13. Scotty

Brody has lost his fucking mind. That's the only explanation for this current turn of events. He hasn't fucked me since the first time back at my apartment. Oh, sure, he keeps claiming he wants to, but in the month we've spent at the Winawana Wagon House, precisely zero penises have entered my anus. Unacceptable. Unforgivable.

Any time I broach the subject, he just bats those brown beauties at me, whirls me over on my stomach, jerks my pants down, and shoves his tongue up my ass. As thrilling as his rimming skills may be, it happens at the most inopportune times. Take this morning, for example. We were out by the highway, hanging the lovely new banner I painted for Barb-slash-Mom. (Side-note: I'm still not entirely sure why we're calling her Mom, but I'd be lying if I said it didn't feel good.) Anyway, we were out by the road, hanging up my lovely little banner, when, out of nowhere, he slammed me on the ground, ripped my shorts down, parted my cheeks, and tongue-fucked me until I was writhing around in the dirt like a depraved madman. At least seven vehicles passed by, none stopping—thank God—but one of them blared their horn, and when I looked up, the man in the pickup was giving us a rousing thumbs up.

He's sitting up in bed when I enter the room. It's been a long, uneventful day, but Brody doesn't seem very tired.

I've made my decision. He can either oblige, or he can sleep in the fucking car. I no longer give a fuck. As I undress, his eyes never leave me. He reaches for his cock, squeezing the bulge through his boxers.

"Now, there's a sight worth seeing." Without breaking eye contact, he pulls his cock from its confines and begins slowly stroking it for my viewing pleasure. That's not what I want right now. No, what I want is for him to bend me over and fuck me raw. Since he won't give me my pleasure, I'm forced to take it from him. I reach into my waistband and remove the gun I stole from him while he was showering. His eyes go wide, just like they did the first night in the bar, when I forced him to watch me come.

"Turn over."

He stops stroking himself and arches an eyebrow. "What?"

I aim the gun at his head. "I said, turn the fuck over, Brody."

Heat sizzles in his cheeks, and, even though he looks fearful over what may or may not be happening right now, he obliges. I'm greeted with the sight of his perfect ass, ripe like a peach ready to be devoured. After quickly walking over, I set the gun on the floor beside the bed so it's still within my reach, but completely out of his. I'm not risking him getting the upper hand again. Not happening.

"Remember the safeword," I say as I lean forward and part his cheeks. He just whimpers, shivering as the cool air hits his hole.

Fuck.

Yes.

It's the first time I've been able to stare openly at it without him hiding away. I want to bottle this memory and save it, so I can return to it anytime the need arises. I trace a finger up his crack, circling his hole with the tip. He has a little more hair than me, but that's okay. It's like an overgrown field I want to nibble through, like a lawnmower.

"Fuck," he breathes, his body shaking like a leaf beneath me. I drag my finger across his entrance a few more times, enjoying the way he shudders when I press in slightly at the rim. I know he says his hole is off limits, but I want to show him how good it can feel when your lover devours you. The way he devours me. How naughty it feels to have your most hidden of spaces worshiped. Leaning in, I give him a tentative lick, and the moan that escapes him is like a hit of Viagra directly to my cock. He tastes perfect. Warm. A bit sweaty. Just the slightest hint of musk. Without giving him a chance to pull away, I dive in, running my tongue up, slowly dragging it from the base of his balls to the top of his crack. I lick again, this time focusing on the left cheek, ignoring his hole entirely. My tongue traces the inner crease of his cheeks, and I pause a few times to nibble his skin.

Fuck. I could eat Brody's ass all day.

As I lap at the cheek on the right, I gently stroke his hole like I'm petting a dog. Like it's the most precious patch of skin in the world.

"Oh my God," he whimpers. "Freakshow, what are you doing?"

Without answering him, I pool saliva in my mouth and coat my finger with it. I don't give him a chance to object, not that he would. With the way he's moaning, he'd probably let me fuck him, if I asked.

Wait.

Would he?

Will he?

The thought alone leaves me feeling dizzy. Brody is bigger and stronger than me in every way. The mental picture I'm painting of him riding my cock has me leaking like a garden hose. I think I want to fuck him. I think I want to press my prick against his hole and push.

As I work my finger in, I leave a path of kisses up his back. He's bucking back against me, and I know any residual doubt he may have had about me toying with his hole is gone, because he's practically fucking himself on my finger.

When I make it to his nape, I lean forward, breathing into his ear. "Do you like that, Daddy?"

