Page 18 of Knox's Boy

“Yes, Daddy,” I said, trembling slightly.

"You're going to receive a spanking," he continued. "By hand, over my knee. It will hurt. It's meant to. It's a reminder that your body belongs to you, not to be bartered away out of desperation or obligation. Do you understand?"

"Yes," I whispered. “Yes, Daddy.”

"Color?"

"Green," I said without hesitation. Despite the nervousness twisting in my gut, I had never been more certain of anything.

Knox nodded, satisfied with my response. "Before we begin, I need to make something clear. You won't be touching me during this punishment. You haven't earned that privilege yet."

Before I could process his words, he reached behind him and got the cuffs from the night before.

"Hands behind your back," he ordered.

I complied immediately, crossing my wrists at the small of my back. Knox stood, circling behind me. I felt his presence. The cuffs were cool as he wrapped it around my wrists, securing them together, snug but not painful.

With my hands bound, my vulnerability increased. I couldn't cover myself, couldn't balance properly, couldn't do anything but trust Knox to keep me safe.

Knox returned to sit on the bed. "Over my lap," he instructed, patting his thigh.

I moved awkwardly, unsure how to position myself without the use of my hands. Knox guided me down with firm hands on my hips. I found myself face-down across his lap, my bound hands at my back, my naked ass exposed and vulnerable. My erection pressed uncomfortably against the fabric of his trousers, a reminder of my arousal despite, or perhaps because of, my position.

"I'm going to spank you now," Knox said, his palm resting warm and heavy on my right cheek. "You will count each stroke. If you lose count, we start over. Do you understand? This is meant to keep you grounded, paying attention."

"Yes, Daddy," I replied, my voice muffled against the duvet.

The first strike came without warning, a sharp, flat-palmed slap that echoed in the quiet room. The sting bloomed across my skin, startling more than painful.

"One," I gasped.

The second fell immediately after, harder than the first, landing on the opposite cheek. "Two!"

By five, the sting had transformed into a steady burn. By ten, I was gasping with each impact, my body jerking involuntarily. Knox's hand was relentless, covering every inch of my ass with stinging slaps. The pain built layer upon layer, each stroke landing on already sensitized skin.

"Fifteen," I choked out, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes.

Knox paused, his palm resting on the heated flesh he'd just struck. "Color?" he asked, his voice steady.

"Green," I managed, surprised to find it was true. Despite the pain, I felt anchored, present in my body in a way I rarely experienced. There was no room for anxiety, for worry about rent or classes or my father. There was only sensation, only the moment.

The spanking resumed, harder now. Tears spilled over, trailing down my cheeks and dampening the duvet beneath my face. I wondered if he noticed. He probably had, but didn’t say anything, which I was kind of grateful for. I wanted to cry. With the pain came something unexpected, a floating, detached sensation, as if I were watching myself from a distance. And beneath that, my erection throbbed against Knox's thigh with each strike.

"Twenty-five," I sobbed, my voice breaking on the number.

Another pause. Knox's hand moved in gentle circles over my burning skin, soothing. "Such a good boy," he murmured, the praise seeping into my bones. "Taking your punishment so well."

I whimpered at his words, pressing my face against the duvet to hide the fresh tears they provoked. I hadn't known how desperately I needed to hear those words until they fell from his lips.

“You don't need to count these next strokes. Just feel them. Stop fighting the pain, let it consume you,” he said and kept going, increasing the rhythm. The slaps became a blur of rhythmic heat. I stopped trying to anticipate the sting and instead leaned into it, my body arching toward his hand with every heavy blow. The room dissolved until there was nothing left but the sound of skin on skin.

“That’s it,” Knox rumbled. “Good boy, taking it so well.”

Knox was tireless, each slap overlapping the last until I was sure my flesh was on fire, the heat radiating all the way up my spine and pooling molten in my belly. My entire world condensed into this series of impacts and their aftershocks, pain blooming and receding and blooming again with every blow. And I could feel how hard I was, pressed against the rough texture of Knox’s pants, leaking uncontrollably. There was no way he couldn’t feel it, no way he didn’t know.

He didn’t say a word. Just held me steady with one hand, and with the other, administered a lesson I would never forget. I'd known it would be hard. I hadn't known it would be this hard. My legs kicked uselessly until he restrained me with his own leg, holding me in place.

I was barely present when the last of the blows fell, my body limp and weightless, my brain emptied of everything except the knowledge that I had made it. I lay there, gasping, my skin thrumming with a heat so intense it felt like I was glowing. Knox didn't move me. He simply laid his large, cool palm over my ravaged butt, the contrast making me shiver violently.