Chapter 7

I return to the obstacle course, wearing black jogging bottoms, a pair of well-loved trainers, an old, baggy t-shirt, and a hoodie.

"I'm ready to be put through my paces, Daddy."

Miles smiles as he appraises me.

"Do I pass muster?"

He chuckles. "Yes. We've had rain over the last couple of weeks, so the course will be muddy."

I wave my hand. "I can handle a little mud."

"You should warm up first, boy."

"Show me how?"

He folds his arms, which makes his biceps and triceps bulge. "I'm sure you know how to warm up."

"I do, but you might have guests who don't. Pretend I don't know what I'm doing."

He rolls his eyes and laughs. "All right. We'll start with some basic stretches."

I follow along as he runs me through exercises to gently stretch and warm my muscles, starting from my neck, arms, back, and down to my lower body. Next, he gets me to jog on the spot and do star jumps to get my pulse going. He's firm but encouraging.

"What? No push-ups?" I grin.

"I could order you to drop and give me twenty."

"Um, no, thanks."

He closes the gap between us and pinches my chin between his finger and thumb. I gasp. "Don't be cheeky, boy, or you will be doing push-ups for me."

"Yes, Daddy."

He kisses me and gestures to the start of the course. "When you're ready."

"I hope that's not how you'll treat all your recruits."

He folds his arms and glares. "What did I say about being cheeky?"

"Sorry, Daddy." I give him a sassy hip wiggle on my way to the start of the assault course, which is wide enough for six people to run it at the same time.

The first obstacle consists of several tires you have to run through. Visions of getting my foot stuck and falling flat on my face fill my mind.

"The trick is to pick your feet up. Bring your knee to a right angle, and you'll be fine." Miles demonstrates where he is and then runs through the tires.

"You make it look so easy."

"Take your time and watch where you're putting your feet. You've got this, boy."

I grin. "Yes, Daddy."

I take a deep breath and start, doing as Miles showed me and lifting my legs high, bringing my knees to a right angle so my feet clear the tires each time. It's not easy and surprisingly tiring, but I don't fall flat on my face.

Once I've cleared the tires, I sprint to a series of bars, alternating between low and high. I vault over the high ones and duck under the low ones. Miles claps and offers encouragement as I weave up and down and sprint to a slanted wall.

My heart is thumping as I grasp the rope attached to the wall. I lean back, using the tension to walk up the wall.

"You're doing great," Miles calls as I clamber onto the top of the wall.

I lean onto my knees, breathing deeply as I size up the next obstacle. Monkey bars. I haven't done those since I was a kid. My arms are already sore from hauling myself up the wall, and I wasn't bearing all my weight. The ground, which is at least seven feet below, is churned up and muddy.

"That's a long way for kids to fall," I say. It's a long way for me to fall.

"I'd put crash mats down if children and teenagers were on the course."

"Ah, so only grown-ups get the muddy fall?"

He chuckles. "I figure they can handle it."

"Except, it won't always be muddy, will it?"

He shakes his head.

"It could be. You could keep it muddy for a softer—if squelchy—landing."

"You'd rather fall into mud?"

"Damn right, I would. People pay and get sponsored to do muddy assault courses."

He scratches his neck. "I suppose they do. Now, are you going to stand there chatting all day, boy? Or are you going to finish this course?"

I rub my hands and grasp the first bar. I swing across to the next, grimacing during the delay where I've let go of one bar but haven't caught hold of the next. By the time I reach the middle rung, my arms are shaking. My palms are sweaty. I swear I'm going to fall. I tighten my grip and grit my teeth. I'm not going to fall. I won't let myself.

"Don't give up. You're halfway there. Take it one rung at a time," Miles says.

One rung at a time. I can do that. I narrow my eyes, focusing on the next rung, and swing my body.

"Wonderful. Now swing to the next. And the next. You're almost there."

When I reach the platform on the other side, Miles applauds me.

I grin, excitement flushing through me.

The zip line is next. I grip it tightly and launch myself off the platform, lifting my legs so I'm in a pike position. I could put my feet on the ground, but I hold on until I land on my arse at the far end. Mud splatters over my joggers, soaking my arse and the undersides of my legs.

"Get up and keep going," Miles roars.

I scramble to my feet and sprint to one of six zig-zag balance beams. I spread my arms and walk up the ramp. The beams are four feet off the ground and textured, allowing my trainers to grip the surface.

"Take your time. It's not a race," Miles says.

