mercies
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Tender Mercies free porn video
1.
A bolt of panic shot down my spine when I heard the key settling in the
lock. My eyes flickered over towards the door: it had to be Aunt Cathy!
What was she doing home so early? She'd headed off to her bridge club
less than fifteen minutes ago; I wasn't expecting her back for several
hours. My pulse leapt into overdrive as the key slid into place with an
audible CLACK!
NO! I thought, feeling the colour rise in my cheeks. My lips parted in a
silent gasp. My greatest fear was about to be realized; my deepest
secret revealed. I stepped backwards in rising alarm, nearly tripping
over the coffee table.
This couldn't be happening. Not here, not now. Not after I'd spent so
many months hiding my true identity in the shadows. I glanced wildly
about the room, mentally calculating the odds of making it across to the
stairs unseen. Every nerve in my body started screaming with electric
fire. Aunt Cathy was home, I could almost see her standing out on the
landing, chatting way with her friends from the bridge club. Any second
now, the door would open and they'd step inside, eyes widening at the
spectacle of a teenaged girlie-boy dressed in frilly blue panties...
Turning away from the door, I caught sight of myself in the cheval
mirror I'd set up near the sofa. It showed me as I truly am; a petite
young woman with long blond hair and full, crimson lips. How could I
explain this, account for my sudden metamorphosis? In all the months
since I had come to live with her, Aunt Cathy had never seen me as my
real self. She would never understand: very few people could, even in
this day and age. I've never truly understood it myself.
The door swung open.
Aunt Cathy stepped across the threshold, adjusting her sunglasses and
leading a flock of gabbling matrons into the living room. Frozen to the
spot, I turned to face them, self-consciously covering my mouth with
both hands.
A deafening silence fell upon the house as half a dozen babbling voices
halted in mid-sentence. The moment seemed to spin out to eternity: how
was I ever going to explain this?
An infinite span of time later, Aunt Cathy decided to break the
insufferable tension with a single word.
"Chris?" she asked in a voice laced with honeyed arsenic. She stared me
up and down with a long, measuring gaze, barely capable of hiding her
amusement. I nodded, opening my mouth but unable to form a reply. What
was she thinking? I could read nothing from her expression, apart from
the faintest trace of mockery.
She knew, I realized in sudden, breathless clarity: she knew all along!
Worse still, she'd set me up for this gratuitous humiliation.
2.
I've never forgiven Aunt Cathy for what happened next. The house filled
up with housewives and homemakers, spanning the Parlour from pillar to
post. They milled about in conspiratorial groups, casting furtive
glances at my thighs and panties.
I glanced towards the stairs, feeling two dozen pairs of eyes crawling
all over my half-naked body. If the path hadn't been blocked, I would
have bolted for my room and locked the door. Noting my obvious anxiety,
Cathy suddenly called for attention.
"Ladies," she began, looking around at her friends, "you all know my
nephew, Chrissy?" A murmur of assent rose from the crowd, which was now
closing in around me in a loose semi-circle.
"Well, as I mentioned earlier, he's agreed to put on a show for us,"
Cathy continued in a bright, conversational voice, "as a matter of fact,
he's been so eager he seems to have begun without us."
Some of the older women were laughing now: soft, placid chortles for the
time being, which would soon give way to vicious, waspish cackling. The
younger ones were smirking at one another, virtually incapable of
keeping their faces straight. Aunt Cathy motioned them towards the
armchairs and sofas, encouraging them to find a ringside seat.
"Chris has been working on this routine for months now," she explained
merrily, "from what I can gather, he models his underwear every time I'm
out of the house."
I groaned in utter despair. What did she mean, what was she going to
make me do? Whatever she had in mind, it was certain to rob me of my
last vestige of human dignity. I bit down hard on my lip, holding back
the whimpers that threatened to escape my throat.
