Chapter Eighteen: Oscar

E ven though he gave me a couple of personal days off to look after my boy, Rob still lets me take my scheduled week off as well. I resolve to buy that man the nicest bottle of bourbon I can find, because his understanding and support meant that I could look after my boy without worrying about the state of my job.

I never would have had that back home. In fact, my pops would have told me to tell my Boy to ‘man the fuck up' or something equally as toxic. But Rob was just as concerned for Ryan's emotional and mental health as I was.

He's going to make a good Daddy for someone one day. Hell, if I was a switch, I'd totally be down for playing with him myself.

But I'm as Daddy as they come, I'm afraid. Plus, I don't think I'm Rob's type. And I'm also completely head over heels in love with Ryan.

I just hope the universe is kind to my boss and gives him a happy ending, too.

Because that's what I can see on the horizon for me and Rye: a happy ending. I know it's early days, and maybe this is further proof of my impulsive heart running ahead of logic and reason, but the magical few days spent in the cabin, being one hundred percent Daddy Dom and Boy, have left me on an incredible high.

We're back at Ryan's villa on the beach, and I can admit that I'm still in protective Daddy mode. Even though there's no hint of anxiety rolling off him now, I want to make sure my Boy remains happy and stress-free. Which is why I insist on bringing him a homemade lunch on Wednesday, when I know he's working in the clinic.

The waiting room is occupied by a couple of little old ladies with a cat carrier between them, and three empty seats on the opposite wall. There's a row of shelves on the side wall, containing a small selection of high-end dog and cat foods, and a display of flea and tick treatments. There's also a shelf containing pamphlets on a variety of topics: everything from signs of heartworm, to desexing, to puppy preschool.

I wanna attend puppy preschool!

Focus, Oz.

The reception desk, running along the other side wall, is currently empty, but I walk over and lean over the top of it, feeling the weight of the two ladies' stares on my back. I'm dressed in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, so a lot of my ink is on display. I'm used to being judged for that, but the last thing I want is to cause any issues for Ryan in his clinic.

"Ring the bell, lovey," one of the ladies says, and I turn sideways, still resting on my elbow, to find her smiling at me.

I smile back, relaxing instantly. "Oh, no, I'm here on a social call, ma'am. I can wait."

Her companion's watery blue eyes widen when I speak and they both seem far more interested in me now.

"That's a pretty accent," says the first lady, nudging her companion, "bit like that show we used to watch back in the day. What was it, Beryl? Something Texas Something?"

With a long-suffering sigh tempered by an affectionate smile, Beryl says, "Walker: Texas Ranger, Shaz."

"That's the one!" Shaz —which I'm guessing is an Australian nickname for something only marginally longer— pats an age-spotted hand on Beryl's linen-covered thigh. "Thanks, love." Beryl looks back at me. "My memory's not what it used to be." She cocks her head. "You here for Sez?"

I know ‘Sez' is Sarah's nickname. I haven't met Ryan's only colleague yet, but from all his stories, she sounds like a good friend to him. Nevertheless, I shake my head. "Here for Rye, actually. Uh, Doc Sharp." It feels strange using his professional title.

Beryl and Shaz exchange a look, raising white, wiry eyebrows and smirking at each other.

"You owe me five bucks," Shaz declares, and Beryl sighs.

"Fine."

I decide I love the pair of them.

"Sorry for the wait," a much younger voice brings my attention to the young woman bustling down the short hallway beyond the reception desk. She's pretty, and looks to be somewhere in her mid-twenties, with blonde hair in a high ponytail and sparkling blue-green eyes. She's wearing powder pink scrubs, and her smile is contagious as she slides onto the chair behind the desk, her fingers poised over the keyboard for the computer. "How can I help?"

"No, love," Shaz cuts in from behind me, and I can hear the smirk in her voice, "this hunk of a man is here to see Doc Sharp on a personal matter." I don't need to turn around to see her waggling her white eyebrows.

Sarah's eyes widen as her gaze swings back in my direction, having been focused on the woman behind me while she spoke. Her already contagious smile turns wicked as she takes me in, then in a blink she rounds the desk and wraps her arms around me, declaring, "You must be Oscar. It's so nice to finally meet you."

