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Morning bleariness clouds Greg’s vision. He takes his glasses off to rub the gunk from his tear ducts as he enters the kitchen and lifts the kettle—already switched on, as usual, thanks to Alex rising before him—from its base.
Then he replaces his glasses and bobbles the jug in surprise. Two googly eyes are stuck to either side of the spout, making a little face.
Greg stares at them. They stare back.
He decides he needs tea before he can have a proper think about this. Reaching into the cupboard, he takes down a mug, drops a tea bag into it, and pours hot water over the top. The googly eyes’ pupils slide with the tilt of the kettle, like it’s watching the result of its work. Greg puts it back on the base and turns to make toast.
“Ahh!!”
Four eyes are stuck to the toaster. The lift levers form the noses this time.
A muffled giggle comes from the living room. Spinning on his heel, Greg sees that yes, Alex is watching him get jump-scared by appliances. The man’s presence only went unnoticed until now because he’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, rather than anywhere sensible like the sofa or armchair. He flashes his tooth gap up at Greg.
“Hi, Daddy!”
Oh. Right.
Really, Greg should’ve known the moment he saw the kettle. Blame the early hour. Now that it’s obvious what’s going on, though, the role settles over him like a second skin.
“Good morning, sweet cheeks,” he says, and decides to forget about toast. He wasn’t that hungry, anyway. Mug in hand, he crosses the flat to Alex. There’s a bowl of milk on the coffee table in front of him with bits of cereal still floating about. “Oh, look who made breakfast all by himself!”
Alex pulls a face at his impressed tone. “I’m not a baby, Daddy!”
“No, no, of course not,” Greg says, swiftly revising his assumption about Alex’s mindset to be more on the roleplay side of ageplay. If he were regressing, he wouldn’t want to get his own cereal—even when he could—and would feel proud about it.
Which also suggests something else inspired the redecorated kitchen….
Greg sits in the armchair and takes a couple gulps of his tea as he contemplates this, with Alex twisting around to face him. Yes, he looks both mischievous and impatient. In a mild, curious tone, Greg asks, “Was it you who put the goofy eyeballs on the kettle and the toaster?”
“And the microwave, too, Daddy!” Alex replies, brightly.
Greg glances over. The two eyes on the microwave are stuck to the top of its door handle, giving it a horsey expression. “Oh yes, and the microwave, too,” he agrees. “You like putting those eyes on things, hm?”
“Makes them cute and funny, Daddy. Like me!” He pokes his tongue between his two front teeth and grins.
Greg tries to smother his own smile. “Mm-hm. Now that I'm thinking about it, you put a pair on Daddy’s glasses at work last week, didn’t you?”
Face lighting up even more, Alex says, “You looked really silly, Daddy!”
By this point, Greg is almost certain where this is meant to lead, so he schools himself into seriousness—as best as he can when Alex is acting this adorable, anyway—before he says, “I remember. You were being a very silly boy. But what did I say about it afterward? Remind me.”
And the way Alex squirms and ducks his head and mumbles, “Hmmmm, dunno,” while looking altogether too delighted lays Greg’s final doubts to rest.
He leans down closer and makes sure to catch those big blue eyes with his own. “Alexander, are you lying to your daddy?”
Quickly, Alex shakes his head.
“No? I wouldn’t like to think so. What happens when you lie?”
“…Daddy w-washes my mouth out.”
The glee in his expression has all but vanished. He truly doesn’t like mouthsoaping; it’s why they decided on it as a consequence for the most problematic behavior, to keep him from getting too bratty for Greg to handle.
“This is your last warning,” Greg tells him. “One more chance. What did I say about the googly eyes?”
Alex squirms harder, fingernails digging into his thighs over his pajama bottoms, which are growing tight around the crotch area. Looking up through his eyelashes, he finally whispers, “You said I'd pay for it, Daddy. Mentally and physically.”
“That’s right,” says Greg, letting his wicked smirk show. “And what do you think I meant by the physical part?” The mental part can wait until I’ve had time to actually think of something.
“Mmmm.” Alex tips his head in consideration. “Extra chores?”
He shakes his head slowly. “Guess again.”
“Um, maybe…” Alex blows out a breath as the flush spreads downward from his ears, his voice getting squeakier with each syllable. “Mmmaaybe I’d get a spanking?”
“Correct. What a clever boy you are.” And Greg puts his mug down next to the cereal bowl, sits back, and crooks a finger. “Stand up.”
Alex doesn’t know why he woke up feeling bratty today. Decompressing from studio week, perhaps? All he knows is, there was an itch to get in trouble at the back of his mind, and he just had to scratch it. So he took some inspiration from what was, at the time, simply a fun, innocent moment during the banter section, knowing that Greg would pick up his cue and run with it.
And run he has. A shiver creeps down Alex’s spine to his arse as he gets to his feet and Greg immediately slides a thumb under the each side of his—Alex’s—waistband.
“Oh, Daddy, do I have to be bare?” he asks, trying to twist his hips away.
“Yes,” is Greg’s simple, implacable answer, whisking the pajama bottoms all the way down to Alex’s knees. Alex is naked underneath, and the sudden exposure makes him whimper. Without hesitating, Greg’s grip closes on his elbow and tugs. “Over you go.”
So, holding the arm of the chair for support, Alex bends across Greg’s lap. His stiffy bobs freely between Greg’s thighs. Which is no good. Alex likes to rub against his daddy’s leg during his spankings. He usually can’t get off that way, but it still feels wonderful. When he tries to adjust himself, though, Greg puts him right back where he was and pinches his sit-spot.
