Chapter 68
“It’s a support device for multiple positions and comfort.”
“Right. Like yoga. With dick.”
I gave him a look.
He grinned. “Sorry, Sir.”
This wasn’t a night for anything serious. I told him he wouldn’t be
restrained or punished–not tonight. But we could explore. Ask
questions. Touch. Learn… And he did.
He picked up a set of anal beads and nearly dropped them.
“Are these for juggling?”
“No.”
“Are you sure? Because I think I saw something like this at the circus
once,”
“You won’t be juggling them, I assure you.”
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He went red. “Oh, God.”
I watched him with silent amusement, cataloging every shift in his
expressions–his blushes, his laughter, his awe.
The moment he spotted the spanking wall–neatly arranged with leather belts, wooden paddles, fur–lined slappers, floggers of all
shapes and materials, even a cane–Noah froze.
“Wow,” he muttered, blinking like he’d just walked into a medieval
torture chamber. “Sadistic much? Have you actually used all this
freaky stuff?”
I cocked a brow. “No. But I’m about to if you keep that tone.”
He gave me a dry look and waved a hand at the display like a game
show model. “I mean, c’mon, what the hell do you need ten different
paddles for? I only have one ass.‘
”
I tried–God help me, I tried–not to laugh. “Different tools, different purposes. This here is a Faux Leather Spanking Paddle, this one is a Wooden Spanking Paddle, and this here is a Fur–Lined Impact Paddle.”
“O…K…And what’s the difference between the fox paddle and the
wood or the other one?” He frowned.
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“It’s faux, not fox,” I corrected, walking over and taking one of each
down. “And if you’re truly curious…”
“I’m not.” He stepped back.
I pointed to the spanking bench with one slow arch of my brow.
insist.”
His eyes widened, then narrowed. “That’s not a real invitation, is it?”
“It’s a real order.”
A moment of mutiny flashed across his face. Then a resigned sigh.
“Yes, Sir…”
He took his place across the bench like a man walking to his doom. I
didn’t restrain him this time–he needed to know this wasn’t
punishment. Just an education. My fingers brushed his lower back,
grounding him, then I began.
The wooden paddle was first. A crisp, echoing thwack that drew a
gasp.
“That’s the stingiest,” I explained. “Thuddier than it looks. Sharp,
loud, and stings like hell.”
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“You don’t say…” He hissed.
Next came the faux leather–more of a bite than a slap, deeper
impact, more surface sting, thuddy, deeper impact, good for warming
up.”
“Then why didn’t you warm me up with it first?” He complained.
I landed a second smack with a warning look. “Because this is only for
prolonged sessions. It warms, not bruises. Would you like a very
prolonged session to demonstrate?”
“No, thank you, Sir. I think I got it.” He rubbed the spot with his hand.
Finally, the fur–lined slapper. He relaxed before I even touched him.
“That one sounds mean but feels gentle. Great for teasing.”
After all three had made their mark, I leaned down, brushing my
along his back, warm from the brief contact. “Any other tools you’re
curious about?”
hand
“Nope, Sir. Not curious at all.” He was breathless and pink, and not
just from the paddles.
“Smart answer.” I tapped his thigh lightly. “Then I suggest you
behave. Or you’ll get an in–depth introduction to each and every
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one.”
He scrambled up before I could tell him twice. “Got it. Lesson
learned.”
I didn’t press him further. His cheeks were flushed, his grin still
twitching despite the faint sting he’d earned. There would be time for
intensity again. For correction. For discipline… But tonight, there was
only us.
And his voice, his curiosity, the light in his eyes as he began to
wonder what more there might be.
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