Hot Daddies, page 11
As Richard slipped on a condom, Damian pulled his knees back as far as he could to give complete access to his hole. Richard let out a low rumble of appreciation as he lubed up Damian with two fingers and then three.
Damian was perplexed. He thought he loved the rough reamings he received from Stan, Bob and the men in the videos. But Richard’s slow, gentle pace nearly sent him into a paroxysm of spent lust. He had to close his eyes and calm himself so as not to come too quickly. And suddenly, he was no longer in a hurry to leave Los Angeles before Stan found out he was missing. He wanted Richard’s firm but loving penetration to last forever.
While Damian’s pleasure at giving up his ass was intense, Richard’s kisses were unfathomably wonderful. In the years with Stan, Damian had nearly never been kissed, and Richard’s lips were so soft. His skin smelled clean and faintly of an aftershave Damian’s father had worn. Damian inhaled deeply.
After Damian allowed Richard’s tongue to find his, he felt Richard’s cock stretch inside his ass. Damian whimpered in earnest from offering his hole so completely to such a huge dick, but instead of pushing Richard off, he surrendered, fully bringing his ankles to his ears. It was the most vulnerable his ass had ever been, and the euphoria filled Damian’s chest to the point that he could barely breathe. Damian couldn’t help it this time and with a great gasp, he came in huge spurts all over his neck and chin, his head thrashing left and right.
This set off Richard’s orgasm, and with a series of grunts that turned to a roar, Richard climaxed, pushing his steel-hard rod as deep as possible on the last thrust. Damian was rewarded with the biggest, fiercest kiss he’d ever known. Then Richard looked down on him with an incredulous expression in his eyes.
“That was…so wonderful,” Richard said. “I’ve seen clips of your videos, but I’ve never, ever seen you enjoy getting fucked so much.”
“It’s you,” said Damian. “You’re what made it better than all the other fuckings you’ve seen me take, and it’s because you hold my heart.”
Richard kissed Damian’s lips. “You certainly know how to make a man feel happy, young fellow.”
Damian felt a tendril of pleasure glide down his neck and spine as Richard ruffled his hair, but then there was a spike of sadness. “Now more than ever, I wish I didn’t have to leave L.A.”
Richard’s face became serious. “I...I’m going to beg you to stay here, even if it’s just for one night or a few hours. I want you to have a better plan than just taking a bus to anywhere. What if someone else gets you in the same situation?” Richard reached for his wallet. “Here, take forty dollars and buy some travel toiletries. Some extra underwear. I need to go close the clinic, but meet me back here in a couple hours. I plan to drive you at least a couple hundred miles out of L.A. to make sure you get away safe and sound.”
Damian smiled with relief. “I would appreciate that so much, sir.”
Damian did not return as promised. Richard worried, but he had no way to contact the young man. Over the next few days, he monitored DaddiesInDamian.com and was disappointed to see new videos appearing. Damian must have decided to stay. It upset him further that he could see Damian now had to argue over condoms each time. Stan appeared furious that Damian broke character as the perfect submissive, and Richard knew Damian would soon lose the safe sex battle.
On the fourth day after they’d made love, Damian called in tears.
“I was on my way back to your house, and they kidnapped me off the street!” he said. “I called the police, but they couldn’t care less about some fag porn boy, and now Stan says he’s slipping me shit so I’ll be arrested if I call the police again. I think it’s true because I feel drugged and out of it.”
Richard was horrified. “I’ll think of something, baby. Just hang in there.”
That night Richard studied the videos from Damian’s site. The layout of the house wasn’t evident; scenes were mostly shot by the pool. Richard noted that Stan and his cohort, Bob, were definitely big men. With his eyes always on Damian’s body, he hadn’t noticed they had the muscle necessary to keep a strapping farm boy prisoner. He felt the weight of his guilt in his chest. Why hadn’t he trusted Damian before?
He set his mouth in determination. “Well,” Richard said to himself, “they haven’t tangled with a marine.” He closed the porn site, opened a new document and began a résumé.
