Greedy Panty Slut: Lace and Disgrace  

Greedy Panty Slut: Lace and Disgrace

I’m such a greedy panty slut. I don’t know what possessed me to do it. Maybe it was boredom, maybe it was the thrill, or maybe it was just plain stupidity. Whatever it was, I wish I could take it back. It all started when I wandered into Lace and Luxe, the fancy lingerie boutique downtown. The kind of place with soft jazz playing through hidden speakers, where the sales associates dressed sharp and their smiles never quite reached their eyes. I was just a horny gamer girl and had no business being there, really.

I reached out, fingertips brushing over the fabric. It was softer than anything I owned. I imagined how it would feel against my skin, how luxurious it would be to wear something so…tiny. I scoffed under my breath. Who in their right mind spends fifty bucks on something so small? Still, I couldn’t bring myself to put it down. Instead, my fingers curled around a pair of black lace panties, my pulse quickening as I slid them down into my front pocket.

I turned on my heel, pretending to casually head for the door. My palms were damp. Every step felt heavier than the last. I was almost there, just a few more feet, “Miss?”

I froze, like a stupid greedy panty slut.

The voice was deep, steady, and way too close. A hand landed lightly on my shoulder. I turned slowly, my stomach sinking. The man standing behind me wasn’t the distracted sales associate. He was older—mid-thirties, maybe—with sharp blue eyes and a crisp button down. The store manager. “Would you mind coming with me for a moment?” His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it. Panic gripped me. My throat felt like it was closing up.

I could feel the eyes of other shoppers darting toward us. My ears burned. He gestured toward a door in the back labeled Employees Only. I knew I had no choice. My legs felt like lead as I followed him inside. The back room was nicer than I was expecting and smelled like his musk. A monitor flickered on a desk. He crossed his arms and leaned against the desk, watching me like he was waiting for me to speak first.

But I was such a greedy panty slut.

“Give me the merchandise,” he said. I felt sick. He studied me for a long moment, and for a terrifying second, I thought he didn’t care. Then he exhaled, shaking his head. My mouth opened, then closed again. What could I even say? He crossed the room so quickly pinning me to the door as he fished the stolen panties out of my pocket running his strong fingers against my greedy panty slut cunt. A whimper escaped my lips.

His jaw tightened like he was debating something. Then, after a pause, he let out a slow breath. “I should call the cops,” he said. “But… I’m going to give you the option of letting you pick another punishment instead.” He walked over to the desk while slipping his belt off in one fluid movement. “Take off your clothes. Put those panties you like so much on your greedy little cunt then come put your palms on my desk. Then count.”

I didn’t need to be told twice.

Could I even beg for more? A better deal. His eyes said no. My clothes flew off as I fumbled for the panties. Sliding them up my legs noticing the wetness that had begun to pool at my lips as they pressed into the fabric. Curling the belt around his hands as I placed my palms flat on the cool wood of the desk before he tilted my head up to meet his eyes. Shadows darted out of the corner of my eye as his arm flicked so quickly the leather cracked so loud against my ass it echoed. When I found my breath again I yelled “ONE!” in between winces.

Although, how many lashings do you think it took to break a greedy panty slut like me? 5, 10, 20? Call me to find out.

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