I barely slept that night. I kept rolling over, again and again, staring at the shadows in my room. My mind kept recounting all of the things that I'd done to Dad. All of those disgusting and sexy things. They had all been fun. Dad had even told me that Mr. Jones had done similar things to him. So why did I keep wondering if Mr. Jones was going to--to what? Be mad at me? He had given me the key to Dad's cage, after all. There was surely no way he would be angry. Dad was mine, while Mr. Jones was gone. But what if I had crossed some kind of boundary? Done too much? Pushed too hard? Dad would have told me... right?
Maybe it wasn't that I was worried about what I made Dad do. Maybe I was just worried that Mr. Jones wouldn't approve of what I had done. I had gotten off so many times... meanwhile, Mr. Jones obviously preferred his subs to never cum. Wasn't Dad's cage proof of that? Did that mean that Mr. Jones would be disappointed that I had fucked Dad so much? That I came so much?
Inevitably, this turned me on to the other, vaguer, more terrifying and enthralling possibility. What if Mr. Jones wanted to dominate and own not just Dad, but also... me? It was obvious to me that Peter--and that guy at the gym that I sucked off, too--they had started to awaken my sub side. I thought about that first night when I walked in on Dad and Mr. Jones. I had only been too happy to eat Mr. Jones' cum out of Dad's hole, hadn't I? I didn't think twice when Mr. Jones asked me to clean his cock off.
What did that mean, though?
After what felt like hours, I must have dozed off. I woke in my bed to the sound of the garage door opening. A moment passed, then it closed again. That must be Dad, headed off to pick up Mr. Jones from the airport. I knew that he wasn't going to come in and get me off this morning, but for some reason I was surprised. It was like Mr. Jones was already back, like he had personally stopped Dad from servicing my dick. Everything had already changed.
I dozed for another half hour or so before getting up and tentatively preparing myself breakfast. Dad had left a few things out for me--oatmeal, cereal, some fruit--but nothing like the spread I had gotten accustomed to in the past week. Change, change, change.
I ate slowly, with a thousand-yard stare vaguely directed at my phone. I realized that I had no idea what to expect. Was Mr. Jones going to want... small talk? Did he want me to ask about his trip? Or did he want me and Dad to suck his dick together or something? How far had his relationship gone with Dad--were they going to spend all of their time together for the rest of the summer? Was I going to be the third wheel? Or was he going to be some kind of--(God, this was weird)--stepdad figure? Was the sexual aspect of our relationship going to continue?
I finished eating, cleaned up. I started to look around for something to straighten up or clean to prepare for Mr. Jones' arrival, but Dad had taken care of everything; the entire house was absolutely spotless. I was just fluffing pillows (something I had never done before, and to be honest I wasn't even sure that I was doing it correctly, but holy shit was I nervous) when I heard the garage door open. My heart jumped into my throat.
There were voices on the other side of the door. Then it opened. I sat down abruptly in an armchair like a puppet whose strings were cut.
In walked Dad, laden with luggage. He looked a bit hassled, his hair mussed up, his shirt suspiciously wrinkled in a few places, but nevertheless he was beaming and bouncing on his feet as he stepped past the living room. I heard the bags drop at the foot of the stairs. Behind him, in a smart button-down shirt and tight pants, walked Mr. Jones. He entered the living room like he owned the damn place. I thought I should stand up, but my motor function was failing me. I looked up at him with wide eyes. He stepped over to me, looked down at me with a grin like an apex predator eyeing its next meal. I returned the smile weakly.
"Well, well, well," he boomed, patting a hand on my shoulder. "Good to see you, Maxie."
"Good to see you, too," I croaked back to him. "Sir," I added quickly.
He chuckled at that, turning to sit on the couch. He spread his legs ostentatiously, presumptuously. I had to look, I just had to--and sure enough, there was his bulge, huge and enticing under the fabric of his pants. Jesus, the seams were working hard to contain him. When I glanced back up at his face, he was smirking at me. I felt my cheeks start to burn. He had been in the house for maybe thirty seconds, and I had already been caught in one of his traps. He wanted me to look. I fell for it. I gulped.
Mr. Jones turned to Dad, who was now standing attentively at the couch.
"Uniform," he said curtly, and in a flash Dad's clothes were in a neatly folded pile on the floor. He stood shamelessly in a deep green thong. The outline of his cage pressed against the fabric desperately. The curve of his ass looked incredible. He really was sexy. Sexy and obedient.
Mr. Jones reached out a hand a grabbed Dad's hip, whirling him around to see his ass. He very carefully ran his hand up each cheek, feeling the heft of the muscle, lifting and squeezing and caressing. Then, without warning, he brought his hand down in a spanking CRACK. Dad flinched, but only barely. He seemed to have expected this. Mr. Jones smiled wryly. He carefully hooked his forefinger into Dad's thong, pulling it from the crack of Dad's ass. With his other hand, he gently slid a finger against Dad's hole, working against it lovingly. Dad tensed up, then moaned obligingly. His hands drifted upward to his nipples as Mr. Jones spat on his finger. He eased it inside. Dad seemed to be actively resisting rocking back on Mr. Jones, riding him for some semblance of release. He was almost quivering. My cock was impossibly hard as I watched.
Mr. Jones removed his finger, sucking on the tip casually like he had just been eating a bowl of Cheetos. He turned his attention back to me, snapping the thong back into place like a rubber band.
"I have to admit, there's something about my loads in your dad's hole that just drives me wild," he said. "They taste incredible. You remember?"
I nodded. Had Mr. Jones really...?
"Oh, yeah, I took him to the bathroom in the airport and fucked his cunt for all it's worth," Mr. Jones continued. "It's one of my favorite travel traditions. Real bad luck if you skip that step."
I didn't know what to say, so I nodded again.
His eyebrow twitched. "I hear the two of you had a big old time while I was gone."
"Yes, sir," I said, glancing at Dad. His face was impassive. He was still standing with his ass facing Mr. Jones.
Mr. Jones leaned back on the couch, tapping Dad's ass gently. Dad withdrew, taking his clothes and stepping into the kitchen. I was alone with Mr. Jones.
"Tell me about it."
"About what?"
"About what you did while I was gone."
"I--"
"You didn't unlock him, did you?"
"No, sir."
"Did he asked to be unlocked?"
"No, sir."
"Good." He leaned back, spread his arms across the couch. "That's good. Continue."
I started talking slowly, building each word on another until the story took flight. It was all spilling out of me at once--making Dad suck my dick, and take my piss, and every other depraved thing I had made him do.
Mr. Jones listened intently, occasionally chiming in with questions and clarifications. God, he looked sexy on that couch, flaunting his bugle. Every time he smiled at me, I felt myself start to blush. And it felt so good to... to talk out loud about the stuff Dad and I had been doing. We had not discussed anything in the past few days. We had been too... busy. I had barely told Peter anything, but now I could really get it off my chest.
When I finished, maybe a half an hour later, I was totally breathless. I felt like I had turned myself inside out to show him everything. He smiled again, warmly.
"So you fucked him all those times, and only once in the locker room?"
I nodded.
"I see. And that was the only time you had observers?"
"Yes, sir."
"Did you like being watched?"
