Copyright 1998 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.

Nap Time
by Mija

Every day at 2:15 in the afternoon, the little girl had nap time. She was four years old and said that she was way too old to have to take naps. But Mommy put her down with her little sister all the same. Just like she was a baby too.

This made her feel all mad. The little girl would lie there with her 'sheepie' (security blanket, named 'cause of the little sheep all over it) and tears would trickle out of the corner of each eye. Spankings had taught her not to cry too loud or too often and not to talk back at all. She still got spanked a lot, though. Or slapped. Sometimes just for 'looking' wrong.

But she knew she was too old for naps, knew that the little girl across the street didn't have to take one and made fun of her for 'needing' one.

The little girl slid her hands beneath her skirt and pouted.

Nap time was so boring that the little girl had discovered something to do. She would put one hand on top of the other on top of her panties, down there, and press hard, up and down. When she did this and thought about being spanked, she felt comforted, even though she was way way afraid of smackings from her daddy. She did not understand the comforting feeling and didn't try to.

Mommy had come in and seen her pushing and asked what she was doing. The little girl replied,

"Pushing on myself."

And Mommy had told her not to do it again. The little girl promised not to - she hadn't even known she was doing anything wrong.

So now when the little girl did it, she felt vaguely guilty and listened closely for her mommy.

It was hard for her to hear anything other than her own breathing however. Her eyes were closed as she looked only at the thoughts in her head.

One day the little girl had her hands between her legs and didn't stop in time. Her mommy came in and saw her. Mommy was mad and yelled her name. The little girl stopped, but Mommy went away and came back with the ping-pong paddle Daddy used to spank her. The bumpy orange rubber was gone on one side. That was the side Daddy always used.

The little girl started crying when she saw it. She squeaked, very afraid because she knew it would hurt.

"Nonononono, Mommy, please don't spank me!"

She squealed so loud her baby sister woke up and started crying too. Her mommy didn't listen, but sat down on the corner of the bed, pulled the little girl out of bed and over her knees. Up went her little skirt. Her panties were pulled to her knees. Down came the paddle with a hard smack against her bare bottom.

As the paddle came down again and again very very fast, the little girl kicked and wailed. The sting was so much, too much. And Mommy was yelling at her, telling her she was a very naughty and disobedient, dirty little girl.

The little girl cried even harder at this, the words seeming to increase the sting.

"Moooommmmiiiieee!!"

The little girl twisted free and threw her arms back, hands covering her burning bottom. Mommy couldn't stop in time and ended up smacking the little finger of the girl's right hand. As the paddle hit, the little girl knew that the cartoons were right - she really did see stars.

The sound of her howl was muffled as the little girl shoved her sore finger into her mouth. Mommy gave her more smacks, but the finger hurt more. The little girl couldn't cry any harder.

Finally, Mommy lifted the girl off her lap and stood the crying child in front of her, lecturing her on why good little girls didn't do such dirty things. The little girl couldn't hear her; she could only hear the roar of pain throbbing in her hand. Then she pressed her right hand tight between her legs and doubled over, trying to stop the very bad hurt.

When Mommy saw the little girl press her hands between her legs, she got all angry again and pulled the crying child behind her to the bathroom. Mommy shook the bad little girl hard by her shoulders and hands.

"You make your hands dirty and smelly when you touch yourself there."

The girl couldn't say anything. She just cried and knew she was very very bad. Mommy leaned the little girl over the sink and began to wash her 'dirty' hands with hot hot hot tap water, Lysol, and a scrub brush from under the sink. The hot water hurt very much, as did the scrubber. The little girl wished her Nana (grandmother) would come and save her. But then she felt sure Nana would think she was dirty down there too.

Mommy stopped finally and the child looked at her red red hands. The little girl put her right finger in her mouth. Mommy carried her back to her bed and lifted her over the rails.

"You stay in that bed until Daddy gets home and don't you dare get out. Do you understand me?"

