MISSING DADDY

Xan West

 

 

 

 

 

(For B., my favorite cubby faggot)

 

I miss Daddy. It’s just that simple. And not just him—I miss who I was back then. A chubby cub novice, eager, hungry, open. We are supposed to graduate, you know. Those of us whose path to the top begins at the bottom. We are supposed to realize that we have now arrived at where we were headed all along. That we have grown from boy to Daddy in a way that is so fine, so right, where we paid our dues, and never look back with longing.

The secret truth of it is this: many of us who moved to the other side of the whip did it to approximate what we had longed for and rarely received. We did it not because we had grown up slowly, nurtured by Daddy and now mature, but because we decided to grow up on our own and stop yearning for that kind of Daddy, and get our pleasure instead from being that Daddy to some lucky boy. No one tells those stories, except quietly, to others who tread similar paths. It would not do to talk of the ways we suffered from neglect, betrayal, abandonment, and flat-out abuse as bottoms. It would rip open our mythology, and make our boys doubt our desire for them.

Theo was before all that. When I was fresh faced, and barely twenty-four. When I still thought that the hard part was figuring out I was a Daddy’s boy. When I was hopeful and certain in my desires. When I still felt whole.

 

Theo was my first Daddy. If he was still around, things might be different for me. He was forty-one, an experienced top, a large bear of a man with knowing eyes. This Daddy could see into me, past my bravado to my scared little heart. He could read me like no one since. He just knew how to reach right in and find that kernel of pride he wanted to grow in me. He was the sexiest man I had ever seen. In my memory, he is seven feet tall, but I know he was really five-nine. He had reddish-brown skin, chocolate-brown eyes, and a wicked grin. His beard was thick and wild, and that hair traveled all over his considerable frame. He had large precise hands, and if I close my eyes, I can still feel his paw resting firmly on the back of my neck.

I worshipped my Daddy, and he soaked in my adoration as his due. Daddy had been on T for four years. Until I saw him naked, I had not even imagined a transman could get so hairy. His legs were hulking trunks covered in fur, and his belly boasted a wiry wandering maze of hair that prickled my cheek when I rested my head on it. His gravelly growl of a voice rumbled danger. When Daddy talked about who I could become, it seemed very far away. A bare-faced transguy who had not even started testosterone, I wanted to be a boy forever. I didn’t see my future in Daddy; I just saw magic and power that I wanted to worship.

Daddy was a joyous faggot, fully comfortable in his fat body. His unshakeable fat pride steadied my own. He prized me for my size, for my strength, for my pride in myself, and for my ravenous appetite. Daddy was a hedonist, and he taught me the pleasures of indulgence. We could spend hours in the park, lazing in the grass, soaking up the sun, his paw resting possessively on my throat as my head snuggled his furry thigh. We unabashedly cruised together, and he was prone to offering me to his buddies, a loose tribe of faggots, some of them former dykes. They were tough as nails, pleasure seekers who thoroughly took every orifice he offered, and laid their marks across the expanse of my back as if they needed to claim every inch. They fiercely protected their own, and generously shared their bounty with each other. This tribe of queers was made of gloriously twisted kinky fucks, and I ached to belong.

It seemed like Daddy knew everything and everyone. He talked about the scene I only knew from books, and told the best stories, most of which involved some kind of gang bang. Daddy made me feel proud to be a faggot. That affirmation of self threaded through everything. He knew about my fantasies, the way I ached to cruise for public sex but was scared that no one would touch me. He made me jack off as I described being forced to my knees in an alley, being bent over the sink in a public bathroom, kneeling to service cock after cock at a gloryhole.

I was Daddy’s boy for nine glorious months. It’s mostly the little things I remember, like flashes, as I unconsciously imitate him, find myself staring at a boy who reminds me of me back then, or pick up a tool he loved. I am imprinted in ways I am not even aware. Sometimes I close my eyes and I am there, smelling Daddy, the scent of him grabbing me as my head rests on his thigh. When I fuck up, I can almost see him, the way he’d cock one brow and tilt his head when he thought I was overstepping. After a scene, I reach out and stroke my boy on his forehead above his nose, right where Daddy’s thumb would find me and bring me calm. I watch my boy touching the marks my teeth have left on his neck and remember the way I cherished how it would ache when I turned my head after Daddy’s teeth had thoroughly used mine. A delicious reminder. And a public claiming. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and I can taste his tongue in my mouth, the raw abraded feel after he ravaged it. In quiet moments, I can hear him growl “Mine!” in my ear.

