Page 24 of A Totally Platonic Thing
Smackable. So fucking smackable. My palm itched.
And my own cock throbbed against the front of my shorts.
Fuck. No, no, this wasn’t about that. I didn’t want to get off. Spanking Chris wasn’t supposed to get me off any more than it was supposed to get him off.
Or was it supposed to get him off? My head spun, and my throat had gone so damn dry. I tried to swallow and barely managed it. Maybe it was supposed to get him off after all. Maybe that was part of the point, that he’d enjoy his punishment and the humiliation of it would be a punishment of its own.
But I refused to let him enjoy ittoomuch. And yeah. Partly that was because I wasn’t sure I’d be able to deal with him coming all over my bare leg.
I forced my eyes away from that round, gorgeous ass of his. Because he did have a fucking gorgeous ass, at least as nice as any other ass I’d ever had naked in front of me. My hand still pressed him down into the bed. Dammit. I couldn’t be sure I wasn’t forcing him into this. He couldn’t fight me off, he wasn’t big or strong enough. And what if he’d given up not because he wanted it, but because he’d simply given up? I wasn’t…assaulting him, was I? Fuck. I’d never want to hurt him, even if the fact that I’d gotten furious with him and now had him stretched out ready to get spanked kind of seemed to contradict that.
He squirmed his hips, rubbing his cock over my leg. Okay, no. Enough of that. I spread my legs a little, centering his groin in the gap in between so that he couldn’t get any friction.
“Oh, comeon,” Chris whined, muffled a little into the blankets but still distinctly high-pitched and complaining. He bucked his hips, trying to push his cock into my thigh again.
My niggling doubts evaporated. Nope, not assaulting or forcing him.
And the whining, when he ought to be learning a lesson from this? Yeah, that just pissed me the fuck off.
I raised my right hand high and brought it down hard on his ass, no warning and no mercy, a flat, stinging crack of a spank that echoed through the apartment. His ass jiggled wildly, my palm burned a little, and Chriswailed, thrashing and humping my legs and clutching fistfuls of his blankets.
My hand on his back slid up seemingly of its own accord, gripping the nape of his neck and shoving him down.
And I spanked him again. And again. And again, setting a steady rhythm, going back and forth from one cheek to the other, each strike sending vibrations through my lap and into my straining cock. I’d gotten fully hard, almost painfully hard, the weight of Chris across my legs, and his little cries and groans, and watching that ass get pink and then red, the marks of my hand on his perfect skin, all driving me fucking crazy.
Fuck. I spanked him again, on the left this time, the softness of him making my palm tingle even more. So fucking soft.
Chris screamed that time, not too loudly, but…pained.
And then broke off in a whimper that sounded almost like a sob.
My heart gave a horrible squeeze. I stroked my hand over his ass, soothing him, trailing my fingers over the red marks they’d left. His skin felt burning hot, but still so perfectly smooth. Silky.
Jesus. Had I gone too far? Chris didn’t move and didn’t speak, staying draped over me completely pliant and limp. I shifted my legs a little. His erection poked me in the inner thigh again, and I let out a relieved, shaky breath.
Yeah, okay. Maybe I’d almost gone too far, but he hadn’t gone soft. He’d wanted every bit of what I’d dished out. He’dwantedit. And I’d only spanked him…I’d missed counting a couple, I thought, but not more than ten or eleven times. Twelve, max.
I couldn’t stop touching him, rubbing one cheek and then the other, gently squeezing a couple of times, not quite enough to hurt but enough to get more of thosesoundsout of him.
What the hell was the etiquette for finishing this? For getting up and going on with your night after spanking your roommate’s bare ass while both of you were achingly hard? Fuck, I wanted to go jerk off. Not thinking about Chris, obviously, but in general. Adrenaline made you hard. Touching a really hot, round ass made you hard. Not getting any for a long time and then spanking a perfect ass while under the influence of adrenaline would make you incredibly hard. Nothing too puzzling about that. I stroked him again, my fingers trailing close—too close—to the crease. I couldn’t seem to stop.
“Oh,” Chris moaned. “Oh my God. I need to…let me up, Lucas.” Hearing him say my name like that, all broken and soft, didn’t help the whole needing to jerk off problem. He stirred in my lap. I realized I hadn’t let go of his neck, and I could feel his pulse hammering under my fingers. “I need a minute. In, um. I need a minute.”
He sounded ashamed, and shy, and guilty. And screw that. I mean, yes. That’s what I’d wanted, what I still wanted.
But also not.
Somehow I had to make sure he was ashamed and guilty and shy for the right reasons, not the wrong ones. I couldn’t even parse what that meant, but I felt the truth of it.
Anyway, yeah, fuck the proper spanking etiquette—if such a thing even existed, and honestly who cared either way. He wasn’t going to go jerk off, because he didn’t deserve it. That was part of the point. And I wasn’t going to go jerk off either, because I wasn’t going to leave him alone long enough—not only would he seize the opportunity to come, but I’d be such an asshole for walking away before I made sure he only felt bad about this for the reasons I wanted him to.
“I’ll let you up,” I said, and forced my hand to release its grip on his neck.
I pulled up his underwear—reluctantly, because covering up my handiwork felt like such a waste. But I put my foot on his jeans and pushed them down his legs as I wrapped my arms around Chris’s torso and moved him from my lap onto the bed. He didn’t need those. He wasn’t going anywhere tonight. He wasn’t going to be with anyone but me tonight, dammit.
I ended up rolling him off of me onto his back, his legs still hanging off the side of the bed.
Chris gazed up at me blearily, eyes not quite focused. His erection stretched the front of his boxer-briefs to the absolute limit. I’d laughed at him before for wearing such tight damn underwear, and this was exhibit A for why I stuck with boxers.
