Mind-Control Panties Story 2: Brat’s Kinky Punishment by mypenname3000
The mind-control panties turn a good girl into a wicked brat! , Mind-Control Panties
Story Two: Brat’s Kinky Punishment
By mypenname3000
Note: Thanks to Ricochet for beta reading this!
There was nothing special about the department store. It was like a thousand others in its chain. A massive, international network of box stores that sold everything you could want or imagine. From cookware to bedding to toys, almost everything could be found here.
The figure moving through the store appeared no different than any of the other shoppers. It moved with a calm grace, nodding at the other shoppers. Nondescript, the figure didn’t stand out one bit. No one even noticed the pair of panties clutched in the figure’s hand. They were a pale pink, with the word Bratty printed in gold, glittery letters across the rear. Any girl who wore them and flashed them would give a dazzling display of teasing delight.
The perfect garment for a brat.
The figure headed to the clothing section frequented by college girls. It passed a stand with dozens of panties on it in all shapes and styles and designs. With a casual flick of the wrist, the Bratty panties landed with the others. There to await a certain someone.
Anna Carter, eighteen, was shopping with her father and two older brothers. Her shoulder length, brown hair was held back from her face by a pair of pink barrettes. She wore a demure outfit compared to her peers, a dark blouse tucked into a long skirt. The neckline of her top hardly showed any cleavage at all, just some ivory swath of her collarbone. She had bright, hazel eyes and plump lips over a small nose.
“Boys,” growled her father, a stern-looking man named Frank Carter. He was tall and muscular, his nose large. A trait both his sons, Rick and John, possessed.
“Just messing around with John, Dad,” Rick, the eldest, said, a big grin on his face.
John was rubbing his arm. “Is that what you call a sucker punch?”
Rick grinned. “God, if I thought you were pussy, I wouldn’t have given you a love tap. Anna could’ve taken that one.”
Anna squirmed, the tips of her ears burning. She obviously looked embarrassed by her brother’s actions. She glanced at the clothing and, shyly, said, “Dad, I need to pick up a few things.”
Her father, a widower, flicked his gaze to the clothing section. At the sight of all those feminine garments, he cleared his throat. “Yes, fine, just meet us in the sporting goods section in about twenty minutes.”
She nodded her head and slipped out into the clothing section.
She needed a few new pairs of panties. Nothing extravagant. She preferred the cheap kind, the ones with a full cut, not the daring ones the girls at her college liked to wear. Perhaps it was the gold glitter on the word Bratty that drew her attention, or maybe it was the dangling thong above it, a strip of cloth so narrow that Anna couldn’t understand how it could cover anything.
Either way, she drifted over to the pale-pink panties and touched the cotton/polyester blend. The word Bratty sent this strange, exhilarating thrill through her. It was so rebellious. Something that a bad girl would wear.
Not a good girl like Anna.
She swallowed, fidgeting. She didn’t know what strange desire possessed her, but she snatched it up, her ears burning more, her cheeks gaining a pale, pink tinge. She darted over to a rack holding ten packs of cheap panties and snagged the first one she could. She buried the Bratty pair beneath the pack, clutching it tight, and then darted to go look at some new skirts.
She fidgeted for the rest of the shopping trip, squirming, fearing that her father would see what she bought. But he didn’t notice. Not even when she went to check out and the cashier scanned it. No one seemed to notice that the machine didn’t beep nor that a price didn’t show up on the screen as the cashier placed it in a bag with the rest of the clothes that Anna bought.
She clutched her bag, fearful that her father would discover her purchase.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Anna Carter
Two weeks later, I was still terrified that my father would find that certain pair of panties tucked in the back of my drawer. It was buried amid socks and bras, but was also the last pair of clean panties I had. I’d worn every pair of clean panties I had, including the ten from the pack I bought.
“There you go,” I said, placing the breakfast of eggs and bacon I made before my father, my stomach squirming.
His brown eyes flicking up and down me. Did he know?
“Ah, thank you, Anna,” he said.
I bent down and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before I hurried over and set down plates before my brothers. Rick’s orange juice was right on the edge of the table. I was just turning away to take my own seat when John went to smack Rick. John’s hand flew out, striking the glass of orange juice on his way to our brother.
I gasped, watching the green, plastic cup flying right at me. A few drops of orange juice led the way. I gasped and struggled to dodge it, but it came at me too fast. It struck my skirt right below my bellybutton. I felt all the liquid soak through my skirt to my panties. I squeaked in shock, blinking. I could feel the cold bleeding through to my privates.