I concentrate on placing one foot in front of the other and not falling. I have to jump off the far end, where I come face to face with a cargo net. I climb it, even though my arms are jelly, thanks to the wall climb and the monkey bars. My legs aren't faring much better. I grossly underestimated how exhausting the course would be.

At the top of the cargo net, I take a moment to size up the climbing wall on the other side. It's just high enough that I wouldn't want to jump, but a tall man like Miles could hang off the edge and drop without any difficulty or danger of hurting himself. I take the safe route, picking out foot and handholds until I'm on solid ground.

The last obstacle is another cargo net, but this one lies on the ground. The sign beside it tells me I need to army crawl under the net.

"You can skip it if you're claustrophobic," Miles says.

"I'm not, but that's good to know."

I lie flat on the ground and push the netting up. The ground is soggy and muddy beneath it. Here goes nothing.

I use my elbows and knees to crawl beneath the net. Mud squelches, soaking me. It's fucking cold.

"You all right under there?" Miles asks.

"Aww, are you worried about me?"

"Answer the question, boy."

"I'm fine, Daddy. I'll be out the other side before you know it."

Famous last words. Crawling through the squishy, clingy mud is like swimming through jelly. Except jelly would taste nicer. Putting one arm in front of the other is draining, but there's no room to push up onto my hands and knees. I have to army crawl.

"Keep going. You're almost there," Miles says.

How much farther do I have to go? The saggy netting makes it impossible to tell where the end is. Mile's voice is an encouraging siren call, summoning me to him through the mud. It gets easier as I get used to the viscosity of the mud and figure out how much I have to pull up to free my elbows and knees from its murky grasp.

Miles pulls up the end of the net, only two feet before me. I surge forward, breaking free of the muddy trench and the cargo net. I lie on the ground, a muddy mess, gasping and panting.

"You're not done yet." Miles puts his hand on my shoulder.

I lift my head. He points at the finish line, a short sprint ahead. I groan, stumble to my feet, and half walk, half jog to the end. Once I've crossed the line, I collapse to my knees.

Miles claps. "Well done."

I gesture to the trench. "That one would be easier without the mud. But a lot less fun. I need a shower, Daddy." Grinning, I pull my filthy, wet hoodie away from my body.

"Yes, you do." Miles's voice has an odd growl to it.

The lust in his eyes steals my breath.

"You're fucking gorgeous, boy."

"I'm filthy."

"Yes."

"You like dirty boys?"

He licks his lips. "Yes." He kneels beside me, cups my cheek, and kisses me fiercely.

If I weren't already breathless, that kiss would have done me in. I laugh as he pulls away. He has streaks of mud on his nose and cheek.

"Now your face is muddy too. It's kind of hot."

"Only kind of?" He pulls me into his arms, mud squishing between us, and kisses me again. By the time he wrests his lips from mine, he's almost as dirty as I am.

"Okay. It's very hot."

He twists, propelling me to the ground, leans over me, and kisses me as he pushes his hand beneath my hoodie and T-shirt and tweaks my nipple. I arch my back, sucking on his tongue as he thrusts it into my mouth.

"You're fucking sexy when you're filthy, boy." He nips my bottom lip until it stings.

"Daddy!"

My pulse was already racing from the course, but now it's pattering crazily. My groin pulses with need as my cock hardens. He alternates between kissing and biting me and keeps squeezing, pinching, and rolling my hard, aching nipple. I writhe beneath him and tangle one hand into his thick, dark hair while I stroke his face with the other.

"Daddy, we're in the open."

"So? No one else is here. We're all alone. And fuck, you've made me want you, boy. You've made me need you."

He buries his face in the crook of my neck and inhales. Then he lifts my arm and nuzzles his nose against my armpit, through my clothes. He inhales again, more deeply than before.

"You smell so fucking sexy."

"Sweat is sexy?"

"Very." He nips my throat, grasps my wrists, and pins them above my head.

I lie, panting, staring into his vivid blue eyes, full of carnal desire. He slams his lips over mine. His tongue explores and ravages my mouth. He grinds against me, rubbing his hard cock over mine in desperate strokes. Fuck, we're wearing too many clothes. As if reading my mind, he releases my wrists, rocks onto his heels, grabs my joggers, and pulls them down my hips. The wet material sticks to my damp skin as he drags it around my knees. He pushes my hoodie and t-shirt up, baring my stomach and chest to the air. He licks from the waist of my boxer shorts up to my left nipple and bites it.

