Dirty Daddies

“I didn’t,” she says. “I spent it all on you. But that’s cool. My boots are fine.”

“Hey,” I say, and finally she looks at me. “You did good.”

She smiles. “I did?”

“Yes,” Mike says. “You did.”

She shrugs like it doesn’t mean anything, but it does. It’s written all over her pretty face.

“Shit, you guys. Getting all emo.”

I place my new sculpture on the top of the cabinet where it belongs, before any of us get too fucking gushy and make a tit of ourselves, and then I grab the beers from the fridge.Chapter NineteenCarrieI did good.

It feels so good to do good. Buying presents for Jack and Michael was everything I hoped it would be. It’s not just in the way they say thanks over and over, and it’s not in the way I feel so proud as Jack places his present up on the cabinet where the other one used to be. It’s not even in the way Michael looks so fine as he tries his new tie on over his shirt.

It’s in the way they smile, the way they look at me.

The way their appreciation makes me feel so loved.

I do feel loved here. I feel accepted and wanted and bothered enough about that they work through my shit rather than give up on me. I feel safe when I wake up in the morning, and like I belong right where I am as I walk through the fields behind the house.

I never want to let this go, not any of it. Not this house, not this life, not Michael, and not Jack, either.

I’ve never liked TV, not shows nor films, but after a couple of cold beers in Jack’s kitchen, laughing and joking through a load of old jokes they have to fill me in on, I think that maybe watching TV with these two guys won’t be so bad.

They say I can choose what we watch and it takes me an age, but they don’t seem impatient. I sit between them on the big white sofa Jack spanked me on last night, and I try to stop thinking about it but I can’t. Michael’s still wearing his new tie. I like that he is. I like it a lot.

Jack slumps back easily, his legs spread and his knee touching mine. It burns a nice burn.

So did my ass last night.

I try not to fidget as I scroll up and down the listings, but my jeans are stiff and need a wash and my bra is itchy where my backpack rubbed my shoulders earlier.

“Ants in your fucking pants,” Jack laughs as I shift position for the millionth time, and I grumble about everything, about all of it, finally losing my shit as I admit that I’ve no clean clothes and I don’t know how to work his shitty washing machine.

And then I fold my arms and say I quit film night after all. Everything can go fuck itself.

It’s Michael who squeezes my arm and tells me to stop being so melodramatic.

I tell him I’m not, and hope he spanks me for it all the same.

My cheeks burn as I realise that’s what I want now.

I want them to pull my jeans down and put me over their knee. I want to feel their hands on me and their swollen dicks against my belly.

“Get your clothes,” Jack says. “I’ll show you how to work the machine.”

“But then I’ll have nothing to wear,” I grumble, still acting up even though there’s no need and I know it full well.

“I’ll find you something,” he says. “Your clothes will be clean and dry before you know it. You should have said something by now.”

Yes, I should have. But I hate looking like a stupid idiot who can’t take care of herself.

It’s been over a week and the machine is one of those fancy ones with a million bastard settings that make no sense whatsoever.

Jack beckons me upstairs and I follow. I get tingles as I walk into his room after him, remembering how nice it felt to be in his arms this morning.

He opens a drawer from the chest and pulls out a baggy white t-shirt which makes me smile.

“Planning on dumping water on me?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Not unless you ask for it. Be good and you won’t get hosed.”

He turns his back to me as I change, and I wish he hadn’t. I wish he was looking at me.

I pull down my jeans and tug off my cami, unclipping my bra and dumping that down with them. I’ve only got one bra but I don’t want to say anything, so I have to go naked under his t-shirt. Luckily it’s so big on me that I don’t think it’s obvious. I’m quite possibly wrong on that.

I keep on my knickers but nothing else, and the shirt comes halfway down my thighs, so that’s no big deal.