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“Or they have fake IDs.” I pointed over to a skinny brunette who looked no more than 14 years old. “That girl can’t be 21.”
And now that I’d pointed, I’d caught the brunette’s attention. She was watching the blowjob with wide eyes. Fuck. This kind of shit never bothered me before, but this didn’t feel right.
Maybe being a dad changed me, or maybe I was just getting older. These girls just seemed so young, and they were offering themselves up so casually. It bothered me, especially since I was the one that invited a lot of them into this debauched scene.
“Fuck.” I pulled on the girl’s hair until her mouth popped off my dick. “Thanks, honey. We’re done here.”
Sid chuckled at the confused look on her face. I ignored her and began to tuck my hard dick back into my pants; it was no easy feat.
She looked over at Sid and smiled. “Your turn?”
His eyebrows rose. “No thanks. I’m good.”
“Fuck.” I repeated when she flounced off.
My cock was not happy. I might be more discriminating with my choice of women, but I still had needs. I didn’t turn into a monk just because I was a dad.
Sid gave me the side-eye as I shifted in my seat, trying to get comfortable despite the steel rod in my pants. “Christ, they’re circling. The crew’s still working on load-out. There’s not enough available cock in here.”
I looked up. He was right. Why did I give out so many backstage passes? I spotted Noah being worked over on a couch in the middle of the room by at least two girls. Maybe three, but I couldn’t quite see because I was suddenly blocked by a woman with jet-black hair, wearing a black leather bustier. She was heading my way with a few girls on her tail.
She licked her lips. I felt like a fresh piece of meat that had just been dangled into a tank filled with barracuda.
“Fuck,” I muttered again.
Sid patted me on the arm and then stood. “I’ll leave you to it.”
Chapter 8
Lacey
This was the twelfth time I was entering this building over the course of four months. Usually, I passed through this door brimming with heady anticipation, but this time I entered with a sense of dread. I handed over my phone to Mistress Xenna and made my way to the Blue room to await my Daddy Dom.
Just thinking about him had my stomach twisted in knots. He’d come to mean so much to me. Too much. Not only had he given me a thorough education in kink, but he unveiled aspects of myself that I’d only barely glimpsed before.
The sexual pleasures he’d given me were plentiful: too many orgasms to count and the resultant cocktail of feel-good hormones I’d never experienced before. The mental release was even better. Playtime was an escape from life and all its demands and responsibilities. Stress melted away. It was an incredibly addictive emotional high.
The first time Daddy Dom led me down the stairs to the dungeon, I hadn’t trusted him. I fought against giving up my will every step of the way. But he was a perceptive, experienced, and patient instructor. The things we’d done together absolutely required that trust. He meticulously earned it.
When we first started out, I had been giddy with these new possibilities and I wanted to try it all. I felt like I had this great big, wonderful secret and I wanted to experience it to its fullest extent, but Daddy Dom introduced me to new things at such a glacial speed, I’d been frustrated. I thought he was holding me back, but I now realized he was protecting me. That was the first building block of trust that was established.
The frenzy of the honeymoon period eventually wore off. Then I got to know my individual kinks even better. Daddy was a master at teasing out the things I didn’t even know I loved. He was able to satisfy a need I burned for and then offered the intimacy that I craved in aftercare.
Between the cuddling and talking, the petting and care, I felt loved. He was very skilled at it. The first time I’d met him, he’d told me that he loved all his subs and I didn’t quite believe him. But now, I’d experienced his love.
Our relationship had grown even further. I trusted him. I knew that he would never physically hurt me and he’d do his best to give me everything I wanted. He wasn’t playing any mind games as I’d first believed. He loved me. And I loved him — maybe not in the traditional sense, but in the same way that he loved me. Like he loved all his subs.
From the moment he’d read my questionnaire, he’d sussed out that I wanted a more sensual experience and he tried to provide that. It was strange because I always questioned whether he was acting a certain way to give me what I needed. Was that his authentic self? Those tiny doubts were a stumbling block in our relationship and ate away at me like acid.
Several times, in aftercare, I had such an incredible and overwhelming urge to kiss him. He was always so sweet and tender, making me feel cherished. As desperately as I wanted him to, he never kissed me. Not once. And, after that first day, I’d never asked him to again.
As close as we’d become, we’d never had sex — at least not by my definition of it. All my orgasms were pulled from me with toys or by extreme stimulation from kink play, never by his fingers, tongue, or cock. And I’d never seen him cum. Even when I sucked his cock on his command, he never let me finish. He never put his mouth on me in a sexual way and he never put his dick inside of me except to warm his cock.
It made me think that he saved that kind of love for someone else. It was a real wake-up call.
Maybe I was too selfish, but I wanted more. I craved more. I wanted to find a life partner, not someone who satisfied me within these four walls, but someone I could share my hopes and dreams with. There was so much to do in the world; I wanted to go to the movies with him — go to dinner or parties with friends, hit the beach, go on vacations overseas or to concerts in crazy clubs, watch Netflix and chill, or visit my cousin’s house. I wanted to share my entire life with someone.
During aftercare, I was sometimes chatty. I’d shared some private details about my life, my job, my friends, and my family with him, but he never reciprocated. He listened intently, almost like a therapist would, but offered nothing of himself. In reality, I knew next to nothing about him. Did he have another job outside of being a Dom? Did he have other relationships besides those with his submissives? Was he married? Did he have kids? I had no clue. I didn’t even know his name.