Chuckling, I hug her back, then release her. "It's nice to meet you, too." I lift the insulated bag containing the lunch I made. "I brought him lunch."

Sarah makes a show of swooning, pressing her hands to her chest. "Do you have a straight twin by any chance?"

"Unfortunately not."

"Pity," she sighs.

"Anyway," I redirect, sweeping my free hand towards my newfound friends, "I believe these lovely ladies are ahead of me."

"Oh, Boots won't mind waiting. He's here for his annual vaccinations," Beryl explains. "He hates vet visits."

As if prompted, a low, mournful yowl emanates from the cat carrier.

"Poor Bootsie," Beryl coos.

"Stop being a sook," Shaz directs towards the carrier.

Sarah laughs. "I think we should definitely get this over with for Boots," she says, then looks at me apologetically. "You don't mind waiting? You can come sit in the lunchroom while you do." She leans in conspiratorially, "We've got Harley, the cutest beagle puppy ever, in a kennel in there at the moment. He's a bit sad because he's just been desexed, so he could use some pats."

"I guess if I have to pet the cute puppy I will," I tell her, as though the task is a chore.

"Two secs." She turns to Beryl and Shaz. "Come on through."

The carrier yowls again as Shaz lifts it, wobbling a little precariously with its weight. "You're not getting any treats if you keep carrying on like that," she tells it.

"Don't listen to her," Beryl interjects, stooping to address the feline behind the bars, "I've got your back."

"You spoil him."

"I do not. I just show him affection."

They continue to bicker as Sarah leads them past me and down the hallway to the first of the doors on the right. Presumably, the treatment room, surgery, and kennel room/break room all back on to the reception area, one after the other, if the three evenly spaced doors are any indication.

"…this is why he's fat." Shaz's words are the last ones I hear as Sarah closes the door behind them then heads back over to me.

"I feel sorry for the staff at the retirement village with that pair," she tells me, but her tone is full of affection. Then she gives herself a shake and says, "Come on, this way," like there was any other option.

We reach the final door, and she gestures for me to place the insulated bag on the two-seat folding table positioned flush against the right wall of the room. The far wall has two rows of three caged kennels mounted against it, and the left side of the room is home to a small counter and sink, and a small fridge which has ‘LUNCH' emblazoned over it in black sharpie.

"The, uh, the last staff kept mixing up the fridge in here with the one in surgery," Sarah explains with a roll of her eyes. "Because it totally makes sense to put your sandwiches in with the meds in the sterile surgical room, doesn't it?"

"Wow," I shake my head. "Some people are…somethin' else."

"You said it." She moves over to the kennels and crouches down in front of the crate on the far right. "Hey, sweetie. You've got a visitor." The puppy inside whines and noses his way out, and I feel a pang of sympathy for the big, brown eyes overshadowed by the cone of shame.

"Aww, pupper," I crouch beside Sarah and reach out to scritch behind the pup's soft, floppy ears. "What did the mean doctor do to you? Did he take away your manhood?"

Sarah snorts. "Don't let Ryan hear you putting it that way. You'll get a lecture."

The idea of my sweet Boy lecturing me only makes me chuckle. "I'll take my chances."

The puppy gets impatient, bouncing his head under my hand as he whines again. I rub the top of his head with my fingertips. "Sorry, boy. Did I stop petting you?"

"Well, now that you understand the importance of your job here, I've got a few things to get organised. Shout out if you need anything." She pushes to her feet again but hesitates before she turns. "And, um, thank you for being there for Ryan last week. I don't know exactly what was going on, but it's obvious that you're good for him. I'm glad he's got you."

Before I can respond, she spins on her heel and leaves the room.

Harley whines and bumps my hand again.

"Sorry," I apologise again, "guess I need a bit more training at this job, huh?"

This is how Ryan finds me maybe fifteen or so minutes later, only I gave in to the burning of my thighs and sat my ass down on the linoleum floor a while ago. He snorts as he approaches but bends to press a kiss to the top of my head. "Oh, you're trapped now," he tells me. "He'll never forgive you if you stop patting him."

