Babysitter‘s boy toy, part two
-oatmeal scented.
The scent hit him before he saw the bottle—rich, earthy cocoa butter layered over the comforting aroma of oatmeal, like someone had melted a chocolate bar into breakfast. Becky uncapped the lotion with an exaggerated pop, and Orion’s nose wrinkled as the scent intensified, thick and warm. He knew this trick; his mom used the same combination after sunburns. Good for swelling. Good for inflammation. Too bad it won’t fix the fact that my ass feels like it got run over by a truck, he thought, biting back a whimper as she squeezed a generous dollop onto her palm.
Becky patted her lap with a wet smack of cocoa-butter-slicked hands, the sound muffled by the thick humidity clinging to the jungle-themed bedroom.
“Over here again, Littlejohn," she murmured, nodding toward the edge of the bed closest to the gold door. Orion hesitated—just long enough for her turquoise eyes to darken—then shuffled forward on unsteady legs. His breath hitched as he lowered himself across her thighs, the sudden contact making his freshly spanked skin scream. But then her palms flattened against his throbbing backside, and the scream dissolved into a shuddering moan.
The lotion was cooler than he expected, thick as frosting as Becky worked it into his skin with slow, circular motions. Her thumbs dug into the crease where his thighs met his buttocks, kneading the inflamed flesh like dough. "Does this feel good, baby?" she cooed, her voice syrup-sweet. Orion buried his face into the pillow still damp with his tears, nodding furiously. "Y-yes, Becky," he gasped, hips twitching as her fingers traced a particularly tender welt. "Feels s-so good. Please don’t stop?!"
Becky chuckled, squeezing another dollop onto her palm. "Don’t worry, sweetheart," she purred, rubbing her hands together until the lotion turned translucent.
"I won’t. Not until this whole bottle’s empty."
The promise sent a strange mix of dread and anticipation curling through Orion’s stomach. Becky squeezed another dollop of lotion directly onto Orion’s throbbing backside—the sudden cold making his entire body jolt against her lap. She laughed, low and throaty, as her thumbs circled the trembling divots above his thighs.
“Shhh, baby,” she murmured, working the lotion into his skin with slow, deliberate strokes that somehow soothed and stung simultaneously. Orion buried his face deeper into the pillow, his fingers twisting the fabric as she kneaded the inflamed flesh with practiced precision. By the time she’d rubbed in every last trace of the lotion, his skin gleamed under the bedroom’s pulsing magenta light, swollen and glossy like overripe fruit.
Their twisted routine continued—squeeze, spread, rub—until the bottle’s final glob of lotion disappeared into Orion’s burning skin with a wet *smack*. Becky capped the empty bottle with a satisfied hum, tossing it onto the nightstand where it landed with a hollow plastic clatter. “See?” she crooned, patting his slicked buttocks with a sticky palm. “I always keep my promises.” Orion shuddered as her fingers trailed down his thighs, leaving glistening streaks in their wake.
Becky stretched luxuriously, her pink camouflage shirt riding up to reveal a sliver of violet-lace-clad waist. “I’m desperate for a shower,” she sighed, twisting a platinum lock around her finger. “All that spanking really works up a sweat.” Her turquoise eyes flicked to the gold-cracked bathroom door, then back to Orion’s flushed face. “Here’s the fun part,” she whispered, leaning down until her lips brushed his ear. “You can watch. Door’ll stay *just* like this—” She demonstrated by nudging it wider with her foot, the gap barely wide enough to slip a hand through. “But,” her teeth grazed his lobe. “If you peek? That curtain rod hanging next to the shower?” Orion’s breath hitched.
“Oh, honey,” Becky chuckled, straightening. “You think my hand hurt? Wait till you feel that across your already roasted rump.”
She sauntered toward the bathroom, hips swaying deliberately, and Orion found himself staring at the way her jungle-print pants clung to her thighs. At the threshold, Becky paused, glancing over her shoulder with a smirk that made his stomach flip. “Choose wisely, Littlejohn,” she sing-songed before disappearing inside. The door settled into its temptingly ajar position, the gap pulsing like a dare.
Orion lay frozen on the bed, his throbbing backside pressing into the damp sheets. The shower hissed to life behind the door, followed by the rustle of fabric hitting tile. His fingers dug into the mattress. It’s a trap.
His parents’ British-Nigerian pragmatism warred with his twelve-year-old curiosity. But when will you ever get this chance again? The curtain rod’s shadow stretched long across the bathroom floor, its silhouette sharp against the steam now curling through the crack.
