Chapter 25. Florian #2
"You weren't just testing a boundary tonight," Knox said. "You were being manipulative. That's what we call lying by omission, young man."
The "young man" stung. I stared at my shoes, unable to hold his gaze.
"I'm sorry," I mumbled, meaning it.
"Oh, no. You aren’t sorry yet," Knox replied. "You will be much sorrier still before we're finished. Actions have consequences, as we've discussed extensively."
He straightened and walked to a cabinet in the corner. My stomach dropped as he reached inside. When he turned back, he held a slender rattan cane in his hands, the kind that bent slightly when flexed. It looked deceptively delicate, but I knew better.
"This will be much more severe than a hand spanking," Knox explained, his voice steady and matter-of-fact. "You knowingly broke a rule we've discussed thoroughly, and you did so with deception. Six strokes."
My mouth went dry. I'd never taken the cane before. The thin rattan looked wicked, designed for a focused, biting pain rather than the thudding impact of palm or leather. I'd watched enough porn to know that was the worst it got.
"I'm sorry, Daddy," I said again, my voice smaller. "I really did just want to catch up with Luna. I shouldn’t have tested your limits."
"Mmm, that’s right, you shouldn’t have. I believe you wanted to see your friend," Knox said, "but I also believe you deliberately stayed out knowing it would force this confrontation. You wanted to see if I would follow through on the consequences we agreed upon. Well, you’ll get what you had coming. "
His insight was unnervingly accurate. There was always a part of me that pushed boundaries to see if they would hold, if the person setting them truly cared enough to enforce them. My father never had; his rules were arbitrary, enforced only when it suited him.
"Bend over the desk," Knox directed, gesturing to the mahogany expanse. "Pants and underwear down."
My heart pounded as I approached the desk. With trembling fingers, I undid my jeans and pushed them down to my thighs, along with my boxers.
What have I done?
"I'm really sorry," I said, reality of what was about to happen settling in. I was unable to look at him. "Daddy. I'm sorry." I sounded more panicked now, and I really wanted a hug that I didn't deserve.
"I know, little one," he replied, his voice softening just slightly, seeing me like this. "But being sorry doesn't erase consequences."
I closed my eyes, focusing on my breathing as I heard him position himself behind me. There was a gentle whooshing sound as he tested the cane through the air.
The first stroke landed with a sharp crack that echoed through the study.
For a split second, there was nothing, just the sound, and then pain exploded across my skin, a line of pure fire that took my breath away.
It was nothing like Knox's hand; this was concentrated agony, a precise stroke that seemed to slice through my flesh even though I knew it hadn't broken skin.
I gasped, my fingernails digging into the polished mahogany as I fought the instinct to stand up, to cover myself, to run.
Fuuuuuuuuuuck!
"One," Knox counted calmly from behind me.
I barely had time to process the burning welt before the second stroke whistled through the air.
It landed just below the first, another perfect line of fire that made me yelp, a sound that embarrassed me even through the pain.
My toes curled against the hardwood floor as I struggled to stay in position.
I was trying very hard to not scream and run away.
"Two."
The third and fourth strokes came in succession, each precisely placed to create a ladder of agony across my skin.
Knox was methodical, allowing just enough time between strokes for the full impact of each to register before delivering the next.
I was crying by the fourth, tears streaming down my face and onto the desk, forming small pools that reflected the lamplight. Ouch, fucking hell.
"Four," Knox said, his voice steady but not cold. "You're doing so well, little boy. Two more."
The fifth stroke was the worst, crossing diagonally over the previous welts, creating a point of intersection that throbbed with white-hot intensity. I cried out, my knuckles turning white as I gripped the desk edge.
"Five."
I could have used my safeword. Knox had been clear from the beginning that I always had that option.
"Yellow" to slow down, "Red" to stop completely.
But I didn't want to stop, despite the pain, or maybe because of it.
Each stroke burned away a layer of guilt, of defiance, of the restless anxiety that drove me to test boundaries in the first place.
This was accountability, something I'd never had before Knox.
But good Lord, it hurt. It hurt so bad I couldn’t believe it. I had never experienced anything like that before. It was agonizing. And, somehow, my cock responded with getting painfully hard, adding even more to my humiliation.