“You have been bratty and disrespectful,” Kirill says calmly, sitting on the bench and pulling me closer. “Boys who talk backlike that need correction. They need discipline. They need their assess heated.”
My face flames. The word “boy” hits different after last night’s conversation with Skeet. Before I can process it, Kirill brings me over his lap, my stomach pressing against his strong thighs. One large hand rests on the small of my back, holding me in place.
I can feel my cock hardening already and I close my eyes to try and wish it away, but it does no good. If anything, I only get harder.
“This is for your own good,” Kirill murmurs, and then his other hand comes down firmly on my shorts-covered bottom.
The first spank lands with a sharp smack that echoes in the small room. I gasp, more from surprise than pain. Kirill does not hold back—each swat is deliberate, measured, and surprisingly stingy even through the fabric. Heat blooms across my cheeks as he continues, alternating sides, his voice steady the whole time.
“You will learn to speak to me with respect, Teddy,” Kirill says. “I make decisions for good reasons. You do not unload on me like a brat in public.”
“Argh. Whatever,” I say, evidently not ready to heed his words.
“As you wish,” Kirill continues. “Shorts and briefs down. We’ll soon see how long that attitude lasts.”
Kirill duly pulls my shorts and briefs down, exposing my cheeks. I feel a rush of humiliation, excitement, and a wild desire to kick my legs and make him work for it.
“You’re a terrible spanker!” I spit, kicking my legs and bouncing and wriggling as I lay across him, my cock now throbbing in a mix of arousal and shame. “Useless!”
“We shall see,” Kirill says, bringing down a crisp double spank on each cheek. “We shall see…”
Soon, I’m squealing in pain and my cheeks are throbbing as Kirill puts me firmly in my place. And by the end, my kicking and wriggling has stopped too. Kirill is in total control and each spank is sending me deeper into a state of total submission.
I squirm over his lap, a mix of embarrassment, sting, and that confusing warmth pooling low in my belly as my stiff dick strains against his rock-hard legs.
“Mmmph,” I spit, my face almost as red as my ass at this point. “Awww.”
The spanking is hard, authoritative, exactly like I imagined last night while giggling with Skeet.
My breath comes in little huffs, and I bite my lip to keep from making too much noise as my dick throbs and pulses. I’m as hard as can be and part of me panics that I might go over the edge and climax there and then.
Luckily, the spanking is just too hard and my body evidently focuses on that rather than the unreal arousal I’m experiencing.
By the time Kirill stops, my bottom feels hot and tender. Alexi helps me up gently, turning me to face him, my neatly trimmed pubic hair on display as I blush and flash my eyes to meet his gaze, my cock semi-hard and bobbing in front of me.
My tormentor’s eyes are dark but not angry—more like a Daddy who has delivered a necessary lesson and is now checking on his boy.
“Better?” Kirill asks, one eyebrow raised.
I nod, cheeks burning, unable to meet his gaze for too long. The irritation is gone, replaced by something fluttery and small. “Yes… Sir,” I whisper before I can stop myself.
A faint, approving smile touches Kirill’s lips. He stands, towering over me again, and brushes a strand of hair from my face.
“Good boy. Now go finish your workout,” Kirill commands. “And don’t worry, I’ll have a word with Bobby.”
He unlocks the door and leaves me standing there, bottom on fire, heart racing, and mind spinning with the realization that the fantasy I confessed to Skeet last night just became very, very real.
I press my hands to my warm cheeks and let out a shaky breath.
What the hell have I gotten myself into?
* * *
I finish the rest of my workout on autopilot, my mind nowhere near the weights or the treadmill. Every time I shift or bend, the sting in my bottom reminds me exactly what just happened in that private locker room.
Kirill’s firm hand.
His calm, authoritative voice.
