Taming Tyler

Epilogue

Tyler

Four years later

I t’s my graduation day. Mine . Okay, let’s say it just a little louder so that Dale the Dipshit’s sorry, divorced ass all the way back in Mal Air hears it too. It’s my fucking graduation day, so go eat your heart out, Dale, for thinking I would never amount to anything. It’s not like I hold a grudge or anything. No, my life is too fine and fancy these days to hold a grudge. Mom is back in my life, sitting in the crowd right next to my Daddies, and we’re trying to rebuild our relationship. It’s going to take some time for sure, but I know that we’re on track. With my Daddies in my corner, there ain’t nothing I can’t face.

I’m two students away from Principal Longhorn—I’m sorry, but no, I’m not kidding. You couldn’t make this shit up even if you tried—handing me my diploma. As of last Thursday when I aced my final art project, I’ve been an art major graduate from the University of Southern California. I graduated with fucking honors. Can you believe it? I just wish you would get a fancy badge or something because then I would wear it all the time, prance around in front of my Daddies and shit, flashing that badge. Not even Mitch, Mr. Hot Parole Daddy himself, has a badge. Well, I don’t either, but luckily eBay has everything on God’s green earth.

“Mr. Tyler Carter,” Principal Longhorn—insert snort—booms across the stage, and I nearly skippity-hop across it, but then I remember that I’m out in the open now. I’m an adult. Yes, insert another snort. You know what? Just feel free to insert a handful of snorts all over the place and we’ll be covered. I feel extra giddy today. My jaws ache from smiling so hard as I come to a stop in front of our principal. His brown eyes beam with pride and something else I can’t quite define as he takes me in from top to toe. Finally, his gaze comes to a rest on my orange Chucks peeking out from under my cape. He shakes his head fondly, his slicked-back black curls glistening under the auditorium spotlights. His black skin is positively glowing, sparkling, and for a split second I get a vision that Principal L—let’s just call him that because I’m not going to snort him in the face—is Jesus.

“Jesus…uhm… you’re tall, Principal L,” I croak. Good fucking save Tyler. Whew . That was close. Laughing, he hands me my diploma, holding on to the other end as he leans in.

“Never in all my twenty-four years as principal of this fine art program have I been more delighted and more proud to hand over a diploma, Mr. Carter.” I beam at him because, yes, I know that Principal L has a soft spot for me. Well, I am pretty amazing, after all. I know of at least two other middle-aged dudes who have a mushy, soft spot for me. Then he lowers his voice. “And never have I been happier to see anyone go, either,” he chuckles. “It’s been one heck of a ride, Mr. Carter, and I contribute at least half of my gray hairs to you. Congrats, young man.” I swear, Principal L is close to crying, so I’ll let it slide that he said he was happy to see me go. If I accomplish nothing else for the rest of my life, I can always say that I made Jesus cry.

The audience goes wild, my classmates hooting and hollering, and when I realize that I’m the last student to get my diploma, I jump up into the air, doing a fist pump, screaming “ Fuck yes !” and then a little butt wiggle for good measure because I’m cute like that. That’s when I see them. Mitchy and Cal-Bear. I made them wear matching burnt-orange button-ups because I was afraid that they would get away from me with all the people today. And you know, I get fucking batshit crazy if I can’t find my Daddies. They’re sitting next to each other in the third row, looking hotter than ever, and now my dick is doing a little wiggle, too. Their bearded faces are beaming at me, their eyes overflowing with pride and love. Oh, so much love.

With both my Daddies looking at me like that, I feel an overwhelming sense of contentment. Of being loved. Adored. Of belonging. It’s still fucking frightening because, before Mitch and Cal, I never had this kind of love before. I belong to them and they belong to me. My Daddies and I make a complete circle, impossible to break. So strong. You can’t tell where one of us ends, and the other begins. There’s no end and no beginning, we just are. I wasn’t kidding when I said that I go batshit crazy when I don’t know where my Daddies are. I do. I’m addicted to them, and luckily, they feel the same way about me, so we’re together most of the time. I know, in the beginning, especially Mitch was worried that they were holding me back, keeping me from living the life that I wanted as a twenty-something guy. But the life that I want is with them. My days as Prince of the Toilet Stalls are over and I’m now a certified couch potato who goes fly-fishing on weekends and spends his breaks from school at Bake My Day , driving Cal and Theresa crazy. This is my life now, and I fucking love it because I get to spend it with my two Daddies and my Bree girl.

“I’m a little worried, M,” Cal hums as he licks along my neck, just teasing the skin with his teeth. We arrived at the cabin some twenty minutes ago and I’m buck naked, face down, and ass up in bed. The air is a little stuffy in the loft, but who cares when you’re about to get stuffed by prime Daddy cock?

“Why?” Mitch drawls, his huge hands massaging my ass, kneading the flesh thoroughly. I moan beneath him, pushing my hips up to get more, more, more of him.

