Fifteen Minutes to Leaky Surrender

Aaron had been texting me non-stop for weeks, that eager accountancy boi from just fifteen minutes down the road in the city suburbs. His days were drowned in spreadsheets and tax returns, a soul-crushing grind that left him craving something real, something firm. “Can I send you an Uber, Daddy,” he’d ping at all hours, or “Just call when you’re outside my door; I’ll drop everything.” I could picture him in his crisp shirt, tie loosened, cock twitching under his desk as he typed. Persistent little pup, always leaking pre-cum at the thought of my piercing blue eyes locking onto his.

Tonight, the pull was too strong. I fired up the engine of my black Audi, the low rumble matching the heat building in my gut. Fifteen minutes later, I pulled up outside his neat terraced house, the streetlights casting a soft glow on the rain-slicked pavement. I dialled his number.

“Daddy?” His voice cracked with need, breathy already.

“I’m outside your door, boi. Let me in.”

The front door flew open before I even killed the engine. There he stood, Aaron, mid-twenties, slim and toned from gym sessions squeezed between audits. His dark hair tousled, cheeks flushed. I stepped out, towering at 180cm and 95kgs of solid muscle, my size 9 boots thudding on the path. Our eyes met; those piercing blues of mine drilling straight into his soul. I saw it happen: his pupils dilated, a soft whimper escaped his lips, and a dark wet spot bloomed on his grey joggers. Leaky already, just from looking.

“Fuck, Daddy,” he murmured, shifting to hide the evidence. “Come in. Please.”

I cupped his chin firmly, tilting his face up. “Good boi. Eyes on me. You want Daddy firm tonight, don’t you? But romantic, like you begged for.” My thumb brushed his lower lip, warm confidence flowing through me like a Viking tide; protective, inevitable.

He nodded, trembling. “Yes, Sir. Upstairs. My bedroom. Rim me first... then use me.”

I growled low, pulling him close by the waist. His scent of clean soap and desperate musk filled my lungs. “Lead the way, pup.”

His upstairs bedroom was a sanctuary of submission: king-sized bed with fresh sheets, lube and toys neatly aligned on the nightstand, dim lamp casting golden shadows. Aaron stripped quick as a flash, folding his clothes with that accountant’s precision, revealing a smooth, eager body with peachy arse cheeks begging for my hands, cock already drooling strings of pre-cum onto the carpet.

“On the bed, face down, arse up,” I commanded, voice like gravel wrapped in velvet. Firm, but my hand stroked his back as he obeyed, spreading those cheeks wide. “Such a pretty hole for Daddy. Romantic enough for you, boi?”

He moaned into the pillow. “Yes, Daddy. Yours. All yours.”

I kicked off my boots, peeling away my shirt to let him glimpse my nipple piercings and my hairy chest, leading to my thickening 8-inch cock straining my jeans. But first, worship. I knelt behind him, my breath hot on his skin, and buried my face in. Tongue first, flat and broad, lapping from his balls up to that puckered ring. He bucked, crying out as I speared inside, rimming deep with firm circles. Salty-sweet, his hole clenched around my probing muscle, loosening with every thrust. I gripped his hips; 95kgs of daddy strength holding him steady; alternating sucks on his rim with fingers teasing his dripping slit.

“Look back at me,” I ordered between licks. He twisted, eyes locking on mine again. Leakier still; his cock wept a puddle beneath him. “Feel that, pup? Daddy’s eyes owning you. Now beg for my cock.”

“Please, Daddy... firm but gentle. Breed me.”

I chuckled, that Norwegian rumble deep in my chest. “Romantic as fuck, boi.” I stood, shedding my jeans, my thick 8 inches springing veins pulsing, head glossy. He stared, mesmerised, as I slicked up with lube.

No rush. I mounted him slow, romantic like he craved, pressing my chest to his back, one arm wrapping round to stroke his leaking cock in time with my thrusts. The head breached his rim, it was tight, welcoming, then I sank in balls-deep, that velvet heat milking me. “Fuck, boi. Your hole’s made for Daddy’s cock.”

He gasped, pushing back. “Harder, Sir. Firm!”

I obliged, pounding now; hips snapping with alpha power, bed creaking under us. Sweat slicked our skin; my size 9 feet planted firm for leverage, toes curling into the carpet. I owned him: long strokes edging his prostate, short brutal jabs making him howl. “Take it, pup. Open yourself up for me”

His body seized, cock erupting untouched, ropes of cum splattering the sheets as he sobbed my name. That clenched me over the edge. I roared, flooding his guts with hot seed; pulse after pulse, marking him mine. Firm thrusts milked every drop, romantic whispers in his ear: “Good boi. Daddy’s got you.”

We collapsed, my bulk enveloping him protectively. I pulled out slow, cum leaking from his used hole, then flipped him over. Kisses on his forehead, fingers combing his hair, my blue eyes soft now. “You took Daddy so well, Aaron. Rest here; I’ll clean you up.”

He nuzzled my chest, spent and glowing. “Uber for you next time?”

I smirked, pulling the duvet over him. “Every time, pup. Daddy’s always fifteen minutes away”