I knew most of these women by sight, having accompanied Aunt Cathy to
several of her Bridge nights earlier in the year. One of them I placed
as Adeline Rhodes, the president of the local P&T. The others I couldn't
pin a name to, although I had the impression they'd all dropped by our
house several times over the past six months.
Worse still, I was fairly sure they all had children, most of whom
attended my school. Any hope of secrecy had flown out the window the
moment these blue-rinse horrors walked in through the door. By this time
tomorrow, the gossip would be all over town; everyone in Ridgewick would
be discussing the colour of my undies.
I stood to one side of the chattering group, trembling with barely
suppressed panic. I wanted to run away, hide in my bedroom, but Cathy
had no intention of letting me off that lightly. She'd spent weeks -
possibly months - planning this moment, and nothing was going to rain on
her parade.
Taking her place by the antiquated stereo system, she switched on the
radio and tuned into the Melodies station. Low, sensuous "elevator"
music drifted about the living room, setting the mood for the
afternoon's festivities. Once the preparations were finished, Cathy
addressed her audience, extending a hand in my direction.
"As I was telling you, Chrissy has ambitions of being a fashion model.
This is probably why he's been stealing knickers off the neighbours'
washing lines."
My jaw dropped in astonishment. That was an outright lie. I hadn't
stolen anything; I'd saved up my allowance for months on end, buying all
of my costumes via mail order. She must have known that; she seemed to
know everything else I was doing. This was just an excuse, a flimsy
pretext for the ordeal she was about to put me through.
"Noooo, Aunt Cathy, I didn't -"
"And, as he seems to have his sights set on lingerie modeling," Cathy
went on, cutting me off in mid-sentence, "I thought we should give him a
chance to perform before a live audience."
My eyes bulged from their sockets as I realized what my Aunt had been
saving up as the Grand Finale. For one second the floor seemed to lurch
beneath my feet. I shook my head in utter disbelief: this simply
couldn't be happening. Even she wouldn't do this to me; wouldn't subject
me to such total humiliation.
How wrong I was.
3.
"OK, pay attention everybody," Cathy exclaimed, taking me by the wrist,
"It's time our little model put on his show."
"Please Aunt Cathy, I don't want to do this," I whimpered hopelessly,
trying not to stammer my words, "everyone will make fun of me." Cathy
laughed her response.
"Oh, what are you so worried about? You'll make a beautiful little
girl."
"But I don't want to look like a little girl, Aunt Cathy!!"
She leaned in close, lowering her voice and impaling me with a searing
blue gaze.
"Well - I guess this is what you get for sneaking around behind my back,
young man. You're going to model your pretty little panties in front of
everybody, and that's the end of it!"
Faced with this intractable sentence, I immediately found myself
begging, sobbing for clemency: "No, please Aunt Cathy, don't make me do
this, I promise I'll never do it again, please."
All to no avail. Cathy deflected my pleas with a careless wave of her
hand, dismissing my fears as inconsequential. I pressed on regardless,
appealing the verdict in growing desperation. Again, I should have known
better. It was a doomed venture from the start.
"You're the one who wants to be a lingerie model," she said, effectively
terminating any further discussion on the subject, "so here's your big
chance."
"Noooooooo!" I wailed as she led me to the center of the floor. I
stumbled along behind her, blushing all the way to my eyebrows. An
urgent, feverish heat filled my tummy: this was really happening, she
was going to make me dance in my underwear before a houseful of complete
strangers.
I stared around the Parlour, heart thundering in my rib cage. The living
room was a mass of babbling, wild-eyed housefraus. They were literally
squealing with delight, eyes shining with feral pleasure. This was one
show they weren't going to miss. I felt surrounded, trapped, hemmed in.
"No, no, please no!" I cried, heart pounding in my throat, "take me up
to my room! I don't everyone to see!" A rash of laughter rippled through
the audience. Some of them chortled over my childish modesty, others
sighed with maternal pleasure. Someone patted me affectionately on the
bottom: there, there, sweetheart; no need to be shy.
