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He’s not even stroking me, just holding my pulsing dick in his hand, squeezing with each punctuated sentence. Doesn’t matter. His controlling grip and possessive words are exactly what I need, leaving me panting and desperate for him.
“Yours, Daddy. I belong to you. My heart, my soul, my body are yours to own, to cherish, to pleasure.”
“Good boy,” he grumbles in a husky, lust-laced tone seconds before he leans forward and captures my mouth with his.
Daddy kisses me hungrily until I’m dizzy. His tongue flicks between my lips to artfully dance against mine. My arms eagerly wrap around Daddy’s shoulders, stretching me onto my toes to reach him, to bring him closer.
Daddy breaks the kiss, sensually trailing his mouth over my jaw to my neck. As he nibbles and licks his favorite path, tracing over a lingering mark from a few days ago with his tongue, he finally starts moving his hand.
Firm and slow, Daddy tugs on my cock with practiced skill. His other hand dips between our wet bodies, cupping my balls and rolling them in his palm.
“Oh, Daddy. Please don’t stop,” I beg, rocking my hips to fuck harder into the circle of his fist.
“I’m not stopping, baby, not until you give me every ounce of your pleasure,” he rumbles against my neck. Trailing his lips to my ear, he adds, “Then I’m going to drag you out of this shower, dump you into our bed, and fuck you into the mattress. I’m gonna own your precious hole until the only rule you remember is ‘hands off what belongs to Daddy.’”
Daddy’s gravelly voice, merciless touch, and the dirty words of ownership come crashing over me. My dick jerks in my hand, my orgasm punching through me with enough force to have me hunching at the waist. Jets of milky-white fluid land near my feet, splashing against the porcelain tub. A few dribbles escape over my fingers as I caress my length until I have nothing left to give.
Exactly how Daddy would.
Holy hell.
Gasping for breath, I collapse against the wall, watching as the water rinses the evidence of my pleasure away. That was one hell of a fantasy, possibly the best source of jerk-off material I’ve ever created in my mind. Too bad it will never be anything more.
Satisfied, I rinse off under the spray and shut off the water. Snatching a towel from the rack, I dry off quickly before weakly stumbling to my bedroom across the hall. I debate getting dressed for a half-second before climbing under the sheets naked.
If nothing else, I earned this nap and a bit of post-orgasm rest.
And if my dreams are filled with a not-so-faceless Daddy spooning me, keeping me safe in his arms, and whispering tender nothings until I fall asleep? Well, that’s between me and my pillow.
??????
“Mr. Morgan!” Jumping upright, I startle at the sight of Jeanine standing in the open slat of my cubicle. As tiny as our young receptionist is, she sure can pack a punch with her lungs.
“Yes, yes. Hello, Jeanine.” Shaking my head, I try to clear the fog of exhaustion surrounding me. I can’t believe I was falling asleep at my desk again.
It’s been a couple of weeks since my forced vacation days, and I regret taking them. I came back to the office to find my cases had been—as I suspected—completely neglected. Catching up on the backlog has only been made worse by my caseload doubling.
I’ve been running on fumes for days. I’m lucky it was Jeanine, not Gary Havers, our department chief, who found me slumped over my laptop and files.
“Jesus, Tanner. Are you all right?” Jeanine steps around the gray fabric partition, leaning in closer. “I didn’t mean to scare you, but I called your name three times.”
“I’m fine, just a little run-down,” I say, fighting to hold back a yawn. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m sorry to do this, but Gary left for the day, and we have a case needing an on-site visit.” She hands over a thick folder, papers and sticky notes spilling out of the sides.
“Of course he did,” I mumble under my breath before taking the file from Jeanine with a smile. “Can this be done tomorrow? I think I should—”
She shakes her head rapidly. “Gary said the visit needed to be done tonight. Apparently, the parents have made excuses for why they couldn’t schedule. You know the rule…”
“Three strikes and surprise,” I recite out of habit, dread lacing my words.
It’s not a standard in the industry, but our division runs a fairly tight ship. Once you’re on the CPS radar, your scheduled visits become mandatory. If you fail to schedule a visit three times, we are required to surprise check without notification.
Those visits are usually the worst. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve picked up a three-strike case and was able to leave the home without law enforcement interference. More often than not, these visits end with removing kids from their homes and coordinating an emergency foster placement.
This is gonna be a long night.
“Sorry to dump this on you, Tanner.”
