Chapter Four: Oscar

W hat can I say? I'm a sucker for a sweet Boy in need of assistance. I spring into action the second Ryan's plaintive plea reaches my ears, opening the door to find him standing in the middle of the small bathroom, naked and wide-eyed.

If you were to look up the definition of ‘temptation' in my dictionary, this tableau would be pictured there.

Now, I know he's not a Boy, but I slip into Daddy-mode without a second's thought. Crossing the threshold, I stoop to pick up the boxer shorts I'm lending him for the night, then I kneel in front of him holding the waistband stretched open in invitation.

"Step in, honey," I instruct him, "one leg at a time."

A blush travels up his chest and neck and onto his face, but he does as I've asked. Then he stands still as I pull the shorts up his hairy legs, running my index fingers inside the elastic waistband once I have the shorts settled comfortably on his hips. I'm proud of myself for keeping my eyes on his the entire time, watching for discomfort, rather than allowing myself to be drawn to the delicious cock which is slowly filling and tenting the thin cotton now concealing it.

I push to my feet and smile at him. "Good boy," I praise and when he ducks his chin and his cheeks turn a deeper shade of pink, my stomach flips pleasantly. "Shirt now, okay?"

He nods and bites his lip. "Nuh-uh," I reach out and, using my thumb, gently pry the abused flesh from between his teeth. "We use our words, darlin'."

Adam's apple bobbing, Ryan hesitantly replies, "Yes…Daddy."

Holy shit, I should have braced for impact .

Nothing could have prepared me for the way it feels to hear him cautiously testing the title out in his cute-as-fuck Australian accent. Then I remind myself how new this is for him. "You don't have to call me Daddy, darlin'. Not if it makes you uncomfortable, okay? We haven't talked about limits here, and all I wanna do is help you right now. No playing. No scenes. Nothin' like that."

His expression falls, which surprises the hell out of me.

"What's wrong?" I ask, wondering what I might have said to upset him. "I can't make it better if you don't talk to me, honey."

Ryan's tongue darts out to moisten his lips, pink and distracting. "What if…what if I want to play? What if," he clears his throat and meets my gaze, "what if I need it?"

Breath catching in my throat, my voice comes out rough when I prod, "What do you need, Ryan?"

"Discipline, Daddy," this time when he says the title, it's with more confidence, but then he hesitantly adds, "please?"

I search his blue-grey eyes for any sign that he's pushing himself past his limits. I wouldn't be surprised if he was: after the experience he had earlier tonight, regaining control would be important to any Sub. But there's nothing in his expression throwing red flags. He's calm, not manic. Any hesitance can be attributed to the newness of the Daddy kink, rather than fear. And that blush –that beautiful, tempting pink flush over his skin— doesn't seem to be caused by shame or anything negative.

It's not difficult to make my decision.

"What kind of discipline, darlin'?"

Relief seems to wash over him. I watch as his shoulders sag and a sheen of tears glosses his eyes before he blinks the moisture away. "Spanking, please. Or a paddle if you have one." He swallows again. "No set count. I…it's not unusual for me to hit subspace with a bit of impact play."

I nod slowly, processing the information. "Thank you for letting me know." Tilting my head, I smile softly, "Do you come when you're spanked?"

I've been with Boys who do and boys who don't, but knowing ahead of time allows me to accommodate the sexual enjoyment into the discipline. For example, if a Boy has been bratty, I might incorporate some orgasm denial as the real punishment.

Ryan bobs his head, his throat working before he answers verbally. "Most of the time, yeah. Usually just before I hit subspace, or as part of it."

"Can you reach subspace without coming?"

"I—" the question seems to stump him for a moment, and he cocks his head in contemplation, his eyes getting a faraway look about them "—don't know. I don't think so."

"That's fine," I assure him, reaching up to cup his jaw, mesmerised by his silver goatee, so neatly trimmed. I stroke his bare cheek with my thumb, feeling the scratch of a day's stubble. "I'm just making sure I do right by you, darlin'." He leans into my touch and closes his eyes, reminding me of an oversized housecat. "Do you have any limits?"

