Hot Daddies, page 7
“It sure as hell is.”
“Your name is Bottom.”
Turning on my heel, I gave my parting shot: “You’re fuckin’ nuts.”
His words were honeyed as he enticed me back. “Say your name is Bottom. Say it and you can eat it.”
“You’re crazier than shit.”
“Tell me that your name is Bottom. Say it, and this whole piece of delicious cheesecake is all yours.”
“All right, my goddamn name is fuckin’ Bottom.” Pausing, I added, “Nick Bottom the Weaver.”
“So you’re literate? Good boy, Bottom.” He pushed the plate across the table. I grabbed for it, but he kept hold of the plate. “In the civilized world, we sit at the table to eat our dessert. Sit, Bottom.”
I sat down, and he pulled his hand away. I picked up the fork and dug into the cheesecake. He didn’t say anything while I gobbled down the dessert. When I finished, I stood up fast. “I gotta get going.”
He waved his hand. “Make sure you brush your teeth, Bottom.”
“Like there’s a toothbrush and a sink in the stairwell,” I sneered. “Fuckin’ nuts.”
The next afternoon my friend Skeet and I were running a bus ticket scam near Pioneer Courthouse Square. We begged used tickets from people getting off the bus and then sold them at reduced rates to tourists. Tourists were so preoccupied with their own shit that they usually didn’t notice that the tickets had expired.
Two local real estate brokers had just told me to get a job when I noticed the old cheesecake dude. He carried an untouched fast-food bag, which he held out invitingly.
“Is that for me?”
“What’s your name?”
“Bottom,” I said quickly.
“Not enough. Show me that you’re a sissy.”
“Huh?”
He waved the bag until I drooled. “Show everyone that you’re a sissy. If you walk like a girl up the length of the platform, you can have the bag.”
“I don’t know how.”
“Wiggle it,” he ordered.
“Huh?”
“Wiggle your sexy butt.”
“Shit.”
He opened the bag, and the heady aroma of a burger and fries wafted out. “There’s a chocolate milkshake too,” he said. “All for something so simple.”
I gave my ass a little shake as I took a couple of steps, but that wasn’t enough for him. “No, wiggle it like you mean it. Walk down the platform. Wiggle your ass hard enough and long enough to attract attention. I want to see eyes turning in your direction.”
“Go for it, dude,” Skeet urged. “I’d shake my booty for that bag.”
Hesitating no longer, I wiggled my ass for all it was worth. The cheesecake dude wasn’t satisfied until I had every eye turned upon me. I tried so hard that I nearly fell over, but I wasn’t walking like any girl. With a contemptuous remark about my performance, he handed me the bag and departed.
My crowd had enjoyed my humiliation, so I started panhandling. My hat was filled with dollar bills within a few minutes. Word must have gotten around because I kept raking in cash all day.
I awoke disoriented. For a few seconds I thought that I was safe at home in my own bed. The white walls betrayed themselves, as did the white hospital bed. My lower back burned, as did my upper arm. I climbed out of the bed to give my body a quick survey. I was wearing white thong underwear with little purple dots. A bandage covered my lower back and another wrapped my right bicep. I rushed to the toilet and lowered the thong underwear. My pubic hair was gone. My cock and balls were okay, but I had been shaved. So had my legs. Urgency claimed me. I pissed, washed my hands, sipped some water and turned toward the full-length mirror. I didn’t even recognize myself. Every hair on my body had been shaved—even my head was bald.
“Shit,” I yelped as memories flooded back.
Walking back to the parking structure after my profitable panhandling experience, I noticed a black limousine beside the curb, its driver lounging in the shadows. I’d heard plenty about shit like that. A homeless kid gets in the car and is never seen again. Maybe in a couple of months the authorities find his gang-raped body. I turned to flee.
“Hey, Bottom. How’d you like the burger and fries? Did that shake taste good?”
“What do you want?” I asked, neither fleeing nor approaching.
He stepped out into the glare of the streetlights. He didn’t look threatening. “Pop Tingle likes the way you obeyed him.”
That made me curious. I took a closer look at the guy. He was in his early thirties, a creamy-skinned mix of African American and red-haired Nordic ancestry with a hint of Asian tossed into the melting pot. He had a gym-sculpted body with natural attributes. Abruptly he smiled, which emboldened me to ask who he was.
