7. Luke
Luke
I stand at my apartment window, forehead pressed lightly against the cool glass, watching Mason’s broad shoulders disappear down the quiet street. The streetlights cast long shadows behind him, and my heart does this silly little flutter that refuses to settle.
Just as Mason reaches the corner, he stops. Then turns. And he looks straight up at my window like he knew I’d be watching…
Swoon.
A slow smile spreads across his face. He lifts one big hand and waves.
Double swoon.
I giggle—actually giggle—and blow him a kiss, pressing my fingers to my lips and then pushing it toward him through the glass. Mason catches it dramatically against his chest, then points at me with a stern but playful finger before turning and continuing on his way.
I stay at the window long after he’s gone, arms wrapped around myself, feeling warm and fuzzy all over. It’s like I’ve drunk a whole mug of hot chocolate with extra marshmallows.
These feelings… they’re getting real.
Not just the butterflies from his stern voice or the way he manhandles me so easily. It’s deeper than that…
Hanging out at the Woody Hollow tonight with him, Milo, Taron, Connor, and Kaleb felt so natural. Like we already belonged together. Like we were part of something bigger and warmer than just two people training at the gym and having fun on the side.
I sigh dreamily and finally pull away from the window.
My lips are still tingling from that kiss—passionate, hungry, but somehow still gentle, like he was holding back because he knows once he lets go, neither of us will be able to stop.
In my cozy bedroom, I strip out of my clothes and slip into my favorite soft navy pajamas with little white dogs all over them.
Buster the stuffie is already waiting on the pillow.
I grab him under one arm and head to the kitchen, warming up a mug of milk in the microwave and grabbing two chocolate chip cookies from the jar.
Then I curl up on my rainbow quilted couch, tucking my legs beneath me, and sip the sweet milk while nibbling the cookies.
The apartment is quiet except for the soft hum of the fridge and I let my mind wander into a beautiful daydream…
What if this wasn’t just four weeks?
What if Mason stayed?
What if we did this every week—beers at the Lantern with our friends, him walking me home, goodnight kisses that turn into more?
I imagine waking up next to Mason in his cabin, making coffee together while he grumbles about needing to spot me on the bench…
I picture him in the kitchen making that beef stew he told me about once, me sitting at the table in one of his big flannel shirts, swinging my legs like a Little while he calls me good boy for finishing my vegetables.
My cheeks heat.
I hug Buster tighter and take another sip of milk. It feels scary how fast I’m falling. Mason has a whole life on that oil rig. Long months away. But tonight, watching him wave up at my window… it felt possible. And it felt like maybe he’s thinking about it too.
I finish my bedtime snack, brush my teeth, and crawl under the covers with Buster. Sleep comes easily, wrapped in thoughts of strong arms, stern commands, and the promise of tomorrow’s training turning up a notch or two in more ways than one…
* * *
Morning light filters through my blinds, and I’m up even earlier than usual, buzzing with energy. I want to beat Mason to the gym today. I want to be the one waiting for him with a sassy comment ready…
But of course, when I push through the gym doors twenty minutes before our usual time, he’s already there.
Mason stands near the bench press rack in black shorts and a tight grey tank, loading plates like it’s nothing. He glances over his shoulder and that slow, knowing smile appears, the one that makes my knees weak.
“Early again, little one,” Mason says, voice low and approving. “Good boy.”
The praise hits me straight in the belly. I drop my bag and walk over, trying to play it cool even though my mind is full of images of what Mason might look like naked and how nice his cock would feel inside my mouth…
“Thought I could get one over on you today,” I say. “I guess I’m going to have to sleep here to arrive before you.”
“Never gonna happen,” Mason replies, stepping close enough that I have to tilt my head back to look at him. “Now stretch. We’re going heavier on bench today.”
The session starts strong.
Mason spots me perfectly, hands hovering as I work my way up to slightly heavier weight than yesterday.
The bar feels challenging but doable. I push through four solid sets, even letting out a little grunt on the last reps, and each time he’s right there, encouraging, correcting my form with firm touches to my wrists or shoulders.
“Drive through your heels,” Mason barks. “That’s it. Good boy. One more.”
By the end of bench I’m flushed and proud, muscles humming. We move through some shoulder work, and I’m feeling strong. When we finish the last set, I wipe my face with my towel and look up at him hopefully.
“Can we do some glutes today? Please, Daddy?” I tease. “It’ll help with my leg drive on the bench. I promise I won’t complain about the program, you know I respect it.”
