Chapter 38. Knox
I scrolled through my digital calendar while sipping my morning espresso. Across the breakfast table, Florian hunched over a bowl of granola and yogurt, still half-asleep in my silk pajamas that hung loose. Morning light caught in his blond hair, creating a halo effect that made him look angelic.
My finger paused mid-swipe as I noticed something.
"Well, I forgot about this," I said, setting my espresso cup down with a soft clink against the saucer.
Florian looked up, blinking like an owl. A drop of milk clung to his lower lip. "Hmm?"
"My birthday," I said, turning the tablet toward him. "The twenty-second."
He squinted at the screen, his mind visibly working to process this information through the fog of sleep. "Oh, that's cool, Daddy." Then his eyes widened slightly as the implication registered. "Wait, that's like... next week."
I smiled, enjoying his slow awakening. "Yes, it is. I typically don't make much of my birthday, but this year feels different." I reached across the table to wipe away the milk with my thumb, which made his cheeks flush. "I'd like to celebrate."
Florian straightened, sleep falling away as interest sparked in his eyes. "Really? You want to do something for your birthday?"
"I do." I stood, moving to the coffee maker to refresh my cup, giving him a moment to fully wake up. "I'm thinking I'd like to visit the Knox Vineyard with some of my closest friends." I turned, leaning against the counter, watching his face carefully.
"The vineyard?" Florian perked up, his spoon suspended halfway to his mouth. "The one you own? In Napa?"
"The same," I confirmed. "It's beautiful this time of year."
His eyes shone with excitement, then clouded almost imperceptibly. I knew that shift, the moment, his persistent self-doubt arising.
"Your friends will be there?" he asked, his voice smaller now, fingers fidgeting with the sleeve of my pajamas that drooped past his wrist.
I nodded, watching him closely. "Just a few. People I've known for years. They're looking forward to meeting you."
The shadow across his face deepened. "They know about me? About... us?"
"They do," I said gently. "These aren't business associates, Florian. These are people I trust. People who care about my happiness. My friends. Of course, I told them."
He pushed his granola around the bowl, no longer eating. "What do they think? About the age difference? About you dating someone… like me?"
I sighed, recognizing the old demon resurfacing. "They think I'm happier than they've seen me in decades. Which is true." I reached across the table, covering his restless hand with mine. "They're not the judging type, little one. If they were, they wouldn't be my friends."
"What should I wear?" he asked, his voice tight with anxiety. "I don't have anything fancy enough for a vineyard party with billionaires."
"We'll get you whatever makes you comfortable," I assured him, but I could see the worry had taken root. His body had tensed entirely.
I stood, circling the table to stand behind his chair. I placed my hands on his shoulders, feeling the knots of tension beneath the silk. Slowly, I began to massage him, my thumbs pressing into the tight muscles at the base of his neck.
"These are just people, Florian. Wealthy ones, yes, but still just people. And they're important to me, which means they'll make an effort for you."
He leaned back into my touch, a small surrender. "What if they think I'm just after your money? What if they think I'm not smart enough or sophisticated enough?"
"Then they'd be fools," I said firmly, my fingers continuing their gentle work. "And I don't befriend fools. Besides, Lucas is bringing his partner who's only twenty-four. And Sophia is thirty. You won't be as young there."
I felt some of the tension release under my hands. "Really?"
"Really," I confirmed, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of his head. "You'll find you have more in common with them than you think. They've seen me at my worst. They'll probably ask you for tips on how you managed to soften me up."
That earned me a small laugh. I moved my hands to his temples, massaging in gentle circles.
"Trust me in this," I said quietly. "Let me show you off a little."
He tilted his head back to look up at me, his blue eyes vulnerable. "Okay," he whispered. "But I still want a new outfit. Maybe a collar so you can show me off as your puppy," he added, cheeky, and I knew I had won him.
I smiled, bending to kiss him properly, tasting milk and honey on his lips.
“Now come here,” I said, sitting on a chair and tapping my thighs. “Over my knees.”
