Tyler loved Halloween.
The costumes. The parties. The excuse to be just a little sluttier than usual. Actually—a lot sluttier. He said it was part of the spirit of the holiday: “If you’re not causing trouble in fishnets, are you even celebrating?”
This year, Logan had offered one rule. Just one.
“Don’t wear anything you wouldn’t want to get spanked in.”
Tyler had smiled sweetly. “Of course, sir.”
Logan, for his part, had gone with an all-black look: tight black jeans, a black fitted shirt that clung to his chest and arms, and a black leather belt with a small black leather paddle clipped to it—just enough of a hint to remind Tyler (and anyone else) who was in charge.
When Tyler finally stepped out of their bedroom that night, he was wearing a cheeky angel costume: snug white tank top, tiny white shorts, white boots, white wings, and a little halo perched above his head.
Grinning, Tyler strutted out singing, “These Boots Are Made for Walking.”
Logan rolled his eyes. “You are no angel, Tyler. And if that tank top stays on and makes it through the first hour of the party, you’ll get a pass for the night. But if you act up? My little ‘angel’ will be going home with a very red bottom.”
Tyler winked. “Guess we’ll see…”
The tank top lasted less than fifteen minutes.
And Tyler was in rare form all night. Flirting. Dancing. Teasing Logan shamelessly. At one point, having lost the shorts, he was bouncing around in just a white jockstrap—which perfectly framed his bare, tempting backside—along with the boots, wings, and halo.
That jockstrap was what really got him in trouble.
Finally, after one particularly naughty tease on the dance floor, Logan caught his arm and leaned in. “Bathroom. Now.”
Tyler’s stomach flipped, but he obeyed, following Logan to the back hallway. Once inside the bathroom, Logan locked the door, bent Tyler over the counter. Since his butt was already bare, there was no reason to remove the jockstrap.
Out came the small black paddle from Logan’s belt.
The sharp swats echoed in the tiled room—CRACK, CRACK, CRACK—leaving Tyler gasping and whimpering. His cheeks were bright red by the time Logan gave him a firm pat on the burning flesh.
“Everyone is going to see that red butt of yours,” Logan murmured. “And when we get home? You’ll get worse.”
When they returned to the party, Logan’s words quickly proved true. More than a few people glanced at Tyler’s backside—some openly commenting: “Somebody’s been naughty,” and “Looks like a certain angel got grounded!”
Blushing furiously, Tyler darted off and found his discarded shorts, holding them in front of him.
“Logan,” he whispered, “please—just let me put these back on so they won’t all see!”
Logan caught his wrist and leaned in.
“Uh-uh. You did this to yourself. You need to be embarrassed by your behavior.”
Tyler pouted, biting his lip, and then flashed Logan his signature cheeky smile. “You’re evil. But you love it.”
Logan’s smirk promised consequences later.
And Logan kept that promise.
Later that night, back home, Logan made Tyler strip off everything—except the boots, wings, and halo.
Bent over the bed, bare and blushing, his cheeks still warm from the earlier spanking, Tyler squirmed as Logan picked up the larger leather paddle.
“This is for my bad little angel,” Logan said, delivering a thorough, merciless spanking that left Tyler breathless, his ass hot and burning, his cock aching with need.
And when it was finally over, Logan pulled him into bed, rubbing cooling lotion into his scorched skin, wings still trembling against the pillows.
Tyler sighed contentedly. “Best Halloween ever.”
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