“No!”
But I’m protesting too much, and we both know it. There’s no hiding the slick liquid dripping down the insides of my thighs. Mommy runs her fingers through my arousal, teasing the outer shell of my pussy lips as she chuckles again. “Now you’re lying to Mommy. Naughty, naughty girl.”
Her fingers spear me and I rise up on my toes with a cry as pleasure floods my system.
“Good Little girls don’t take pleasure from their punishments,” she scolds as she sends me hurtling toward the cliff’s edge. “Only naughty, filthy babies enjoy getting their bottoms switched in the middle of the woods where anybody could see. Are you my filthy little baby, Mia?”
I want to protest. The words tremble on my tongue, demanding release.
But I can’t. Not when everything in me knows the truth. That I am, indeed, her naughty, filthy little baby.
“Y-yes, Mommy,” I gasp out instead, my fingers digging into the rough bark beneath my hands.
“That’s right. You’re my dirty little baby, out here on display for everyone to see, getting your bottom switched because you were so very naughty. But maybe if you’re a good girl the rest of our hike, Mommy will let you come when we get home.”
Disappointment stabs at me when she pulls her fingers free. “Mean Mommy,” I grumble, but if I’m hoping my discontent will sway her to mercy, I’m clearly mistaken.
“I am a very mean Mommy, aren’t I?” she says softly. The sharp, tangy scent of my own arousal fills my nostrils and I realize with a start she’s holding her fingers in front of my mouth. “Not letting you come, and making you clean up the mess you made all over my fingers. Open that pretty mouth, baby, and show Mommy how well you clean up.”
As I force my trembling lips open, I can’t help but compare her to Ethan. My Daddy pushed my limits, but never like this. He never stripped me in public, never humiliated me so thoroughly, never brought me to the edge of what I thought I could handle—and then pushed me right over that same edge.
No. Only Mommy has done that.
And I think I might love her for it.
Sloane
The bare-bottomed switchingdoesn’t seem to have dulled my babygirl’s enthusiasm any, though I do occasionally catch her wincing and rubbing at her bottom through her overalls. But mostly she’s back to her usual bubbly self, letting out little gasps of excitement when a squirrel crosses our bath and chattering on about the different kinds of trees and plants we see.
I’m fairly certain ninety percent of her “information” is made up, but it’s adorable nonetheless.
And all the while, I push more water and juice on her, while only taking a few sips here and there myself. After nearly a half hour, the sound of rushing water greets us and Mia bounces excitedly on her toes.
“The waterfall, the waterfall! Hurry, Mommy!”
“We’re hurrying, baby, I promise.”
Clearly, we aren’t hurrying enough, because she lets out an annoyed huff. “We need to gofaster.”
“What we need to do is walk carefully. There is a sharp edge right there, and I don’t want you falling over it.”
For once, I’m not being overbearing just for the sake of embarrassing her. I really am worried that she might get too excited and slip and fall.
Maybe I am really a Mommy, after all.
The thought brings a warmth to my chest I haven’t felt in ages. And looking down at my sweet, bubbly babygirl as she prances excitedly beside me, I realize with a start what that warm feeling is.
Love.
Unexpected. But not at all unwelcome.
As I watch Mia dance, however, I realize with growing amusement that it isn’t all from excitement. Every few steps, she stops to press her thighs together, and her cheeks are growing pinker with every passing second.
“Mia, do you need to potty?”
Silently, she jerks her head up and down, the color in her face darkening.
“Okay, well, you’re going to have to hold it, baby. The bathrooms are all the way back at the entrance to the path. Can you be a Big girl and hold it until we get back?”
