Page 197 of Whistle

“Jesus, Emmett!”

“Daddy.” I corrected.

“You can’t seriously think I’m going to stand in a corner and wait for a spanking,” he smarted off. But he kept his nose to the wall.

“Oh, yes, you are,” I said, moving back to the foot of the bed and sitting down. There was a pink handprint on his delicious ass, and it made me anticipate making both cheeks flush with color. “Do you know why?”

He fidgeted a little, the band of the pants around his thighs preventing him from moving too much. He was wearing a purple crop top, the perfect shirt to show off his narrow waist and the ass I was about to spank some more. The thick lace band of his hot-pink thong rode high, arching above his hips, accentuating his hipbones. The way the strip of lace disappeared between his cheeks was the perfect game of hide-and-seek and also going to be the perfect torture as it rubbed against him while I paddled that ass.

“I asked you a question.” I reminded him.

He went silent, and I knew he didn’t remember it. This punishment was already scrambling his brain.

Good.

“Do you know why you’re getting a spanking?”

“Because you’re a sadist,” he spat.

I laughed. “Because you’re a naughty brat who needs to be punished for all the shit he’s pulled.”

“I haven’t done shit.”

I raised my eyebrow, knowing he couldn’t see it. “Is that so?”

He made a sound.

“Then why are you still standing there in the corner if you know you shouldn’t be punished?”

“Because you’re a scary bastard.”

“Oh, that mouth,” I murmured, getting up and strolling close. I knew he felt my presence because he tried to arch into it but got denied. “If you really think I’m a scary bastard, you know where the door is. If you really think you don’t need to be punished, now’s the time to leave.”

I moved away from him, all the way across the room, giving him ample time and space to bolt.

He didn’t move.

“Seems someone knows they’ve been acting up,” I observed. “Maybe you know you need to be punished and to have some boundaries set in place. Has anyone ever spanked you before?”

“No.” His voice was raspier than before.

“Some spankings, like today’s, are so you can learn a lesson. But sometimes you might just want one, and you can ask. I’ll give you whatever you need.”

“Why would anyone ask to get their ass beat?” he snarked.

“You may find that it’s an outlet of sorts. A way to let out built-up emotion or hurt you’ve been holding on to for too long. You might like the fight of it, the way I hold you down and make you burn until that burn gives way to something that feels a lot like bliss.”

“Whatever.”

“Your safe word is red.” I informed him. “If we start and you really don’t like it, if it makes you feel hurt or confused or even degraded, then you say your safe word and it all stops. Spankings are not conditional to being with me.”

“Then why do them?” He wanted to know.

“Because I think you need it.”

He said nothing but squirmed a little more where he stood.

“What’s your safe word?”

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