"Well, that's too bad, because there's another very good boy I want to spend time with."

Ryan groans. "That was a terrible joke." Even so, he gently guides Harley back into his crate and locks him in, seemingly unbothered by the pitiful cries from the puppy. Then he extends his hand and I grasp it, allowing him to help me up.

We wash our hands at the sink, and I pull our lunches out of the cooler bag when we take our seats at the table.

Harley seems to have settled down by the time we dig into our salads, which is good because my heart couldn't take the sad puppy sounds for much longer. I have no idea how Ryan does this for a living.

"So, you made quite the impression on Sharon and Beryl," Ryan tells me as we eat, and I can't help snickering.

"Sharon. Is that what ‘Shaz' is short for? I'll never get over the way you Australians shorten everything."

"How is that any different to Oscar becoming Oz or Ozzy?"

I don't have a rebuttal. "…Touché."

With his lips twitching in the way that suggests he's trying to hide his amusement, Ryan spears a chunk of chicken and lettuce with his fork, then holds his forkful of food over his container. Apropos of nothing, he says, "I really do appreciate you, you know. Not just bringing me lunch, but taking care of me in general. I know it's a Daddy thing, but…I appreciate it."

Oh, my heart .

"I know, darlin'. I know."

* * *

"Oh, fuck," Ryan curses while I bend him over the arm of the couch in his living room, after having checked earlier that his hips and knees can tolerate the strain of this position. (With his thighs braced against the plush curve of the white leather, he assured me he'd be fine.) "Daddy, please— Daddy! "

His cries echo off the walls around us as I push the remote-controlled vibrating plug into his greedy hole, stopping my cum from leaking out of him.

My Boy has been so good for me all week (which, given his submissive, people-pleasing nature wasn't unexpected) and I'm in the middle of rewarding him with his most detested —and secretly craved— punishment.

Edging.

We took it a step further tonight, locking his perfect cock away in a cage before we even started, and it has been beyond satisfying watching him unravel.

I have reduced Ryan to a begging, sobbing, writhing mess, and I'm not planning on letting him come any time soon.

He whines when I step back and tell him to stand up.

I swat his ass, loving the way his flesh jiggles for the brief moment of impact, and he cries out again, rutting fruitlessly into the arm of the couch. Wearing the cage, he's not going to find any relief, but I scold him anyway.

"Nuh-uh, darlin'. You don't get to come until I say so." To punctuate my point, I tap the flared base of the large plug, knowing that it will send bursts of stimulation to his prostate. He pants and whines at the sensation.

Walking around the three-seater couch, I drop onto the middle seat, patting the spot beside me. "Let's watch some TV."

He squirms but obeys, his posture stiff.

I lift my arm, beckoning, "Cuddle with me, baby."

Listing sideways, he tucks himself into my side and I reach for the television remote, selecting something at random. We sit for a couple of minutes in silence and, once I feel that he's relaxed, I pick up the other remote I placed on the side table earlier and press down on the button.

The buzz itself is muted beneath the dialogue from the TV show, and from being inside him, but Ryan jolts and yelps.

" Nnngghh…" The sound is half pleasure-half discomfort.

I rub his back and release the button.

When he starts to relax again, I press down on the button once more.

"Fuck!" he cries as his entire body jerks against mine. The cool metal of his chastity cage brushes my naked thigh. "I can't…Daddy, I can't…oh, God…Please…"

I release the button.

It takes a bit longer for him to settle this time, but as soon as I feel the tension leaving his shoulders, I set the vibrator off again.

"Daddy!" he sobs, turning his face into the crook of my neck, "Please! Please! "

I love seeing him like this. Babbling and straddling the lines between pleasure and pain. Desperate and uninhibited, showing me the ultimate vulnerability.

He rocks his caged cock against my thigh. "P-please. I need—I need to cum. I can't…Fuck, oh fuck… help, Daddy… "

The sharpness of his tone tells me that I've pushed him to his limits, and I know it's time to back off and give him his well-earned release.

After turning off the vibration for the last time, I wait for him to slump against me before I push him back. I snag the key for the cage from the side table and reach for his cock.

