She gets spanked

I stood there in nothing but my torn bra, my stockings, and the diaper. The baby blue plastic crinkled loudly in the sudden silence that followed the initial outburst of laughter. The print of yellow ducks was bright and vivid against my skin. The diaper was thick, bulky between my thighs, sagging slightly from the morning's accidents. It was undeniable.

"She’s a baby!" someone shouted from the back.

"Professor Diaper!" another voice called out.

Krista wasn't finished. She reached up and grabbed the top of my head. I felt the tension of the pins and the lace front. With one violent jerk, she ripped the long, black wig from my scalp.

My real hair was revealed—a short, jagged pixie cut of the brightest, most garish ginger orange imaginable. I looked like a completely different person. I looked small. I looked ridiculous. I looked like a child playing dress-up in her mother's funeral clothes.

"Look at her!" Krista yelled, her voice dripping with triumph. "The great Ivanna. A flat-chested, ginger-headed bedwetter who still lives with her mommi.”

She grabbed me by the arm and spun me around, forcing me over her knee right there on the platform. The plastic of my diaper crinkled.

"You need a lesson in obedience," Krista said.

*Whack!*

Her palm landed squarely on the plastic-covered seat of my diaper. The sound was a loud, wet thud.

*Whack!*

"This is for the sheets!"

*Whack!*

"This is for the floor!"

I buried my face in my hands, sobbing, but beneath the shame, a terrifying, traitorous heat was blooming in my crotch. The sensation of the hand striking the thick padding, the way the plastic rubbed against my sensitive skin, the sheer, absolute public destruction of my identity—it was the most erotic thing I had ever experienced. My clit throbbed against the damp cotton lining of the diaper.