Page 9 of First Class Feelings

The way he held me and fed me.

It’s like a rush of memories I have no hope of controlling once they unload. The big version of me is slightly embarrassed byhow easily I fell into this stranger’s arms. I don’t even know this man, yet I trusted him implicitly.

Even so far as to consider calling him Daddy already.

I blush at the memory as I try to locate said man. He’s not in the main area, though I do see more light spilling out of a room across the entry. It looks like maybe it leads to a bedroom.

Standing slowly, I listen to the pop of my joints and grimace. I’m too fucking old to be falling asleep on couches. My body can’t handle the awkward positioning.

I roll my neck before looking around the space to see if I can locate my bags. We did bring them in with us, so I know they have to be around here somewhere. I don’t want to run out on the guy, but maybe avoiding some stilted conversation is best.

Except there’s no sign of my stuff anywhere.

The floorplan is open enough I can see all over and nothing in here looks like my suitcase. It’s as if the damn thing disappeared.

I wander toward the open door, my eyes still scanning for any sign of my luggage. Maybe he put it in the room to get it out of the foyer. He could be the type to want to put things away, which would be fitting for the way he Daddy’d me.

No, Foster.

Don’t think of that right now.

If I give myself permission to remember all the ways he took care of me, I’ll easily sink back into my Little mindset. I’ve never had anyone get me there so quickly. But this man—Duval, if I remember correctly —had me there in an instant.

At the open door, I hesitate for a moment to decide if I should go in or not. What if he’s changing? Or he’s on an important call?

The first doesn’t make sense. Who changes clothes with the door open? And the second… Well, I don’t hear any voices.

Leaning forward, I listen for any sign of movement. That’s when I hear it.

Water.

He’s in the shower.

With that knowledge, I feel brave enough to step over the threshold. Maybe I can find my suitcase and slip out before he’s done.

Only when I step into the room, it’s as put together as the rest of the place. I don’t see any sign of either of our bags. If I didn’t hear the running water from the cracked bathroom door, I’d think he left me alone in this big suite.

Without my permission, my body drifts to the bathroom door. I can’t help but peek through the crack to make sure he’s real.

This all feels like some kind of strange dream. I’ve never done drugs, so I have no frame of reference, though this has to be close, right? How else can I explain meeting my dream Daddy, being spoon fed ice cream, taking a nap, and waking up to him in the shower?

Right as I glance through the crack, I hear a groan mix with the sound of the water. It’s guttural and deep.

A bolt of desire shakes me to my core.

What is happening right now?

Needing to know more, I pull open the door a bit. With the larger view, I can see Duval’s naked form in the shower. Water cascades over him in a way that has me thirsty for a taste.

But it’s the movement of his arm that steals my attention.

I know that movement. I’ve done it hundreds of times myself.

He’s touching himself.

Stroking his cock.

Oh, shit.

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