Page 57 of Knox's Boy

Fuuuuuuuuuuck!

"One," Knox counted calmly from behind me.

I barely had time to process the burning welt before the second stroke whistled through the air. It landed just below the first, another perfect line of fire that made me yelp, a sound that embarrassed me even through the pain. My toes curled against the hardwood floor as I struggled to stay in position. I was trying very hard to not scream and run away.

"Two."

The third and fourth strokes came in succession, each precisely placed to create a ladder of agony across my skin. Knox was methodical, allowing just enough time between strokes for the full impact of each to register before delivering the next. I was crying by the fourth, tears streaming down my face and onto the desk, forming small pools that reflected the lamplight.Ouch, fucking hell.

"Four," Knox said, his voice steady but not cold. "You're doing so well, little boy. Two more."

The fifth stroke was the worst, crossing diagonally over the previous welts, creating a point of intersection that throbbed with white-hot intensity. I cried out, my knuckles turning white as I gripped the desk edge.

"Five."

I could have used my safeword. Knox had been clear from the beginning that I always had that option. "Yellow" to slow down, "Red" to stop completely. But I didn't want to stop, despite the pain, or maybe because of it. Each stroke burned away a layer of guilt, of defiance, of the restless anxiety that drove me to test boundaries in the first place. This was accountability, something I'd never had before Knox.

But good Lord, it hurt. It hurt so bad I couldn’t believe it. I had never experienced anything like that before. It was agonizing. And, somehow, my cock responded with getting painfully hard, adding even more to my humiliation.

The final stroke landed with precision at the sensitive spot where thigh met ass, a spot that would remind me of this lesson every time I sat down for days to come. I sobbed openly now, all pretense of being tough abandoned.

"Six," Knox concluded.

I stayed bent over the desk, my breathing ragged, my body trembling. The pain radiated outward from the welts, pulsing in time with my heartbeat. I heard Knox set the cane down on the desk beside me, and then his hand was on my back.

"You can stand now, baby boy," he said softly.

I pushed myself up slowly, my legs unsteady. Knox helped me straighten, then guided me to pull up my boxers and jeans withcareful movements. The fabric felt rough against my sensitized skin, and I winced as it settled into place.

Knox turned me to face him, his hands on my shoulders.

"You took your discipline so well," he said, reaching up to brush a tear from my cheek with his thumb. "I'm proud of you."

Something broke inside me at those words. A dam I hadn't realized I'd built crumbled, and suddenly I was sobbing again, but for entirely different reasons. I collapsed against Knox's chest, my fingers clutching at his shirt as he wrapped his strong arms around me, holding me securely against him.

"I'm sorry," I choked out between sobs. "I'm so sorry, Daddy."

"Shh," Knox soothed, one hand cradling the back of my head. "It's over.”

"No," I managed, shaking my head against his chest. "Not just for tonight. For everything. For being a burden, for making you rescue me, for being such a mess. I don't have anything to offer you, while you give me the world."

Knox pulled back slightly, his hands moving to frame my face, forcing me to look up at him. His expression was fierce, almost angry. "You are not a burden, Florian. Never think that."

"But why?" I whispered, voicing the fear that had haunted me since he'd carried me out of that shelter. "Why did you rescue me? Why do you like me? I'm nobody. I have nothing to give to someone like you."

Knox's eyes softened, and he guided me to the leather couch at the side of the study. He sat down, pulling me gently onto his lap, mindful of my tender ass. He positioned me so that my weight rested on my thigh rather than the welts, which stillburned like fire, and kept one arm wrapped securely around my waist.

"You think I had everything before you came into my life?" he asked quietly. "A big house, a successful business, money in the bank, yes. But I was utterly alone, Florian. Most everyone I know only wants to exploit me for money. Family, friends, partners, they all wanted something from me with some rare exceptions. My wealth, my connections, my influence."

I blinked up at him through wet lashes, surprised by the rawness in his voice.

"And then there was you," Knox continued, his thumb tracing circles on my hip. "This beautiful, defiant, brilliant boy who refused to use my card even when you were starving. Who tried to handle everything yourself, even when you were drowning. Who looks at me and sees a person."

"But I live in your house," I protested weakly. "I eat your food. I…"

"You give me purpose," Knox interrupted. "You give me joy. You challenge me, frustrate me, make me laugh. Before you, I existed. With you, I live." His voice dropped to a near whisper.

"I'm scared," I admitted, my voice small. "What if you get tired of me? What if I mess up too badly? What if I'm not worth all this trouble?"