Tyler meant well. He really did.
He booked the hotel suite—the same one from Valentine’s Day, now complete with rose petals, new sheets, and a bottle of wine they’d actually share this time. He even packed an overnight bag with care: Logan’s favorite cologne, lube, a leather paddle, and a handwritten card that read “I still choose you, even when you paddle my ass.”
But he also forgot one thing.
The date.
Logan had been planning their anniversary for weeks. He’d reserved a dinner at a rooftop restaurant, had gifts wrapped, and even called the front desk ahead of time to set the room just right. But when he walked into the suite—flowers in hand—he found Tyler lounging in a robe, watching TV with takeout containers on the nightstand.
Logan froze. “You ordered dumplings?”
Tyler blinked. “Hey, babe. You’re early.”
“It’s seven. Our dinner reservation was at seven.”
Tyler sat upright, robe slipping open. “Wait—that was tonight?”
Logan just stared.
“I—I thought it was next Friday,” Tyler stammered, now fumbling for the card he’d forgotten to sign.
Logan exhaled slowly. “You forgot our anniversary.”
“No! I didn’t forget! I just… remembered it wrong.”
“You remembered it naked and surrounded by takeout,” Logan said, placing the flowers down. “Which is somehow very you.”
Tyler stood. “I can fix this.”
“Oh, I’m sure you can,” Logan said, walking to the balcony door. He opened it. Cool air spilled in from the city skyline, and he looked back at Tyler with a familiar glint in his eye.
“Wait…” Tyler took a step back. “You wouldn’t.”
“Anniversary tradition,” Logan said. “One year, one spanking. But tonight—you’re getting it with a view.”
Before Tyler could protest, Logan had him by the wrist. The robe slipped off as Logan guided him—naked, embarrassed, hard—out onto the private balcony. The city glowed below, lights twinkling, distant sirens blending with traffic hum.
“Bend over the railing.”
Tyler hesitated. “Logan…”
“You forgot dinner. You forgot the time. You forgot me. So now, you’re going to remember this.”
Logan bent him over. Hands gripping the cool stone rail, feet planted apart. Logan ran a hand down the curve of Tyler’s bare backside, now slightly flushed in the night air.
He began with firm, open-handed smacks—slow, deliberate, echoing faintly in the hush between car horns. Tyler gasped, body jolting, but didn’t move. Logan spanked him harder, settling into a rhythm, letting the sting sink in with each swat.
“This,” smack
“Is for forgetting.” smack
“This—” smack “—is for dumplings.”
“And this,” he said, giving a final, biting slap, “is because I love you.”
Tyler whimpered, panting over the balcony, his cock hard and dripping against the railing. “I love you too,” he whispered. “Even when I’m an idiot.”
Logan rubbed the sore flesh, then pressed up behind him. “Especially when you’re an idiot.”
Later, back inside, Tyler curled up against Logan on the bed, cheeks red, eyes sleepy.
“Next year,” Tyler murmured, “I’m putting the anniversary in bold on every calendar we own.”
Logan smiled, stroking his hair. “You’d better. Because I promise—every year you forget, the spanking gets worse.”
Tyler grinned. “What if I forget on purpose?”
Logan kissed the back of his neck. “Then maybe we’ll skip the restaurant every year.”
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