Daddy 2

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The last word actually made his cock twitch hard. I could feel it next to mine. His entire body seemed to vibrate, as well, as if in unison with his stiff meat. I could have sworn the guy whispered the word 'finally' but it could have just been my own hopeful imagination. I could feel his ass clamping tightly together, as well. I didn't know exactly what was causing his reaction, but I knew I liked it. Again, it took almost all of my strength not to squeeze the dude so hard that something broke. It was like I wanted his body to melt into mine. I had a need to be so close to him that a mere hug wouldn't and couldn't be enough to satisfy. Instead, my big paws squeezed his hard ass tightly causing the dude to wince a little, but he also gurgled something about me being 'so big and strong.' I knew it was best to distract myself from my intense desires of the moment, so I went back to asking questions.

"What's you name, kid," I said, smiling at his face.

"Bradley," he replied.

It wasn't Biff, but it was close. He definitely looked like a Bradley and I bet he was a 'the second' or better yet 'the third.' That would make things even more complete. Hearing his name made me want to flex my guns, so I tensed my arms as I held his body at my waist. His eyes shot exactly where I hoped they would when my biceps swelled thicker. He mouthed some words but it wasn't hard to see they were 'fuck yeah.' This high-powered businessman, this preppy 'I come from old money' dude clearly got off on things more powerful than him. I bet he owned a fast car. I bet he employed a trainer that looked like a trainer should – huge, hot, and virile. I bet he loved to skydive. The guy probably loved being near things that reminded him of his own mortality – his limits. I was pretty sure he loved anything that could subdue him. That's why my arms easily caught and kept all of his attention. He could feel the power of my guns, since they were easily holding him in the air, but looking at their power – taking in their hugeness and beauty along with knowing what they could do – that's what turned him on even more. It was like he was some kind of tactile learner, who needed to see and experience things to believe them. But he definitely loved it when things looked powerful. I could again feel his cock twitching for joy as he gazed at my tensed arms.

There's something special that happens to a mature muscle man when he figures out some young thing is attracted to his daddy strength and size. It's hard to explain, but there's a switch that goes on inside the big man's head and he instantly intuits what will make the other guy happy. I'm pretty sure it comes with age and not just from being big. I've seen some big men in my life that had no idea how to please little fellas. But give a muscleman some years and a whole lot of experience and the wisdom flows as easily as a posing routine. My dick registered the little pup's reaction to my tensed arms way before my brain did. It's like the synapses from what my hands were feeling and all that my eyes were witnessing decided to go south first, alerting my cock to potential pleasure before it did the same for my brain. The pup's expression as he gaped upon my massive biceps signified another hurdle had been leapt over in this little muscle tango he and I were doing. I was passing some test, moving to the next round, and being moved to the front of the class in this guy's opinion – and that was just as important as him getting to new levels in my estimation. In order for a young small buck to want to be controlled, subdued, or dominated he needs to trust his master completely. He's got to want his master completely. I learned a long time ago there are guys out there that say they love big men, but I quickly realized they knew nothing about true muscle worship. Let me give all my big muscled brothers a little word of advice – if you come across small dudes who think that worshipping your big bod is only about them touching or you flexing please turn around and run. For one thing, the verbal ascent to worship needs to be intense and should almost equal the final explosion. A true worshipper is not afraid to talk about your huge muscles or their thirst for said mounds of beef. A sure sign of a lousy worshipper is a silent worshipper.

Another way of weeding out unsuccessful worshippers is listening close to their terminology. If a small dude can only say 'I love your fucking huge arms' and 'Wow, what a giant chest,' it's more than likely you have only a muscle whore on your hands. Don't get me wrong – there's a place for muscle whores in every big man's life, but they aren't meant to be long term. They're good when you want to just get a superficial boost to your ego. These guys are what I call the lightweights. They usually shoot their loads before you even get fully charged – mainly because they just love bulges – and not what has gone into making those bulges. These shallow dudes will squirt all over the place as soon as you flex a little or let them touch your body. Rarely are they concerned about you getting off and the thought of you being a little rough makes them go nelly screaming out of your apartment. Like I said before, there's a place for such guys in the world – but I've grown wise in my old age and I've learned to look for something much more substantial – something a lot deeper.

A true muscle daddy worshipper appreciates your wisdom as much as he appreciates your size. He's into your bulges – I guarantee that – but he's just as excited about seeing how those muscles influence your daddy psyche, as well. The guys that turn out to be keepers need their big man to be three-dimensional. The little pup's said, "He, of course, needs to have the body from hell, but he better have the attitude from hell, too." I'm not talking about being some ax murderer or psychopath – I mean the muscled dude has to have a cockiness that enables him to squeeze his pup's neck hard for a greeting or can make flirts back away from his pup with just a low growl or an intense stare. If a young stud is a real worshipper he'll be looking for the daddies that have the third aspect of a complete package – the big man has to have experience. This is why most young men can't reach true muscle daddy-om. They don't have the years that make them fantastic kissers, charming beyond your wildest dreams, pro sexual athletes, and – most importantly – men with a sixth sense about exactly what will make their pup happy.