" Thank you, " he murmurs deliriously as pretty tears slide down his cheeks. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

I unlock the cage and carefully free his balls and dick from their stainless-steel confines, stroking the remaining lube from its application over his shaft. Unsurprisingly, it takes very little stimulation to bring him to full hardness, but I'm not completely ready for this to be over yet.

With my own dick straining again, despite having come inside him not all that long ago, I instruct, "You're not allowed to come yet. Not until I say you can," and wait for him to acknowledge me before I stand him up and bend him back over the arm of the couch.

He whimpers and starts to beg all over again as I tug the bulbous plug from his body to its widest point, then push it back inside him over and over again. His breathing is heavy and hitching, turning into choked-off gasps and sobs as he tries to hold back his orgasm under the force of my teasing.

Without warning, I tug the toy free and then drop to my knees to lick at his stretched hole. I can taste my own cum and remnants of the lube I used earlier, as well as the flavour that is uniquely Ryan, and my cock jumps in my hand, as if it's demanding to swap places with my tongue.

"I can't—Oz…Oscar…fuck! I…I…I…" Ryan has completely unravelled now, bouncing his hips backwards, encouraging me to fuck him with my tongue. "It's t-too much. Your tongue. Fuck. Fuck . I can't hold it. I'm going to come."

Tearing my mouth away, I bite the round flesh of his ass cheek, then insist, "You can hold it, sweetheart. You're Daddy's good boy."

He moans and his desperation is palpable. "I can't ," he sounds almost broken, "I'm too close…Please, Daddy. I want to be good."

"Okay, honey, okay," I soothe him, surging back to my feet before grabbing is hips and sinking into him without further preamble.

"Yes!" he cries out, arching his back. "Oh my God, yes!"

I rear back and slam into him twice, and he shudders and sobs. "D-daddy…"

"You… fuck …" I hiss as he clamps around me, "You can come now, darlin'."

It only takes one more thrust of my hips for him to howl and stiffen as he erupts. I can't see his face, but I can hear his stuttered breaths and feel him trembling from the endorphin rush as he continues to paint the couch with his built-up release. I continue to fuck into him, letting the tightening of his body pull me over the edge again for the second time tonight.

I withdraw carefully and then help him up, dropping us down onto the couch, heedless of the cum we're spreading beneath us.

It's a leather couch. It will wipe clean.

Ryan is a mess, tear-streaked and boneless, and I cuddle him through the afterglow and come-down. I don't think he hit subspace tonight, but he's still blissed-out and thoroughly wrecked.

"You good?" I ask him, brushing back the strands of hair that have fallen over his sweaty forehead.

"Mmhmm," he agrees, then yawns widely. He snuggles even closer against me, rubbing his cheek into my shoulder. "I didn't know I needed that, but I did."

"Me too," I agree. "After the cabin" —I sigh, trying to work out how to phrase my feelings— "I just wanted to bring a bit more of that feeling home with us. Not that we don't already have that here, but…I don't know what I'm even trying to say."

He stills, then repeats, "Home?"

Shit.

Technically, I live on the station, but that's not where my heart is. Not anymore. But even though he knows that I love him, telling him that I feel like this is my home now is kind of huge, and also more than presumptuous. "Ryan, I—"

"I want this to be your home," he interrupts me. "I want this to be where you're happy. I want…" he swallows roughly and his voice cracks, "I want this to be our future. For—for as long we're both alive."

I can't help but think of his former husband, of the man he'd thought he'd get older and greyer with, and how much it means for him to have included me in the new, unplanned vision of his future where he'd once thought Maddox would be. They're big shoes to fill —I know it from the stories he's told me, and of how kind and welcoming Maddox's kids have been when I've spoken to them— and I'm determined to not take Ryan's trust that I'll fill it well for granted.

"I want that, too, darlin'." It would have scared me to admit as much, considering the mistake I'd made putting all my eggs in one lying, cheating basket not even a year ago. But there's no fear here now. Just the certainty that I am exactly where I should be. I bend towards him to brush my lips against his in a tender kiss, my voice barely a whisper when I repeat, "I want that, too."