“You can call me Mr. Jack. I’m Pop Tingle’s assistant.”
“Who the fuck is Pop Tingle?”
“The best pop you’ll ever have, Bottom.”
It didn’t take five minutes for Mr. Jack to talk me into the car. I sat beside him as we slid through the darkening streets. Mr. Jack described the delights of Pop Tingle’s home: great food, warm beds, gigantic televisions, gym memberships. “But first,” Mr. Jack said, “you need a medical checkup. After living on the streets, your health could be compromised.”
The clinic was closed for the night, but Doctor Tartt met us at the back door. Mr. Jack slipped her an envelope and escorted me into an examination room. A male nurse came in, introduced himself, weighed me; took my temperature, pulse and blood pressure and handed me a hospital gown. “Take everything off,” the nurse, Armando, said. “The examination will be thorough.”
I stripped naked, and Armando helped me into the gown. Then he started filling a hypodermic. “What the fuck’s that?” I gasped.
“Just a shot. You’re a little nervous. This will help relax you.”
I didn’t like the idea, but Armando stuck my arm before I could protest. A feeling of euphoria came over me before he pulled the needle out.
Doctor Tartt came in and examined me. I didn’t care when they took away the hospital gown, along with my street clothes. I giggled as they gave me a series of enemas, and I laughed as they shaved me head to toe. Mr. Jack and Armando scrubbed me under the shower before the tattoo artist arrived. I was dozing facedown on the examination table when he began to work on me. I was dimly aware of the needle for a while.
Now, standing in front of the mirror with nothing covering my body but a few bandages and a printed thong, I tried to remember if anything else had been done to me. I was still standing when Doctor Tartt and Armando entered. Both smiled brightly at me, but Mr. Jack slipped in behind them and watched me closely.
“Are you ready to see your body art?” Doctor Tartt asked brightly.
I nodded, so she removed the bandage from my arm. A band of gay rainbow shapes encircled my arm. I slipped into a state of shock so profound that I lost all willpower.
“It’s beautiful,” Armando gasped. “What a wonderful way to come out to everyone.”
“Let’s see your back,” Doctor Tartt said, carefully pulling off the bandage.
Intricate designs of flowers arose from my buttcrack and swelled to cover my lower back. The floral design surrounded ornate calligraphy that spelled Bottom. Marked for life with that tramp stamp, I stood naked, hairless and cruelly exposed.
“So pretty,” Armando said, and I turned my dull, dazed eyes upon him.
“Time to get dressed, Bottom,” Mr. Jack said. I nodded numbly. He handed me a slinky crop top and a pair of Lycra shorts. After tucking my thong between my buttocks, I pulled on the top, which did not descend to my navel, and I pulled up the shorts, which my ass packed effeminately. A pair of pink sneakers completed this ensemble. With my shaved head and my fuck-my-ass clothing, my own mother would have passed me in the street.
Pop Tingle owned one of those Nob Hill mansions that hung over the rocky cliff. The house had a four-car garage built into one side of the house, while the other wing enclosed a swimming pool. The front entrance was carved wood in a twining rose pattern. When Mr. Jack escorted me through the front hall into the room with the curving staircase, Pop Tingle came in from the pool. He was wearing lime swim briefs, and I gulped at the sight.
“You’ve sure taken care of yourself,” I said. Not only was Pop Tingle well-muscled with a defined chest, rippling abdominals and powerful buttocks, but he had a thick cock, which his thin swimsuit did nothing to conceal.
Mr. Jack grinned at my surprise while Pop Tingle inspected me from head to toe. “You were right about his ass, Pop Tingle,” Mr. Jack said. “The new Bottom packs his shorts.”
Pop Tingle’s cock was stirring in his swimsuit. I watched with fascination as it lengthened and stretched the fabric. “Bring the anal lube, Jack-Off.”
Mr. Jack rushed from the room. Pop Tingle’s cock was getting harder. He pulled off his swimsuit so I could watch his dick engorge. At that moment, I realized two things. First, Mr. Jack was the old Bottom who had graduated to jack-off servant, and the new Bottom, me, was about to get his ass fucked. For some reason, I accepted the situation. When Pop Tingle ran his hands over my ass, feeling me up outrageously, I didn’t protest. His lips brushed my ear. “Do you know why I picked you, Bottom?” he asked.
