“Fine,” Angelo muttered. He let go of one of Yuri's arms but held on with a grip of iron to the other. “Yes, Dame. We're sorry.”
“I should think so. Now go, before I give you both detention. I expect better of you boys. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Dame,” they mumbled.
“Good. Now go.”
They went, Angelo pulling Yuri behind him forcibly.
“Let me go!” Yuri protested.
“No.” The word was cold and hard. A shudder ran through Yuri.
“But my room is that way.”
Angelo came to an abrupt stop, making Yuri stumble to a halt. “I know. But you need to be taught a lesson.” He went back to tugging Yuri down the wrong corridor. “It's time someone did.”
3
Angelo Breaks Yuri
“What kind of lesson?” the little pipsqueak bleated out. Yuri sounded scared. That was good. He should be scared. Cockblocking little weasel.
Angelo ignored Yuri’s cries of protest and dragged him relentlessly onward to his room. This was something someone should’ve done years ago, but no one had, so now it fell to Angelo. And why that gave him a tiny thrill of anticipation, he couldn’t say and didn’t want to think about. It had something to do with having power over the prissy prince, though.
Henry, Angelo’s roommate, wouldn’t be back until much later. They’d already made arrangements that Angelo would get the room for him and Rebecca if things went his way, since Henry’s girlfriend had a room to herself while her roommate was off healing her broken leg. Even so, after pushing Yuri into the dimly lit room, Angelo stopped to lock the door.
Better safe than sorry.
“What the hell do you think you’re trying to—” Yuri stopped speaking mid-tirade when he saw the look on Angelo’s face. “Do?” he added in a much quieter and far more uncertain voice.
Angelo turned on his desk light, rotated his desk chair around, and sat. “Come. Here.”
Yuri eyed Angelo, then the door, then Angelo again. He was doing some sort of rapid geometry in his head.
“No,” Angelo barked out. “You're not gonna find a way to get out of this, Yuri. Come. Here. Now.”
His eyes had gone large and quite dark, Angelo noticed. Yuri still seemed to be calculating something, but his feet hadn’t moved a millimeter.
“One last time. Come. Here.”
Yuri drifted closer to Angelo in a slow and almost dreamy fashion. His face was impossible to read, but all mischief was gone from his expression. When he was close enough to touch, Angelo reached out and undid Yuri’s belt.
“Oh, god,” Yuri moaned. “Omigod, I can’t—”
Angelo never found out what Yuri couldn’t do, because with the prince’s belt out of the way, he was free to do what he’d wanted to do for ages. Angelo tugged hard on Yuri’s trousers, bringing them down to puddle at his ankles.
“Oh, Jesus, Angel, I—”
“Bend over and grab your ankles,” Angelo commanded, wondering a little at Yuri calling him Angel. He’d never done it before. Why he'd use it now, when Angelo was about to smack his spoiled little arse, was a mystery.
Eyes still huge and body shivering, Yuri's misguided dick was starting to chub. Angelo shook his head. “Turn around. I don't want to see that… thing.”
Mutely, Yuri rotated so his back faced Angelo. His body continued to shake. Yuri was put together entirely differently than Angelo. He was slender, rather than trim. His skin looked almost literally milk-white, making the few small moles on his skin stand out. And his arse was… Angelo looked away. It didn't matter what Yuri's arse was like.
Angelo put a hand on Yuri's back, under his shirt, and marveled at how silky and soft the skin was. “I told you to bend over,” he growled, pushing on Yuri's back.
Yuri bent over, obedient to Angelo for the first time in his entire life. Yes, Angelo thought, having no choice but to stare at the bum presented before him and the pale, nearly hairless thighs that trembled. Yuri swayed a little.
Angelo smacked the back of Yuri’s leg. “Don’t lock your knees, idiot.”
Yuri whimpered and Angelo found he wanted to hear the sound again. I might be a little bit drunk on power, Angelo thought. Also rum. And whatever was in that flask Henry gave me.
Angelo had and hadn’t given this much thought over the years and he found he wasn't prepared for the reality of it. In his fantasies, which he’d entertained for years, Yuri usually got the beating he so richly deserved with a paddle or a belt. At first he’d imagined watching as it was done by Yuri’s father, or even better, by his mother, because she was a total milf. But as time had gone by, it had become Angelo himself who used the dream belt or paddle on Yuri’s cheeks. At first clothed, but then somewhere along the way, Yuri’s trousers had disappeared. Angelo wanted to see how red he could make Yuri’s backside. He found, somewhat to his surprise, that he also wanted to feel the heat of it. And hear Yuri’s tears and pleas for mercy.
That was weird. So weird. But it made his own cock twitch a bit in his dress slacks. The poor thing was just confused. It hadn't gotten the memo that Rebecca was no longer on the menu for the night.
Angelo wanted to see Yuri break down for once in his life, and he was drunk enough to think that now was the absolute perfect time to make his fantasy a reality. Angelo brought his hand down hard on Yuri’s bum, just to see what he’d do.
Maybe he'd start to cry. Or whine. Probably he'd whinge.
Yuri did not disappoint.
“Ow! Fuck, damn. That hurt!” But despite his protests, Yuri didn’t grab his trousers, pull them up, and make a break for it. He just stood there and cursed Angelo and waited.
Angelo smacked Yuri again, this time on the other arse cheek. He imagined his fingers painting a bright pink streak across the pale flesh. Part of him wanted to see that and part of him
