Cleaning House (Part 4)

“Need something else, boy?”

My mouth was dry.

“Need daddy’s cock in that mouth a yers?”

I couldn’t say anything. He took my hand again, and tugged me forward, out of the chair, where I fell to my knees in front of him.

“What do ya need, boy.”

“I…want your cock, I do, I’m sorry.”

He gave me a slap to the face. “I asked ya what ya need–not what ya want. ‘N never apologize, ‘less ya fuck up, and that ain’t how I’m addressed, is it? Git it right.”

“I…need…your cock, d-daddy.”

“That’s a good boy,” he said, wrapped one big hand around the back of my head, and pulled my face into the front of his own briefs. They were…moist, and they reeked. I realized something, in that moment, that in all of the loads of laundry I’d done for him back in town, never had I ever seen a pair of underwear in those loads. “Daddy’s been waitin’ fer ya tah come ‘round, boy, things ‘r gonna be a lot better fer us both.”

He made me pull his briefs down with my teeth, and I saw his cock for the first time–six inches or so, thick as the can of beer still in his hand, with a hefty amount of foreskin around the head. He fucked my face for a couple of minutes, but got a bit winded, stopped and went back to the couch, naked. “Come on boy, git over here ‘n play with me while I play.”

I spent the next hour on my knees between his legs, sucking his cock and licking his balls, bringing him to multiple orgasms, but surprisingly his cock never once softened–and equally surprising, neither did mine. He forced me to have one hand down the front of my pants at all times, massaging my cock, keeping myself horny, matching him load for load, until the front of my briefs were soaked with my cum, and my cock felt raw and tender to the touch. He finished up the game when both of our guts started growling, and told me it was time for dinner, and he went into the kitchen to start cooking for the both of us, leaving me in my briefs on the floor, shaking, confused, and more turned on than I’d been in my life. “Boy, git in here–ya can help,” he called out to me, and so I joined him in the kitchen.

I didn’t do much–or rather, he didn’t let me do much, but it was the first time he’d let me near the kitchen since I’d moved in with him, and I felt…special. We laughed and chatted, things felt…more normal, as if I didn’t have four loads of cum in my gut, and my briefs weren’t coated in my spunk.

“I’ve never…done anything like that before,” I said.

“But ya wanted it.”

I nodded, hesitantly.

He smiled at me, and pulled me into a short hug, out frames pushed together, him gently grinding his gut into my smaller one. “As soon as I saw ya, I knew ya were the one, I had tah have ya.”

“I…the first time I saw you, I fantasized about you for days, while I packed up my things.”

He didn’t say anything, just pulled me closer, and then we went back to cooking. I noticed that the portions seemed…a bit smaller than usual, but I didn’t say anything about it. When everything was finished, I went and sat at the table, but was confused when he didn’t join me. “Aren’t you eating too?”

“Nah boy–this here’s all fer ya. I’ll eat later.”

I looked at the spread in front of me, confused–I could never eat all of this! It was easily a meal for four on it’s own. “I…I can’t do that.”

“Ya can boy, trust me–trust yer daddy, I ain’t never gonna steer ya wrong.”

That was the first evening he fed me. My hands barely touched the food–instead, he forced me to keep one hand back in my filthy briefs, and the other on my nipples, as he drove the food into me at a steady pace, faster than I usually ate but not so much I choked. I liked it, actually, giving him control. I liked it so much, I came again, moaning through a mouthful of food, and he grunted and belched, grinding his own hard cock into the side of my belly. “Fuckin’ Pig,” he said, “Fuckin’ Pigboy.”

He kept feeding me, fucking his cock against the side of my belly, and before the end of the meal he’d cum again as well–I could feel the sticky mess spew through the front of his whities as he kept grinding against me, and then he leaned in and kissed me. His mouth was all beer and smoke, and I exploded again as his tongue invaded my hungry mouth until he pulled away, and we focused on the remains of the meal. Somehow…I ate it all. All of it. I ached, and I could barely move, but all of it was within me, and I belched–Joe leaning in close and sniffing it, grunting, groping me roughly. “Good boy, I told ya ya’d eat it.”

“Thanks, daddy.”

He helped me up from the table, and led me down the hall of the cabin. I thought we were heading to my room, but instead we went to his. It was the one room of the house he didn’t want me to clean, or even enter, and I never had. It was sizable, but as filthy as the house had been when I’d arrived, with laundry all over the floor, with sheets on the bed I knew I’d never once washed since arriving as his cleaner. They smelled so strongly of him–his cum and his sweat…I laid down on them, feeling him his musk was engulfing me. “Sleep boy–Daddy’s gotta go make his own dinner now.”

I had no idea how I would possibly sleep with my gut so angry, but all I remember is Joe turning out the light, shutting the door, and when I next woke, it was morning.

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