The Skirt-Lifter

by Jabberwock

A teenage boy learns not to bother certain girls

I guess I should say from the outset that I have always loved girls. I have no problem with gay guys, to each his own, I figure, I just don't swing that way. I think girls are the best, and the more feminine, the better for me. I don't get into muscle girls or huge, distorted breasts, or girls who look like boys. I like women to look like...well, women. I like nice breasts, wide, curvy hips, a nice, rounded ass, soft where she needs to be soft and all those nice girly things. I think Marilyn Monroe had the perfect shape, although I'm sure nowadays she'd be considered fat and would want to lose twenty pounds.

The other thing I really like is panties. I've never understood this and I've given up trying. It just is the way it is. I find a woman dressed only in panties, or panties and bra, more sexy than a woman completely naked. I love to stare at panties, fondle them, and masturbate in them. I started as a child, back in the fifties, staring at the neat stacks of full cut nylon briefs in my mother's top drawer and touching them and examining their labels. I remember seeing my mother in her bra and panties walking around her bedroom, it's one of the most enduring images of my childhood. I never wanted to make love to my mother, I just loved her undies. Perhaps that's how I got hung up on that style of panties, the classic, high-waisted brief with low-cut legs. That's still the style I love the most, and generally ignore bikinis, thongs, strings, and other more modern styles.

It took me a long time to work up the nerve to actually put on a pair of panties, although in later years I've worn them a lot. I've never lost my love of the frilly, silky things, and they've been a big part of my adult sex life, but it wasn't until I was a teenager that I wore my first pair of panties and that's the story I wanted to tell. It's not as happy a story as you might think.

When I was thirteen and in eighth grade, I had developed the obnoxious habit of sneaking up behind girls, particularly girls I liked, and lifting their skirts, trying to sneak a look at their panties. I was going to a private school and we all had uniforms to wear, the girls all wore these very full grey wool skirts. They were just perfect for grabbing the hem and jerking them up suddenly, affording everyone with a good look at what the girl had on underneath. Sometimes, I was able to get the hem of her slip, too, but if I was really lucky, the girl wasn't wearing a slip, and I got a good look at her panties. Most of the girls in those days wore cotton panties with band legs, some in pink, some with a floral print, some just white. A few wore nylon panties which were inevitably frilly and sported lacy trim. Even the plain white ones were exciting to me, but occasionally I'd get a glimpse of nylon and lace. Those were the ones I lived for, and I'd think about them, masturbating in my room at night, for weeks at a time after such a sighting.

I admit this was bad behavior. What can I say? I was a thirteen-year-old boy, selfish and silly and full of hormones and no place to put them. I was behaving like a dweeby little jerk and I was too self-centered to realize how annoying it was. I was riding for a fall, and my fall came in the form of a new girl by the name of Ann who came to class one day. Ann was pretty, in a school girlish way, and very smart. She was also quite self-assured for a young girl and I was very taken with her. I had many erotic fantasies about her for several days before I had the nerve to start lifting her skirt.

Ann put up with this exactly twice. Each time, I got a good look at her pink cotton panties covering her nicely-rounded ass. She wore no slip. I was in heaven and my libido was working overtime. Then, on the third day I tried this, two surprising things happened: First, I noticed that she had put on a slip and I failed to catch a glimpse of her panties, and second, she turned around and slapped me very hard! It really stung my face and made me angry and I made a grab for her. We scuffled a bit and then she drew back her right fist and socked me right in the jaw, then hit me again with her left, bruising my cheekbone. I tried to get at her, but before I could, several people, including a teacher, intervened and stopped the fight. It all happened very fast and nobody got punished but it had an effect on me that was initially very intense and has lasted to this day.

I had never been hit by a girl before, certainly not with a closed fist. That was the really shocking part to me, that she seemed ready to go at it toe-to-toe with a boy, with no fear at all. This both stimulated me and made me ashamed, as there was no certainty in me that, if the fight hadn't been stopped, that I would have been able to defeat her and a standup fist fight. It didn't help that some of my male classmates taunted me about the fight and said teasing, silly teenage-boy kinds of things, like that she looked like she could kick my ass and that I'd better not mess with her, she was too tough for me, etc, all accompanied by much snickering and many snide comments.