"No degradation or humiliation," Ryan tells me firmly. "And…and I can't kneel or rest on my knees for very long." He hangs his head, adding, "I'm old and it hurts, and not in a fun way."

The embarrassment and sadness in his voice is painful to hear. "Hey now," I try to sound warm and placating while simultaneously wanting to go and put the fear of God into anyone who has shamed him for things out of his control, "you're perfect, Ryan. Besides, people of all ages have physical limitations. It doesn't make playing with you any less enjoyable. In fact," I smirk, "I like gettin' creative."

He lifts his gaze and smiles tentatively back at me, then abuses his poor lip with his teeth again. "What about you? What are your limits?"

"Lying," I answer easily. "You have to be honest with me the whole time. Even if it means pausing to talk things through. If you lie about how you're feeling, I'll know, and I will call red." I try not to think too hard about the man I moved halfway around the world to be with, only to discover his lies. I highly doubt Ryan would be capable of that level of deception…not that whatever is happening between us will go further than tonight, anyway. Clearing my throat, I gently ask, "Will you be honest with me, darlin'?"

Ryan nods. "Yes, Sir." He shakes his head. "Sorry. Yes, Daddy."

He remembered that I don't like to be called ‘Sir'.

The effort he's making to accommodate me warms me from the inside, even though I didn't remind him that titles like ‘Sir' and ‘Master' are a limit for me. I chose not to do so deliberately, because ‘Daddy' is so different for him. If we were planning to make whatever this is between us an ongoing thing, I would have said something. But for one night, ‘Sir' would have been fine. I just want him to be comfortable.

Nevertheless, I've already told him that if he doesn't want to use the D word, he doesn't have to. I'm not repeating myself. Instead, I smile and lean forward, pressing a soft, chaste kiss to his lips. "Good boy."

He trembles with anticipation, and I pull back from his personal bubble, picking up the t-shirt from the bathroom countertop. Arching an eyebrow at him, I hold it up. "Shirt on or off?"

"Off," he says after only a short moment of consideration.

"Good boy," I reiterate, loving the way the praise makes him shiver. Taking his hand, I lead him back out into the main room, where my gaze swings between the bed, the couch, and the window overlooking the city.

"Would you prefer to be spanked lying down over my lap, or standing up, braced against the window?" I ask him. "Would lying down be better for your joints?"

His chest seems to rise and fall faster as he looks between the bed and the window, once again biting his lower lip. "I love the idea of the window," he admits, "being on show for the city, y'know? But—" he looks back at the bed "— lying down means more connection to you, and if I hit subspace and crash…"

"Bed it is, honey." I cross the short distance from the bathroom door to the king-sized bed, then drop my jeans and tug my shirt over my head, leaving me in my tight, red boxer briefs and nothing else. I wait patiently as Ryan's eyes widen, taking in the ink that litters my skin.

Most were impulse decisions made during my rebellious youth to rattle my conservative parents. Every time my dad would make a comment about me looking more like a ‘thug' than a cowboy, I'd reward myself with a new tattoo. The collection of black and grey artwork is eclectic, scattered over my arms, hands, torso, legs, and even on my neck. Cherubs, eagles, Latin text, scorpions, chains, and even a rose can be found illustrated on my skin in permanent, crisp dark ink. There's more on my back, which Ryan gasps at when I turn to pull down the covers, and I wonder whether he feels the same way my pops does.

Ryan's got his own ink, of course. A beautiful, brightly coloured, red Japanese flower set against intricately shaded finger waves in black and grey sits on his right forearm, wrapping around the limb as naturally as you please. But that's it. So it's likely that his piece means something to him, but he's kept the rest of his body free of ink for a reason. Unlike me, treating my flesh like an open canvas, decorating it whenever the whim strikes.

"Your tattoos…" he breathes when I turn around again to face him. His expression isn't critical, though. It's awed. "Wow." He reaches out tentatively to run the pad of his index finger over the thin, intricate lines of the tattoo on my left pec. A weeping angel, hugging her knees to her chest in grief, her long hair obscuring her face, but her wing extended behind her. The gentle touch of his skin on mine feels electric. "These are beautiful."

"Thank you," I acknowledge, not wanting to go into the story behind the myriad tattoos.

