Daydreaming

This is an almost entirely true story. The only part that required fabrication is the daydream itself, which is semi-fictional only because memory fails… nevertheless i believe i got the gist of it!

On the first day of junior high I had no mental map of how to get to my home room, I just followed the other kids who were in the same bus as me. No one had shown me a map or discussed how to get around the school or where anything was. I knew how to get down to the playground at recess, but I had no idea where the bathroom was.

I was very shy, but after spending all afternoon pretending to read my assignment while my attention was secretly occupied with the effort of not wetting myself, in desperation I asked my new homeroom teacher, Mr. Stoller. He seemed indifferent and busy, but he called a young red-haired person with pudgy cheeks called Montana to walk with me to the bathroom so I could pee. At first glance I was not sure if Montana was a girl or a boy, but her voice revealed her to be a girl, and she was super nice in a talkative kind of way.

In fact Montana talked the whole time while she walked me down a few flights of stairs, then to the end of a wide hall, and down some more stairs into the basement. There was the girl’s bathroom, and Montana stood outside my stall and talked to me while I peed.

I was very embarrassed by the whole situation, and I wasn’t sure Montana was the kind of person I wanted to befriend, and I really hadn’t heard a word she said. And somehow on the way back I missed a cue, and Montana realized I hadn’t been listening. So she stopped talking to me and wouldn’t even look at me for the rest of the walk back to class.

Which was fine, except that on the second day of junior high I knew I could never retrace my steps back to the bathroom. So I held it. I held it through recess and pre-algebra, but by mid-afternoon I was in the same position I had been in the day before, shyly asking Mr. Stoller if someone could help me find the bathroom again. “Ask Montana,” he directed, and dismissively gestured towards the wall of maps, where she was working with another girl who looked a lot like me but obviously had not been so rude towards her.

I really had to pee, and I felt like I would burst if I did not ask Montana to take me to the bathroom again, but as I approached her she decisively turned away and her face grew red. I knew I had hurt her feelings, and I had no idea how to correct the situation, or whether I even wanted to… something about this girl made me nervous. I did not think my Pastor would like her, somehow. Later I realized she had taken me to a far-away bathroom that was a lot more private than the nearer one, and I had to question her motives for doing that, considering she almost seemed to want to join me in the stall while I peed. My Pastor would certainly not have thought well of that.

So I decided to go out in search of the bathroom myself.

I found the first staircase fine, but after each little section of stairs it reversed direction, and immediately I lost my sense of which way was which. Still, I found the wide hall, but I think I must have set off the wrong way down it, because I never found that second set of stairs leading to the basement lavatory. 

Instead I found a set of large glass doors leading outside. and these did not lead to the playground either, they were the front doors of the school building and led right outside into the busy Thursday afternoon of our town

I stood there for a minute panicking. I knew I was absolutely not supposed to go through these doors. In my mind, I could have been kicked out of school for such an offense; it would have been considered “leaving campus”, and was surely an absolute no-no in junior high. On the other hand I was mere seconds away from wetting myself!

Finally I yielded to desperation, lunging through the large glass doors and down the wide cement stairs, where I spun round and hopped over a brick retaining wall to piddle, or rather to gush, behind a decorative hedge which actually did almost nothing to hide me from the busy street. I did not wet myself, and I was not seen. But when I returned to the large glass doors, they had become locked.

This was possibly my first encounter with self-locking doors, and I was very confused by them. I couldn’t believe I was locked out of school! after a few minutes of standing there wondering what to do, I decided that I simply had to find my way back to the playground and enter through the other entrance, the one we had used that very morning after unloading ourselves from the bus.

And this clever route might have gotten me back to class had it not been for our school yard teacher, who spotted me coming in from outside and literally blew the whistle on me, yelling “STOP!” and running immediately over, bounding halfway across the playground as if to grab me. She was extraordinarily upset that I had been off campus, and without asking me a single question she gripped my arm, yelling loudly that leaving campus was “a very serious matter”, and escorting me directly to the Principal’s office. 

There, she sat me down on a stiff wooden bench, informing the Principal’s wax-skinned secretary what had happened. The secretary dismissed her and I had to sit for a very long time, sweating bullets, wondering what my parents would say, whether I would actually get kicked out of junior high, or whether some unknown punishment would be visited upon me. 

I had heard rumors that Principal Downey liked to bend errant young teens like myself over his desk and spank their naked bottoms with a yardstick. I’m sure this was only a rumor: California had done away with corporal punishment decades before I attended junior high. But rumors like this were still floating around, and in our semi-rural district most of the community still spanked their kids, especially among the folks of our congregation, where it was considered a necessary part of parenting. Indeed, spanking was viewed as a very important component of the strategy to diminish the chances of Christian children falling into the hands of criminals, gays, liberals, and other manifestations of Satan’s substantial persuasive powers.

