Bon Appetit (Paddle Creek Daddies #7)

Chapter 1

Oliver

“Are you even listening?” my best friend, Valerie, hisses in my ear.

I try not to look too guilty as I glance up at her from my phone. It’s currently cradled in my lap under the desk. Damn it. I thought I was being so subtle. “Uh, yeah,” I whisper back, probably quite unconvincingly.

It’s not that I don’t care. Professor Knight’s classics class is actually one of my favorites, and his super-hot British accent makes his lectures even better.

I only have a month or two left before graduation as well, so it’s in my best interest to push through these last few assignments to get the credits I need.

But I stumbled across something before school this morning that really has set my mind ablaze, and I don’t mean in an academic sense.

This is not usually the kind of thing that happens to me.

Ever.

But it’s been a while since I got any action, and often sex does help me relax.

Right now, I could really do with a little relaxation.

As graduation looms closer, I feel like every morning I wake up with just a little more panic and stress thrumming through my veins, like a frog that wasn’t aware it was being boiled alive until it was too late.

It isn’t just the pressure of making sure all the money my mom and I have poured into my college education was worth it, although that is very important to me.

There’s also the looming question of what the hell I’m going to do once I’m no longer a student.

What kind of work do I want to do? Where the hell am I even going to live?

I’ve grown to love Paddle Creek, but would it make sense to move back in with my mom until I get on my feet?

So, even if what’s on my phone screen wasn’t distracting me right now, I have plenty of other dilemmas swirling around my head instead of this Greek tragedy we’re supposed to be analyzing.

I’m barely eating or sleeping anyway, so my concentration levels have been rocky these days at the best of times.

Honestly, I was just hoping for a regular sort of hook-up when I opened the apps in bed this morning.

But a local profile popped up that I’ve never seen before, looking for something so specific, it’s caused a bit of a glitch in my brain.

Almost like the words from the listing are stuck on a constant loop and they won’t stop until I do something about it.

I can’t really reply to it, can I? This is so far outside of my comfort zone, it might as well be on Mars.

So why can’t I stop re-reading the damn thing?

WANTED: BIRTHDAY TREAT TO GOBBLE UP

I am the Master of a delectable Daddy. You will be his sumptuous surprise birthday gift. From Friday evening to Sunday evening, you will belong to us. Your only purpose will be to serve myself and my husband, however we desire.

In return, we will take care of your every need, our little treat.

We will shower you with affection and gifts.

Your pleasure will be our pleasure…and there will be so much pleasure.

If you wish to be our mouthwatering morsel for one weekend only, you will be consenting to be our breakfast, lunch and dinner, and especially our midnight snack.

My husband has a big appetite. You will be drizzled with honey, decorated with sushi, bound like a Thanksgiving turkey and, most importantly, filled to the brim with cream.

If you are ready to be feasted upon, message your new Master immediately. He will decide if you seem appetizing, and if so, contact you to discuss meal planning. Do NOT message more than once. Time wasters need not apply.

Hell, I really need to stop rereading this in the middle of the lecture hall. At some point I’m going to have to stand up, and if I get any harder, my notebooks aren’t going to be big enough to hide it.

I’ve never thought about anything like this before in my life. Sure, I’ve had quite a bit of sex, either with boyfriends or hook-ups. And I do already know that I like being submissive to older guys. But what’s on offer here is like a whole new level.

The idea of calling someone ‘Daddy’ in a sexual way kind of equally thrills and terrifies me.

It wouldn’t be a giant leap away from some of the hook-ups I’ve had, though.

Especially the last guy I met who was older and spent the entire encounter telling me what to do in this deep, rumbly voice.

The only thing really missing from that scenario was saying the D word itself.

Glancing down at my phone again, I appreciate that what this proposition is offering is quite a bit more complicated than that.

Or…could it actually be really simple? The listing specifically says that the lucky tasty treat will be taken care of for two whole days.

It doesn’t seem like I’d have to do much more than what I’m told.

The idea of consenting to make myself available to get fucked at any time gives me full-body tingles.

And not just by one guy, but two.

I’ve never even had a threesome before. It seems outrageous to think two guys would desire me that much.

I’m captivated by the prospect of being shared by husbands, though.

Obviously, it’s supposed to be kinky as fuck.

But is it crazy that it also feels kind of romantic to me?

To spend time with a couple who know each other inside and out and have done so for possibly years and years.

And to be a gift! There’s something really sexy about that, too.

I’m struggling to work out why, because I’m pretty sure I’m not into getting humiliated or anything like that.

Yet, the idea of being an inanimate object, of belonging to another person, even if it’s just for a weekend, well…

that’s also making me tingly. I guess that fits with the power balance thing I like with bossy, older men.

So long as it’s consensual, there’s something really freeing about letting go and trusting another person to care for you.

A stranger, though? Am I honestly brave enough for that?

This Master guy has almost certainly had a ton of replies for this opportunity already. The idea that I’d have a chance is kind of ridiculous. Not to mention that the post has been up since yesterday, so I’m probably way too late to have a shot.

So why can’t I close the app? All I know is that if I don’t at least try, I’m going to regret it.

