I don’t blame you for being skeptical. Shiny armor is always on sale these days, and everyone is going around claiming to be virtuous. I wanted you to call me Daddy from the first moment I looked into your eyes. I could have waxed poetically about your beauty, but I peered into them for too long, and I saw past all of that until I found something else. I wasn’t expecting to catch a glimpse of the pain you hide there. It overwhelmed me, and I wrapped my arms around you just to get away from the blinding light of it.
Did you notice how tightly I squeezed? I thought that must be all of it, but it didn’t take long to discover I had only scratched the surface. I never asked you to share it with me because that much pain can only come from making yourself vulnerable too often to the wrong people. So we sat there quietly, and I pet your head. If you spoke, I would have listened, but if you wanted to remain quiet, I would have understood just the same.
We kissed, and I undressed you because maybe it was easier to feel that than the things you keep locked away. But you have to know, I don’t want you to call me Daddy because we fuck. Don’t give me that moniker because I tie you up or spank you over my knee. Yes, I love hearing you scream my title as you cum, but I need to hear you whisper it when I make you feel safe. I get hard seeing you on your knees as you beg me to use you. But I feel fulfilled when you beg me to hold you tight.
Don’t call me Daddy unless you trust me. I don’t want to hear it unless I make you feel safe and loved. I don’t deserve it unless my arms wrapped around you have the power to make all the noise go quiet, the world fading and all the people in it vanishing, until we find ourselves standing alone in the dark. Just me and you, the way it was meant to be. Us versus the world. Us versus the pain we carry. Us versus the pain we’ve yet to discover. Broken but not destroyed.
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