Copyright 1999 to <mijita@thetreehouse.net>. Please respect this copyright. Don't distribute or archive this story in any way except for personal use without explicit permission. No, it's not in the public domain. Ask first, okay? Thanks.

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[Image of Little Miss Naughty] Put Down
by Mija

"No way! 'was an accident!! Meanie!"

A vase lay broken between them.

"Yes way, young lady. It broke because you kicked when I told you to settle down. You need a smacked bottom and a nap."

Her lower lip shot out defiantly. He laid his hand on hers.

"Only question, will it be my hand or the hairbrush?"

The hairbrush scared her. She took his hand.

He changed her into a large T-shirt. Then sat on her small bed.

Her panties were soon off and she was over his knees as he smacked her until she cried. Until her bottom was pink.

She started to get up.

"Not yet, miss. You know."

She knew. But she also knew he sometimes forgot. Her eyes squeezed tight as the jar opened.

"What am I doing?"

She swallowed, blushing.

"Gettin' ready to take my temperature."

"Where does this go?"

"My bottom."

Tears trickled down her face as his hand stroked her pink cheeks. Soothing, calming . . . firm, parting.

"Be a good girl."

He slid the thermometer in. The Vaseline made it easy.

She repeated the words to herself. Be a good girl. Be a good girl or it comes out. Be a good girl or get a spanking with the hairbrush. Be a good girl or it goes in again when your bottom's red hot.

He turned it gently, made her squirm. She kicked, felt a warning smack, took a deep breath and tried to turn over. It was out before she could hurt herself. His arm held her tight over his lap, his leg caught her kicking feet.

"No, you could break it!"

The brush came down fast, hard. She wasn't brave, the brush was always too much. Please please please. She couldn't breathe, tears made hair stick to her face.

The brush stopped but she cried, too limp to understand his voice. Or to do more than whimper when the thermometer went in again. Slowly words pierced her fog.

". . . think I have a sorry little girl now."

He withdrew it slowly as she sobbed. Then opened the drawer and jar again.

"No, please."

"Please."

He stroked her gently, pushing something firm against her. It was the thick one, the one used for disciplining very naughty girls.

"Relax, young lady. Or do I need the brush again?"

She sobbed, lifting her bottom toward him. He slowly, gently, firmly pushed the plug deep inside. Another hand-spanking. The spanking made her aware of her fullness, the fullness of the spanking. She cried harder than from the brush.

He stopped, lifted her off his lap and into bed, holding her to his chest until she was calm. Tucked the covers around her tightly.

"In bed until I tell you, right, miss?"

She nodded, curled up, eyes closed.

"And keep it in. I'll take it out."

There was no need for her to nod, but she did. He wiped a stray tear.

A whisper low in her ear.

"Such a good girl."

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