I lift a brow. If we’re having this conversation, she should be reverent.
She sighs. “Yes, Sir.”
“What are you wearing in your visions?”
She eyes me skeptically, her brow pinched. “You’re baiting me.”
“Yes.”
She looks away. “Mace…”
“Answer me, Baby girl. What are you wearing?” I’m trying so hard to get her to tell me if she’s Little. I don’t want to drop the Daddy Dom bomb on her if she isn’t aware of the concept.
I’m reasonably confident she is, but I can’t be certain. Maybe I’m pushing her too far, too fast. She’s tired. I just got her. Her father died last night. But at the same time, I suspect she would benefit from a spanking. It would help her get emotional release. And I need to know more before I set my palm on her bottom.
She shrugs. “A dress.” Her words are nonchalant, as if this imaginary dress is nothing more than a garment. Everyone wears dresses.
“How long is it?” I prod.
“Mace…”
“How long is the dress, Baby girl? Floor length? Below the knees? Mid-thigh? Barely covering your bottom?”
After a few deep breaths, she whispers, “The last one.”
“Good girl. What do you have on under the dress?” My hope is growing that she has a Little inside her that she’s aware of.
“Panties, I guess.” Her fingertips curl into the backs of my hands. I don’t think she knows it.
“What type, Autumn? A thong? Bikini cut? High cut? Lace and satin? Plain cotton panties?” We may have kicked one elephant out of the room earlier, but another is filling this space so tightly, it’s a wonder either of us can breathe.
“Mace, I…” She snaps her mouth shut. When she lifts her gaze, she asks, “Why are you doing this?”
“So I’ll know what kind of submissive you are.”
“Are there different kinds?”
“I think you know the answer to that, Baby girl.”
“Why do you keep calling me Baby girl?”
“Because every time I do, your heart races, and you lean a little closer to me. Because you like it.” I could easily say, because you’re my Baby girl. But I don’t. I want her to say it. Not me. I’m not planting ideas in her head. I want to know about her dreams.
“Tell me about your panties, Autumn.”
She fidgets under my palms. “I’ve never had a reason to own fancy lingerie, Mace. No one would have seen it.”
“But we aren’t discussing the type of panties you regularly wear, are we? We’re talking about the panties you have on in your imagination when I prepare to spank you. The ones I slide down your legs first so your bottom will be bare to my palm, so that I can watch my work while your creamy soft skin turns red and hot.”
She isn’t breathing. I don’t think she blinked while I spoke, either.
“I think you already know the answer, Mace.”
“Tell me, sweetheart. Tell me what panties you have on. Tell me whether you’re wearing a bra or not. Tell me how your hair is fixed. Tell me whether you have socks on and what they look like. Tell me how tight your dress is. Is it skintight like the skirt you were wearing when you got here, or is it loose and flowy so it would flare out if you spun around?”
Her face is bright red now. She licks her lips and says, “Dare.”
I cock my head to one side. “Dare?”
