Page 25 of Mafia Daddy

The door clicks shut behind him.

Minutes crawl by. My arms start to ache. My ass feels like it’s glowing. Every tiny shift of my weight makes the burn flare hotter. I’m painfully aware of how exposed I am… briefs still tangled at my ankles, legs slightly parted because I can’t quite close them without losing balance. The cool air from the vent teases my erect dick and I have to fight the urge to grab my aching cock and wank myself hard and fast to climax.

I’m humiliated. I’m furious.

And I’ve never been more turned on in my life.

A little while later… it feels like forever but is probably only ten minutes…Maxim’s gruff voice carries down the corridor.

“Milo. Come here.”

My stomach flips. I lower my hands slowly, wincing as blood rushes back into my arms. Then I remember the second part of the order. Cheeks flaming, I leave my briefs exactly where they are, stretched around my ankles. The fabric hobbles me as I start to walk.

Every shuffling, waddling step is pure erotic torment. The soft cotton scrapes against my calves. My bright red ass jiggles slightly with each awkward movement. I can feel the cool air kissing my exposed manhood with every tiny step. By the time I reach the living area I’m trembling with a mixture of shame and desperate need.

Maxim is sitting in the big leather armchair like a king on his throne. One ankle rests casually on the opposite knee. In one hand he swirls a glass of vodka. In the other he holds a small white tub. The lighting is low, just the city glow through the windows and a single lamp, casting dramatic shadows across his sharp features.

He watches me waddle toward him in complete silence. Then his gaze drags slowly over my bare legs, the patch of pubic hair that leads to my exposed cock, the mortified expression I can’t hide.

When I finally stop in front of him, he takes a slow sip of vodka.

“Turn around,” he says quietly. “Show me.”

I do, presenting my bare, cherry-red ass to him. The cool air feels like ice against the heat.

Maxim makes a low sound of approval. “Beautiful color. You wear my discipline well, malysh.”

I clench my jaw so I don’t say something stupid.

He sets the glass down. “I have cooling cream here. It will help with the burn. I’ll apply it myself… but only if you apologize properly for stealing the phone and manipulating Yuri.”

The words are out before I can stop them...

“I will never apologize to you.”

Silence stretches. I can feel him staring at my marked backside.

“As you wish,” Maxim says, voice calm and final. “Back to your room. Keep the briefs at your ankles until you’re in bed. You may reflect on your choices there.”

Humiliation crashes over me again, fresh and stinging.

I turn and waddle away, every awkward step a reminder of my defiance. I can feel his eyes on me the entire way down the corridor.

The second I’m inside my room I kick the door shut—carefully, because even that small act of rebellion feels dangerous right now—and flop face-first onto the bed.

I stay on my stomach, legs slightly apart, letting the air soothe the worst of the heat while Zoop watches me from the pillow with his stitched-on eyes.

I bury my burning face in my arms.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I should be plotting my next escape attempt. I should be furious. Instead all I can think about is the heavy press of Maxim’s cock against my hip, the calm authority in his voice when he called me a bad boy, the way my body lit up like a live wire under every single strike of that hairbrush.

I squeeze my thighs together and immediately regret it—the pressure on my cock only makes the dizzy desire I’m feeling worse.

A soft, miserable whimper escapes me.

This man is going to ruin me.