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Mike piped in, “And the second one is a masquerade. We could fill the club with people wearing beautiful masks, adding an aura of mystery and elegance. The tagline could be something about unmasking fun.”
Nick rubbed his chin, mulling over our ideas.
Finally, Nick spoke, “I like both of these ideas, but I think the masquerade one would be best for the club. I will discuss this with my Little, Jenna, and finalize it. Mike, Lina, you two will coordinate with Jenna on this.”
Mike looked at me, a mischievous glint in his eyes. He leaned in to whisper, loud enough for everyone to hear. “I’m not getting paid for this, you know. I'm going to need toys and ice cream from you for all my help.”
As we left the office, I felt a sense of accomplishment. This had been a productive day.
Hank then led the way, his broad back like a guiding beacon as we ambled towards the diner next door, the neon sign glowing in the evening dimness. Uncle Joe held Mike close to his chest, his binky bobbing with each step they took. I couldn’t help but steal glances at Hank, my heart fluttering at his stern yet gentle demeanor. At one point, I caught myself staring at his bulge from the corner of my eye.
Once inside the diner, we sank into the plush booths. A shared glance between Mike and me and we knew what to order – triple cheeseburgers, our shared guilty pleasure.
As we waited for the waiter to approach us, the conversation took an interesting turn. Joe began to explain his unique approach to discipline.
“It’s all about balance, understanding, and of course, love,” Uncle Joe explained. “Discipline is necessary, but it’s equally important that Mike knows it’s not about control, but about guidance.”
Mike blushed at the mention, his fingers twisting around his binky. He shot a playful glance at his Daddy, then turned to me, a dramatic sigh escaping his lips.
“Can you believe this, Lina?” Mike started. “Ever since the other Littles at the club started to look up to me, I hardly get punished anymore. I’m practically the epitome of a good Little now!”
Uncle Joe scoffed at this. “Oh, is that so?” he asked, a smirk dancing on his lips. “Do you want me to tell them? I seem to remember a certain someone being very naughty just last night…”
Mike’s blush deepened, his eyes widening in surprise. “Oh, we don’t need to go into that right now, Daddy.”
I couldn't help but giggle, covering my mouth with my hands.
Hank cleared his throat, and suddenly, the air felt charged with his authority. His gaze was intense, yet kind.
“In my book,” he began, a weight to his words, “discipline is not a means to punish, but a tool to guide, to nurture. It’s a sort of tough love, you see. The rules, the structure, they provide comfort, security. Without them, a Little can feel lost, out of control.”
There was something about the way he said it – the confidence, the stern demeanor – that made my heart flutter. I found myself thinking about Hank, imagining scenarios where I'd deliberately act out, prompting that stern look, that strict hand. Each fantasy left me with a growing sense of anticipation, and a growing wetness between the legs. I rubbed my legs together to keep myself from getting aroused.
Lost in my thoughts, I didn't notice Mike’s curious gaze. He leaned closer, his voice barely above a whisper, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “Are you daydreaming about Hank, Lina?”
The question caught me off guard, making my cheeks flush. “What? No!” I quickly responded, a tad too loud, a tad too defensive. His teasing laughter echoed in my ears.
Trying to distract myself, I turned my attention to the menu. Mike followed suit, our heads bent over the laminated pages as we pondered our options.
Hank's voice cut through our concentration, a hint of amusement in his tone. "Are you writing a thesis on that menu, or what?"
I shot Hank a cold look before grinning at Mike. We made our decision, ordering the same loaded cheeseburger with ridiculous amounts of extra toppings.
“And make sure you add extra-extra cheese,” Mike told the waiter, emphasizing each 'extra'. “And don’t forget the extra pickles!”
As the waiter walked away, Mike began to whistle. His signature tune, bright and cheery, slipped between his lips in a familiar rhythm. I recognized it instantly, the harbinger of his playful mischief.
Joe's eyes narrowed at the familiar tune. He shot Mike a stern look, his warning explicit. “Mike, you better not be planning any shenanigans. This isn't the club, and I won't hesitate to discipline you right here if you act out.”
Mike tilted his head, blinking his large, innocent eyes up at Joe. “But Daddy, haven't I been good?” His voice was as sweet as syrup, a stark contrast to the twinkling mischief in his eyes.
Watching them, I couldn't help but grin. Joe's gruff exterior melted under Mike’s innocent charm, making his stern reprimand fall flat.
Mike turned to me, a conspiratorial glint in his eyes. “We need to entertain ourselves till the food gets here,” he whispered, leaning closer. I watched him curiously as he outlined a plan, his words too quiet for anyone else to hear.
A wicked smile spread across my face as I gave a subtle nod. Suddenly, I could feel the weight of a gaze on me. Hank. He watched us, his eyes sparkling with unspoken disapproval. "Lina," he began, his voice low and cautionary. "Don't let Mike's mischief lead you astray. He's known for pushing boundaries, but you have to remember your place."
I blinked at him, surprised by his unsolicited advice.
