Chapter 23 #2
“You want my attention, Tommy?” he demands, dark and promising, sounding real fucking serious to me. “You don’t need to act out to get it, but if that’s all you know how to do, if that’s how you communicate, that’s fine. I’m listening.”
“Fuck you!” I shout, my pulse pounding and my adrenaline racing.
The fact that he just literally chased me down and is dragging me back to his office is doing something to my rage–breaking it down into something else.
I’m on edge, panting for air, my thoughts are stuttering, caught up in the fact that I’ve never felt more wanted.
He pulls me, thrashing and shouting, back to his desk, but I shut up quick when he pushes me down onto it, bending me over it so my elbows are pressed into the wood.
My wide eyes fly to his laptop and I see a panel of faces, all digital attendees to this meeting.
But Young-gi’s panel is just a black screen and an icon, his camera turned off.
His microphone widget has a red strike over it, meaning his microphone is off, too.
Regardless, I hesitate, unsure how I feel about being right here. Young-gi presses one big hand to my lower back and reaches over me with his other.
With the press of a button, his microphone comes back on. “Understood. And human resources?” Click, he turns it off again, letting someone else take over the meeting, now.
“What the fuck is your problem?” I mutter, still not sure about doing this on the desk with the computer so close. But I don’t say red.
“You want my attention so much,” Young-gi practically purrs at me. “I bet it burns. But you’ve got nothing to worry about. I’ll give you what you’re asking for, Tommy.”
“What–” I lick my dry lips, not looking up at him, letting him press me down against the desk. “What am I asking for?”
“You said it last night,” he murmurs. “What was it you said you needed, Tommy?”
My whole body goes rigid, including my dick. My pulse fluctuates, and I break into a cold sweat. “M-more bruises.”
Goddamn, I’m a sick motherfucker. Because fuuuuck, I like where this is going. A chase that ends with a spanking? Fuck, I think I just unlocked a new wet dream.
“That’s right. So that’s what you’ll get. But your jeans blocked most of the impact last time, didn’t they? You only got one small bruise. Do you want more?”
I think I’m going to throw up, and also piss myself and also maybe cum. I feel like that, but obviously not literally, I’m just a fucking mess is what I’m saying. But I’m not stupid, and I know what he’s telling me to do.
That corner time feeling, that timeout haze, descends on me and it’s almost orgasmic and fatal at the same time. I might be having a stroke.
With shaking fingers, I reach down and unbutton my pants. I tremble down to my bones, through my chest and lungs, as I push the denim down.
Young-gi’s thumbs slip under the waistband right before I do so, and he holds my underwear in place, so that I end up bent over his desk with my pants around my thighs but my white briefs still on, feeling all kinds of small and humiliated and into this like some kind of fucking freak.
But maybe he’s getting to me, getting in my head, because I don’t resist nearly as hard as I should. I just put my elbows on the desk, and let my head hang on my shoulders.
I’m silently asking for it, begging for it, and he reads the unspoken lines of my body language; he knows what I want.
“Fuck,” I mutter to myself as I wait there for him to give me what I asked for.
“This boy’s been wanting my attention all day,” Young-gi says his filth so smooth, one hand cupping my ass. “Been wanting a spanking all day, huh?”
“Shut up.”
“Were you feeling anxious, Tommy?” he asks, but when I open my mouth to answer that fuck no, and fuck you, his hand cracks down on my ass hard, and all that comes out of my mouth is a startled, horny shout. “Were you feeling needy? Insecure?”
“Shut the fuck up,” I grit through my teeth. “And get the fuck on with it already.”
“Oooh, a tough guy, hm?” Young-gi laughs. Then hesitates. Suddenly, he reaches over me and presses a button, restarting his microphone. “That’s what we decided last quarter; what are the projections compared to the actual data?”
Goddamn, he’s good. I can’t believe he is still paying attention to what’s being said. He’s superhuman.
I gulp, my ass stinging as he mutes us again, and now that I’ve had time to settle into it, being so close to discovery and yet not close at all just makes my dick even harder. I groan and rock forward a little, fucking into nothing.
Another spank lights up my world and I bite my lower lip hard.
“Were you feeling angry, Tommy? Was it really just boredom? What’s going on in that head of yours?”
His questions, so teasing and almost patronizing in tone, have an honest ring to them. And I blink as I realize he’s genuinely not sure. He can read my cues so easily, see right through all my lies so fast, that I forgot his difficulty with emotion. I shake my head, not able to put it into words.
“I don’t–I don’t know,” I admit.
“Hm, that’s alright.”
Crack! He’s not fucking holding back with the spankings and I wince and writhe on my toes, grinding my jaw. I had no idea how much of a difference it would make to go without my jeans. Goddamn, if this is how it feels with fabric still between us, what would it feel like if I were bare?
The pain is almost too much, but it’s somehow just right, pushing my mind off that corner-time cliff and straight into that space where I just let myself want him.
“Do you know why it’s alright, Tommy?” Crack!
I whimper and shake my head again, my spine twisting in response to the hot, electric sting he’s laying on my ass. The only thing holding me up are my elbows planted on his desk, because my legs are buckling out from under me.
“Because in the end, I’ll still give you what you need. You always ask so clearly, Tommy. Such a brat, all fucking morning, making sure I know.” He spanks me several times, and I actually do fall to my stomach on the desk, panting.