Picking up on the message, Ryan pulls his hand back and I immediately miss his touch. But I promised him a spanking, and I always deliver on my promises.

Positioning myself against the headboard, I sit in the middle of the mattress, then gesture for Ryan to join me. "Boxers on or off?" I ask him as he kneels beside my thighs, and he swallows roughly.

"Off."

"Good boy."

He blushes prettily but pushes the cotton down, revealing his hardening cock and a manicured thatch of silvery pubic hair. My mouth waters, but I remind myself yet again that I made this sweet Boy a promise.

"Over my lap," I instruct him, then shuffle sideways until his belly is resting against my left thigh, his hands curled under my right. I place pillows under his knees for a bit more leverage and support, given that he's lying down rather than kneeling. It's not the most usual position for this sort of thing, but it's going to work just fine.

Stroking my hand down the line of his spine, I rest my palm on his bare ass cheek, perfectly rounded and just a bit furry. In another life, and under different circumstances, I would have loved the opportunity to bite into that tempting flesh. Sadly, we only have tonight.

"You comfortable?" I ask him. "Knees okay like this? Not straining your back?"

"I'm good," he says, nodding. He sounds genuinely grateful when he adds, "Thank you, Daddy."

"Good boy," I reward him, watching goosebumps break out over his skin. "Now, what's the safe-word?"

"Red to stop," he tells me dutifully.

"That's right." I wait a beat. "Can you tell me what this discipline is for? You don't have to."

People have many reasons for craving a spanking, many of which include trying to absolve themselves of whatever mistakes they think they've made recently or in times gone by. Others just chase the high of subspace, taken there by giving over control and relishing the pain. And some just find relaxation in giving in to the pain and submission to someone else.

Because I want to know Ryan, even if only for tonight, I want to understand where he's coming from. I want to know whether he fits one of these categories or some mixture of all of them. I want to be able to help him as best I can.

"I…I get antsy," he confesses into the quiet of my hotel room. It's dark, but with the lights from the brightly lit city sprawling outside spilling in from the window, I can see him just fine. He's turned his head to peer up at me while he answers, and the glittering lights from outside the window make his eyes shine. "Regular spankings or paddlings settle me. I don't know why. I get all worked up about…well, life stuff, y'know? All the stupid things I've said or done build up and eat at me, and spanking helps me deal with that."

With the way he seems to subconsciously lean into my touch, I have to wonder how much of his self-administered therapy comes from the spankings and how much comes from the aftercare.

I love the aftercare.

"Thank you for explaining that," I say. Then, after a beat, I ask, "Are you ready to start? Traffic light colour?"

"Yes, Daddy," he answers, and the title seems less stilted now, like he's getting used to saying it. "Green light."

I begin by rubbing the perfect globes of his ass, loving how firm they feel as I warm the skin up beneath my palms. I wait for the tension to melt out of his shoulders before I deliver the first stinging slap to the underside of his left cheek, before swiftly repeating the motion on his right cheek. He flinches on impact but relaxes again until the next swat lands.

I build up momentum, alternating cheeks and landing spots for a few minutes, drawing out the length of time between blows so he isn't quite able to anticipate when I'll strike. When his cheeks start to redden from my slaps, his breathing changes. I make sure to listen for signs of distress, but after landing a firm smack to the middle of his left, fleshy globe, the gasp he releases doesn't sound panicked or fearful. Instead, he sounds mildly pained and a little aroused: just the combination I'm hoping for.

I scale up the force of my next smack, and his body jerks forward, a whimper escaping him as his fingers flex into the underside of my thigh.

"That's it, darlin'," I encourage, keeping my voice low and gentle, "you're taking Daddy's spanking so well."

I bring my hand back down with a resounding thwack .

Ryan whimpers again.

"You can get louder," I tell him. "No need to hold back."

I land another couple of smacks in quick succession to what has to be very tender skin by now. His whimpers get a little louder, inching closer to sobs.

"Is this what you need, baby?"

"P-please, Daddy," he moans as I spank him again and again, "more. I…I need…I need to learn a l-lesson…" The words are turning strained, his voice cracking as his tears finally spill over.

