Work Text:
Paying to Spank Shoto
I, Izuku Midoriya, sat at a swanky hotel bar, haughty conversation and idle prattle hitting my back as I sat in my own little universe. Two glasses clinked together as I pushed a freshly empty cider pint to join its three brothers.
“Anything else, sir?” The bartender asked me. I barely lifted my head to look at her. She was a pretty young woman, though a bit more alternative than I was reared around. Her jet-black hair was pulled back, streaks of dark red going through it. She wore piercings in her lip, septum, and right eyebrow. Her shadowed eyes didn’t leave me as she shook a mixer in her hand.
“No, no thank you,” I say, the words slipping from my tongue. How easy life would have been, had I fancied people like her. “I’ve probably had too much,” I add, trying for a smile. I brusquely bring my fist up to cover a burp. “’Scuse me.”
“You’re excused,” she said with a wink, then turned to serve someone else.
I might have blushed had my cheeks not already been rosy from the drink. I really should have eaten something to soak up the alcohol, yet I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep anything down, not with how many butterflies were fluttering around in my gut.
At least I’d had my liquid courage, that might see me through the night.
Shapes moved all around me, coming and going, laughing, flirting, and jibing here and there, the cogs of social interaction lubricated by the very drinks that I needed just to keep myself sane.
For a moment, I focussed. I see a young man in his twenties, just a few years younger than me. Or he could be the same age as me, a little older even, if he just aged better. He was tall, dark in skin and hair, his jaw chiselled and his haircut chic. He had a woman on his arm, draped in a beautiful red gown with a red lip to match. She held a wine, he had a pint glass. They were a beautiful couple.
I made myself look away, look forward to the bar, past all the fancy display bottles, catching the mirror behind them. A pair of sunken eyes stared back at me, brown and bagged. I blinked just to make sure it was me.
My hair looked good, at least; dark green, almost black, freshly trimmed and styled. I’d just asked the barber, a handsome European man, to give me something respectable, and he’d done good work. That and a clean shave cost me only ¥3000.
I wasn’t bad looking, so why couldn’t I have it too? Why couldn’t I be a suave flirt with a well-timed quip? One glance in the mirror told me why.
Not at my own reflection, but a little bit behind. Walking behind me, or more like hopping, was a boy. He couldn’t be more than eight or nine, but one glance was all I needed to know he was beautiful. He was wearing a light blue button-up shirt tucked into black dress shorts. It was all I could do not to crane my neck and look right at him.
God, those shorts hugged his bum very well indeed.
I bit the inside of my cheek so hard I could taste copper. I had to.
“Actually, I’ll have another cider, please, same as before.”
It was another pint and a half before I was brought back to the lucid world again. Someone had sat right next to me. Unusual since I was at the end of the bar, a visible sad sack, a social dead weight that anyone looking for a good time knew to stay well away from.
“Gorgeous day for a hand of poker, wouldn’t you say?” the newcomer remarked.
My throat tightened. The gulp of cider almost came back up but I sealed my lips and painfully forced it down. I coughed into my fist and slapped my chest, casting my mind back to the messages that we’d passed a few days ago.
“Um, only for the one-eyed jack, in my opinion,” I recited, my hands trembling. This was it, this was him.
“Mr. Midoriya, yes?”
I looked up and saw bright turquoise eyes looking back at mine. The man next to me had a small, easy smile on his lips. He was resting his elbows on the bar, a short, cloudy glass already in his hand. He swirled it gently around, the ice clinking.
“Yes,” I rasped. “I never caught your name.”
“You will,” the sharply dressed man said. He was clad in a grey suit, with a white shirt, brown shoes, and a black tie. He looked more ready for a board meeting than what we’d met for. “Just not right now.”
“Ah, okay.” I understood the need for discretion and secrecy.
“But you’re a handsome man, Mr. Midoriya. How would you feel about coming back to my suite?”
It was a script, I knew it was, but even so, being called a ‘handsome man’ made me smile.
“Almost.” I chugged back the rest of my pint. I flagged the young woman down to pay my tab, then added a crisp ¥5000 note just for her.
Maybe she sensed my jubilation, maybe she felt happy for me, seeing me about to make off with a handsome, well-dressed man, and assumed I’d lucked my way into a fruitful encounter.
“Let’s go,” I said to the sharply dressed man. I stood, wobbled, and felt his arm around me.