There is one night that I remember vividly, from start to finish. The first night I really knew I belonged. The energy was charged. The air crackled. Daddy took me to his apartment overlooking Golden Gate Park. He had instructed me to pack my biggest dick, and to stuff it into the leather jock he had given me, that pair of old jeans he liked, my best boots, and one of the A-line shirts he liked to call boy-beaters. Just getting dressed for Daddy put me into headspace. I hit the floor and was on my knees two seconds after we walked in. It was like I couldn’t stay up a second longer.

“Good boy,” he growled.

He towered over me and slowly put on his gloves. He was stern, and gripped my chin, lifting my head to meet his eyes.

“I’m going to make you mine tonight, boy. Are you ready?”

I couldn’t breathe. I melted into his eyes.

“Yes, Daddy,” I whispered. He smiled wickedly at me and slapped my face, hard. And I could breathe again. He held my gaze and continued to slap me over and over.

“This is important, boy. This means you belong. You have to earn this. I know you can. You are going to make me proud.”

He clamped his hand over my mouth and nose, taking my breath. The buttery leather smell seeped into me, and I dropped deep into headspace, giving myself to Daddy. When he lifted his hand away, I felt like I was floating, and yet deeply present. The air was crisper, the colors brighter. Daddy was right. This was important. I needed to pay close attention. Then Daddy pulled me to my feet by my hair. His hands twisted in my hair, he kissed me. Ruthlessly. He took my mouth, ravaging every inch of it, leaving nothing unclaimed, and growling as he did it, his beard rough against my skin.

“I’m going to reach inside you tonight, boy. Going to take what I want from you. You will feed me tonight, faggot.”

Until that night, Daddy and I had not exchanged fluids. Daddy was very particular about who he did that with. When he bit me, he was careful. He would ride the edge, but never draw blood. I had been begging to feed him, wanting him to take my blood, aching for it. And it was going to happen that night. I could not stop trembling, even as a huge grin split my face.

“That’s right, boy. Tonight you will get what you have been begging for. I will claim you, thoroughly. Then I will feed on you. You are a very lucky boy.”

“Thank you, Daddy,” I whispered, my voice shaky.

Daddy took me to the bathroom and bent me over the sink. I moaned. He stripped off my clothes, leaving me in my boots and jock, my eyes on myself in the mirror over the sink. Daddy’s hands slid over my skin, his cock against my ass as he held my eyes in the mirror.

“My little faggot is just aching to get fucked in the bathroom. You are going to get it tonight, boy. Can you feel Daddy’s cock? Do you want it?”

“Please, Daddy. Please fuck your boy.”

“My cub is going to get it tonight,” Daddy growled, as he put clamps on my nipples.

I watched my eyes widen in the mirror. My breathing got shallow. Daddy was going for the pain I hated. I could see it growing in his eyes. He was going to test me with hateful pain that tore into me. That meant only one thing. My eyes frantically searched the bathroom for its reflection in the mirror. There it was, propped next to the toilet. Daddy’s cane case. I could hear rushing in my head and feel sweat beading at my temples. I met Daddy’s eyes in the mirror, and saw them change. He sensed my fear, and it was like a predator was waiting behind those eyes, waiting to feed on me. Daddy snarled, holding my gaze, his paws digging into me as I whimpered in fear.

It was fast. His hand clamped on my neck, pushing my head into the sink, and suddenly his cock was inside me. Daddy truly was magic because there was lube and I had no idea how that had happened. But not enough to make it easy. No, this was not about my pleasure at all. It was awful. Cruel. He was growling in my ear, making me tremble on his cock. My mind raced round and round. I was breathing so fast, my heart pounding, and behind my closed eyes all I could see was that cane case.

Daddy’s cock was reaming me, and it hurt, and my nipples hurt too as they banged against the sink and then Daddy leaned over and growled “Mine!” in my ear. I couldn’t stop them. Before I even realized it was happening, tears were streaming down my face. I lifted my eyes to meet his in the mirror.

“Yes, that’s my good boy. Cry for Daddy.”

Daddy pulled a clamp from my nipple, and searing pain ripped into me, creating fresh tears. He groaned and began to thrust harder, his cock driving into my boy hole.

“Daddy!” I whimpered.

“When I take the other clamp off, you are going to cum for me, boy. You got that?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

His cock felt like it was ripping me open. His eyes were unforgiving. I knew what was coming next. I felt a new surge of fear washing through me, and Daddy smiled at the smell of it. His beard scratched my skin as he buried his nose in the nape of my neck and drew in the metallic scent of fear.

