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With a flick of my wrist I slap the belt against his left ass cheek, starting with a soft blow, and he calls out, “One.” Probably loud enough for anyone standing close enough to the door to hear.
I spank him again, the belt slapping against the same spot and leaving a red mark behind, and he shouts out, “Two.”
He's a blubbering mess by the time we reach eight, his eyes watering and body trembling. When he reaches nine, his skin is flushed on both cheeks and he’s rubbing his sweaty face against the glass.
“Are you watching, baby? Look at how Daddy's belt comes down on that pretty skin of yours.”
The belt cracks against the back of his left thigh and he chokes out a sob. “Ten,” he finally says, sounding like he has something stuck in his throat.
“You did so good.” Leaning over, I kiss his shoulder and then his neck. “Look how pretty you are, all pink and out of breath. You ready for your reward now?”
“Please.”
“Since you're not fully out of the red, you don't get to come today.”
More sobs spill from him and he whimpers when I slip a finger in his sloppy, wet hole. Him staying lubed all day makes it easy for me to touch him whenever he needs to be settled. In his chair during work meetings, while we're having breakfast at home or in one of the break rooms, in the car on our drives to track down a mark, and in the bathroom when he needed to swallow drugs for his last smuggling job.
“Do you need to use your safe word?”
“No. I'm green. Please help me feel full, Daddy.”
He doesn't have to tell me twice. Taking out my cock from my pants, I press the tip to his hole and bury myself inside his welcoming warmth. His walls squeeze around me the deeper I sink in, and I'm in fucking heaven. His breaths are uneven, fogging up the glass, and I watch the way he takes my cock so well, his cheeks bouncing every time I slam into him.
“You're doing so good taking all of me. I couldn't ask for a more perfect boy. Such a slut for me. My little cum slut. Next time, I'll keep my cum plugged inside you for an hour. Then I'll watch it drip out and fuck it back inside you.”
My own words set my skin on fire and I'm coming with my next two thrusts, grinding my hips as I fill him with my cum. He's slack against the mirror, his whole body matching the red marks I left behind with the belt. His eyes are half closed and it's like he drifted off onto a cloud somewhere.
“Still with me, baby?”
“Mhm,” he says, sounding drunk, and his eyes shut all the way, his body swaying to one side. I wrap my arms around him, kissing him everywhere my lips can reach until he's coming to. His eyes blink slowly, appearing groggy and red rimmed. “What happened? Did I doze off?”
“For a very short while. I think you went into subspace. Are you feeling okay?”
“Yeah. Really okay.” He smiles lazily. I pull out of him and help him clean up before sliding his pants back on. I keep him sitting on the counter, my arms around him, until he's lucid enough to stand on his own two feet. He leans against the counter while I fix my own clothes and slide my belt back in the loops of my jeans.
“Is it enchilada night again?” he says between yawns, leaning his head on my shoulder as we walk out of the bathroom.
“Yup.”
“If I eat all my food and clean up my mess can I come before bed?”
“We'll have to see.” I hold him close to me, my arm staying wrapped around him until we're back at the car. Lowering himself into the passenger seat, he reaches for his seat belt and I help him buckle in before closing the door. The sun has already set when we reach the house, and he's able to walk himself inside, beating me to the door.
“Glen and Rita,” he randomly says as I'm following him into the house.
“Huh?” I close the door, turning all the locks until they click.
“Our neighbors’ real names. They're closer to your age than mine and are both teachers. No children.”
“I see. Don't tell me you've already invited them for dinner before consulting with me.”
“I wasn't aware I had to ask permission to ask friends over for dinner,” he says, stripping out of his clothes, something he's been doing the last week as soon as we get home.
“Baby, they aren't your friends.”
“Yet,” he says pointedly. “We'll know for sure after Sunday night.”
“This Sunday?”
