The Bare Bottom Spanking and Wedging

Danny screamed at the top of his lungs- even more loudly than when I had
gripped his highly-prized walnuts. He squirmed ferociously, pleaded adamantly, and
shouted expletives that even a school administrator had never heard before. There was no
doubt about it- Danny dreaded nothing more than losing his underpants. When he had
dressed into briefs that morning, he had expected his undies to come down on two
occasions: when he relieved himself in the restroom and when he changed into his PJs at
night. No way did he predict that a principal would rob him of his precious under-
clothing. And, what possession could be more precious than that which keeps your
privates from being exposed to unwelcome eyes and hands?
There was a knock at the art room door. At the sound, Danny panicked.
"Oh, by the way, Danny, did I forget to mention that Angela is going to be part of
this spanking?"
The lad couldn't believe his ears- or his eyes.
"You gotta be shitting me!" he protested.

But there was Angela, in the flesh, gazing at his upturned butt, poorly clad with
scant briefs in wedgie formation, mesmerized by his helpless position. The closer she
came, the more she liked what she saw. She was wearing the same skirt that Danny had
raised in the lunchroom but this time he would not get his filthy hands on her bikini
panties. After all, the underpants of the day were not hers- but rather his. It was Danny
who was on the menu this time- a delectable morsel if there ever was one.

The gaping adolescent girl- the dream of Danny's life- the same girl that Danny
could eat alive and still be hungry for more - the very girl who made the tip of his penis
tingle with goose bumps- was piercingly gazing at my thumb inside the elastic waistband
of the boy's briefs. She grinned widely, passionately licked her lips, raised a fist in the air,
and shouted:
"Yes! Yes! Yes! Danny is really going to get it on his fleshy erogenous zone or, as
Ms. Pike would say, on his gluteous maximus!"

Danny lowered his head to the floor to avoid making eye contact with her.
However, if he was able to hide his upper cheeks from her gawk, he was quite unable to
do the same for his lower cheeks, as his lustrous nates were on major display. Here was
the ideal and perfect scene of a mischievous boy about to be disciplined in the most
despised and demeaning way possible. She had incessantly dreamed of this; she had
madly fingered herself in her bedroom, fantasizing about this very panorama; and, this
was regularly her very favorite hallucination immediately prior to her moist vagina and
hot clit exploding in orgasmic delight. But now, she was no longer dreaming or
fantasizing or hallucinating about a scrumptious Danny being served on a serving platter
with an apple in his mouth. The waiter had surprised her: on the dining table before her
was Danny a la backside. And, the bell for dinner had just rung.
"Daniel F. Bullman, are you trying to moon me? Shame on you! You'll have to do
a lot better than that!" she declared.

The deliriously happy co-ed approached Danny's prone body and, to his utter
amazement, bent over and kissed him squarely on a portion of the buttocks that should
have been covered by his briefs but which were exposed as a result of his wedgie. As she
did so, she said:
"These wedgied hot-cross buns definitely belong in the art room. They are a
splendid work of art! Yummy, yummy for my tummy, tummy!"
Danny clenched his hunky hiney muscles ever so tightly- uttering either the word
witch or bitch under his breath. The girl's lips, wet-smooching his bare ass, was thus far
the worst part of the degrading ritual.

"Danny, do you know the proper definition of the word buttocks? The two fleshy
parts of a body posterior to the hip joints and anterior to the upper thighs. Mmmm! Put
in the context of a strikingly handsome boy, we have what I would call a tooshie delight.
Sounds like something you'd get at an ice cream stand during the summer, like a banana
split royale or a kitchen sink majestic."
Silence!
"Nothing to say, Danny? The wayward offender, the dropper of panties in the
cafeteria, the lifter of skirts in the auditorium, the bully of little kids on the bus, the terror
of a little sister trying to modestly mature, the perpetrator of teen and pre-teen privates,
the stuffer of wedgies up young folk's asses, and the delinquent of our building has
nothing to say?"
"Right, I have nothing to say! What do you want from me?" he demanded.

"For years you have been acting like an intrusive and invasive jerk. Finally, you
lie motionless and silent across your principal's knee with your underpants wedged
deeply up your ass and a co-ed, to whom you are greatly attracted, ready to paddle your
ass into Kingdom Come- and you have nothing to say? What's wrong with this picture?
Wake up and smell the roses. If your Dad weren't police chief you'd be at a Detention
Center or in State Prison by now. You've been getting away with murder. But I'll tell you
something, hot pants, today your impish ass is grass. I'll see to it."
"If you let me go, I promise to be good," he offered.

"Sorry, dude, too late. Just like, in some ways, it's too late for your sister Marge.
She was able to replace her torn panties and training bra after you stripped her on the bus.
But what is going to replace her dignity? How does she get that back after her asshole
brother took it away in front of a busload of dorks and dimwits.? It must be nice to have a
big brother who shits all over you instead of helping you."
A long and dead silence filled the room.