“Yes, boy. Give me your fear.”

His cock gored me, and then the other clamp was twisted off, and before I even decided to I was cumming, growling with Daddy as he rammed home, shuddering as he spurted inside me. Too quickly his cock was gone, and my hole was gaping. I started shivering, my eyes closed as I heard Daddy moving things around, then a zipper, and then that awful sound of rattan ripping through air.

“You are going to give this to me, boy. You are mine. I want your pain, your fear, and your tears, boy. Don’t hold back.”

“Y-yes, Daddy.”

I was going to take it. I worked to breathe slowly, relax my muscles, and wrap my mind around accepting it. Every time I played with Daddy, there was a moment where I said no. And every time, there was a moment when I was sure I was crazy for doing this. It was then I tasted my safeword in my mouth. I was not going to say no to this. I had already decided. But damn, I sure could taste my safeword, and it was bitter.

I hated canes. They were an evil invasive sting, and that kind of sensation just felt wrong. My body rejected it. Canes were an ordeal path to surrender filled with constant doubt. When I made it through to the end, I always felt powerful in some way, and deeply proud. But the road there was horrid. Canes had nothing to do with my pleasure. They were about accepting Daddy’s will and feeding his sadism.

As the cane ripped into me, I kept my mouth clamped shut on my safeword. It was not going to come out of my mouth, dammit. Daddy was not giving me even strokes or pacing it. This wasn’t a pretty show. This was relentless fire on my ass and thighs, and there was no time between one stroke and the next, they just spiraled into a whirlwind of awful pain and fear that poured out of my eyes and eventually my mouth in rasping growly sobs. Daddy was snarling, his voice harsh as the pain went on in waves, riding along fear, crashing into me until I could do nothing but surrender.

“Good boy,” he growled. “Now for six of the best.”

One was a tidal wave of fire. Two was nasty and twisted, carving me open. Three was lemon juice on the longest paper cut of my life. Four was almost too much, and my safeword rose like bile in my throat. Five exploded in fireworks of pain and blood that I could feel begin to drip down my leg. Six was an evil bastard of a hot poker searing me.

Daddy put the cane aside for later cleaning, wrapping a piece of hunter green tape around the handle to remind him it was now dedicated to me. To think I remember that. Little things like that crop up in my habits today. Back then, they just made me feel safe. He pulled out his first aid kit, and cleaned me up, placing Tegaderm on the spots where he had opened skin.

He met my eyes and stroked my cheek, saying gruffly, “I am proud to call you mine.”

Then he tossed me my clothes and said, “Get dressed, boy. We have places to go.”

I floated into my clothes, and Daddy shuffled me out of his apartment and into the park below. It was dark, but I could hear murmuring voices, slurping sounds, low moans. He stuffed a ball gag into my mouth, wrapped his navy blue hanky around my eyes, and bent me over a nearby rock. I focused my hearing, trying to figure out what Daddy was going to do next. There was a loud click, and I jumped, knowing that his knife was out.

“Stay still, boy.”

It began cutting my jeans away. Just a chunk out of them, baring my asshole. And then I knew why Daddy ordered me into a jock earlier. His fingers were teasing my hole, sliding lube into me. One, two, then three fingers in my ass, their squirmy possession riveting me to the spot as I got that almost nauseated feeling in the pit of my stomach that always begins an ass fuck. Daddy’s gravelly whisper carried to the men nearby.

“Who wants a piece of my boy’s ass? His mouth and cock are for me alone, but if you play nice, you can fuck his hole.”

I could hear the leaves rustle as the men moved in. How many? I heard voices murmuring as I writhed on Daddy’s fingers, but I couldn’t quite pick out the words. He slid his fingers out and leaned over me, his voice low in my ear.

“Don’t you dare cum, boy. Not until my dick is in your ass.”

Daddy stood up and chose someone, handed him a condom, and stood with his hand on my neck. I heard a zipper, and then a condom wrapper was opened. There was a slight pause. I tensed up. I couldn’t help it. Then his dick was spearing me. He worked it in to the base, and oh, was it long. The wormy feeling in my gut pulsed as I tried to take it in. I whimpered.

“That’s my good boy,” Daddy said, gently stroking my neck.