“No, no, no,” I groaned, my heart beating so fast. I could feel my last pair of clean panties absorbing the staining liquid.
”Goddammit, John!” Dad barked at my middle brother. “Look what you did to your sister!”
“Sorry, Dad,” John muttered.
“Don’t apologize to me! Apologize to your damn sister!”
John looked at me, his face pale. “Sorry, Anna, I didn’t mean to…”
“Yeah, if you weren’t such a clumsy spaz, you—” Rick started to say.
Though he was older than John, he was gaining on Rick in size. Snarling, John threw a hard punch at Rick, forcing my older brother to lean back and deflect the blow.
“Boys!” Dad snarled, pounding his fist into the table to punctuate his words. “That’s it! You’ve both had enough breakfast. You’re finished.”
“See what you’ve done now,” muttered Rick as he stood up. He marched past me as the orange juice dripped from my skirt.
“He shouldn’t be posting shit about me on Facebook,” John muttered as he stood up. He gave me another sheepish look before he darted off.
“Anna, honey,” Dad said, his voice lowering, “go upstairs and get change.”
“But…” I stammered. This couldn’t be happening.
“I’m sorry, hope that didn’t stain your skirt. If it did, I’ll make them buy you a new one.”
I just nodded, terrified. I only had one last pair of clean panties.
I stumbled out of the kitchen in a daze. I didn’t want to have to put on those panties, but these ones were soaked with orange juice. Going without panties was just unacceptable. The yawning pit of dread swelled and swelled in my belly as I stumbled through the living room. I reached the stairs, my brothers moving around above.
I swallowed, my panties wet and cold and soaked. Grimacing, I marched up the stairs, hating how the sodden panties rubbed against me. Tears were beading in my eyes. Why did Rick and John have to be so mean to each other? Why couldn’t they just be nice? They were always yelling and punching and hitting. Why couldn’t they be good like me? They were such brats.
Now I had to wear those panties. What if Dad found out?
I knew he probably wouldn’t, since my skirts were all long. There should be no way he would see what I wore beneath, but what if something weird happened? What if John thought it would be funny to yank down my skirt? He hadn’t done that in a few years, but when I was younger, he thought it was the most hilarious thing in the world. Knowing my luck, he would do it to me today.
My cheeks burned just thinking about those embarrassing, gold letters being seen blazing across my rear.
Why did I buy them? I still didn’t understand it. It made zero sense to me. They were so naughty. I liked plain, sensible panties. Not the type that you wore so boys could see them.
I reached the second floor and took a few steps to my bedroom door. I twisted the brass handle and darted inside. I closed it behind me, wishing my door had a lock on it. I wanted to just hide in here, but I couldn’t do that.
I couldn’t stay in here all day.
Eventually, I’d have to leave to eat. To use the restroom. Do my chores. I really, really needed to do my laundry, so I could get some panties that were clean Then I could take the Batty panties off as soon as possible.
That was what I had to do.
I unzipped my skirt and pulled it off, wincing at the orange stain across the front of my plain, white panties. I dropped my skirt in my clothes hamper and peeled off my sodden underwear. They stuck to me, making me feel so dirty. I balled up the panties, found a clean patch, and wiped at my brown bush. I got the last of the juice out of my hair then threw my panties into the hamper.
I groaned when I spotted the orange stains splashed across my top. That had to go, too. I peeled it off, tugging it over my slender form. My hair flew about my face, leaving it a tousled mess. I would have to comb it again. It was such an untamable mane today.
“Darn that John,” I muttered, throwing my top down on the other dirty clothes as hard as I could.
I groaned as I spotted something at the bottom of my vision. There was a single stain on my bra. An orange blemish on the white fabric. I sighed, reached behind me, and unfastened it. I slipped it off and now was naked.
I hated being naked.
My brothers could burst in. I darted to my dresser, my little breasts quivering. I yanked open the door, staring at the pile of socks and bras shoved into the corner, hiding my naughty secret. I swallowed. No helping what I had to do.
My hand darted forward, shoving the piles of clothing to the side. I unveiled the panties lying there, some of the glittery letters visible. The two T’s and a hint of the Y.
I felt a strange tingle as I grabbed the panties. An exhilaration ran across my skin, my little nipples hardening as it raced down past my breasts to my stomach. I gasped as it jolted to my pussy, making my sex ache. I whimpered, my cheeks burning bright, the tips of my ears blazing with embarrassment.