Daddy Whores (Part 4)

He left then, and the two officers helped him up and out of the building–telling everyone Carson was being released from the drunk tank. Everyone still seemed to know Carson, though instead of pity, the officer’s eyes were now mostly disgust. Then he was out the front door and on the sidewalk–alone, confused, horny as all hell…but he had to get home. That’s what his boy had told him to do, and he couldn’t afford to get distracted. But was he going to get home? He…knew that he had a ride somewhere, right? He started shuffling off down the street, the memory dim, but there, until a few blocks later he found himself standing next to a rusted out, beat up pickup truck. This…this couldn’t be his car. He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a ring with two keys on it–a car key and a house key–and sure enough, it fit in the door, but this…this wasn’t right.

He could see his reflection in the sodium light reflecting from the truck window, and that definitely wasn’t right. He hadn’t been able to look at himself before, after his boy had…done whatever he did to him at his desk, but his beard hadn’t reached all the way down to his gut, had it? And where…where in the hell had his uniform gone? He had on just a filthy undershirt and grubby, muddy jeans held up by a couple of old suspenders that had lost most of their elasticity. They made his jeans sag down–he reached around to scratch his crack, and with some embarrassment, discover a good amount of his fat, hairy ass was hanging out. He also had on a hi-viz vest and a grungy hard hat, like he’d just gotten off work at a day on a construction site–but he didn’t work for a construction company he…he worked for his boy, right? But hadn’t he just been in a police station? Hell, hadn’t he just been a police officer? His hands were shaking, and his head ached. What in the world was wrong with him? Why did he remember being something so…different? He got in the truck and immediately fumbled around in the glove box, finding one of his cigars and lighting up. He pulled out a hip flask next, full of cheap whiskey, and he slugged quite a bit back, feeling his mind settling back down into its comfortable haze of smoke and booze, right where it belonged. He got the truck started, listened to the engine rattle a moment, and then drove off, heading home.

Of course, he’d never been home before. Still, this body…it knew where he needed to go. He drove for quite a while smoking his cigar and taking occasional slugs of whiskey as he did, until he was well out of the city, even past the suburbs, and he turned into a driveway which led down a gravel road to what looked like a decrepit old farm. The house was still standing, and there were lights on–there was even dim light coming from the barn, and as hard he told himself to turn around and leave, he couldn’t. He was home, for better or worse. He added the truck to the mass of fifteen or twenty other cars and trucks parked in the muddy yard, got out, and went up to the building, using the house key to let himself in, where he was greeted by a couple other daddies fucking on the stairway. He even knew their names–Rob and Dirk. He avoided them, and went to go find his boy–he had a…punishment to receive, after all.

His boy was in the den, on his sofa, naked as always, three daddies tending to him–one was feeding him, one privileged one was sucking their boy’s cock, and a third was in the middle of their boy’s daily tongue bath, sucking on his foot. The boy…was even more beautiful than he remembered, and he nearly started crying at the thought that he’d disappointed him. He’d been such a bad daddy today, and he knew that this was not going to be a pleasant punishment.

“There you are, Carson. Took you long enough. As for your punishment–I haven’t had anyone down to clean up the cellar daddies for a few weeks. If you don’t wish to join them down there, I would suggest you lick them up quick. If you aren’t done by dawn, you won’t be able to climb back up the stairs. Let’s see if I found a new daddy with a nice work ethic. Now get out of my sight. If you’re done by tomorrow, then we can discuss…assignments.”

The cellar daddies? His confusion was only momentary–his mind started cobbling together memories from this new life. The cellar daddies–daddies went to the cellar when they were very, very bad. They often didn’t come out again, ever. No one even knew how many were down there, or what sort of state they were in. He didn’t want to be trapped in the cellar, no daddy wanted to be down there…but that was his punishment, and his booted feet trudged to the cellar door, opened it, and started down the stairs into the dark, listening to the quiet, desperate moans below, and praying he’d be able to finish his task and not be doomed to join them.

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