Naughty Immy's Punishment

by Carole Archer

  Her eyes widened and she immediately relaxed her cheeks. She certainly did not want a spanking with the horrible hairbrush—she knew from bitter experience that would really hurt and would almost certainly make her cry.

  “I’m sorry, Daddy,” she whined, trying desperately to relax as his finger continued to push upwards, until it finally wormed its way into her bottom hole. She cringed as he probed around, thoroughly greasing her tight entrance. She hated him touching her bottom hole. She believed that was a dirty place for someone to touch, and it did not feel nice at all. It was human nature to try and prevent something being forced into an area that was designed to push things out, but her daddy was clearly not in agreement with her.

  She breathed a sigh of relief when he eventually stopped probing and carefully removed his finger. She hoped he would be quick with the next part as she had no doubt in her mind now what he was about to do. She closed her eyes, dreading the procedure that always reduced her to begging. Although she loved pretending to be Adam’s little girl and she absolutely adored the playful spankings he gave her, the little girl dresses he put her into, the cuddles in front of the TV, and the games they played, she didn’t think she would ever get used to him taking her temperature in her bottom and putting other nasty things in there—although she made one exception to that rule. She absolutely adored anal sex, but she had a feeling that wouldn’t be top of her daddy’s list of priorities at this moment in time.

  Trying her best to relax, she tried to convince herself that her temperature would be normal and he would simply put her into her babygirl pyjamas, take her downstairs, cuddle her up on his lap, and watch TV with her, hopefully until lunchtime. She looked forward to her afternoon nap, followed by yet another playful spanking on her bare bottom when her daddy woke her for a bath before dinner. She smiled as she planned out her day in her mind, convinced that nothing could go wrong.

  Imogen’s daydreams were rudely interrupted when her daddy smacked her bottom sharply and reached across for the thermometer. Clenching her butt cheeks together, an automatic reaction every time he felt this awful procedure was necessary, she instinctively kicked her legs when she felt the tip of the thermometer pressing intrusively against her tight anus. Her daddy continued to apply firm pressure for several seconds, and she gritted her teeth, stubbornly squeezing her butt cheeks tightly together.

  When she felt him remove the thermometer at last, after an unsuccessful attempt to seat it inside her bottom, she whimpered sadly, knowing full well what was coming next. She listened carefully and heard him put the thermometer down. She then tensed her bottom cheeks and waited in fearful anticipation of the first, stinging smack.

  Finally, his hand smacked down hard on her bottom, and she squealed in pain. Without pausing, he landed several more hard smacks on her squirming bottom, until she protested loudly, “No Daddy!” She kicked her legs and begged him to stop, to no avail, and he landed more than a dozen hard smacks to the centre of her now stinging bottom.

  “I’m sorry, Daddy. I promise I’ll be a good girl!” she shrieked, relieved when his hand finally rested on her bottom and rubbed gently.

  “Now hold still, or I’ll give you a proper spanking,” he warned, parting her butt cheeks once more.

  Imogen clenched her fists and nodded, holding her breath and swallowing anxiously as she felt the thin wand slip past her reluctant sphincter and into her bottom hole. “Please take it out, Daddy,” she begged as the thermometer was eventually deeply seated inside her.

  Unfortunately for Imogen, her pleas fell on deaf ears, and for the next few minutes she concentrated on her shallow breathing, her eyes screwed tightly shut, waiting anxiously for the thermometer to be taken out again. As usual, those few minutes squirming uncomfortably across her husband’s lap with a rectal thermometer poking out of her bottom hole felt like hours. She thought her daddy was very cruel, deliberately tormenting her by constantly twirling the thermometer inside her bottom hole, but she sensibly kept her thoughts to herself. She frowned and chewed anxiously on her lower lip, determined not to react and give him a reason to spank her hard once more.

  Imogen released a deep breath and unclenched her small fists when the thermometer was eventually removed from her bottom. She looked at the palms of her hands and frowned at the marks left by her nails, which had pressed into the soft flesh as she resisted the thermometer’s intrusion into her bottom hole.