Danny broke the silence: "I'm sorry!"
"You sure are sorry. You're the sorriest excuse I know for a human being. I'm as
physically attracted to you as you are to me but you have a soul that is mean."
Angel decided to continue in a different
"Hey, I thought you were a boxer short man and here you are wearing a little
boy's tighty whities" she teased. "These look like leftovers from your childhood years.
Why didn't you just wear a diaper or- better yet- pampers to school?"
"I ran out of boxer shorts this morning and had nothing else to wear," he retorted.

Angela belly-laughed his words away and replied:
"I have news for you, big guy. The word is out that your mother deliberately
decided to empty your bedroom bureau drawers of boxer shorts this morning and replace
them with a single, undersized pair of tighty whitey briefs from your middle school days.
Now wasn't that a stroke of genius on your Mom's part?"

Danny's silence was deafening!
"And, what's more," she added, "the entire school knows about it. They will also
soon know how I found you draped across the principal's knee with a terrific wedgie
stuck deep into your ass crevice. And, just wait until they discover that you switched
from expensive boxer shorts to middle-school tighty whities. They're going to wonder if
your Mommy dresses you each morning to be sure that your little can-can is safely
tucked away in your diaper before you go off to pre-school. Have you checked out the
disposable ones yet?"

Danny shook his head in complete disgust. He had been set up by his own mother,
the principal, Angela's mother, and even Angela herself - the girl who made the tip of his
dick tingle with goose bumps. He blushed at the thought that Angela knew, even before he
knew, that he would be stepping into a pair of under-sized, middle-school, tighty whitey
briefs that morning. Uggggggghhhhhhhh! Embarrassing to the core of his male hood!
But that was nothing compared to the overwhelming fear that he might, because of
Angela, be stepping out of those same snug briefs in a matter of moments- with her
beautiful blue eyes dining on his heated buns. That would be soooo uncool! He felt like a
pillock, an idiot, a fool, a pratt, and a class-A dork and loser! Did it ever dawn on him
that kids who lost their underpants to his grimy paws on the bus or kids who received
gross and painful frontal and ripper wedgies from his grubby fingers might have felt the
same way?

"Your favorite wedgie is a pants-down wedgie, isn't it, hot shot?" she goaded
Danny started to respond and then thought better of it.
"I notice a few light skid marks on your tight briefs at the rear!" she said. "You
need to be a wee bit neater than that. Did you run out of Scottie Tissue paper during this
morning's toilet-training session? At your age, your Mom expects some dried crusty
soiling at the front but aren't you a bit old for chocolate pudding stains in the rear?"
The lad commented inaudibly under his breath.

It was quite obvious that this was an ever-so-sweet payback time for Angela. To
add insult to injury, her right hand spanned both sides of his wedged briefs, squeezing the
cotton undies together toward the center of his butt, thereby forcing more of his
underpants into the split of his ass and exposing even more cleavage. Her mouth opened
wide at the sight of his gorgeously vulnerable cheeks, after which she moistened her lips,
in full circle, with her tongue.
"There now," she bragged. "Consider yourself, as the wedgie experts would say,
wedgified!"

Upon Angela's arrival, three-quarter of his ass had been safely in hiding. With her
arrival, his butt was now half-exposed. She then gently rubbed the part of his undies that
lie buried in his center split- the look on her face promising that eventually no part of his
adolescent cheeks would escape her eyes, hands, or lips. It was only a matter of time
before she would claim his provoking underpants and, as a result, the tasty mounds in
their entirety as well as the tantalizing crevice in the center.

Once again she bent over her prized prey- taking several minutes to kiss every
single square inch of bare flesh on either side of the wedgie. She then spread his legs
wide, focusing on his upper, inner thighs with both lips and tongue. Her mouth all but
devoured his male intersection. I swear that if it weren't for his wedgie, she would have
swallowed his ripe, reproductive strawberries whole.

"Yummy, yummy for my tummy, tummy!"
Danny was mortified, to put it mildly!
If ever an adolescent male wanted to melt into oblivion and to disappear from the
face of the earth, it was Danny.

The spiteful and malevolent bitch- as Danny would later describe her- then bent
close to Danny face, kissed him directly on the lips with lots of tongue, and then
whispered in his ear: "I hope that lifting my sarong at the assembly and exposing my pink
bikini panties to the whole world was worth it because this little ceremony today is
certainly worth it to me."

Before getting up, her hand suddenly reached into the front of his snug briefs,
grabbed the head of his stiff pecker, and penetrated his purple crown with her long and
sharp fingernails. Neither Danny nor I had expected this. I don't think Angela herself had
planned to do this. It was so spontaneously hateful.

