DIESEL DADDY

by Naomi West

  It tasted like heaven.

  I went to sleep that night with a full belly and awoke more refreshed and restored than I’d felt in a long while. I liked to eat—don’t get me wrong. But I was usually so busy going here and there that I tended to grab whatever I could find, maybe shoving down a gas station hot dog here and there. Protein shakes were the main source of my nutrients and protein, but they didn’t really hit the spot.

  So, as I had drinks at one of the nearby bars with Cruiser and some of the other boys, going over distribution plans for the arms we were planning on buying from Dakin, I found my thoughts taken over by the idea of having another home-cooked meal.

  “Gimme a sec, boys,” I said, getting up from the dingy round-top bar table. “Gotta take a leak.”

  Once I arrived in the bathroom, I pulled out my phone and typed in a quick text.

  Steak was good. Make something else tonight for when I get back.

  T

  The response came a few minutes later, some winking face emoji.

  Goddammit, I thought. She’s starting to get comfortable.

  I mean, I wanted her to get used to living at my place, especially enough so that any thoughts of trying to make an escape didn’t amount to anything. I had no worries about getting her back—that was easy enough—but spending an afternoon tracking down a panicked girl didn’t exactly fit well into my schedule. So having her not be inclined to make a break for it was good.

  But I didn’t want her strutting around thinking she owned the place either.

  I reminded myself that there were plenty of ways to remind girls like her of their place, and I could easily cross that bridge if I were to come to it.

  Another text followed.

  Italian?

  I shook my head and sighed. Italian did sound pretty fucking good.

  Sure, was my response.

  I didn’t like this. When I’d bought Star, the intention was for her to be more of … a toy than the live-in help. Sure, I didn’t mind a home-cooked dinner every now and then—I did have that massive, state-of-the-art kitchen, after all—but I was starting to get the impression that she was getting too comfortable, like she was starting to think she wasn’t just a piece of ass that I’d spent a shitload of money on.

  Still, I thought, if I’m gonna drop a half-mil on a fuck-toy it can’t hurt to have her make a steak every now and then. Or Italian.

  “Yo, Tank!” called out a voice, snapping me from my internal debate.

  It was Cruiser. He and the rest of my higher-ups were gathered around the small table where we’d been talking.

  “Keep your goddamn pants on,” I said, shoving my phone back into my pocket and heading back over to the table.

  I pulled my chair out and plopped back onto it. The boys were still in the middle of sketching out the distribution for the weapons, and it all looked fine from where I was sitting. But then Cruiser said something that gave me pause.

  “… then I got some boys in New York who’ll buy these Glocks ...”

  “Whoa, whoa,” I said, holding up my hand. “New York?”

  Cruiser looked up at me with a face that was both cunning and eager, like he was getting ready for a compliment.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I got some contacts up near the city who’ll pay top dollar for some of this shit. Bigger payday, you know?”

  “Not a chance,” I said, my voice firm.

  “What?” asked Cruiser. “Why the hell not?”

  “Distribution is with our normal outlets in Florida.”

  “But … but why?”

  The rest of the boys were silent, looking back and forth at Cruiser and me, eager to see where this all went.

  “You ever run guns that far before?”

  “No, but how hard can it be?”

  “That’s a fuckin’ long drive to New York, for one. More hours on the road means more of a chance that you’ll get busted by some bored state trooper. Not to mention that once you cross state lines, this shit becomes a federal issue. Meaning the fuckin’ feds would be all of it. We can slip 10k to a Florida trooper here and there, but ain’t no buying off the goddamn G-Men. We’d be sunk.”

  “I can do it, Tank,” said Cruiser. “I’ll drive the truck myself. Come on.”

  “No way,” I said. “We keep things local for now. Money’s just fine with our usual buyers. More than enough paper to go around.”

  “But—”

  I held up my hand, making it clear as day that the conversation was over. Cruiser got the hint, sitting back in his chair and sulking.

  “Now I gotta tell my boys that we’re not buying.”

  “Sounds like something you should’ve considered negotiating behind my back.”

  Cruiser sulked for a little longer before abruptly getting up out of his seat, grabbing his drink, and heading out back.

  I shook my head as I watched him leave. Cruiser was a good vice president, but he could get too big for his own goddamn britches sometimes. Too eager to please, too eager to make it clear he was pulling his weight. Usually, it was manageable, but I was starting to wonder if it was going to get us into trouble somewhere down the line.

  The rest of the boy and I finished the distribution plans, and when we were done I finished my beer and thought about what needed to be done for the rest of the day. But all I could think about was that home-cooked meal that Star was gonna make for me. I wondered what kind of Italian she was gonna be cooking up. I could always go for some lasagna, but chicken parm sounded really nice too. I found myself rushing through the rest of my work, eager to get back.

