Wedding Gift (Part 3)

I started with some light tapping with the flat of the spoon. My first full strike made him squeak and jump, and struggle to get away.

This series contains intense age play and Daddy/little dynamics with adult diaper use, breastfeeding/nursing scenes, and dubious consent due to extreme regression. It features a strong power imbalance, forced dependence, and elements that may read as humiliation or manipulation within the kink context. Intended only for adults 18+ comfortable with these specific themes—skip if any part sounds triggering or unwanted.

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Eric gave me Toby for my birthday: paid, pretty, and perfectly bratty. He dropped his bowl, earned a stinging wooden spoon until his ass glowed red, then nursed at my chest while I jerked him to a trembling finish.

When he snuffled under my belly, sucking like a starving piglet, I was hooked.

Toby slipped into little space like he belonged there—craving the highchair, the diaper, the rules, the filthy safety of my lap.

Eric and I want him to stay. Not for pay. For real.

Come home to us, Toby.

Daddy’s waiting.

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In the last installment of Wedding Gift

Wedding Gift (Part 2)

In the first installment of Wedding Gift

Wedding Gift (Part 1)

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Boy was a bit squirmy in the highchair as he reached out with grasping hands for what was on my plate. I ignored him, busy taking some meat from the meatloaf and ribs, and cutting it up into small bites. I added a few potatoes from the potato salad as well for variety.

“Now, be careful with this, Boy.” I set his plastic bowl in front of him, and his fingers were straight into it. He was messy, but he managed to get most of the food into his mouth.

With only a few morsels left, he clung to the bowl and looked at me. Then the little bugger lifted the bowl from his highchair tray and dropped it straight onto the floor.

It landed with a clatter and spilled its contents.

I grabbed his wrist and smacked his hand. “No. Good boys don’t do that.” I turned away from him as he whimpered and started crying. I wanted to finish my dinner before punishing him.

He was throwing a fit by the time I finished eating, twisting and turning, and pounding on the tray as he tried to wiggle his way out of the highchair.

I cleared my plate and put it in the dishwasher, then went to deal with him. I removed the tray and unlatched the belts holding him in place, and he slid right out onto the floor.

He immediately regressed further, crawling his way from the kitchen into the living room. I followed him because that’s where I wanted him next.

“You were a very bad boy.” I sat on the sofa and beckoned to him. “Come here.”

Boy shook his head.

My facial muscles and jaw tensed, and my ears burned. He was walking a fine line. “Come here right now, or the spanking is going to be so much worse.”

Boy sighed, then crawled toward me. He managed to get himself to his feet by hanging on to the front of the sofa. It intrigued me that he was fully embracing all aspects of little life.

Perhaps it was something he needed in his adult life.

“Onesie and diaper off, and lie across my lap.”

Boy did what he was told—slowly. His bare ass was soon in the air above the narrow surface of my knees, his head and legs hanging off either side of me. I knew this position would make the blood pool in his head and make him dizzy.

It was all part of the discomfort.

“Eric, darling, I forgot to bring a wooden spoon with me.”

Boy’s muscles tightened. If he thought he was going to get away with a spanking from my hand, he had another thing coming. I didn’t mess around when it came to discipline.

Eric entered the living room and handed me the spoon I’d been after. “Here you go.” My husband tipped his head and smiled. “Mind if I watch?”

“Absolutely not. Take a seat.”

Boy used his toes, which were touching the carpet, to hoist himself higher. I ran the palm of my hand over his ass cheeks, then my finger down his crease.

He trembled at my touch.

I started with some light tapping with the flat of the spoon, readying him for what was about to happen. My first full strike made him squeak and jump, and struggle to get away.

I held him firmly in place.

“You start squirming, and this will go on for longer.”

Boy relaxed. “Yes, Daddy.”

“That’s a good boy.”

I looked over at Eric. He had his hand down his pants, primed to stroke himself as I lay down red splotches on Boy’s ass.

My husband loved to see me as a Daddy.

I didn’t hold back. One spank after another, back and forth, from cheek to cheek, in the same place for maximum pain. Boy was on the verge of blistering when I eased up.

His ass was a glorious shade of apple red.

Eric had cum all over his hand. He liked watching pain inflicted. Craved it more than I was comfortable with. He stood to leave the room and wash up.

“Can you bring me the wound balm out of the cupboard in the bathroom, Eric?” I rested my hand on Boy’s ass, and he hissed but remained bent over my knee.

Once I had the balm, and Eric left to do his own thing in the kitchen … the man was always baking for me, I spread the creamy paste delicately over the crimson areas, being careful as I rubbed it into his skin. When I was finished, I directed Boy to climb off my lap. He did and ended up on the sofa beside me, clutching my arm with the remnant of sweet tears in his eyes.

I looked at him sternly. “Will you ever throw your bowl on the floor again?”

Boy shook his head, like he was a dog trying to dispel water from his fur; fast and aggressive. He’d learned his lesson. “No, Daddy … I promise.”

“Good boy.” I stroked his hair, undid my shirt, and encouraged Boy into my arms. He immediately latched on to my nipple. It was getting a bit sore from all the attention.

The more the better. I was a nipple torture fanatic.

As he nursed, I brushed my hand from his chest to his abs. His skin was so soft and warm. I wandered lower and grasped his cock. He only stopped sucking for a second, then restarted.