Chapter 6 - Kaleb
Kaleb
The rain starts before dawn… a steady patter on the metal roof that wakes me earlier than usual. I lie there for a minute, listening, hoping it’s just a passing shower.
But no.
This rain ain’t going anywhere.
If anything, it thickens and then turns into a downpour that rattles the gutters and turns the yard into mud.
The weather reported last night suggested that there could be another downpour.
But, for once, I was trying to be optimistic and hoped for a best case scenario of sun, blue skies, and perfect tree felling weather.
That’ll teach me to see the sunny side of life, that’s for sure.
“Damn it,” I mutter, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. “Today of all days. Just my fucking luck.”
Racer lifts his head from the foot, ears perked, like he’s waiting for me to fix it.
“Can’t work in this slop,” I tell him. “The trees will be slick as hell. One wrong cut and I’m the one going down.”
Racer huffs and flops back down.
“You and me both, boy,” I grumble.
I stretch, feeling the pull in my shoulders from yesterday’s felling. That hemlock came down clean—nice and satisfying as always.
But today? Nothing.
No saw, no sweat, no progress.
Just waiting for the sky to clear.
Irritating doesn’t even begin to cover it.
I haul my ass to the kitchen and brew coffee, black and hot, and stand at the window watching sheets of water blur the tree line. I could tinker in the shed, sharpen tools, but that’s busywork. Not real work.
Town it is, then.
My groceries are low anyway. Might as well stock up while I’m grounded. And then, when the rain goes and the skies clear up, I’ll be good to absolutely smash it without having to factor in a trip to pick up food.
Hey, maybe this whole optimism thing ain’t so bad?
I pull on jeans, a flannel over a tee, my boots still caked from yesterday. Racer whines at the door, hoping for a trip with me. But I think my friend needs to sit this one out and catch up on some beauty sleep.
“Stay,” I say. “You’d hate the truck in this.”
I frown as Racer pads back to his bed, clearly unimpressed. But, hey, he’ll thank me later when he’s running around full of energy.
The drive in is slow—roads slick, wipers slapping. Town’s quiet, folks hunkered down and doing whatever people do on days like this.
I park outside Peplinska’s Grocery, the old clapboard store with its faded sign and creaky screen door.
Mr. and Mrs. Peplinska have run it forever—good people, fair prices, no nonsense.
They’re the kind of folk that truly keep a place like this respectable and honest. I wouldn’t hear a word said against them.
I grab a basket, shake the rain off my hat, and step inside. Smells like fresh bread and coffee grounds. A few locals milling about, chatting over the weather as they pick out their goods.
I head for produce first.
Need bananas—a great source of potassium for me, and Racer loves ‘em mashed in his kibble, the spoiled mutt. But as I round the corner, there he is.
“Everywhere I turn…” I whisper under my breath as I look at Taron, his juicy backside pointing in my direction.
Damn, he’s got one hell of an ass on him.
What I’d give to…
Shut up, man. Get a grip.
Taron’s suddenly bent over the display, red jacket dripping a little puddle on the floor, backpack slung over one arm. His hair’s damp, curling at the ends, and those jeans hug his curves in a way that hits me low and hard.
Stop staring.
And don’t let him see you.
I’ve had enough of him.
I freeze, step back behind the stack of canned beans. Not hiding. Just… observing.
I watch as Taron picks up the last bunch of bananas—ripe, yellow, perfect—and drops them in his basket. My jaw tightens. Those were mine. Or would’ve been.
But fine. Whatever. It’s nothing to lose my cool over.
He moves on to apples, picking through them carefully. Selects a few shiny reds, turns them over like he’s inspecting for flaws.
Then… wait.
He slips them into his backpack. Not the basket.
What the hell?
My gut twists. Shoplifting? In Peplinska’s? No way. Taron doesn’t seem the type. City boy, yeah, but not a thief.
I pause, hold my ground. I want to give Taron the benefit of the doubt. Maybe it’s a mistake. Forgot he had the bag open. Did it without thinking.
I watch, breath held.
“Come on, boy,” I whisper. “Do the right thing. Don’t do this…”
He zips the backpack halfway, slings it back on, and heads to the counter with his basket. Pays for the bananas, some yogurt, a loaf of bread. I watch, shocked, as Taron chats with Mrs. Peplinska about the rain, laughs at something.
Then he simply walks out. Apples unpaid for.
“Son of a…”
Irritation flares into something hotter. Mistake or not, that’s stealing. From good people. The best people I know in fact.
I can’t let it slide.
Not as a man, a resident of this fine town, or as a Daddy either.
I set my basket down—the groceries can wait—and follow him out. The rain’s eased to a drizzle, but the sidewalks are slick. He’s walking fast, head down, toward the B&B maybe.
“Taron,” I bark.
He stops, turns. Eyes widen when he sees me. “Kaleb? Hey. What are you—”
“Store,” I say, voice low but firm. “You forgot something.”
His brow furrows. “What? I don’t get it.”
“Apples,” I growl. “The ones in your backpack. The ones you didn’t pay for…”
Color drains from his face, then floods back red. He swings the bag off, unzips it. He pulls out the apples, staring like they betrayed him.
“Oh God. I—I must’ve… I didn’t mean… Shit.”
“Language,” I snap, surprising myself. Where’d that come from? It’s not like I don’t curse myself. But somehow hearing Taron say it is something else.
The boy blinks. “Sorry,” he says. “But it was an accident. I was thinking about my book, and I just… spaced.”
