The Boss's Runaway

So when I storm across the street toward a children’s park and his shadow follows me, large and looming, I worry I won’t be able to resist his touch long enough to make my point.

“You come back here,” he says, voice thick. “Now.”

“No.”

“You’re behaving like a child.”

“That’s what you like. Remember?” As I enter the park, I look back over my shoulder and find his features tight, an enormous lump behind the zipper of his dress pants. And I realize…he is, in fact, turned on by my tantrum, even though it’s upsetting him. Since the day we met, my impulse has been to tempt Locke, rile up his temper and make him succumb to the undeniable lust and affection between us.

Right now? When I’m emotionally keyed up? The urge to drive him crazy has increased tenfold. He thinks what we do in the privacy of his bedroom is bad, but he can’t help himself, either. Marching over to the swings, I decide to show him that. To exploit his feelings for me the way mine feel exposed and vulnerable right now. I’m acting out and I know it.

But when I lay face down over the swing, get a running start and propel myself into an arcing back and forth sway over the sandpit, my skirt flies up in the wind and he makes a beastly sound behind me. I become intoxicated by the power of my body, the power of the gravity between me and Locke. And I wait for him to give me the proof I’m desperate for.

I wait for his touch. His love.

His apology.

Everything.

Give me everything.

Chapter Ten

Locke

I’m a wreck.

Physically. Mentally.

The fact that I’ve upset Sissy has ripped my insides to shreds. I didn’t realize my repentance was affecting her like this. I made her feel like a bad thing. A mistake. When in reality, she is and will always be the greatest joy of my life. My heart, my soul, the object of my never-ending hunger. All for her. Only for her.

She is my obsession and that fact has never been more obvious than it is right now when she swings back and forth beneath the moon, face down, her skirt blowing up every time she moves in that backward arc. Toward me. My dick is sweating in my briefs, throbbing and swelling against my belly. She’s singing to herself quietly, as if she doesn’t have a care in the world.

But she knows exactly what she’s doing.

Flexing her power over me.

She holds all of it in her perfect hand, doesn’t she?

Christ, yes.

From my throat down to my belly, I’m twisted up in knots, hating the fact that I’ve hurt my angel. Loathing myself for it. But beneath my stomach, it’s all need. My balls are miserable and throbbing, highly aware that I haven’t come inside of her since this morning. My skin is feverish, my fingers stretching with the desire to play with her tight teenage asshole. Her cheeks are so smooth and taut in the moonlight, her snug little entrances right there for the taking. Mine. They belong to me.

A growl builds in my throat and I unzip my pants, reaching in to jack myself off.

I haven’t claimed the back hole yet. My conscience stops me every time I consider it. This morning, when she was sitting on my face and slipped forward by accident, I started rimming her and she definitely enjoyed it, rubbing her sweet pucker all over my mouth and crying in that excited/confused tone for her Daddy. Could have tucked my cock into her ass then, no doubt, but where does the corruption end?

It doesn’t.

I’m starting to realize that.

The role of Sissy’s Daddy is a part of me now and what she said, about it not being wrong because it’s us, because it wouldn’t be this way with anyone else…she’s right.

She’s right.

In trying to cling to the remains of my devout self, I’ve made this sweet, trusting creature believe I’m ashamed of her. And that is a far worse sin than claiming this girl, who is wildly out of my league, and calling her mine. Causing her to shed a single tear is worse than our games. Like, pretending to steal a quickie before someone comes home and we get caught doing something illegal. I love her more than can be put into words, so I will let go of my misgivings and accept that we show affection for each other in a certain way. I will accept that no one is going to understand why she’s with me.

If it doesn’t bother her, I can’t let it bother me.

Because it upsets her. And I would rather drive a knife into my chest than do that.

I approach her with my fully erect dick choked in my right hand, the up-close view of her supple little cheeks knocking the wind out of me. “I’m sorry, Sissy.” Using my left hand to brace myself on the swing’s chain, I lean down and kiss each side of her bottom in turn, my tongue starved for a dirty lick up the middle. Not yet. I don’t deserve it yet. “Daddy’s very sorry.”