Chapter Five
“But you’re okay with Boys having…uh… rewards when we’re Little?” Benji asks, biting his lip and frowning as he starts to walk. We take it slowly as we trudge towards the path leading to the cabins, and I can’t help but find his obvious effort to control himself adorable.
I generally prefer to negotiate kink play prior to my scene partners regressing, but sometimes in club situations —or places like this camp— it can’t be helped.
The camp has already outlined specific rules for engaging in any kind of scenes here, including the standard use of the traffic-light safe word system, and consent is paramount regardless of headspace.
So, because of that, I absolutely appreciate him checking in with me on my own limits, even if the question is clunkier and vaguer given his regressed state.
Offering him a crooked smile, I incline my head.
“I’m perfectly okay with the idea of orgasms —or sex in general— in headspace, yes.
My hard limits are scat play, CNC, and heavy impact or pain play.
I’m more of a soft Daddy Dom.” The first line of cabins comes into view and his Adam’s apple bobs when we start to pass people on the path.
His cheeks are bright red, but his eyes are bright with genuine enjoyment. It’s not hard to put two and two together after his little stunt in front of the group. This Boy is into being embarrassed. Humiliated, even.
“What are your limits?” I ask him.
He shrugs. “About the same. I don’t like hurting or being scared. I also don’t like being tied up.”
I make a mental note of that. “Does that include handcuffs?”
“Yeah. Even if I trust the Daddy, it’s a hard no.”
“Thank you for telling me.”
Benji nods, some of his blond hair flopping into his eyes. He blows it away, where it sticks to the faint sheen of sweat on his forehead. “But I don’t mind blindfolds.”
I make a note of that, too. “Good to know.”
As we get even closer to the cabins, I ask which one he’s in, realizing that it’s easier to go to his cabin where his things are than to bring him to mine. It turns out, he’s only three cabins down the row from my own, and he tugs his key from his pocket with a quiet groan.
“Pants are clingy,” he explains.
“And you’re still close to coming?”
“Uh-huh.” The fingers on his free hand not clutching the key (which I also make a note to wash) twitch towards his crotch.
“Nope,” I tell him, ushering him inside the room that looks almost identical to my own, “I told you; I only let good boys come on my watch.”
His eyes shine with mischief. “That’s a weird flex. Won’t your watch get all sticky?”
It takes all my self-control not to chuckle at his cheek.
As it is, a burst of want flashes through me, adding to the arousal I already feel from our interactions.
The fact that he accidentally stumbled onto one of my biggest kinks while he was bratting was one thing, but his confidence —his unrepentant cheekiness— is also doing things to me.
And he notices.
Even though I don’t smile or laugh, I can tell that he knows I’m enjoying this.
Enjoying him. His eyes widen and sparkle knowingly before he makes a show of glancing down at my crotch.
Now that we’re alone and I’ve had time to really think about what has happened and how much I’ve liked it, my body’s reaction is far more noticeable, even under the long t-shirt.
“Looks like you’re just as excited as me, Counselor Kris.” Benji’s tone is playful and teasing. “Maybe you’ll get all sticky, too?”
“I’ve got better control than that, honey. Unlike some people.” He bites his lip again and looks at the floor, the pink of his cheeks darkening once more. He squirms and his hand jerks towards his crotch again. “Uh-uh,” I reprimand. “I said no, Benjamin.”
“Fuck.”
Benji thrusts his hips minutely, humping at the air, maybe trying to use his sodden pants to get the friction he’s craving, but his movements halt as I step into his personal bubble and plant my hands on his hips.
“No coming,” I reiterate.
“You’re so mean,” he complains.
Chuckling, I shake my head and peer into his eyes. I’m roughly the same height as him, maybe an inch or two taller, so we’re pretty much nose-to-nose. “I doubt you’ve ever been with a Daddy who would reward the kind of behavior from today.”
Because he can’t seem to help himself, or maybe he just doesn’t feel the need to pretend, he rolls his baby blues.
“So? I need to come.” As if to punctuate his point he rolls his hips forward just a tiny bit, just enough for his erection to brush against my own.
His lips quirk wickedly and he leans in a bit harder. “Feels like you do, too.”
I don’t give him the satisfaction of moaning or leaning into the temptation, but it’s a close thing. Even I can hear the strain in my voice when I reply, “You’ve got to earn it, honey.”
