Page 37 of Ted's Temerity
I’m so lost in these thoughts, circling and spiraling in my head, that the first smack seems to come out of nowhere. The sound of Zephyr’s palm meeting the flesh of my ass cheek rings out like an echoingcrackin the silence of my bedroom and I yelp.
“Easy,” he murmurs, rubbing the stinging spot in a gentle caress, “you took that well, Ted.”
Some part of me wants to snort with amusement, glad that he’s calling me by my name and not Daddy, but what actually bubbles out of me is closer to a sob.
But I don’t have time to worry about how much closer I am to breaking point than I thought because Zephyr lands another stinging slap to my ass, on the other cheek this time. It forces a whoosh of breath from my lungs, but he follows it up with another smack, then another, raining them down in rapid succession until I lose count and bow my head.
I’m hardly aware of it happening, but as Zephyr doles out my spanking with confidence, my shoulders loosen and I become boneless against him. I can hear him muttering encouragement, assuring me that I’m doing so well to take the act of domestic discipline as I am, and I’m almost startled to realize that I’m crying when I register the wetness on my cheeks.
It doesn’t slow him down, though. He continues on with quick, light smacks that sting almost as much as the initial harder blows did, possibly because the skin is red and sensitive to touch now.
“Come on, Ted, let it all out,” his voice is warm and understanding, and that pushes me over the edge.
I bawl in a way I can’t ever recall doing before (not even when I lost Aiden, or when my parents ignored their grandson’s death) and, losing all sense of time passing, I accept his continued slaps as my sentence for everything I’ve been holding in.
And then, without warning, I’m fucking floating.
I’m hardly aware of Zephyr stopping, of him pulling me up into a hug or murmuring those same sweet words of support and encouragement into my ear. I feel high. Cocooned in a bubble of surprising bliss and relaxation.
Subspace.
The word makes its way through the haze in my brain, sobering me a little. Not enough for me to crash yet, but enough for me to understand what it is I’m feeling.
It’s completely unexpected.
The extent of my kink and of my exploration into BDSM is literally limited to Daddy/boy play, with experimentation with impact play purely from a Daddy perspective. I’ve never even thought I personally could, or would, feel this way from being on the receiving end of a spanking.
From what I understood, there are levels of endorphin release required before a sub hits subspace. Zephyr can’t have been spanking me for long enough to achieve that, could he?
Or maybe he was. I wasn’t exactly paying all that much attention. I was atoning for my perceived sins, after all. Losing myself in the pain and the absolution he offered me.
As I start to come back down, I realize what comes after subspace and the thought is even more sobering: sub-drop.
I’ve never experienced it, but I’ve seen it in action. I know everyone is different, too, so there’s no way to know how -or even if- it will affect me. I probably need to brace myself for the depression or the irritability, the anxiety and the fatigue that are most commonly associated with the phenomenon, but I haven’t the first clue how to do that. It can hit at any time: moments after the euphoria of subspace fades, or even days.
“Hey, I’ve got you, Ted.”
It’s only now that I notice that I’m trembling in Zephyr’s embrace. His arms are moving soothingly up and down my back and it is calming me now that I come down from my unexpected high.
“How are you feeling?” he asks, and I can’t quite understand where this version of my lover has come from. It should feel strange having the tables turned, having my boy deliver aftercare to me, but it doesn’t. “Was that okay?”
This time the snort comes out correctly as a snort and, despite feeling emotionally drained, I have to admit I do feellightersomehow. “It was more than okay, kitten,” I tell him, my voice sounding gravelly to my own ears. My throat is tight and scratchy; a sure sign I cried more than I originally thought I did. I try to clear it. “Thank you. I…I needed that.” Another incredulous huff escapes me. “How did you know?”
His fingers card through my hair as he answers softly, “I didn’t. Not really. I just…Ugh. The thought wouldn’t go away.”
“Hmm, gut instinct, then.” I nuzzle into the crook of his neck, feeling vulnerable and almost lost, but also intensely grateful for this beautiful younger man. “Thank you.”
Zephyr’s quiet for a minute. Contemplative. Then, softly, he asks, “You’re still going to be my Daddy, right? This doesn’t…uh…it doesn’t change everything?”
“Oh, babe, no. It doesn’t change a thing.”
Although, a little doubt niggles its way into the back of my brain, and I worry that maybe itdoes.
How will he ever look at me the same way again? Even ignoring the past I kept from him,I’msupposed to be the authoritative one. The nurturer. What we just did blows all of that to smithereens.
I swallow roughly. “Unless…I mean…” I can’t even bring myself to voice those concerns, but he gets it.
“Ted, no. Whatever you’re thinking, stop it.” Zephyr shakes his head. “I was worried you wouldn’t seemeas your boy anymore,” he confesses, as if he’s somehow reading my thoughts. “It doesn’t change the way I see you at all.”