Because these couple hundred words have undoubtedly woken something in me that I didn’t even know was there.

He’s used ‘voraphilia’ as one of the hashtags, which I had to look up.

But I’ve learned it’s not just about actual food, although these guys do seem eager to eat a lot of things off whoever is going to be their boy for the weekend.

But the kink the Master is describing goes further than that.

It’s imagining you’re actually consuming someone or, in my case, that you’re the one being devoured.

Why is that so hot? Shouldn’t it be weird? We didn’t cover this in Psychology 101.

“What are your thoughts on the matter, Mr. Carver?” Professor Knight’s voice cuts through my musing like a knife through butter.

I jerk so hard I almost drop my phone under my seat.

As it is, I fumble it so badly it’s obvious to everyone who’s now looking my way what I was doing.

Beside me, Valerie groans. Bless her heart, though, she does try and subtly point to the passage of the play we’ve probably been analyzing.

But I’m so far beyond helping in this moment.

So I fall back on my usual coping mechanism that’s gotten me this far in life.

Saying the first dumb thing that pops into my brain.

“Erm, it’s all Greek to me,” I offer the professor weakly.

My classmates take pity on me, and I get a fairly robust chorus of laughs and cheers. However, I wince as Professor Knight sighs and arches an eyebrow in my direction. “Yes, very good, Mr. Carver. I’ve never heard that one before.”

“Sorry,” I mumble, feeling genuinely chagrined. I didn’t mean to disrespect him or be a smartass. But I’m hardly going to tell him that my head’s been completely turned by the sexiest personal ad I’ve ever seen in my life.

I’ll just have to make it up to him by writing a really thorough paper on the play…once I’ve read it.

The solution to my problem becomes obvious, though, once Professor Knight returns his attention to the whole room again. I’m not going to be able to focus on anything else until I’ve at least tried replying to this post, am I?

And seeing as I’m not going to get much more out of this class anyway, I might as well quickly type it up now, right? So it’ll be done and I can get back to my regularly scheduled programing of fretting about graduating and money and life goals and everything else in between.

There’s no way I’m going to hear back from this Master guy. So I just type out the first thing that comes to mind, figuring that honesty is generally the best policy, and hit send.

But the listing has apparently woken something up inside me that has nothing to do with getting a reply or not.

I drift through the rest of the day’s classes, barely hearing a word anyone else says.

I’m too busy fantasizing about being a yummy little sex slave for two gorgeous men for a whole weekend.

Not necessarily this specific Daddy and Master.

The general concept itself has completely seized my imagination.

In my rush to get off campus, I almost ride my bike straight into Clayton the raccoon, Paddle Creek College’s unofficial mascot, as he makes a break for the trash cans near the library. The library that I’m almost certain is run by a real-life witch, Ms. Maude.

Yeah, I might be stressed about graduating. But I’ve got to be honest, I’m going to miss this weird little place like crazy when all’s said and done.

I don’t give myself too much time to reminisce before my thoughts turn back to the wanted ad like a pack of ravenous, wild hogs.

I’m so lost in a fantasy that involves dipping my junk in chocolate sauce and covering it in sprinkles for some hypothetical Daddy to devour that I run a red light and almost get myself pancaked.

Mercifully, all the driver does is lean out of his window and cuss me out as I bellow an apology over my shoulder, but it doesn’t make me slow down.

I don’t stop until I get back to my dorm, fly up the stairs, hurl myself through my door, lock it, throw all my clothes off—except for a rogue sock that I can’t be bothered to pause and deal with—and finally jump on top of my bed.

Gasping, I squeeze the base of my rock-hard shaft in an attempt to calm it down, then lube up my favorite dildo as well as my throbbing hole.

“Yes, Daddy, yes,” I whimper to myself as I start easing it inside, letting go in a way I haven’t been able to for several weeks. “I’m your good little treat!”

I imagine it’s Daddy’s big cock I’m being stuffed with right now, panting and trembling to get its girth inside me with almost no prep at all. But in a twist to my usual fantasy scenario, this time I imagine that Daddy’s Master is watching us.

That he likes what he sees.

That I’m covered in whipped cream and cherries and chopped nuts, about to be gobbled up by my Daddy while our Master strokes his own cock, waiting for his turn with me next.

That it won’t matter if I’ve already come or am too tired.

What the Master wants, the Master gets. I’m his to use however he wants.

When I can’t stand it any longer and touch my leaking dick, it erupts in my hand after only three tugs, shooting cum all over my belly as I suck in oxygen like I’ve just run a marathon.

It takes several minutes for me to come down again, blinking at the ceiling with cooling, sticky spunk all over me, and an extra-large, sparkly purple dildo stuck halfway up my ass like an eggplant emoji gone wild.

I’m overcome with giggles as I ease it out and drop it on the floor, gathering up the energy to make myself presentable enough to sneak both me and it down the hallway to the showers to clean up. I’m almost embarrassed after such a feral display. However, no one else saw anything I did.

It’s fun to think that maybe next time, the whole idea will be to have someone else watching. Probably not, but at least I’ve got a whole new genre for my spank bank. Who knows? Perhaps that’ll be enough to get me through to graduation without losing my mind.

It’s certainly food for thought.