Damian could hardly believe his eyes. What was Dr. Preston doing here? He watched from the kitchen window awaiting his cue.
“Welcome, uh…Louis, is it?” Stan scanned Richard’s fake C.V.
Richard nodded. “Quite a place you’ve got here.”
“Why, thank you.” Stan went through the same spiel he always did, making the job sound unappealing except for “one thing.”
“In fact, why don’t I show you what I mean,” Stan said finally.
Damian heard the buzzer that let him know he was to bring out the rum punches. Richard was a good actor. He widened his eyes and looked stunned.
“You have a nude houseboy.”
Stan smiled. “Do you like him? He’s stupid, but he’s a benefit.”
Richard sipped his drink. “Benefit? In what way?”
“You get to fuck him as much as you want. He can’t ever say no. It’s all he’s good for.”
Damian trembled, worried he might give up the game.
“Well, let me see this fellow.” Richard got up from his chair. As he approached Damian, he caught his toe on Stan’s lounger and spilled rum punch on Stan’s face and bathrobe.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. That robe looks like it costs a fortune. I hope it doesn’t stain.” Damian saw Richard drip something from what looked like an eyedrop bottle into Stan’s punch. Damian immediately grabbed a towel and began drying Stan’s head and face, hoping to keep Stan from seeing what Richard was doing. He also positioned himself so his backside blocked Bob’s view.
“That’s fucking enough, Damian!” Stan bellowed. “Get on all fours now!”
Damian complied.
“Why don’t you enjoy Damian’s ass?” Stan said.
Richard balked. “Right now? In front of you?”
“Of course. We’re all very open here. I’ll show you. I’ll go first.”
Stan, fully erect, slid off the soiled robe. Damian bent his head in shame, knowing Richard was about to see him humiliated.
“He’s already lubed?” Richard asked as Stan slid inside Damian in one long stroke. “He lets you bareback his ass?”
Stan grunted. “Lubed, yes. He’s lubed twenty-four/seven. Bareback. He doesn’t have a choice.”
Damian felt his face flush, wondering if Richard would still want him now.
“C’mon, get naked and get inside him, buddy.” Stan waved Richard over. “No need to be shy. You look like you have a great body under that suit.” Stan stopped fucking to gulp his drink. Richard hadn’t budged. “If you want the job, you need to start pumping his rump.”
Richard nodded and stepped forward to stroke Damian’s flank. “As soon as you’re done, I’ll fuck him like a madman.”
“Fuck his ass now or get out of my house.” Stan guzzled more rum punch.
Richard stripped off his shirt and had begun to unzip his pants when Damian felt Stan slow his thrusting. Stan mumbled something about his head and then slumped over, his dick popping out of Damian’s ass.
Richard pulled Damian upright. “Quick, get some clothes!”
Damian shook his head. “Bob is watching! Look out, he’s coming now!”
Bob was bigger and meaner than Stan, and Damian braced himself to witness him punching out Richard. But as the big man came at the doctor like a bull, Richard reached into his pocket, whipped around and struck Bob in the neck.
Bob went down instantly.
“What hap—”
“Taser. It won’t keep him down long. Get clothes now.”
“I don’t have any. They got rid of them all!”
Richard raced to cover Damian with Stan’s robe. “Do you have a wallet? Any kind of ID?”
“They locked it in their safe.”
“Forget it. Let’s go.”
As they left Los Angeles on I-10, Damian kept letting Stan’s robe fall open. Richard wouldn’t have minded, but he reached over to cover the younger man. He didn’t want trouble with the police.
“Where are we going?” Damian was still worried and periodically looked at the cars behind them. “What if Bob and Stan find out who you are and come after you?”
“We’ll be fine. We’ll put some distance between us and your captors, find a store and get you some clothes and then get out of the state.”
“But where will we go? I thought you said you didn’t have much money.”
“I said I didn’t have much money in the bank. I do have a lot of property, including a small ranch in New Mexico. Hey, there’s a strip mall up ahead. What size shoes should I get? What size shirts and pants?”
