Trained By My Girlfriend’s Dad
A M/M Straight To Gay First Time Romance
Charlotte Storm
Table of Contents
Title Page
Summary
Chapter 1 | Darryl
Chapter 2 | Dominic
Chapter 3 | Darryl
Chapter 4 | Dominic
Chapter 5 | Darryl
Chapter 6 | Dominic
Chapter 7 | Dominic
Chapter 8 | Dominic
Chapter 9 | Darryl
Chapter 10 | Dominic
Chapter 11 | Darryl
Chapter 12 | Dominic
Chapter 13 | Dominic
Chapter 14 | Darryl
Chapter 15 | Darryl
Chapter 16 | Dominic
Chapter 17 | Darryl
Chapter 18 | Dominic
Chapter 19 | Dominic
Chapter 20 | Darryl
Chapter 21 | Dominic
Chapter 22 | Darryl
Chapter 23 | Dominic
Chapter 24 | Darryl
Chapter 25 | Dominic
Chapter 26 | Darryl
Epilogue | Dominic
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Author Letter
Summary
When the man of your dreams is your girlfriend’s dad . . .
Darryl Cole likes his men questioning, pliable, trainable. There’s nothing he loves more than a man on his hands and knees, begging him to break in their virgin ass.
But when he catches side-long glances from Dominic Castro, his daughter’s boyfriend from college, Darryl knows those looks will be nothing but trouble. Doesn’t matter Dominic claims he’s straight. That he’s dedicated to Darryl’s daughter. Dominic isn’t either of those things, but Darryl isn’t sure he’s the man who should prove it.
For his daughter’s sake, for his, Darryl tries to resist Dominic. But when Dominic’s glances turn from lukewarm to scorching hot, and he proves he’s all too willing to beg a more experienced man to take charge, Darryl doesn’t stand a chance against Dominic’s charms.
After all, taking charge is exactly what Darryl does best, even if it means facing a past he’d rather leave buried. Is Dominic the man who will help him heal that past? Or is he the man Darryl’s daughter will never be able to forgive him for?
Trained By My Girlfriend’s Dad is a M/M BDSM straight to gay first time romance intended for an adult audience. If you like fast heat, complicated situations, flawed characters, and happy endings, then this story is for you!
Copyright © 2018, Charlotte Storm. All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons or events is purely coincidental.
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Chapter 1
Darryl
My sub’s words are muffled due to the gag in his mouth, but the sentiment is clear. “Thank you, sir. May I have another?”
With one hand on his hip, I keep pace, my cock sliding in and out of his ass. The wet, squelching sounds are music to my ears. With my other hand, I take a swing for the red, swollen skin on his ass cheek. Try to match the handprint already there.
Smack!
He jumps, clenches his internal muscles around my cock. Damn. The tight squeeze feels fucking incredible.
I rub the sensitive, heated flesh I just smacked, roll my hips to hit all the right angles inside him. He groans and raises his hips higher, begging me with his body to go harder. To use his ass until I fill him with my release.
He knows better than to beg me with actual words, the cage around his straining cock punishment for disobeying me earlier.
Actually, the true punishment is that I get to enjoy him while I deny him a more than satisfying orgasm. Even if I make him come, locked in a cage, it isn’t the same level of pleasure. In a lot of ways, it’s worse. It doesn’t provide relief, only a desperate sense of needing more.
It’s his fault. In the bedroom, I have one rule. I’m in charge. Owen forgot that rule. Hesitated when I gave a directive. Now, he’s paying for it. Still, his body did just ask nicely for me to fuck him harder, use him as my personal ass toy. I oblige.
With both hands now on his hips, I pull him into me with the kind of ferocity I’d never been able to unleash back when I fucked women. But that was a lifetime—and a repressed sexuality—ago.
It’s been men only for years. Hard cocks, supple mouths, and tight holes are the only things that give me true pleasure, that can take the punishment my body craves to dish out.
“Oh, fuck. Please, sir. Please! Shit!” Owen says. He probably says. Hard to tell with the black ball gag in his mouth.
I know the instant Owen goes off. His hole clamps down on my dick. His balls tighten. His body jerks. And the torturous moans that leave his lips don’t sound like relief. They sound almost like crying.
He just came without my permission. He’s going to pay for that.
Loosening the gag in his mouth, I yank it off and toss it to the floor. I bury myself a few more times in his ass, balls deep, then pull out, grab a fistful of his hair, yank his head back, and force my dirty cock down his throat—lube, ass-juice, and everything else.
He gags, because I didn’t give him a chance to catch his breath, and because I’m deep down his throat. I come, hard, and sound my pleasure as thick ropes shoot from the tip of my cock, slide down my sub’s throat.
“That’s it. Keep sucking,” I tell him, refusing to relent until every drop is swallowed.
