Trained By My Girlfriend's Dad: A M/M Straight To Gay First Time Romance

by Charlotte Storm

  Eventually, it does, the relief instantaneous. I sigh, enjoy this moment. I don’t know how many enjoyable moments I have left this morning, the answer most likely zero.

  By the time I get back into the kitchen, Darryl is waiting for me. The pan is clean and dry, fresh bread has been pulled from the fridge, and the fruit is in a strainer in the sink.

  “When I agreed to train you, I didn’t realize you needed so much damn work.” He crosses his arms and waits for my response.

  I can’t stop staring at the muscles rippling underneath tanned flesh. He’s a god. A fucking god. And I’m his loyal devout.

  “It also tells me I need to have a discussion with my daughter about standards.” He waves his hand at the stove and toaster oven. “It’s clear to me you’ve never made her breakfast in bed, or breakfast ever where she hasn’t had to help you. She deserves better than that, don’t you think?”

  Shame bubbles up from my stomach, burns the lining of my throat. I clear it, swallow it down before answering, “Yes, sir.”

  Darryl steps up to me, crowds my body with his. The backs of his fingers brush my cheek before traveling around to grab my hair at the nape of my neck.

  “I’m going to show you how to cook breakfast the way I like it. I’m only going to show you once. After today, every day that you stay in my house, you will have it ready for me at eight in the morning. Not eight-oh-one. Or eight-oh-five. Eight. Understand?”

  He squeezes my neck for emphasis.

  “Yes, sir.”

  When his grip relents, I think he’s going to let go, step back, start cooking. He doesn’t. His hand lingers on my neck, more gently this time. His eyes take their time roaming over my chest, across my stomach, down to my sleep pants.

  Without warning, or even a word, Darryl kisses me, slow and deep. It’s the kind of kiss that steals my breath, warms my chest, curls my toes.

  “What was that for?” I ask when he pulls away.

  He shrugs like it’s no big deal, but behind his blue eyes, there’s a shadow. A pain he doesn’t want to recall. “I wanted to taste you,” he says, and leaves it at that.

  It isn’t my place to push, so I don’t.

  Darryl is meticulous in how he goes about making breakfast. Almost methodical. Everything is thoughtfully and logically organized in order to attain the maximum efficiency possible. The same formula I imagine he used to make himself wealthy playing the stock market and by making smart investments.

  I memorize his movements as best I can, pay attention to the timing on the eggs to get the perfect runny center. The toast to make sure it has a uniform crunch. How many scoops of coffee he uses, and exactly how much water.

  When he’s done, he plates the food in a way that’s almost graceful, takes one bite of the egg so I can see the consistency when he cuts into it and the toast, then dumps it into the trash.

  He holds out his empty plate toward me. “Your turn.”

  Fuck. I thought I’d have a day to at least practice getting this right. But with Darryl, I need to learn to expect the unexpected, adapt to any situation, know my limits, and push through them.

  Okay. It’s okay. I’ve got this.

  And I do, mostly. My attempt at breakfast is passable. I watch as he consumes every bite. Drool as he licks his fingers clean, and wish it was me he was licking.

  I’m all the way hard again, and he all the way notices. He stands, and I genuinely have zero idea what comes next.

  “Dominic.” My name rolls off his lips like boulders down the side of a mountain.

  Heavy. Dangerous. Powerful.

  The front door opens, breaking whatever moment we were about to have, ice bucket style. Julie strides through, hair a mess, makeup smeared from sleep and from being out all night.

  She’s still beautiful, but it’s weird. I don’t want her, don’t crave her at all. She just doesn’t turn me on. Her father, on the other hand...

  I quickly fold my hands in front of my crotch, try and look casual. Julie stops, mid stride, when she sees me.

  “You don’t look ready to go.” Her tone is sharp, authoritative. She takes after her father in that way.

  “I’m not,” I answer.

  She laughs. The bitchy kind, not the funny kind. “Not ready to go, or not going?”

  “Uh...” I glance at Darryl, beg him with my eyes to help. He said he’d take care of this, and I have zero idea what to say.

