~~ Rick stood in the doorway, a ghost in the dim light spilling from the hall, and simply watched. The can of Coors was cold in his hand, a stark contrast to the heat coiling low in his gut. For a full minute, he said nothing, did nothing but absorb the scene. The boy’s room was a study in shadows and motion. The only light came from the glow of a clock radio, casting the kinetic sculpture of Kyle’s straining body in a soft, hellish red. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and heated flesh, and the only sounds were the boy’s muffled grunts into his pillow and the steady, wet, hypnotic smack-smack-smack of his ass cheeks clapping together with each powerful thrust.
Rick’s eyes, honed by years of watching for weakness and opportunity in crowded prison yards, took in every detail. The powerful curve of Kyle’s thighs, the impossibly narrow waist, and the main event: that glorious, obscene, jiggling ass. It was a masterpiece of defiance, a fuck-you to the world, and it was currently putting on the performance of a lifetime. Rick felt a low, predatory growl build in his chest. He raised the beer can, and the sharp hiss of the tab breaking the seal was like a gunshot in the quiet room.
Kyle froze.
It wasn't just the sound. It was the sudden, prickling certainty of being watched. The air had changed, thickened, become heavy with a new, menacing presence. Every hair on his body stood on end. He held his breath, every muscle locked, listening to the frantic thunder of his own heart. Slowly, with a dread so profound it was physically painful, he turned his head.
And there he was. Rick, leaning against the doorframe, taking a long, slow, deliberate sip of his beer, his eyes flat and dark and fixed entirely on Kyle’s exposed backside.
"Don't stop on my account," Rick said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated through the floorboards.
The blood drained from Kyle's face, only to rush back in a hot, suffocating wave of pure shame. He scrambled away from the toy, a pathetic, clumsy motion, trying to cover himself with his hands. "Get out!" he stammered, his voice a cracked whisper. "Get out of my room!"
Rick didn't move. He took another drink, then pushed off the doorframe, stepping inside and closing the door with a soft, final click. He began to circle the bed, a predator inspecting his trapped prey. "Now why would I do that?" he asked, his voice dangerously soft. "You've been putting on this show for me for weeks, Little Big Butt. Bouncin' that perfect ass all over the house. You knew I was watchin'. You liked it. Now, I'm here for the main event. So turn the fuck around and get back to work."
The raw command, the utter lack of ambiguity, broke Kyle’s will. Trembling, crying silent tears of humiliation, he did as he was told. He turned, positioned himself, and with a shuddering sob, began to move. At first, his motions were jerky, mechanical. But under Rick’s steady, hungry gaze and his stream of filthy, encouraging whispers, something shifted. A dark, illicit fire began to burn through the shame. He started to perform, arching his back higher, making his ass jiggle more, the sounds of his fucking growing louder, more desperate.
He was lost in it, drowning in the degradation, when a new sound shattered the atmosphere.
Brrrrzzzzzt. Brrrrzzzzzt.
On the nightstand, Kyle’s phone vibrated against the wood, the screen lighting up the room with a sudden, harsh white light. The name on the screen was a gut punch: MOM.
Kyle froze again, his heart seizing in his chest.
"Well, look at that," Rick purred, his voice a venomous caress right next to Kyle’s ear. He had moved to stand directly beside the bed. "Mommy's checking in."
"Don't," Kyle pleaded, his voice a strangled whisper. "Please…"
Rick reached down, not to the phone, but to Kyle's hip, his fingers digging in hard. "Answer it," he commanded, his voice dropping to a deadly serious growl. "You answer that phone, and you talk to your mother. You tell her everything's fine. You tell her you're just getting ready for bed. And you don't stop fucking that toy. You keep that fat ass moving for me the entire time. Let's see what a good little actor you are."
Panic, pure and absolute, clawed at Kyle's throat. It was an impossible, monstrous request. He couldn't. But the grip on his hip tightened, a promise of violence if he disobeyed. With a hand that shook so violently he could barely control it, he reached over and swiped the screen.
"H-hello?" he choked out, his voice unnaturally high.