"Don't be silly, Chrissy," Cathy replied gaily, "you're a girl, no one
minds seeing your undies." She pushed me slightly ahead of her, then
walked back to the stereo, leaving me alone in nothing but my bra, pants
and stockings.
More laughter from the audience; high-pitched giggles of sheer derision.
Several of the elder Moms clapped their hands in ribald encouragement.
Overwhelmed with misery, I stepped away from them, only to discover my
exit blocked by Mrs Rhodes and several grinning conspirators. The
message was clear: I wasn't going anywhere.
Gasping with shame, I tried to cover my flimsy little briefs with both
hands. The action prompted a chorus of amusement from the audience:
"Isn't he just the sweetest little thing, look at him trying to hide his
underpants, you'd never guess he was a boy, would you? "
By this time, my face was blazing the color of a ripe tomato. Even now,
years after the event, I can still recall the breathless, gasping shame
of that moment, the leering, contemptuous cheers of my audience. That
was how it seemed to me at the time; teenaged boys are terribly self-
conscious about their bodies, particularly where strangers are
concerned. Of course, none of that mattered to Aunt Cathy. She and her
company were enjoying the spectacle far too much to consider my
emotions.
"OK, let's get this show on the road," Mrs Rhodes said behind me, her
high, warbling voice pregnant with excitement, "Cathy, ramp the music up
a little."
I cast a final, imploring glance at my Aunt, but found no sympathy
there. Her face was hard, stern, accusing. I knew that expression from
painful experience. "You're going to do this," she said, "right here,
right now, and without another word!"
I choked back on my tears, knowing there was no room for debate, no room
for negotiation. She'd reached her decision long ago, and nothing was
going to alter her judgment. I would probably get a spanking later on
anyway; the only question was whether it would take place in front of
these screeching harpies or in the privacy of my room upstairs.
Cathy dialed up the music, then nodded her head in my direction, her
eyes narrowed and threatening.
The moment had arrived. It was time to model my lingerie.
4.
My vision blurred as I strode reluctantly into the middle of the
parlour. Hot tears streaked down my cheeks; I had never felt so utter
degraded in my entire life. Here I was, surrounded by a gaggle of old
maids, clapping and leering with delight. I shimmied my pelvis from side
to side, sauntering around in a wide circle, allowing everyone a close-
up view of my gauzy blue underwear. I felt trapped, cornered, exposed:
practically nothing was left to the imagination.
Cronish hands wandered over my body as I strutted past, stroking my
waist and tummy. Some of them slapped hard at my bottom, leaving sharp,
red handprints. I wept as much with pain as anxiety, resisting the
temptation to rub my stinging fanny. Others commented on my slim,
coltish legs, remarking that I should wear a pair of thigh-highs next
time.
My eyes widened with horror at the thought - what did they mean, 'next
time?? ' Would Aunt Cathy force me to go through this ordeal again? I
sudden understood how desperate my situation had become. They wanted to
see me decked out in suspenders, stockings and a wonder bra.
"We should make this a weekly event," Mrs Rhodes suggested, prompting a
chorus of agreement from the hen's club, "bring our kids along to see
what we do with knicker-pickers."
I voiced a tiny scream, wincing at the fresh burst of shrewish laughter.
This was so unjust - I wasn't a 'snow-dropper,' I'd never been anywhere
near the neighbours' clotheslines. Needless to say, it made no
difference whatsoever. Nobody would have believed me over Aunt Cathy. I
was a teen, she was an adult, as far as they were concerned, my guilt
had already been established.
Cathy forced me to complete five more circuits of the floor, then
decided to put the finishing touches on the afternoon's entertainment. I
knew exactly what she had in mind as soon as her fingers closed around
my wrist.
"No, Aunt Cathy, please! Not a spanking!!"