“I’ll take the lead,” he whispered into my ear, sending a shiver down my spine and sobering me up just a little. “Just think, he’s up there right now, waiting for you.”
That sobered me up the rest of the way. There was no question about who ‘he’ was. He was the reason we were here, why I was here, why I’d needed the drink and the man with his arm around my waist needed discretion.
“Let’s go then, shall we?” I straightened up and walked in step with my companion, able to walk on my own by the time we left the hotel bar. But he didn’t pull away, he was committed to the bit.
We got to the elevator, joining a group of five or six waiters. When the lift dinged, my companion gestured for everyone else to go ahead of us, a smooth smile on his face, no doubt making everyone think what he wanted them to think.
As we waited for the lift to come back down, I leaned against him, my heart hammering in my chest.
“Nervous?” he whispered again.
“A bit.” I swallowed.
“It’d be weird if you weren’t.”
I looked up at him. He was a bit taller than me, the difference exacerbated by the fact that I was slouching and he was composed. Then he leaned down and kissed me on the lips.
I stopped breathing. My arm around his shoulders tensed. I grabbed the fabric of his suit and whimpered as he pressed very firmly against me.
Then he pulled away, ever the picture of confidence. He winked, I blushed.
“All for the act, Mr. Midoriya.”
The elevator dinged again, and we boarded. Just us.
“Dabi. You can call me Dabi,” he said, introducing himself at last.
I leaned against the side of the elevator, my hands braced on the cool ornamental bar while Dabi preened his white hair in the mirror. He was boyishly handsome, complexion flawless, teeth white and not even a single piece of dust to be found on him.
“Dabi,” I repeated, confident I was being given an alias.
As we rose through the levels of the hotel, my hands perspired on the railing. I was following through, I was really doing it. I could hear my own pulse. My mouth was dry. My breathing quickened.
“Hey.” Dabi tapped my cheek. I looked up at him, then down at his shoes. “You’re not having second thoughts, are you?”
“No!” I said, perhaps too loudly. “No, I…like you said, I’m just nervous.”
Dabi stood there with a smirk, hands in his pockets. How he was so put together, I did not know. Maybe he’d done this a lot. I didn’t know whether to vomit at that thought.
Then he reached past me and wiped the bar I’d just been leaning on. He wiped where my hands had been, where my sweat and prints were. I stepped aside and let him do it and put my hands in my pockets.
The elevator dinged once more. The doors opened. We stepped out. I followed a pace behind Dabi. He pulls out a keycard and opens the door to room 718.
I take a deep breath, forcing one foot in front of the other. I stop at the threshold. I can hear something inside, something playful and zany. A cartoon perhaps. Lord forgive me.
“You coming?” Dabi asks me, smirking over his shoulder. No doubt, the double entendre was very intentional.
“Yes.”
I step past him into the hotel room. He locks the door behind me. To my immediate right is the en-suite door. In front of me is a curtain, but I can tell it’s not a usual fixture of the hotel room. Dabi must’ve brought it. Just in case.
Dabi stepped past me, slid through the curtain and drew it for me.
“Come on in, Mr. Midoriya.”
I walk into the light, past Dabi. My breath hitches, my hands ball into fists, my toes curl in my shoes. There he is, in all his glory.
“Mr. Midoriya, this is Shoto. Shoto, say hi to Mr. Midoriya.”
Shoto is sitting at the hotel room’s desk, elbows resting on it, watching something on a laptop. His ankles are crossed under the chair, his legs swinging back and forth. His skin is fair and flawless, his hair is red on his left side and white on his right. He looks over to us. His eyes are as mismatched as his hair, turquoise on the left and grey on the right. My eyes track down to the seat, where I can see his entire profile. All of it, because Shoto is naked.
Well, almost naked, he had on a pair a white ankle socks, which somehow made him look all the more naked.
“Hey,” Shoto said, his voice still a little pitched. Puberty was present but not all encompassing. Not yet. But when it did, this boy was going to be a heartthrob.
“That’s not polite, son, stand and greet our friend,” Dabi said, a playful sharpness in his voice.
Shoto looked down at his bare lap, pushed the chair back, and stood. I could only breathe. He turned to face me, then walked across the carpeted floor towards me. He was…gorgeous. His jaw was strong, his chest flat, v-lines defined. And his boyhood. The more said, the better.
