Supermarket Ordinance

September 25, 2007 – 10:00 am

 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

 “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

 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

 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?

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