the sting from the relentless spanking. The woman had a palm like that sorority paddle, and with those strong arms she could really deliver the smacks.
“Ok! Ok!” I said. “I give up! That’s enough!” My ass was blazing.
She just laughed. “Not near enough for your naughty bottom. You are barely pink. So I continue.”
Smack! Crack! Splat!
The spanks echoed off the wall. They were loud like pistol shots. In the mirror I could see my ass cheeks jiggle with each meaty smack. I didn’t know how much longer I could take this, but I gritted my teeth. I figured the prize would be worth it.
Then in mid spank, her arm raised to deliver another blow, she stopped. Why? Then I heard it. Footsteps. The door opened abruptly. I looked up as a woman entered the room. Greta gasped and exclaimed, “Aunt Trudy!”
“What is the meaning of this? Greta, what are you doing?” said the woman, whose face bore a shocked expression.
To be continued…..