Mason studies me for a long moment, arms crossed over that massive chest. Then a wicked little glint appears in his eyes. “Alright. We can do glutes. But there’s a twist.”
My stomach flips with excitement and nerves. “What kind of twist?”
But Mason doesn’t answer. He just picks up his gym bag, takes my hand, and leads me across the gym toward the private posing rooms at the back—small mirrored studios usually used for bodybuilding prep or yoga. He opens the door, guides me inside, and closes it firmly behind us.
The lock clicks.
And my heart starts racing.
Mason reaches into his bag and pulls out a small, smooth wooden paddle. It’s beautiful—dark walnut, polished, with a sturdy handle. My mouth falls open in a little gasp.
“Oh… you brought that,” I say, my eyes wide like saucers.
“Figured my hand might need a break,” Mason laughs, tapping the paddle against his palm with a soft thwack. “Strip, Luke. Then stand in front of the big mirror. Hands behind your head. I want to see an obedient and naked boy on display for his Master.”
The command sends a rush of heat straight to my core.
I obey, cheeks burning, peeling off my top and shorts until I’m standing naked, fully on show for my strong, decidedly wicked Daddy.
The wall-to-wall mirrors reflect me from every angle—flushed, breathing fast, body on full display.
I feel exposed. Vulnerable. Aroused.
Mason steps behind me, tall and commanding. “Clench your ass cheeks. Hard. Then thrust your hips forward. Hold for three seconds. Then again.”
I start the movement, squeezing my glutes tight and pushing my hips out. It feels silly at first. I catch my own reflection and a giggle bubbles up as my cock bounces and flops around with each thrust.
Mason’s hand comes down fast—crack!—the paddle landing squarely on my right cheek.
“Focus,” Mason growls. “No giggling. This is training.”
The sting blooms hot and sharp. I whimper but obey, clenching and thrusting again. He corrects my form with the paddle, light swats when my hips drop, firmer ones when I lose tension.
Over and over I clench and thrust, the mirror showing every jiggle, every twitch. My ass grows hotter with each measured smack. The burn sinks deep into the muscle, waking up my glutes and hip flexors in a way no regular hip thrust ever has.
By the tenth set my legs are trembling and my ass feels like it’s on fire, bright pink and throbbing.
“Beautiful,” Mason murmurs, running the flat of the paddle over my heated skin. “Look how strong you are. See how well you take it.”
I moan softly, the praise mixing with the pain and turning everything into an impossible heat between my thighs. I’m hard as iron. I seriously don’t think I’ve ever had an erection like this before.
But then again, I’ve never been trained by a Daddy either…
Mason sets the paddle down and grabs the tube of cooling cream from his bag. Then his big, cool-cream-covered hands start massaging my sore cheeks: slow, deep circles that soothe and sting at the same time.
“Ahh…” I whimper, pushing back into his touch. “Daddy…”
His fingers slide lower. One thick digit traces over my tightening balls and then up onto my shaft, finding me hard as ever. Mason circles my shaft and dick head with the cream-slick pad of his finger while the other hand continues massaging my ass.
“That’s my good boy,” Mason whispers against my ear, eyes locked on mine in the mirror. “Cum for me, Luke. Right here. Let me see it.”
Mason grips my cock and moves his hand in slow, deep, and rhythmic movements. It feels good. And I know it’s not going to be long before I obey his command and shoot my sticky stuff everywhere.
The combination of cooling relief on my spanked ass and the firm, perfect pressure on my cock is altogether too much…
“Mmmmmph,” I shatter hard, suddenly crying out as the orgasm crashes through me.
My knees buckle but Mason holds me up, one strong arm around my waist, fingers working me through every pulsing wave until I’m boneless and gasping.
When it finally fades, Mason gently then turns me to face him. His eyes are dark with lust but his touch is tender as he kisses my forehead.
“Super session,” Mason says, his voice rough with desire. “You did so well. I’d like to reward you properly. Dinner at my cabin tonight. I’ll cook.”
I beam up at him, still floating from the orgasm and the praise. “Yes, please! I’d love that.”
Mason cleans up, then helps me dress. After, he pulls me in for a slow, deep kiss that leaves me dizzy. When we finally step out of the private room, my legs feel like jelly and my ass is deliciously sore in the best way.
As we walk out of the gym together, I can’t stop smiling.
Tonight I’m going to Mason’s cabin.
And something tells me this dinner is going to be a whole lot more than just food.