Page 22 of Chosen

“No. You’re a brat because you haven’t called me sir once since I asked you to.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry about that.”

“Are you serious?” Damon let out a dark chuckle. “You know what? How about you keep your clothes on for now?”

“What? No, I was just—”

Before I could finish what I was saying, I felt Damon’s hand pulling me toward the bed. When we reached the mattress, he took a seat first, settling in at the edge of it. He brought me down toward his lap, positioning me so that my stomach was resting against his knees, my body splayed out across his lap.

“Do you want to know what happens to brats who can’t follow instructions, Sam?” Damon’s voice was cool and collected, his hand running along my ass in a calm circle.

“I’m a little curious, sure—Fuck!” I cried out in sudden pain, as I felt Damon’s palm come down on my ass. “Fuck! Damon!”

“What’d you just call me?” Damon repeated the motion, striking my ass yet again.

“Sir! Sir!” I gasped for air, the stinging pain seeming to resonate through my whole body.

“Much better,” Damon replied. “Are you going to behave now, Sam? Or did you need me to continue the lesson?”

“I’ll behave.”

Another hit. Another wave of pain followed by a wave of pleasure. I couldn’t understand what was happening to me, but I knew that there was a direct line from Damon’s hand to my cock, my shaft growing hard underneath me. I groaned at the pressure building behind my zipper, at the heady nature of wanting Damon to keep punishing me even though I should’ve wanted the exact opposite.

“What was that?” Damon’s tone was almost a growl.

“I’ll behave, sir.”

“Good boy,” Damon murmured, as he shifted me away from his lap. Soon enough, I was back on my feet, and he was standing in front of me, his eyes on me like I was completely transparent, like he could read my every thought.

“Take off your shirt. Slowly,” he instructed. “I want to enjoy every second of you getting undressed for me.”

“Yes, sir.” I nodded while I spoke, my hands going toward the fabric. I began to raise my shirt over my head, following his instructions, moving as slowly as I possibly could. It felt like I was teasing myself with my own shirt, the slowness of it slipping across my skin causing my cock to get even harder.

God.

The anticipation was killing me.

When I was finished taking off my shirt, I watched as it fell to the floor. Damon’s expression was stoic and unreadable, something I wondered if he’d perfected for this exact purpose, to keep all the power on his side of the room.

“Take off your pants, too.” He gave the order as he eyed me up and down, his face still giving nothing away about what he could’ve been thinking.

“Yes, sir.” I did as I was told, slowly pulling my pants down my thighs. For a second, I felt one of my thumbs accidentally snag on my boxers and I paused to wonder if I wanted to rectify the situation, a thrill going down my spine at being held over Damon’s knee again. I eventually decided against it, moving my thumb away from my boxers, and letting my pants rest on the floor alongside my shirt.

“Good boy,” Damon repeated, as he closed the distance between us, his body now pressed against mine. He reached a hand toward my hair, his fingers brushing through it as he took a deep breath. “Fuck. You really are something else, Sam. Just… perfect.”

“I don’t know about all of that—”

“It’s okay. That’s why I’m here,” he interrupted. “To help you get it through your head.”

I opened my mouth to speak but my mouth was soon occupied by a few of Damon’s fingers, as he slipped them between my lips. At the same time, he reached a hand down toward my crotch, palming my cock through the fabric of my boxers. I groaned around his fingers as I felt him purposefully move his hand all along the length of my shaft, his thumb teasing my slit.

“You like that?”

I nodded in the affirmative before another groan moved through me.

“Suck,” Damon commanded, his palm still moving in a steady pace against me, my cock growing impossibly hard underneath his touch. I started to suck his fingers like I was sucking his cock, bobbing my head up and down his digits. It was sloppy work, my mind way too distracted by him working my shaft, but Damon didn’t seem to have any complaints. He was groaning, too, his eyes locked on mine as I took his fingers even deeper into my mouth.

“Fuck.” It was all Damon said as he slipped his hand underneath the band of my boxers, his fingers wrapping around my bare cock. I whimpered as he stroked me, steady and strong, the tip of my shaft soon leaking with precome. But just when I felt myself about to go over the edge, Damon moved away from me, pulling his fingers and palm back. I wanted to cry out when I realized the absence, suddenly feeling so empty and needy.