"Fuck, Scotty," he pants.

"I said, do you like that?" I wait for a response, but he doesn't speak, he just keeps thrusting back and forth, riding my finger. "Do you think you can take another finger?"

His body shudders, and even though he's shaking his head, he says, "Please?"

It's all the encouragement I need. His hole is wet with my saliva, and I go slowly when I slide the second finger in. I have to ignore the guttural groan he makes as I splay my fingers, scissoring him open. Nibbling the crook of his neck, I grind my cock against his ass, leaving a trail of slick pre-cum against his skin.

"Jesus, Scotty."

"Such a good boy," I coo, enjoying this power play. The shift in our dynamic is doing things to me. Dreadful things. Delightful things. Dick-tingling things. "So fucking good for me, baby boy." The words take him by surprise, and he cries out as arches his back, swallowing my fingers to the knuckle. "Look at you. You love this, don't you? Taking my fingers up that tight ass. Good boy."

"No," he says, nodding forcefully. "I'm not—not your boy. Not your good boy. You're the good boy."

"Not right now, I'm not." I spread my fingers inside him until he screams in pleasure. "And the best part is, I think you like it."

"I don't," he whispers.

"I think you do. And do you know what else? I think you want more."

"More," he echoes, his hips working faster. "N-not gay. Can't . . . Scotty. Not gay."

"See," I counter as I sink another finger inside, "I think you are. I think you have been this whole time." Then I leave a trail of kisses up his back, pausing when I reach his ear. "Daddy's little faggot."

"Oh, God!" His voice is louder than I've ever heard it. It tears through the room, ripping up every trace of resistance he might have left in him. The disappointed whine he lets out when I pull my fingers out of him almost cracks my heart. I've never heard him this vulnerable. Shattered. Absolutely wrecked. "No! Scotty, don't—keep going. Don't stop."

I reach for the lube on our nightstand and pop the top open. "Roll over, Brody. I want to look at you while I finger your hole."

He moves like a twister, turning over at lightning speed. His eyes are half-lidded and there are tears streaking down his cheeks. I rise to my knees, wanting him to watch me as I do this. He has no idea what's in store for him, and I fucking love it.

I pour a hearty dollop of lube into my palm and wrap my hand around my cock. He looks so confused. Like, for the life of him, he doesn't understand what I'm doing. Good. It'll make what happens next easier.

His eyes widen and a smile creeps across his face. "I'm gonna fuck you, Scotty?"

"Sure," I say. "Let's go with that." He's got it half right, at least.

"Scotty. Fuck." He fists his cock, points it in my direction, and wags the motherfucker at me, flicking a wayward wad of pre-cum in my direction. The goofy, love-drunk grin he's wearing makes my heart flutter in my chest. "Come on. Sit on it."

I arch an eyebrow at him and point at the gun on the floor. "I don't think you're in any position to be making demands." I lick my lips, watching as confusion clouds his eyes. "Legs up. Pull your knees to your chest."

"Huh? Why would I?—"

I take a leg in each hand and push them to his chest. He doesn't grab them, but he leaves them there, exposing his hole to me. Angling my cock at his entrance, I rub the tip against the rim. His eyes blow wide at the contact and he tries to pull away, but I'm not letting him go without a fight. I lean forward and wrap my hands around his throat, squeezing softly.

"Tonight, I'm your Daddy, Brody. I'm your Daddy, and you're going to be my good boy. Understood?"

He shakes his head. "I don't—I can't—Scotty, I don't know if . . ."

"Yeah, I know," I say, giving him a delicate kiss on the cheek. "I know you're scared. I promise, if you don't like it, we can stop. But I think I need to be inside you. I want you to be my first, Daddy. My only." I kiss a tear away from his face, licking my lips to collect the saltwater left in its wake. My voice is barely even a whisper, but he's hanging on every word. "So, now I'm going to slide my cock inside you. If you don't like it, just say the safeword." I press our lips together and pour every ounce of love I have for him into the kiss. I need him to know how much this means to me. How much he means to me. "I love you."

"I love you, too," he says, reaching up and cupping my cheek. There's still a heavy amount of fear in his eyes, and I swear to God, if he allows this, I'll do everything in my power to take that fear away. To make him see he can trust me.

I lean in, my cockhead pressed against his rim like it's knocking on a door, waiting to be granted entrance. "Say it if you need to. It's okay. I won't be mad."

He closes his eyes, like he's too ashamed to even look at me. His tongue swipes across his lips, and the quick nod he gives me is all the invitation I need.