Chapter 17: The Spanking Game
The PlayStation hummed its quiet, electronic whir, the opening screen of some racing game casting shifting blues and greens across the walls of Leonid's cramped dorm room. The scent of smoke and cologne hung in the air, stubborn and familiar, clinging to the crumpled sheets and the faded posters that peeled at their corners. Jensen sat perched sideways on Leonid's thigh, barefoot, wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt that had once belonged to Leonid and that hung off his shoulder, exposing the smooth expanse of his collarbone.
His fingers moved over the controller with practiced ease, but his focus was fractured.
Leonid's hand rested on his lower back, warm and heavy through the thin fabric of the shirt. Then it drifted lower, tracing the curve of Jensen's spine until it reached the swell of his ass, where it paused and squeezed once, firmly, possessively.
"Focus," Leonid murmured, his voice low, almost lazy. "You're losing."
"I'm not losing," Jensen shot back, his eyes fixed on the screen. "I'm strategizing."
Leonid's hand squeezed again, harder this time. "Your car's in the wall."
Jensen's jaw tightened. "That's a tactical decision."
The slap came without warning—sharp, loud, cracking through the dim room like a gunshot. Jensen jolted forward, the controller slipping in his grip, his car spinning wildly off the track and into a barrier.
"What the fuck—"
"Tactical decision," Leonid repeated, his voice flat, mocking. "Is that what we're calling it when you can't focus on anything because you're too busy thinking about my hand on your ass?"
Jensen turned his head, glaring at Leonid with feline intensity. "I was winning before you decided to—"
Another slap. This one landed on the same spot, the impact reverberating through Jensen's body and sending a jolt of heat straight to his groin. He bit down on a curse, his fingers tightening around the controller.
"Put the controller down," Leonid said, his voice dropping an octave, threaded with something dangerous.
"No."
Leonid's response was swift and without mercy. He hooked his arm around Jensen's waist and tipped him forward, spilling him across his lap in one fluid motion. Jensen's feet kicked instinctively, the controller clattering to the floor, the game forgotten as his chest hit Leonid's thighs and the air rushed from his lungs.
"What the hell, Leo—"
Leonid's hand came down on the waistband of Jensen's sweatpants, tugging them down over his hips with brutal efficiency. The cool air of the room hit Jensen's exposed skin, making him shiver, and then Leonid's palm landed on his bare ass with a crack that echoed off the walls.
Jensen gasped, his hands bracing against the floor, his fingers curling into the threadbare rug. "Leonid—"
"Shut up." Leonid's voice was calm, measured, but there was steel beneath it. His hand landed again, on the opposite cheek, leaving a bloom of heat in its wake. "You've been insufferable all day. Distracted. Fidgeting. You can't sit still, you can't concentrate, you can't even play a simple game without your mind wandering somewhere else."
Another slap. Jensen's hips bucked involuntarily.
"So I'm going to help you focus." Leonid's hand landed again, hard. "I'm going to remind you what happens when you don't pay attention to what's in front of you."
Jensen's breath came in short, sharp gasps. His skin was beginning to prickle with heat, the sting of each slap reverberating through him, spreading warmth from his ass down to his thighs and up to his belly. He could feel himself hardening against Leonid's leg—a betrayal of his own body that he couldn't stop and didn't want to.
"This is—fuck—this is ridiculous—"
Leonid's hand paused, resting on the heated skin. "Is it? Tell me you're not getting hard right now, and I'll stop."
Jensen's silence was answer enough.
Leonid hummed, a sound of dark satisfaction. "That's what I thought."
The spanking resumed with renewed intensity. Leonid's hand was broad and calloused from years of labor and work, and each slap landed with precision, targeting different spots—the crest of Jensen's ass, the sensitive curve where it met his thighs, the tender flesh that had already turned a shade of pink visible even in the dim light of the room.
"You're just a needy little slut," Leonid growled, his voice low and rough, each word punctuated by another slap. "You can't focus on anything—not a game, not a conversation—not even your own damn thoughts—without someone's hand on your ass."
Jensen cried out, his voice cracking. "That's not—that's not true—"
"No?" Leonid's hand landed again, harder this time, and Jensen's vision blurred with unexpected tears. "Then why is your cock pressing against my leg like it's begging for attention? Why are you arching your back, presenting yourself like you want more?"
"Because you're—" Jensen's voice broke on a moan as Leonid's hand connected with the underside of his ass, the most sensitive spot yet. "Because you're an asshole—"
Leonid laughed, low and mean. "And yet you're the one bent over my lap, letting me turn your ass red."
He slapped again, and again, and again, establishing a rhythm that was relentless and punishing. Jensen's cries had shifted from protest to something else entirely—something breathy and desperate, threaded with a pleasure he couldn't deny and a shame that only made it burn hotter.
His fingers clawed at the rug, his knuckles white. His cock was leaking against Leonid's thigh, a damp spot growing on the fabric of Leonid's jeans. He could feel his own arousal pulsing in time with the sting of each slap, the two sensations intertwining until he couldn't tell where pain ended and pleasure began.
"Look at you," Leonid murmured, his hand pausing to trace the contours of Jensen's heated skin. "So red. So raw. I can feel the heat coming off you from here."
Jensen trembled, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "Leo—please—"
"Please what?" Leonid's fingers dipped lower, brushing against the cleft of Jensen's ass before pulling away. "Please stop? Or please continue?"