I didn’t know what was going to happen to me, and as I sat there imagining the worst, and imagining the possibility of being spanked, severely, on my naked bottom, it occurred to me also that I was going to have to tell the Principal why I had wandered off campus. 

I know, anyone one else would have made up a lie to protect their privacy. The idea of telling an adult man, a stranger, that moments before I had deliberately chosen to hide behind a bush, pull down my red panties and urinate between my mary janes, in broad daylight and on a busy street no less, was the most humiliating thing I could have possibly imagined.

But as I have mentioned many times, I was not a liar. I was a very religious young lady, and I believed I had a special relationship with God. 

For me, telling a lie was not even a worthwhile consideration. I was physically unable to do it, at that precise point in my life.

And up until now, up until this moment on the stiff wooden bench, I knew I had not really sinned… I was definitely in trouble, but God knew I had meant no harm to anybody, and that I was just a foolish young person who was devoted and thoughtful and committed to leading a Christian life, and I had done nothing worse than making a stupid mistake. So whatever the consequences, in this matter God would be on my side. But if I told a lie, and especially if I spent my time on this bench scheming to make up a believable lie so that I could successfully deceive my school Principal, I would be breaking my vow to God as well as disobeying his 9th commandment. I would be “bearing false witness,” which is an odd way to put it, but our Pastor had made it perfectly clear that the 9th commandment meant “don’t lie”.

So I wasn’t going to lie, which meant that I would have to tell Principal Downey that I had gone outside to pee behind a bush, because I couldn’t find the bathroom by myself, and was too embarrassed to ask anybody for help. And then, having humiliated myself thoroughly by admitting this, and possibly being interrogated about events leading up to this rather serious breach of school rules, I might be made to confess more. He might prompt me to admit that I had been holding in my pee all day, and that I had essentially done the same thing yesterday, and that I did not have a good plan for how to handle the same situation tomorrow.

And what would Principal Downey think of that? He would certainly think I was a very odd and untoward young lady. In my mind I feared the next question would be, “Why? Why are you holding in your pee all day, Jan?” and of course I would have no way whatsoever to respond to this inquiry. I quite frankly hadn’t the slightest idea.

But in my mind, Principal Downey wouldn’t leave it at that. Of course I knew why, and he’d feel obligated to get to the bottom of it, whether I was reluctant to explain myself or not.

But first, Downey would bend me over his infamous desk, and ask me to lower my red panties for him. He would naturally want to hurry things along, even if he still had a few questions for me. He’d ask me to straighten my legs so my knees locked and my feet were flat on the floor, and then he’d ask me to part my legs a little, so that I couldn’t clench my bottom cheeks so easily to avoid the full sting of his yardstick.

As I sat there waiting interminably on the office bench, I let my eyelids droop and my mind wander off into that very private place I usually reserve for when I’m alone and protected from intrusion or interruption. My inner eye took over, and I could imagine everything in vivid detail, as in a dream or a movie. I could almost literally feel Principal Downey rubbing his yardstick up and down, tickling the plump cheeks of my innocent, naked bottom, and I could hear him warning me not to lie to him.

Of course I would never lie. But Downey would be very suspicious, and how could I blame him? Most girls lie: our Pastor had made us conspicuously aware of that.

“You can’t lie at all?” he’d ask.

“No sir,” i’d explain. “I can’t lie. God is listening.”

“Of course he is,” Principal Downey would agree. “God is listening. And he knows everything you are thinking, too, so if you don’t answer honestly he will know, even if I don’t.”

“Yes,” I would whisper, fully committed to honesty, but speaking too low for Downey to really hear.

“So tell me then, Miss January. Do you always try and hold in your pee all day? Do you enjoy holding in your pee, to the point of bursting?”

“What?” I would squeak, surprised and shocked by the question. “Why would…?”

But before I could finish I would hear the soft swish followed by the loud crack of the yardstick, viciously impacting with the plumpest part of my fat little bottom.

“Don’t lie,” he’d remind me. “Do you like holding in your pee?”

And since I had never thought about it before, and the very idea was icky and strange and incredibly embarrassing, I’d want to say no, but God would hold me back. I would feel the sting across my fat ass, and I’d feel Principal Downey’s eyes on my fanny and on my tiny red pudenda sticking out between my pudgy thighs, and I’d have to think about how holding in my pee actually made me feel. God was listening.

