"Keep telling yourself that, baby," Marco said, his thumb tracing my lower lip like he was mapping territory for future invasion. "But your body knows the truth. And soon you'll be saying 'thank you, Daddy' with that pretty mouth."
"I'll die first," I promised, though the threat lost some impact when I was naked, hard, and leaking slick onto their expensive sheets like a broken faucet. "I'll bite off my own tongue before I ever?—"
Smack!
The eighth blow landed with such precision it was like Stefano had studied a map of my nerve endings and highlighted the exact coordinates for maximum impact. The pain was sharper this time, bright enough to make my eyes water as it radiated outward like ripples in a pond.
For one crystallized moment, it was just pain—a stinging fire that consumed every nerve ending in its path. Then, like somecruel magic trick, it transformed into something that made my toes curl and my cock throb with such intensity that for one terrifying second, I thought I might actually come just from being spanked.
What kind of omega porn category would that put me in?my brain wondered hysterically.Spank-Activated Ejaculation: When Pain Is Your Pleasure Button.
Stefano followed the blow with a gentler touch, his palm soothing the sting like applying ointment to a burn. Marco captured my lips again before I could voice whatever humiliating sound was building in my throat, swallowing it into his mouth as if collecting my surrender one noise at a time.
"Eight," Stefano announced, satisfaction dripping from the word like honey. "Two more. But first, I think we need to see all of our baby boy. Shirt off, sweetheart."
"Don't call me that," I said automatically, though the pet name sent another treacherous pulse of heat through me like my body was giving standing ovations to every condescending term of endearment. "And don't think for a second that I'm going to just strip naked for your viewing pleasure like some omega peep show. What's next, a little spinning platform? Maybe some mood lighting and a disco ball?"
Marco's hands moved to the hem of my t-shirt anyway, tugging upward with clear intent. "It's not for our pleasure, baby. It's for yours. You'll feel so much better with Daddy's hands on your skin, won't you?"
I should have resisted. Should have channeled my inner feral cat and clawed at anything within reach. Instead, my body apparently decided to audition for Most Cooperative Hostage of the Year, lifting my arms as Marco pulled the shirt off.
"This means nothing," I insisted as the fabric whispered over my skin. "This is just… biological response to alpha pheromones. Stockholm syndrome's horny cousin. The omega version ofthose goats that faint when they're startled, except instead of fainting, I get turned on by being spanked by criminally attractive mafia alphas. It's a medical condition."
The shirt cleared my head, leaving me completely naked while they remained fully dressed—a power dynamic so obvious it might as well have been printed on business cards. My cock stood at attention like it was saluting its new commanders, a bead of precum glistening at the tip like a traitor's flag.
"Beautiful," Marco murmured, his hands stroking down my sides, leaving trails of fire in their wake. "Look how perfectly our baby is made for us, Stefano."
"Indeed." Stefano's hand caressed my heated skin, fingers dipping dangerously close to where slick gathered between my thighs like my body was laying out a welcome mat. "Such a responsive body. Even with triple suppressants, he's dripping for his daddies."
"Stop calling yourselves that," I managed, though the words lacked conviction when my cock visibly twitched at the term like it was responding to its name. "It's creepy and condescending and—oh fuck."
His fingers had slid closer, tracing the slick that had gathered at the top of my thighs. The almost-touch was worse than direct contact would have been—a tease that made me want to push back against his hand, to force the issue like some desperate omega porn cliché.
"Language, baby," Stefano chided, his fingers retreating just as they'd been about to reach my entrance. "Good boys don't use words like that when they're being disciplined."
"Good thing I'm not a good boy," I shot back, frustration making my voice crack embarrassingly. "I'm the worst boy. The absolute worst. So you might as well give up on this whole discipline thing and?—"
Crack!
The ninth strike landed with such perfect aim it was like Stefano had been a professional ass-spanker in a previous life. I had only a split second to register the pain before it was followed by something I wasn't prepared for—Stefano's mouth, hot and wet against the abused skin, his tongue soothing the hurt he'd inflicted.
"Holy shit," I gasped, my hips jerking involuntarily against the mattress. The contrast between sharp pain and wet heat sent my nervous system into complete meltdown, like someone had crossed the wires in my brain and rerouted everything directly to my groin. "What are you—why would you?—"
"Daddies kiss it better," Stefano murmured against my skin, the vibration of his voice sending shivers through me like I was a human tuning fork. "One more to go. Count it for Daddy, Leo. Let me hear that clever mouth acknowledge who's in charge."
"I don't need anything from you," I gasped, though the lie was so transparent it could have been used as a window. My body was staging a full-scale rebellion, responding to his touch with the enthusiasm of a labrador greeting its owner after a five-minute absence. "Especially not the last of your sadistic?—"
The tension wound tighter as I waited for the final blow, seconds stretching like taffy as my skin prickled with anticipation. My brain was split in two—one half dreading the impact, the other half craving it with an intensity that should have been embarrassing but had somehow bypassed shame entirely and landed in desperate need.
Smack!
The final blow landed exactly where his mouth had been, the wet heat of his tongue replaced by the sharp sting of his palm. The pain exploded across my skin like fireworks, brighter and more intense than any of the previous strikes?—
And then, like the world's most confusing magic trick, it transformed.
Not gradually like the earlier blows, but in a sudden, shocking metamorphosis that stole the breath from my lungs. The pain dissolved into pleasure so intense I had to bite my lip to keep from begging for more, from pleading with him to never stop. My cock jerked violently, a pulse of precum spattering onto the sheets beneath me as my hole clenched around nothing, suddenly and embarrassingly empty.
"T-ten," I whispered, the word dragged from somewhere deep in my chest.