I'm trying to explain why I felt pressure to do what I did, finally, an act that led to completely unexpected consequences that I will never forget my entire life. What I did was to basically challenge Ann to a rematch. Well, maybe not in so many words, but I teased her a bit and said, kiddingly, I thought, that we should "put on the gloves and box" and silly things like that. I don't think I expected her to accept my challenge, but it was a way of dealing with my conflicted feelings. I must admit that, on the one hand, I was very excited by the idea of wrestling around with Ann, but on the other hand, I knew what I really wanted was to have her undress for me, see her panties, kiss her, and fulfill my adolescent fantasies. I wasn't really thinking that she'd beat me up, but I realize now that a part of me knew she could, and that was the source of that little shiver of fear I felt whenever I thought about fighting her. I don't think I admitted it to myself at the time.

In any case, Ann ignored my teasing challenges for a while and finally, one afternoon, she said, "I'm sick of these stupid challenges. I'll fight you if that's what you really want. How do you want to do this? Your place or mine?" I was pretty surprised and more than a little excited. I knew we would have no privacy at my home, my mother and kid sisters would be there and I told her so. She replied that there was nobody home at her house, only she and her mother lived there and her mother worked, so we could have the place to ourselves. We agreed to leave school together and go to her house.

On the way there, Ann was very stiff and silent. She acted like she really didn't like me at all, and that hurt because I really liked her. I tried to make small talk and lighten the mood, see if I could get her to loosen up, but she didn't, and finally turned to me and said, "Cut the crap, Alan. Let's just do what we have to do. Don't try to weasel out of it, you've started this, now finish it." That silenced me for the rest of the trip. That small shiver of fear started deep inside me, but I pushed it aside and tried to think of how I would handle this fight.

When we got to Ann's place, we dropped our books and coats and she showed me to her room where she closed the door and turn to face me. Suddenly, I felt foolish and didn't know what to do. We both stood there for a short while until she said, "C'mon, big mouth. You wanted this fight, now let's see how tough you are." When I still didn't move, she taunted me again. "You know what I think? I think you're scared, scared of losing this fight, scared of ME! Is that it? Are you scared of getting beaten up by a girl? Want to give up now, before you get a beating?" Her taunts had the desired effect and I rushed forward to grab her.

I few seconds later I was sitting on the floor, shaking my head to clear it. She had sidestepped me easily, pulled me around and decked me with a hard left-right combination to the jaw. I couldn't believe how fast that had happened and how hard she had hit me, and I looked up at her dazedly. Ann gave me no time to recover, however, and grabbed my shirt front and pulled me back to my feet where she proceeded to slap me back and forth several times causing me to stagger backwards. She grabbed my shirt front again and held it this time while she snapped my head back repeatedly with stinging jabs. They came so fast I couldn't block them, and I just stood there and took them. Finally, after absorbing about a dozen of these blows, she released my shirt, doubled me over with a sharp hook to the abdomen, and then straightened me up again with a wicked right uppercut.

I was really seeing stars now and didn't know what to do. I hadn't yet landed a single punch, and she had landed so many I had lost count. Angry, I rushed forward again only to be met by a wicked fist to my midsection followed by another. It really hurt and I was gasping and falling forward. I reached out and managed to grab Ann's skirt, but as I fell and she stepped back, with a loud ripping sound it tore down the back and I found myself on the floor again, this time stupidly staring at Ann's crumpled up skirt in my hands.

Ann was absolutely livid and rushed over to me. Her pink cotton band-leg panties were plainly visible peeking out beneath her shirt tails, as were her nice, smooth legs. "How dare you! How dare you tear my skirt! You'll pay for this!" She yelled, slapping me and punching me furiously. I wasn't even able to get to my feet, much less fight back, and it was all happening too quickly for me to be able to block many of her blows. I was in pure defensive mode now, but not able to stop the blistering attack. She slapped, punched, and kicked me around the room. Soon, I was lying on the floor, head spinning, nose bleeding, my lips swollen, my jaws and cheekbones bruised. She had beaten me up pretty badly, and I was close to tears.

After a moment's rest, Ann came to me and, as I cowered and tried to scrabble away, she grabbed me and...well, it still shames me to think of it...she stripped me. Shoes, socks, pants, shirt, and finally, my jockey shorts, all were either pulled off or ripped off. During the stripping, I cried and begged her to stop and tried to squirm away, but she slapped my hands away and determinedly completed the strip, then stood up triumphantly. I lay there in disbelief. I couldn't believe that she had stripped me and I sobbed on the floor, totally humiliated. Ann got down on the floor, straddled me, pinning my arms with her shapely bare legs. I stared up at her through eyes now blurred with tears, and knew she was about to administer a terrible beating. She cocked back her fist, I pleaded with her, "Nooo, please no...don't hit me anymore...I've had enough...I don't want to fight anymore...please...please..." and more, but I was so choked up with crying I couldn't get it all out. I scrunched up my face to take the first punch and waited...and waited...and waited, but it didn't come.

