Chapter 5

Carrie’s usual downy snow-white ass still had not returned completely to its normal color as she looked in the mirror. She thought it had taken a real beating, when in fact she had just gotten a hand-spanking and was still a little sore. Still, the agent made a point of occasionally rubbing her butt. Could it be there was still some soreness there from her recent bare affair?

The Brownstone:

Carrie was at her most comfortable when she was hanging out showing her butt encased in a pair of her soft blue jeans. Usually she wore jewel toned panties underneath with a visible panty line displayed across her bottom. That sight was not lost on Allison, a secret agent too like her who felt the visible panty line was unladylike and worth of attention. Only Carrie was there for ‘regression therapy at a brownstone in a quaint neighborhood in London.

“For the foreseeable future in private you will address me as auntie. Do you understand me, Carrie?”

“Get that hairbrush.”

Carrie snatched the hairbrush off the shelf and hurried back to Allison.

Allison applied a dozen or so swats, until Carrie’s red hiney and submissive posture assured the punisher that her work had been successful. However, Carrie had a stubborn streak and she was showing it. The jean bikini was a rather tight fit. Allison wiped her brown hair of shoulder length out of her face. Carrie briskly pulled down her bikini.

Allison sent Carrie on her way with a parting solid spank from the back alley office.

“The point is moot,” Allison said.

Brazenly, Allison gave Carrie a burgundy red fine bottom, a not so gentle squeeze. The agent’s spanked bottom reared up in reaction. Allison had a fascination with all things ass and anal. Carrie sat down rather gingerly as her bottom was still throbbing horribly.

Carrie’s POV:

Still one thing you could say about her farce aunt was that she knew how to kick start sales of the dreadful jean bikini.

My jean-pocket skirt hugged my shapely bottom, so tight there was little chance of me lifting up, so I began to tug and pull the denim skirt off my bottom

I admit, it’s true that I wear my casual well-worn jeans tight and I do have a visible panty line. One look at my bottom has the young hunks and the old farts a like tongues wag. Their response kicked it up for me. Auntie felt I took it a bit farther with my latest outfit. Allison’s objection was not that the skirt was too short and my panty-seat could easily become a show. Instead it was the ‘pencil’ style skirt I wore that she said my fanny which was strategically packed into the denim was about to burst. She said the panties clearly showed through the distressed denim and that my butt would soon burst out the back.

I fancied putting my fanny in the most scandalous skirt I could wear and still be clothed. I may not sell the girls that came into the shop, but their boyfriend’s sales would keep her sales average out of the red. An involuntary fart escaped from between my cherry red cheeks and a log pushed out the back of my panties...

“What cute, blue “Winnie The Pooh’ panties.”

“Don’t get the wrong idea. It’s all I had clean.”

So, you failed to properly prepare for the possibility of a power outage.”

Allison was proving to be a strict disciplinarian. The woman I affectionately called, ‘auntie’ darted me a look of pure disgust and carried on gathering different hairbrushes.

Allison gave me a wicked grin and picked up a silver-backed hairbrush

“Surely you gest.”

“Surely you dress!”

Until I winced in pain, her face mocked me as she smiled at my agony. “That’s going to hurt so much more,” Allison said.

My eyes bugged out

I was expected to wear the most unflattering bikini in the sore. it didn’t fit with all the other cute bikinis on the stores chrome racks located around the store. Something about all this just didn’t fit.

If it’s made of denim I wear it often. Jeans as defined as pants or skirts both with the feel and touch of cotton. a resounding spank on her jean skirt across the right cheek.

Allie had given me a hard swat on the seat of my jeans to get my attention. I felt my cheeks redden with outrage and that is when one of my colorful remarks made the situation a thousand times worse. “Keep your hands off me, you old fart,” I said, sassily. And, with that one crude description my fate was sealed.