“That’smyjob,” I reprimanded.
“Daddy, I couldn’t wait.”
Even as a little, he was definitely a self-starter. I was so proud of him. He would be graduating in June and then going on to get a masters in family therapy. I had offered to pay but he managed to get more scholarships for most of it. For the rest of the cost, we agreed I would take up the slack. He’d promised to pay me back after he started to work in counselling.
“It’s a gift,” I’d insisted. “Let me do this.”
He’d frowned for a bit, then said, “You already do so much for me.”
“And you don’t think the reverse is true?”
Now, I helped my baby boy into the warm tub. He sat like a cherub among the bubbles and immediately started playing with his toys.
I stripped down and got in after him, turning the faucet off now that the tub was full.
We laughed and played. I’d never felt younger or more at peace with myself. Sage was who I’d been waiting for my whole life.
I washed my beloved slippery boy all over and when we got out he ran, still wet, to flop on my bed. I knew what he wanted. But he was being naughty again.
I dried myself off and came out with fresh towels. “You’re getting the comforter all soggy.”
He sat up, skin shining in the low light. “Sorry, Daddy.”
I crooked a finger at him. His eyes widened.
When I sat on the edge of the bed I didn’t have to say a word. He crawled over my lap, face down, and stuck his ass up. It was a sight I never grew tired of.
I ran the towel over his back and down to his thighs to dry him off, then threw it aside for later. My hand moved down his spine to the curve of his hip. I rubbed at his ass cheeks for a couple of seconds, then lifted my hand and gave him a loud smack. His cheeks wiggled in response.
He let out a little squeak, then said, “Sorry, Daddy, I won’t do it again.”
“Of course, you will. You have trouble learning the rules, baby. But let’s get the punishment over with and set everything right.”
“Yes, Daddy.”
I let him have another smack.
“Daddy, I was very bad.”
“Do you think I should spank harder?”
His silence was answer enough. I caressed him gently, then lifted my hand higher.
He squealed when my palm landed and grabbed at my thigh and calf. “Daddy, I’m sorry!”
“How many spanks do you need?” I asked.
“A lot?”
“Ten, I think. You’ve had three. Can you count for me?”
“Yes, Daddy. I’m a big boy. I can count to ten.”
I snacked him again.
“Four,” came a meek little voice.
Again.