"Hey, sweetie! How's my boy?" his mother's cheerful voice chirped through the speaker. "Just wanted to call and say goodnight before I turn in."
"H-hey, Mom," Kyle managed, pushing his hips forward in a slow, agonizing motion. Smack. The sound of his flesh was horrifyingly loud. He coughed to cover it.
"Are you okay? You sound a little out of breath," she said, a hint of concern in her voice.
"Fine! Just… just doing some pushups before bed," he lied, the words tasting like ash. Rick let out a silent, cruel chuckle beside him. He leaned in closer, his hot, beer-scented breath ghosting across Kyle's ear.
"Ask her if her ass is as fat as yours," Rick whispered.
Kyle squeezed his eyes shut, tears leaking from the corners. He pushed harder into the toy, a desperate, frantic rhythm born of pure terror.
"Oh, well good for you!" his mom said, oblivious. "Listen, is Rick there? I just wanted to ask him about that sprinkler head…"
Rick's free hand snaked down, grabbing one of Kyle's ass cheeks and squeezing, hard. Kyle let out a sharp, involuntary gasp.
"Kyle? Honey? What was that?"
"Nothing!" he yelped. "Stubbed my toe! On the… on the bedpost. He's, uh… Rick's outside."
"Tell her you miss her," Rick breathed, his fingers now tracing the deep cleft of Kyle's ass. "Tell her you can't wait for her to come home and squeeze you."
"I-I miss you, Mom," Kyle stammered, the humiliation a physical weight crushing him. His hips were bucking wildly now, his body acting on its own terrible, treacherous instincts. The pressure was building, the forbidden thrill of the situation pushing him relentlessly toward the edge.
"I miss you too, baby. Be good, okay? I love you."
"Love you too," he gasped out, and quickly hung up, tossing the phone onto the bed.
The moment the line went dead, the dam broke. The combination of terror, shame, and the raw, animalistic act he'd been forced to perform was too much. A guttural sob tore from his throat as his climax ripped through him, a violent, shuddering release that was more agony than ecstasy. He collapsed, utterly spent, his body trembling with the aftershocks.
He felt Rick’s heavy hand on the small of his back, a gesture of pure, undisputed ownership.
"You did good, Little Big Butt," Rick said, his voice laced with a dark, triumphant satisfaction. "You're a natural-born whore. You're my bitch now. My own private little secret."
Rick’s eyes, honed by years of watching for weakness and opportunity in crowded prison yards, took in every detail. The powerful curve of Kyle’s thighs, the impossibly narrow waist, and the main event: that glorious, obscene, jiggling ass. It was a masterpiece of defiance, a fuck-you to the world, and it was currently putting on the performance of a lifetime. Rick felt a low, predatory growl build in his chest. He raised the beer can, and the sharp hiss of the tab breaking the seal was like a gunshot in the quiet room.
Kyle froze.
It wasn't just the sound. It was the sudden, prickling certainty of being watched. The air had changed, thickened, become heavy with a new, menacing presence. Every hair on his body stood on end. He held his breath, every muscle locked, listening to the frantic thunder of his own heart. Slowly, with a dread so profound it was physically painful, he turned his head.
And there he was. Rick, leaning against the doorframe, taking a long, slow, deliberate sip of his beer, his eyes flat and dark and fixed entirely on Kyle’s exposed backside.
"Don't stop on my account," Rick said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated through the floorboards.
The blood drained from Kyle's face, only to rush back in a hot, suffocating wave of pure shame. He scrambled away from the toy, a pathetic, clumsy motion, trying to cover himself with his hands. "Get out!" he stammered, his voice a cracked whisper. "Get out of my room!"
Rick didn't move. He took another drink, then pushed off the doorframe, stepping inside and closing the door with a soft, final click. He began to circle the bed, a predator inspecting his trapped prey. "Now why would I do that?" he asked, his voice dangerously soft. "You've been putting on this show for me for weeks, Little Big Butt. Bouncin' that perfect ass all over the house. You knew I was watchin'. You liked it. Now, I'm here for the main event. So turn the fuck around and get back to work."
