Page 13 of Slay the Gay Away, Daddy

He leaves the room to grab some paperwork from the treasurer’s office. Since Sister Andrews can’t seem to ever keep her head on straight, her office is like a nuclear bomb impact site, papers strewn every which way, covering her desk and carpet. Because of this, I know I’ll have about ten minutes to myself. Snooping through his stuff always eases my weary soul, and I’m feeling pretty weary right now, so that’s what I do. There’s nothing new in his desk, but he brought his briefcase with him, so I’ll start with that. I don’t know if other people still carry briefcases, but they give Miles a certain je ne sais quoi. A general air of authority. I won’t lie, just seeing him with it makes me half hard, and he carries it often, so it’s like being stuck in a state of eternal arousal. I don’t hate it.

He may think he’s picked an uncrackable code for the briefcase’s lock system, but—as is the case with his security system at home—as soon as I twist the little wheels and lock in my date of birth, the lock disengages.

Eat your fucking heart out, Mallory Brooks.

Placing it on his desk, I rifle through his paperwork. There’s a small leatherbound journal with his daily agenda logged inside. I find a few candy bar wrappers as well. Honestly, it’s a wonder the damn thing isn’t infested with fire ants. Thank God it isn’t, because I’m deathly allergic, allegedly. My mom is the one who told me I was allergic, but the few times I’ve been bitten, my skin had simply risen, growing an aggressive shade or red, not unlikethe shade of Miles’ cockhead last night, right before he came. Maybe Mom just used it as an excuse to make me stay inside, because she didn’t want to have to sit with me outside. My mom is a goddamn mess, so it’s anyone’s guess.

There’s a bottle of pills in the bag, and when I study the label, it feels like my heart might burst out of my chest, and not in a fun way. The agency I work for has a vast underground labyrinth that I’m pretty sure goes all the way down to Earth’s inner core. Okay, maybe not that deep, but it is pretty far down. There are four levels that I know of. One is a medical bay, which is the lowest level I’ve visited, as my clearance doesn’t grant me access to Agent Broussard’s lab or the agency’s archives. I have partial access to the armory where the weapons are kept, but I’ve never gone inside. I don’t want to kill anyone, I just like to snoop and dig up dirt on potential targets.

I landed the job after my friend Tatum pulled a few strings when I came home. Apparently, his husband once worked for Meadows, too, as did the husband of Tatum’s unbearable best friend, Scotty Levinson. Ugh. Scotty is the worst. I know everyone else thinks he’s God’s gift to the gay community now, but he’s a problematic princess, and an absolute asshole. I hate him so hard.

When I told Tatum I needed a job, he came through within minutes. For weeks, I learned the ins and outs of being a spy from Agent Meadows, much to the annoyance of his precious Pet. Honest to fucking God, the man is almost as unbearable as Scotty. Well, the gimp, I guess? IDK, I’m not really into heavy kink. No shame for their game, obviously, but I just don’t really like the idea of being gagged and forced to wear a black body suit that covers me from head to toe.

If he isn’t wrapping his arms and legs around Meadows’ leg and hissing at me each time I look at his Master, he’s collecting stray pieces of paper from the trashcan in Meadows’ office,balling them up, and throwing them at me when I look away. Through it all, Meadows stares at the man-slash-gimp like he’d just hung the sun and stars in his honor.

I study the bottle’s label. I know the agency dabbles in mind-altering drug creation to keep their targets docile when needed, but I don’t understand why anyone would give them to Miles. I open my phone to call Meadows, but the sound of Father Daddy’s footsteps echo down the hall, and I rush to close the briefcase and put it back where I found it. There isn’t enough time for me to rush to the sofa again, so I just stay behind the desk and force a smile when Miles walks in. He pauses at the open door, the corner of his lip tugging upward, into a smile. We stay locked this way for a moment—him staring at me like a proud father, me trying to steady my racing heart after almost being caught.

“You look good,” Miles says, and my jaw drops.

“What?” My heart races even faster.

He points at the desk. “You look good in my chair. It suits you.” He walks over and takes a seat on the desk, his legs spread wide enough that the entire length of his penis is visible through his tight slacks. I have to force myself to look him in the eyes, so I don’t get caught staring. “This could be you one day. A church of your own, spreading the Word. I’d be so proud of you, buddy.”

My heart sinks. “Oh.”

Miles arches an eyebrow. “Oh?Oh, what?”

“Nothing. I just . . . I’m sorry, I think I got lost in my head for a second.” Swallowing my shame, I stand up and grab the briefcase from where I placed it on the floor. “Are you ready to go home?”

He gives me a curious expression that I can’t quite read before slowly nodding. “Yeah. Let’s get going.”

Once Miles drops me off at home, I rush to my bedroom and close the door. Taking a seat on the edge of my bed, I pull out my phone and call Meadows. When he answers, there’s the sound of a gagged man wailing in the background.

“For God’s sake,” he barks at who I can only assume is Pet, the man Meadows has kept hostage for months. They’ve got a strange relationship, those two. Meadows keeps him gagged and bound, but the little twink’s gotten used to it, and now instead of fear, he displays sass. “I told you, I’ll turn on Real Housewives when I’m done filing my expense report. You’ve gotta give me a goddamn minute.” The muffled man mumbles something against his gag, and as if fluent in gagged slurs, Meadows adds, “Yes, I know you think Lisa Rinna is a goddess who deserves endless praise. You don’t have to keep fuckin’ saying it over and over.” He huffs out a grunt. “Matthews? What’s up?”

“Sounds like you’re having an eventful morning.”

He groans. “Pet won’t shut the fuck up long enough for me to file my damn expenses.” He pauses when Pet slurs something else. “Yeah, fuck your mom, too, asshole.”

“You need to fuck him and get it over with already.”

“I’m not gay,” he says with a sigh. “I just like punishing people who deserve it.”

“He sends you nudes throughout the day. Nudes you stare at for minutes on end each time.”

“He’s a nudist at home. It’s part of his punishment. Obviously, he’ll be naked in any photos he takes of himself.”

“Yeah, but he’s not just at home when he sends them. He does it at work too. The other day, when you had me watch him for half an hour so you could finish your paperwork in peace, he just whipped his cock out in the lobby, onlookers be damned, and spent the next ten minutes snapping dick pics.”

“He knows I like to make sure he hasn’t harmed his body inadvertently while we’re apart, so he keeps me in the loop. He’s a good boy, unlike you.”

“I had to watch him come! So did Janet, the janitor. While she seemed to be into it, I can assure you, I absolutely was not.”

He growls, making my whole body jolt. “Are you saying my boy’s cumshot wasn’t beautiful? Because I’m straight, and even I appreciate them. Maybe he just misses me when we’re apart. You can’t fault him for it.”

“He literally does it while he’s standing next to you. For God’s sake, he—” I shake my head. “No. Absolutely not. I’m not playing this idiotic game of sexually fluid snakes and ladders with you again, Meadows. You’re here, you’re some shade of queer, and everyone is fucking used to it.”

Meadows growls into the phone. “I’m straight. Why doesn’t anyone ever fucking believe me? I’m married.”

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