I blearily looked at Ann. She had dropped her fist and began standing up. She was looking toward the door of her room and I heard a voice, "What's going on here?" I rolled over and got up on one elbow and looked at the owner of the voice and saw Ann's mother standing in the doorway, hands on hips, looking at us both sternly. I flushed, remembering my nakedness, the bruises and other obvious evidence of the beating Ann had given me.

Ann stepped forward and explained the whole thing to her mother. "He's been teasing and harassing me, Mom. The worst part is he keeps lifting my skirt to see my panties. The other day he did it and it made me so mad, I hit him a couple of times. I know that wasn't the best way to deal with it, but I was angry. Ever since then, he's been trying to get me to fight him, so...here we are."

"What happened to your skirt?" Ann's mother asked. "What happened to his clothes?"

"I was giving him a good beating and he got kind of desperate and ripped off my skirt while we were fighting, so I stripped him!" Ann replied, with a note of pride in her voice.

Ann's mother, whose name I later found out was Emily, stood silently for a moment, tapping her foot. Then she addressed me. "Is this true, young man?" I nodded miserably. "Well," she said, "it sounds like you've gotten what you deserve. Almost. Ann," she addressed her daughter, "Please go get a pair of your panties." With growing apprehension, I waited for what would happen next. Ann returned with a pair of cotton floral print panties in her hand. "Put them on him," Emily ordered and Ann cheerfully complied.

"Now, Alan," Emily addressed me, "since you've behaved like a nasty little boy, I'm going to treat you like one. You deserve a good spanking for what you've done, and I'm going to really enjoy giving it to you." She grabbed me by the arm and jerked me to my feet and walked me over to a chair where she sat and pulled me across her lap. She didn't pull down my panties, she obviously intended to administer the spanking with me wearing them. The spanking began without ceremony, and Emily lectured me as she administered it.

"I'm going to teach you...SPANK!...that it is rude...SPANK!...and nasty...SPANK!...to pull up a girl's skirt...SPANK!...and neither my daughter...SPANK!...nor I...SPANK!...will...SPANK!...tolerate it...SPANK!...at all!...SPANK!...I hope this...SPANK!...spanking...SPANK!...teaches you...SPANK!...that you can't...SPANK!...do this, but...SPANK!...if it doesn't...SPANK!...I will cheerfully...SPANK!...give you another...SPANK!...and as many...SPANK!...as it takes...SPANK!...before you learn....SPANK! SPANK! SPANK!

When she was finished, she unceremoniously dumped me off her lap and stood up. "I fully support my daughter in this, Alan" she admonished me. "Ann, feel free to continue with what you were doing. I hope you don't mind if I watch you beat this little sissy to a pulp!" Ann smiled happily and said, "No problem, Mom."

For the next ten minutes, Ann administered a terrific beating, assisted by her mother who occasionally offered advice, like, "Ann, dear, if you'd like to make this last longer, slap him around a little, that won't knock him unconscious, but is still pretty humiliating and VERY satisfying!" Or, "Don't forget to use the backhand slap, that's always effective." Or, "Taunt him a little, Ann. Don't be afraid to mix in a little verbal abuse, you'll find it very satisfying." Ann was happy to comply with these instructions, and I had the distinct feeling that she enjoyed humiliating me and showing off for her approving mother. POW! WHACK! BIFF! My head was buffeted by her accurate punches, and I wept piteously all through the beating, and begged for mercy. "Noooooo!...P-p-pleeeeeze NO!!...OW!!!...Unhhh...Ooof...N-no m-m-more, nnnnnnoooooo! Ohhhhhh!"

Ann ignored all my pleas and worked me over to her heart's content. After what seemed like an eternity of punishment during which she hit me with everything she had, knocked me down and hoisted me up more times than I could count, I was nearly unconscious. I had had no idea that a young girl could fight like that, and she had beaten me up about as thoroughly as it's possible to beat up a person. I was still whimpering and crying, my nose was bleeding and my lips were split and puffy, my left eye closed and my face darkened by bruises. Welts and bruises were all over my arms, chest, and abdomen. Worst of all, I was naked except for Ann's girly panties, into which I had unfortunately leaked pee after several particularly hard knockdowns. Yes, she had literally beaten the piss out of me. I was totally, thoroughly defeated.

"I hope you've learned your lesson, Alan." Ann said. "If not, I'm happy to beat you up again, maybe next time in public, in front of all the kids at school. I reeeeeally enjoyed this." And with that little taunt, she delivered a hard right uppercut which exploded against my jaw and sent me flying backwards to land, unconscious, on my back, where I lay for a long time, spread-eagled, until I came to.