His face flushed, his eyes going wide with realization, his lips parting a little with the clear desire growing in his body.
“Why, Daddy?” he asked, batting his lashes so innocently.
“You know the rules. You aren't allowed to doubt you deserve this or to think less of yourself. Have you been doing your mirror affirmations?”
He looked at me with guilty little eyes.
“I-I forgot, Daddy,” he said. “I mean, I kept it up for a few days, but then… You know how many times I check myself in the mirror?”
“Mmm,” I hummed, still slowly tapping my thighs as he approached with careful steps. “So you didn't forget, you just chose to disobey and now lie about it, is that so?”
“Daddy! It's not like that!” he looked at me, mortified. “I… I just was a little lazy, that's all.”
“Kneel here in front of me,” I ordered. He did so, easily, without hesitation. That precious little thing undid me every time. “Do you still remember your affirmations?”
“Yes, Daddy,” he confessed.
“So, go on.”
"I deserve money, love, safety, and happiness…" he whispered. He was such a good boy for actually remembering it. "I will trust Daddy to provide and guide me, and I don't need to carry the world on my shoulders."
“Good boy. See how smart you are?” I said, pleased, and put my hand on the top of his head, massaging his scalp a little. He leaned into my touch, softly moaning. “Now, over my knees, chop-chop.”
He looked up at me with those glorious blue eyes. “Do I really need to, Daddy?”
“Yes, you little brat, you deserve this spanking, and you know it. Come,” I said, catching him by the wrist and helping guide him over my knees.
He draped himself over my lap, settling in with a resigned, melodramatic sigh.
I adjusted his hips, guiding his body to just the right angle, his upper body supported by the broad surface of my thigh.
His silk pajamas rode up and bunched at his waist, exposing the smooth, pale skin of his lower back and the gentle curve of his ass.
I rested my palm there, feeling the shiver that rippled through him. He tensed, ready, expectant. The anticipation was half the lesson.
"You know, good boys remember to practice their affirmations," I said, letting my hand wander over his skin in slow, lazy circles. "Instead, you get caught up doubting and worrying, even after all our practice. That’s not what my clever boy is supposed to do, is it?"
He whimpered, just the faintest sound, and I felt his hips flex involuntarily.
"I'm sorry, Daddy," he whispered. "I'll do better."
"I know you will," I told him, and then without further warning, I brought my hand down, hard and flat, a sharp crack.
He jerked; his breath hitched up into a little gasp.
I didn't bother with counting. I spanked him again, and again, each stroke stinging.
His flesh warmed and pinked under my hand, the color blossoming beautifully.
With each impact, his little noises grew, cresting from a whimper to a sob, then dissolving into soft, desperate moans.
He tried to hide his face, but I caught the glint of tears at the corners of his eyes.
"That's my good boy," I murmured, rubbing the heat into his skin, relishing the way he arched into my palm. "You take your punishments so beautifully."
He sobbed, but I knew him, he was already half gone, flying on the release, the pain braided with pleasure. I cupped his cheek, squeezing gently, watching as he pressed his hips down onto my thigh, grinding in a way he must have thought I wouldn't notice.
I kept spanking him until his skin was flushed to a perfect, even rose and his breath was coming in wet, shuddering pants. I knew the edge of his tolerance, and I let him walk right up to it. He writhed in my lap, his arms clutching at the leg of the chair, his toes curling under him.
"You are such a desperate little thing," I said. "You crave this, don't you?"
He nodded, face flushed and wet, his breathing ragged. "Yes, Daddy," he confessed. "God, I love it. Please…"
"Shh," I interrupted, making my strokes lighter now, more teasing than punishing. "You don't get to ask for anything yet. You're still earning it." I trailed my fingers along the crease where thigh met buttock, admiring the color, the shiver that ran up his spine at the touch.
He was hard, I could feel it pressed against my lap. He rocked slow and helpless, chasing sensation.
I gripped his hair, pulling his upper body up so his back arched, his face exposed to me. He looked ruined, beautiful, the tears bright on his cheeks.
