Alex Mecum has the kind of authority that fills a room when he walks in — broad shoulders, commanding voice, eyes that can pin you to the wall from across the house. When his stepson Thyle Knoxx comes home with a busted lip and a pitiful excuse, Alex does not need to raise his voice. The quiet intensity is far more terrifying. He tells Thyle to go to the bedroom and wait. Thyle knows better than to argue. He sits on the bed, heart hammering, listening to Alex’s heavy footsteps coming up the stairs. The door opens and Alex fills the frame like a Greek god of discipline. He approaches Thyle, lifts his chin with one finger, and examines the damage. Disappointment radiates from his expression. Without a word, he begins to undress the boy — slowly, methodically, like he is unwrapping something that belongs to him. Thyle shivers under those powerful hands, his body responding despite his nerves. Alex pushes him onto his back and takes his time with foreplay — kissing, biting, rimming — building a need in Thyle so intense that when the punishment finally arrives, the boy actually begs for it. Alex enters him raw with his signature thickness and fucks Thyle with a rhythm that communicates exactly who is in charge. Each deep stroke drives the message home. Thyle grips the sheets and takes every inch of his correction with grateful moans.
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