It swung very slightly left and right as he walked. The skin was still loose at the end. It was hairless at its base, as were the tight balls that rested behind it. Still so small, so virginal, so uncorrupted by the hideousness of adulthood.
Before I knew it, Shoto was standing right in front of me, a rosy tint to his handsome cheeks. He held his hand out to me. I took it, feeling bad for how clammy it must be. I found myself wondering what he saw when he looked at me. A monster? A villain? A pathetic wretch to be pitied?
All would be justifiable.
“Hello, Shoto. It’s nice to meet you,” I say, as if this were the time and place for awkward small talk.
A silence squeezed between us. I held his hand for too long yet couldn’t bring myself to let go. The poor boy, having to be held hostage like this. He didn’t deserve it.
“Lovely, now that introductions are over with,” Dabi interjected. I looked over to him. My heart shrivelled when I saw the camera and tripod. But I had no say. It was insurance. I got what I wanted, he ensured I never told anyone. “Shall we move on to business.”
My hand fell from Shoto’s. He held his hands at his groin and swayed back and forth on the balls of his feet. It was a gesture so boyish and cute I could’ve exploded right then and there. But I couldn’t. Not yet. I needed to get to the meat of the night before I got there.
“Shoto was a very naughty boy, Mr. Midoriya. Very naughty,” Dabi started, standing behind the camera. He was aiming it at both of us. I moved aside so it would get all of Shoto in it. I looked at the boy, watching his reaction. His gaze was cast down, his cheeks an even deeper shade of pink now.
“Why don’t you show our new friend what you did, and why you deserve to be punished, Shoto.”
“Yes, dad,” Shoto answered, his tone low and disparate. Whether or not Dabi was his dad or not, I couldn’t say. There was some resemblance, but all I wanted was to know what naughtiness Shoto had apparently done.
Then, Shoto did the best thing he could have ever done for me. He turned around. I had to hold onto my own wrist to keep from palming myself. I wouldn’t have lasted.
His bottom put the word ‘perfect’ to shame. It was perky, as fair as the rest of him and just as flawless. My eyes were glued as he walked across the room, the plump of his cheeks shifting with every step. My hands twitched, yearning to reach out and grab them, knead them, spread them and all the rest! But I didn’t. I could only do what was agreed upon.
That would be more than enough, right?
I watched as Shoto bent over – my god – and reached into a backpack. I could just about make up his small balls pressed between his thighs as he rummaged around. When he stood upright again, he turned and walked towards the bed.
I got to watch his penis sway again.
I didn’t even see what he was holding until he placed it on the bed. I squinted to get a closer look. It was a PlayStation 5 controller, still in its box, red in colour, and a handful of games with it. The games were still in their plastic wraps, and I could see that one still had a security tag by the barcode.
“What did you do, Shoto, tell Mr. Midoriya.” Dabi had the camera aimed at the naked boy.
“I stole these,” Shoto replied simply, hands behind his back, looking at the floor.
“And how much would it all have cost?”
“About… ¥70,000 I think, maybe.” Shoto shrugged, fidgeting where he stood. He lifted one leg to scratch his calf with his toes and wobbled on the spot.
“Yikes, boy, that’s a lot of money. I’ve half a mind to make you streak as you are all the way back to that shop and bring it back. What do you think about that?”
Shoto shook his head, his hair bouncing.
“No? Well, how else is daddy going to punish you? You’ve been so naughty.”
Dabi was sporting a big grin. A glance down to his groin showed that he was enjoying this too. Maybe even more than I was.
“I think, maybe, I should be spanked instead,” Dabi said, toeing the carpet.
I don’t care if it was rehearsed, just hearing that come from the boy’s mouth made me leak precum into my boxers.
“Hmm, I don’t know, that’s a lot of stuff you stole just for a spanking. I think you’ll need a long, hard, spanking to make up for it. What do you think, Mr. Midoriya?”
I wasn’t expecting to be called on. I must’ve looked like a deer in headlights when my head swivelled to look at Dabi. My words were caught in my throat. I stammered for a moment before gulping, taking a breath, and finally responding.
“I, I agree, I think Shoto deserves a good, long, hard spanking for what he did. It was very bold indeed.”
“And from what I hear, you’re very good at spanking naughty little boys. Isn’t that right, Mr. Midoriya?”
