I had just finished up my semester at college when I got the call. My student job, with PCorps, was moving. My job was going to Bosnia, of all places, and did I want to come?
“Who else will be going?” I asked over the phone.
“The whole office is pretty much being broken up and sent all over the place,” my staff sergeant answered. “You’ll be thrown in with new people, all of you new to each other. It will be frantic, no doubt about it, trying to do logistics for U.S. personnel in the middle of Sarajevo. The place is a mess.”
“Well, I guess it would make for an interesting Christmas,” I answered, and with that I accepted. My staff sergeant was always quick to take ‘yes’ for an answer, however tentatively it was expressed.
Personnel Corps (since renamed by us the Pussy and Penis Corps) arrived in Sarajevo. Everyone I met was new. We worked frantically for days. There was hardly any free time at all. And then, suddenly, it was the day before Christmas Eve. Someone had suggested a party. We’d all agreed. An office party would be just the thing to refresh us and lift our spirits.
“It’s going to be themed, ‘The Good Boys and Bad Girls Office Party,’ a girl told me in the ladies bathroom. She gave me all the details, which sent my head spinning. Some girl had a very naughty brain. I wasn’t sure I wanted to attend, after hearing what was in the works. Soon after I met my favorite guy, a U.S. Colonel who was one of the higher-ranking men assigned to our office. It was a strange mixture, a lot of ranks had been thrown in together for their needed talents, with little regard being paid to rank.
“Why are you so worried?” he asked in his fatherly way. He was on the cusp of 40, with just a touch of grey in his hair. “I’m sure its mostly just crazy fun.”
“They say if you’ve never been, never been–” I couldn’t get it out of my mouth, the words were so new to me.
“A bad girl?” he smiled.
“Then you have to be.”
“Well, if it needs to be done, I’ll do it for you,” he replied. “Does that make you happy?”
“Yes,” I answered. I pressed myself to his chest, as I done several times in the past couple of days. “And do it in private,” I added. “So no one will see.”
“In private,” he answered. He ran his hand down the soft mane of my blonde hair and onto my back. Then he lifted his other palm and gently cupped my fanny. With little effort he found the tail of my skirt and slipped his hands beneath. I gasped as his palms found the proud orb of my bottom.
“Mmmm, cotton panties,” he said. His voice broke as he said it. “Did you know you’re young enough to be my daughter?”
“I know,” I answered.
“You’ve been wearing shorter and shorter skirts these last few days,” he gently scolded me.
“Mmmm,” I acknowledged. I pressed my small face deeper into his broad girth of chest. I found my fingers gripping to his shirt as if it were a cliff face that I might fall off of.
“Your panties only cover half your bottom!” he discovered suddenly, his voice croaking a little. It was as if he were discovering the deficiencies of his own daughter’s underwear, the way he said it. His finger explored the top of my panties and then slipped beyond, into the groove of my pumpkin. He shuddered a moment, as if surprised at himself for suddenly having a finger in the ass of a girl half his age. I think he blamed me for it.
“You’re already naughty,” he whispered to me.
“I know,” I breathed. I kissed his chest. He lifted his hand and gave my bottom a little slap. I bounced under the blow, over-reacting by far, but it seemed to strike into my very core.
“Did you wear them for me?” he asked suddenly.
“Perhaps,” I answered. I found my thumb and stuck it into my mouth.
“If I see you dropping lots of stuff on the floor today, in front of the other guys, I’m going to take charge of your morals, just like I would my own daughters’,” he warned me.
I pressed myself closer to him. Close as I could. “Whatever you say, sir,” I answered.
He pushed me back from him. His hands returned to my waist, held me chastely there. He looked down at me, into my eyes. “I’m serious,” he said to me.
“I know you are,” I answered. “That’s why you’re my best friend.” I circled my finger over his starched shirt. I longed to open it. “Because you’re older than me, and very serious, and you work very hard, and devote your life totally to the Army.”
“That’s enough,” he replied. He pushed me back, clearly unsettled. I saw that his pants were bulging hugely, bigger than any man’s I’d ever seen. I gazed at him, my breasts filling my tight blouse, big as melons. I straightened my skirt with my hands.
“We still have a lot of work to do,” he said, all business-like again. “Get those reports off to General Lampkins.”
“Okay, sir,” I smiled.
“And quit calling me ‘sir,’” he scolded me. “You’re a civilian.”
“Mmmm, I like it,” I teased. I turned to go. “Bye, bye, sir.”
