Page 65 of Kiss, Kill, Thrill Me, Daddy

A gun fires near the entrance, and when I look up, Brody’s got an assault rifle in his hand, and it’s aimed directly at me. “What did I tell you about touching my boy?”

I roll my eyes, because I’m too cum-drunk to argue with this man right now. “He hugged me first. Fuck off, Brody.”

Brody’s eyes inspect Scotty’s body, and his brows meet in the center of his forehead when he looks at my friend’s chest. His face turns red, and he’s clenching his jaw so hard, I’m surprised he hasn’t cracked his teeth down to jagged shards. “You just came on my boy.” His voice is like a thunderstorm, echoing off the walls and permeating through the room. “No one ejaculates on Freakshow but me, you fucking queer.”

Scotty stares down at his shirt, his eyes bulging. When I look to see what’s got him so surprised, I audibly groan. There, slathered across his shirt, are the final remnants of my load. Apparently, some of it landed on my stomach earlier, and I transferred it to his chest when we hugged. I worry Scotty’s going to be sick or reprimand me for unintentionally ruining his shirt, but he just breaks into a fit of giggles. I watch in horror as he slides a finger through my leftovers and looks over at Brody.

“He came all over me, Daddy.” Scotty’s forcing a frown, but the teasing tone in his voice is undebatable. He’s playing it up for reasons I don’t quite understand. “I think he claimed me.” His bottom lip pokes out in a pout as he stares at my cum on his fingers. He touches his thumb and forefinger together, creating a strand of semen when he pulls them apart. “Sorry. Guess you gotta find a new Freakshow. He owns me now.”

Below me, Abi is closing his eyes and shaking his head inannoyance. Brody looks angrier than I’ve ever seen him, though, and I’m genuinely concerned for my safety.

“Wipe that shit off your finger. Right this fucking second. You hear me?”

Scotty brings his finger closer to his face and sniffs, making my stomach churn. Why is he so fucking weird all the time?

“I think he’s expecting me to eat it, Daddy. Don’t wanna. Don’t wanna taste no one but you.” He shrugs. “Too bad, so sad.” He brings his finger closer to his mouth.

“Don’t you dare eat his cum! I swear to fucking God, Scotty, I’ll slit your throat when you go to sleep. I’m not fucking playing with you.”

He pokes his tongue out and moves even closer. His tongue doesn’t touch my cum, but he pretends like it does, feigning a look of pleasure. “Oh my gosh, Tatum. You taste so good! Why didn’t you tell me before? I could’ve been snacking on you for years.”

“Don’t swallow it,” Brody pleads, his usually hardened voice now flooded with worry. “Ah, fuck, baby. Please don’t swallow him. I’ll give you all the cum you want. Just don’t eat any more of his load.” There are tears in his eyes, and the sight of them snaps Scotty out of his bratty headspace. Immediately, he wipes his fingers on his shirt and runs toward the end of the stage, jumping up, up, and away from us and into Brody’s arms. He clings to his fiancé like a cuddly koala, apologizing over and over, telling him it was just a joke.

Personally, I’m over all of this foolishness. I’ve just shot the biggest load of my life in front of everyone I’ve ever loved—family aside—and now my biffle and his stupid soon-to-be husband are ruining my post-coital buzz. “Make it stop,” I plead with Abi when I see him standing up. I hold my arms out to indicate I want him to pick me up, and thankfully, he’s in a much more cooperative mood than our friends, because he lifts me up and holds me against his chest.

“Brody,” Abi says. He runs a finger through some of the cumstill covering his face, getting it nice and wet for me. His finger finds my crack, then my hole, and he holds it there. Brody finally tears his attention away from Scotty and looks at Abi. “Leave us. I would like to speak with the little one.”

Brody just shrugs him off and carries Scotty toward the door, complaining, “You’re taking that shirt off when we get to the car. I don’t want that motherfucker’s cum on you again. Swear it.”

“Yeah, Daddy. I promise,” he says before turning his attention back to the crowd of madmen currently destroying the bar. “Alright, everyone! That’s enough. I want to go home and fuck my future husband’s tight hole.” Brody groans, but doesn’t correct him. Once they’re all gone and I’m in his arms where I belong, he stares at me like I’ve just given him the world. Behind us, the barkeeper is counting down his register, not paying us any mind whatsoever.

“Did I do okay?” I finally manage to ask. I lean closer and lick a stripe of cum away from his cheek, making him curse under his breath.

“It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever witnessed. Deep breath now, love. Here it comes.” I close my eyes and inhale deeply, readying myself for his finger. It enters me with ease, twitching and tickling my prostate. “I couldn’t be prouder of you.”

I smile, my cheeks warm with embarrassment. “I didn’t look like a fool?”

“Never like a fool. Touch my cock.”

The request is abrupt and kind of pulls me out of the moment, but Daddy wants me to touch his cock, so I’m going to touch his cock. I slide my hand down, arching my back to create enough space between so I can reach. I was expecting to find a stiff erection below. Instead, I feel his drenched denim jeans. “You made me come. I didn’t even touch myself. It was because of you. The way you let your guard down, simply because I asked.” He shakes his head, looking wonderstruck. “Tatum ...”

“Daddy,” I say quietly, inching closer.

He stares at me intently like he’s trying to read my mind. “You’ve called me that a few times these last few weeks. Is that what I am to you? Your daddy?”

“Yeah.” I nod. “I mean, not in an age play sort of way, but yeah. Kind of.”

“Good. That’s what I wish to be. Your daddy. The one who takes care of you. I want to take care of you for the rest of our lives. What I was saying earlier in the wooden cake—I meant it. I want this with you. Forever.”

My heart flutters faster, and all I can do is nod. I can’t handle the intensity in his eyes, so I break contact, looking over my shoulder. The bartender doesn’t seem terribly upset that a gaggle of gays destroyed his workplace.

“Do you want to tell me how you convinced the bartender to let you demolish this place without him calling the police?”

“It would appear Benito’s new boyfriend was in a committed relationship when they met. Suffice to say, the gentleman at the bar is not a fan of Benito Blankenship.”

“No surprise there.” Leaning closer, I peck his lips, offering him a quick, chaste kiss. Apparently, it’s not enough for him, because his lips press firmly against mine as he assaults my hole, making me writhe around against him. The kiss goes on for ages, only ending when the bar’s lights flicker on and the bartender screams, “Last call!”

He gives me a final kiss on the forehead before placing me back on the ground. “Tomorrow, we have our wedding rehearsal.”

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