Dad took me shopping for spanking supplies the other day. Honestly, it was kind of fun at first; I love spending time with him. We played around a bit, and took a few pictures of me doing a bad job looking threatening.
But then we had to check out. The man behind the register, who looked to be in his 40s, slowly rang up each item. The paddle, a hairbrush, a long-handled bath brush, a leather belt, a bar of soap, and… I blushed especially hard when he got to the old-fashioned rectal thermometer. The cashier smirked. “Someone’s in trouble.”
Dad chuckled and swatted the seat of my jeans. I looked down at my feet.
“Here,” said the man, putting a candy bar into the bag. “This one’s on me, little guy. If it’s okay with your dad.”
“Of course. He can have it later, once we’re done with all of this.”
My cheeks burned. I refused to make eye contact with either of them.
Dad patted my butt. “Come on, son. Say thank you.”
I mumbled something.
Dad finished paying, chatting with the cashier. He led me out of the store, one hand on the back of my neck. “What a nice man. We ought to have him over sometime. He can make sure all the products from his store are up to par.”