The scent hit him before he saw the bottle—rich, earthy cocoa butter layered over the comforting aroma of oatmeal, like someone had melted a chocolate bar into breakfast. Becky uncapped the lotion with an exaggerated pop, and Orion’s nose wrinkled as the scent intensified, thick and warm. He knew this trick; his mom used the same combination after sunburns. Good for swelling. Good for inflammation. Too bad it won’t fix the fact that my ass feels like it got run over by a truck, he thought, biting back a whimper as she squeezed a generous dollop onto her palm.
Becky patted her lap with a wet smack of cocoa-butter-slicked hands, the sound muffled by the thick humidity clinging to the jungle-themed bedroom.
“Over here again, Littlejohn," she murmured, nodding toward the edge of the bed closest to the gold door. Orion hesitated—just long enough for her turquoise eyes to darken—then shuffled forward on unsteady legs. His breath hitched as he lowered himself across her thighs, the sudden contact making his freshly spanked skin scream. But then her palms flattened against his throbbing backside, and the scream dissolved into a shuddering moan.
The lotion was cooler than he expected, thick as frosting as Becky worked it into his skin with slow, circular motions. Her thumbs dug into the crease where his thighs met his buttocks, kneading the inflamed flesh like dough. "Does this feel good, baby?" she cooed, her voice syrup-sweet. Orion buried his face into the pillow still damp with his tears, nodding furiously. "Y-yes, Becky," he gasped, hips twitching as her fingers traced a particularly tender welt. "Feels s-so good. Please don’t stop?!"
Becky chuckled, squeezing another dollop onto her palm. "Don’t worry, sweetheart," she purred, rubbing her hands together until the lotion turned translucent.
"I won’t. Not until this whole bottle’s empty."
The promise sent a strange mix of dread and anticipation curling through Orion’s stomach. Becky squeezed another dollop of lotion directly onto Orion’s throbbing backside—the sudden cold making his entire body jolt against her lap. She laughed, low and throaty, as her thumbs circled the trembling divots above his thighs.
“Shhh, baby,” she murmured, working the lotion into his skin with slow, deliberate strokes that somehow soothed and stung simultaneously. Orion buried his face deeper into the pillow, his fingers twisting the fabric as she kneaded the inflamed flesh with practiced precision. By the time she’d rubbed in every last trace of the lotion, his skin gleamed under the bedroom’s pulsing magenta light, swollen and glossy like overripe fruit.
Their twisted routine continued—squeeze, spread, rub—until the bottle’s final glob of lotion disappeared into Orion’s burning skin with a wet *smack*. Becky capped the empty bottle with a satisfied hum, tossing it onto the nightstand where it landed with a hollow plastic clatter. “See?” she crooned, patting his slicked buttocks with a sticky palm. “I always keep my promises.” Orion shuddered as her fingers trailed down his thighs, leaving glistening streaks in their wake.
Becky stretched luxuriously, her pink camouflage shirt riding up to reveal a sliver of violet-lace-clad waist. “I’m desperate for a shower,” she sighed, twisting a platinum lock around her finger. “All that spanking really works up a sweat.” Her turquoise eyes flicked to the gold-cracked bathroom door, then back to Orion’s flushed face. “Here’s the fun part,” she whispered, leaning down until her lips brushed his ear. “You can watch. Door’ll stay *just* like this—” She demonstrated by nudging it wider with her foot, the gap barely wide enough to slip a hand through. “But,” her teeth grazed his lobe. “If you peek? That curtain rod hanging next to the shower?” Orion’s breath hitched.
“Oh, honey,” Becky chuckled, straightening. “You think my hand hurt? Wait till you feel that across your already roasted rump.”
She sauntered toward the bathroom, hips swaying deliberately, and Orion found himself staring at the way her jungle-print pants clung to her thighs. At the threshold, Becky paused, glancing over her shoulder with a smirk that made his stomach flip. “Choose wisely, Littlejohn,” she sing-songed before disappearing inside. The door settled into its temptingly ajar position, the gap pulsing like a dare.
Orion lay frozen on the bed, his throbbing backside pressing into the damp sheets. The shower hissed to life behind the door, followed by the rustle of fabric hitting tile. His fingers dug into the mattress. It’s a trap.
His parents’ British-Nigerian pragmatism warred with his twelve-year-old curiosity. But when will you ever get this chance again? The curtain rod’s shadow stretched long across the bathroom floor, its silhouette sharp against the steam now curling through the crack.
31-35, M