Chapter 4 #3
“It means you’re gonna get sick and probably die, and it will kill you slowly.
It will eat away at your insides until you’re a husk of who you once were.
I’m really sorry about that.” I stare down at the tarot guide flashcards in my lap, double-checking that I haven’t mixed the meaning up with another card, the same way I’ve done countless times.
“Or it could be talking about love, and it could mean that you’re going to find someone you connect with on a profound level. ”
“Do I know this guy?”
“Fuck if I know. Do I look like a psychic to you?” I pause, shaking my head. “I mean, I guess I must. That’s literally my job.”
“Your job is to stroke your little dicklet for all of us to see,” one member says.
“Don’t fuckin’ call it that,” Daddy McSnack chastises, putting an apostrophe next to the N for reasons unknown.
“Are you defending my honor?” I ask him.
He sends me the middle finger emoji. Prick.
“As I was saying, this new relationship of yours will be big, it will be beautiful, and you’re gonna love it.”
“ ... Did you just quote Miss Coco Peru?”
I nod proudly. “She’s my queen.”
“Mine too,” he replies. “I have Trick on DVD, and I like to watch her parts over and over.”
It’s funny, because Johnny also owns a copy of Trick. Apparently he bought it the day he met Bubba because he thought the DVD cover was cool.
I flip the final card over, then check my flashcard to make sure it means what I think it does.
“Well, the good news is, I don’t think you’re going to die.
” I lift the card—an image of Austin riding his stepfather’s bare cock—and show it to the camera.
“The Lovers card. This reading is definitely romantic in nature. These cards—Death, Lovers, the High Priestess—all indicate you’re going to experience a significant transformation in one of your relationships.
I feel like it’s going to be a good change.
Someone you already know is probably going to be your happily-ever-after. ”
“Probably not.”
“It’s in the cards. It’s already been written.” I stare at his profile picture again, openly lusting over his bare ass. “Whoever this mystery man is, he’s a lucky guy. Your ass is fucking sinful.”
“You really think so?”
“Are you kidding me? It’s fucking divine.
I’m not even a top, but I’d top that ass in a heartbeat.
” Swallowing, I look away from the camera, over at a picture of Bubba, Johnny, and me on the nightstand.
In the picture, we’re all shirtless, standing in our front yard-slash-lake shore, our feet all submerged in Pathfinders Lake.
Johnny is angled slightly to the side, his ass jutting out at a similar angle as Daddy McSnack’s profile picture.
I bet Johnny’s ass is just as cute as this guy’s, not that it matters to me in the slightest. “Will you send me another picture of your butt, Daddy McSnack? I want to jack off while I look at it.”
Maybe I pushed too hard, because as soon as the words are out, so is he, signing off, leaving me in a cloud of confusion. Maybe his internet connection is fucked, and he got booted. Who knows, who cares? I still have ten other fans waiting for their reading. But I think I kind of miss him.
I dive headfirst into the rest of the readings, wanting to get my mind off Daddy McSnack’s delicious ass, and Johnny’s self-tanner incident.
Person by person, I share news, both good and bad, and when I look up at the clock, I realize I’ve been at it for over an hour.
Aside from Daddy McSnack and Harold, the whole chat has stayed for the duration.
My boys came for a show. It’s time to give them one.
I pat my shoulder, letting Barbara know it’s time to exit the room. A tingle pulses through my heart, and then it’s gone, and we’re all alone.
I stand and caress my bulge, gently squeezing as my onlookers watch, sending endless emojis displaying their varied levels of lust. A bell chimes, and when I stare at the chat window, I see Daddy McSnack has returned.
“Daddy,” I whisper, my heart fluttering.
“I took a picture for you,” he writes. “Can we switch to DM?”
Nodding, I open another tab so my viewers don’t miss the show. Once I’ve messaged Daddy, I wait patiently for his response, telling my viewers, “Daddy McSnack is probably going to show me his butt, so I’m going to talk to him instead of you, but I’ll still let you see me come.”
