Page 11 of Bronson

My hand twitches. This one needs a good, hard spanking followed by a harder fucking. “It wasn’t yours to take.”

She speaks with an attitude, but her bottom lip trembles just a touch, breaking her hard facade. “Fine. Just tell me what you plan on doing to me.”

“What do you think I should do?” I ask, enjoying her discomfort as she squirms where she stands.

She knows exactly what I’m going to do. And she knows I’m going to make her say it. Out loud.

She rolls her eyes.

Keep it up. It’ll only bring me that much more satisfaction when I put you over my knee.

Finally, she says, “I guess you’re one of those sadists. You enjoy bringing girls back to your office and… punishing them.”

I take a step toward her. Her face remains composed. Detached. Bored. But I don’t miss the tiny flare of her nostrils at my sudden nearness. She’s beginning to panic.

She’s going to try to run for it.

“Punish them, how?” I ask.

“How am I supposed to know?” she snips.

“Use your imagination. What would a big strong man like me do with a naughty, naughty little girl who’s been very, very bad? Hmm?” I ask.

She begins to squirm.

I can almost smell her arousal tainted with her fear. My aphrodisiac.

It’s such a confusing emotion for a woman.

They cry…

Oh, please don’t spank me!

All the while thinking to themselves…

But wait… my pussy’s so, so… wet… spank me! Fuck me! Own me.

She begins to creep backwards, holding her bag before her like a shield.

I step toward her. She will try to make a run for it. I will grab her arm. This will be way too easy.

Suddenly, she charges forward. Lifting one foot in the air, she pulls back, letting loose a move that looks as if she’s practiced many times. She kicks me, hard.

Damn! That hurt.

I grab at my leg, rubbing it. She darts around me. My mind momentarily focuses on the shooting pain in my shin. When I turn, she’s almost to the door.

“Not so fast,” I say, pulling a breath between my clenched teeth. “I’ll call the cops.”

“See if they can catch me,” she calls over her shoulder. She grabs at the knob.

“I know you work at Our Home. I’ll send them there.”

She freezes. Her face slowly turns over her shoulder. She looks at me in disbelief.

I have her. “I’ve seen you there. This is your last chance. We do things my way, or I call the law,” I say.

Her hand drops from the doorknob.