My imagination was swarming with intoxicating, detailed visions, but my eyes were fully closed as I sat there in the outer office of the School Principal while awaiting our meeting. I was sitting upright on the hard bench, but I was just barely aware of my surroundings. I could feel the same wonderful tingling between my legs that I usually reserved for more private situations, but I knew that nobody could really tell what I was thinking, except God. And the Principal’s secretary was clearly not paying any attention.

In my stimulating little trance-dream, Downey was fiercely interrogating me. “Do you like holding in your pee, January Josephine?”

“When I have to pee,” I’d explain to him, “I feel a swelling deep inside my vagina.”

“Inside your vagina?” Principal Downey would ask. “Deep inside?”

“Yes… deep inside… but also…”

“Also?”

“Also in my pee hole. And…”

“And where else?” he would ask.

“Above my pee hole,” I would whisper. I wanted so much to keep at least this part of it private, but God wouldn’t allow that. I was supposed to tell Principal Downey everything.

“Above your pee hole?”

“Yes,” I would shudder as I made this mortifying admission, feeling more naked and vulnerable than ever..

“Where, exactly?”

“I have… a little button… at the top”

“Oh! Your little sin button! Oh, Jan… you must be a very bad girl!”

“No no, I’m a good girl, I just…”

i’d hear the swish and smack again, and the sting would radiate outwards and make my whole fanny feel like it was tingling, in a very nice way, even though it would hurt terribly right where the smack landed, on the fattest and naughtiest part of my reddening cheeks.

“Oh, so you’re a good girl, Miss January? Is that right?” and he’d smack me again, even harder. “If you’re such a good girl, then why does your sin button swell up when you hold in your pee?”

“i’m not sure… how do I know… how do I even know we’re talking about the same button?”

“Well, let’s see. Can you spread a little wider?”

“Okay,” I’d say, and I’d move my feet a few inches further apart.

“More.”

And I’d separate my feet by at least another 18 inches. Now I’d be fully spread, and to demonstrate my willingness to cooperate, I’d reach between my legs and use my fingers to pry my pussy lips open, so that Principal Downey could see everything I had.

“Perfect.” And he’d reach in between my lips with his yardstick, and poke my swollen button very precisely in the center, scratching against the protruding nub with the sharp upper corner of his yardstick.

The poke would feel like a shock of static electricity, like when you’ve been walking on fresh office carpets and you touch a metal doorknob. I’d certainly flinch, and let our a little yelp.

“Is that it?” he’d ask. “Your button?”

“Yesssss” i’d whisper.

“Well that’s your sin button, alright. God does not want you to touch that part of your anatomy. Do you understand?”

“He doesn’t?”

“No he does not. Do you touch it?”

“Yessssss.”

“Oh you bad, bad girl. Don’t you know better than to rub your dirty little sin button?! And here I thought you were a good Christian lady.”

Downey would say this slowly, and with a tone of utter contempt. Then he’d take his yardstick out from between my spread lips and started to paddle me with it in earnest, slamming it into the same fat stripe of red again and again!

And it would hurt so much! Especially right on the reddening stripe where he’d be hitting me repeatedly, unrestrainedly, mercilessly.

But the rest of my ass would feel wonderfully tingly, as would my dirty little anus. But the most amazing tingling would be all over my poor little virgin pussy, both inside and out, but especially all over my incredibly swollen sin button, which would feel so incredibly hard and swollen, as it were literally ready to pop!

And Principal Downey, with his broad shoulders and strong forearms, would spank me rhythmically and repeatedly until I felt like I was floating around the room, my turgid little button on the verge of exploding…

And just as I was on the verge, when perhaps one or two more spanks would have done something wonderful for me, right as I couldn’t help but begin to moan and push my fanny up towards the yardstick as it bore down savagely upon me, and right at the very moment when my moans were about to become screams and I wouldn’t know what was going to happen to my poor distended and throbbing button, Downey would suddenly stop.

“Ooooh!” I’d moan, spreading my legs as wide as I could, pushing my behind up and backward, reaching for the smacking yardstick to best of my ability!

But Principal Downey would not resume his attack. Instead he’d set down his yardstick with a clack and say, “You naughty little jezebel! I can no longer allow you to use our school bathrooms for your morbid little games!”

And dying for a mere two more spanks, I’d quiver and bite my lip, and I’d listen to his terrifying decree:

“From now on,” he’d announce, “I expect you to hold your pee. Hold it from the time you board the school bus in the morning until the time you return home at the end of the day. You must squeeze your tender pee hole shut with all your might, clench yourself with your palms, plug your own cork with a pencil stub: I don’t care how you do it, but you must absolutely hold it, all day long, every day.”