I knew. At times my bountiful bubblebutt had been the bane of my existence. I got teased about it while I was still in high school, and I’d had hundreds of offers for it while I was living on the street. The other boys had told me I had a good thing going if I only had enough sense to use it. Of course, those same boys had no sense themselves. They were taking street drugs, even drugs to grow their breasts and make themselves more girlish. The chemicals those kids poured into their bodies would have given everybody in China a howling harelip, but they made their money by pleasing men who wanted ladyboys. I’d seen fourteenyear-old boys with budding boobs and shrunken testicles.
Pop Tingle was undressing me. He removed my sneakers, then pulled down my shorts. “Cute,” he commented, fingering my thong. “I’ll tell Jack-Off that you’ll be wearing thong underwear exclusively. Your swimsuits too.” He kissed my ass just below my tramp stamp. By then, Mr. Jack was back with the anal lube. Pop Tingle pulled down my underwear. Leaving my crop top in place, he ordered me to climb onto the couch and lean over the back.
Wondering why I was obeying him, I dropped onto the couch, pressed my knees into the cushions and leaned over the back. My heart was thundering. I had never been fucked, not in all my time on the street.
Pop Tingle didn’t mount me right away. He rubbed his hands over my butt, caressing, squeezing and moving ever closer to my crack. “I’m going to make you a bottom,” he whispered in my ear. “Right now, you don’t know what you are. I will teach you. I will be a father to you, and I will remake you in the image I desire.”
A feeling of such safety came over me that I relaxed utterly. I felt like I had been holding my breath since the night my parents threw me away, and my terrors expelled in one puff. “Yes, Bottom, I’ll take care of you. I may be a demanding father, but I promise to protect you and keep you well—providing that you give yourself to me unreservedly.”
His lubricated finger touched my asshole. I felt hot all over. Pop Tingle loved me, and he would take care of me. “I’m yours,” I breathed, and his finger twisted my asshole and slipped pleasantly into me.
“Good choice, Bottom,” Mr. Jack said. Standing before my eyes while Pop Tingle finger-fucked my ass, Mr. Jack dropped his shirt on floor. He showed me the pride tattoo on his bicep. Then he pulled off his shoes and tight trousers, so I could see his golden thong underwear and the fuck-me tramp stamp on his lower back.
Pop Tingle pulled his finger out of my ass and positioned himself between my spread calves. I could feel his thick cock pressing against my buttcrack. “Push your ass back, Bottom, and draw a deep breath. That’s it. Let it out. Another deep breath and push hard with your asshole. Push like you’re trying to push something out.”
A rush of panic swept over me. Pop Tingle slapped my ass. “No, don’t tighten your sphincter. You’re not getting off this couch until you have my cum in your ass.”
At that news, my facial expression must have been comical, because Mr. Jack chortled as he placed a towel on a chair, pulled down his thong, and sat to beat his meat while he watched me.
“You’re Pop Tingle’s new fuck toy, Bottom,” Mr. Jack said. He spit into his hand and started jerking off.
Mr. Jack had drawn my attention for a second, long enough for Pop Tingle to place the head of his cock against my asshole. I felt a tremendous pressure in my ass. “You’re a bottom,” Pop Tingle breathed in my ear. “Bottoms take it up the ass. Deep breaths. Push. Good. Now you’re taking it.”
Pop Tingle pushed deep into me, pulled back, and thrust deeper. My mind was in a whirl. I was doing the very thing I’d vowed I would never do. What’s more, I was starting to like it. Warm, pleasant feelings swept through me. My cock had been soft, but it hardened as Pop Tingle fucked me and whispered strange suggestions into my ear. He told me that I was a gay boy, a queer, a faggot, a sodomite. None of those words sounded bad when he said them. When Pop Tingle told me that I was a fag, it rang of reassurance rather than censure.
Mr. Jack was spanking his monkey feverishly while he sat witness to my anal initiation. He stroked his shaft and toyed with his dickhead.
