his knees against the lower level of the two-tiered bench, but there was little room for him to move without sliding off.
I lifted one hand from his back and kept my fingertips in the hollow at the base of his spine, just above his bare buttocks. His shorts were tight around his thighs, keeping his knees forced together.
I sensed the storm inside him, and how badly it needed to break. Was tonight going to bring tears again? If so, I reassured myself that I could handle it.
Master X knew what he was doing.
“You remember the safeword?”
“Red. Pineapple. Safeword. I have a whole buffet of options,” Slate murmured back.
Since he couldn’t see me, I grinned. “Good.” To keep him on his toes—metaphorically, at the moment—I gave him a light, stinging slap across his thighs.
“Oof!” Slate squeaked with surprise, his body going rigid before he settled against the bench and gripped the edges again. “No, Daddy. I’ve been a good boy.”
“Have you?” I teased. I circled him, dragging my nails in lazy loops around his skin as I walked. Under my touch, Slate squirmed. His muscles tensed as his breathing deepened. Even his calves were hard now, on the lowest level of the bench where he knelt to await my punishment.
“Y-Yes?” Slate sounded uncertain now.
“Then your reward, my boy,” I leaned down to murmur as I took up a position to his side, “is my pleasure.”
Despite my words, every ounce of my focus was on Slate. Insofar as the room existed around us, it was only so I could ensure nobody else was too close for safety or comfort.
“Fuck,” Slate hissed. He quivered in tiny, gorgeous ripples of goosebumps along his pale skin. I could watch him react to my words all day—but why, when I could also watch him react to my firm hand?
I knew how Slate felt, set adrift in a haze of pleasure and unmoored from everyday life’s reference points. My worries were gone, the scope of my thoughts narrowed to Slate.
It was the closest I’d ever come to subspace. But compared to what I observed in boys, top space came with all of the power I craved. With everything in my hands—quite literally—I was a better person. Calm and focused, zoned in on every little move or breath.
Slate’s body was a text in an obscure language that only I could read, and I jealously guarded that knowledge with the last breath in my body. I knew I was enough when I was with him; I could give Slate everything he needed and teach him more than he could ever imagine.
“My beautiful boy,” I whispered. And then I raised my hand and brought my palm down sharply on the curve of his ass.
Smack.
“Mmmph!” Slate pressed his lips together to muffle his grunt, but the sound was sharp and immediate.
God, the sounds were beautiful. I repeated the slap on the other side, calmly placing my excitement in a mental box. As much as it thrilled me, I had to save that for later. Right now, I couldn’t afford distraction for even a moment.
My focus stayed laser-sharp as I spanked Slate four more times, watching as his skin started to turn pink. I kept my palm curved gently and softened the blows at the last moment. All I wanted—yet—was to stir up the blood flow in the area.
My rhythm was steady and soothing, and I wasn’t the only one relaxing into it. Slate’s shoulders unknitted, and his breathing deepened. Slate’s eyes were closed, and his head was turned just toward me enough that I could see a faint smile on his lips.
Like he’s asleep, but awake. The bliss on his face kept me gentle for far longer than usual, but I couldn’t hold off forever. His whole bottom was pink now, down to his thighs. Before long, no matter where my palm made contact, it would sting sharper than before. That was where the fun turned into something more raw and real.
So I chose my moment and finally shattered the peace, bringing my hand down hard and fast on his ass. At the same moment, I pushed his back down, knowing that his instinct would be to sit upright.
“Nnnnh! Fuck!” Slate struggled against my hand, his eyes dark and wild all of a sudden.
I grinned, the wolfish pleasure sharp and satisfied within me. I wanted to see him driven past the edge of endurance, beyond the bounds of language and thought, into the space where we could only be our purest,