“Not for as long as you’d like,” he threatened. His hands fingered his belt buckle. “You’re lucky you’re not my daughter.”
“I know,” I answered. I blew him a kiss before I disappeared around the hall.
***
The staff sergeant for our newly assembled PCorps was a woman. She told me that evening that tomorrow’s party, after a few hours of work, was going to be styled a “Punishment Party.” There were about 20 of us in PCorps, in our own, hastily-rehabbed building.
“Well, I don’t like the name,” I said. “Whatever happened to ‘Good Boys and Bad Girls?’
“That’s the name of the party,” she answered. She was very beautiful for a staff sergeant, a tall, big-bosomed redhead. But she had a fierceness about her that scared me sometimes. “The type of party that it is is a punishment party. Don’t worry, just do what I tell you. You’ll have a lot of fun. I can see you’ve never been to one before.” She grinned at me, cat-like.
“Well, I could use a break from all this work,” I mused. I fingered the hem of my dress.
“Don’t be such a goody-goody girl,” the staff sergeant, whose name was Linda, replied. “It’s a bad girl party, and I expect you to be a little bad, at least.”
The next morning I got up early. I thanked God when I found the shower to be giving hot water. I did my hair after bathing, brushing it until it had a luster and sheen I hadn’t bothered to give it in many days of relentless work here in Sarajevo. I pinned it up, loosely, to give it a slightly more formal appearance. Then I applied my makeup and lipstick as carefully as I could. Time was short, there was a big pile of logistics work that had to be gotten through before we could have our party. I left for the office, escorted by two servicemen who walked with me the short distance from my flat to the building where we all worked.
About noontime a tiny tangle of fabric was deposited on my desk. I looked up, saw Linda.
“What’s this?” I asked. My thoughts were far away, on some gasoline drums that were stuck in Croatia.
“It’s what you’ll be wearing to the party,” she answered. “Put it on.”
“What?” I gasped. I picked up the little pile of strings and looked at it. It was a teensy bikini panty, smaller even than the naughty undies the Colonel had caught me wearing.
“I’m not sure I want to wear this under my dress. It looks so small that it might be uncomfortable.”
Linda laughed. Her breasts heaved with her laughter and I saw that today she wasn’t wearing any bra under her green army uniform. “Go to the ladies room and take everything off,” she said. “Come back wearing that, nothing else. There’s a hamper in there for your clothes. Sorry, but there aren’t really any hangers around here to hang things up. Anyway, I want to make sure all the girls’ clothes are put away. We’re going to lock the hamper afterwards, to make sure.”
I didn’t know what to say. I just stared at the panties. Then the Colonel walked by. He stopped at my desk. There was a knowing look on his face.
“I at least need a bra,” I said in a half-whisper to Linda.
“No you don’t, dear. It’s a punishment party. What better way to show your vulnerability to the men by greeting them with your breasts bare, and your tender nipples stiff? If they find you unpleasant, or unwilling, they can always tweak them for you, to improve your behavior.”
I watched the Colonel walk on to his office. “What will the men be wearing?” I asked.
“Their best uniforms, of course,” she answered. “Now march your ass into the bathroom and be back here on the double.” She rounded the corner of my desk, hefted me from my seat, and gave me an all-too-friendly slap on my fanny. I looked at her accusingly. “Sue me for sexual harassment, sister,” she answered. I saw that I had no choice but to go change, or go run home to my flat and spend Christmas by myself. I gulped, and headed for the bathroom.
Several other girls were already there.
“I can barely get this thing on!” one girl complained. She was nude, standing on the tiled floor in her best heels, and trying to adjust the mischievous bits of fabric so they at least left something to the imagination.
“At least the back isn’t a thong,” a second girl said. She glanced over her shoulder and carefully pulled the material of her panties as wide as she could, managing to cover a good two-thirds of her heinie.
“Try walking in them. They’ll bunch up in your ass-crack in no time,” a third girl said ruefully. “Lisa! Get your things off, dear. The party’s almost ready to start!” she urged me.
“I need a break,” the first girl said. She’d finally made her peace with the panties. She smoothed her hands across her flat belly. “Maybe I can get pregnant and get out of this war.”
“Don’t tell the colonel,” the second girl replied. “He’ll make sure you only get fucked up the ass if you let on you want out.”
