Tex tapped the bowl of the spoon against his ass cheek, letting him know it was there. He would warm Peyton up by hand first. He always did, and it was the part they both liked best. So solid and warm and intimate, a feast of sensation. The smart slapping sound, the blooming heat, the rising color, which Peyton got to see when Tex spanked him in front of the bedroom mirror they’d positioned for exactly that purpose. He loved watching himself turn from beige to pink to red and then sometimes on to purple. Tonight was going to be a purple night for sure.
“Put that dick under the table,” Tex ordered.
“What?” Peyton asked, all innocence.
He’d tried to position himself so his cock would be sandwiched between his body and the table to give it a little friction, but Tex made him tilt it down where it wouldn’t have anything except a sharp edge to rub against. Tex knew from experience that if he got too much friction during a spanking he could come from that alone. Once he got into the floaty headspace where every sensation felt like a good one, he could come from almost anything. But Tex, the heartless bastard, always made him wait until the post-spanking fuck.
“You deserve extra for trying to get away with that,” Tex said as he delivered the first wallop.
The first one was always a surprise, as if Peyton’s ass had forgotten it liked this, and he yelped when it landed. He would have argued the question of whether or not he deserved extra except that the entire concept of “extra” was a game. Tex spanked him until he couldn’t take anymore, until he was so far gone he would beg for what he couldn’t handle. How Tex knew exactly where that line was, he wasn’t sure, but he could trust Tex to find it. So he gritted his teeth, clenched his cheeks against the sting, and waited for pain to become pleasure.
Tex grunted with his swings, putting his whole arm into them once he’d gotten Peyton warmed up. He was tall and lean and hard and handsome and entirely Peyton’s, devoting himself to keeping Peyton in line with a thoroughness that could only be described as love.
As Peyton’s ass started to warm, becoming rosy red all over, the blows melded into a continuous flow of hot pleasure. He bucked, pushing back, moaning into his hands as he humped the sharp edge of the table. He was hard and dripping, caught in ecstasy, when Tex switched from hand to spoon.
“Ah!” He jumped about a mile at the sharp crack, which was so much more focused and unyielding than Tex’s palm.
“Hold your position,” Tex ordered, pressing him back down to the table with a rough hand. Tex swung the spoon again, and Peyton keened as the pain of it bloomed bright enough to dispel his pleasure haze. It was so vivid like this, so immediate. White-hot and searing, the spoon rat-a-tatted across his cheeks and then to the tops of his thighs.
He jerked against the table, legs twitching with the rhythm Tex set. Tap, tap, tap. Tex wasn’t putting the full strength of his arm into it, but he didn’t need to. Against the already burning flesh, every tap was an agony of pleasure.
“Separate your cheeks for me.”
“What?”
He was barely conscious. Words didn’t make sense. But Tex guided his hands to his ass cheeks until he understood he was supposed to pull them apart.
Expecting the familiar slide of Tex’s cock, he relaxed against the table, half-blissed out, half disappointed. He’d been heading toward something bigger, but could he really take more? Could he? He’d made a puddle of drool on the table and a puddle of pre-come on the floor. Maybe it was time to fuck.
But Tex didn’t fuck him. Tex laid the spoon right between his cheeks, flicking it into his crack with the speed of a slingshot. He yowled, taken by surprise as newborn skin flared to life. His knees gave out on him, and he slid backward off the table to be caught in Tex’s arms.
“Too much?” Tex asked. “Or can you take more for me?”
He thought about the pain. Then he thought about that higher feeling he’d been chasing. Then he looked into Tex’s loving eyes and knew Tex wouldn’t give him more than he could handle.
“I’m not quitting.”
Tex dipped his head to press their lips together, then positioned him back over the table. “Spread your cheeks, Peyton.”
He reached back with shaking hands and separated the burning cheeks of his ass to expose the tender flesh of his crack. The spoon flicked again and again, hitting first one side, then the other, then landing square in the middle, right on his hole. He cried into the tablecloth, soaking it with his tears until the space between his ass cheeks was as red-hot as the cheeks themselves, until he was nothing but fire. And then the fire was gone and he was ash and he was still crying but what was between his cheeks was Tex’s tongue rather than a spoon.
He writhed, begging for Tex’s cock, desperately trying to get a hand on his own, until Tex relented and stood up. He unbuttoned his 501 jeans with one hand as he caressed Peyton’s flanks with the other.
“You’re beautiful like this, Peyton. Makes me feel like the luckiest man in the world.”
They were both lucky men, but right at that moment Peyton was more about motion than words.
“Fuck me already, damn you.”
Tex laughed and poked the head of his cock up against his hole. Tex’s cock was damp with pre-come, and Peyton’s hole had been pretty well lubed with spit, so Tex managed to work himself in there without too much wriggling.
“Your hole is so hot,” he said as he slid slowly in and out. “It’s gonna take me about thirty seconds to come, you’ve got me so worked up.”
“Makemecome, you asshole,” Peyton grumbled, so Tex got going, really driving into him, every thrust a fresh assault.
“Touch me,” he insisted, but he couldn’t hold out long enough for Tex to do it, just started spurting onto the dining room floor. It felt like his guts were exploding out of his cock, he came so hard—everything spasming, including Tex in his ass.
“Told you,” Tex mumbled as he clenched Peyton’s hips.
