5. Luke #2
Midway through my shift at the store, the morning rush has finally died down. Mrs. Peplinska asked me to tidy up the cereal aisle in the stockroom—rotating stock, facing the boxes neatly, making sure the new shipments of organic granola and kids’ sugary loops are properly displayed.
It’s mindless work, exactly what I need right now.
My butt is still deliciously sore from Mason’s firm hand in his truck, a warm, stinging reminder with every step I take.
I’m humming an upbeat little pop tune under my breath as I lift a heavy box of cornflakes onto the middle shelf, wiggling my hips just a tiny bit to the melody. The sting flares hotter when I move, but instead of annoying me, it sends little sparks of heat straight between my legs.
Every time I shift my weight, I feel the ghost of Mason’s big palm coming down—smack, smack, smack—and the way he held me so securely over his lap. I bite my lip and keep humming, cheeks warm.
The stockroom door creaks open behind me.
I turn, expecting Mrs. Peplinska with another instruction…
OMG. It’s Mason.
He fills the doorway, still in his post-gym clothes, looking even bigger and more commanding in the dim overhead lighting of the stockroom. My heart does a happy little flip. A bright smile spreads across my face before I can stop it.
“What are you doing here?” I whisper, half-laughing, half-shocked. “I’m working!”
Mason doesn’t answer right away. He carefully pushes the door shut behind him, the soft click of the latch sounding impossibly loud in the quiet room.
Then he walks toward me with slow, deliberate steps, one big hand tucked in his pocket.
When he pulls it out, I see a stick of cooling cream, a white tube with a green label, the kind athletes use after hard sessions.
My mouth goes dry. My sore bottom clenches involuntarily.
“Mason…” I start, voice breathy.
“Drop your jeans and briefs, little one,” Mason says, low and matter-of-fact, like he’s telling me to adjust my grip on the barbell. “You’ve got a long shift ahead. I’m not letting you walk around all day with that pert little ass burning because of your attitude earlier.”
I glance at the door, heart racing. “But Mrs. Peplinska…”
“She’s up front. The door’s locked. We’ll be quick.” His tone leaves zero room for argument. That same stern Daddy voice from the truck. The one that makes my knees weak and my cock ache.
I hesitate for half a second, then my hands move on their own. I pop the button on my jeans, push them down over my hips along with my soft pastel pink briefs, and bend slightly forward over a stack of boxes, offering him my still-red bottom.
The cool air of the stockroom kisses my heated skin and I shiver.
Mason steps close. Really close. I can feel the warmth of his big body behind me. He squeezes a generous amount of the cooling cream onto his palm, then gently, almost reverently, starts rubbing it into my tender cheeks.
The sensation is immediate and overwhelming.
“Ahh…” A soft, involuntary moan slips from my lips as the mentholated cream sinks in, turning the burn into a delicious icy-hot tingle.
Mason’s rough palm glides over my ass in slow, thorough circles, spreading the cream everywhere his hand landed earlier.
Every stroke soothes and reignites at the same time.
My nipples tighten into hard peaks, and fresh hardness gathers as my cock grows faster than fast. I push back into his touch without thinking, chasing more.
“Easy,” Mason murmurs, voice warm with amusement and something darker. “Just taking care of my boy.”
My boy.
The words hit harder than any spank. I moan again, softer this time, as he works the cream into the underside of my cheeks, his fingers brushing dangerously close to where I’m aching for him.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, forehead resting against a cereal box. “For being so silly and bratty at the gym. I shouldn’t have doubted you.”
“It’s okay, Luke,” Mason says gently, still massaging. “You’re learning. And you took your spanking like a good little sass-pot. I’m proud of you.”
Mason’s praise melts me. I whimper, pressing my thighs together to ease the throbbing between them.
Mason finishes with one last slow pass over both cheeks, then carefully pulls my briefs back up, followed by my jeans. He even zips and buttons them for me like I’m a precious little doll.
When Mason turns me around to face him, his eyes are dark with heat but his touch is tender as he cups my cheek.
“Better?” Mason asks.
I nod, still flushed and shaky. “Much better. Thank you… Daddy.”
My words make his jaw flex. For a second I think he might kiss me, but he just presses a firm kiss to my forehead instead.
“Back to work. Be good. Text me later.” Mason heads for the rear delivery door, giving me one last heated look over his shoulder before slipping out.
I wait until I hear his truck rumble away, then sag against the shelves, breathing hard. My bottom feels perfectly soothed, but the rest of me is on fire. The cream, his hands, his voice, the word my boy—it’s all too much.
I glance at the door, listen for any sound from the front of the store, then quickly unbutton my jeans again.
My hand dives straight into my briefs. I’m rock hard, my cock swollen and desperate.
I jerk it fast and hard, my fist pumping and wanking like there is no tomorrow as I replay what just went down: Mason’s stern commands, the sharp smacks in his truck, his big warm hand rubbing cream into my bare ass just minutes ago.
“Oh god… Mason…” I whisper, hips rocking into my own touch. It only takes a minute, maybe less.
The orgasm crashes over me hard and fast, powerful waves making my legs shake and my free hand grip the shelf for support.
I bite my lip to stay quiet, but a tiny squeak still escapes as pleasure explodes through me. My cock spurts and twitches rhythmically, hot cum coating my fingers while I ride it out.
When it finally fades, I’m breathless, glowing, and a little dazed.
“Damn, clean up on aisle… I mean stockroom,” I say, my breathing still hard as I allow myself a little giggle at how naughty I’ve been.
I clean up quickly with a tissue from my pocket, fix my clothes, and lean against the wall for a moment, smiling like an idiot.
Mason is dangerous. In the best possible way.
I finish facing the cereal boxes with a silly little bounce in my step, humming even louder than before.
My butt feels great. My mind is full of my gruff Daddy.
And if this is how Mason takes care of me after a spanking… I might just have to be a little bit bratty again… or maybe even a lot bratty.