Dabi was going beyond what we originally scripted. I didn’t mind, though, it made my chest thrum with excitement and anxiety both.
“That’s true,” I answered, finding my voice. I looked at Shoto. I bit the inside of my cheek again, feeling another stinging twinge, to keep myself from moaning. He was standing there, fully exposed, hands behind his back, one leg brought slightly up. As if that was enough to shield him from my eyes.
“I know a lot about smacking the bums of bold little boys, boys who steal and lie and cheat.” A lie. I had no real experience. I once spanked a boy younger than me when I was a teenager, but that was only a playful dare. Everything else I knew was purely fantasy. Reading and writing stories, joining forums, hearing stories from people with actual experiences.
None of it was truly mine. Until now.
“I’m sorry,” Shoto sniffed, squirming on the spot. My eyes were drawn down to his pretty little willy, which was showing signs of getting stiff. My fingers twitched. I wanted to walk up to him and gently rub it, get him the rest of the way there.
But that wasn’t what was agreed on. I could maybe sneak a brief touch down the line, but not yet.
“Sorry won’t cut it, boy,” Dabi said with a sneer. “Look up,” he directed, tilting the camera slightly.
Shoto obeyed, and there were already tears in his pretty eyes.
“You are going to do as you’re told, you’re going to get your bottom smacked until Mr. Midoriya is satisfied, or you’re going for a long walk.”
“Yes, daddy.”
I saw a single tear fall from Shoto’s face. I felt a pang in my chest and bile rise in my throat. Too many questions were bouncing around in my head. Was Dabi really Shoto’s father? Did he really steal those things? Was Shoto going to see any of the money I was paying?
Am I a monster?
I knew the answer to the last question was true, and it’d be so much easier if all the others shared that answer.
“Good boy.” The camera was then turned to me. “Mr. Midoriya, the floor is yours. How will you punish my thief of a son?”
I looked around the room. There were so many ways I could do it. I could take him over my lap, lie him down on the bed, bend him over the desk. Then there was what to spank him with. My hand? My belt? The room probably had things I could get creative with.
I closed my eyes, took a breath, and decided to start simple.
“He’s going to start by going over my lap and getting a good helping of my hand,” I said with confidence that surprised even me.
I pulled the desk chair out into the middle of the room and pointed at Shoto.
“Come here, boy.”
He obeyed, I watched his willy wag left and right as he stood before me, face still trained downwards.
“Look at me.”
He looked up, his eyes wet, his cheeks rosy, his lower lip quivering ever so slightly. My resolve rattled. He was beautiful. He was angelic. He was perfection. Dare I even touch him? I must. I’ve gotten this close.
I wipe my hand on the side of my trousers before timorously bringing it up to his face. He flinches as I cup his cheek and run my thumb under his eye. His skin is so smooth, so warm. I bite my cheek again, keeping me checked in.
“You’re not a bad boy, Shoto, but you’ve done a bad thing, and you’re going to be punished for it. I’m going to start by taking you over my lap and spanking you with my hand. After that, well, we’ll see what you deserve.”
Shoto let out a whimper. A tear fell onto my hand. I couldn’t stop now, I physically couldn’t. I pulled my hand away from his face and sat down on the chair. Shoto was standing right next to me. I could see everything.
I looked up at Dabi, who was still smirking, still aiming the camera.
I brought a hand up and awkwardly rubbed Shoto’s back. He was so supple. My hand glided downwards. I held my breath, stalled for a second, then settled my hand on his bottom. I let out an undignified gasp. It was so soft, so firm. The flesh gave way under my groping fingers. I pulsed in my trousers.
A glance to the side and I saw that the boy’s willy was now fully stiff, pointing directly out in front of him.
“Let’s get this started, eh?” I reached out and grabbed his wrist and pulled him closer. He was light, easy to move. I shouldn’t be surprised, he was a skinny boy.
I spread my legs and pulled him between them. He was facing me. His willy was right there. I forced myself to look into his eyes. I smiled at him, placed both hands on his hips and gently rubbed them.
“You’ll be okay,” I whispered. I peered over Shoto’s shoulder and saw Dabi again. He had lifted the tripod, holding it steady, getting ready to move to the best angle to capture the spanking.
My right hand slid over Shoto’s flat tummy, then up his chest before resting on his clavicle. I can’t help myself. I lean in and press a kiss to the centre of his chest. I nestle my face there for all of a moment, bowing to Shoto, worshipping him and his beauty. I swallow again, tasting copper, then pull back.
