Chapter Five
Years of theater training. That’s what I put my burst of confidence down to. Theater training and my time spent at The Grove. What else could explain how perfectly easy it is to perform like this for these people and the cameras?
Dmitri’s dick, maybe?
It is a thing of beauty all on its own, it’s true. I mean, is he bigger than most of the men I’ve been with? No. Thicker? Also no. But there’s something about the perfect curve of it, the way it arches up to meet his soft belly, glaringly clean skinned while surrounded by so much inked flesh.
But…no. That beautiful cock is not the reason I’m so comfortable doing this.
Dmitri himself?
Yeah…that might be hitting closer to the mark.
He’s big and tattooed and intimidating at first glance, but beneath that facade there’s a gentleness that settles me.
Even when he was yanking my head backwards, it was controlled and done with care.
The pain he inflicted was just enough to ride that line between ‘ouch’ and ‘I’m about to come’. Literally.
I can’t believe how close I just got from a tiny bit of hair pulling and some firm words from a Daddy Dom.
Not just any Daddy Dom, though. My dream Daddy Dom.
So far, he’s been everything he’s reputed to be and then some.
In all of my daydreams, I’ve imagined being his good boy. I’ve pictured myself submitting flawlessly, earning praises that not only warm my soul, but bring me to new heights of desire and need.
But now that I’ve got him in front of me, I’m bratting.
Me. Goody-two-shoes Miles Jeffries. Bratting.
For Dmitri. For the man I want to hear nothing but praise from.
What the fuck is going on with me?
I want him to enjoy this. Selfishly, I want him to enjoy it so damn much that maybe we might do it again at the club, or at my place, or at his. Without the cheesy costumes. Without the cameras. Without the fucking director. Just us. Just Daddy and Boy. Alone.
So why am I pushing boundaries? Why am I testing him?
It’s gotta be the cameras.
I am ‘yes, and’ing my way through a porn scene.
This is not the big break I’m going to write home to Mom about.
But, if I stop and think about it, there’s something extra exciting about doing this. While I’ve never thought badly of anyone who works in the adult film industry, it’s never been something I would have said I wanted to do. But now that I’m here…
Yeah.
This is hot.
Not just Dmitri, even though he is extremely hot.
But just being on a porn set. Having fully-dressed people watching me —watching us— as things get hot and heavy.
Knowing that those same people are going to see so much more.
Knowing that other people are going to watch this on their phones or laptops or, hell, even their TVs.
They’re going to see me wearing this silly onesie, whimpering and admitting to almost coming in my pants within seconds of being ordered around and… oh, God.
My balls are tight again, that tell-tale tingle making me squirm on the spot.
Do I…do I have a humiliation kink?
I was all revved up earlier when I was embarrassed in front of Dmitri, but I put that down to it being Dmitri. But now…
Fuck.
The thought of embarrassing myself in front of the people in this studio, or the hundreds —maybe thousands— of people who pay to watch the finished video…
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
I need to stop thinking about it, or I am actually going to blow my load, and I haven’t even blown Santa yet!
Okay, so that is going to the top of the list of sentences I never thought I’d say. Or think.
“Santa doesn’t reward naughty boys,” Dmitri practically growls the words at me, and it takes me a long moment to remember that I just playfully offered to be naughty.
My cock throbs, and I don’t know if that’s in warning or desperation at this point.
Still, instead of behaving —of bowing my head and being a good, pliant little sub— I jut my chin higher. “I made it onto that list for a reason…and you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t like that, would you, Santa?”
Surprise, arousal, and then determination flit across his handsome features before he grabs my bicep and shoves me towards the large bed in the middle of the room.
I’m vaguely aware of his boots and pants being toed off and left behind with his belt as he crosses the space in two long-legged strides.
He sits on the edge of the mattress facing our audience, those bare, tattooed legs spread wide, his delicious dick jutting up proudly, and then he pats his thigh. “Over my lap, Miles.”
Oh fuck.
“You’ve earned a spanking for your sass,” he adds. “Fifteen. You’ll count as I go.”
When I bring a trembling hand to the zipper of my long johns, he shakes his head.
“Stay dressed.”
I’m aware of the damp patch of precum spreading across my crotch where my cock has leaked so much, I’m almost afraid that I did come without realizing it. The embarrassment from that, combined with the knowledge that this spanking will most definitely push me over the edge, has me biting my lip.