Jensen whimpered, his hips grinding against Leonid's thigh. "I don't—I don't know—"
"That's the problem, isn't it?" Leonid's hand landed once more, making Jensen jolt. "You never know what you want. You just know you want. You're all want and no understanding, all hunger and no satisfaction."
Slap. Slap. Slap.
"All you need is someone to remind you," Leonid continued, his voice a low growl, "that you're just a pretty little thing who needs to be put in her place."
Jensen sobbed, the word hitting him somewhere deep—that degrading, possessive pronoun that Leonid used only in moments like this, when Jensen was bent over and broken and utterly, completely his.
"I'm not—" Jensen's voice was barely a whisper.
"You're not what?" Leonid's hand landed again, cutting off his words. "Not mine? You've been mine since we were five years old. Since you first kissed me in the sandbox and told me I belonged to you." Another slap. "But you forgot who belongs to who, didn't you?"
Jensen shook his head, tears streaming down his face. He couldn't remember when he'd started crying—couldn't remember when the line between pain and pleasure had dissolved so completely that he could no longer tell them apart.
Leonid's hand was relentless.
Jensen's ass was on fire.
"You're going to sit on this tomorrow," Leonid said, his voice dropping to something intimate, almost tender despite the harshness of his words. "Every time you shift in your seat, every time you feel the sting of my hand, you're going to remember this moment. You're going to remember who you belong to."
Slap. Slap.
"You're going to remember that you're my needy little slut." Slap. "That you need my hand on your ass to feel whole." Slap. "That without me, you're just a lost, broken rich boy with nothing to hold onto."
Jensen howled, his body convulsing as pleasure crashed over him like a wave. He hadn't even touched himself—hadn't been allowed to—but the relentless assault of Leonid's hand had driven him over the edge, his cock pulsing against Leonid's leg as he spilled into his boxers with a cry that was equal parts agony and ecstasy.
Leonid paused, his hand resting on Jensen's burning, reddened skin.
"Already?" he murmured, almost amused. "I barely even started."
Jensen collapsed against Leonid's lap, his body trembling, his breath coming in desperate, hitching gasps. He could feel the aftermath of his orgasm pooling in his boxers, sticky and warm, but all he could focus on was the throbbing heat of his ass and the gentle way Leonid's hand was now stroking his ruined skin.
"Leo..." His voice was wrecked, barely audible.
Leonid shifted, pulling Jensen up and into his arms in one fluid motion. Jensen curled against him instinctively, his face burying in the crook of Leonid's neck, his tears soaking into the fabric of his shirt.
"I've got you," Leonid murmured, his hand gentling, stroking through Jensen's dark hair. "I've got you."
Jensen sniffled, his body still trembling with aftershocks. "You're a monster."
"And yet you love me." Leonid pressed a kiss to the top of Jensen's head. "You love me so much you'd let me do anything to you."
Jensen's arms tightened around Leonid, clinging to him like a lifeline. "I'd let you destroy me," he whispered, his voice raw with truth. "I'd let you take everything I have and burn it all down, as long as it meant I got to stay with you."
Leonid's arms tightened around him, reciprocating, possessive. "I'd never destroy you. I'd ruin you." He pulled back, cupping Jensen's face in his hands. "There's a difference."
Jensen looked up at him, eyes red-rimmed and glassy, but holding a fierce, unwavering devotion. "Is there?"
"Louder than anything I've ever know," Leonid said. He wanted to kill Jensen, crumble him in his arms. He kissed him, soft and slow. "I'm going to put you on my lap for the next hour and you're going to feel every single heartbeat of that burn. And I'm going to hold you through it."
Jensen nodded weakly, his body already beginning to ache from the assault it had endured. His ass was a constellation of heat and pain, and he could feel the phantom sting of every single slap, a burning promise that would keep him anchored to this moment for hours to come.
"You're going to stay right here," Leonid said, shifting to make room on the bed. "You're going to lie on your side so I can keep you close."
Jensen obeyed without protest, settling onto the rumpled sheets, his ass screaming in protest. Leonid lay behind him, folding his body around him like a shield, his arm wrapping around Jensen's waist and pulling him close. He pressed gentle kisses along Jensen's shoulder blade, his touch soothing the ache he'd created.
"I mean it, Jen," Leonid said softly, his lips brushing against the shell of Jensen's ear. "Whenever you feel that sting, you're going to remember that you tried to walk away from me after class today, and I had to pull you back."
"That was nothing," Jensen mumbled, his voice muffled by the pillow. "Walking to the library."
"You turned your back on me." Leonid's hand slid down, pressing gently against Jensen's heated skin. "I don't like when you turn your back on me."
Jensen's breath hitched at the pressure, his body still sensitive. "I wasn't turning my back on you. I needed a fucking book."
"Then I'll buy you the book. But you don't walk away from me, Jen. You never walk away from me. Not without my permission."
Jensen fell silent, the weight of Leonid's words pressing down on him. He could feel the lingering sting of the spanking, the way his ass throbbed in time with his heartbeat. He could feel the stickiness of his own arousal against his thighs, a testament to how completely, utterly broken he was for this man.
"Now sleep," Leonid commanded, his voice soft but firm. "Tomorrow, you're going to have to sit in that chair in your calculus lecture, and you're going to feel everything I gave you. And when you're done feeling sorry for yourself, you're going to come back here and thank me for reminding you who you belong to."
Jensen let out a shaky exhale. "And what if I don't?"
"My hand is patient." On cue, Leonid's palm comes to rest on his bare skin, not in a slap but in a promise. "It'll be right here, waiting."