Chapter 2 - Reed
REED
“Time for a spanking,” Hank says before bending me over his knee.
All the breath saws out of my lungs at the first impact of a wide, flat-faced paddle. The slap of my flesh echoes through the room. My brow torques from the pain, and I grunt against the gag.
“Good thing I thought to fill your mouth so your neighbors can’t hear you struggle,” he says, lips less than an inch from my ear.
Drool spills from my mouth and down my chin. I am a mewling mess, entirely helpless to his whims.
“And I’m just getting started, boy,” he says, which delights and scares me in equal measure.
Hit after delicious hit, he marks my ass. The burn of the paddle transforms into an unexplainable pleasure. I want him to stop, but not as much as I want him to use more power and more force. To give me more of him and his apparent sexual talents.
Hank wallops me one last time before cooing, “Good boy for taking your punishment. That’ll teach you to disobey me again. Right?”
I’m unable to get a word out around the gag, so I grunt again, but that clearly isn’t good enough for Daddy.
“I said ‘right?’” He shakes the knee I’m bent over and spanks me bare-handed.
His calloused hand is a new sensation that rolls up my entire spine.
I imagine how red and raw my ass will be when this is all over.
How proud I’ll be of myself for withstanding all that Hank has doled out for his own gratification.
I nod with my whole body. My dick has never been harder, rocking between my legs like a pendulum in desperate need of attention.
“Now, sit back,” he says.
The spanking I survived and the residual sting of my ass cheeks are mostly bearable, but sitting now will spike my pain levels to new heights. I groan around the gag, playing the brat he seemed to respond positively to back in the bar restroom.
“Don’t make me tell you again, boy,” he says, a hint of Wyoming twang uncovering itself in his vowels.
Shaking my head is near impossible given my bindings, so I mulishly don’t move.
He clears his throat as if about to deliver an important speech.
“I’m going to count to three. If you’re not on your ass by the time I’m done, I’m going to remove my knee, and remember, you won’t have your hands to catch you.
You don’t want to crack that pretty little skull of yours on the hard floor now, do you? ”
Oh.
“I don’t want to see you bleed unless I’m the one who opens the vein,” he says.
Oh fuck.
“And believe me, you’re not in the market for a concussion. I think you’re going to want to remember this night. Every…single…second of it,” he says. So cool. So certain.
We are going there.
And I am right along for the ride.
I shudder on an inhale. My body plays a game of tag with my two choices as he begins his countdown. Before he arrives to the th in three, I push my pelvis back. A yelp rises up from my gut but gets blocked by the gag. My tailbone screams and tears dampen the inside of the blindfold.
“That’s my good boy. Do you know what good boys get?” Hank asks.
A slick, warm, rough palm wraps around my throbbing shaft. Momentarily, I wonder where those callouses come from. He says he sells cars, not that he works on them. Do car salespeople have hands like this? Maybe he has a hobby he didn’t share.
I don’t get a handle on any of those thoughts because his strokes tighten and find a good rhythm. My mind ping-pongs from the ache of my ass against the sweat-slicked floor to the pleasure of my dick pumping inside a now lube-coated fist.
The sparring sensations send sparks shooting through my limbs. My toes curl and my stomach muscles hiccup every other second. The more I react, the faster Hank pumps and the firmer he grips, especially around my too-sensitive cockhead. Within minutes, my balls tighten to the point of no return.
I try to warn him. Try to cry out and stop him.
I haven’t touched him, haven’t tasted him. I don’t even know if he’s fully naked.
We can’t be done. Not yet.
I have a feeling once I orgasm, I’ll be a popped balloon, pieces scattered on the floor. No fun and no good to anyone. Party over.
But Hank doesn’t let up. Unrelentingly, he jerks my length until I’m convulsing.
“That’s a good boy. You have Daddy’s permission to let it go. Let it fly. I want to see you come,” he says. It’s practically a command.