I practically levitate. It feels so fucking good. Just the right amount of pain. "Daddy!"

He pins my wrists again, holding them above my head with one powerful hand. He shoves his other hand into my boxer shorts, grasps my cock, and squeezes and strokes.

"Oh, Daddy."

"You're my dirty, filthy boy, aren't you?"

"Yes, Daddy."

"I'm going to make you even filthier. I'm going to stroke you until you orgasm and shower yourself in cum."

I shiver. "Daddy."

He stares into my eyes. "Safeword."

"Golf."

"Have you ever come like this before?"

"In a field in the middle of nowhere?"

He nods.

"No."

"Outside?"

"Never."

His grin is feral as he presses fierce kisses to my throat and then sniffs his way over my chest to my armpit. "So fucking sexy."

He squeezes my dick hard. My eyes practically roll into my skull as I groan. He bows his head to my nipple, sucks it into his hot mouth, and teases it with his tongue and teeth.

"That feels so good, Daddy."

He bites my nipple so hard I hiss in a sharp breath. "Is that good, boy?"

"Yes, Daddy. So good."

He sucks, bites, and flicks his tongue over my nipples as he strokes, rubs, and squeezes my cock. His hand around my wrists and the weight of his body pin me to the ground, but I can move enough to wriggle and writhe in delight. He switches to my other nipple, lavishing just as much pleasure and pain upon it as the movement of his hand on my cock becomes frantic. I'm going to lose my fucking mind. My impending orgasm throbs in my groin, desperate to break free. I'm a gasping, panting, squirming wreck. His grip on my cock tightens to vice-like proportions. He bites my nipple harder. Pain tears through me. I shudder as I come. Cum drenches my boxer shorts. He smothers my gasping moans with a frantic kiss and licks the hurt away from one nipple, then the other, as he lazily strokes my tender cock with the flat of his hand.

"You're stunning when you come, boy."

I choke out a laugh. "You're sexy when you make me come. It's your turn, Daddy."

He releases my wrists and caresses my cheek. His other hand is still on my cock as though he can revitalize it if he pets it long enough. Maybe he can. "What did you have in mind?"

I lick my damp lips as I contemplate his question. Normally, I'd offer a blow job, but his cock is huge, and unlike some guys I know, I have a gag reflex. I could give him a handjob, but it would probably pale in comparison to the transcendent experience he's given me.

"What would turn you on, Daddy?"

"I'm already turned on."

I laugh. "Okay, what would make you come?"

He kisses me tenderly. "You don't have to do anything to repay me, boy. You're wet and must be cold. Let's go inside, and you can shower and get into dry, clean clothes."

"I thought you liked me dirty."

"I do, but I don't want you to catch a cold."

I cup his face in my hands and draw him to me for a long, lingering kiss. "I love it when a Daddy takes care of me. But you've got me all hot and bothered, and you promised you'd drill me in your bedroom."

He chuckles and nuzzles my nose. "Do you have the energy to be drilled?"

I purse my lips. "I will by the time we get inside. Especially if you carry me."

He props himself up on his elbow and brushes his thumb over my cheek. "I'd drill you right here if I could."

"You say the sexiest things, Daddy."

The idea of being pounded into the dirt is weirdly appealing. Sex outside isn't something I've thought of before, but now it's in my head I want it. What is this man doing to me? He's right, though. We can't. We don't have lube or protection. Is that why it's appealing? Because it's a fantasy?

"How would you do it?" I ask.

"I'd pull these off." He snaps the waistband of my boxer shorts.

I shiver.

"Then I'd flip you onto your stomach and watch you writhe in the dirt as I use my fingers to stretch your tight, pretty hole."

"What would you use for lube?"

"Spit and the cum you've already spilt for me."

"Daddy!" It sounds sexy, but would it be? Despite my doubts, I'm happy to play along.

"Then I'd hold you down while I fuck you hard and fast."

"Oh, Daddy. That would be so hot. Would you come inside me? Would you fill me with your cum and make me your dirty, filthy boy?"

He nibbles my earlobe and growls into my ear. "Yes. And then I'd watch my cum dribble out of your arse before fucking you senseless again."

I bite my lip and whimper. "I'm so turned on right now, Daddy."

"So am I, boy."

"What are we going to do about it?"

We're not going to have sex here and now. We can't. More's the fucking pity.

He scoops me into his arms and stands.

"What are you doing, Daddy?"

"Carrying you to my bedroom. I promised I'd drill you, and a good Daddy always keeps his word."