Chapter 7
Danny
Oh shit.
I’m in trouble.
I know I should be trying to figure a way out, but…
“I… I… I forgot,” I say, knowing that my total bullshit is as clear as the icy blue sky above. “I…”
“Save it,” Olivier replies, placing the lunch box on a stack of timber frames and walking toward me. “No excuses. No lies. All I need right now is your safeword, boy. And after that, a good old fashioned spanking in the freshest of fresh air.”
“My safeword?” I ask, my bottom lip trembling and my legs shaking inside my jeans too. “I… it’s… I…”
Olivier steps closer once more. He’s right in front of me now, and despite the fact that I’m considerably taller and bigger than him, I feel like a tiny Little who is about to face the consequences of his actions.
“You know this is the right thing,” Olivier says as he runs his hand over my high-visibility jacket. “But, the choice is yours. That’s more important than anything. I know what’s good for you, and what you need. You need to know and be sure of it too.”
Damn, Olivier’s good.
He sees me.
He knows exactly who I am and what… I need.
I take a deep breath, try to steady myself, and tell Olivier what he needs to know.
“My safeword is Jupiter,” I say, my heart almost leaping out of my mouth as the reality dawns on me. “And I want this.”
I don’t have any time to have second thoughts as Olivier takes me by the hand and leads me over toward the stack of timber.
“Jeans and briefs down, boy,” Olivier commands, his hands swiftly unbuckling my belt and yanking my jeans and briefs down in one slick motion. “You can tuck that cock between your legs if the cold air is too much. In fact, that’s exactly what you will do.”
I blush in the most exquisite humiliation as I do just that, my semi-hard cock suddenly squeezed between my legs and poking out the other side as I bend over the timber and present my ass for Olivier’s hand.
“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to avoid spanking that big thing,” Olivier says, a hint of pure lust in his voice as I sense him sizing me up.
“You’re going to get six spanks on each cheek.
And you’ll thank me for each and every one of them.
You don’t have to call me Daddy, not yet anyway.
But I do expect respect. Chef or sir will suffice. Understood?”
“Yes, Chef,” I answer, surprising myself at just how naturally it comes.
“Good boy,” Olivier growls, impressed but evidently ready to turn up the heat on my butt cheeks as he swipes his hand through the air by way of a warmup. “Now hold on tight.”
“Yes, Chef,” I say, gripping the edge of the thick timber and letting out a cry of pain as the first spank lands perfectly on my left cheek. “Owwwww! Thank you, Chef!”
“Hold still, Little,” Olivier demands, pressing his hand down on my lower back. “I’ll be accurate, but you need to be disciplined and hold your position too.”
“Yes, Chef,” I promise.
I fix my legs into position and really try to bring my core together as I await the next spank.
“Owwwww! Thank you, Chef!” I cry out, the second spank landing on my right cheek flush and hard. “Please may I have another?”
“You may,” Olivier chuckles. “Now be an extra good boy and squeeze your thighs so that you keep that big thick boy cock nice and hard for Chef.”
My cheeks burn deep crimson as I duly squeeze and flex my inner thighs, massaging my cock so that it’s rock hard between my legs.
Olivier knows what he’s doing, and he’s loving every damn second of it.
The sweet thrill of humiliation is rising up inside of me and I begin to wonder whether I’m going to be able to get through this punishment without shooting my load…
“Owwwww! Owwwww! Thank you, Chef,” I cry out, the quick one-two spank on my left and right cheeks making me gasp and focus on the punishment rather than the fact I might just overstimulate myself. “Thank you, Chef! Thank you, Chef!”
Suddenly, I’m totally in the zone. It might not be a snuggly party with stuffies, cookies, and rompers, but I’m feeling just as much of a Little as I ever have. Olivier knows what he’s doing, and how to do it—it’s just perfect.
The fact that I’m actually having a public spanking at my place of work isn’t even remotely on my mind as Olivier continues to redden my ass cheeks in broad daylight. And my cock… well, that’s something else.
“Stand,” Olivier says, watching as I stand and turn to face him, my cock standing tall and proud as I hop from foot to foot due to my burning bottom.
“Hmmm. Well done for not shooting your sticky boy mess at least. Just as well I came prepared though. How about we cool your butt down and take care of that juicy slab of Little lust?”
“Y-y-y-yes, Chef,” I splutter, my eyes widening as I watch Olivier open the lunch box and pull out of tube of cooling gel. “Is that for back and front?”
“It certainly is,” Olivier laughs. “Now turn around and let me get these cheeks cooled. And if you’re a very good boy, I’ll even get that big old boner nice and lubed too.”