I can't help the small frown that tugs my eyebrows together. "What lesson?"

My palm connects with his rosy cheek, and he jolts again. "I was careless," he sobs, and I'm not entirely sure if it's the spanking or the fact that he's thinking about an upsetting topic which has pushed him over the edge, "I m-made stupid decisions— oh! "

He cries out as I smack him again.

"Not stupid," I reprimand him firmly, rubbing over the spot I've just made sting. "I don't like that word. Questionable, maybe. But not stupid. You're human, darlin'."

"M-Maddy would have been so disappointed."

I don't know who ‘Maddy' is, but the past tense he just used tells me that they're not in the picture anymore. I don't pry. I do, however, deliver another slap to his other butt cheek, making him yelp and squirm. "Other people's opinions aren't important, Ryan. Only yours."

That gets a reaction.

He clenches his eyes shut and his lower lip quivers. I can only see the outline of his profile, highlighted by the light filtering in through the window he's facing, but a pain that I'm sure is more emotional than physical seems to have etched into his handsome features.

Tears roll down his cheeks, some continuing to slide down his neck, others dripping onto the sheets beneath him. He's breathtakingly beautiful and also heartbreakingly sad like this.

"I am disappointed in myself," he whispers, then he turns his face in my direction. His eyes glisten. "Please…please make it go away, Daddy."

Fuck me .

My cock stirs from where it's trapped beneath his chest, and I can do little else than nod and spank him again, and again, and again. He crumbles under my ministrations, letting go of his guilt and anguish, sobbing and babbling as my palm continues to mete out the discipline he begged for.

"That's a good boy," I praise him with genuine warmth. "Let it all out. Then it's done, isn't it? You're taking this so well for Daddy."

His writhing eventually changes pace, and I can tell when subspace begins to creep up on him, his panting turning almost sensual as his sobs switch to mewls and gasps of pleasure.

"Fuck," he breathes, tear-swollen eyes fluttering shut, "Daddy, I'm so hard…"

I don't need to tell him that he's not the only one, because I'm sure he can feel how this is affecting me. Instead, I start to lessen the impact of my swats, knowing that they'll still sting because of how tender his skin is now. "You can come any time, darlin'. I've got you. You've been such a good boy tonight. My good boy."

"S-say it again," he begs me. "C-call me your boy again."

I ignore the squeezing in my chest, wishing that we had met at a different time and place. I'm moving to the other side of the country soon, and I've sworn off long-distance relationships. But for Ryan, I'd be tempted to break that new, self-imposed rule.

"You're my good boy, Ryan." For tonight, anyway. "All mine."

"Fuck," he repeats, shifting forward then back, clearly seeking friction against the mattress, "D-daddy…"

I rub his ass again, then land a series of four quick slaps over the heated globes.

That's all it takes. Ryan gasps and shudders, his hips jerking. I feel droplets of his release reach my thigh, and my cock leaks as I think about the intensity of his orgasm. I want to roll him over, to lick up the mess he's no doubt made of his abdomen and the sheets…but I don't.

Instead, I watch his whole body go limp with relaxation. His eyes are half-lidded, glazed and unfocused. A dopey smile lifts one corner of his lips. He's pliant and quiet now, and I decide we're done with the scene.

Gently grazing my hand over his perfectly curved backside, I hiss in sympathy for the heat radiating from his skin. Sitting is going to be painful for a little while, and I hope he's a stomach sleeper for the same reason.

"You did so well, darlin'," I murmur, not wanting to invade the high he's on. I've only had the pleasure of experiencing subspace once myself, during my training as a Dom, but I can recall the floaty, blissful feeling easily enough. It had been complete relaxation to the point of feeling like I'd left my body, almost like my soul was flying. I can understand why some subs become addicted to the sensation, chasing it wherever possible.

Coming down, though? That wasn't pleasant.

Subdrop, for me, was a bitch. Master Brian, the man who trained me, told me it was a double-edged sword: it sucked that I crashed so badly, but it also gave me a better understanding of the importance of aftercare and treating my Subs properly. As if my caregiver tendencies didn't already insist I do just that! Still, I understood his point, and the memories of the crippling depressive episode I felt back then echo in my soul, making me empathise with my Boys when they inevitably come down from subspace.