The man in my ass started to move. Oh god, and my dick began to throb as his thighs rubbed against the welts from the cane. He was working his hips in wide circles, and it felt like he was deep in my gut, stirring me in long sticky strokes. I ground my hips down into the rock and soon was moaning behind the gag. I worked with him, wanting his cum, loving his dick with sharp squeezes of my muscles, clamping down on him, wanting him to spurt.

He did, in three long thrusts, and he was gone too quickly. Daddy chose another, lamenting the need for latex, wanting my ass to be full of other men’s cum when he would finally fuck it.

The next man was inside me immediately. His dick was shorter and my ass felt the loss. But he made up for it in rhythm, working me hard, in fast thrusts that smarted as they hit the marks from the cane, until I was breathless, shaking, gripping the rock with all I had. Then I heard Daddy say “Stop.” The man pulled out. Daddy’s voice was fierce as he reminded me not to cum. He motioned the man back to my ass, but I was scared. I didn’t want to be fucked so well. All I wanted was my Daddy inside me. All I wanted was to please Daddy.

The circle of men around me got louder. I could pick out phrases. “Woof!” “Look at that nasty cub.” “Want a piece of that hole.” “Damn he can move his hips.” “Fuck that sweet ass.”

I worked my hips harder, frantically wanting the man’s release, wanting him gone from my ass. I could feel Daddy’s hand on my hair, stroking. He leaned down to whisper, “Be a good boy for me. That’s it, take his cock. Milk it for me.”

I did; I took it till he came, trembling at the feel of him spurting in me, proud to have done it. Then a third dick was at my hole. And I wasn’t sure it could get in, it was so thick. I pictured my hole opening, rubbing my cock against the rock to heighten my desire, knowing I would regret it later. The pressure was still there, insistent. And then Daddy gripped my hair in his hand, and pulled. It slid in. I could feel myself widen to accommodate it. I couldn’t concentrate on anything else. I became a hole. Just a hole to get fucked. Daddy’s hole. He started to move inside me. I screamed, glad for the gag.

“It’s too big. I can’t do it. It’s too big.”

I was shaking my head, screaming no, and all the while Daddy stroked my hair, whispering to me.

“I know you can do it, boy. Do it for me. Yes, that’s it, take it for Daddy. You are such a good boy. My boy. My hole. That’s it, take it. You are so hot, boy. All these faggots want to be inside you. But I’m next. I can’t wait to get inside you, boy. I love watching you get fucked. It makes me so hard to know you are my hole, my hole to give away. My hole to use, however I choose. That’s my good boy. Take that monster cock. I know you love it, boy. You love being Daddy’s hole. You love being used like this, by a group of strangers. That’s my good boy.”

As I concentrated on his words, my body fell away. I was just a hole. I existed solely to please Daddy. This pleased him, to offer his hole to others. And that was who I was. Just Daddy’s hole to use. However he chose. I was working my hips in rhythm as the stranger fucked me, squeezing his cock with my muscles. Because these men were just an extension of Daddy’s will, his pleasure. This was my Daddy fucking me. And I wanted to be pleasing. I loved being Daddy’s boy. I could feel the man inside me cumming, and it was a tribute to my usefulness. I began to float.

And then Daddy was behind me. His dick slid into my hole like I was built for him. I didn’t want this moment to end. I could feel Daddy deep inside me, and that was where he should be. He grabbed my hips, working them, using me in precisely the way he wanted. I was exactly where I belonged. Under Daddy.

“You feel so good around my cock, boy. You were made to be fucked by me. That’s it, boy, grab onto my cock with your ass. All these men are watching me fuck you and wishing they had gotten a turn. But you are mine, mine alone. And I am claiming you as mine. You may cum, boy.”

There were no more words because Daddy’s teeth were driving into my neck, and he was fucking me, and I was bleeding, and Daddy was feeding, and I was cumming, and Daddy’s cock was ramming me, and his teeth were claiming me, and my cock was spurting, and Daddy’s cum invaded me, seeping into me as he drank me down.

Daddy slid out of me, and I didn’t want him to. He turned me over and slowly removed my gag and my blindfold. His arms enfolded me, and I was gripping him so tight, sobbing. He rocked slowly, just holding me as I sobbed. When my tears subsided, Daddy licked each one from my face. My eyes were still closed as he stroked the space on my forehead above my nose, grounding me. I heard his voice asking me to slowly open my eyes. And then I saw the men surrounding me. They were grinning, and their faces were warm and familiar, and then I was enveloped by this tribe of men that I knew and cared for, with my Daddy’s proud smile joining theirs. I was home. I belonged.