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Subject: Short Story - The Supermarket
From: davewl <davewl@indy.net>

Guess who went food shopping today?

The Supermarket (A Short Story By Dave Wallace)



Have you ever been in a hurry, joined the line in the 'Express Lane'
at the market, and gnashed your teeth over the oaf in front of you -
with $50.00 worth of groceries (in perhaps fifty items)?

Such was my situation, earlier today, running late for an appointment,
and picking up a couple of things for the wife.  As I shifted from one
foot to the other, I imagined how I would enjoy thoroughly spanking
the comely young lady in front of me - along with the cashier, who was
complicitous through her acquiescence to the woman's wish to check out
in the 'Ten Items Or Less' lane….

I was startled by the appearance of four burly security guard types
seemingly materializing from nowhere, two of them pulling the lady out
of line in front of my incredulous eyes, the other two seizing the
cashier by either elbow.

Accompanying the four guards were two additional security personnel,,
also in uniforms, perhaps in their mid-twenties, each carrying a
wooden paddle.   As the guards pulled the customer and the cashier
into an open area in front of the check-out lanes, I could hear the
frantic protestations of both 'culprits'.

"How dare you.  Let me go.  I'll sue.  You can't do this.  What have I
done ?"

Then, suddenly, a voice over the store's public address system.
"Attention shoppers, you will notice that one of our cashiers and a
customer have been taken into our new punishment area.  They will be
disciplined in a moment, pursuant to a new city ordinance regulating
the conduct of supermarket express lanes.

"Parents with small children are advised that, while we encourage your
children's observation of this punishment, as a valuable lesson in
proper public conduct, you should understand that these ladies'
discipline  will entail severe  corporal punishment, specifically the
application of a wooden paddle to their bottoms.  Further, you should
understand that this punishment will be administered on their bare
buttocks, City Ordinance 4- 7614-B dictating that all such punishments
shall be applied in public, in the nude."

In the nude?  Jesus, I sure didn't want to miss this.  My fantasies
were finally going to come true.  My eyes followed the progress of the
security personnel as they hastily stripped each of the women,
securing their naked bodies to old fashioned, wooden pillories.  A
small crowd was gathering around the punishment area as the
'condemned' continued their ceaseless crying and begging.

"Please, don't do this.  I'll never try to sneak into an express line
again ,"  could be heard from the hapless customer.  "I'm sorry, I
didn't know that I couldn't check out this lady at my lane.  I'm new
and don't know all of the rules," was the poor excuse for an excuse
that the cashier lamely tried.

Ignoring the pleas of the two women, the guards had finished fixing
their wrists and necks into the pillories and secured their ankles to
floor moorings, effectively removing any possibility of escape.  Their
work accomplished, they stepped back as the two 'spankers' stepped
forward.

The voice on the intercom continued.  "While each of the woman that
are now pilloried at the front of the store will receive a severe
paddling, the customer's behavior is seen as slightly less
reprehensible than that of the cashier.  Therefore, the sentence for
the customer will be fifty swats of the paddle to her bare buttocks
and immediate release; the sentence for our cashier will be fifty
swats of the paddle to her bare buttocks, followed by a one-hour
display period in the stocks.  Customers or store personnel wishing to
fondle or abuse the cashier after the completion of her correction are
encouraged to do so.

I could feel the front of my trousers tenting in response to my
excitement at the spectacle before me and reached into my pocket to
surreptitiously stroke my hardening cock, not for a second taking my
eyes off of the drama being played out no more than fifty feet away
from me.

It became quickly evident that the women's paddlings were to occur
simultaneously when the two 'executioners' stepped to the outside of
the two pillories, readying their paddle arms, and shifting their feet
to find a comfortable, firm stance.  The women were both crying,
having given up any hope that their lamentations would be to any
avail.

Their nude bodies were incredibly erotic, their breasts hanging
vertically to the floor, their torsos bent at the waist, with their
spines parallel to the floor.  Their legs had been spread perhaps
three feet apart at the ankle , with the overall effect to be the
positioning of their hips probably six inches higher than the crossbar
holding their heads and wrists.

Their legs and buttocks quivered as they each  presumably contemplated
their imminent fate.  The 'icing on the cake', as it were, was the
provocative glimpse of pudenda, framed within the trembling, soft,
secret, inner thighs of each penitent.

