He told me I would be punished… but not to the extent I would need the perfidious “punishment panties” again. Thank gods. I hate that red pile of thread; those panties, once so hot and fun, now meant only pain, shame, darkness. Even the word “punishment” – on its own – when coming from Deviant makes me shudder because my first thought is of that unwanted underwear.
Even with the caveat that they were not required for our session, I couldn’t get the image of the panties and what they put me through out of my head. It definitely had an effect on my headspace going into our session.
It all started a week before. I was out enjoying a mid-week happy hour with a girlfriend. The bartender liked us and our personal happy hour extended far past what other patrons were offered. We had such a good time, in fact, that I ended up taking her home to my apartment because there was no way she could drive home. (No, don’t ask. As much as the innuendo sounds good, we did not. Settled? Good.)