Only when my balls are spent, and my dick is too sensitive for him to keep going, do I pull out. Owen chases my cock with his mouth, wanting more. I don’t let him have it. I’m not done teaching my sub his lesson.
“How do I taste?” I ask as I slap my cock against his cheek.
“Like shit,” he answers.
It would be too cruel to tell him that’s precisely what he means to me.
“Tongue out,” I command.
He may hate what I’m making him do—which means he loves what I’m making him do—but he sticks out his tongue.
“Clean me. Every millimeter. I want squeaky clean balls. When you’re done, you’ll clean up the mess you made.” I point to the sheets, to the stain of his release. “And Owen, make sure you convince me that you’re sorry.”
“Yes, sir,” he says, then goes to town doing what I command.
I love making Owen do things that make him uncomfortable. That degrade him. He likes it too, even if the look on his face tells me this is borderline for him. The gagging only makes me enjoy it more. After this, I’m pretty fucking sure he’ll never step out of line again.
I hav
e to hand it to Owen, he’s thorough. Once he’s done with my dick, he enthusiastically shoves his face into the mess he made of my sheets. I smack his ass as he works, stick two fingers inside his hole to stroke his prostate, make sure to milk every last drop from him so he can lick it up. I don’t stop until he’s hard again, the skin on his caged length spilling out the sides of the chastity device.
When his entire body shakes with the need for release, and his balls reach an angry level of fullness, I pull my fingers from his hole, make him lick those clean too, and stand and head to the shower.
“Get dressed, and get the fuck out,” I say, his stunned expression almost making me feel bad.
Almost.
“But...but...” he stammers. He wants to stay, craves to please me more, needs me to punish him further. But he doesn’t make those decisions. I do. And I’m exhausted. The thing I crave now is sleep more than anything Owen can offer.
I give him the look that demands immediate compliance, or else. “The cage stays on, for now. Disobey me again, and this will be much worse next time.”
A part of him hates me for denying him. But the other part of him loves me for it. It’s his kink, denial. Humiliation. Debasement. My specialties.
It’s easy to deny others when I’ve denied myself what I’ve wanted for years. To love again. To be free from my past. But that’ll never happen, just like my sub won’t get to come without my permission.
Well, for as long as I decide to keep him. No one’s lasted longer than a few months, and Owen’s time is just about up. Keeps them from getting too attached. Keeps me interested in something new and fresh.
My sub scrambles for his clothes, starts to get dressed. I still need to make my point with him, let him know this isn’t a partnership. I’m in charge. His ass, and everything else, belongs to me.
“Oh, and Owen,” I say. “Don’t brush your teeth tonight. I want you to go to bed with the taste of your ass and my cock in your mouth.”
He swallows and licks his lips. “Yes, sir.”
Chapter 2
Dominic
“Don’t look so grim, babe. He’s my dad, not an executioner.”
The scenery outside, that had been blurred because I wasn’t really paying attention, snaps into focus. Julie reaches over, places a hand on my shaking knee, keeps the other on the steering wheel. I calm the movement of my leg, put my hand over hers out of habit. Maybe even obligation.
It isn’t out of affection. I mean, I care about Julie. I do. She’s perfect in all the ways she’s supposed to be. Gorgeous, fit, kind, smart. But there isn’t a spark between us. She doesn’t light me on fire like...shit, I don’t know. Like I’ve seen in other couples.
“Dom, seriously.” She squeezes my knee. “You look like you’re about to throw up.”
I feel like I’m about to throw up. When Julie had originally asked me during the holiday break to come home with her for the summer, I’d jumped at the opportunity. Things between us were still new, then. We’d stayed on campus, and I could tell she missed her father. Plus, it isn’t often a Midwest guy like myself gets to spend six weeks, rent free, in America’s Finest City, San Diego.
Julie’s father, Darryl, owns a house within spitting distance of La Jolla Cove. He invited Julie home for the summer. She invited me. We figured it would be a great way to really get to know each other better. Take what we have to the next level, or some shit.
The next level. What the fuck does that even mean?
Doesn’t matter. The only level I want to get to is the one where we can remain friends.
Yes. It’s shitty of me to use our relationship as a means to escape campus for a summer vacation. I’m prepared to admit I’m selfish at times. It isn’t like Julie’s been all in lately. I’ve caught her, more than once, texting someone on her phone, only to hide it when she sees me.
“I’m fine,” I say to her when I realize she’s staring at me more than the road. “I’m fine,” I assert again, point out the front windshield, my way of asking her to pay attention.
She huffs out a frustrated breath, lets go of my knee. “Fine,” she echoes.
She sounds anything but fine.
Her phone beeps, alerting her she has a text. She flicks on the screen with one hand, and continues driving with the other.
“Want me to check it for you?” I offer so she can drive.
“No,” she says like a mamma bear protecting her cubs.
I cock an eyebrow at her, and her expression softens when she realizes she’s overreacting.