I let him float for a while, carding my fingers through the soft —now sweaty— hair on his head. My hotel room is high enough from the street that I can't hear any traffic, aside from the occasional faint honk of a horn or blast of a siren. There's no sound in the room apart from our breathing, and it's nice. Peaceful.

The first sign of Ryan coming back to himself is a shuddering sigh, and I stroke his back to ease his transition out of subspace. "Hey, honey," I smile down at him, aware that I need to get him cleaned up, and that his ass needs some lotion. It's a good thing I carry aloe with me at all times. "How are you feelin'?"

"Wrecked," he answers, smiling softly. "But in a good way." He nibbles on his bottom lip. "Thank you for doing this. For everything tonight."

"It was my pleasure, I promise."

His gaze drifts to the bulge in the front of my briefs, to the wet patch where I've leaked so much precum it's almost embarrassing. "But you didn't—"

"I don't need to come to enjoy myself," I assure him softly. "Tonight wasn't about me."

"But—" Pushing himself up and onto one elbow, he reaches for me with his free hand. I catch it with mine and shake my head.

"Not tonight. And, before you go gettin' in your head and jumpin' to self-deprecating conclusions, it's not because I don't want you to. Because I do, Ryan. A hell of a lot."

He frowns, demanding, "Then why?"

"After what you went through tonight, it wouldn't be right, or fair."

Ryan's frown turns into a full-blown scowl. I try not to smile, because it's kind of like being growled at by a puppy; cuter than it is intimidating.

To prevent any further argument, though, I speak before he can get a word in edgewise. "We need to get you and the sheets cleaned up. And I want to rub some aloe on your behind. You're gonna be feelin' that spanking for a little while, darlin'."

He blushes and wiggles his perfect butt carefully. "That's the way I like it."

I almost say something to the effect of ‘good to know', but the words die on my lips before I can verbalise them. It would be good to know if this was going to be more than one night, but it would only hurt us both if I were to pretend this is more than it actually is.

Instead, I gently nudge him from my lap and get him to roll onto his back, with his head on the pillow and his body out of the wet patch that separates us. He winces a little and lifts his hips. "Stay here," I instruct him. "I'll be right back."

It doesn't take me long to grab the bottle of aloe lotion from my bag, or to get a washcloth and get it damp in the bathroom. I snag the spare towel from the counter on my way back into the bedroom, too.

"You don't have to—" Ryan starts to protest when I move to wipe him clean, and I shush him.

"This is part of what I enjoy most about being a Daddy," I explain, gently swiping the cloth over his chest, down his belly, and over his flaccid cock. "Making sure my Boys are properly taken care of." I almost say ‘cherished', but that's too much for a one-night thing.

Satisfied that he's clean, I fold the cloth in half and swipe at the wet patch on the bed until I'm satisfied that's clean, too. Then, after wiping off the tiny bits of cum that made it to the side of my thigh, I toss the cloth in the direction of the bathroom and reach for the rolled-up bath towel. I unravel it and then lay it over the wet patch on the sheets.

Happy with that solution, I smile at him and hold up the little bottle of lotion, giving it a shake for good measure. "Roll over onto your tummy, darlin'."

He blushes all over again and bites his lip, but does as I asked. I take a moment to enjoy the effects of my handiwork again, marvelling at the perfect shape of that butt, and the bright red colour my spanking has turned it.

God, he's gorgeous .

I climb onto the mattress on my knees and pop the cap on the lotion, drizzling it into my waiting palm before smoothing it over the warm-to-touch flesh of his ass. He jerks a little at the first touch, but then melts back into the mattress as I gently work the aloe in, knowing that it'll be cooling and soothing the sting from his discipline.

He's practically asleep by the time I'm done.

"Ryan?" I murmur.

"Hmm?"

I can't help finding his groggy response adorable. "Want me to put your shorts back on you?"

"Too sensitive," he mumbles, shaking his head into his pillow. "Come cuddle?"

My heart skips a beat, then squeezes painfully. "Of course, darlin'."