what?” he asks, playing innocent like I don’t have a cock cage around my dick that he put there. He ain’t no blushin’ virgin, but dang does he seem to find it amusing to pretend and make me spell it out.
“You know,” I insist, my face and tips of my ears heating up. “I want you to fuck me.”
“Oh, is that what you want?” he asks, cocking an eyebrow at me and slipping a hand under my shirt to tickle his fingers along my skin.
I nod rapidly, licking my lips again as my heart beats faster, my cock trying in vain to get hard. “Yes, Daddy. Just like you said before, I want your cum dripping out of me. I want to be sore again so I can remember I’m yours.” The words feel raw in my throat, a pleading edge creeping in.
“You have to do something for me first,” Barrett says.
“Anything,” I agree, not needing to think twice about it. He can do any filthy thing to me he wants, and I’ll beg him for more.
He puts a hand under my chin to tilt my face up, dipping his head down until our noses bump, and I can feel his breath fan over my face. My eyes close all on their own, my lips parting in anticipation of his kiss.
“Tell me something you like about yourself.”
His words startle my eyes open, his grip on my chin tightening when I try to turn my head away. “What?” I frown, trying to figure if I misunderstood what he told me to do.
“Tell me one thing you like about yourself and then I’ll fuck you bare until you’re so full of cum it’s running down the back of your thighs for the rest of the day.”
My throat tightens, and my body starts to feel shaky, and not in the good way. “Longhorn,” I whisper.
Barrett sighs, but let’s go of my face. I tuck my chin down and shrink into myself out of habit.
“You can safeword out of it right now, but I’m not going to fuck you again until you can do this for me.”
“Why?” Of all the things he could ask me to do, why this?
“Because I want you to try to see the amazing man I see when I look at you.”
I scoff, but I can tell by the determined look on his face that he’s not going to change his mind about this.
“This is stupid,” I mutter before stomping out of the kitchen in frustration.
Something I like about myself, I grumble mentally. Who ever heard of something so stupid? I didn’t realize I was heading to the library until I push open the door to my favorite room in the house and slam it closed behind me, feeling a little petulant and a lot horny. But apparently, I have to say something I like about myself if I want Barrett to do anything about that.
I huff, going over to one of the bookshelves and grabbing a random book to take to the big, leather chair in front of the fireplace. It feels too big when I settle into it, not feeling right at all without Barrett between me and the chair. Curling my legs up and tucking them under myself, I flip open to the first page. My eyes scan the words without actually reading them.
What does he want me to say? I’m just an ugly boy who ain’t worth nothing. I ain’t smart. I ain’t a dang thing. There were times when I was young when I thought about doing terrible things to myself, and if I had, I doubt anybody would’ve cared.
I don’t realize I’m crying until a teardrop splashes down, creating a damp, dark spot right in the middle of the page. I sniffle and use my free hand to wipe my face. Why’s this so hard? I could just lie, tell him I think I’m things I ain’t just so he’ll be happy with me. I swallow hard, my throat thick from crying and balk at the idea of saying things that ain’t true.
I use my index finger to try to wipe the wet spot off the page, but it’s already soaked into the paper.
I guess I like that I didn’t end up doing those terrible things I thought about. Something tells me that isn’t what Barrett wants to hear though. I snort imagining how that conversation would go—“Daddy, I figured out what I like about myself. I like that I didn’t slit my wrists