The raw command, the utter lack of ambiguity, broke Kyle’s will. Trembling, crying silent tears of humiliation, he did as he was told. He turned, positioned himself, and with a shuddering sob, began to move. At first, his motions were jerky, mechanical. But under Rick’s steady, hungry gaze and his stream of filthy, encouraging whispers, something shifted. A dark, illicit fire began to burn through the shame. He started to perform, arching his back higher, making his ass jiggle more, the sounds of his fucking growing louder, more desperate.
He was lost in it, drowning in the degradation, when a new sound shattered the atmosphere.
Brrrrzzzzzt. Brrrrzzzzzt.
On the nightstand, Kyle’s phone vibrated against the wood, the screen lighting up the room with a sudden, harsh white light. The name on the screen was a gut punch: MOM.
Kyle froze again, his heart seizing in his chest.
"Well, look at that," Rick purred, his voice a venomous caress right next to Kyle’s ear. He had moved to stand directly beside the bed. "Mommy's checking in."
"Don't," Kyle pleaded, his voice a strangled whisper. "Please…"
Rick reached down, not to the phone, but to Kyle's hip, his fingers digging in hard. "Answer it," he commanded, his voice dropping to a deadly serious growl. "You answer that phone, and you talk to your mother. You tell her everything's fine. You tell her you're just getting ready for bed. And you don't stop fucking that toy. You keep that fat ass moving for me the entire time. Let's see what a good little actor you are."
Panic, pure and absolute, clawed at Kyle's throat. It was an impossible, monstrous request. He couldn't. But the grip on his hip tightened, a promise of violence if he disobeyed. With a hand that shook so violently he could barely control it, he reached over and swiped the screen.
"H-hello?" he choked out, his voice unnaturally high.
"Hey, sweetie! How's my boy?" his mother's cheerful voice chirped through the speaker. "Just wanted to call and say goodnight before I turn in."
"H-hey, Mom," Kyle managed, pushing his hips forward in a slow, agonizing motion. Smack. The sound of his flesh was horrifyingly loud. He coughed to cover it.
"Are you okay? You sound a little out of breath," she said, a hint of concern in her voice.
"Fine! Just… just doing some pushups before bed," he lied, the words tasting like ash. Rick let out a silent, cruel chuckle beside him. He leaned in closer, his hot, beer-scented breath ghosting across Kyle's ear.
"Ask her if her ass is as fat as yours," Rick whispered.
Kyle squeezed his eyes shut, tears leaking from the corners. He pushed harder into the toy, a desperate, frantic rhythm born of pure terror.
"Oh, well good for you!" his mom said, oblivious. "Listen, is Rick there? I just wanted to ask him about that sprinkler head…"
Rick's free hand snaked down, grabbing one of Kyle's ass cheeks and squeezing, hard. Kyle let out a sharp, involuntary gasp.
"Kyle? Honey? What was that?"
"Nothing!" he yelped. "Stubbed my toe! On the… on the bedpost. He's, uh… Rick's outside."
"Tell her you miss her," Rick breathed, his fingers now tracing the deep cleft of Kyle's ass. "Tell her you can't wait for her to come home and squeeze you."
"I-I miss you, Mom," Kyle stammered, the humiliation a physical weight crushing him. His hips were bucking wildly now, his body acting on its own terrible, treacherous instincts. The pressure was building, the forbidden thrill of the situation pushing him relentlessly toward the edge.
"I miss you too, baby. Be good, okay? I love you."
"Love you too," he gasped out, and quickly hung up, tossing the phone onto the bed.
The moment the line went dead, the dam broke. The combination of terror, shame, and the raw, animalistic act he'd been forced to perform was too much. A guttural sob tore from his throat as his climax ripped through him, a violent, shuddering release that was more agony than ecstasy. He collapsed, utterly spent, his body trembling with the aftershocks.
He felt Rick’s heavy hand on the small of his back, a gesture of pure, undisputed ownership.
"You did good, Little Big Butt," Rick said, his voice laced with a dark, triumphant satisfaction. "You're a natural-born whore. You're my bitch now. My own private little secret."
[M/M Spanking] 