Danny roared with excruciating pain, imploring her to release his royal crown
from the grasp of her piercing nails. She obliged him- only to transfer the tips of her
fingers to the very base of his quivering prick, spiking that part of the same organ. She
then grasped the entire penile shaft, aggressively squeezed it, and finally pierced the
fragile flesh on all sides. Her razor-sharp nails had punished his entire carnal member in
just seconds. The poor boy's fleshy pistol had to be on fire. Unwilling to discriminate
against any part of Danny's privates, she gave his wrinkled crumpled ball sac a terrible
jab that must have drawn blood.

Then, typical of her gift for alternating between pain and pleasure- a masochistic
and sadistic way of driving boys (and herself) crazy- she placed a hungry thumb at the
very tip of his sopping sausage and began to gently rub it. She tenderly opened the
discharging slit in his growing bamboo- both horizontally and vertically- driving him to
the brink of lunacy. Angela's caressing thumb, having accomplished the welcome task of
inducing his slick juices to flow, then brushed repeatedly over the sodden crown's
circumference- giving Danny's mushroom the female attention it so urgently sought.
Soon thereafter, her restless fingers followed suit by leisurely descending to his full shaft,
kneading it to a frenzy that only Angela- the most beautiful girl in the world- could pull
off.

"Mmmmm- you're still as hard as a rock" she gleefully noted, withdrawing her
both torturous and pleasuring hand from the front of his sad and happy briefs. "I like my
ice cream soft but I love my dicks hard."

Then she added: "I love the power that nature has given a girl to make a boy
hard- even without touching him. Think about it, Danny: I have a clout over your body
that you yourself often lack- to enhance both the size and the texture of your rawest
possession. In class, all I have to do is stare at a boy's ever-alert crotch and lick my lips,
and- presto- within seconds, the lump in the front of his pants tells me that his trickling
yoyo has enlarged and is now saluting me. The blush on his face then thanks me from the
depths of his jovial balls to the very tip of his smiling penis. A mere glance, from the
other end of the room, can telegraph a sudden rush of warm blood to his prized organs. If
I can do that with a fleeting look, imagine what I could do to his cream-filled twinky with
my hand. One of my fantasies is to sit next to a hunk during a quiet, standardized
test and, ever so casually, drop a light hand onto his open lap- and then gently squeeze
anything that I can grasp. I'm willing to bet a week's allowance that I could make him
cum instantly, or, at the very worst, convert him to a man on a mission- to the toilet. My
plan is to spot a dude with thin trouser so that he- and I- get the full drop-and-squeeze
benefit.

"Often the boy will immediately leave the room with only the two of us knowing
exactly where he is going- to the boy's room to pound his meat into elation. Once- just
once- a boy shot his load right there on the spot- right in the middle of Algebra II. He put
his head down on his desk and a book on his lap to conceal his orgasm but his entire
body stiffened and his celebrative groin went into uncontrollable thrust spasms. How
does a guy hide his hips vehemently rising to kiss the air some five to ten times within
seconds? He doesn't. But what best revealed his little- or big- secret were his moans and
groans. "For some reason, and in their own way, orgasms that are stifled can speak
more loudly than orgasms that are carefree. The stifling sounds adds a delightful
dimension: the boy is desperately attempting to hide a very awkward and embarrassing
activity- and doing a terrible job at covering it up. He knows- and I know- that the sudden
and unexpected thrusts of sticky and salty jissom - now spread over his pubic hair, upper
thighs, and lower tummy- are due to the magnificent long-distance performance of my
lips and tongue. It is remarkable that such a wonderful event can take place with no effort
on the part of the boy- and with such very little effort (a show of the tongue or lips will
do it) on the part of the girl. Can you imagine what a girl could accomplish if she were to
show the boy some cleavage or put her hands inside of his briefs or boxer shorts? Such
stimuli would send the typical lad to all seven planets- and then back again?

"It's even better if the boy is standing and facing me because I prefer his sharp
arrow pointing at my hot pussy and firm titties rather than at the loveless ceiling. I can so
easily pretend that that his cocked cannon is piercing my dress and panties, cuddling my
juicy-juice vagina lips, prodding my hairy pussy entry to open its deep crevice even
wider than it already is, and sliding his loaded revolver into my quivering love canal
ever-so-slowly but also ever-so-forcefully. At such a moment, I can feel my own female
erection right next to my snatch as my engorged and inflated clitoris feels a sudden flash
of hot blood sprinting toward it. Then I picture myself sucking him off and milking him
bone dry.