“I’m getting it right up my cunt,” the third girl announced. She turned to the bathroom mirror and gave her hair a quick brush. Her nude boobs bounced springily. She was no more than 20, a new enlistee. Rumor had it she’d slipped through boot camp as effortlessly as a knife slicing butter, thanks to a friendship that kept her ‘tied up’ in office training, away from the rigors of the parade ground. I think there were a few girls in our unit who’d gotten special passes through boot camp, for their arms were a slim as their breasts were big, and they couldn’t lift anything more than I could.
“Well, I’m not so sure about all this,” a smaller girl answered. She cupped her firm breasts and felt their weight on her palms. “I’m only 16, you know. I ran away from home and got signed into the army by a nice sergeant who didn’t make me do anything. I just got assigned here, though my paperwork shows that I spent 16 weeks at Ft. Stomper.”
“You had an easier time than me, then,” I teased her. I lifted off my blouse and unhooked my bra. “I had to trek all the way down to the student-aid office and fill out a whole page of information to get this job.” I liked her the best, I think, of all the girls, though I was two years older than her. She was young and naive, like me. Her name was Elizabeth, but everyone called her Missy.
The girl at the mirror turned and gave Missy a slap on the rear with her hairbrush. “You’re in the army now, honey. You’ll get your training one way or another.” Her name was Sally. As missy assuaged her wounded bottom Sally turned her about and led her out. “Come on, darling,” Sally ordered.
“See you at the party,” the remaining girl told me. She leaned forward and kissed me lightly on the lips. Her name was Chantra, an Indian name. It matched her dark hair, though her skin was as white as mine.
“Okay,” I answered. Neatly I folded my clothes and then plopped them in the hamper. I found Sally’s hairbrush, quickly repaired my own locks, and departed.
The thing about wearing such small panties is that they didn’t quite cover the whiteness of my skin that usually lay beneath my bathing suit. As I entered the special office reserved for our party, I felt self-conscious at how my Florida suntan contrasted so noticeably with my semi-visible bunny-tail bottom.
“I see you didn’t get a large enough size again,” the colonel said laughingly to me. I saw him, blushed, tugged at the back of my panties. Already they had snuck partway into the furrow of my bottom, making me even more visible in behind. He reached down and traced a finger over my white skin that was on display in front, where my beach bikini would have more modestly covered me.
“I’m doing my best, sir,” I answered. “This party wasn’t my idea, you know. In fact, if I had my way, I’d take off these danged panties right now, they’re such a nuisance.”
“Yes,” he grinned. I blushed again.
“I mean, to put my skirt back ON,” I added hastily.
“Given your poor choice of panty sizes, I guess it’s just as well you didn’t try for a matching bra,” the colonel mused. As freely as if I were his wife he put his hands to my breasts and rolled my tense nipples between his fingers.
I raised my hand to slap him for his forwardness. Linda, stepping up onto a desk in her heels, interrupted my intention by ringing a little bell. Her uniform was gone, she wore only the de rigueur panties, her own as small and useless as mine were. I saw the cupping of her snatch where her panties made themselves useful on her otherwise nude body. Linda’s bounteous breasts shook with her ringing of the bell. Her red hair bounced gaily, she seemed in an exceptionally good mood.
“Girls, and gentlemen. Don’t feel too smug, guys. You’re forbidden to take out your equipment in the party room, which I’m sure will make you quite uncomfortable. It’s intended to. This is a punishment party for both sexes, not just us females. We’re going to celebrate Christmas the old fashioned way, like back in the 1800’s, when Santa’s purpose wasn’t just to bring toys for good children. He also brought a switch for bad children, and used it, so they’d be good next year.” The little crowd of men in uniforms and almost-naked girls gathered around Linda as she spoke. The room was large, festooned with ornaments from the U.S., with a big Christmas tree in one corner, that had yet to be decorated. “We’ll be trimming the tree together,” Linda continued. “We girls who surreptitiously decked out this room during the last few days didn’t have time to get to everything, so we saved the tree as a special party treat. I hope you men don’t mind giving us a hand on this. We’ll need your help if we’re to get all those trimmings right up to the top of the tree, not to mention putting a star atop it. And since we’re bad girls, we’ll be rubbing your crotches whenever we can, right through until the tree is trimmed, which should take some time, I’m sure. You’ll probably cream in your pants, men, so don’t fight it. It’s a punishment party, after all. I just hope you can re-fill for the favors that you’ll want to give us later in the evening. I’ve ordered lots of eggnog, to help out. Drink and be merry.” She rang the bell again, as if to bring her remarks to a formal conclusion. A kind of stunned silence reigned over the men a moment, shocked that they would be put in the predicament of sperming their own uniforms. And then somebody turned up the music, and the festivities began.