A rousing burst of applause followed us across the room as I was led
towards the straightback chair. I stumbled along in tow, sobbing and
pleading for mercy. Struggle as I might, I simply couldn't break that
iron grip.
"Adeline - could you hand me the hairbrush from my purse?" Cathy asked
Mrs Rhodes, "I think it's time we dealt with our little panty-thief
here."
"NOOOOOOOO!!!" I wailed at the top of my lungs, "not the hairbrush,
NOOOOOO!!!"
The forementioned brush was instantly produced and passed along to my
Aunt, who placed it on the footstool next to the chair.
"I think we'll do this on the bare, young 'lady'!" Turning me around to
face the audience, she slipped her thumbs through my knickers and peeled
them down to my ankles. Squealing in child-like shock, I crossed my
hands in front of myself, much to the amusement of the assembled
witnesses. Unfortunately, Aunt Cathy wouldn't countenance any 'false'
modesty. Taking me by the forearm, she pulled me firmly over her lap,
centering my position so that my naked bottom-cheeks were staring at the
ceiling.
"Noooo!!!" I wailed in absolute terror, "please don't Aunt Cathy!! It'll
hurt!!"
"Oh, you can bet this is going to hurt, little girl," she replied,
raising the brush high over her right shoulder, "now stop struggling or
I'll make this a lot worse for you!!!"
Dooonn't, I whimpered as the brush flashed down over my upraised bottom-
tops. Aunt Cathy had always spanked hard, within a few minutes, my buns
were scorched bright pink. Whipping my head back and forth, I thrashed
my legs in exquisite agony. The Bridge Club cheered their appreciation
as my hynie blazed with scarlet heat. At some point during the
proceedings, my knickers flew off my feet, leaving me in nothing but my
frilly white knee-socks.
The spanking continued for ten endless minutes while the brush seared my
plump, round orbs, alternating left to right. There was no escape, no
respite. I was going to take my punishment no matter how much I yowled
and begged for leniency. By the time she finished, I could only lie
exhausted over her knee, my bottom glowing a deep, tortured violet.
"Now - up to your room," Cathy ordered, concluding the afternoon's
jubilations, "I'll be along to talk to you later."
Finally released from her tender mercies, I fled naked to the stairs.
Peals of raucous laughter echoed along the passageway as I threw myself
weeping onto my bed.
5.
I'd been sobbing into my pillow for over an hour when I heard Cathy's
heavy footsteps approaching my door. I turned over and watched in
trepidation as she entered the room, bearing the brush in her right
hand. My nerve broke at the sight of it, I lapsed into a litany of
frightened pleas:
"Please don't spank me again, Aunt Cathy," I blubbered like a six-year
old, "it still hurts really bad, I can't stand it, please don't - "
"All right, that's enough," she snapped, eyebrows knit in clear
disapproval, "it's time we had a talk...Chrissy."
Adopting her sternest posture, she laid down the law in no uncertain
terms. The journey I'd taken over her knee today would be nothing
compared to the punishment I'd receive if I didn't do precisely as I was
told. She'd known all along that I was a tranzie, more or less since the
moment I'd first moved in. There would be no more secrets between us, no
more skulking around like a thief. From now on, I'd be modeling my
panties in public!
NOOOOOOOOO! I cried out in disgrace, but a single stroke of the
hairbrush cut my protests short. Aunt Cathy was deadly serious and meant
every word she said. Over the next few weeks, my Friday afternoon
lingerie parades became a regular event (exactly as Mrs Rhodes had
implied), where I was forced to traipse around the living room with my
satin underwear on open exhibition.
I swiftly discovered there was no defying her authority, and my life
became a living hell as she ground me under her thumb for the next six
years. There was no escape, no respite. She had me in lace, skirts and
dresses right up to the day I moved out to attend college. Even after
that, I was still a laughing stock, a mockery to everyone who'd known me
throughout my tormented adolescence.
And in the end, I guess it was no more than I deserved.
The End.
Nanette
- 08.11.2020
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