Copyright 2001 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] Thursday Thoughts
by Mija

Right now I'm being haunted by the image of switches. I can imagine walking through the woods fearfully, knowing what he's looking for, seeing each tree with a little tremble. Feeling vulnerable in my skirt. Wondering if there's anyone around as I see him break a slender branch off and start to strip the leaves from it.

I imagine him turning to me, handing me the switch and then bending to take my knickers down, then off. Leading me to a fallen tree, laying a rug over it and waiting. My heart would pound and I'd feel the unexpected breeze beneath my skirt. I'd consider fleeing and discard it as impossible. Tremble as I pressed my stomach against the log, feeling him raise my skirt high onto my back.

There'd be talk of course, but I can't think of what it would be. Something to let me know this was being done to correct me. Would I cry yet? Perhaps. The first stroke would sting sharply, like being cut. More would follow, enough so I'd try to rise and have to be held back over. The sting would torment my legs, my bottom, and I'd cry then sob frantically.

He'd finally stop, leaving me with a bottom covered with lacy red welts that itched to be rubbed. But that isn't allowed. My skirt would fall back as he lifted me up and sat himself on the log to comfort me. I'd make his shirt wet with my tears as he patted and rubbed my bottom, reminding me I couldn't.

He'd hold my hand as we walked back through the woods to the car. I'd long to rub but know I couldn't. In the parking lot, I'd worry about a passing breeze lifting my skirt and showing my marks. I'd be sure everyone could see I'd been crying.

The welts would burn into the car seat as he drove us home.

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