She opened her eyes and met his smirking gaze. With his hand over her pubic mound he said, “You’re some hot babe, Ma’am.” Then he asked, “D... you want me to fuck you, Ma’am?” The words caught in her throat, rendering her speechless as his thick digits swept across her mons. His banana-like forefinger slipped between the lips of her slickened slit and began traveling back and forth. “Oh sweet mercy,” she whimpered when she realized his finger was nearly as big as John’s dick. “Do you like that. But sometimes the brush isn't enough. If it's to be a "proper" punishment, he'll stand me up while I'm crying and pull my PJ top up over my head. Then he'll stand up and march me over to the corner by my upper arm. Once there, he'll stand me close and move both of my hands to the back of my head. I'm usually still crying hard from the hairbrush while he does this, so the first thoughts after the crying slows down are the realization that next comes the strap. And that realization makes it just. More

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