While the cashier's embarrassment had to be acute, at the gross
indignity visited upon her by this outrageous affront, I could only
imagine the mortification of the young, nude customer, her body shaven
as smoothly and completely in her pubic area and between her legs, as
it was beneath her straining arms and down her athletically-slim legs.

She seemed even more nude than the cashier, her labia looking
distended and puffy, deliciously obscene in the glaring lights of the
store.  I think, though, that whatever degree of discomfort her
unexpected public nudity was causing her, it was nothing when compared
to her apprehension about her paddling.

One of the two paddlers seemed to be senior, judging from his
comportment and manner, and it was a nod from him to his partner that
began the chilling sound of  the paddles' impacts upon the two naked,
gyrating, female bottoms.

Once, twice, three times and four.  The paddles fell in perfect
syncopation , the resultant, strident cries of the two recipients of
their fiery kisses, no less choreographed.  The men wielding the
paddles worked as a perfectly synchronized pair, their motions
metronomic in constancy.

I'd lost count but knew that the women had probably suffered a dozen
swats each and my imagination boggled at the thought that they had yet
to endure another thirty-five-plus strokes of the paddles' wrath.  The
testament to the paddles' efficacy was evident in the tears falling
from the two rueful ladies' cheeks and, the reddened buttocks of both
as their skin became inflamed from the repeated assault.

Still, though, the paddling continued.  I was somehow viscerally
connected, it seemed, to the tableau before me.  I could feel the
paddles' impact in a pulsing in my erect penis - a repetitive
swat/throb…swat/throb…swat/throb, and I knew, without thinking about
it, that I was going to ejaculate into my trousers.  I'd never done
such a thing in all my life, the only spontaneous ejaculations I'd
ever experienced being the ecstasies of nocturnal emissions as an
adolescent. 

Twenty - then thirty - then forty times the paddles fell, the women
becoming nearly delirious in their screaming and begging.  I was
unaware of any other participants, save the women, the paddlers, and
myself.  I'd blocked out anyone else in the crowd, other customers and
store employees.

As the paddle count approached fifty, I realized with a sudden
insight, that I was going to cum in tandem with the last swing of the
paddlers' arms.


 I was abreast of the count, the chief guard, as I'd come to regard
him, having loudly announced the count every ten strokes.  It'd been
six strokes since he'd called out, "Forty" and my excitement mounted
as the forty- seventh fell.

Forty-eight, and my balls tightened in their sack, forty-nine, and the
muscles in my cock began to spasm, and, fifty, my cock began its
spurting into my cotton jockey shorts, filling the small space with
jism, undoubtedly soaking through to my light-blue slacks.

"Sir.  Sir.  Please, sir.  Are you okay, sir?  Someone was shouting.
I could barely hear them, feeling in a mental fog, as if awakening
from a deep sleep.

"Sir.  That'll be fifty-six forty.  Sir?  Are you okay?  You must have
been day dreaming, huh?"

I wish that I could have checked my downward glance, after having
realized that the cashier had brought me out of an almost trance-like
state, her bemused grin implying a knowledge of something I suspected
but needed to confirm.

That downward glance, then, was necessary.  Necessary to verify my
suspicion - my intuition, bullshit, my wet, soggy feeling in my pants,
that told me that not all of it was a dream.  From a glance to my wet
slacks, back to the cashier's smiling face, to the bag person's (you
guessed it, another female) chuckling face, to the outraged, offended
glare of the young customer - who, without her cognizance, had been
soundly paddled, in the nude, not fifty feet from where we were
standing - as she smirkingly huffed at my embarrassing condition.

People who know me will tell you they've never caught me at a loss for
words.  Thankfully nobody that knew me was present to hear the words
of the young lady in front of me as she turned to the cashier and
spoke.  "Naughty boy, he deserves a spanking.  If he was mine, that's
what he'd be getting when he got home."

I wanted to protest. Assert my manhood.  Somehow, though that seemed a
bit far fetched when I considered the condition of my light-blue dress
trousers.

After I'd stashed the bags in the trunk, started the car, pulled out
of the lot, and was cruising down the freeway, on the way home, I
found myself pondering.  In spite of the embarrassment, in spite of
how much it'd probably hurt, would I of wanted that young lady to take
me home and deliver that much deserved spanking?



Hope you enjoyed it.

:-)

dave wallace
Indianapolis, Indiana

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