He gives me a second, and turns his microphone back on. “Let’s move on to the next slide, if we could?”
I watch him turn it back off, my eyes double and triple checking that red line across the microphone picture. The adrenaline zings through my gut and I squirm.
Young-gi pulls me up to standing, and puts my hands on his desk. I’m not as bent over as before, but I’m still at an angle, and he gets into position behind me. My mouth waters and my dick throbs and I feel like I’m crying even though I’m not. It’s all just so overwhelming. It’s just so much.
I’ve never felt so good.
“If you need something sore to sit on to help you focus and behave, I’ll give it to you,” he gets right back to it, and spanks me again.
I strangle a cry, trying not to show how deeply I’m affected.
I’m hoping he hasn’t noticed my rock-hard dick while already knowing he definitely has, and it’s just another layer of ownership and embarrassment that I can’t seem to get enough of.
“If you want attention, you’ll get it. If you want it to hurt so you remember how much I want you, if you want to run so I catch you, if you want to fight so I hold you down, you’ll get it.
Because I want to give you what you need, Tommy. How does that make you feel?”
He asks me that right after a really hard smack, and I don’t manage to hold back my cry that time.
My eyes water because the heat and burn is throbbing across my whole backside now and it’s cutting off those loud thoughts, the messy fears, the neediness.
It’s filling me up, making me smaller and less angry.
“I like it,” I rasp, nearly choking on pleasure. “Feels good.”
And I’m not just answering the question about his spank, but about all the other things he said, too. It feels good to hear him say that.
“Yeah, I can tell,” he says, looking over my shoulder and down my front to the bulge in my white underwear, obscene and obvious and erotic and humiliating.
My world tilts for a second, because an erection was a bad thing for so long–ice slithers through me and I close my eyes, nearly fall into myself, almost untethering into dissociation.
But a hard spank across my ass pulls me right back to the present, and Young-gi backs off. “You like it? Good. That’s allowed.”
“It–it is?” I sound like an idiot. I try to shake some sense into myself, but his onslaught of spanks is keeping me off balance. The sensations and submission are fucking with my head.
“It is,” he agrees.
Then he leans over me and adds another comment to the meeting. I don’t even pay attention to what he says this time; I’m so far gone, I just stand there and breathe and wait for him to come back to me.
Once he’s refocused, he murmurs a command right into my ear. “Put your hand over your cock and feel how hard you are for my attention, Tommy.”
Fuck. Swallowing hard, I manage to move one of my hands to the front of my underwear.
Right as I do so, and before I can get in my head about the fact that I’m turned on and that’s bad, he spanks me again.
“Oh fuck,” I cough out, leaning hard on my one hand, using the other to cup my dick. “Ohhh fuck, Daddy, I mean Young-gi.”
“You can call me whatever you want,” he invites, and I think he’s pleased.
“Y-you said we had to wait until–”
“It’s been two days. Do you want to call me Daddy, Tommy?” He pauses his spanks, letting his hand rest on my roasting ass over my underwear, heating me up in a different way. I pant, nod, shake my head.
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“That’s fine, I’ll ask again later.” Spank! “Are you hard, Tommy? Does this turn you on?”
“Y-es!” He spanks me again and the soreness is all consuming. But I want– “More!”
“Yeah, until you bruise,” he agrees, “I bet we’re nearly there. So hold your hard dick, and think about how much you like my attention, how much you need my care, and then think about how I’m going to put cream on your sore bottom afterward. For your. Own. Good.”
Each final word is accompanied by a spank, driving my hips forward into my own hand, and before I know it, before I can prepare, before I realize what’s happening-
“Oh fuck, Daddy–” White-hot pleasure-pain rips through me.
My vision fades and I shout, almost falling over.
Young-gi catches me and I let out a pathetic sobbing sound as I cum, wetness spreading through my underwear to my palm, everything inside me shaking like a leaf in a storm.
It radiates through me, ripping me to shreds, pulling me apart at the seams, and it’s euphoric.
I barely pay attention as Young-gi sits me down in his office chair. He doesn’t even pull my pants back up, just pushes me down–sore ass and all–in my underwear, with the denim caught around my thighs. I look down at myself, and feel…
Small. But good. So fucking good.
And shocked.
Because–
“I’ve got to hop off,” Young-gi says to the people on the other side of his screen. “Something’s come up. Send me the notes.”
Once the computer is dark and off, I ask the stupid, obvious question, “Did I just…cum?”
“Yes.”
“Oh. Should I…apologize?” I cringe a little, my mind waking up. Surely, he didn’t mean for me to get off on that. Right? I’m messing everything up again–
He grips my chin and catches my gaze. “No. You will never apologize for the way your body reacts to me. There are no expectations or rules or forbidden acts. How you feel is how you feel. I want to make you feel everything.”
“...Oh.”
And what else can I say to that? He gets me some water, gives me some Advil, and produces wipes from some-fucking-where so I can wipe myself clean.
He checks my ass, makes sure there aren’t actually serious marks on me, and I just let him.
I feel all empty and hollow, but in a really good way.
He asks me if I want to go home for a nap or wait in the lobby or order some food. But I say no.
I just pick up my sketchbook and pencil and sit at my table, the table he brought in just for me. And by the time he’s on his next meeting, I’m simply existing and drawing with a clear, lightweight mind and a sore as hell bottom.
And his eyes are on me the whole time.