At the colonel’s encouragement I circulated as freely in the room as the other girls did. The men fondled me as I stood exchanging small talk with them, or with other girls. And, like the other females, I took the liberty of massaging each man’s crotch. It was more fun that I could imagine, knowing he couldn’t unzip himself, and was scared to death of cumming in his pants. Every time a man came he was given a celebratory splash of eggnog in the face. When I got back to the colonel he was trembling on the brink of his own ejaculation. Missy was working his crotch, absently, a finger in her mouth.
“Well, I liked the Little Mermaid movie best when I was little…” she was saying absently, pursuing some train of thought that held no interest for me but apparently captivated the colonel.
“Missy,” I said to her. “Go get some eggnog. I think our friend here is about to cum in his pants.”
“Okay,” she answered naively. She did not realize that while she was getting the eggnog I would have the pleasure of finishing him off. She turned and headed off for the drinks table. I saw that her panties were completely wedged inside her cute little ass. The colonel watched her retreating bottom with awestruck eyes.
“It’s time I bring you off before you get the idea of porking an underage minor,” I told him. I grasped his bulging crotch and squeezed it hard.
“I already have it,” he answered.
“What? You’ve cum already?” I asked. There was disappointment in my voice.
“No, I mean I want to fuck that adorable bottom of hers,” he said. His loins surged toward me as he felt my hand work him, his eyes still pasted on Missy’s behind.
“Well, let me see if I can fix that,” I said. I rubbed his bulge with vigor.
“Oh, God, don’t make me do it in my pants,” he said, turning his eyes to me. “I’m a 40-year-old man. It would be totally humiliating. What if we get a visit from the general, or get called outside? I haven’t cum in my pants since I was 13.”
I massaged him relentlessly, unmoved. “Didn’t you know this was going to be called a ‘punishment party?’” I asked him.
“Yes, but, I thought –”
“That only us girls would get punished, hmmm?” I asked him.
“Yes,” he croaked. I could see he was truly just moments from spurting now, unless I quickly unhanded him. I did not.
“Does this make me a bad girl?” I asked him. I felt his loins stir with a special urgency, and suddenly I sensed wetness within his trousers.
“Yes, it definitely does,” he answered me. Our eyes met. As I continued to work him our lips came together, me rising on tiptoe, he leaning down. We kissed passionately as he jetted into his uniform pants.
Taking me by the hand, he led me to a private office. Carefully I’d kept my panties pretty well covering my behind, but now he turned me around. He pushed me toward the desk in the small office. “Take down your panties and climb up on the desk,” he said. His voice was uncompromising in its tone. I heard him unbuckle his belt behind me.
“Oh, even my father never spanked me!” I pleaded suddenly. I tugged at the bottom of my panties, unsure.
“I promised you that it would be private, not that it wouldn’t be done,” he replied. I heard his belt slither out of its belt loops. There was no need for him to undress. He was soft at the moment, thanks to my wickedness.
I looked back over my shoulder at him. I ran my fingers over my seat, grateful suddenly for the fabric, however small, that covered it. “Can’t it be done with my panties on?” I asked. “It will hurt even more if I take them off.”
“You heard what Linda said,” he replied. “Santa bringing the switch, and using it. Jacking off your colonel is not behavior the old boy would approve of, I’m sure.”
“Oh, my!” I sighed. I yanked at my panties. They popped down off my bottom as effortlessly as if I’d pulled at cellophane. Only the bit caught in my cunt remained.
“Gracefully, like a lady,” the colonel ordered. “You’re eighteen, not 16 like Missy.” Slowly, trying to be as civilized as possible, chic even, I stripped my last remnant of modesty down my impeccably long legs. I had model’s legs, and men loved them, no less the colonel for being able to see my fat little ass atop them, in all its white nudity.
“I was so careful to keep my bottom white when I lay in the sun,” I said, stepping remorsefully out of my panties as I sensed his belt swishing behind me.
“I’m glad,” he answered. “I love strapping a white bottom. It lets me see most clearly my handiwork, after I’m finished. And show it off to my friends.”
“But you said,” I began.
“You’ll be whipped in private, it doesn’t mean I won’t show you off a bit later,” he answered. “Don’t worry, I’ll be discreet about it. Now hand me your panties. Don’t just leave them on the floor like some child would. I’m beginning to think you’re not 18 yourself, though you say you are.”