“But I can’t,” I’d moan pathetically.

I could see and feel everything perfectly in my mind. This imaginary decree would hit me like a punch in the gut, and I would feel like I was sinking through the floor, unable to face another moment in this world, knowing that such abject humiliation and shame was to be my fate. But as much as Downey’s disturbing penalty would set my head spinning, it would also make my naughty button swell up even tighter, and for the first time I’d notice how raggedly and gaspingly I was hyperventilating. And I’d also notice that my nipples were swollen as hard as my little button was!

“Well, you’ll have to, little Miss January. Because you are no longer allowed to use any of the toilets in this school. I won’t have anything to do with your depraved shenanigans!” And he’d smack me, even harder, but this time right on the backs of my tender thighs!

“OW!” I’d yelp and then start to squeal and snort, unable to keep myself quiet with all this overwhelming sensation and ghastly new information. “But i’ll wet myself!” I’d whimper, starting to cry.

“You can hold it,” he’d challenge. “You can hold it if you really try,” he’d breathe, his voice intense and menacing.

“But I can’t!” I’d wail, sobbing, barely able to get out the words so he could hear them.

“Oh, you had better. You had just better, Little Miss Panty Wetter.”

“I can’t” I’d croak between sobs. My face would be dripping with tears, but also my pudenda would be dripping with something else, something I didn’t have a word for yet but I knew it wasn’t pee.

“Well we have strict policies around here for girls who wet themselves in class.”

“You do? What policies?”

“Well, you’ll have to clean it up yourself, with paper towels and soapy water. And if you wet your panties you will have to take them off for the rest of the day.” Downey would raise his yardstick once again, but instead of bringing it down powerfully on my fanny or thighs, he brought it up between my lips, and started whacking my little button, much more lightly but considering the sensitivity of the target, still hard enough to really sting.

“And since I will ordinarily be too busy to attend to the job myself, Mr. Stoller will have to spank you. Right in front of your entire homeroom class!” And he’d give me one last swat, much harder than the others, right on my stinging, swollen, electrified sinful button. It was almost exactly enough to make my button pop like a tiny balloon, but instead I’d just shudder and gasp, aching miserably for the wickedly withheld explosion. But Principal Downey would just nonchalantly rub my behind with the flat of his yardstick, just as he had at the very beginning, when i’d first bent over for him.

And I’d cry softly as I felt the delicious tingling sensations, the sparks and shivers running through my electrified fanny, through the dripping folds of my swollen, quivering pudenda.

“God is still watching you, isn’t he?” asked Downey.

“Yessss, ” I’d admit shamefully. I knew God saw me, knew he could read my thoughts, but I wasn’t quite sure whether God actually liked me anymore. Why would he?

“Then you had better be honest.”

“I know”.

“January Josephine Cunis…” he’d pause. A full minute would pass in awkward silence.

“January Cunis, when you think of wetting yourself everyday in class, with everybody laughing at you… everybody calling you disgusting nicknames like “Pissmop” and “Panty-Wetter”… oh and Jan, names that will spread like wildfire through the entire school, so that everyone will recognize you as our resident pee-girl… names like that will follow you through high school even, whether you go to Dansel or Forest Oaks…

“Jan, when you think about that, when you think about wetting yourself in class, and the embarrassment it will cause you… and the way your face will turn red as you are made to take off your wet panties and hand them to the teacher’s assistant… what’s her name? Red haired girl? Oh yes, Montana, right? When you have to hand your pee-soaked panties over to Montana so she can hold them up and show the entire class your dripping gusset area, displaying your soaked panties for the whole class to see…

“While you… while you, Jan, while you bend over, bend across Mr. Stoller’s desk, lifting your tender bottom as high as possible and spreading your legs, so that grumpy Mr. Stoller can viciously attack your fat fanny with his own thick yardstick… everyday Jan, everyday in front of your whole class… in front of the boys, Jan…

“When you think of everyone – including those mean, condescending girls, Jan – and funny queer Montana – and even the boys, Jan… when you think of them all witnessing your shame…?

“How does this make you feel? Before God, Jan, how does it make you feel, knowing your whole life is about to change? Your whole life is about to become a living nightmare…

“Your whole life. Because you must realize, if you think about it for just two seconds, that from now on you will be the ultimate butt of everyone’s jokes, the ultimate nasty clown, Jan, the absolute laughingstock here in this school, in high school, and really anywhere, everywhere, for the rest of your pathetic little life…

“Jan, tell me – before God – how does this make you feel? Does this terrible, sickening, inevitable fate which is – inescapably – in store for you…

“Oh yes Jan, I’m sure it makes you sad, Jan. But does it also, does this terrible, anxious feeling… Does it make actually make your horrid little sin button want to explode?”

