Leo is absolutely a softy about the boy, which is fine. Nothing wrong with that. It’s adorable, even.
But periodically our boyneedsa comb raked through the tangled snarls down there, and I don’t mean his bush.
I mean his lizard brain. Especially with what we just endured, I think we both need this more than ever.
“How’d it feel racing upstairs to reach your Daddy to show him what you’d done before you dribbled all over yourself,hmm?”
The left corner of his mouth quirks in a smile. “I was mentally swearing at you the whole way, Mister President.”
My hand shoots out and grabs him by the throat. Not squeezing hard, just enough to probably makehimhard inside the cage. “Is that so?”
His smile widens. “Of course I was. Because you didn’t order me to wear the biggest butt plug.”
I suck in air. “You slutty little brat. You love living dangerously. Better watch out or I’ll fuck you in the elevator.”
Sparks flash in his gaze. “Promises, promises.”
I play with the ring in his left nipple, tugging and twisting hard enough to make him wince.
I drop my voice into a mode he hasn’t heard me use in too damned long, hints of the army officer without the politician’s polished sheen. “Just for that you’ll wear the metal cock cage tomorrow. Hope for your sake you don’t have to leave the White House or go through any metal detectors while you’re out. Coming back in will be interesting, you know.”
His gaze immediately goes soft, pliant, another of those sweet whimpers escaping him. “Yes, Mister President.”
“You’ll have to explain you’re locked up.” I lean in, my lips by his ear. “Maybe they’ll even make you drop your pants to show them you’ve been locked up because you’re a naughty little slut who can’t behave himself otherwise.”
He moans. “Yes, Mister President.”
I tug his other nipple ring. “And here I was going to be a nice guy and let you wear the silicone one tomorrow. Looks like I need to fuck the brattiness out of you before I play nice with you again, don’t I? Remind you who owns your ass and mouth and cock, right?”
His breath quickens. “Yes, Mister President.”
I lick his cheek. “So who owns those particular holes?”
“You do, Mister President.”
Fuck, yeah.I’m rock-hard again. “Say it. You know what I want to hear, slut. And I knowyouwant to say it, don’t you?”
He swallows. “Mister President, I’m your fucktoy and you own my ass and you own my mouth and you own my cock. You own all my holes.”
“Fuckin’ A, I do.” I tighten my grip on his throat. Not enough to choke him out, just a hint of danger for him. I abandon his nipple and reach down to the front of the cage and tap on it. It’s warm from the heat of his body and I’d be willing to bet he’s experiencing that lovely pain that comes from an erection struggling against its bonds and meeting torturous, immoveable resistance.
His eyelids droop and I give him a little shake, making them pop open again and focus on me.
As much as he’s capable of focusing in this state.
Which isn’t much. Right now his body’s a subby ball of needy, eager, greedy pain. His brain’s stuck in a vicious feedback loop of wanting to come and simultaneously needing me to take him tightly in hand the way I am and keep him wanting more.
A feedback loop I’m intimately acquainted with and lovate—love and hate—as much as he does, if not more.
More, because I’ve experienced it for years longer than he has, under the hands of a sadist that’s been far more physically and sexually vicious to me than this boy’s ever endured.
“Plug out, wash it, then meet me in the shower.” I release him and spin him around, delivering a hard smack to his ass that leaves behind a handprint.
He casts a sultry smile at me over his shoulder. “Yes, Mister President.”
Fuck me, he wiggles that ass of his as he walks over to the other sink.
Who owns who, really?
