2. MAX
Moves were made. I liked to be the one making them and less the person being put in a situation to react. It was the control of approaching someone, of asking them if they wanted a drink, of encouraging a person to give in to themselves and confess to the things they desired.
Benji was new.
He was the type of guy I liked going for, the guy with the cute smile and innocent doe eyes. Beneath them, it was obvious he had a little freak waiting to come out, and I was a teacher, patient and understanding, but who could hand out a punishment.
The bonus that came with Benji was how much he knew of himself. What he liked and wanted, and from it, what I could give to him. He was a little, and I was a Daddy. Like peanut butter and jelly, we were a match made into the most indulgent of snacks.
I took him on a tour of the Playhouse, and he didn’t want to interact much with anything. We viewed the rooms on offer, unoccupied, and those stuffed with littles, mostly the ball pit. But he stayed right by my side, like a shy child. Even the alcohol hadn’t killed off those nerves.
On the tour, we went over my rules, the immediate ones.
Always be honest. Ask before you touch. Use your words.
They were key to consent, to understanding, to communication.
Benji was in his head, from the moment I met him, right up until I walked him to the door of the hotel above the club. Mine was a permanent fixture, twelfth floor, room three. It was a large room in the corner with a nice, almost panoramic view.
“If you’re overwhelmed, tell me,” I said, my hand on his lower back as he stood holding a fresh daiquiri, slowly sipping and melting the ice with his warm hands. “And if you want to go back to any of the rooms, let me know. I saw the way your eyes lit up at the pit.”
He nodded. “I might, if I had a onesie,” he said, screwing his lips together.
“Mhm, I told you I had one of those for you, didn’t I?”
Benji shrugged, tilting his head. He was hiding his smile. He knew what I’d said earlier, and now he was playing coy. “Maybe.”
“Come on, you’re a paralegal, I know you can retain information,” I told him. I pressed the keycard to the door, and it clicked, the sensor turning green. “So, maybe I had something brought up here.”
In the hotel room, on the bed, was a new onesie, nothing fancy.
Playhouse sold these to customers, so it had just been a case of ordering it.
The same with the plush animal. I asked for a lion.
They gave him a golden lab dog teddy. It was close enough.
Probably. The giftshop hadn’t been on our tour, but I knew he didn’t have much money on him, and I wasn’t a sugar daddy.
“Jesus. Oh my god,” he let out, looking at me with those big eyes. “You did this?”
“Personally, no,” I said. “But I told someone to do it. And they’re yours, to keep.”
He placed his glass on the counter beneath the mounted TV. “And you said you weren’t anyone’s sugar daddy.”
I let out a single laugh, like he’d read my mind. “I’m not,” I said. “These are a treat. You’ve been honest with me, which is important.”
Sitting on the edge of the bed, he pulled the onesie onto his lap, tearing through the plastic wrap. “So, you’re rewarding me.”
“Exactly. You’ve been a good boy, so you’ll be rewarded. But the moment you become a brat, I’ll let you go—or if I like you, I might try taming methods.”
“Taming?” His brows knitted on his face, his forehead scrunched. “Seems harsh.”
I shrugged, placing my glass on the counter beside his. “A spank here or there. Besides, rules are rules. And I know you’re a rule follower.” I sat beside him on the comfort of the bed. “Now, do you want to change in front of me, or in the bathroom?”
Benji’s voice croaked. “I’ll—”
I placed a hand on his chest. His heart thumped against the palm of my hand. “Or I can change you.”
His mouth opened to answer, his tongue curling inside. “I—”
With a finger at the button of his collar, I’d already started to undress him. “Firstly, this looks a little too tight.”
“You can,” he answered softly.
“Good,” I said. “I don’t want you to stop communicating, so if you’re someone who does non-verbal, you can type, or I know basic sign language, if that’s somewhere you go.”
He smiled, letting out a slight laugh. “What can’t you do?”
“Keep a relationship,” I said. The trouble with being honest was answering questions, even when I knew they were going to make me look bad.
“Why not?” he asked.
I slipped both hands beneath his sweater, peeling him right out of it.
Then my fingers worked quickly, untying the shirt buttons one by one—they were easy.
He wore a T-shirt beneath, meaning I was still another layer away from touching his skin.
He was surprisingly muscular, tensed up, and as I brushed my hand down his chest, I felt abs.