  She waited anxiously for his verdict, and her heart sank when he patted her bottom gently and told her, “Your temperature’s fine, little girl, so I wonder if you’ve been telling me fibs about being sick.”

  “No, Daddy,” she whined, averting her eyes as he helped her up and laid her on the bed beside him.

  “Immy, you don’t have a temperature, and you certainly don’t look unwell,” he scolded her, looking into her eyes.

  “My tummy hurts,” she lied, rubbing it and pouting. She was aware she needed to come up with a convincing reason why she was too ill to go to work. If not, she knew she was going to be punished hard. Ironically, that thought actually made her feel physically sick.

  “Oh really, your tummy hurts?” he repeated. “I thought you said you felt sick and dizzy,” he reminded her.

  Imogen bit her lip, cursing herself for forgetting the reason she’d given him for wanting to stay home, but he was making her anxious to the point that it was hard to keep up with the story she was telling.

  She watched him get up and leave the room, and she instantly reached back and rubbed her bottom, angry with herself for managing to get herself into more trouble. She knew there would be consequences for telling lies, and she wasn’t keen to find out what he had in mind to teach her a lesson.

  Watching the doorway anxiously, she briefly wondered what he was doing. When he returned a few minutes later and held up a large soap stick in one hand and a small disposable enema syringe in the other, she paled and anxiously clutched at her buttocks.

  “Please,” she squealed, shuffling backwards across the bed, her hands never leaving her bottom cheeks. “No, Daddy,” she pleaded, her eyes fixated on his face as he sat down, put the two items on the bedside table, and grasped her by the elbow, pulling her quickly back across his lap.

  “Immy, if you don’t have a temperature but your tummy is sore, you must need a little help to go potty,” he told her calmly, patting her bottom gently. “Daddy can help you with that.”

  Imogen wailed and kicked her legs. “No, Daddy, I don’t need one of them,” she pleaded, desperate not to let him put the stinging soap into her bottom. That was one of the more horrible punishments her daddy used and was certainly not the reason she wanted to stay home with him today.

  Keen to escape his clutches, she decided the truth was her only option. “I’m not really sick, Daddy,” she confessed. “I just wanted to stay home with you,” she added, hoping he would now tell her to get up, get dressed, and go to work. Staying home and having a fun day was no longer an option, and she realised that under the circumstances, she would much prefer to go to work. She knew she would receive a sore bottom when she returned home as he would surely spank her, but that was better than a nasty enema or an awful soap stick, which she did not need.

  Needing to be released so she could get up and get away from her daddy, she swallowed nervously when he kept a tight grip on her, his hand continuing to pat her bottom gently.

  “Well I’m pleased you’ve told me the truth eventually, but you are going to be punished for lying to me. You do realise that, don’t you, Imogen? Only bad girls tell lies to their daddies,” he scolded her.

  “Yes, Daddy,” she whispered. “I’m sorry. I’m not proper sick, but my tummy really does hurt a little,” she fibbed, backtracking quickly, fearful of the spanking she would get for telling lies. “But I don’t need the toilet, Daddy,” she protested. “That isn’t why it hurts!”

  He reached across to the bedside table and she watched his hand closely, cringing when he picked up the thermomet
er again. “No, Daddy, I need to get ready for work!” she squealed, trying once more to push up and get onto her feet.

  She yelped with shock when he pinned her down and thrust the end of the thermometer firmly back into her bottom. “Now, I’m not sure whether to believe you or not, Immy,” he said sternly. “Are you really sick but you’re simply fearful of an enema and soap stick, or have you been faking illness all along, as I suspected? We’d better double check your temperature,” he said firmly, pressing his finger against the base of the thermometer lodged inside her bottom.

  Imogen bitterly regretted her decision to say that she was ill and wished she could go back to the moment when she woke up. This time she would kiss her husband good morning, give him a hug, and get ready for work before making breakfast. Her tummy growled at the thought of food, reminding her she had skipped dinner last night. She longed to return to their mundane routine, and as her plans quickly unravelled, she promised herself she would never feign sickness again.

  Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a beeping noise. She turned her head quickly and was surprised to see Adam dialling a number on his phone. “Stay still,” he warned her, looking angry as he lifted the phone to his ear.

  Imogen heard a muffled voice coming from the other end of the line before her daddy responded. “Hello, this is Imogen Matthews’ husband, Adam. I’m just letting you know she seems reluctant to come to work today and wanted me to phone in sick for her. I’ve checked her temperature, but she’s absolutely fine,” he said cheerfully, twirling the thermometer inside her bottom, making her cringe, “so it’s clear to me she just wanted to skive off work today.”

  Imogen sighed deeply and squirmed across his lap. She wondered who he was speaking to and was relieved they could not see the humiliating way he was taking her temperature. But apart from her embarrassment, she also felt anger that he would tell tales on her.

  “I wonder if you could do me a favour, Mr Jones,” Adam asked. Imogen squirmed more desperately at the realisation he was talking to her elderly boss. “I’d really appreciate it if you would call me and let me know if she doesn’t show up for work. I promise you that if that happens, I will deal with her very firmly,” he added.

  Imogen closed her eyes and put her hands over her ears. She didn’t want to hear another word. She couldn’t believe how much her daddy was embarrassing her.

  A minute or so later, Adam put the phone down, tugged the thermometer out of her rectum, and slapped her butt sharply. “Get up,” he told her, and Imogen quickly shuffled up from across her husband’s lap.

  “Why did you say that to him?” she demanded petulantly, really angry that her boss knew she had intended to phone in sick when there was really nothing wrong with her.

  “Would you rather I’d kept you home, given you an enema, and informed him I was doing that?” he asked her, regarding her sternly.

  Imogen pouted and shook her head. “No,” she snapped, lowering her eyes when his brow furrowed in annoyance.

  “Unless you want another spanking, young lady, I’d lose that attitude and get yourself ready for work. I can spank you again if necessary,” he warned. “I promise you that would not be a hardship.”

  Imogen shook her head and stepped away from him.

  “Immy,” Adam said, more calmly. “I know you miss spending time with me, and I miss you too,” he smiled, stroking her cheek gently. “This project is only temporary. It won’t last forever. I’ll probably be finished with it by the end of the week, and once it’s done, I can spend lots of time with my little girl, making up for lost time,” he smiled.

  “I need to go into town now,” he told her, caressing her cheek gently. “I love you. Now be a good girl and get yourself to work, because if I get a call from Mr Jones to say you haven’t gone in, you needn’t think about sitting down any time soon,” he warned her. “And if you make that call necessary, believe me when I say I will let Mr Jones be a witness to your punishment,” he told her, turning and leaving before a red faced Imogen could respond.

  She fumed as she listened to his footsteps going down the stairs, and as soon as she heard the front door close, she ran to the window, peeked out through the curtains, and watched her husband drive away. Once she saw his car turn out of the end of the street, she stormed across the room and threw herself face down on the bed.

  She was furious that he had humiliated her by phoning her boss. She felt his actions were totally unnecessary and really hoped Mr Jones wouldn’t say anything to her. She did not want to have to explain to him why she hadn’t wanted to go to work, especially when she was hopeful of being promoted soon. Mr Jones had told her as much, and she couldn’t believe her husband might have jeopardised her chances with his foolish phone call.

  After lying face down for several minutes, pounding her fists on the bed and using language that would ensure she wouldn’t sit comfortably for days if not weeks if Adam heard her, she finally started to calm down and realised that she needed to get ready for work if she didn’t want to make things even worse for herself. Despite her anger, she knew Adam would follow through on his threat if she didn’t go to work, and she wasn’t about to make things worse than they already were.

  Don’t get mad, get even, she thought as she sighed and got up from her bed and started to get dressed.

  Her anger slowly dissipated, and she smiled menacingly as she planned her revenge. Her husband had humiliated her, and although he didn’t know it yet, he was about to get a taste of his own medicine. Her smile widened.

