Tyler had been winding him up for weeks.
It started with the little things—flirty innuendos, smug looks, acting out in front of friends. But by the third “accidental” flash of those tight red briefs with NAUGHTY stitched across the ass, Logan knew it wasn’t just bratty behavior. It was a request.
The boy wanted to be put in his place.
And Logan had no intention of denying him what he needed.
That Christmas Eve, the cabin was wrapped in snow and silence, the fire casting long shadows across the floor. Tyler had curled up on the rug with a cocoa, acting innocent as ever, but Logan had already taken the belt off before he sat down.
He laid it across his lap like a promise.
Tyler saw it—and his eyes sparkled like tinsel.
“So that’s how it’s going to be tonight?” he asked, voice all mock-sweetness, trying to hide how hard he was getting just looking at the leather strap.
Logan didn’t answer. He just tilted his head, slowly, and patted his thigh.
Tyler came forward like he always did—pretending to protest, pretending to pout, but already arching his hips in anticipation. Logan pulled the boy across his lap, peeled those damn briefs down, and gave the kind of spanking that said: I’ve had enough of your games, and you’re going to feel it.
Tyler’s breath hitched at the fifth smack. At ten, he was squirming. At twenty, he was grinding into Logan’s thigh, unable to help himself.
But Logan wasn’t done.
He picked up the belt.
Tyler turned his head sharply, eyes wide. Logan leaned in and whispered, “You earned this.”
He folded the leather in half, testing the flex with a satisfying crack in the air. Then he delivered a single, measured stroke across both cheeks. Tyler gasped—a sound caught between shock and pleasure. His whole body tensed.
Another stroke. Then another.
Not too many—just enough to leave stripes that Tyler would feel for days, reminders of the line he’d crossed and how delicious it was to be pulled back.
When it was over, Logan ran his hand down the trembling curve of Tyler’s back, his voice low. “This is what happens when you beg for attention. You get all of mine.”
Tyler shifted, still panting, and whispered, “Merry Christmas, Sir.”
Logan pulled him close. Held him for a long time.
There was power in the discipline—but more in the aftercare. In the way Tyler melted against him, safe and sore and satisfied. In the way Logan’s fingers soothed what his belt had punished.
Outside, the wind howled and the snow kept falling.
Inside, Logan kissed the top of Tyler’s head and whispered, “Next year, you better behave.”
Tyler snorted, already half-asleep. “Not a chance.”
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