I look him up and down once more, my mouth watering at the sight of his erect boyhood. But it is time to proceed.
I turn Shoto to the left, shuffle forward on the seat, and guide him over my leg. I watch intently as his bum goes taut over my thigh. I can feel his stiffy. I’m sure he can feel mine too. I extend my right leg out and close it, trapping Shoto’s legs betwixt my own. I place a hand on the small of his back, my other rests on his pert cheeks.
I look up at Dabi, who’s situated himself off to my right, just by the bed. He wasn’t going to miss anything. I peer down at Shoto, whose arms are outstretched to the floor, keeping his upper half up.
“No need to count,” I say, cutting through the room. “I’ll know when it’s time to stop.”
I raise my hand up to shoulder level. Like I said before, I know nothing about spanking. I don’t know how much it takes to hurt or how hard is too hard. So, I need to experiment.
I bring my open palm down onto Shoto’s bottom, whipping it across his cheeks. They bounced amazingly, the ripple going down his thighs. The boy grunted, but not much more. I couldn’t even see a slight change of colour.
I bring my hand down again, harder this time. Shoto didn’t even make a sound. I did it again, the sound of the slap echoing through the room. I felt myself smile, my heart beating faster than it ever had before. I was doing it, I was spanking a boy!
I continued to spank Shoto’s perky little bum, moving from cheek to cheek, watching them bounce and give way then form back into place. He started to squirm against me, the slightest tint of pink remaining on the crests of his cheeks. His willy was still rock-solid. As was mine.
I wasn’t counting as I spanked, but I reached about twenty before stopping to catch my breath. My shoulder ached. I rested my hand on Shoto’s handsome rear and started to softly rub it.
“You’re doing well, Shoto,” I praised, looking down at him. He’d gone somewhat limp, his arms no longer supporting him. I could hear his soft sobs. “C’mon, up you get,” I say, helping him to his feet. His top cheeks are wet and pink. He tries to wipe the tears away, but I take his wrists and stop him.
“None of that, please go stand in the corner for a moment while I think about what comes next.” I needed a moment to calm down. I was ready to explode in my trousers, but if I did, I wouldn’t be able to fully appreciate the rest of the evening.
Shoto did as he was told, going to the corner by the curtain Dabi and I walked in through. The camera followed the naked boy, who stood still, his shoulders shaking, his hands reached back to rub his tender bottom.
“Hands on your head, my boy,” I said, not even thinking about it. It just felt like the correct thing to say, like the stern dads in the stories I read. Again, Shoto obeyed.
I sat on the edge of the bed, hands on my knees, and took a breath. I looked at Shoto’s bare backside, then forced myself to look away. I took breath after breath, counted back from ten, and opened my eyes when I no longer felt close to cardiac arrest.
I stood and looked around, trying to see if there was any implement I could use on the boy’s behind before I escalated to my belt.
“I think I know what you’re after, my friend,” Dabi said, cutting into my train of thought. I looked to him. He stood the tripod right behind Shoto, getting a long, unobstructed view of his bum. I watched as he then brought a suitcase out of the wardrobe, set it on the bed, and opened it.
My eyes widened. I stepped closer, reached out, but didn’t take anything.
“Take your pick, these are all yours for the night,” Dabi said, stepping back and crossing his arms.
I looked at the range of implements laid out before me. There was one of just about everything you could think to spank a boy with. A hairbrush, a paddle, a strap, a tawse, a switch, a ruler, a wooden spoon, and two canes, one thin and the other thick. Notably, no belt, but one glance to Dabi’s waist told me that was always to hand.
My fingers glanced across the implements, looking like something out of a fantasy. I had to decide now what spankings I wanted to give Shoto. I tried to consider how much each of these would hurt, but at the end of the night, the boy would be sore regardless.
“I think… these will do.” I took the hairbrush and the thin cane from the case. Dabi stepped forward and put the rest back into the wardrobe. Then he went back to his camera and pulled it away from Shoto.
“You hear that, boy, your spanking has only just begun,” Dabi said, a cutting edge in his voice.
“He, ah, your daddy’s right, Shoto, come back over here. Keep your hands on your head.”
The nude boy did just as he was ordered. His willy had gone soft while standing in the corner, but it was still very nice to look at.
