by Jen McCormick
The Naughty Girl
Diana could not believe what had just happened. It had only been two days since her naughty incident with Ms. McCormick, and she still couldn’t get it out of her head. She had never been into this sort of thing before, never felt the need to explore with her sexuality. She had never wanted to try new things. She had been so sure of everything. Now, she wasn’t sure of anything.
She was thinking, of course, about the spanking.
The slap of the brush against her flesh, Jen’s fingers sliding her panties down, leaving her vulnerable, exposed. And the paddle! Just thinking about it all was getting her wet again.
That was why she was running the bath. She lived with her mother in a small apartment, a place that left no privacy, and barely enough room for the two of them. So, whenever she wanted to masturbate, she had to take a bath. Of course, she had been taking a lot of baths in the past two days. She had a feeling she would be taking a lot more after meeting her newest teacher.
The water sputtered and poured from the faucet, tiny wisps of steam rising from the water. The air was cool enough that the mirror was fogging up.
Diana removed her clothing, pulling off her t-shirt, her shoes and socks, her jeans. She took off her bra and tossed it on the heap of discarded clothing on the floor. But before she removed her panties, she moved to the mirror. Her hand lifted and wiped the glass, cutting a streak of clarity through the fogged mirror.
For the last two days, she had always waited to remove her panties, always wanted to see the damage done to her poor rump in the mirror. After the first spanking of her adult life, her butt had been sore and stinging, the flesh angry and red. Even now, after two days of healing, the skin was just the slightest bit pink.
And for some reason unknown to her, this turned her on all over again. She felt the hesitation before lowering her panties, and she savored it. She turned around, slowly, just enough so that her back was to the mirror, but she could still see her reflection over her shoulder. Gingerly, she pulled the garment down.
Oh my god, she was already moist.
The sting and burn of the spanking were almost gone now, as was the faded pink tinge to her skin. But just the sight of her vulnerable buttocks, naked to the world, was enough to get her going. She didn’t think it would be the same with her panties completely off though. Something about the way they just sat there, suspended at mid-thigh made her feel…horny.
She was about to touch herself when she saw it, sitting in the reflection, taunting her, teasing her. There, lying coyly on the edge of the tub, was the brush she used to scrub her back. It was long handled, plastic, and bore a striking resemblance to the paddle she had been punished with, just the other day.
She wondered… but no. She was just being silly. What kind of girl would she be if she were to do that sort of thing, alone? It was one thing to be punished at school by a teacher, quite another to do it to yourself.
Sighing softly, she took off her underwear and eased into the tub. The water was perfect. When the level was just right, she shut off the water, and the slow drip, drip, dripping eased her mind.
And still, that brush leered at her out of the corner of her eye.
She tried masturbating, but it was no use. That brush was still there, still calling. It lay there, just in reach, laughing at her.
She pulled the stopper, and the water began to drain.
The mirror had cleared up by this point, and she watched her reflection lean over and pick up the plastic bath brush. She slapped it against her palm once, testing it, feeling its resiliency. It was loud.
Diana couldn’t believe she was doing this.
When the water was low enough, she started running the faucet again, the roar drowning out all other sounds. At least, she hoped it would. The brush would be loud, and there was no way she wanted her mother to find her in here, doing what she was about to do.
She went down to her hands and knees. In the mirror, her reflection did the same.
She watched as her lithe form leaned on one elbow, her right arm raising up with the brush, the mean, terrible brush. It stood there, poised, waiting to strike. The only sound was the water filling the tub, and the hammering of her heart in her ears. She could feel the familiar warmth building up in her privates, feel the tingle of anticipation and dread and excitement fill her.
Diana could not believe she was doing this.
The brush fell, tracing an arc through the air as her arm brought it down on her wet, unprotected behind. It landed with a loud slap, cracking across bottom, leaving a stinging resonance. In the mirror, her cheeks quivered. God, it hurt.
Yet she did it again. It was almost as if she had not control, as if she could hear Ms. McCormick’s soft, sultry voice, whispering to her, “Harder.”
Again she brought the brush down, again the stinging crack of plastic on flesh. Distantly she was aware of how red her bottom was becoming in the mirror, of the tears streaking down her face. She heard a moan and realized that it came from her own lips. Oh god it felt so good. Hurt so good.
The tension kept building in her. Her hips were bucking up and down now, rising to meet the brush of their own accord. She felt warmth trickling down her inner thigh, but she didn’t care. Her bottom felt like it was on fire, but still she kept on, swatting over and over, punishing her naughty behind.
Then the orgasm ripped through her. One, two, three more, coursing through her in successive tidal waves of pleasure, rushing from her privates to her belly, to her neck and shoulders, and then back down through her thighs, to her toes. Oh, god her toes were numb.
After a moment she realized that she had dropped the brush, that she was lying on the floor, her hand lazily rubbing at her clit, the other tracing circles over her tight belly. She found herself pretending that it was Jen whose fingers worked their magic.
For a few moments, it was bliss, just listening to the running bath water, lying naked on the floor, the air warm and pleasant. It was perfect.
Then came the knock on the door.
Oh god, that would be her mom! Had she suspected that Diana was taking an extra long bath? Or what if she knew? What if she had heard the sounds? Or worse, what if Diana had cried out in a moment of pain and pleasure?
Then came her mother’s voice from the other side of the door, and relief. Well, almost relief. Diana’s mother said that she had a visitor. It was one of her teachers, a Ms. McCormick.
This could certainly be interesting.