“You’re not allowed to come, either,” Dmitri adds the caveat right as I’m bending over his lap, and I jolt, unable to prevent the distressed whine from escaping.
“You’ve already made enough of a mess of your Christmas jammies, haven’t you?”
My cheeks burn and my cock weeps some more while I nod, “Yes, Daddy.”
“If you do come,” he warns, “you don’t get to suck my cock.”
“Nooo,” the protest slips out before I can stop it, and he chuckles, smoothing a big, beefy hand down my spine. Then his fingers pause at the top of my ass, fiddling with something and—Oh.
Suddenly, the warmth of my onesie is gone, replaced by cool air over my ass. He’s undone the two buttons holding the cute butt-flap in place, and now I’m exposed.
My ass is on camera for all the world to see.
Another jolt of that weird excitement tinged with humiliation barrels through me.
I'm going to be immortalized on film being spanked to orgasm by the hottest Santa alive.
I squeeze my eyes shut and breathe deeply.
That last thought was almost too much. The dampness at my crotch feels uncomfortably wet now, smushed between my body and Dmitri’s thigh.
I jerk forward uncontrollably as Dmitri’s hand gently cups my ass cheek. “What’s your safe word?”
“Red, Daddy,” I answer.
“Hmm. Maybe we should make it ‘Rudolph’,” he muses, warming the skin he’s found with broad circles of his palm, “seeing as your ass is about to glow red like his nose.”
It’s difficult not to laugh, but the really lame joke does the job of distracting me from almost coming. I wonder if that was his goal. Either way, I’m glad for it.
“Rudolph it is,” I agree, still with a hint of sass.
Why can’t I stop talking?
He snorts. “Remember, Miles, you’re counting out loud.” Then, before I can properly brace for it, his hand comes down on me with a resounding ‘smack’. It stings and my eyes water.
“Fu—uh—one.”
Yeah, that was convincing.
He’s going to think I’m the worst sub ever.
SMACK!
I jolt forward with a yelp. “Two.”
Three, four, and five follow rapidly.
Then a few more.
My cock is really paying attention around number nine.
Dmitri’s blows aren’t as hard now, but they sting when they meet the flesh he has heated up. My ass cheeks feel like they’re on fire, throbbing in time with my heartbeat.
I love every second of it.
When number ten lands, I moan the number and rut into his thigh.
“No coming, precious,” he reminds me, and my brain almost short-circuits.
Precious?
It’s not quite ‘good boy’, but it’s praiseful enough that I whimper and writhe, my belly swooping with ecstasy.
Fuuuuuuck.
“E-eleven, t-t-twelve,” I stammer over the next two slaps to my behind, trying to focus on the pain rather than the coil of tension tightening inside me. I’m getting close. I’m going to break his rule. I’m going to humiliate myself on camera, in front of countless people.
And I love that, too.
I love that idea so much that—
“Th—ohhhh—thirt—t-teen.”
Oh.
Oh no.
“Daddy! Daddy…” I tried to hold it back.
I really, really did. But that last smack has sent me careening right over the edge, my hips convulsing with the sheer force of my orgasm.
It feels like I come forever, my dick twitching and jerking where it’s still smushed against Dmitri’s thigh and…
fuck. I’ve just come all over his leg. Yes, I’m wearing clothes, but the fabric is thin, and it was already wet…
My cheeks —all of them— burn hot, the ones on my face in shame.
But, Jeeeesus, does that shame feel good.
How have I never noticed this about myself before?
Because you’ve always been a good boy, I realize as I catch my breath, still grinding forward into Dmitri’s leg, trying to wring out every last moment of pleasure. I’ve never really done anything to make myself feel so humiliated.
Dmitri’s dark chuckle brings me back to myself. “You’re definitely on my naughty list now,” he says. “Two more to go, baby.”
I cry out when fourteen lands, my skin so much more sensitive after a brief reprieve and an epic orgasm.
“Count it,” he insists.
“Fourteen,” I gasp out, then jolt and add, “Fifteen!” with emphatic relief, slumping over his lap, hypersensitive and exhausted.
Dmitri’s big hand settles between my shoulder blades, and he strokes down my back gently. Then he bends over me and murmurs, “Good boy.”
And I…burst into tears.