I have no trouble complying. His voice is a drugging aphrodisiac. I sink into the high and shoot like I’ve never shot before. The rush goes straight to my head, and I collapse into Hank’s strong, burly body as I dribble out the last of my saved-up load.
Unconcerned with my post-nut sensitivity, Hank continues to jerk me.
The intensified sensations spark discomfort and ecstasy through my pelvis.
I writhe against him, still unable to speak.
He knows what’s best for a boy like me, and despite having just met him, I trust him.
Which is maybe scarier than any punishment he could dole out.
“I know you’ve got one more in there for me, boy. I want to milk you fucking dry,” he says, intensity blazing in his words.
His encouraging dirty talk as he cradles me against his chest is more than enough to keep me erect and on the edge.
I nuzzle my face against his chest hair, relishing the soft, curly feel of it against my smooth-shaven cheek.
There is comfort in his torture. Care in his torment.
A human heart beating beneath all that fur and flesh.
I hear it rapping against his chest, like a knock on a hidden door.
“You can do it, boy. Let out the last of it,” he says.
More cum catapults from me. It joins the rest of the ropes already sliding down my abs. One of Hank’s thick fingers scoops some of it up. His lips smack not far from my ear.
“I knew you’d taste good, but I didn’t know how good,” he says. “Fresh, warm, perfect.”
Almost as quickly as he tied me up, he undoes his knots, releases the gag, and wipes off my torso with a damp cloth.
Everything in the room is a bit fuzzy and hard to hear, but his voice falls into a softer register, rising above the blood rushing in my ears. He whispers things like easy now and don’t get up. He holds me again while I catch my breath. He is as good at aftercare as he was mid-scene.
And I’m grateful my first kink experience was with him. I’m both satisfied and eager to try more.
I could live forever inside this moment. His strong arms make all my broken parts coalesce. His steady breath slows my heart to a calm pace. Nothing matters or exists outside the walls of this dorm room.
No exams, no papers, no graduation on the horizon. No trailer park trash reputation, no mystery about who my dad is, and no sick—and getting sicker—mom.
Now, it’s only Hank and me. Two kinksters connected through touch and fluid.
Eyes closed, I conclude that if Hank killed someone to be sent to Rawlins, then that person probably deserved what came to them.
A Hank-or-him situation. There’s no other logical explanation.
A person this affectionate can’t be evil.
When I fully regain my faculties, Hank shifts away from me and starts packing up his bag.
“Don’t you want to get off too?” I ask, still naked and sweaty. I climb to my feet, gripping the bedpost for support. Hank hasn’t even fucked me, and still, I can tell I’m going to be walking funny for at least an hour.
“I am more than satisfied,” he says.
“Are you sure?” I ask, not wanting to be branded one of those selfish submissives who comes first and then kills the mood.
He squints at me. “Are you questioning my authority?” he asks, snapping back into his earlier role. All fire-eyed and twitchy-fingered. Like he’ll rail the disobedience out of me if he has to.
“No, Daddy,” I say, aware that round two isn’t going to happen tonight. He’s covered me in kerosene, struck the match, and turned me to ash. It’s going to take some time before my phoenix can rise again.
Hank steps in and plants a harsh kiss on my sore mouth. “Good boy. Now get your ass to bed. You’ve got class tomorrow.” He slaps my still-tender cheeks before leaving with a devilish grin.
Over an hour later, after I’ve showered and tucked myself into bed, my phone lights up with a text from Hank. It’s a photo of me bound, gagged, blindfolded, and kneeling in wait for instruction. The exact picture I’d asked him to take so I could update my private album on Kink Camp.
They should hang this in the good-boy hall of fame.
So much for thinking I didn’t have another round in me. My dick springs up as if it’s possessed from his accompanying message. I video myself getting off again and send it to him with a caption.
Guess I wasn’t quite finished yet, lol
Fuck. Third time’s the charm, boy. I’ll know for next time.
The promise of a next time stamps a smile on my face. I lie back, close my eyes, and dream about all the filthy ways Hank will use me in the future.