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While I was distracted, Connor moved closer, and his fingers slipped beneath the hem of my panties. I started, my eyes growing wide as I stared down at him.
“Please,” I begged.
He didn’t listen. Instead, he slowly peeled my panties down my hips, and I wanted nothing more than to hide my face as the gusset stuck to my wet folds.
There would be no hiding my arousal, not like this.
“You’re soaking wet, little girl,” he chided, clicking his tongue scoldingly, and the flush that had graced my cheeks before turned absolutely molten.
My face burned with my shame, and I could feel the heat of embarrassment spreading like wildfire. Every inch of my skin tingled with a crimson hue as I blushed, wishing fervently for a black hole to miraculously appear and swallow me whole just so I could escape the heated looks from both of them.
“I may have not taken down her panties yesterday, brother, but there’s no doubt in my mind she was just as wet,” Caden confirmed, and I wanted nothing more than to cover my face so I could hide. So I did the next best thing. I closed my eyes.
“Naughty girl, you enjoyed your spanking, didn’t you?”
“I didn’t,” I protested, my eyes bursting open as he dragged my panties down the length of my legs. Gently, he lifted one foot and then the other before he took my panties and laid them out on the table. The seat was thoroughly soaked through.
“I don’t know, Connor, I think she’s even wetter than yesterday. I think our naughty little girl likes it when we deal with her together,” Caden murmured.
“Hmmmm. I think you’re right,” Connor answered, his eyes twinkling with mischievously dark delight.
“I’m not wet,” I tried.
“You’re not? Then reach those pretty fingers between your thighs and tell me that again,” Connor instructed, and I swore even the tips of my ears were bright red at this point.
“I’m not going to do that,” I whispered.
“Don’t make me tell you again, little girl,” he warned, and my ass clenched nervously as he appraised me with a knowing look. Knowing that I was in way over my head, I balled my nightshirt at my waist and reached down with my right hand. Time slowedas I made the trek downward, my shame sizzling through me like a hot knife through butter.
“Connor, please,” I tried once more.
“Do I need to spank that soaking wet little pussy too?” he warned, and a quiet cry escaped my lips.
Just like in your fantasy, you little slut.
Every inch of me burned with embarrassment, but I did as I was told. As soon as my fingertips graced the top of my mound, I stilled, and he cleared his throat. I pushed on, stiffening as soon as my flesh contacted the rampant arousal dripping down my thighs.
“You’re soaking wet, aren’t you?”
“I’m not,” I lied, and he sighed, the sound almost weary.
“Go to the sink and clean off the spatula. Then you’re going to bring it back to me so I can teach you what happens to naughty little girls who not only tease, but lie too,” he demanded.
His stern expression commanded my compliance, and I whimpered as I released my nightshirt and let it fall back into place. Without a word, I took a step towards the sink. Feeling the persistent warmth in my cheeks, I looked down, saw the thick wooden spatula, and picked it up.
The sticky remnants of our shared breakfast clung to it, and I turned on the water to rinse it off. As the warm water washed away the remains of our meal, I couldn’t help but worry about what was going to happen next.
I was about to get spanked with the very thing I was holding in my hands, and I whimpered quietly.
It was made from thick, polished wood. Its handle provided a comfortable grip, while the broad, flat head allowed for efficient flipping and serving of food. Smooth to the touch and well-worn from years of use, it bore the marks of countless meals prepared with care and attention to detail. Now it was going to light into my bottom.
I took as long as I dared to wash off the wooden implement before I carried it back to him, my steps deliberately slow and filled with a mix of nervous anticipation and overwhelming curiosity.
Would it hurt? Would it make my pussy wetter than the spanking with his hand?
My heart pounded as I handed it to him. He accepted it with a stern expression that only intensified my blush and the nerves fluttering around inside me.
“Hold up your nightshirt, Anastasia,” Connor commanded, and a quiet whimper slipped free from my lips as I obeyed him. My clit pulsed and I wanted nothing more than to slide my fingers over it, or better yet, I wanted either one or both of them to do it for me. My nipples pebbled, and I wondered if they’d be able to see them beneath the fabric of my nightshirt.