“Because I’m busy,” I said. “People sometimes want more than I’m able to give, and I can’t always give myself completely to another person.
” With my hand tensing at his torso, I went in on his muscular physique.
“You work out, got a sleeper build under there.”
He gulped hard, right by my face, as I was getting to the bottom of his shirt and closer to him, inhaling his scent, which became stronger the more buttons I undid. His warm sweat was pushing his smell out. I liked it.
“It’s part of my routine. Plus, I get a membership with the firm I work at,” he whispered. “Gym. Work. Gym. Work. And in there, I’ll devour like a whole thing of protein.”
“And what can’t you do?” I asked, lifting my head and seeing my job accomplished. All he had to do was shrug the shirt off his shoulders and down his arms.
“I—I don’t know,” he said softly. “Things I can’t do, I—well, I practice and try until I can do it. Unless you mean something silly like, I can’t levitate or breathe underwater.” He snickered, snorting. His hand flinched to his mouth. “Like, I can’t do that.”
“Mhmm. That’s funny, I like that. But you’re right, if you can’t do something, you can always keep trying until you can, and I’ve tried, I’ve really tried.
” And right now, I was trying my hardest not to think about the people I’d been with in the past, the people who told me I couldn’t be in a relationship, the people who were eager to do their best to knock me down a peg all because I had heights of success they envied.
“Either way, we don’t have to try much here. Both of us want this. Right?”
He nodded. “You mean sex?”
I pressed my nose to his neck and moaned lightly in his ear. “Yes, I mean sex.”
His sweet, hoarse moan made my dick throb. “From the moment I saw you, I thought about you fucking me—but that’s because I think a lot about hot guys in suits fucking me.”
My thumb caressed the side of his cheek, pulling softly at his lip to part them. “Can I kiss you?”
“I’ve been waiting for you to ask.”
Our faces met, mouths connecting, tongues locked.
There was no fight for control. Benji knew his place, letting my tongue wrestle with his.
My hand remained on the back of his head until we were both lying on the bed, his head resting on the stuffed teddy, forcing us to pause for a moment.
Then we were back at it as he held the teddy in his arms, at his chest, mixed with the crinkling plastic from the onesie wrapping.
“Get dressed,” I told him. “I wanna see what you look like in it.”
He nodded obediently as we sat upright together on the bed. “Do you want to keep taking my clothes off?”
Benji stood in front of me.
“You do it.”
I removed his clothes, folding them into a stack on the side of the bed.
He stood in his polka dot briefs, his hand covering his bulge as it stretched against the fabric, revealing his own precum wet patch polka-dot pattern.
“There’s a changing room on the ground floor,” I told him. “For future reference. In case you want to bring your own onesie next time.”
He smirked, but his lips trembled slightly. “The next time they hold another event, I’ll remember that.”
“Good,” I said. “Happens every few months.” I watched and analyzed his face, getting in his head, figuring out his motive.
I wasn’t about to be played for a sponsorship to this place.
It meant covering cost of membership and dues, plus any costs they incurred.
It was basically another word for being a sugar daddy, and the only sugar I’d give as a Daddy was in the form of aftercare.
“Then I’ll remember to show up with my favorite onesie,” he said, holding up the new one.
It was his size. Quite generic. Most of the littles, middles, and those in sub play wore similar onesies.
There was even a tag with the Playhouse logo on it, since they were a white-label product and marked up by a hundred percent.
Grabbing the stuffed animal, I noticed the tag there too. It was a smart decision to white-label the products, ship them in cheap from overseas with their label like they’d created them in house.
“I wish I could take a picture of this moment,” I said, handing him the stuffed teddy once he was zipped up at the front.
“Me too,” he said. “I wish I could—” He looked around, sighing with a smile. “Take a picture of it all.”
Phones were taken at the door, alongside a picture or your ID to make sure nobody could steal it, but also to keep track of everyone who came in and was still here.
Playhouse was operational twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.
I’d witnessed some littles, the ones with high-power jobs paid a fortune as CEOs, come here and stay for days.
There were entire rooms filled with balls, a bounce house, and even a room with kittens.
I never explored them; I never had a little to do that with.
“Look,” he said, lifting a foot. “The feet have grips on them.”
“And you look cute too,” I said.
My eyes captured him like photos, each blink a snap, and my brain was a darkroom, developing them.