8

Oscar

How the hell did she think she was going to sneak by me?

Is she being serious right now?

Dolly doesn’t make a move, though. She stays where she is, just out of sight, and she waits.

“Dolly.”

Silence.

“I’m going to count to three, Dolly.” I can’t believe I’m pulling this out. “If you don’t come here by then, you won’t like what happens.”

“What?”

There we go.

“I’ve got your attention,” I say.

“You can’t count to three on me. I’m not a kid.”

“One.”

“Oscar!”

“Two.”

Silence.

“Three.”

I move as I say the word. I slide around the corner, grab her hair, and tug. Dolly cries out, but we both know I’m not really hurting her.

“What are you doing?”

“I gave you an option,” I say. “You chose not to take it.”

“But Oscar!”

I have no interest in arguing with a petulant brat, so I haul her to my dining room table, pull out a chair, and sit. I yank her over my lap. She lands hard.

“What the fuck? Oscar, this is so messed up. You can’t really be planning on spanking me!”

“Oh, but I am.”

I stare at her ass.

“You look good in my clothes.”

“Look, I’m sorry about the clothes,” she says.

“You aren’t, but you will be.”

“I am! I am sorry!”

“Sweetie, you haven’t even begun to feel sorry,” I say.

She stills, and I run my hands over her bottom.

“You work out a lot,” I say. Her ass is tight and rounded.

“Oscar…”

“No more talking unless you’re apologizing or begging,” I say.

She chooses to say nothing.

I slide my thumbs under the band of the pants and push them down. The pants slide down easily. She’s not wearing panties, and her ass is now exposed.

Dolly whimpers.

“Why are you whimpering?”

Silence.

“Are you nervous?”

“No.”

“You should be.”