Midnight Raider
Leo was hungry. Julian’s mom had made meatloaf for dinner, which Julian claimed was the best meatloaf in the world, but Leo hated meatloaf, best or not. He’d picked at it to be polite, but he and Julian had gone for a long run that afternoon and picking wasn’t enough.
Now, lying in the top bunk, he was sorry he’d agreed to come home with Julian for spring break.
Sure, it was a free place to stay in Daytona, which was where everyone wanted to be for spring break, but he was homesick.
He hadn’t seen his own family since Christmas and he missed his mother’s cooking.
At least she knew how much he hated meatloaf.
He rolled onto his back and put a hand on his stomach, which was growling at him softly.
The touch of his palm on the bare flesh of his stomach momentarily distracted him from his hunger because the other problem with staying at Julian’s was a lack of privacy.
His cock swelled up to meet his hand, pushing against his boxers and asking to have a different sort of hunger satisfied.
He toyed with it, sliding his hand over the bulge it made, down to the swell of his balls, which he squeezed lovingly.
But then Julian shifted, making the bed rock, and he remembered he wasn’t alone.
Better to do something about his stomach, he decided.
If he ate, he could fall asleep. Julian’s mom had said he should make himself at home and when he was hungry at home, he opened the fridge.
Obviously he wasn’t going to wake up Mrs. Sandiston at this hour, but if he did wake her up, that was what she would tell him to do.
Moving as quietly as possible, he slipped over the side of the bunk and dropped to the floor.
He groped around for the clothes he’d discarded before climbing up to the top bunk, but then Julian shifted again and he decided fuck it.
The house was dark and silent. He would dash downstairs, grab a yogurt or a granola bar, and be back in bed before anyone was the wiser.
The stairs creaked as he felt his way down them, running a hand along the wall to keep his balance rather than turn on the lights.
The hardwood floor was cool and slick beneath his bare feet, which registered the transition from wood to tile as he entered the kitchen.
The blue digital gleam of the microwave’s clock pulled him toward the refrigerator—a huge bulk of stainless steel standing sentinel in the corner.
All around him was an unfamiliar silence.
He felt like an intruder, like a thief, and when he forced himself to open the refrigerator, its light came on like an accusation.
He froze, waiting to be caught, then exhaled with a laugh.
His stomach gurgled happily at the sight of so much food.
Yogurt and fruit, even cold cuts. Dare he make himself a sandwich?
He snagged a deli bag of turkey and another of sliced American cheese, then selected a squirt bottle of mustard from the door and rifled through the vegetable bin to find a head of lettuce and half a red onion.
Balancing everything in his arms, he turned and hip-checked the refrigerator shut.
Shutting the refrigerator left him in darkness with no idea where the nearest light switch was.
He shuffled forward, aiming for the island he remembered being in the center of the kitchen, and stubbed his toe on it at the exact moment the overhead lights came on, almost as if he’d kicked a light switch in the floorboards.
Then a deep voice said, “What do you think you’re doing?
” and the combination of surprise and fear and pain from the stubbed toe had him jumping so violently that everything he’d been carrying flew out of his arms. Most of it landed on the island, but the mustard hit the floor and exploded, sending rich brown streaks in every direction.
Leo looked down at the mustard, then he looked up at Mr. Sandiston who’d just caught him raiding the refrigerator.
“I was hungry,” he offered tentatively.
“So you decided to help yourself?”
He wanted to believe Mr. Sandiston was joking, but Mr. Sandiston came across as a man who rarely joked. His jaw was square, his mouth firm, and his physique suggested that the one thing he definitely didn’t joke about was arm day.
“Your wife told me to make myself at home.”
“And this is what you do at home, hmm?”
He did raid the refrigerator in the middle of the night at home, but Mr. Sandiston was gesturing at the mess of mustard all over the floor.
“I didn’t mean to. You surprised me. I’ll clean it up, promise.”
Except now Mr. Sandiston wasn’t looking at the mustard.
Now he was looking at Leo’s bottom half, his gaze rising slowly from Leo’s bare feet up his legs to the hem of his boxers.
Mr. Sandiston had dark brown eyes, very dark brown.
They were stormy and stern under the heavy slash of his thick eyebrows.
“Don’t you think it would’ve been courteous to put on some pants? Especially given your… condition.”
“I didn’t expect anyone to see me,” he squeaked as he tried to hide his condition.