  His gaze travels across my exposed flesh, to my hands in front of my crotch. He grins, and it’s the sexiest fucking thing in the world.

  Not helping me not be hard.

  Darryl turns to his daughter, scrubs a hand across his jawline. “I’ve invited Dominic to stay for the rest of the summer, like you both originally planned. He’s going to work for me, and I’m going to provide him a place to stay.”

  “What?” Julie’s voice raises an octave to a shriek. It’s the same sound she made when I used to tickle her when we’d play, or when someone would surprise her from behind.

  “You heard me,” Darryl says, arms crossed, tone firm.

  “No, Dad. No. Dom is not staying. He—” She points her finger in my direction as her face turns an unhealthy shade of red.

  “He broke up with you. I know. Doesn’t change the fact you invited him here, without my permission, to enjoy his summer vacation. That’s exactly what I intend for him to do.”

  Darryl’s eyes land on me. I swear, that last statement sounded like a command for me more than a throwaway line for his daughter.

  I nod slightly, let him know I understand.

  Julie huffs out a frustrated breath, stomps her feet. “This is so not fucking cool, Dad.”

  Darryl steps toward his daughter, pulls her into his arms. “I love you, Julie-bug. And I’m sorry if you don’t like it. My house, my rules.”

  Julie pulls away. The angry lines on her face make me think she’s about to bitch out Darryl for his authoritative hold over her. But then she softens, bites her lip, nods her head.

  “I get it. I fucked up. Should’ve asked you first before bringing him. I’m sorry. I was irresponsible. I get the lesson. You made your point.” She glances at her wrinkled clothes. “I’m going to change, take him to the train station. Let’s talk when he’s gone.”

  She turns her back on him, starts down the hallway toward her room.

  “He isn’t leaving.”

  My entire body responds to the tone Darryl uses with his daughter. It’s the same one he uses with me. Same one he used with his other sub. Ex-sub.

  Julie’s shoulders bunch to her ears. When she turns to face her father, her mouth pops open, ready to argue.

  “End of discussion,” Darryl says, cutting her off before she can start.

  Julie looks at me, really looks at me, for the first time since coming into the house. She takes in my tired face, naked chest, my pajama pants, my hands crossed in front of my crotch. Then her gaze flicks to the dirty dishes, and the remnants of freshly washed fruit Darryl hadn’t eaten.

  Then she looks at her father. Also bare-chested, in nothing but sleep shorts, dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep.

  Her gaze narrows as it pings between the two of us, and I’m convinced this is it. The moment she figures out I’ve been lying to her. That I’ve never been all in with us because I’ve never been that into women.

  Just as quickly as it was there, the look vanishes. She shakes her head, as if clearing it of thoughts that don’t make sense. Replacing doubt with what she thinks she knows. I’m straight. And her father would never train one of her exes.

  “Fine.” She crosses her arms, squares her shoulders. “Dom can stay. But don’t let him be a slacker.” She flicks me a devious grin before turning back to her father. “Promise me you’ll make him work for his stay. He’s capable, and handy, and you could use some help around the house.”

  When Darryl answers, I know it’s as much for me as for his daughter. “Don’t worry, Julie-bug. I plan on working Dominic very
very hard.”

  Chapter 11

  Darryl

  True to my word, I work Dominic hard.

  Gardening, cleaning the pool, housework...anything and everything I can think of to keep him busy. To mount his frustration at not knowing what to expect.

  It’s been five days since the night in his room, since I promised to train him. I haven’t touched him once. A fact I know he hates.

  He doesn’t realize it yet, but I have been training him. Making him strong. Pushing his boundaries to see where he’ll break.

  I haven’t let him touch his dick, not even to piss. He’s had to sit down every time, a little piece of humiliation designed to constantly remind him who’s in charge. I made my instructions very clear. I want him to be successful. And yet, the sadistic part of me secretly prays for him to break the rules.

  I like dishing out punishment. I know, in my hands, Dominic would hate it in the best way.

  But Dominic is a good boy. Follows directions annoyingly well. He has something to prove. To me. To himself.