“Do you think I ran away to COLLEGE?” I asked him. I bent down, quite conscious of how close my bare hiney was to his aimlessly swinging belt. I picked up my undies and gave them to him.
“Open your mouth,” he said, ignoring my last question. I did, and like a horse being bitted he shoved my panties into my mouth and tied them tightly behind my head. I tasted my own excitement on the bit of fabric that had covered my cunt.
“Now turn around, and get that ass of yours up on the desk. Climb right up, don’t be ashamed of showing off your hind parts to me as you do it. I’ll be seeing all you have to show from now on, as long as your whipping lasts.” His voice was stern. I knew I could not disobey. Trembling, my knees almost knocking together, I mounted the desk. As I did so he tossed me a cushion from a chair. “Here, put your head down on this,” he said. “I don’t mean to make you any more uncomfortable than I have to. The bed is the proper place for this. But I want to enjoy some more of the party before we go find one of those.”
Gagged, fearful, and rueful that he wanted to still go back and party with the other girls, I put the pillow beneath me and placed my face down upon it. I was tentative in my movements, hoping somehow for a reprieve. I sensed none would be given.
“Open your legs,” he said. “I will decide where you are struck, not you. If I choose to hurt your cunt, that’s up to me. You’ll just have to hope for the best.” Shivering visibly with fright, I parted my thighs a little. I’d hoped to keep them squeezed tight during my punishment. I knew my cunny made a nice juicy target, with my ass high up and available like that. He sliced his belt through the air.
“Wider!” he said harshly. “Get your legs open as wide as you can, and don’t bring them back together, no matter what happens. If I have to tie them open you’ll suffer far worse for it, I assure you.”
Feeling like some mare being inspected, I opened my thighs as far as they would go. I found sheafs of paper as I spread them, and gratefully rested my knees atop them to ease the pressure on my knees. Unfortunately, this lifted my butt up even higher.
“There you go,” the colonel said. My titties hung beneath me, pressing their nipples into the bare wooden desktop. I hoped there weren’t any splinters in it. The desk looked pretty old. It had just been through a war. I squeezed my eyes shut and waited.
There were footsteps behind me. I heard a male voice, realized it wasn’t the colonel’s. My eyes popped open.
“Oh! Look, dear!” I heard Linda announce. “How pretty she looks.” I blushed with fierce shame. Someone was at the doorway, peeking in! Hadn’t the colonel locked it?
A second voice, laughing. Sally! “It is her first time, I think,” I heard her say. “Look how white her seat is! What a delight it will be for you to burnish that up, colonel!”
“God, what an ass!” I heard an unknown male voice say. “She is nothing if not an ass.”
“She is shy, getting it the first time,” the colonel replied. “She wants to receive it in private.” Humiliated, I buried my face deeper in the pillow. I lifted my hands to cover my mortified ass.
“Get your hands away this instant, girl!” the colonel snapped. A flick of the belt sent it biting into the back of one of my hands.
“OWWWW!” I cried. Immediately I yanked my hand away, simultaneously rearing up on my hind legs. I knelt on the table, turned my head around, my back straight, my legs still as wide apart as ever.
“I’ll hold her head down,” Sally said easily. “It’s alright dear, I understand your reluctance the first time,” she sympathized. Before I could dissuade her she was all the way around in front of my desk, and bringing my face back down to my pillow with a firm hand on the back of my neck.
“Mmmm, you have a nice thin belt,” I heard Linda tell the colonel. “Leather, too, not regulation, but it will slice her up quite nicely.”
“I want her to be able to remember it for a few days,” he replied. “God knows, at age 40 it may take me that long just for my balls to re-fill.”
“Nonsense,” Linda answered. “This is a private office. Let me unzip you and lick up the mess in your pants, and your thing. You’ll be hard in no time, with me on the job, and with Lisa’s bouncy bottom to entertain you. John, get down behind me. You can enter me just when Lisa is at her most extreme, perhaps having a little orgasm of her own under the belt.” I heard the unknown male, John by name, enter and unzip himself. There was a rustle of clothes as he got down in his uniform behind Linda, her mouth now traitorously at my own colonels’ cock.
[Alas, I was forced to delete the giant sex party and all the juicy punishments that went on. I was told that Bill Clinton actually took time off from porking women and young underage girls to sign some kind of a ‘telecommunications’ bill. So if you are left with blue balls, don’t blame me! I’m just doing my patriotic duty here, censoring my speech because I live in the Land of the Free!]