The little girl started crying again and nodded through her tears. She knew her daddy would spank her because he always did if she had to wait for him to come home like this. The little girl curled up and cried on her pillow, discovering that she couldn't even use her hands to wipe away the tears 'cause the salty tears hurt the raw skin.

When her daddy got home her mommy called the little girl out to the living room. She came slowly, tears still streaming down her cheeks, her hands holding each other behind her back. Mommy and Daddy both stared at her hard, and the little girl froze, standing just in front of where they sat on the couch. She looked down and felt her tears trickling down her cheek, then fall onto the floor, lost finally in the carpet.

The little girl started to wipe her eyes with her left sleeve and felt her daddy take her wrist. Mommy started to explain again what a bad little girl she was, doing such dirty and unnatural things. She felt Daddy squeeze her wrist so tight it hurt and the little girl cried out:

"I'm sorry, Daddy!"

Daddy told the little girl to go back to her room. She did, slowly. She was going to get spanked again, the little girl just knew it. And she also knew Daddy's spanks would hurt a lot.

He was very mad. The little girl trembled in her room as she heard him yelling. What a bad little girl she had been to make Mommy and Daddy yell so very much! The little girl sat on the very edge of the bed and cried as she stared at the bad hands on her lap. She put her right little finger in her mouth and sucked, feeling the sharp then dull pain and ache.

Daddy came in, but the little girl was too ashamed and dirty to look up. She knew he carried the paddle though, she just knew it. He sat down next to her and lifted her onto his lap. She leaned against his chest, scared but glad not to be alone.

He hugged her a little bit, then took her left hand very gently in his. It looked red red, and the brush had left nasty little raw scratches which were even darker. There was also a scattering of tiny white blisters. The little girl felt a stab of terror, as Daddy carried her to the bathroom and sat her on the sink, her body becoming cold with fear. But Daddy ran cool water and gently rinsed the sore left hand, coated it with a soothing salve and wrapped it loosely in clean white gauze.

"Give me your other hand, baby."

The little girl kept her finger in her mouth and shook her head, no. But she didn't resist as he pulled her hand out. He didn't rinse it right away, though. She saw him stare at it, the right hand bright red, scratched and blistered, except for her little finger, swollen to twice its normal size and purple-black. Daddy was very quiet and the little girl started to tremble again and pull her hand away.

"No, baby. Let Daddy see."

So she sat very still on the edge of the sink as Daddy turned her hand back and forth. Finally he began to rinse it under a very gentle stream of cool water. Still, that hurt, and the little girl started to cry again. The cries got louder as he dried the poor hand, patting it with a soft towel. Then Daddy left her sitting there on the sink and she heard him go down to the kitchen.

When he came back, Daddy gave her half of a red popsicle. She sucked it and wept her face to a sticky wetness as he packed ice in a towel around the little girl's finger. There was another popsicle stick that Daddy had brought up. He rinsed it off then broke it in two pieces and put sticky white tape on the ends.

The little girl watched him. She had never seen him do this before. Her face nearly broke into smiles when he took away the ice, the warm air felt so very soothing. Daddy held her very close and took the sore hand. She leaned against him trustingly.

A brilliant flash of pain. For the second time that day the little girl saw bright stars flashing before her eyes as Daddy straightened her little finger, then held it straight with tape between the two halves of the stick.

The little girl screamed and screamed long after Daddy had rubbed the hand with salve and wrapped it in fresh gauze. She looked at her mummy-mitt hands. There was no comforting finger for her mouth.

Daddy didn't make her stop screaming or crying. He washed her face with a wash cloth, removing the sticky-sweet mixture of cherry and tears. She didn't have to go to bed like a bad girl. Daddy held her and fed her chicken soup, then ice cream in front of the television. She took orange flavored children's aspirin, that had a toy soldier on the box, and fell asleep on his lap.

That was the last time Mommy spanked the little girl. After that, Mommy always sent the little girl to her room to wait for her Daddy to come home and punish her.

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