I had to try to slow my breathing down before I could manage to answer him, but I wasn’t going to lie.

“Yessss” I said. “Ooooh, yessss, yessss Principal Downey. Yessss, it makes my sinful button want to pop like a balloon….”

“Like a balloon, exactly. I thought as much, January Cunis.”

And in my mind’s eye we’d both fall silent, contemplating the implications of all this terrifying, amazing turn of events.

“Here jan, if you wish… You may pop your balloon.”

And with this he’d reach into his desk drawer and retrieve a long, thick sewing needle, the kind for making repairs on leather shoes. He’d show it to me by holding it in front of my face, making sure I got a good look at it. Then, with a tender smile, he’d place it gently into my left hand, the one that wasn’t busy holding my vaginal lips so widely apart.

“You may pop it, Jan. If it is swollen so much you can’t stand it, you may pop it. In fact, I will give you a little plastic container, so you can keep this trusty needle wherever you go. Whenever your sin button gets all pumped up so you can’t stand it anymore, just take this nice sharp popper and stab it, as if it were a real balloon. That is the best way to make it pop, Jan, in fact it’s the only way. It’s the only acceptable way, so far as God in concerned.”

The look of that tiny, sharp needle was making me dizzy. I could not stop hyperventilating, but I absolutely needed my horrid little sin button to pop!

“But you know, your button is not actually a balloon, Jan, and it’s not quite so easy to pop as an actual balloon. That’s why you have to jab it more than once, usually. Usually you have to jab it a bunch of times, until you can feel it really popping… and then it’s best to just keep jabbing it, again and again. Jab it mercilessly, for as long as you can feel the little explosions, until there are no explosions left in it and you can actually feel it finally deflate. That’s the only way a good Christian girl should handle this, Jan.

“Because whatever you do, never touch your sin button with your fingers. Never play with it, Jan. Just wait until it is absolutely about to pop on its own, maybe when your teacher spanks you or when you have to pee so badly you know it will start spurting out any second and your whole class will drop everything just to laugh at your shame and humiliation… oh Jan… Whenever you feel your nasty sin button about to pop, even if people are looking, just get your little pin out of your pocket or wherever, just get up on your knees like you are now, spread your legs so everybody can see, and just jab that balloon until it’s all the way popped. Do you get that, Jan? That’s what God wants you to do. “Do you understand?”

“Yessssss” I would whisper. “I get it. I must jab my sin button with the thick, sharp needle until if pops. And I must keep jabbing it until it is fully finished popping. I must jab it mercilessly, because it is my sin-button. That’s what God wants, and that is exactly what I will do. Whenever and wherever I need to, whenever and wherever it inflates. From now… until forever! This is my vow to God.”

And I would cross my heart, not with an X but with the Christian cross, representing Jesus, so I could feel the vow most deeply in my heart, to keep it sacred, and perfect, inviolable, right alongside my vow of obedience to God, and my sacred love for Jesus.

And then, still in my mind’s eye, legs wide open and bottom raised as high as possible, tummy and breasts stretched sumptuously across Principal Downey’s desk, I’d feel God’s approving gaze on my most private places and I’d steady the large Needle. I’d make sure my grip on it was flawless, holding my bottom high so that Prinicipal Downey could see everything too. And I’d reach down past my tummy and between my legs, so that the sharp point was centered directly over my nasty, deserving little button.

I’d squeeze my eyes shut and take a deep breath, my evil button throbbing in anticipation.

Then I’d start the jabbing.

——————————

But none of this actually happened. I was merely daydreaming, as I slouched lazily on the stiff wooden bench of Principal Downey’s outer office.

But right at that moment, a loud noise awoke me and I snapped out of my reverie and sat bolt upright!

My delicious, terrible dream faded into oblivion.

And God must have been on my side, because before Principal Downey had gotten around to seeing me, or calling me into his office, or delegating responsibility for my discipline to some underling, the school clock had struck 3 o’clock and the bell had sounded, the loud blaring bell which signified the schoolday’s end.

It was time for everyone to go home. For a moment I thought I would have to stay anyway, but the secretary just shot me a look and said “never do it again”.

Then she shooed me out of there, telling me to hurry so I would not miss my school bus home. So I jumped up and ran for the bus, but glancing behind me I noticed I had left a shiny wet spot where I had been sitting.

“At least it’s not pee,” I thought to myself.