  Once all the plans for distribution were taken care of, I had one last drink with the boys and headed out. And as I rode my bike, I couldn’t help but wonder if this was what it was like to be a regular-ass married man, the kind who had a woman waiting for him at home. I’d never been a normie, so glimpses like this were all I got.

  I parked my bike in the usual spot and headed inside, the smell of basil and tomato sauce hitting my nose right away. Goddamn, it smelled good. As I was walking towards the kitchen, the smell grew more intense. I couldn’t help but whiff the air like I was one of those cartoon characters getting pulled by their nose in the direction of the food. Soon, I arrived at the kitchen, where Star was in the process of pulling something out of the oven. She was wearing a little pair of booty shorts and a skimpy shirt, and I didn’t know if I was more interested in the food in the oven or the body on display.

  “There you are!” she said. “Food’s not quite ready yet.”

  “What you got there?” I asked, trying to peer behind her to see what she was preparing.

  The countertop was covered in flour and empty tomato cans, and pots and pans filled with red residue were in the sink. Definitely the aftermath of an Italian dinner preparation.

  She swatted the air. “Just wait until it’s ready; shouldn’t be too much longer.”

  Star then grabbed a beer from the fridge, popped it open, and handed it to me.

  “Just relax until the food’s done. Maybe twenty minutes. Now, shoo.”

  She hurried me out of the kitchen and I was a little surprised with myself for letting her. Beer in hand, I headed to the backyard. The evening air was pleasant, and I sat back in my favorite deck chair, sipping my beer and letting my mind unspool.

  This is nice, I thought. Almost too nice. I mean, a man like me doesn’t need to be kept like this. Nice to have a meal every now and then, but this shit is gonna make me soft.

  But these thoughts were replaced by a different feeling—a strange feeling of … I dunno, calm? I didn’t know how to feel about it. But before I could consider it for too long, Star stepped out onto the patio, a dish in her hands. She set it on the table nearby, and I was able to finally get a good look at it.

  Chicken parm—just what I wanted.

  “I was surprised that you actually had bread crumbs,” she said. “So I just had to use them. And no picking—wait until I bring the rest out.”

&nbs
p; Before I could respond, she disappeared back into the house. Star returned over and over again, bringing plates, silverware, glasses, and finally a big basket of garlic bread with a bottle of wine. Once everything was out, she spent a few minutes arranging everything.

  “Okay, now we can eat,” she said.

  “That … looks really fuckin’ good,” I said, killing my beer.

  “Well, I hope it tastes as good as it looks, in that case,” she said, spooning a heaping helping of parm onto my plate.

  I took my seat across from her and poured myself a glass of wine.

  “Um, well, dig in!” she said.

  I didn’t need her to tell me twice. I set into that food like a beast, clearing the plate within minutes and washing it all down with a glass of wine, all before Star had a chance to take in a few bites. Once I’d sopped up the last few bits of tomato sauce with my bread I looked up at Star, who’d been watching the display with wide eyes.

  “Wow,” she said. “I guess you liked it.”

  “Pretty fuckin’ good,” I said. “But I’m just getting started.”

  I poured myself another glass of wine followed by another heaping helping of parm and bread. Now that the edge was taken off my appetite, I was ready to actually taste the food. I did, and goddamn, it was good.

  “So, um,” she said. “Did you have a nice day?”

  I grunted a response, my attention down to my food. I didn’t really have a strong desire to discuss business with her, and I hoped I was making that abundantly clear.

  Still, she wanted to talk about something, and I figured it was the least I could do with her having made dinner.

  “Uh, what’d you do today?” I asked.

  And just like that, she was off to the races. She told me about sorting through the clothes in her closet, organizing the kitchen, looking up ingredients, experimenting with different sauces—just on and on. But it was nice, in a way. Listening to her talk meant I didn’t need to worry about what was really bothering me, which was that shit with Cruiser today.

  But I put that out of my head and turned my attention back to Star and the food. I worked my way through the wine, getting a nice little buzz on that made the meal taste even better. When I was done, I sat back in my seat, my eyes on the shimmering waters of the pool.

  Star cleared away the plates, and I let my eyes hang on her legs and ass as she walked away. Damn, she looked good. Not a bad cook, either.

  “Hey,” I shouted after her. “Grab another bottle of wine while you’re at it.”

  A smile over her shoulder let me know that she’d heard my request. Soon, she returned with another bottle of red and a washcloth. She popped open the bottle, poured us both another glass, and set to work wiping off the table.

  “Thanks for the food,” I said, taking another sip.

  “Don’t mention it,” she said with a smile.

  Once the table was cleaned off, I decided that I couldn’t do any more staring at Star. It was time for more.