It's, of course, rare that such specific and powerfully-charge individuals can find each other, but it does happen. I knew many couples that were living in daddy-pup bliss and had been for years. Unfortunately, that special prize had eluded me for all of my life. I had been with some fantastic guys – but most of them had merely turned out to be muscle whores. They were into my hard beef, but could not have cared less about my thoughts, my wisdom, or my need to truly dominate a guy. Let's stop and get one thing straight – the word dominate has gotten a bad rap in recent years. Everyone views it as something negative or demeaning. I think the great work in the area of spousal abuse had really brought the wrong kind of attention to the type of domination I'm referring to. In the muscle daddy world – to dominate means there first had to be an invitation. It's like the big man is standing on the side of the ballroom and he only enters the dance if some young pup walks up to him and asks. That's why most of my evenings with so-called muscle worshippers merely ended in them getting off on my massiveness. That's all they wanted. But it can be so much more – it can be so much more empowering to be dominated. It's when that special someone trusts you so completely and needs you so completely that they actually request you to become something special for them – something more powerful. That's when the true magic happens. That's when lives change. And what's crazy – what you might not fully understand – is that the dominator is subdued, as well. He becomes a slave to his pup. There's no way for you to fully understand until it happens to you, but let's just say that you give up all rational thought when you become somebody's full fledge muscle daddy. You become their protector, their trainer, their disciplinarian, and so much more – but you also become tied to them in a way that all the fucking strength in your body could not undo no matter how hard you try. You become theirs as much as they become yours.

So, you can see how thrilling it could be to pass certain hurdles in this dance the young pup and I were doing. I could feel my own heart swelling with hope – with anticipation over what the next few hours could bring. I had been on the precipice many times before – only to be a solo jumper, the would-be pup preferring the safety of the ledge instead of joyously falling into the abyss of true muscle worship. My fantasies of what might be had taken me to some other place and the pup had finally torn his eyes away from my bulging arms to notice (another sign of a true worshipper – caring about what was happening with the daddy). He wanted to bring me back into the glorious here and now.

"And what's your name, sir?" he asked, clearly knowing full well what the word at the end of his sentence would do to me.

To a muscle daddy – a good one – hearing the word 'sir' sends a jolt to his balls that equals the electricity it takes to light up a small town. My mother always made me use the words 'please' and 'thank you' to show that I was raised right and I think it is a very similar situation when pup's say 'sir.' This dude was sending me a message with a simple three-letter word. He wanted me to know that he was raised right when it came to respect and adoration of elders. He also wanted me to know that he had some basic knowledge in the world of submission. Since gay men were now allowed to live such open lives the new 'in the closet' was when it came to fetishes. Gay men today had learned to talk in code to make clear what they were into – or what they weren't into. The word 'sir' was definitely part of the muscle daddy worshipping scene – and it was used frequently to help others know if they could proceed with their flirting or not. The pup was clearly inviting me to move to the next level of our ever-evolving understanding of each other. We were peeling back the layers of the onion until we got to the core – the place where we both would be free to assume the roles we both desperately wanted. Each of us, however, knew to take it slowly. One false step could ruin the entire dance and we were definitely far too engaged in the glorious ball to let that foolishly happen.

"People call me Butch," I replied.

"Of course they do," he said seriously. "I'm glad to know your name, but I think I'll just call you 'sir' if that's okay with you."

There was that word again. My cock thumped against his hard-on. He felt it – I could tell by the smile that sprang to his face. My body had betrayed me. It gave away in a clear and precise way what that word did to me. I could see that he was overjoyed to recognize that fact. I got the feeling my little pup was checking off some list in his head as he got to know me better in the same way I was doing it for him. This seemed to solidify our connection even more. He, of course wasn't going to be a total gentleman and let my body's involuntary jolt of pleasure go without being alluded to.

"You deserve the respect, sir," he said, emphasizing the last word on purpose – and smiling even more when my cock again throbbed noticeably.

"I know I do," I shot back – my cock was uncontrollably reacting to this guy's tone of respect, but that didn't mean he was in charge. Cockiness was one of the three supports of being a muscle daddy and I could call on that reservoir of confidence whenever I wanted. I truly knew how incredible I was – and not only did it make me sure of myself, it also helped me to shower that same feeling on others. "I get the feeling you can be the perfect respectful pup."

I had anticipated his lust for that certain word correctly. His entire body shook with revealing pleasure – a response similar to mine. We both realized another hurdle had been easily sailed over. I loved the fact that he had to close his eyes – until the joyous jolt of worshipper euphoria passed. I wondered briefly if he was also saying a silent prayer to the muscle gods in hopes the beefy older dude holding him might be the real deal. I added my own plea to Mount Olympus or wherever for the same thing. I was beginning to worry that I was moving beyond a point of return. I was so hopeful about this pup I was beginning to worry that I might be projecting a lot of his reactions. I tried to be reasonable and realistic, but it was hard when all the signs pointed to your desired end.