Page 11 of Daddy’s Rules

He stood and walked to the unit where he’d folded my clothes, my eyes on his muscular back and ass. It was no wonder he needed such a defined back, he’d been carrying a hog in his pants. The weight of that alone must’ve meant he needed training. He bent over, opening the fridge while he was there, balls hanging low, the dip of his uncut dick just in view. I grabbed the onesie behind me to press close and hide my dick.

“You should drink some water,” he said, taking a bottle out.

“Mhm, yeah, I will.”

At my feet, my folded pile of clothes and bottle of water were presented to me. “It’s a Daddy’s job to make sure his boy is well hydrated and taken care of.”

“Even just for the evening,” I said.

“That’s the nature of the Playhouse,” he said. “Daddy for a night, for the day, the week, month, year—who knows how long anything lasts.”

“Well,” I began, immediately closing my mouth as he shot me a look and a wry smile.

He dressed me, socks first, then briefs. He scrunched them into a fist and inhaled. “Fresh,” he said, forcing me to remove the onesie. “We could always go to a playroom, if you prefer.”

“I—” It was overwhelming after having seen all the rooms. Most of them had viewing windows, but I didn’t know if I wanted to be watched. “I’m kinda hungry.”

He nodded, pushing my briefs up my thighs and getting my chubbed cock nestled to fill them out. “It’s your choice,” he said. “Is that honestly what you want?”

Max quickly unraveled me as I blurted out my overwhelmed feelings of this place.

“Slow and steady,” he whispered, putting the final piece of me together—my cream sweater over my shirt. It was almost a comfort blanket to feel its bulk over me. “Now, let me get you a bag to put your new things in.” He was still completely naked.

I’d never had so much personal attention, and eye candy, supplied to me all at once. But here he was, Maxwell Grant, multi-millionaire, practically coddling me in every way. But I knew I couldn’t have it forever; I knew men like him. But I also wanted a man like him—or him.

“Once I’m dressed, we’ll grab food,” he said from across the room, pulling out a fabric Playhouse branded tote bag. “You wanna finish the rest of your drink then maybe use the bathroom? It’s only like a five-minute walk, but you should go beforehand.”

I nodded obediently, and suddenly felt that pressure on my bladder, like I was in control of my body again, and he was no longer bashing up against it with his very nice dick. Fuck, he was perfect, but I had to keep telling myself he must have flaws. And I was a paralegal, I should be able to look at him and spot the cracks, but there weren’t any.

Maxwell Grant was a great Daddy, even if just for the night.

4. MAX

Sammy’s Diner was my favorite spot to get breakfast at all hours of the day. Since I could work odd hours, especially with the markets all over the world, I could always rely on Sammy’s to be open, to deliver the most over-roasted and bitter coffee that my taste buds were used to, and I also required some days to keep my eyes open.

I didn’t invite just anyone here, so bringing Benji was strange. To sit across from someone at the booth. He didn’t ask for it, I offered. He wasn’t looking to make a buck off me, and that was refreshing. The usual pitch I got from guys—who liked similar things to him, and played that submissive role—was that they wanted money to support their lifestyle, and in return I got to fuck them, but that wasn’t me.

“They do a great milkshake too,” I said.

His eyes scanned the fold-out menu, his feet kicking around with excitement, occasionally catching the underside of his chair. I was the guy who wanted to care, to feed, to clothe, to bath, to see smiles from genuine happiness and not the illusion of happiness they put on so they could show off for their friends. I never fell for it, even if they tried constantly at the Playhouse.

“Strawberry,” he said as a belly rumble came right out of him. “I promise I eat well, I just—”

“I get it,” I said. “Clubs are expensive, alcohol is expensive, and if you don’t eat much, you get a faster buzz. It’s a neat trick. But I want you to eat, whatever you want.”

He smirked and leaned in over the table. “The little in me is giggling so hard, I kinda wanna get everything, but I—I’m not gonna, that would be wasteful.”

I leaned in as well. I didn’t care if people saw how close we got. “Whatever you don’t eat, they’ll box up.”

He giggled. “I won’t, though.”

The waitress came back around—Eve, with her large nest of red ringlet curls held back by a bandana. We were familiar, and usually she’d just bring me a coffee and a slice of apple pie, but tonight was different, tonight I’d brought Benji.

We ordered a lot of food, and as it rained outside, we got cozier in the diner booth. The food slowly trickled out and we settled into conversation about each other. I could tell he had questions about my work, my job, and how much money I could guestimate at having. They were questions everyone had, but he didn’t want to ask them now—maybe earlier, off that daiquiri he had at the club, but right now, he’d mellowed.

“Tell me one conspiracy theory you believe in,” I said, taking a French fry and dipping it into the mayonnaise. “The wildest one.”

“Aliens, but I think everyone believes in aliens,” he said. “I wanna think of something crazier.”