I saw his eyes flicker to the bed, where I’d left the hairbrush and cane. I saw fear in his eyes, followed by acceptance.
I wondered just how many times he’d had those used on him. How often he’d had the entire contents of that case used on him. Poor boy. But I’d made it this far, whether I gave him one spank or a thousand, I was just as guilty in either case.
“I’m going to cane your naughty bum first, then you’ll get a taste of the hairbrush. After that, you might taste my belt, depending on how good you are.”
It was a hollow hope, I’d be using my belt on his little ass no matter what. Even for just a couple of strikes. But it felt like the proper thing to say.
“Now, bend over, grab the seat, and keep your legs straight.”
Shoto hesitated for a moment, then did as I told him to. I enjoyed watching him get into position. The way he bent over made me want to do other things to his behind. But no, that wasn’t what this night was for.
I picked up the thin cane. I tested it against my palm. It stung. I could only imagine the pain it would inflict on Shoto’s precious rear. I couldn’t wait to find out.
Dabi got into a better position too, his camera aimed just offside of Shoto, positioned perfectly to capture everything I was about to do.
I got into position next to Shoto and placed my hand on the small of his back.
“Spread your legs a tad. That’s a good boy,” I said, wanting it so that his little balls could be seen between his thighs. He did just as he was told, and I could tell that Dabi was getting the best shot he could.
“How old are you, Shoto?” I ask as I bring the thin cane to rest across his mounds.
“T-twelve,” he whimpers.
“Twelve,” I repeat, moving the thin wood up and down his cheeks. “Then that’s how many whips of this cane you’re going to get. Remember how this feels when you next think of stealing.”
I steadied Shoto and myself, envisioning where I was going to whip. My hand trembled. I took a breath, closed my eyes, pulled my arm back, opened my eyes, and swung the thin cane right into Shoto’s cheeks!
The sound was sharp, piercing, and felt much louder than it probably was. The boy let out a pained hiss. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, shook hips and clenched his bottom as a thin red line bloomed across his backside.
“Very nice, Mr. Midoriya,” Dabi praised, his lens directed at the fresh welt.
I beam at him, believing that I had indeed whipped Shoto perfectly. “Count, boy, count,” I demanded, tapping the top of his bum with the thin cane.
“One!” Shoto declared without hesitation.
“Good. If you miss a count or lift yourself from the chair, that whip won’t count, understand?”
“Yes,” he wept.
“Yes, what?” I slapped his bottom with my open palm, right onto the new welt.
“Yes, sir!” he cried out, shaking his rear in a devilishly tempting way.
“Good.” I steadied my hand, brought it back, and whipped it onto Shoto’s bottom again, right under the first one.
“Two, sir!”
I could tell the pain was strong. The way he shifted and writhed, and there were still ten to go. He would be openly sobbing by the time it was all over, I’d bet. I hated to admit that I was looking forward to it.
I whipped the third one above the first two, the fourth one above that. The fifth one went right into his crease where bottom met thigh. That made Shoto howl and stamp. But he didn’t miss the count, nor did he rise.
I brought my arm back for the sixth whip, and sent it diagonally across the boy’s bum, crossing all previous whips.
“Six! Sir!” he cried out, his tears falling onto the seat. He was trembling, his legs quivering. Perhaps I’d set the bar too high. I bit my lip, looking at the angry red marks I’d struck into his flesh. Where the whips overlapped, his skin was an even angrier shade of red, almost purple.
I ran my hand over the marks, feeling the welts, the heat, the sting. I bit my lip. I gripped a cheek in my hand. Shoto gasped and tried to pull away, but I just slapped the cheek and grabbed it anyway.
“Don’t be naughty, I’m just checking it over,” I justified, knowing that I had no such concern in me. Not right now.
But there were still six whips to go. I didn’t fancy drawing blood from the boy, which was a genuine possibility. I mulled it over while kneading his cheek.
“Okay, Shoto, you have a choice. You can either take the last six whips on your thighs and legs, or you can put on a show for me and your daddy. That would involve you rubbing your willy until you shoot your seed while we watch. Can you shoot yet?”
The boy whimpered and sniffled for a moment, still bent over, and nodded.
“Good, then which will you choose?”
The room went silent. I held my own breath, Shoto stopped breathing, and Dabi was breathing quite hard. I looked over to him. He had a wicked grin on his boyish face, a hand pressed against his groin.