“It’s no big deal.” She tries to shrug it off. “Just some of my old friends from high school. They want to get together while I’m home.”
“Cool,” I say, and mean it.
It would be better for me if we didn’t spend the entire summer together. If she wants to go off, have fun with friends, I’m all about encouraging that.
“Anyone in particular?” I ask, just trying to make conversation. If I can figure out how close she is with these friends, maybe I can gauge how much time she might spend with them.
Her hands grip the steering wheel, knuckles white, and what the hell? Why is she freaking out?
“Why do you ask that?” The nervous chuckle in her voice tells me something’s off.
“Just curious,” I say, cautiously.
“Two of my best friends from cheer squad live a few blocks away. Well, their parents do. We haven’t seen each other in over a year, so I hope you’re okay if I spend some time with them?”
“Of course,” I answer, but something’s still off. I don’t say anything.
After a few moments of awkward silence, Julie adds, “And my friend, Jordan, wants to hang out. Catch up.”
“Is Jordan a guy or a girl?” I ask, hoping he’s a guy, and that Julie secretly wants to dump me and run off with him.
Damn, I’m an asshole. And if that’s what I really want, why not just break up with her?
Oh, yeah. San Diego.
Julie bites her lip. “A guy. He’s my ex. But we’re just friends,” she adds quickly, as if I was accusing her of something. “He’s known my family for years. We grew up together.”
Maybe my assessment wasn’t too far off. Could this Jordan dude be who Julie has been texting this whole time?
A part of me tries to get mad she lied by omission. That she’s been making plans to hook up with this guy for the summer, while dragging me along. I’m not mad. When it comes to most things about our relationship, I feel nothing. It honestly doesn’t bother me she’s talking to her ex.
That makes me a shitty boyfriend. I know. I just don’t care.
“You’ll like him,” she continues, needing her voice to fill the silence. Or the widening gap between us.
I wonder if she sees it. Feels it the same way I do. I haven’t broken it off with Julie because San Diego, and because I’m a chicken shit. Julie has great qualities. She’s easy to be around, knows how to have fun. I’m comfortable. And, honestly, I don’t have anything better to do. Anyone better. Compared to other women, Julie’s a perfect ten.
When I compare her to men, however...
“I’ll like Jordan?” I ask, cutting that thought off at the nuts. She couldn’t have just read my mind, could she?
No, she can’t. And I’m straight. End of story. The number of women I’ve pleasured attests to that fact.
“Not Jordan.” She gives me the side-eye. “I mean my dad. Once he gets over being pissed I forgot to tell him you were coming, I’m sure you two will get along just fine.”
“What?” My voice booms in the cab of her car, making her jerk.
We swerve into the other lane. I brace for the sound of crushing metal, the force of two objects colliding at top speed.
The honking of a horn is the only thing that happens, thank God.
Julie straightens out the wheel, slows her speed, waves at the driver she cut off in an apology.
“Pull the fucking car over, Julie,” I demand.
“
No,” she says. “I’m fine.” Her hands shake. Her lip trembles.
“I’m not fine. Pull over, now.”
She flicks on her blinker, does what I ask. As soon as the car stops, I kick open the door, get out of her car.
Vehicles whizz by us on the freeway. “You didn’t tell you father I was coming with you?” I shout over the sound of traffic, and because it feels good to release some of the tension between us. “How could you fucking do that?”
She fucked up. She should be apologizing. Instead, Julie gets that stubborn look on her face I’ve seen too often lately. She’s defensive. Ready to fight.
“What’s the big deal, Dom? You’re my boyfriend. My dad knows I’m dating you. He had to know that, when he invited me to come home, I’d bring you.”
“Do you even—shit.” I run my fingers through my hair, not sure I want to have this argument with her. Not sure I even want to do this anymore. San Diego is amazing, but it can’t be worth this, can it?
“Julie, I think your dad’s going to be pissed that you’re bringing a guy into his house without asking permission first. A guy who’s fucking his daughter, something every father on the planet cares about. You’ve put me in a position to be the target of that anger.”
Her eyes widen, a dead giveaway that she didn’t think about it that way.
“Take me back to campus,” I say, and damn. I was looking forward to San Diego, but not like this. Without this opportunity, probably not ever.
“No.” She crosses her arms, raises an eyebrow in challenge. “We’re thirty minutes from home, and hours from campus. Just, come with me.” She bites her lower lip. “If my dad freaks out, then I’ll take you to the train station, and you can go back that way.”
A cold, icy anger seeps into my blood, makes me shiver. It’s the same sensation I get every time I feel powerless. Every time I have to submit to someone else’s will. Right now, I’m at Julie’s mercy. At her father’s, a man I don’t know.
Chapter 3
Darryl
Julie honks her horn as she pulls into the driveway. My heart swells at that noise. I can’t keep the grin from my face at knowing I’m about to see my daughter.
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