  I have something to prove, too. It’s why I’ve pushed longer than I thought I would. Why I’ve held out, denied myself in the process.

  I know he’s feeling the burden of not coming for almost a week. The pressure, the pain, the incessant voice in his head demanding he seek one thing. Relief.

  I know, because I’ve denied myself for just as long. I feel the pressure, too. The electric buzz just underneath the skin. The anticipation of the levee breaking, given the impossible task to hold back the storm.

  Just to fuck with him, I invited him into my room last night. The look on his face told me he thought this was it. That we’d finally do something.

  We didn’t. To add a touch of cruelty into the mix, I made him sleep at the foot of my bed, without a blanket or pillow, just so I could ignore him all night.

  Dominic didn’t sleep. He tossed and turned, whimpered more than once. But he stayed, like a trained dog on a leash.

  I hadn’t slept, either. Now the problem is, I don’t know who I’m punishing more. Him or me?

  A soft knock sounds at the door. Dominic opens it a crack. “Your breakfast is ready, sir.”

  He sounds like I feel. Wrecked.

  This has dragged on long enough. I never thought I’d be the one who broke first, but I find myself saying, “Come in and shut the door,” before I can analyze the implication.

  It’s as good a time as any to take advantage of Dominic. Julie left for her early morning yoga class a few minutes ago. Which means she’ll be out of the house for at least an hour.

  Dominic does what he’s told. For a few moments, the sound of the door clicking closed is the only sound between us.

  “Lock it.”

  His eyes dart up from where he was glaring at the floor, and find mine. His entire body tells me he’s hungry. For me. For this. It’s past time I feed him.

  Dominic fumbles with the doorknob as I stalk toward him. I stop only when my body touches his, my bare chest to his bare back. His heat burns me, and I know if I’m not careful, I’ll let Dominic’s flame get too close. Just like the last time I let someone close, there won’t be anything left of me but ash.

  I place my hand over his, both of us shaking, and help him lock the door.

  “I’m scared, sir.” His voice is little more than a whisper. His admission like thunder in my ears.

  “Why scared?” I ask. “Do I intimidate you that much?”

  Dominic turns to face me, presses his back into the door. I chase the distance between us, close it until our flesh, and sweat, and hair blur any border between us.

  “No,” he says, his eyes fixed on my mouth. “I, uh...I mean, yes, you do. Sir. But that’s not why I’m scared.”

  I bring my mouth close to his, brush our lips together in not quite a kiss. “Then what?”

  His fingers find their way to my waistband, tuck underneath it the smallest amount. “I don’t have any experience. You have lots. I just...I don’t want to disappoint you. I’m scared I will, and you’ll think this was a mistake.”

  It is a mistake. Was from the moment my daughter asked her boyfriend to come home with her for the summer. When I let his lingering glances get to me. When I touched him in the kitchen. When I let him watch me fuck another man. When I spent the night in his room making him suffer. Torturing myself.

  Maybe Dominic is karma, the Powers That Be’s way of getting me back for all the shit I’ve done wrong in life. I should walk away. Send him back to campus. Never think of him again.

  But the truth I’m not ready to face is that I can’t let him go. I won’t. If he’s my punishment, then bring on the pain. The consequences I’ll deal with later.

  One hand grips the back of his neck. When I crash my lips against his, I control the force. My other hand reaches around, grabs his ass so hard he kicks his leg up and over my hip.

  He moans when our hard dicks rub together. I rut against him, the fabric making every movement more sensitive.

  “Wait. Wait,” he says against my mouth. “Sir. I’m too on edge, wound too tight. I can’t...I’m not going to last if you keep—”

  I cut him off by plunging my hand down his sleep pants to grab his dick at the base. I squeeze him hard to cut off blood flow, disrupt his pleasure. He yelps, and I swallow the noise with my mouth, kiss him so deep and rough that he has no choice but to relent. To surrender. To me.

  When he finally does, and I can stop fighting him with my mouth, I pull back, look him in his dark, brooding eyes, and smile.

  “You’re ready,” is all I say as I force him to his knees.

