“Uh, Maggie does my manzillian.”
He’s lost. “What’s a manzillian?”
“I-it’s a back, sac, and crack wax, Daddy.”
“Awhat?”
I feel myself heat and color deeply. My voice is a breathy mess. “I have my balls and my ass waxed so I can be a smooth b-boy for you,” I stammer.
“Hmph,” he replies, taking a black pen and drawing a squiggly line through the highlighted one. His eyes temper even though he’s a scary Daddy right now. He waves his pointer finger at me. “I’ll reimburse you for that, and from now on, your Daddy pays for things like Maggie, understand?”
Though I do my best to keep my smile a normal size, I feel it spreading all over my face, including my eyebrows and possibly my ears.
At last, he stands. My eyes travel up his chest to his handsome face and then down to his waist. I watch his hands on his belt again. I do it like I always do it. Intensely. Hyper-focused and wholly attentive. It’s different this time. I’m not waiting to have his beautiful cock stuffed up my ass, but strangely enough, my body reacts almost exactly the same way.
“Spread your legs shoulder-width apart and bend over,” he says, moving into position behind me. “Now grab your ankles.”
I do as he says, opening my legs as wide as possible with my pants around my ankles. I tilt my hips back, spreading my ass a little more than I need to, part of me hoping he sees Maggie’s handiwork and becomes terribly distracted.
No luck there.
He puts the belt on the desk right in front of me. I can’t tear my eyes off it as he scolds me. “Eleven pink stripes on those pages, Elliot.Eleven. Eleven times you bought something that isn’t in budget. Do you know what that means?”
“Um, uh, e-eleven stripes on my b-bottom.”
“That’s right. Eleven stripes. And we’ll be back here every month that you’re with me, and every time, the result will be exactly the same.” He pauses for a deep breath. “But don’t you worry, little boy, you’ll learn to spend within your means. I’ll make sure of it.”
Hmm. Does one say, “Yes, Daddy,” “Thank you, Daddy,” or “Okay, Daddy” when threatened like that?
Not sure. Can’t decide, and I have zero faith in my voice at the moment, so I nod my head instead.
Stuart leans over me to get his belt and then bunches a fistful of my Henley in one hand, lifting it halfway up my back. It makes me feel even more naked than I already am. I squeeze my eyes shut tightly and give myself a little pep talk that goes something like this:don’t come, don’t come, and don’t cry, don’t beg him to stop, and don’t beg him for more.
“Ready?” he asks almost sympathetically.
A terrible sound leaves me. Something that sounds an awful lot like a long, strangled “Eeep,” and I nod again, eyes still closed.
A second later, I feel a cool breeze behind me and hear the quick hiss of a belt flying through the air. It lands tacky and hot. A rough, dry lick as leather kisses my ass. My eyes fly open in shock. A deep, intense sting lights a path across my bare buttocks. I stare straight ahead as Stuart delivers ten more no-nonsense licks. Licks that burn and make me squeal. Licks that hurt me even more than his hand does. I clench my hands around my ankles so hard my knuckles go white from the effort to stop myself from jumping up. I don’t move. I don’t come, and I don’t beg for more or less. I take what Stuart sees fit to give me, and I try not to blink as he does it.
I feel it. Make no mistake about it, I feel it. Every stripe he gives me is solid and jarring, inflaming me and leaving a bright, boiling stripe on my backside. I feel every one of them, but I don’t feel them like that. I don’t feel them purely as pain. I feel them as something different. Something more. More than pain. More than pleasure. Something deeper and better. Something hopeful and hot. I keep my head up and my gaze fixed on the wall in front of me. I don’t move it even when my eyes sting so much they start watering. Even though every single blow has me sucking a sharp breath through my teeth, I have to make a conscious effort not to smile as I take them because right in front of me, there in plain sight in a white frame, is a photograph of Sadieand me.
Me.
We’re on the sofa, curled up together. My eyes are closed and my mouth is soft and relaxed. Sadie’s head is nestled into my neck and one of her little paws rests on my shoulder.
“Up you get.” He pats my rump twice on each side, giving me the little period at the end of a punishment that makes me all mushy inside, and then sinks down into his swivel chair. I right myself slowly but still get a headrush. Stuart watches me, a rugged, dusty blond dream with a satisfied smirk. I know that smirk. It isn’t friendly or even amused. His lips curl, expanding and contracting like paper being burned, the way they do when he wants the same thing I want. “Come sit.”
I consider pulling up my pants, but even a slight feign to reach for them has him shaking his head, so I shuffle precariously to him instead. He pulls me down, and I curl into his lap. It feels familiar now. No longer ridiculous. No longer awkward or embarrassing. It feels right.
“What did you think of the belt?” he asks.
I shift in his lap, hot, painful cheeks squirming against rough denim and a hard dick. “It’s sore, Daddy.”
“I know, baby. It’s meant to be. Do you think it helped you learn?”
“I think so.” I nod heartily.
“Is there anything else you need me to help you with?”