  “Go into the lounge,” I said.

  Her mouth flat, she nodded and got up.

  She’s learning well, I thought.

  I grabbed the bottle of wine and headed in. Star was there waiting for me, standing still just like I’d commanded her to do. Taking a pull from the wine, I walked around her, looking her tasty little body up and down. Was tonight the night that playtime would be over? The night that I’d give this girl the fucking that I’d been holding off on?

  Possibly.

  “Take off your clothes,” I said, letting her take a long pull from the wine before I sat back down on the couch.

  She obeyed, and I could tell from her unsteadiness that the wine was getting to her, just as it was to me. Soon, she stood in front of me in nothing but a sexy little set of lacy red underwear, her eyes fixed forward. I wanted her so fucking badly, but I made sure not to show it.

  Sitting there, looking over her tight little body, I knew that it was time to take things to the next level.

  Chapter Eleven

  Star

  As I stood in the center of the lounge, waiting for Tank’s command, I couldn’t help but notice two things. The first was just how tipsy I’d gotten. The second was a curiosity at why he hadn’t just taken me in the way he clearly wanted. So far, he’d only made me … perform for him. I knew that it was just a matter of time before he took my virginity.

  And, as strange as it might sound, I was getting to the point where I wanted him to. I’d gotten so used to pleasing him that it seemed to only make sense that I continue to please him in whatever way I could. This thought was a little frightening to me—was I starting to see myself as the piece of property I’d been sold as?

  “Come here,” said Tank, beckoning me over with a flick of his fingers.

  I walked over to him slowly, stopping only a few feet away from him.

  “Let’s start with a lap dance,” he said, his face impassive.

  He flicked on the music, which sounded like Prince. The sleazy, sultry music played at a loud volume, and I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to let my body follow the beat. Soon, I began to rock my hips back and forth in time to the music, letting it flow through me. First, I danced in front of Tank, letting him get a long look at my body in motion. Part of me still went on alert at being objectified like this, but as our sessions went on, I found myself more and more enjoying his attention, enjoying his eyes on me, enjoying knowing that the mere sight of my exposed flesh was enough to get Tank unspeakably aroused. I’d never felt this kind of pull over a man before, and I was starting to like it.

  I continued to dance, eventually closing the distance between him and me, squatting down just a bit and lowering myself to his eye level. Dancing still felt a little awkward, but I was getting the hang of it. It was almost as though I had a natural sense of just how to move my body, and all it took was Tank slowly chipping away at my inhibitions. And, of course, the wine helped a bit.

  Moving closer to Tank, I dipped my ass onto his crotch, rubbing my rear against him. Through the thick denim of his jeans, I could feel his penis turn hard, like a sharp bump under the fabric of his pants. A strange sort of warmth began to radiate out from me; it felt … good to know I was turning him on so much.

  Tank put his hands on my hips as I ground against him, and I reached back to undo the clasps of my bra. Once it was done, I pulled the bra off and tossed it aside before turning and exposing my bare breasts to him. His eyes locked onto my boobs right away and that same warmth in me began to grow as he eyed my nipples hungrily. Then, taking a breast in each hand, he pressed his mouth to one nipple, then the other. Goddamn, it felt good. He lashed the sensitive skin of my nipples with his tongue, and I couldn’t help but let a little moan slip out of my lips.

  But before I could get too turned on, he spoke again.

  “Get on your knees.”

  I obeyed. I was now so close to his crotch that I could see his cock tenting the denim of his jeans.

  “Take it out.”

  I took in a deep breath, my heart racing as I went to work on his belt buckle and zipper. Once those were taken care of, I yanked down his jeans. My eyes went wide; if the mass straining against his black boxer-briefs was any indication, his manhood must have been absolutely enormous. I slipped my fingers underneath his waistband and pulled down.

  Sure enough, it was absolutely enormous.

  “You know what to do with that?” he asked, looking down at me.

  “Um, I—”

  “Don’t talk,” he said. “Just do.”

  I gulped, turning my attention back to his penis. I sized the thing up, trying to figure out how to best start. Just like I was a virgin with regular sex, blowjobs were also something I had zero experience with. I knew I needed to put my mouth on it, but that was as far as my understanding went.

  Might as well start and figure it out from there, I thought.

  I wrapped the fingers of my right hand around the thick girth of Tank’s cock, stroking i
t slowly as I prepared myself to take it into my mouth. Moving closer, I breathed in, taking in the strangely attractive musk of Tank’s manhood. Then I pressed my lips against his head. I just kissed it at first, figuring that would be a good place to start. Then I opened my mouth, letting my tongue slowly move over the surface of his cock. I paid most of my attention to his head, having heard once from a more experienced high school friend of mine that it was where men liked to be touched.