I can barely contain myself with the anticipation of what is in store as Olivier applies that gel to my cheeks, carefully and gently, before he then reaches around and squeezes his wet, sticky hands up and down my rock-hard shaft.
“Chefffffffffffff,” I grunt, my legs trembling as I shoot my thick, ropey load after barely six strokes. “Mmmmmmmph.”
Olivier finishes off my post-punishment handjob and makes sure that I’m fully drained. I can tell that he’s enjoying it, but it can’t be anything compared to the total feeling of satisfaction that I’m experiencing right now.
When Olivier is done, I feel like I could just flop down onto the floor and fall asleep. But I know that’s not an option…
“Briefs and jeans up, boy,” Olivier commands, his voice soft but full of natural authority. “My number is written down inside the lunchbox. Call me.”
“Yes, Chef,” I answer, my head still spinning but a feeling of pure release making me feel like the luckiest Little in the world.
“Now get back to work!” Olivier laughs.
I will certainly get back to work, and I don’t need a Daddy to tell me that the last thing I want is to lose my job so soon after being given the opportunity.
It might be a Little friendly crew, but when it comes to on-site spanking and wanking, I’m not sure that even the Construction Boys would be cool with that!
The rest of the afternoon passes in a hazy blur, my body humming with a mix of endorphins and residual sting.
The life of a Little, eh!
Every time I shift in the forklift seat, the fabric of my jeans rubs against my tender cheeks, a sharp reminder of Olivier's firm hand.
I can't stop replaying it: the way he commanded me without hesitation, the cool gel soothing the heat he'd ignited, and then those skilled strokes that had me unraveling in literally seconds.
My face burns just thinking about it, but there's a deeper warmth too—a satisfaction that settles in my chest like a perfect nap with Lexi.
I throw myself into the work, hauling beams and sandbags with extra vigor, partly to prove I'm not slacking after... whatever that was… and partly to distract from the ache between my legs.
The crew's banter flies around me—Taylor cracking jokes about the free lunches, Lane ribbing Mikey about his pool skills last night—but no one mentions the chef's visit.
Or the sounds that might have carried.
God, please let the site's noise have drowned it out. Cranes groaning, hammers pounding, trucks rumbling… surely that covered my yelps and thanks.
By quitting time, the sun's dipping low, casting long shadows over the half-built frames. My muscles scream for a hot shower, but my mind's already drifting to that number scrawled inside the lunch box.
Call me.
Simple words, loaded with promise. I clock out with Xander, who gives me an approving nod—"Solid day, Danny. Keep it up."—and head for the exit, keys jingling in my pocket. The lunch box is tucked under my arm, unopened.
I'll savor it back at the hotel, maybe while texting Olivier.
Footsteps crunch behind me, fast and purposeful. I turn to see Taylor and Mikey jogging up, hard hats off, grins wide and mischievous.
Taylor's got that tanned, effortless swagger, his fleece zipped against the chill, while Mikey's bouncing on his toes like he can't contain his energy.
"Yo! Danny! Wait up!" Mikey calls, waving like we're old pals. Which, I guess, after last night's drunken assist, we kind of are.
Taylor catches up first, slinging an arm around my shoulders—casual, brotherly. "Dude, you can't just bolt without spilling. What the hell went down with the hot chef? We saw him march over to your corner like a man on a mission."
My stomach drops.
Spill?
They know? But how much…
I fumble with my keys, avoiding their eyes. "Uh, nothing much. He... brought lunch. Like he did for everyone." The lie tastes sour. These guys helped tuck me in with my stuffie last night. They're Littles too. But admitting I got spanked—and more—on site? In broad daylight?
Heat floods my face, and not the good kind.
Mikey snorts, falling into step on my other side as we walk toward the parking area. "Lunch, huh? Come on, man. The whole site heard those spanks echoing like gunshots. Sounded like someone was getting a proper tanning."
Echoing?
Oh crap.
My knees weaken, and I stop dead, staring at them in horror. "You... heard? Everyone heard?"
The site's big, but sound carries weird out here, bouncing off metal frames, amplified by the open space. I picture the crew pausing mid-hammer, exchanging knowing grins. Taylor, Lane, Xander—all of them knowing I was bent over, ass up, taking it from the chef.
Embarrassment crashes over me like a wave, hot and suffocating.
I'm the new guy. What if they think I'm some kind of distraction? Or worse, a joke?
"Shit. I didn't... I mean, it wasn't planned,” I splutter. “I forgot about the lunch box, and he showed up, and…"
Taylor laughs, but it's warm, not mocking, his hand squeezing my shoulder.