  Imogen picked up the phone and grinned, feeling sure that when she returned home from work at lunchtime, her husband would realise what it was like to be thoroughly humiliated and he would be keen to make amends for his call to her boss.

  Two can play your game, Daddy, she thought triumphantly as someone answered her call and she started to speak.

  Chapter Two

  Imogen was relieved when she arrived at work and her boss said nothing of her husband’s call, instead welcoming her with a smile and a cup of coffee. Her morning passed quickly and uneventfully, and at noon she literally skipped out of the office and headed home, ready for her husband to do some major making up, but she was a little disconcerted when she arrived and Adam was not yet there. She checked every room in the house before slowly heading back downstairs.

  She slumped down on the sofa, wringing her hands in her lap, wondering if she had gone too far with her act of revenge. She swallowed anxiously when half an hour later she watched the front door open. Her confidence quickly plummeted and she tried desperately to push all thoughts of possible failure from her mind. Now was not the time to doubt her plan, which at the time she had believed to be a stroke of utter genius.

  She swallowed anxiously, getting up hesitantly when she saw how angry her husband looked. She cautiously approached him, hugging him tightly as she greeted him.

  “Daddy, where have you been? I was getting worried about you,” she said into his chest, clinging to him as his strong arms wrapped around her, making her feel safe. She wished she could stay there forever.

  He held her tightly in his arms for a couple of minutes, but she became unnerved when he did not speak at all and simply clung to her. “Daddy,” she said, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “I’m really sorry that I made you angry this morning,” she said quietly. “I wanted to come home and make it up to you and hoped you might be able to spare me a couple of hours, like you promised last night,” she reminded him.

  Imogen looked up at her daddy, fluttering her eyelashes sweetly, and he immediately released her and looked at his watch. He shook his head and gave her a small smile.

  “Good girl,” he whispered, running his fingers through her long blonde hair. “I’m sorry I made you worry. Daddy’s home now,” he consoled her, wrapping his arms around her.

  Imogen grinned and clung to him, hopeful of a very fun afternoon with her daddy. She hoped he had forgotten all thoughts of punishing her and now felt so contrite si
nce he was ready to give her exactly what she wanted.

  “Daddy, I really did have a sore tummy,” she told him, blushing as she added, “but I think you were right. I guess I did just feel unwell ‘cos I needed to go potty,” she added, glancing up at him and smiling inwardly. Her flattery was clearly working on him.

  “It really hurt when I went,” she added, smiling as she saw a look of guilt in his eyes. He clearly felt bad for disbelieving her when she truly had been ill—or at least that’s what she was going to let him believe. She wanted to jump up and down and punch the air in victory but tried to keep the smugness out of her smile.

  “I’m sorry, Immy,” he said, stroking her hair gently. “You’re a good girl,” he added, kissing her on the cheek and pulling her into his arms, hugging her close to him. He stepped back and rubbed her tummy gently, sorrow in his eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you,” he said quietly, guiding her across the room towards the table, where he picked up a hairbrush.

  She gasped, her body tensing, but she quickly relaxed as he picked up some ribbons and she realised her daddy’s intention was only to brush his little girl’s hair.

  Sitting down on the sofa, he pulled her onto his lap and started to brush out her thick hair. She smiled as he separated her hair into two sections and tied it up into bunches, high on her head. The hairstyle made her look like a little girl and she immediately cuddled up to him and smiled. Her plan was definitely working. Soon he would have forgotten any ideas he had about spanking her hard. His only desire would be to make amends for his meanness towards her.

  When he had finished her hair, she stood up and turned to look at him, feeling slightly guilty. He looked so sad, and unnervingly, he still looked fairly angry.

  “Daddy, why were you out for so long?” she asked, suddenly worried about what might have happened to him. She already knew the answer to her question, of course. That had been the pivotal part of her plan, but she desperately tried to make herself appear innocent so her daddy didn’t suspect her—although there was absolutely no reason why he should, she quickly tried to convince herself.