As Marshall’s demeanor became more official, a little colder and more authoritative, Sherilyn’s became more innocent and chagrined. At his side, she handed him the brush, which he laid on the table beside him. Looking up at her with a grim look of command on his face, she waited for his next move, one that found the lush brat going over his ample lap so that her bottom was just to the right side of Marshall’s thighs, the perfect position for a spanking. She teetered a bit precariously, though he grabbed her about the waist to steady her in place. Slowly raising the hem of her dress, her body tensed. Pushing the dress over her hips, he found beneath the bright fabric a dominant man’s dream—the woman old-fashioned enough to be wearing a garter belt and stockings, not a tight pair of pant