"And, it doesn't take much to envisage the cross-eyed, hazy look in his eyes and
muffled sound of his moan as his swollen revolver abruptly releases, into my famished
interior walls, thrust after thrust of several teaspoons of hot jism . It's cum fiesta time! At
such times, I know the true meaning of the word carnivorous. And, at such time, it makes
me wish I were a queen cannibal in the deepest jungles, feasting not only my eyes but
also my teeth and digestive system on any delectable male who unsuspectingly wanders
into my territory or who unwittingly accepts my invitation to lunch. I've always envied
the fox- especially when her rabbit prey was male. I could so easily become a cannibal in
a society where boys are second-class citizens and where their primary purpose is to feed
girls- to sacrifice their own flesh in order to nourish their superiors.

"My favorite pastime is to walk the school corridors, searching for a boy with a
limp in his walk. He thinks that his long shirt and corduroys can keep a secret- but I know
better. When a boy has trouble walking- that means his sugar-frosted prick is not only at
full erection but also pointed downwards toward his thighs. A swollen pecker in that
position can really hurt because it's bent unnaturally. Sometimes a boy's vibrating
pepperoni is in this position because it has nowhere else to go- the pants are too tight for
it to project outward or it's caught in his boxers or briefs in such a way that it can't move
upward. No boy wants to get caught adjusting his thumping hot dog from the third
quadrant to the second quadrant of his underpants in public- though he certainly has my
permission to do so at any time. And so he has two choices- go into the bathroom and
adjust the little sucker to pointing upwards rather than downwards- or walk with a limp
which brings pain to his sweet cock with every step.

"When I spot such a wounded prey in my travels, my hips immediately swing into
action. They nonchalantly pay the boy's groin (or butt) a quick, intimate visit as I
accidentally give him the bump. If a boy is hot- and aren't they all before and during and
after puberty- a bump is enough. The mere body contact sends vibes up his buttocks or
down his shaft- sometimes both- and before long my unsuspecting corridor buddy is
either grabbing his crotch with discretion or spraying his undies with sperm between
grunts or heading for the bathroom to finish off what I started. I love it when a boy rushes
his jack to the john after brushing by me. I like to think that when he unzips his fly and
pulls out his little name's sake, he sees my face engraved on his mushroom and notes my
smile extending across the slit at the tip of his ripe banana! I also have to confess that I
get extra wet between my legs when I hear him grunt before reaching the bathroom. That
means that he didn't make it in time and now has to clean himself up of sticky and salty -
." Yes! At such time of combined inconvenience and pleasure, the boy's cucumber
becomes more of a sweet and sour pickle, sweet from the feelings of volcanic eruption
and sour from the need to clean the gob of whipped cream from his pubic hair, upper
thighs, and belly. Maybe adolescent boys that hot should wear tampons?"
"Doesn't that cunt ever shut up?" Danny whispered, as he tried to shift his body
within the confines of my knees. "Somebody ought to stick a tampon in her mouth rather
than in her vulva." I gave him plenty of space to do shift his weight. After all, he wasn't
going anywhere.

"But sometimes the boy is not grateful," she continued. "I like that even better. I
get an added thrill when a boy gets an erection even though he does not want one. What
dominance a girl has- to force a titillating boner on a boy against his will!
But a girl has that same muscle power to not only make a boner but also to
destroy a boner. For example, if I were to encircle a boy's flaccid willie with a sharp
razor- a makeshift guillotine- and then tease him with my tongue- he would wind up
slicing off his own phallus as it helplessly thickens, cuts into the blade, and then drops to
the floor. He would have no power to stop it from chopping itself off- especially if I lifted
my skirt, dropped my panties, and removed my bra. Even the most flaccid of cocks
would instantly rise to the occasion, especially if it were rubbed against my stiff nipples.
Much of the time, a boy cannot tell his tube steak what to do. But a girl often can! Now
that's power! Skirts rule! Think about it, I can stroke a guy's sugared-coated crueller
into eternal life or I can slice it into everlasting hell. The same sweet balls I caress, I can
also kick. The same prick that I make grow, I can make die.

Danny nodded in full agreement. Did he dare not?
"We girls have a special game we play. Anytime a boy leaves the class, we
assume it's to relieve his aching dick of deep-down-in-the-balls pressure. We figure that,
statistically, we are right most of the time. Upon his return to the classroom, the three of
us look him straight in the eye, wave a naughty naughty finger at him, and then chuckle.
If he had, indeed, been jerking off in the bathroom, he turns red as a beat. If, on the other
hand, he had not been wanking his willie, he turns pink because he knows that eventually
we will be right. He knows that we will wait for another day- a day that will certainly
come and a day well worth waiting for. On that day, when he does jack off, he will get a
red face instead of a pink one- and both boy and girls will know why.

"They all do it!!! Ninety-nine percent of boys play with themselves- and the
remaining one percent that deny it are liars. Most wanking, I am told, gets done in their
bedrooms and in their home showers. But spanking the monkey at home is not enough for
them. They still need to get it off at school daily- often more than once a day- in the boys
bathroom . Their jack in the beanstalk needs to be stirred at least three times a day-
maybe four on a snow day.