  He hits them hard, licks his lips, stares at my crotch. At the bulge in the fabric my need for him creates.

  Reaching down, I remove his glasses, set them on the table next to my bed. When I return to him, I say, “Take them off.” He knows I mean my shorts.

  His fingertips tickle my abs when he reaches for the waistband. When he slides the fabric to the floor, and my cock springs free, Dominic sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth.

  “Fuck,” he mutters, his gaze transfixed on my girth and my sac hanging low, and so very damn full.

  “Not fuck,” I correct. “Suck.”

  His eyes widen, and he licks his lips.

  He inches closer, but he still hasn’t put his hands on me. I want him to grip me, need to feel him against my flesh.

  “Give me your hand,” I say.

  When he does, I bring it to my base, wrap his fingers around me, and show him how to angle my cock so I’m in line with his mouth.

  Using my hand on top of his, I guide my head to his lips and tap against them. “Open up.”

  “Y-Yes, sir.”

  “Wider,” I growl, and fuck. Dominic on his knees, mouth open and ready for me, is enough to bring me to the edge. But I’ve been doing this too long to go off just yet.

  “I’m sliding in,” I say. “Keep your jaw as slack as you can, and relax your throat.”

  Before he can answer, I press forward, slide the head of my cock across his lips, and groan at how hot, wet, and perfect his mouth feels.

  “God, Dominic,” I mutter when my head hits the back of his throat.

  He gags, tries to cough around the intrusion, but I’m not letting him off that easily. Grabbing a fist full of his hair, I hold him in place. His fingernails dig into my thighs. His body bucks.

  I pull out, let him catch his breath. My goal is to train him, not damage him.

  “I’m sorry, sir. I’m sorry.” Spit dribbles from his lips, down his chin. “Please don’t stop. I want to try again.”

  “Don’t worry. We’ll keep at this until you get it right. And then, we’ll keep at it until you’re better than right.”

  I wrap my fingers tighter in his hair, pull to the point of pain. He needs something else to focus on besides his nerves.

  “You’re going to suck my cock to my satisfaction, Dominic. I’m going to unload my balls filled with five days worth of cum int
o your mouth. You’re going to drink me down, swallow me, then beg for more.”

  Dominic stares up at me through his thick lashes, fierce determination written in every line of his face.

  This time, when he grabs my cock, it’s with more confidence than before. When he says, “Yes, sir,” I’m convinced he won’t let me down. That he’ll be able to handle everything I want to give him, and more.

  I’m not disappointed.

  Chapter 12

  Dominic

  After a few slight corrections to where my dom is most sensitive, I get to work working him.

  He’s huge, which makes my jaw ache, but I push through, his flavor the perfect reward. He tastes like musk, heat, and sharp desire. Something that could just as easily tantalize as cut deep.

  His body tells me when he’s close, in the same way mine does when I am. His toes curl and grip the floor. His thigh muscles harden into stone. His abs flex, outlining the musculature he works hard at maintaining.

  Everything about Darryl Cole screams alpha. Masculine. Power.

  His fingers tangle painfully in my hair. My sucking quickly turns into him fucking my mouth. “Get ready,” he grits out between clenched teeth.

  I’m as ready as I’ll ever be, I want to tell him. I settle for humming against his dick.

  Darryl roars my name, shoves in deep, and holds himself still.

  The first squirt hits the back of my throat fast, hot, and hard. I barely have time to react, to swallow him down, before another wave hits.

  Once he lets go, he doesn’t stop. There’s so much, and it leaves the head of his dick so fast that I can’t keep up. I can’t breathe. I wonder if I might drown in him.

  His seed spills out the sides of my mouth, drips onto my chest. I gag when my mind starts playing tricks on me, screaming that I’m eating another man’s cum. The gagging turns into coughing, but I’m determined not to stop.

  I have to do this. Need to do this. More than anything, I want Darryl to feel good. Want to give my dom what he wants, because that’s my job.

  When he tries to pull out, I chase his cock, make sure it doesn’t leave my mouth. I don’t stop sucking, don’t stop milking his dick, until he growls out a command. “Enough, Dominic.”