A Daddy for Benito by Joe Satoria

3. BENITO

SATURDAY

The sunshine and heat were eating into me. It was July, and I hadn’t even thought to put sunscreen on. Standing outside the train station in Manchester. He was late. DaddyH obviously wanted me to get heatstroke.

I told him two-fifteen. It was ten-past two.

Anyone coming to pick someone up from the train station should be early. Although trains aren’t usually early, and often late, but that wasn’t the point. He was late.

“Benny,” a voice called out, catching me off-guard from behind.

I turned, clutching the two large suitcases I’d managed to get on and off the train without help. It was an achievement, they were heavy, and while I was tall—that only gave me a height advantage, not a muscular one.

Standing in the automatic doors. Daddy H was shorter than me, a little stocky, or perhaps he was puffing out his chest. He had a thick head of hair, and a trimmed beard. And in his arms, a small bouquet of flowers wrapped inside lilac and blue paper. I didn’t notice at first, it blended with the shirt.

“I thought I would have caught you coming out,” he said.

“Where are you parked?” I asked. “I want to take a shower and nap.”

“Is that it?” he asked, his brows raised. “Is that all you have to say?”

I cracked a smile. The games were beginning. “Thank you for picking me up from the train station,” I said, batting my eyelids. “I’m sure we can talk about what I owe you once we’re at yours. Which reminds me, how big is it?”

“Seven inches, but it’s thick,” he chuckled.

A correct answer, but not to this question. “I haven’t forgot,” I told him, “just like I never forgot you left me in that hotel room. Alone.”

He chuckled. “I left you a card, I thought you were going to call.”

“I did—didn’t I?” My voice grew softer as I continued to bat my eyelids. “Well, I meant to, but maybe I didn’t because you’d left.”

“If you called me, you would’ve known why I left,” he said. “But I don’t—I don’t remember that now.” He smirked, his thick full lips. I didn’t know his name, and yet, he looked like he knew me, down to the white roses. I suppose everyone liked roses.

“Daddy likes to make excuses, I see.”

Stepping closer, seeming to envelop us together while people walked by and sounds of the city were shunned into the distance of my ears. “I’m not making excuses,” he said, softly. “I’d never make an excuse, but you—I think you love making them.” He pressed the flowers to my chest, and picked a hand to my cheek, softly over my light stubble. “These are for you.”

“I don’t like flowers,” I said, trying to push them back into his hands.

He smirked. “I know they’re your favourite.”

They were roses. “They’re everyone’s favourite.”

“Except, they’re white roses, and you said in one of those posts on the forum, white roses were your favourite.” He was right. He’d done his research. And I felt like I hadn’t done nearly enough on him, considering I didn’t even know his name. But I did recognise his face, and it hit me. He knew Warren. “I’ll get your suitcases. I’m parked in the short-stay parking bay.”

I didn’t know where that was. “So, I’m guessing you told Warren,” I said, inhaling the sweet scent of the roses.

He paused, looking me over. “I wasn’t sure you’d recognise me; I knew who you were, immediately.”

The last thing I needed was drama with Warren, especially after Alexi had been talking to me the past two weeks. “So?”

“Not yet,” he said, “it’s his birthday in a week. I didn’t think you spoke, so I wasn’t going to tell him.”

I shouldn’t have mentioned it at all. But seeing his face in the light, I realised it, and I wasn’t usually known for keeping my mouth shut.

“Oh, wow!” He attempted to lift a suitcase with one hand, his bicep bulging through his shirt. “What do you have in these?” He set the suitcase down.

“They roll,” I said, pushing the second suitcase to him. “I brought all my things.” Although that wasn’t true. I couldn’t bring everything. I needed to make a clean break and get out before the landlord asked for rent.

“To answer your other question, the flat isn’t the biggest, and we’ll have to share a bed,” he said, “that’s one of the terms.”

“One bedroom?”

“Two,” he said.

“And I have to share a bed with you?”

“Part of the terms.”

My tongue clicked against the roof of my mouth. “I’m going to enjoy this.” It felt like the first time in a while that there was someone on my level, and they were playing ball. The last thing I wanted was for someone to get offended, or worse, for this not to be their cup of kink.

“You’re going to enjoy it,” he chuckled, “I already ordered condoms and lube in bulk.”

He drove a white BMW. I only knew because of the logo on the hood of the car, and the words were spelled out. I didn’t know much about cars; except I couldn’t drive. I refused to drive, it was an expense, you had to pay for the tests, then the car, and then insurance, and not to mention the gas and repairs. I once dated a finance guy, they were kinky, but short tempered, not great at playing. All I gathered from him was that cars were a bad financial investment.

In the car, I looked around. It was clean. Too clean. He climbed into the driver seat once he put my suitcases in the boot.

“Question,” I said.

“Not part of the terms,” he said.

“Do you have OCD?”

His brows rose up his forehead. He smiled. “I’m not sure what you mean by that.”

“The car is clean, like, either it’s new or you have OCD.”

He chuckled, fishing into his jean pocket. “I had it cleaned yesterday. I figured, we might end up fucking, and the last thing I wanted is for you to accidentally get fucked by an empty water bottle.”

“A WATER BOTTLE?” I sputtered, growing flustered and red in the face. “I’m not loose.”

He reached for my face, rubbing his thumb at my chin and cheek. “I know you’re not, but once I’ve finished with you, I can’t promise you’ll stay nice and tight.”

I know I should have probably been annoyed by his words, but the only thing that happened was a raging erection inside my shorts.

He noticed it; I knew he did. His eyes darting to the bulge.

“If this was in a parking garage,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “I might suggest you take them off.”

I reached across to his lap, my hand grabbing at his crotch. He was solid.

He tutted, peeling my hand away. “I’m the Daddy,” he said. “If you do that again, I might have to pull your pants down myself and spank you.”

“Is that how you deal with naughty boys?” I asked. “Because I can very bad.”

“Is that how you got the name bratty boy?”

“Sixty-nine,” I added. “For obvious reasons.” I reached for his crotch again. My hand cupped around the solid shape of his cock.

“We still need to talk about how long you plan on staying,” he said, “and if you don’t remove your hand, for each second, that’s one spank.”

“Make me.”

“One.”

I raised my brows at him, staring him his intensely green eyes.

“Two,” he said.

Gently, my hand squeezed. He was radiating an enormous level of heat.

“Three.”

I removed my hand.

“Three spanks when we get home,” he said, “then we can see what you can do around the house—and the bedroom.”

My thighs clenched, squeezing. My cock pulsed. “What other terms do you have?”

“You have to do what you’re told is the main one.”

“Why are you setting that one? You know I’ll break it.”

“I’m counting on it,” he chuckled. “Like I said, you’re a brat, and I’m Daddy. You’ll have to try a little harder.” His eyes glanced over me. “Harder than that.” He looked at my cock.

My throat dried. Yeah, he was on my level. Almost like he knew what he was dealing with. I’d never had that before. I wasn’t sure if I was ready—erect, sure, but ready to fill my desires. I was petrified with excitement.