Page 90 of Just A Little Fling

The ride back to the house was only about fifteen minutes, and that was only because of traffic. I’d hoped for longer because I loved the floaty feeling that being around Babbo when I was in little space left me with. When I left real life behind, someone else could worry about whether I was enough. Babbo always let me know I was.

Babbo pulled into the driveway, and I forced myself out of the car to head toward my house. In the car, I’d go to my bungalow, and he’d go to his house, and that would be the end of it. My sleepy brain had forgotten what he’d said at Owen’s house, so it was a surprise when I turned and he was two steps behind me.

“Babbo, why are you in here?” I asked when he followed me into the house.

“Because we’re getting your stuffies and some clothes, and then you’re coming home with me. We did it your way, and now we’re doing it mine.”

“You can’t tell me what to do.”

“Who did you tell Rory was your Daddy?”

I crossed my arms and stamped my foot. It wasn’t fair to bring that up now.

“I’m waiting,” Babbo said through clenched teeth. “You won’t out stubborn me. Who did you say was your Daddy?”

“You,” I huffed out.

“Then, yes, I do get to tell you what to do. Where’s your overnight bag?”

I refused to answer. I didn’t understand why I was being like this besides annoyance at myself that I wanted to take out on him. I shook my head rather than respond.

Babbo sighed deeply and raised his eyes to the ceiling. “Suit yourself.”

A sharp stab of white-hot regret cut through me. I instantly regretted my words when I thought he was walking away from me, just like I had in the club. But rather than leave, Babbo grabbed my hand and led me to the living room. He shoved the coffee table out of the way and sat on the sofa.

“Sweet Boy, what are your safewords?”

Silence.

“I’m quickly running out of patience, little boy,” Babbo responded with a sharp tone.

“Red stop, yellow slow down, and green go.”

“Excellent. Your safeword is always allowed. You understand me?”

“Yeah.”

With my agreement given, he yanked me forward, and I fell across his lap. His hand immediately smacked my covered bottom before I knew what he was about. It stung, but still clothed, it wasn’t too bad. The second strike smarted more. By the fifth blow, I was crying. The eighth spank jerked a spasm through my body from the searing pain.

I bawled giant, messy tears. There was nothing cute or pretty about my waterworks. My eyes burned with salty tears that left them swollen. My nose was red and runny with snot. I struggled to catch my breath between my gulping sobs. Nothing attractive. No cute, sweet, and simpering little was to be found in my living room. All that was left was a chubby one with blotchy skin, a red nose, and puffy eyes.

At some point, Babbo flipped me over and held me in his lap while I continued to cry. I hadn’t realized that Wormie was in the vicinity until Babbo placed him in my arms and encouraged me to hug him tight.

“I’ve got you.”

“You’re okay.”

“Such a good boy.”

Babbo’s soft reassurances washed over me. He knew exactly what I needed. My morning spankings centered me, and this one had taken me out of my mental spiral. Babbo knew me. He knew what I needed.

* * *

“Let’s get you in the bathtub, baby boy.” After my breakdown, Babbo hustled me to his house and upstairs to the bathroom. He immediately turned on the water and dumped in some lavender bubble bath. When he saw my sad look, he dumped a few more capfuls in.

“Babbo, can I have toys?” I didn’t think it was possible to take a bath without toys, and I didn’t wanna find out if I was right or not. Babbo kissed me on the nose, hustled over to the counter, and pulled out a mesh bag of bath toys.

“Silly boy, of course you can have toys. I’m not a sea monster. I would never take those away from you.”

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