“Um, uh,” Shoto stammered. I let go of his cheek and slapped it again.
“Choose, or you’ll be doing both!”
“Shoot! I’ll shoot for you!” Shoto cried out, then broke into a fresh wave of sobs.
“That’s a good boy,” I said, rubbing his bottom. I looked around the room. “Do you have anything to catch his seed with?” I asked Dabi. This seemed to snap the other man out of his stupor and made him actually think.
“I think I can find something. What had you in mind?” he asked.
“Something black, so we’ll definitely notice when he cums,” I answer.
Dabi focussed for a moment, smirked, then went through the curtain. He came back a moment later with a black hand towel. I match his smirk.
“Stand straight, Shoto,” I order. He obeys and I drape the towel over the seat. Dabi brought the camera over and aimed it right at Shoto’s boyhood and the seat.
“Go on, show us what you can do, boy,” I say, my hand going to the nape of his neck.
Shoto grabbed onto his willy, which had stiffened again during his caning, and started to throttle himself. I couldn’t look away. The way his hand went back and forth, tugging at himself, pulling his foreskin back over his tip and pushing it forward again. His free hand was balled into a fist.
He went on for a few minutes, slowly tugging himself to completion. I wondered what he was thinking of, who or what he was picturing.
“That’s it, Shoto, you’re almost there, I can tell,” I say, my hand going to his marred bottom. He bites his lip, his eyes close, his hips buck. I grab tightly onto his cheek. He moans out loud, hips arched as his groans fill the room. I look down and watch as he casts his load onto the towel, a few thin white spurts.
Shoto gasps and groans, tugging on himself a final few times as he comes down from the high of orgasm.
“Good boy,” I whisper in his ear. I’m close to bursting myself, but I still push the need for release back. I can’t, not yet.
But there is still spanking to be had, aside from Shoto’s monkey.
After letting him go to the bathroom and clean himself up, I’m waiting for him with the hairbrush in hand.
“Come here,” I order, pointing to the floor in front of me. He stands there and places his hands on his head.
“Lie down,” I say, gesturing to the bed. “On your back.” I see him blush as he puts together what’s about to happen. He does as he’s told anyway and lies on his back. I lift his legs by his ankles and push his knees to his chest. I keep hold of his ankles with my left hand, keeping them pushed as far as they’ll go.
“Lovely position,” Dabi compliments as he repositions the camera. From this angle, I’m sure he can see everything. Shoto’s willy and balls, and his hole too, exposed from between his parted cheeks.
I look at the boy’s pink, crosshatched bottom. I place the cold wood of the hairbrush against it. He whimpers. I leak into my underwear.
“I’m not going to count these ones, I’m going to go until I feel like the lesson has sunk in,” I say, lifting my hand high. I bring it down heavily, smack bang where Shoto’s cheeks meet his thighs. He lets out a cry. I caught several of his welts in that attack.
I smack the brush down onto his rear again, this time just on his left cheek, then his right, then onto his thighs. He cried and kicked, one of his legs slipping loose from my grip.
“Sorry!” he said quickly, then tried to bring his leg back in to position himself.
“You will be! Hold your legs right there!” I say, my passion and need for release being directed into faux anger.
As Shoto wraps his arms around his knees, keeping his legs pulled back, I pull my belt from its loops. I see the flash of fear in his eyes as I double it over and snap it.
“God,” I hear Dabi whisper. I see him palming his groin and biting his lip.
“For slipping from position, you’re getting two whips of the belt,” I say, bringing my belting arm far back and whistling it through the air, the thick end striking like lightning into Shoto’s ass, right over the welts!
He bucks and throws his head back, his cry of pain trapped in his throat. He finally lets out a gasp followed by a wail of misery. He held tight onto his knees, curled his toes, and waited for the second strike.
He doesn’t have to wait long as I bring the second one lashing across his thighs. He sobs loudly, shifting and writhing but not pulling away. I toss my belt onto the bed and pick up the hairbrush. I place my hand over his where he’s hugging his knees, keeping them completely pinned. Hopefully he wouldn’t slip from position again.
I didn’t mean that, I wanted him to slip, I wanted an excuse to use the belt on him again.