Damian smiled and slid open his robe again. “For you, I wouldn’t mind being nude all the time.”
Richard smirked. “Yeah, but what if I want to take you to dinner? What if you want to take a college class?”
Damian’s eyes widened. “You’d seriously help me with that?”
Richard’s eyes glistened, and he interlaced the fingers of his right hand with Damian’s. “I’ve wanted to help you for so long. I want to be your man.”
Damian felt the warmth and affection radiating from Richard as they held hands. “I promise, from now on there’s only going to be one Daddy in Damian.”
Richard squeezed his hand. “That’s right, handsome. And just you wait, this Daddy’s gonna make everything all right.”
SETTLING IN: LETTER TO JACK
Dominic Santi
Dear Jack,
There’s been a lot going on here in the backwoods of Wisconsin. As you may have heard, this summer Eric and I finally moved into a new place—together.
I know, I know, after five years, it’s about damn time. I admit that most of the holding out was my own doing. It’s not just the age thing, though with me being twenty years older, sometimes I feel like his dad even when I’m not being his Dad, if you know what I mean. I swear, some days he’s twenty-six going on thirteen. But we’ve worked out the age difference part pretty well.
Eric’s just so damned irresponsible with his finances. He makes enough. In case you don’t remember, he’s got a college degree. He does computer programming for a company in town. He just doesn’t know how to manage his money. Half the time he doesn’t record his debits, though I paddle his butt every time an overdraft notice comes in. It really pisses me off. I’ve never bounced a check in my life. Personally, I think that’s because when I was a kid, I got turned over my pop’s knee whenever I screwed up. Eric had never been disciplined a day in his life until he met me.
The week after we moved out here, Eric’s car died and he needed another one to get back and forth to work. His credit is so bad that the bank wouldn’t finance him. Can’t say as I blame them. When I finally agreed to cosign for the loan, I made it clear it was one thing for him to screw up his own credit, but he was not going to mess with mine. I was real blunt about it. I told him if he was so much as one day late on a payment, just one day, I’d take a switch to him. He agreed. I thought this time he’d manage to be responsible. After five years together, I suppose I should have known better.
Things went along pretty well for a couple of months. The new place is everything we’ve always wanted: out in the country, the upstairs half of an old farmhouse; no neighbors to speak of, except for the Pulaskis, a retired couple—our landlords—who live downstairs. We’ll be watching the place for them in the winter while they’re in Florida. Hell, there’s even room for my vegetable garden. I have to admit, I’ve been feeling pretty damned domestic.
Then last Friday afternoon, Eric pulled into the driveway just as I was getting out of my car. Usually he gets home a half hour or so after me, so I figured something was up. He sounded real nonchalant when we walked in the door. That made me suspicious, especially after he hurried up the driveway ahead of me so he’d be the one getting the mail.
I pretended to be busy while he sorted through the day’s delivery, mostly junk, but out of the corner of my eye I saw one of those yellow Insufficient Funds envelopes I’d learned to recognize from his earlier exploits. Eric paled and put the envelope in his pocket, but he didn’t say anything, just went back to the bedroom to get out of his work clothes. I could feel myself starting to get hot. I knew his car payment had been due that week, but I decided to wait and see what he’d do. I’d changed and was reheating the spaghetti sauce for dinner when Eric finally came back into the kitchen. He leaned up against the counter next to me.
“Uh, Steve?” He was looking really nervous and tried to cover it by fiddling with the salt shaker. “Um, I had a little problem with the bank today. Nothing serious,” he said quickly, like he was trying to reassure me. “I took care of it already. But I figured I’d better tell you. You’re busy. We can talk about it later.”
Eric was nodding a lot as he talked. As he finished he turned like he was going to walk back into the other room. He froze in midstep when I turned the sauce off and said, “I’m not busy at all. What’s up?”
I think he recognized the chill in my voice. I was trying to keep my temper under control, even though I was relieved he was being man enough to admit having screwed up. Honesty is important to me, especially now that we have a home life together. But damn, I was mad at that boy. The week before he’d bought another fancy new video game. I was willing to bet money he hadn’t recorded the transaction, at least until it was too late.