"I think that's enough," I said, releasing him. "Stand up."
He obeyed, a little unsteady, his cock hard, the redness of his ass on full display as he stood facing me. He wiped his eyes, still breathing hard.
"Look at you," I said. "So needy you can't even wait for my permission. Is that how my sweet boy wants to behave? So eager and desperate for me?"
He shivered, but all he did was nod.
“Well, you don't get to cum today. Only good boys get to cum, and I don't think you've earned that, did you?”
“But Daddy!” he protested, shocked with the realization of his punishment.
He pouted at me, bottom lip quivering, a performance for the ages.
I wanted to laugh, but this was a lesson, and I intended to see it through.
He stood in front of me, hands nervously rubbing the red warmth at his hips, waiting for any sign that I might change my mind.
I reached for him, pulling him into my lap. He collapsed into my arms, boneless with relief, but still rigid with need. I buried my face in his neck, inhaling the sweet scent of his shampoo, and let my hands wander down, soothing his butt with gentle strokes and small circles.
"You'll wait," I whispered. "And if you touch yourself, even a single time before I decide you can, you'll get the cane."
He whimpered at the threat, half fear, half arousal. He loved to hate the cane. I could feel the shudder pass through him.
I shifted him so that his legs draped over mine.
My hand wandered down his chest, exposing his collarbones and the clavicle I knew he secretly loved to show off.
I left featherlight kisses there, and he arched his neck for more.
I let my hand drift lower, cupping his cock.
He gasped, hips jerking up into my palm.
But I didn't give him what he wanted. I just held him still. "You don't make the rules," I reminded him. "You don't decide when."
He clawed at my chest weakly, a silent plea for more, and I relented.
Barely. I flattened my palm against him, feeling the damp patch under my hand, and pressed just hard enough to make him writhe for me.
I watched his face, the way his mouth fell open in surprise with every small, calculated movement I made.
"Remember this feeling," I said, my voice strict but soft. "Remember every second of it, because the next time you doubt yourself, the next time you choose not to trust me, this is what you'll be denied."
He nodded, moaning, the sound thick and sweet.
"Good boy," I praised. I drew my hand away, leaving him breathless and trembling. “Now, come sit on the table. I'll fetch a notebook and a pen, and you'll write your affirmations down, twenty times each.”
“Lines, Daddy?!” he exclaimed, now shocked.
I looked at him sternly, arms folded. "Lines, yes. You need to internalize the lesson. It’s an efficient therapeutic tool, and besides," I could not help but let a sly smile break the facade, just for him. "You look so cute when you’re pouting."
He snorted at that but still started the pout right away again.
"And little boy," I added, lowering my voice. "You will do this with your bare bottom on the chair. I want you to feel how warm it is."
If he was about to argue, the words vanished. He sat down carefully and winced a little. I got him the pen and the notebook from my study and he began.
"Go on," I said. "Begin. Make it neat to make me proud."
He made a show of rolling his eyes, but underneath, I saw the eagerness, the thrill of being watched, monitored, controlled. He wanted to be disciplined; he wanted to be seen.
I deserve money, love, safety, and happiness.
He wrote with lips pressed in a determined line. Every few sentences, he would sneak a look at me out of the corner of his eye, and I would deliberately say nothing, simply tap my wristwatch as a reminder to focus.
I let him finish. When at last he capped the pen, I returned to the table, reading the page over his shoulder.
"Beautiful," I murmured, genuinely impressed by his careful attention to detail.
He grinned, a little proud to have pleased me. "Are we done now?"
"Almost. You must say them to me." I tapped the lines with two fingers. "Out loud. While looking me in the eye."
He wriggled on the table but did as he was told. His voice was thin at first but grew stronger with each repetition. By the final round, he was speaking with a quiet conviction.
I cupped his jaw when he finished, tilting his face up to mine. "That's my good boy." I kissed him, slow and deep, until he melted in my grip. "Let’s see if you can remember to practice them from now on," I murmured into his mouth.
"I will," he vowed. "Promise."