Though Oliver took Connor by surprise, his tiny fingers proved too weak to yank the ring off of his big nephew's hand before he could snatch it away. Connor jumped back and clutched the ring to his chest as though it were his favorite toy, scowling down at his little uncle as though outraged that he had the nerve to even attempt something so naughty.
"That's MINE!" Connor shouted. "Little boys don't get to play with it."
Jackson, though taken aback by his brother's outburst, stood at Connor's side just the same and joined the man in looking down at the little boy that cowered on the carpet beneath them. Oliver sniffled and shook as he slowly pushed himself to his knees, feeling as though he didn't even have permission to stand, much less speak or cover himself. He was so helpless. So young. A silly, naughty little boy.
"That's right," Jackson added. "It's our ring now. And we're gonna do what we want with it."
"...uh-huh." Connor looked at Jackson as though he had just remembered that he was there. "Ours. And I think we need to teach you a lesson about touching other people's stuff."
Connor reached for his little uncle. Oliver, at once, knew exactly what his nephew had in mind.
"No..." Oliver whimpered as he crawled backwards on his hands, tear-brimmed eyes staring up at the impossibly huge man that was descending upon him. "...you...you can't..."
At the last moment Oliver turned and tried to scramble away from his nephew, but it was no use - Connor had grabbed him around the stomach before he could even get off of all fours. He smirked down at Oliver as he carried him under his arm into the bedroom, Jackson following right behind as their little uncle kicked and screamed and struggled uselessly in Connor's grasp.
"I don't think a time-out's enough," Connor declared with no small amount of glee as he sat on the edge of Oliver's bed, as he stretched his squealing, squirming uncle out over his lap. "I think you need a special punishment to remind you what a naughty little boy you are."
Oliver wasn't even afforded the time to voice a final, desperate objection before Connor's hand - big and strong and ringed - came down with a CRACK! on his round, soft little bottom. The boy howled as the sudden sting shot up his spine, the tears that had been threatening to burst through now flowing freely down his smooth, burning cheeks as he pounded his tiny fists into the bedspread and flailed his tiny feet in the air.
"DOOOON'T!" Oliver cried. "I'm an a-huh-duuuuult! I'm a groooown-uuuup!"
"No you're not." Connor spoke with chilling calm as he favored Oliver's rump with another resounding whack. "You're a naughty little boy. And I'm gonna spank you 'til you say so."
CRACK!
CRACK!
CRACK!
Oliver was overwhelmed. Having never been spanked as an actual child, he wasn't prepared for how utterly humiliating the whole thing was, how with each new CRACK! he found new depths of helplessness to plunge. The pain was one thing - Connor quite literally didn't know his own strength and was smacking Oliver's bottom at what felt like full force - but what was even worse than that was the message that sang with each burning sting.
You are a child.
You were bad.
You are being punished.
You will be good.
Or you will be punished again.
"Connor, that's..." Jackson frowned at Oliver's distress. "That's enough."
"He can make it stop whenever he wants," Connor shrugged before spanking his little uncle again. "Do you want it to stop, little boy?"
Snot dribbled from Oliver's button nose. His world was tears.
"Yuh...yes..."
"Then say it."
Olver bit his lip. Connor spanked him again, harder than ever. Oliver howled.
"I...Imma..."
"Can't hear you!"
"Imma little boy!"
"A what little boy?"
"A NAUGHTY little boy!"
"That's right. Now, are you going to be good for Uncle Connor and Uncle Jackson?"
Oliver sobbed. Connor gave his beet-red tushie three quick smacks.
"YES! YES! I'll be good! I'll be a good l-uh-ittle boy-oy-oyyyyyyyyyy..."
"That's better," Connor smirked as he set Oliver on his feet, tousling the little boy's hair as he hung his head and sobbed. "Now you go stand in the corner until we say you can leave."
Oliver, shaking and sniffling, trudged miserably across the room, wincing with the sharp little stings that came from his bottom with every step. If he had the composure to raise his head, he might've seen Jackson frowning down at the disconsolate tyke, clearly torn on what had just been done to his uncle. But Oliver wasn't in the mood to meet anybody's eyes, much less his own. Instead he merely positioned himself in the corner, whimpering and sniffilng as fat tears continued to dribble from his cheeks. He didn't cover himself up or even rub his glowing bottom - he didn't feel as though he had permission. Lost in his own little world of repentance and shame, Oliver was only dimly aware of the sound of Connor and Jackson talking as they searched his dressers for additional clothing, deciding on what they should do as grown-ups as they put that clothing on.
"Okay, Widdle Owwie. You can turn around now."
Oliver, still shuddering, slowly turned and raised his burning eyes to see his nephews towering over him. Connor, arms crossed, looked triumphant. Jackson, eyes elsewhere, did not.
"We're gonna go have some adult fun," Connor boasted. "You can't come with 'cause you're just a naughty little crybaby. So you stay here and be good 'til we get back...or else."
Oliver cringed. His sore bottom pulsed. Connor started to leave the room but stopped when he saw that Jackson wasn't following him.
"C'mon, slowpoke," Connor prodded impatiently. "There's all sorts of cool stuff for us to do."
Jackson looked at his brother...then at his helpless, sniffling, adorable little uncle...and then back at his brother. Finally, he said...