The little girl sported perfectly symmetrical ponytails, a flouncy loose plaid skirt with a bouncy hem about two inches above her bare knees, one-inch shiny black Mary-Janes on her bare feet, a starched white long sleeve, high-necked blouse and thick round framed glasses perched atop her perfectly thin nose. She had click-a-clicked her heels across my wooden floor so suddenly I hadn't really had time to inspect her entire outfit when she passed, so I was turning her then, holding up the hem of her skirt to reveal her high-cut white cotton panties. As I took my long look at her bottom I also spied her nipple rise under her blouse, surmising she enjoyed the attention as much as I liked bestowing it upon her. She really was a darling young thing, so seemingly sweet and innocent but at the same time dressed to thrill, either herself or a witness, and I was going to take my sweet time unleashing punishments that would make her think twice about ever dressing this way again.

What I had learned about the pose, patter and delivering of a spanking is that the devil truly is in the details. If I simply bent this pretty little lass over my bed, pulled up her skirt, yanked down her tight panties and had at her ass, while it would all be clutched-belly thrilling to me and hopefully pussy-flooding fun for her, I wasn't sure the best course of action for either of us here was baring her alabaster buns so quickly. Sure there is something to be said for handling a naughty young girl so swiftly, but for both of us I rationalized the slow metered tease of tickling her short hem, angling her this way and that, propping her ass up, maybe patting it, then allowing her to stand, maybe readjust then lie back across again, teasing us both with the when and how much of her skirt I was going to raise up off her-if indeed I was going to raise it off her-was the best approach. All these precise concepts and considerations must be truly reasoned and premeditated I knew and as she wiggled there, trying her best to prevent me from flicking her hem as she bent her knees, angled forward and spun and giggled, I became even more aroused. We'd be at this game of just when and how I was going to commence her bottom warming for a very long time, I knew.

She really was a compliant little thing. Let's face it; one does not dress this way, if one even happens to be sixteen, without realizing one might be tempting fate. This girl-whose reflection faced me in the mirror-was no seductress, that's for sure, but she was wise for her years and knew her fine thick thighs, muscled calves, and wide hips cut an attractive picture. She knew enough that dressing in this kind of an obvious 'coy-ish' outfit, for me of all people, would evoke some sort of kinky consequence. And knowing that she knew this made me want to spank her bottom as hard as possible, as much as prolong the time before I began to spank it to teach her that in fact just because she was darling and dressing to evoke a specific response, I would not give in to her pouts, spin and bluster as easily as she wanted me to.