“Accident or not, you walked out with ‘em.” I cross my arms. “Go back. Pay. And apologize and tell Mrs. Peplinska what happened.”
Taron glances at his watch, bites his lip.
“I will,” he offers. “I promise. But later? I’m in a rush. I had this great idea for my book and I need to write it down before I forget.”
“Not good enough.” My voice drops, authoritative. Daddy mode kicking in, unbidden. “Now. While it’s fresh. Show some accountability.”
“I’ll do it later,” Taron says. “It’s just two apples.”
“That’s not the point,” I say, my temper rising. “Stealing is stealing.”
He shifts, eyes darting. “Kaleb, please. It’s embarrassing,” Taron protests. “I’ll fix it after lunch. Or later. It’s two freakin’ apples!”
The rain picks up again, dripping off my hat brim.
People passing by, umbrellas up.
This isn’t the place for this.
“This isn’t the city” I say. “We treat people right here. Respect means something.”
I take his elbow—gentle but firm—and steer him toward the side alley between the store and the hardware shop.
Out of sight, away from prying eyes.
Taron doesn’t resist, but his breath hitches. “What are you—”
“Quiet.” We stop in the alley, sheltered by an overhang, private. “We have values here. Values that don’t seem like they matter to you. Well, like it or not, you’re here now and you’ll play by our rules, city boy.”
I release his arm, but he doesn’t bolt. Just stands there, apples clutched in his hands, looking up at me with those wide eyes. Guilty. Vulnerable.
Something stirs in me—protectiveness mixed with that stern urge to correct.
Taron needs this.
He needs a lesson. He needs boundaries.
“Boy,” I say, voice low. “Mistakes happen. But you need to own this. Right away. No excuses.”
He nods, swallowing. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“It’s too late for words. We tried that,” I step closer, the air between us thickening. “You’re gonna march back in there, apologize, and pay. That’s happening. But first…”
His eyes flick to my hands, then back up… anticipation? Fear? Something else?
I reach out, tuck a damp strand of hair behind his ear.
“First, we deal with this my way,” I growl. “Here and now.”
I can see that Taron knows exactly what I mean. But there’s a look of defiance in his eyes too, like he won’t simply accept his fate. I’m going to need to take firm control from start to finish—and first things first, I need the boy’s safeword…
“Potato,” Taron says, answering my question. “My s-s-s-s-safeword is potato.”
“Good,” I reply, fixing a stare on Taron that a grizzly bear would be proud of. “Now unbuckle your belt and drop your jeans down to your ankles.”
“H-h-h-here? Now?” Taron asks, half pleadingly but his fingers already working his belt open.
“You’re answering your own questions,” I say, my eyes drawn to the thick shape of his upper thighs, perfectly fleshy but with a real hint of strength underneath them too.
Just how I like it, and certainly more than enough to get my cock as hard as a rock inside my boxers.
“Now turn around and present that bottom. I’ll handle taking those briefs down. ”
Taron’s cheeks flush bright red, a crimson shade that only makes him even more attractive. I watch as he turns and rests his hands against the large commercial refuse box. His briefs are pure white, cut high on the thighs and have a perfect baby-blue band that runs around the waist.
I hear Taron gasp as I step close and hook my fingers inside his briefs and pull them down to reveal his magnificently round butt cheeks, pure white and with a wonderful wobble as I slide the flimsy material of his briefs down toward his jeans.
“You’re going to get five hard spanks on each cheek,” I command, my voice low and full of intent. “And once we’re done, you’re going to go back to the store and apologize and make things right. Got it?”
“Yes, sir,” Taron answers, his voice wobbling and his legs even looking like their shaking.
“Remember you’ve got your safeword,” I say, placing my hand on his shoulder and adjusting his position just right. “But I think you’ve got this, boy.”
Taron whimpers and nods.
I take a moment as I hold my hand high above my head and then bring it down hard and fast on his left cheek, immediately following up with a counter spank on his right buttock.
“Owwweeeee!” Taron protests, his ass cheeks instinctively clenching together in pain.
“Try and relax them, you’ll be grateful you did,” I say, placing my hand around his small but soft waist and feeling a delightful curve of softness around his tummy area. “A relaxed butt takes the spanks better. Trust me, Daddy knows.”
I sense Taron relax just a touch and continue with the punishment, each spank making him whelp in pain and my cock duly gets harder and harder too. There’s something about this boy that is driving me wild.
Yes, this is a punishment he more than deserves, but the truth is that I want him to genuinely learn something from it too. And more than that, I want to guide him through it the best I can.
“And now for the final two spanks,” I say, my hungry eyes loving the sight of his reddened cheeks. And if I didn’t know better, I’d say that I just caught a glimpse of his smooth but hard cock bouncing from side to side too.
If I wasn’t already almost certain, then I know now for sure.
Taron is pure Little.
“Yowwwwwww!” Taron cries as the final spank lands, a real peach on his toasty left butt cheek.
And with that, the punishment is over.
“Now pull up your little briefs and jeans and we’ll go back to the store together,” I say. “You can explain your mistake. Mrs. Peplinska will understand. And if she doesn’t, I’ll make sure that she knows you’re with me. I’ll vouch for you, boy.”
“Mmm-hmmm,” Taron says, his voice quiet and a look of real remorse in his eyes. “Thank you, Kaleb.”
I turn away as Taron covers himself up and buckles his belt.
It’s time to make things right at the store—and as long as Taron does me proud, I think we’ll be making an extra purchase in their too…