In the DM, Daddy says, “You might not like it. The last one I took had better lighting.”
“I’ll like anything you send me. Promise,” I say into the camera, and then I worry he may have used trick lighting to make it look so pretty in his profile picture, and I don’t want him scared I’ll be upset if that’s the case.
I don’t know why his ass looks so familiar, but it does.
Like an old friend. “You don’t have to worry about something as silly as lighting.
Even if it was the hairiest, flabbiest ass in the whole world, I’d still think it’s cute, you know. ”
“You would?”
I nod emphatically. “I do. I promise, I do.”
I await his reply with bated breath, my fingertips twitching against my bare thighs. Thankfully, I don’t have to wait too long before the picture loads.
“Oh my fucking God,” I breathe. The picture he’s sent puts his profile picture to shame.
In it, he’s wearing coveralls that look a lot like the ones The Core Four wear to work, but they’ve been pushed down.
He’s in an industrial-style public bathroom like the one at Bubba’s new machine shop, and his phone is aimed at a mirror.
Daddy’s back is to the camera, and he’s wearing a white shirt, but it’s lifted up, revealing half an inch of his lower back.
“Fuck. It’s so pretty, sir,” I whisper.
It takes him a moment, but he replies, “I like when you call me that. Do you want to touch it?”
“I want to do more than touch it. I want to worship it. Write sonnets in its honor.”
“You look real pretty right now, Ez.”
Strange. None of my subscribers call me Ez. Only Johnny, usually, but Daddy McSnack can’t be Johnny, because Johnny is hard at work, working to steal the man I … care for.
“Thank you,” I tell him, stroking myself faster. “I’m gonna cum so hard for you, sir. I promise. I’m gonna bust so fucking hard.”
“Come for me,” he says. “Come for me, Little Dick.”
My mind flashes back to Johnny. At the lake, he claimed he hadn’t called me Little Dick. No one else ever has, either, so it’s really fucking weird to hear it twice in one week, from two different people.
“It’s not little,” I lie, but when I look down, the truth is right there.
I’m maybe four inches at best. It’s just as small as the rest of me, and it’s embarrassing, because Johnny and Bubba are both so big.
It makes me feel like I’m not as worthy, like I can’t ever please Bubba the way Johnny could, given the chance.
Maybe I should just bow out gracefully. Give Bubba to Johnny, because he’s better suited for the job at hand.
“It is,” Daddy McSnack says. “But that don’t mean it ain’t beautiful.”
I blush. “You think so?”
“Yeah. Yeah, it’s perfect, Little Dick. Can you make it come for me?”
I nod. “I will, sir.” My hand moves faster, gliding up and down my shaft as the head turns a vicious shade of red.
I know I promised to come for this guy, but as I stare at his ass, all I see is Johnny.
Johnny in his coveralls, showing me his ass.
Bending over and exposing his entrance. Oh, fuck, I bet it’s beautiful.
“I’m close. I’m so fucking close, baby.”
“What are you thinking about?”
I look into the camera, blinking slowly, hazily. “Johnny,” I whisper.
“Jesus, Ezra. Come for him. Come for Johnny.”
“Johnny,” I whine, and as soon as the name is out, I bust my load, firing a shot far enough it splashes against my laptop screen. Another lands on my chest, and I quickly scoop it up, licking it off my finger as I whimper, “Johnny,” picturing his ass. Fuck, he’s got such an incredible ass.
I keep stroking and stroking until the tapers off, leaving me in that hazy state of post-nut clarity.
I came for Johnny. Because of Johnny. Looking up, I notice Daddy McSnack sign off, and a bitter, disappointed feeling settles in my gut.
I want him to come back. I want him to stay.
I wish he would have stayed just a little longer, but I can’t turn back the clock and beg him not to go, so I focus on my subscribers instead.
Five minutes later, I knock lightly on Austin’s door before entering.
He’s lying in bed, his phone screen aimed at him, FaceTiming his stepfather-slash-boyfriend, probably.