Those bright blue eyes of his roll again, before another smile curves his lips. This one almost mocking before his entire countenance seems to change and he bats his lashes at me. “You want me to be a good boy, Daddy?”
I’m momentarily struck speechless by how sweet he looks and sounds, by how much I like the epithet on his lips.
Then he laughs and steps into my space completely, closing off the gap that had separated our bodies.
I can feel the damp of his pants soaking into my own, can feel his cock twitching where it lines up against mine, and my breath catches as he nuzzles my stubbled jaw and whispers into my ear, “I don’t think you do. I think you like naughty boys.”
There’s no way to disguise how much I like that. My cock twitches, even as I fight off the shiver of arousal.
Benji laughs, his breath warm against my cheek. “That’s what I thought.”
I want to give in to temptation. I want to give in so badly that I ache and my body trembles. But I know better. I can’t give in when he’s bratting. I can’t reward this behavior.
Wasn’t it just yesterday when I said I’m not looking to hook up? It feels like forever ago. And that version of me? Yeah, he was an idiot. Because I do want to hook up. I want to hook up badly. Right now.
He steps back again, just far enough so I can watch him cock his head and smirk expectantly. “You gonna come…” he pauses, hanging on the word ‘come’ just a touch too long, “wash me? Get me all cleaned up? Or dirtier first, and then cleaned up?”
The space between us is enough to get myself back under control. I don’t care if he’s discovered my weaknesses so quickly and easily: I will not be giving in to them. Or to him.
“You’re going to wash, yes. But I told you; only good boys get to come.”
There’s a flash of surprise across his features, as though he truly did expect me to break, before delight and a hint of respect seem to come chasing on the heels of his shock. He takes a shaky breath, then nods. “Then I guess I need to be a good boy so we’re allowed to come.”
“That will be a start, Benji,” I agree, before it’s suddenly my turn to step into his personal space, reclaiming authority (even if we both know he’s got all the power here).
I look him up and down, my gaze lingering on the dark, wet patch over his crotch and down the inside of his thighs.
“But I didn’t say I wasn’t going to come even if you’re not allowed. ”
His jaw drops and his blue eyes widen almost comically. I can see him battling with his instinct to push my limits again; to whine or complain about me being unfair. But he wrestles the words back and stays silent, biting his lip while his cheeks go pink again.
He’s so damn pretty.
His Adam’s apple bobs and he nods jerkily. “Okay,” he eventually responds in a tone that tells me he’s not used to bending so quickly. It’s vulnerable and a bit soft. Uncertain, even. Then he licks his lips and asks, “Can you still clean me up?”
“Of course, honey.” The pet-name isn’t a tease this time as it rolls off my tongue, and his blush seems to get darker.
I wonder about this reaction, whether he’s not used to sweet nicknames, or just genuine affection at all, and either way I feel a bit sad for him.
But, instead of acknowledging any of that, I keep going, hoping that maybe being gentle with him might make it easier for him to come down from his bratty spiral.
“Have you unpacked, or are all your clean clothes still in your suitcase?”
“In my suitcase,” he gestures to the purple hardshell case lying on its side at the foot of the bed.
Inside, I find a mess of clothes, all hastily jumbled together.
Picking through them, I grab clean cargo shorts, underwear, and a t-shirt.
I also grab the toiletries bag I found under a pile of rumpled t-shirts and turn around to find him standing exactly as I’d left him.
“Good boy,” I praise, fighting the urge to frown when he seems genuinely unsure how to react to the words. Smiling, I use the toiletries bag to point towards the bathroom. “In we go.”
Inside the tiled room, which barely has enough space for the single-stall shower, toilet, and basin between them, Benji lifts his hands silently when I move to pull his shirt over his head. His breath hitches when my fingers move to the button above his fly, so I check in, “Color?”
He hesitates. “Yellow.”
I stop and pull back, giving him space. Removing my hands from his body. “Want to talk about it?”
His cheeks are bright red now. “I’m really close to coming again. I…the embarrassment…it, um, it gets me going, you know?”
Relieved that he’s not safe wording because I’ve crossed a line, my shoulders sag and I breathe easily again. “Thank you for being honest. For telling me. For respecting my rules.”
Because that’s what he’s doing. He’s telling me so he doesn’t accidentally come without permission. And, fuck, that’s hot, too.
“Would you prefer to take your pants off yourself?” I ask. “Will that make it easier to keep control?”
Benji takes a moment to consider the question, then he nods slowly. “Yeah. I think so.”