Page 35 of Snuggle Bug

"You mean it?" I shoot him a stern look. If Greyson is lying, I’ll be cross for the rest of the day, because I can’t trust him. The best boy to ever play at Little Land. If that’s true, I need a sticker that says it.

Greyson nods. "Oh, yes. I’ll ask Connor right now if another Little has ever behaved as well as you. I’ll bet you all the sugar cubes in our kitchen that I’m not wrong."

Connor joins Greyson’s side. "I can confirm that your boy is exceptionally well-behaved. There’s a group of eight rowdy boys that frequently come in with their Russian Mafia Daddies—the Russian Protectors—and boy, are they a nightmare to control. I have to blow my whistle hundreds of times and they never listen. This boy named Macon is the worst. He’s an adult film star, one of the most famous in the world, and he’s always beating off all over Little Land. I keep telling his Daddy Aleksei to spank him, but the spankings only seem to goad Macon on. If only Macon were like Calloway, I wouldn’t ever have to lose my temper."

"I hope you heard that, boy. Connor here confirmed that you’re one of the best-behaved boys Little Land has ever seen."

This causes such a powerful wave of pride to surge through me that tears well in my eyes. I pick up a ladybug stuffy, then clutch it tightly. "I’d like a sticker to confirm that, please."

Connor bursts out laughing. "If you keep up the good behavior, I promise you’ll get a sticker when you leave."

Greyson and I continue having a blast after Connor walks away. He helps me out of the stuffy pit, then takes me to the dance floor. I boogie to pop music and lullabies, doing a move I’ve seen in music videos where I bring my right hand down to the left side of my waist and then lift it over my head to the right. I shake my bum, and Greyson playfully swats it.

"Youch." I issue Greyson a look.

He lifts his hands up guiltily. "Your bum looked so juicy Daddy that couldn’t help but give it a lil’ smack."

Tingles shoot up my spine, and I groan as I move my hands over my waist, because my dick is even harder. "Warn your boy before you tease him like that."

Greyson leads me to the bead-painting station next. I plop down, threading my fingers through his, staring at the array of colorful beads in front of me. As a boy, I read storybooks about pirates who stole shiploads of gems from various parts of the world. That’s precisely what these beads remind me of. Each sparkles, shines, and pops with brilliant intensity, and they’re so pretty I can’t decide whether I want to make art with them or put them on a ring.

I lift a hazel gem with dashes of creamy white. "This looks like your eye, Daddy."

Greyson picks up a bright blue bead, then runs his thumb across it. "I’m trying to see if this bead contains dolphins that look like the ones in your irises. Nope, it doesn’t—they’re not as pretty. Sorry, boy, but if you want to paint a self-portrait, you’d better find different beads."

It’s tough to stave off a giggle. "I’ve never made a bead painting before. I don't know what I’m doing."

Greyson’s jaw drops. He scoots closer, tucking a strand of hair over my left ear. "Never?"

I whip my head back and forth. "Never, ever."

"Well, Daddy will have to show you, won’t he? What a shame, my boy has never made a bead painting. You know, I’ve been telling myself that I want to learn how to paint, so I can create art that feels meaningful to me. I completely forgot that, during a particular stressful case I worked on a few years ago, I took up bead painting. I didn’t consider it real art at the time, but now, I’m thinking that I was mistaken. I can teach you all about bead painting, boy. It’s one of the most relaxing, calming, stress-reducing activities a Little can do."

Greyson and I spend all morning creating two beautiful bead paintings. He chooses to make a dolphin, one that’s splashing out of a turquoise ocean, with a great smile that makes me feel warm and fuzzy. I make a picture of Constable Charlie, who Greyson removes from the backpack he placed in my cubby and sets by my side.

I lift up Constable Charlie. "Tell me what you think about your portrait, Constable Charlie."

Constable Charlie says nothing. He simply stares at me, and if I’m not mistaken, there’s a slight hint of sass in his eyes.

Greyson snorts as he shakes his head. "Oh, no. That won’t do. Constable Charlie has a much prettier smile. Here, baby boy. Let me help you."

I slide my painting over to Greyson, who removes certain beads with tweezers and then replaces them. I watch as he works his magic, fixing my errors, and giving life to something precious and new. His firm, manly hands move with ease, and my dick grows even harder when I realize that these are the same hands that bring me pleasure.

Greyson runs his tongue over his lower lip as he works, and another tingle caterpillars up my spine. This is the same tongue that swirls around my cock, lapping up every droplet of cum that I spill. It’s a wonderful tongue, and I almost wish I’d painted it instead of Constable Charlie.

"There." Greyson leans back. "I did it."

I peer at the painting, then blink hard to fend off tears. The resemblance to Constable Charlie is uncanny.

"You’re amazing, Daddy."

Greyson smiles as he rubs my hand. "I guess I found my outlet for art after all. Thank you, baby boy. I wouldn’t have discovered it if not for you."

We eat bowls of rainbow sprinkle ice cream, which leaves me feeling ready for a soak in the hot tub. When I tell Greyson this, he heaves me over his shoulder and carries me to the tub.

"Off comes your onesie."

I clench my thighs together as I lock my hands over my cock. "No, Daddy."

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