“This is it, Bottom,” Pop Tingle whispered. His breath was husky in my ear. I could feel the heat from his trembling body. “This is it. I’m going to come in your ass.” He emitted a long, low moan. I had thought that I would feel the cum shooting into me, but I didn’t. What I felt was a sense of peace. Hunched over the couch with Pop Tingle shooting his spunk into my ass while Mr. Jack jerked his cock and shot his load into the towel, I felt safe and secure. A sense of love and belonging swept over me.
“I love you, Pop Tingle,” I said simply.
In answer, Pop Tingle reached under the couch cushion and pulled out a thick butt plug that had been concealed there. “When I pull my cock out, hold your sphincter tight. Don’t let my cum leak out. I’m going to wipe your asscrack. Then I’m going to insert this plug. A tight thong will keep the plug from popping out. We’ll leave it in you for a couple of hours, long enough for your body to absorb my cum. Then I will be a part of you, just as I am a part of Jack-Off.”
Pop Tingle did exactly as he said. The butt plug was wider than his cock and I thought that it would split me going in. However, I took it okay. The plain green thong was painfully tight up my crack, so even though my ass worked the butt plug, I couldn’t squeeze it out. Walking around was a weird experience with that tremendous load up my ass, but after a while I got used to it.
Mr. Jack and I were sunning naked by the swimming pool one afternoon in early June when he started asking me about my former life. In the three months I had been with Mr. Jack and Pop Tingle we had found out a few things about each other, but our lives together were separate from anything else we had experienced. Of course, I knew Mr. Jack’s real name and he knew mine, but Pop Tingle insisted that we call each other by the names he assigned. I even knew Pop Tingle’s real name—after all, the mail was delivered to the house, and Mr. Jack and I used credit cards with Pop Tingle’s identity stamped on them during our frequent shopping trips.
I told him about why my parents threw me out and about my life on the streets.
“Dad ordered me out after he caught me sucking my friend Tim’s cock,” Mr. Jack said. “I tried selling blow jobs on Eighty-Second Avenue and got arrested. A guy who produced gay porn bailed me out. I’ve acted in hundreds of films, and the web’s loaded with pictures of me sucking cocks. I was lucky. Lots of those kids got sick right away, but I never took it up the ass until I met Pop Tingle.”
We talked about how he met Pop Tingle and his fifteen years as Bottom. “Now it’s your turn, Bottom,” he said.
“You think that someday I’ll be helping recruit my replacement?”
“I guess it depends. In fifteen years, Pop Tingle will be sixtyseven. I guess he could still be going strong at that age.”
“Will you be around, Mr. Jack?”
“Of course I will, Bottom. It’s a lifetime career with Pop Tingle. He takes care of us. And just in case something happens to him, he’s set up a trust fund for me. I’m set for life, and he’ll do the same for you eventually—after you prove your loyalty.”
“Prove my loyalty? I’ve done everything he wants. Everything. Yesterday he stuck a vibrator up my ass and worked the remote control settings. For half the day, he kept moving it from low hum to super throb.”
Mr. Jack laughed at the description. “Pop Tingle loves playing with us. Did he make you come?”
“I had some cum oozing out of my cock, but I didn’t have an orgasm. It still felt good, but I like it better when he fucks me with his cock.”
“Yeah, you’re a natural fuck toy. It took me a while before I learned to like doing anal. I’m a natural cocksucker.”
My cock was hard by then, so I rolled over. Mr. Jack looked at my erection and grinned. “I wish that I could suck it. I’m going to ask Pop Tingle if I can suck you while he fucks you.”
Pop Tingle had strict rules against Mr. Jack and me coming without him being present. He had me on a strict anal regimen, so I was not allowed any genital stimulation without a cock or sex toy up my ass. After the first few butt fucks, he had encouraged me to jerk off while he was fucking me, but that was all I had been allowed up until then.
“Do you think he’ll go for it?’
“Probably. That’s enough tanning for today. Let’s shower and get dressed. We need to go shopping. Pop Tingle wants you dressed as a schoolgirl in a short skirt for tonight’s party.”
“I’d like to see some of the movies you starred in,” I said as we walked naked into the house.
“We’ll ask Pop Tingle. He has the complete collection. Wait a minute, Bottom; that’s wrong. Don’t walk all open. Pretend that you don’t have a cock. Walk in a straight line with one foot in front of the other as you step.”
