Marquise

“You ready for bed baby boy?” she asked me, rubbing my cheek.

“Yes mama. Where are you going?”

“Your father has a work function to go to. He needs to meet with some clients and wants me to go with him. Did you eat your dinner?” she quickly changes the subject, like she normally does when it comes to things she and my father did on their ‘nights out’.

“Yes, mama. I ate. Can you read this to me?” I go to hand her a book when we are interrupted by the boom of my father's voice.

“What the fuck are you wearing?” he asks her, his voice making the whole room shake.

“A... a dress. I thought it would…”

“Who the fuck asked you to think? I don’t recall you asking me if this dress was okay. Did I miss that somehow?” sarcasm was always a thing for him.

“N-no. I’m sorry, Marcus. I-I should have asked you.” her voice was laced with fear, as it usually was when my father was around. I watched as he walked up to her and grabbed her by her neck. His face in hers as he whispers something in her ear and smacks her upside the head before sending her out of the room to go change. He then turned to me and ruffled my head.

“How’s my big boy?” he asked like nothing just happened.

“Good.” was my only response, not sure what else to say.

“One day my son, you will understand what it is to be a man and command respect. Women are meant to be controlled. They require your protection, but also your rules and expectations. Remember that.” he said before walking out the door.I shake my head, feeling her hands on my face. Refocusing, I note she is staring at me, her eyes are full of concern and something I can't quite define. “Where did you go, Sir?” That nickname. I feel myself jerk back, before I remember I am in the present. Grabbing both of her hands, I kiss her knuckles and tell her in my softest voice, as I try to hide the disdain for the word.

“Don’t call me that, Goddess.”

“Why?” she blurts out. I can’t help but smirk, commencing the moment when she lets her guard down. “You know what, never mind. Let’s just go and have fun,” she says dismissing her question much to my joy. I know I will have to tell her about my past soon, and I fully intend to. But right now, I want to simply enjoy being with her.

“You are right, baby. Let’s go get dressed.” We walk up the stairs, and twenty minutes later we are both dressed in jeans and a t-shirt and heading out the door.

There is not much of a conversation as we head to White Castle, but there is plenty of hand holding. I get the impression she is still trying to comfort me if the caressing of my hand is any indication. I pull into the parking lot and turn off the ignition. “I like your hands on me, Goddess,” I tell her honestly.

“Me too,” she says. Her cheeks are as red as a fucking stop sign. So damn adorable.

“Which one? Your hands on me or my hands on you?” I need to hear her say it.

“Both,” she whispers. I close my eyes and inhale begging for grace and mercy right now. That confession. Her admitting she loves my hands on her is like igniting gasoline to the flame. I am not going to be able to hold on much longer.

“Oh, Goddess. You haven’t felt anything yet. Come one. Let me feed you.'' We get out of the car, go inside, order our food, and eat.

By the time she is done with her White Castle burger, onion rings, and vanilla shake, my cock is jumping through my zipper. Sitting there watching her eat, listening to her moan after every bite, and watching her throat bob up and down as she swallows. My mind immediately goes to what it is going to look like, stuffed with my cock, and choking on it as she tries to breathe through her nose. Fuck. We need to get out of here.

“You ready to go, baby?” I ask her, clearing my throat, trying to calm down.

“Yes. I am stuffed. That was very good. Thank you. I haven’t been here since the 6th grade.” Stuffed. She had to say that. I don’t answer. I grab her hand and pull her from the building. “Are we still going to the museum?”

“Do you still want to?” I ask, getting in the car.

“A deal is a deal,” she says, smiling.

“Indeed, it is, baby. To the museum we go.” During the drive I find myself asking her questions about her life before now, making sure not to ask why she was on the street. I know there will be time for that later. “Why has it been so long since you’ve been here?” She looks out the window, maybe carefully thinking of her answer.