Eric hemmed and hawed around the topic, but he finally confessed to writing a bad check for the car payment because—you guessed it—he hadn’t recorded the other debit and a couple more besides. He’d suddenly remembered that morning, but by then it was too late.
“I transferred the money from savings though,” he said, still nodding vigorously. “The bank said the payment is credited as of today, so it’s all taken care of. There’s nothing for you to worry about.”
“But my credit record still shows a late payment on a loan I cosigned for,” I said coldly.
“Well, yeah,” he blushed. “But like I said, I took care of it.”
“Then there’s something else we need to take care of,” I said sternly. “What did I tell you would happen if you were late?”
“Now Steve, th-there’s no cause to be hasty,” he stammered. His eyes were big as an owl’s. I could tell he was nervous, but I wasn’t in the mood to put up with any of his guff. Times like this, I really wish his father had done his job.
“I’m not being hasty, boy,” I said. “I’m angry. And you’re going to get what’s coming to you. Go downstairs and get a switch from the poplar tree.”
“Dammit, Steve! It’s just a car payment!” he fumed.
“Yes, it is.” I said coldly. “One that you purchased using my credit, and now I’ve got a late payment on my record. I warned you, Eric. I told you what I’d do if this happened, but you didn’t pay one lick of attention. Now you go downstairs and get a switch, or so help me, boy, if I have get it myself, I’ll break it over your butt!”
He argued a bit more, a one-sided conversation that I didn’t bother to join in. When I’d finally had enough and started for the door, Eric stormed past me and stomped off down the stairs, muttering under his breath. But he went. You see, it isn’t just a matter of getting a switch. The poplar tree belongs to our landlords. He had to ask permission to cut it.
I stood out on the balcony and listened to him knocking at their door. Old man Pulaski answered. He’s almost deaf so you really have to yell when you’re talking to him, and most of the time he doesn’t bother to wear his hearing aid. That’s one of the things we really liked about the house: lots of privacy.
Eric was trying to be quiet, mumbling about wanting to cut a branch from the tree. Finally, I got tired of Mr. P’s “huhs?” and “whats?” as Eric danced around the topic. I leaned over the balcony and hollered, “Eric wants to cut a switch from your poplar tree because he needs to get his ass whipped.”
Eric looked up and gave me a really evil look as Mr. Pulaski laughed and said, “That true, boy?”
“Yes, sir,” Eric muttered, turning every shade of red you can imagine as he kicked a rock off the sidewalk.
“What did you do?” Mr. Pulaski asked, stepping out onto the porch.
“I was late with my car payment,” Eric shrugged. “Nothing serious.”
Suddenly a cane swung out and whapped Eric on the thigh. “It sure as hell is serious, boy! You young fellas need to learn to be responsible.”
“Ouch!” Eric yelped, jumping back and rubbing his thigh. He frowned up at me even harder, like it was my fault he’d gotten hit.
“You really gonna whup him, Steve?” Mr. Pulaski hollered up at me as he hobbled out into the yard, leaning on his cane.
“I sure am,” I said, nodding in the affirmative.
He nodded his approval. “Good for you. That poplar tree helped me raise five boys and they all turned out just fine. I think a whipping is just what this young pup needs.”
Mr. Pulaski turned around and swatted Eric again with his cane. “You come with me. I’ll help you pick out a good switch, boy, one that’ll get the job done proper so you’re not out here cutting another one next week.”
If I hadn’t still been so mad, I would have burst out laughing at the look on Eric’s face. Mr. Pulaski took out his pocketknife and hobbled over to the tree, telling Eric exactly which branch to cut and where. Eric sure didn’t look very happy. He cut a long, sturdy switch, probably a good deal thicker than he would have chosen on his own and full of twiggy branches. When Mr. Pulaski took it from him and swung it once against Eric’s thigh to test it, Eric yelped and jumped back a good three feet. The look of surprise on his face let me know that he was just figuring out how much that switch was going to sting.