He didn’t understand why he had a boner.
He’d had the start of one up in Julian’s room but it’d died down once he got out of bed.
Now it was raging, poking straight out at Mr. Sandiston like it was trying to find its way out of his fly.
He dropped a hand in front of it, but the accidental contact only made him harder.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. His knees were all wavery.
“I have a daughter.”
Leo nodded. “Alessandra.”
“Don’t you dare say her name while you’re fondling yourself.”
God, he was fondling himself. Not a lot. Just little pats. But he couldn’t help it.
“Sorry,” he whispered again.
“What if she got up in the night? Did you think of that?”
He shook his head. He hadn’t thought of that. He had no interest in Alessandra, who was young and also a girl. Not his type at all. But maybe it would be upsetting to her to see a grown man in his underwear. He should have taken the time to pull on his joggers.
“I didn’t want to wake up Julian.”
A creak from the direction of the stairs had them both freezing, waiting to see who would appear—Julian, Alessandra, Mrs. Sandiston?
“Come with me,” Mr. Sandiston ordered.
“But what about—?” Leo gestured at the mustard.
“I said come with me.”
Mr. Sandiston turned on his heel and headed deeper into the house.
Leo didn’t have to follow him. He could go upstairs, crawl back into the top bunk and pretend none of this had ever happened, that Mr. Sandiston hadn’t caught him being naughty, that Mr. Sandiston’s stern reprimands hadn’t given him a boner.
But he didn’t go upstairs. He scurried in the direction Mr. Sandiston had disappeared in, catching up to him at the end of a dark corridor.
Mr. Sandiston opened a door and flicked on a light and Leo stepped into what he saw was a home office with a large desk at the center of the room and a big swivel chair behind it.
Bookshelves occupied the stretches of wall between windows, and the shades were down.
A black-and-white checkered rug covered the hardwood floor beneath the desk, the pile soft under his bare feet.
Mr. Sandiston shut the door. Leo swallowed. His pulse beat madly in his throat and also in his dick. His hands were clammy and he couldn’t keep them away from his cock.
“Stop touching yourself,” Mr. Sandiston barked. Now that they were shut away behind a door, his voice was louder, harsher. In the kitchen, his words had been controlled, the threat behind them merely implied, but the veil was off now. “Hands behind your back. Feet together. Head up.”
Leo assumed the position. It made his erection really obvious, sticking out in front of him like that with nothing to hide it.
He was mortified by it. How could he be standing so obviously hard in front of his friend’s father?
Tears pricked at his eyes, but he didn’t move from his spot in front of the desk.
Mr. Sandiston went around behind the desk and sat in the chair. “I’m not pleased with your behavior in my home, Leo.”
Leo hung his head. He’d already said he was sorry. What more could he do? “Do you want me to leave?”
“I don’t think that’s necessary, given that this is a first offense.
But I believe corrective measures are in order.
” Mr. Sandiston tapped the fingers of his right hand on his desk.
They were thick fingers with clean, square nails.
Powerful. Leo squeezed his own hands tighter behind his back.
He wanted so badly to reach for his cock.
“Do you want to be corrected, Leo? I think you do.”
Leo nodded. He didn’t know what being corrected meant, but he wanted it.
Mr. Sandiston pushed his chair away from the desk, then rotated it slowly to the side. “Come here, Leo. Right here in front of me.”
Leo shuffled over to the spot Mr. Sandiston was indicating, which was right between his spread legs.
Mr. Sandiston was wearing dress slacks, as if he’d been coming home from work when he caught Leo raiding his refrigerator.
He didn’t have a jacket or tie on, but his shirt was crisp and white with two buttons undone.
A curl of chest chair showed in the vee of his collar. Leo couldn’t take his eyes off it.
“Look at me, Leo.”
Leo raised his gaze until it met Mr. Sandiston’s darker one.
Somewhere deep in those eyes, behind the sternness, he thought he saw compassion.
He wanted to cry, to blubber, to apologize all over again.
He couldn’t even remember now what he’d done to disappoint this man, but he hated that he’d done it.
“I’m going to give you a spanking, Leo. I think you deserve it. And I think you want it. You can cry if you need to, but no kicking or screaming. I want you to take your punishment with dignity. Do you think you can do that?”
He almost shook his head, but he could sense how proud Mr. Sandiston would be of him if he managed it, so he nodded instead.