“Ow! Dad-dy!”
“Stop wiggling,” says Greg, as if he didn’t know what Alex was trying to do. “Are you going to take your spanking like a good little boy for Daddy?”
That changes Alex’s tune. “Yes, Daddy, I’ll be good,” he says eagerly. Good little boys get rewarded after their spankings.
“Glad to hear it.”
Then Greg’s hand—so big—cracks down on his right cheek, and Alex yelps. Somehow or another, he always forgets just what power Greg can deliver without an implement. Not that he’s complaining. He keeps hold of the arm of the chair and rests his chest against it and settles in for a nice, long session of scratching that itch.
Layers of sting build over each other like paint, coating his bum and halfway down to his knees. Those lower ones really make him squeal, yet he holds himself as motionless as possible, only drumming his toes against the rug and screwing his eyes shut when Greg concentrates a flurry of swats there.
“Mm-hm,” says Greg. “Not so funny now, is it?”
“No, Daddy!”
Greg pauses, resting his warm palm on Alex’s sit-spot, and asks, “Are you going to be a better-behaved little boy in the future?”
And Alex hesitates. That’s his cue to say, ‘yes, Daddy,’ and get a few, final, extra-hard spanks before it’s all over.
He still itches, though.
“Hmmm, don’t think I have precognitive clairvoyance, Daddy.”
Greg jerks underneath him—probably an aborted laugh—before saying, “Oh, well then I guess I’d better make doubly sure you’re learning your lesson.”
Seven minutes later, Alex’s right hand is pinned to his lower back from when he threw it behind himself in a failed attempt to block more swats from raining down, and his legs are trapped under Greg’s knee from when he kicked at him, and his bum is on fire, and his voice is high and desperate: “DaddypleaseDaddyplease, I’ll be good, I’ll be good!”
“You’ve regained your extra-sensory perception, have you?” Greg asks, still spanking.
“Yes, Daddy! I’ll be good! Owwwww!”
“Good,” says Greg. He tightens his hold and wallops Alex’s sit-spots, twice on each side.
“OW-OW-OW-OW!”
Then it’s finally over. Greg helps him sit up in his lap.
“That hurt, Daddy,” Alex pouts, wiggling to make it hurt more.
“I’m sure it did,” says Greg. His right hand rests on Alex’s bare thigh, and it’s so hot that Alex knows it must be stinging at least half as much as his own bum is—but he also knows it’s going to feel heavenly wrapped around his dick when he gets his reward in a moment.
Except seconds pass, and Greg shows no sign of giving him one. Alex frowns and wiggles again. “Daddyyyy…”
“What is it, baby boy?” Greg asks, as if he’s clueless.
“I-” He breaks off, ears probably as red as his bottom, and nods downward.
“Ohhhh, I think you’re forgetting something, sweet cheeks,” says Greg. “We’ve taken care of only the physical part of your punishment, haven’t we?”
Alex’s mouth drops open. He’d forgotten all about that.
Smirking, Greg lifts him up and then sets him on his arse on the area rug between his feet. “Sit there. Daddy will be right back.”
And he gets up and walks off toward the foyer.
Alex draws his bare knees—the pajamas were flung across the room minutes ago—into his chest, stretches his t-shirt down over them, and waits, trying not to think too much about possible mental punishments.
When Greg comes back, all Alex can see that’s different is an envelope in his hand.
“Turn around, face the coffee table,” says Greg. He moves Alex’s abandoned cereal bowl further away to make room. Then he pulls a sheath of papers out of the envelope, unfolds them, and fans them out in front of Alex, along with a biro.
Alex reads the first line on the top sheet and frowns. It’s the latest cardholder agreement for his Visa?
“Now,” Greg says, taking a seat in the armchair behind him once more, “since you think it’s so hilarious to put eyes all over everything, you’re going to stay right there until you’ve given pupils to all of the ohs and zeros in this entire packet.” He leans past Alex, picks up the pen, and demonstrates with the O in ‘CARDHOLDER’. “Like this. At least half the space should be filled by the pupil. Understand?”
Alex stares from him to the packet. There’s seven pages, seemingly entirely covered front and back in text! His dick, trapped between his stomach and thighs, is aching. “But, Daddy, you said the physical part would be the most pertinent.”
Greg’s eyebrows go up. “You’re asking for more of the physical part?”
“No, not more spanking,” Alex says, fast. “It’s just…this’ll take too long, Daddy. It’ll be boring.” And boredom is not what he set out to experience this morning.
“Oh, you need something to hold your interest,” says Greg. “I see.”
He gets up and walks off again. Alex’s stomach flips.
This time, there’s noises like he’s rummaging through the closet by the front door, which thoroughly baffles Alex. Until Greg returns with the acupressure mat he bought last year based on Roisin’s recommendation and used only twice.
“Lift your bottom,” he says, unrolling it behind Alex.
Alex looks over his shoulder at the little circles of plastic spikes. His dick twitches and leaks pre-come down into his lap. Slowly, he uses the edge of the coffee table to pull himself onto his toes, creating an inch of space beneath his sore bum, into which Greg slides the mat.
“Relax.”
Even more slowly, Alex lowers himself onto it. His eyes fall closed. “Oooohh.”
“That should help make it more interesting, hm?”
“Mmm. Uh-huh.”
“Get started. Daddy’s going to check your work when you’re all done, and if there’s no mistakes, you can have your reward then.”
Alex picks up the biro. He turns the lowercase ‘o’ in ‘consumer’ into a little eyeball and smiles down at it. Only half a thousand or so more to go. “Thank you, Daddy.”