But for now, I got to slap the cold, unforgiving, unyielding wood of the hairbrush into his ass over and over. I raised my arm and brought it down more times than I cared to keep count of. I watched over and over as Shoto’s cheek and thighs coloured in deeper and deeper shades of red. The welts from the cane and the belt were even darker, closer to purple.
I only stopped when my arm was too tired to carry on.
I tossed the hairbrush onto the bed and sat down, taking a moment to catch my breath. I looked over at Shoto, who was weeping to himself, tears cascading from his eyes. He stayed in position, probably too sore to move.
“Good boy, Shoto, good boy,” I say, reaching over to squeeze his shoulder.
After another moment, the boy finds it in him to move. He slowly lets go of his legs and turns onto his side, then onto his stomach. I look him over, at his deeply marred rear and thighs. I feel a pang of guilt for all of a second.
Dabi then moved to the edge of the bed and pulled Shoto so that his legs were sticking out off the bed. He then placed the tripod between Shoto’s legs and aimed the camera downward so it was looking right at his cheeks and thighs.
“Good boy, stay just like that,” Dabi said as his hands went to his belt and zipper. “Come on, Izuku, let’s finish this off.” He pulled his cock out, his trousers and boxers down at his thighs. My eyes widened. I heeded his call. I stood on Shoto’s other side, undid my trousers and pulled myself out.
Dabi and I stroked ourselves, both of us already on the verge. Neither of us would last long. I looked down at Shoto’s bum, at the crosshatch pattern I whipped, the welts I belted, the colour I inflicted. I recalled the sight of his cheeks rippling and bouncing, the heat I felt when I clapped my hand into his cheeks.
“Fuck,” Dabi hissed. He brought his free arm up and gripped my shoulder. I did the same, holding his shoulder even though it meant stroking myself with my off hand. It didn’t matter, I wouldn’t last long anyway.
“God, Shoto,” I whispered, pumping my cock, leakage from my tip landing on his cheeks. “God! I’m cumming! God, I’m cumming!” I announce, my eyes rolling back into my head as my cock pulses and throbs in my hand. I groan as my tip explodes in pleasure, shooting thick ropes of seed all over Shoto’s beautiful ass. It went all over the crosshatch pattern and into his crack.
Dabi wasn’t far behind me. His hand squeezed my shoulder tight as he threw his head back and cast his own load onto the boy. We stood there for several minutes, coming down from the high of it all, stroking the last ebbs of pleasure from ourselves until there was no more to give.
We eventually put ourselves away. I put my belt on and sat. Dabi set about saving the recording of events. Shoto pushed himself up, trembling in every limb. He whimpered as he stood, his hands not even going to soothe his ass.
“Hey, Shoto,” Dabi said, approaching the naked boy. “You did good.” He pulled Shoto into a hug that the boy reciprocated. Then, when they parted, Dabi leaned down and pressed his lips against Shoto’s. Not in a fatherly way, not in a chaste, affectionate way, but in a passionate, lustful way. When they parted, a string of saliva connected them.
“Go on, get your shower,” Dabi said. Shoto didn’t waste any time in going through the curtain. A moment later, I heard the shower go.
“Here’s your copy, Mr. Midoriya.”
Dabi snapped me from my reverie. I’d been watching the curtain, the last view I had of Shoto’s perky, punished posterior.
“Oh, yes, thank you,” I say, taking the offered memory stick.
“And a souvenir.” Dabi picked up the towel Shoto had cum onto, folded it over, and held it out to me. I took it and held it close.
“Thanks again.” But now it was my turn. I placed the memory stick and towel down gently, stood up and started to unbutton my shirt. I reached into a pocket I had sewn into the inside of this shirt and pulled out an envelope.
I held it out and Dabi took it. He opened it and thumbed through the notes inside. I could see him counting. When he was done, he looked up, smiled at me and offered his hand.
“Pleasure doing business.”
I took and shook his hand, feeling lighter now that it was all done.
“It was worth every penny.”
I started to make my way out. When I went through the curtain, I noticed the bathroom door was ajar. I pushed it slightly and peeked in. I got one last look at Shoto, his dichromatic hair plastered down against his head, soapy water sliding down his body, over his bum, between his cheeks. He looked over his shoulder at me. Our eyes met. I smiled at him, he turned back away.
I shouldn’t expect anything more than that. I left the hotel room, my prizes in hand, finally knowing what it was like to spank a little boy.
I needed to do it again.