The theory is proven accurate when I cuddle up next to him in bed and see Dallas welding stuff together at Bubba’s new machine shop.
In the background, Johnny walks out of the bathroom, zipping his coveralls up.
I guess he has to unzip them completely when he uses the bathroom.
The call timer says they’ve been talking for over three hours. Well, talking is a bit of an overstatement. I’m pretty sure Austin’s just been watching Dallas work all day.
As I spoon him from behind, Austin looks over his shoulder at me and smiles. “How was filming?”
“Good,” I answer. “At the end, I ran out of people to do readings for, so I pulled your cards. The cards say you’ve got genital herpes, by the way.”
He cocks an eyebrow at me. “Which one of your tarot cards told you that?”
“That’s none of your business, Snoopy Snooperson.
The point is, you’ve got it. Don't feel bad though. I think Bubba has it. I’m fairly confident he's mentioned it before, but I tend to tune him out most of the time. Either way, it’s nothing to be ashamed of.
I don't hold it against him, and I won't hold it against you.
It's not the end of the world, it's just an STI.”
“Dallas and I get tested regularly. I tell him over and over we don’t need to continuously test, but he’s terrified he’ll prick his finger and catch something, so he likes to stay on top of it. I literally do not have herpes.”
“There’s nothing wrong with it, Aussie.”
“Yes, I know there’s nothing wrong with it,” he hisses.
“But I don’t have it. If Dallas hears you saying it like it’s true, he’ll think I’ve been cheating, and he’ll never fuck me raw-dog again.
He’ll probably break up with me and everything.
I’ll kill you, Ezra. I’ll kill you so fucking dead, you won’t even know it. ”
“If you ever kill me, I’ll haunt you until you die,” I tell him. Bored with this exchange, I roll on my side and reach under their bed, blindly searching for the little treat I left for them yesterday. “What the hell are you doing?”
“One Daddy, two Daddy, three Daddy, four,” I sing-song in an ominous tone. “Eat my load, you cum-guzzling whore.”
He barely has time for the rhyme to register before I strike.
His mouth is open, and he manages to get the words, “Don’t you dare,” out before I maneuver my hand like a catapult, lifting a cum-filled balloon from the floor, thrusting it directly at him, sending one of my signature Ezra Specials? his way.
Don’t ask me why I started filling party balloons with my own semen and throwing them at unsuspecting men, because I can’t remember.
It’s been years, and for some reason, it still makes me giddy.
There’s a sense of purpose to it. The act of continuously filling them.
Keeping them in the freezer until they’re full, then thawing them before throwing.
Each strike is like a blast of bleach-scented goodness when it pops, kind of like those Gushers gummy candies that shoot in your mouth when you chew them, but with cum instead of sugary goodness.
Austin slowly drags his hand down his face, removing the leftover load before holding it out for me. “Get me a towel.”
Since I’m feeling a little stir-crazy from spending months in this goddamn home with no real outside source of human connection, I take my fun where I can get it, and I know it’ll be real fun to make Dallas mad.
“Dallas!” I shout, hoping it will get his attention over the sound of his welding equipment. Sure enough, he looks over his shoulder, letting his blowtorch die down, and lifts his welding helmet.
“Yeah, Little Man?”
“I got Austin. I got him right in the face with one of my balloons.”
Dallas snorts a laugh, which surprises me, because I kind of expected him to scream at me. “Wash it off, Aussie. Dad’s going to give you his own signature blend when he gets home.” He lowers helmet, shielding his eyes from the torch’s flame, and returns to work.
As Austin cleans his face, I unlock my phone and head to OnlyFans.
My mind is still wandering back to Daddy McSnack.
Maybe it’s just a side effect of the hypnotic state his ass holds me in, or maybe it’s more.
There’s just something about him, and I want to know what that is.
So, I initiate a new message, and I type, “Don’t go quiet on me again. I liked talking to you.”
Moments later, he replies, “I think I liked talking to you too.”
It’s funny, because in the background, Johnny’s got his phone in his hand.