(The series is continuing from here.)
Once we were inside Victoria's Secret, Charles led me straight to my very favorite rack--the one with the lace thongs. "I realize," he said, "that you already have at least one example of nearly everything on this rack at home in your underwear drawer. This rack is by no means the principal stop on our training visit today. But there's a sort of experimental lesson I have in mind that this particular location will be perfect for."
He took a lovely thing--a lilac bra and panty set--off the rack, and held it up in front of him, scanning. I began to grasp his meaning, as I felt the blood rush to my cheeks, and to lower regions.
"Charles!" I said, involuntarily. "Put that back!"
He laughed. "I can tell we have some work to do, Miss Tilton." He raised the hanger a bit higher.
"Oh, Sir." I looked to see if the sales-ladies had noticed. Not yet.
But then he took a step forward, and held the lingerie against my stomach, so that the panties were where panties go, hanging right in front of my crotch.
"Am I right that you have these in white, sweetheart?" he asked, loud enough to be heard.
"Charles!" I hissed. That got me the 'you just earned a spanking' look. I looked back at him, pleading. What was he doing? What kind of lesson was he trying to teach me?
The sales-lady came over. This was terrible. I suddenly imagined him saying "My wife here needs something that looks nice when she's being spanked--do you think this will do the trick?" and my thighs started to feel a little slippery when I shifted my weight from foot to foot in discomfort at my humiliation.
"Can I help you folks find anything?" she asked.
I looked into Charles' eyes imploringly.
"That's alright, thanks," he said, smoothly. "My wife's an expert--I'm just hoping to learn a bit from her."
The sales-lady laughed, and a wave of gratitude flooded me, though I'd known--of course--that he would never have said anything that might be embarrassing. It wasn't gratitude to him, actually, I think, but rather gratitude to the universe that we were such well-matched training-partners.
"Well, let me know if I can help," she said, and wandered off.
Charles said, more softly, "Answer the question, please. Do you have these in white?"
"Yes," I whispered, submissively.
"I'd like to spank you in the lilac ones."
I couldn't help whimpering at that. I understood, now. This training-exercise was about Charles, my trainer-husband, my Master, dominating a part of my erotic imagination that I had kept to myself.
"Which would you rather be spanked in, tonight?"
The wave of arousal that swept over then me took me entirely by surprise. I grabbed his arm--the one holding the hanger--with my left hand, to steady myself, because I had actually grown a little faint, thinking about being over my spanking stool wearing these panties, the ones Charles was holding.
"Oh, Sir," I said. My right hand drifted down to the front of my skirt. I saw Charles see me just put a little pressure there, to take the edge off.
"Emily Tilton," he whispered, "you may just be the naughtiest girl in the world." He put the hanger back on the rack, turning it so that it was still outside the array of hangers, and the lilac bra and panties were still there, in front of my eyes. He put his left arm around my shoulders, and turned me so that I was facing the rack, with the front of my body towards the wall.
"Lift your skirt," he murmured into my ear.
Nearly slumping against him, I complied.
"Look at the lilac panties I'm going to spank you in tonight." Then his marvelous, knowing fingertips touched me.
"Oh, no," I said. "Charles, I'm going to. . ."
He brought his left hand from my shoulder to cover my mouth, gently but firmly enough that I wouldn't be able to scream, at any rate. I thought with relief (though also with hideous, thrilling embarrassment) that he was going to bring me off, there in Victoria's Secret, while I shamefully held my skirt up to expose my unpantied pussy for my trainer's attentions, but then he whispered, "Don't you dare, or I'll put you over my knee right here and these nice sales-ladies will see that you're not wearing any lingerie at all, as you get your first spanking. Then you'll bring the lilac ones up to the counter and say 'My husband is going to cane me when we get home, and he's chosen these for me to wear when I'm punished.'"
The image made me cry out into his hand, as he explored me for one brief moment more, so that I began to slump a little against him. Then the fingers deserted me, and he said "Lower your skirt, slut," as if I had been at fault in the shameless raising of it.