Chapter 33. Knox #2
I established a rhythm, alternating cheeks, watching as the pale skin flushed pink, then deepened to a warm red.
Florian was shifting on my lap, his breathing heavier.
Small sounds escaped his throat with each impact, not quite moans, not quite whimpers.
I could feel him fully hard now, pressing insistently against my thigh, his hips making tiny, probably unconscious movements.
"D-Daddy!" His voice cracked. I didn't stop, landing the spanks slightly harder, across both cheeks, watching the shudder that ran through his entire body. He’d let himself go fully into it, that taut little body arching and twisting with every stroke of my hand.
Every slap erasing everything except the sensations I was giving him: the warmth, the humiliation, the safety.
My palm tingled hot, but I wanted the lesson to burn longer. Occupational hazard.
I slowed, the next spank softer, my hand lingering on his skin. “You’re doing so well for me, baby,” I murmured, dragging my fingertips over the heat I’d raised. “You’re such a good boy, no matter what your head says. I’m the only judge of that. Say it.”
“I’m a good boy, Daddy,” he whispered, voice thick.
“That’s right. Even when you flinch from it,” I leaned down, lips close to his ear. “That’s what you needed, isn’t it? For me to remind you who you are.”
He nodded into the crook of his arm, shuddering. I traced his spine with my hand, feeling the heat of his skin beneath my fingers. “You’re not in trouble for feeling guilty, baby,” I said. “You’re being punished for not letting me help you carry it. Do you understand the difference?”
“Yes, Daddy,” he said, total surrender in his tone.
“If you forget, I’ll remind you again.” I let my hand drift between his legs, not quite touching, not yet. “If you mess up, you’ll tell me. If you’re scared, you’ll tell me. If you think you don’t belong here, you’ll come kneel at my feet, and I’ll show you exactly where you belong.”
His hips shifted, seeking contact, but I made him wait.
I reached for the hairbrush I'd placed on the side table earlier, heavy ebony, smooth-backed, perfect. Florian tensed when he heard me pick it up, knowing what was coming.
"Color?" I asked, running my free hand soothingly over his heated skin.
"Green, Daddy," he replied without hesitation.
“Good. You'll count for me. Ten strokes. Do you understand, my beautiful boy?”
“Yes, Daddy,” he said. I smiled, proudly. He genuinely was such a good boy.
The first strike of the brush pulled a genuine cry from him, his back arching, fingers scrabbling against the floor. The wood delivered a deeper, more intense sensation than my hand.
"One," he managed after a moment.
By the fifth stroke, tears were tracking down his cheeks, yet his erection remained insistent against my thigh. His hips had begun moving more deliberately now, seeking friction with each impact of the brush.
"Six," he sobbed, his body contradicting his tears as he thrust against me.
As I delivered the seventh stroke, his movements became more desperate, his breathing ragged with soft moans.
"Daddy," he gasped, "please… please, can I… am I allowed to cum?"
I smiled, though he couldn't see it. "Before your spanking is over? No way." I brought the brush down firmly for the eighth stroke. "Two more to go. Control yourself."
He whimpered but nodded, biting his lip. I could feel his effort to still his hips, the trembling in his thighs as he fought against his body's urges.
The final stroke was the hardest, leaving a perfect imprint of the brush across both cheeks. Florian cried out, his entire body tensing, then collapsing in surrender as he counted, "Ten."
I set the brush aside and gathered him into my arms, lifting him onto my lap properly, mindful of his bottom. His face was tear-streaked, eyes red and swollen, yet he looked lighter. I wiped away the wetness with my thumbs, cradling his face.
"You took that so well," I murmured, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "My good boy."
He melted against me, burying his face in the crook of my neck as the last of his tears subsided.
I held him close, one hand stroking gently up and down his spine, the other cradling the back of his head.
His breathing gradually steadied, syncing with mine.
"And for taking your punishment so beautifully, you've earned a reward.
" My hand slid down his chest, across his stomach, to where his erection was still standing hard, aching. "Would you like that?"
The flush returned to his cheeks, but different now, desire rather than shame. "Yes, Daddy. Please."
I wrapped my hand around him, feeling him harden even more within my grip. I knew exactly how to touch him, the pressure and pace that made him feral. His head fell back, exposing the elegant line of his throat as I worked him steadily.
“Look at me,” I commanded, my voice low.
He lifted his head, and our eyes met, the red-rimmed blue of his, the dark of mine.
“You’re mine. If I want to punish you, I will.
If I want to spoil you, I will. You don’t tell me if I should or should not give you things.
I’ll give you whatever I want. Do you understand? ”
“Yes, Daddy,” he answered again, while I kept stroking him. I held his gaze, letting him see every ounce of my satisfaction.
“You did so well for me, baby. This is how you learn where you belong. This is how you get free of all the bullshit people tried to load onto you. You just give it to me, and I’ll take it.” My hand tightened, coaxing another whimper from him.
He shivered, sinking deeper against my chest, and I could feel the rapid thrum of his heart reverberating through my own body. His cock was slick and hot in my grip, his hips moving unconsciously, seeking every friction I offered.
“Come for me, then. Show me you understand.”
There was no hesitation, just a frantic nod, a few more strokes, and then the exquisite unraveling as he reached for his climax.
I watched every twitch, every micro-expression, the way he surrendered to it with total abandon, a pulse of pleasure.
He cried out, his body tensing hard against my lap before release overtook him.
I held him through every second of it, smoothing my palm over his hair while he rode out the aftershocks. He trembled, skin sticky and flushed, face buried in my neck. I felt his shuddering breaths.
“There you go, gorgeous boy,” I whispered, rocking him gently. “I’ve got you. You don’t have to do anything except let yourself breathe.” My hand stilled, and I reached for a soft cloth from the side table, cleaning him off. He then nestled even closer.
I could sense his mind settling into the kind of exhaustion that only followed absolute surrender. I stroked his back, letting my own pulse return to normal.
Eventually he stirred, blinking blearily up at me, and I thumbed a tear from his cheek. “You okay, sweetheart?”
Florian nodded, voice hoarse. “Yeah. I… I feel weirdly good. Like, empty and full at the same time.”
“Exactly how you should feel,” I said, smiling. “Proud of you, baby.”
As he collapsed against me, spent and pliant, I felt the familiar surge of protectiveness and possession. This beautiful, complicated boy who carried too much on his slim shoulders, he was mine to guide, mine to correct, mine to cherish.