“That our boy is a little too fancy for us now with that hoity-toity degree,” Cal murmurs, digging his teeth into my earlobe, causing goosebumps to flourish all the way down my back. “Who would’ve thought we’d have a damn artist in our family, huh M?” Family. I squeal into my pillow, the pride in Cal’s voice doing things to my chest, stomach, and balls. Fuck, I love being a good boy. It’s my kryptonite. Bad boys may get all the chicks in the movies, but I always wanted dicks, anyway. It’s true what they say: Good boys go to heaven. All the way to fucking Daddy heaven where all the ginormous cocks live. My hole can vouch for that.

“I’m not fancy, Cal-Bear,” I pipe up, my voice spilling over into a deep, guttural moan when Mitch breaches my hole with his fat tongue. Happy fucking Thanksgiving to me. I love it when Mitch rims me. His beard scratches so good in all the right places. And afterward, Cal always rubs my little boy hole with his miracle balm—or his yummy cum if we can’t find the balm. “Besides, I’m not the only artist in the family,” I whine as Mitch does a delicious twirl with his tongue inside me. “Daddy Cal is an artist too,” I pant. “He’s… oh shit, do that again, Mitchy. Fuuuck, yeah, like that. Stab that hole.” Shit, where was I? Oh yeah. “Cal-Bear’s this crafty baker Daddy dude, and you’re… OhMyFuckingGawd!”

Cal’s there too now, his huge hand grabbing my right ass cheek, squeezing it to the point of pain, and I know what’s coming and I can’t fucking wait.

“I’m an artist?” Cal growls, jiggling the fleshy part of my butt.

“Yes,” I pant, chasing his touch and Mitch’s tongue like the wanton little slut that I am. “You’re the Wicked Master of the Frostings,” I quip. “Daddy Mitch is one too. You know, when he goes paroling and stuuuuffff…. oh, shit. Shit , shit , shit ,” I chant as Cal’s hand comes flying against my ass, the smack ricocheting off the walls of our small cabin. Mitch replaces his tongue with two fat fingers, plunging them roughly inside me, as a rapid succession of smacks rain down on my ass, alternating between both cheeks. And I fucking love it. I love a good spanking, and Cal-Bear dishes out the fucking best. Because he knows exactly what I need, what I want, and what I crave. He shows no mercy and doesn’t let up before I call it quits and beg for his cock instead.

“Whatta you say, M?” Cal grits, digging his fingers into my abused flesh. “Should we show our little boy just how artsy we can be? I already made a pretty canvas out of his ass,” he hums, admiration in his voice. “Fuck, baby boy, you should see yourself right now,” he hums.

“Please,” I nearly sob into my pillow. “Please, Cal-Bear. Please.” I don’t know exactly what I’m begging for, but luckily Mitch does as he pulls his fingers from my pulsing hole and replaces them with his hard cock, jamming it right inside where all the fun begins. “Oh, thank you, Jesus,” I scream, my hole welcoming the stretch, my vision going white hot as Mitch tries to pound me into the mattress.

“That’s it, babe,” Cal hums, the distinct sound of flesh against flesh slap, slap, slapping through the bedroom. Cal’s such a fucking perv. He loves jerking off to Mitch fucking me. I love it. I love his hairy, pervy ass. “Shit, M, wreck that little boy pussy,” he growls, jerking himself. See? Told you. Perv. As if on cue, Mitch turns it up a notch, slamming into me full force, and I nearly swallow my tongue as I scream, “Daddy, Daddy, Daddyyyy!” Pounding against my prostate, Mitch shifts his hips and I go wild. The sperm whale is now back, Beyoncé grain’ grain’ grainin’ on that wood.

“Yes, that’s what I’m fucking talking about. Fuck me, Daddy. Fuck me deep. Fucking deeper, Mitchy,” I start mouthing off and Cal digs his thumb into the most sensitive part of my wrecked ass. Yes, please. I can tell from their panting and glorious sweating that they’re both close to coming. My own dick is squeezed between my stomach and the sticky sheets beneath me, but I don’t feel neglected. My Daddies have gotten so skilled at fucking me that I usually come hands-free with a dick up my ass. Yeah, my Daddies have magic dicks like that.

“You there, baby boy?” Cal hisses, and one nod and a whimpered, “Yes, Daddy” from me is all it takes. White, hot cum hits my lower back, and my ass, and it feels like the yummiest fall rain on my skin. “Fuuuck!” Cal yells as Mitch starts pulsing inside my ass. Then he pulls out, and the next thing I know, I’m coming too, while Mitch adds his cum to Cal’s on my ass.

“Oh God, oh God, oh God!” I shout. And, for a split second, I think I’ve gone blind, my climax so all-consuming that I lose my sense of direction. Up becomes down as my orgasm washes over me, my ass stinging deliciously, my hole vibrating uncontrollably.

“Holy fuck, that was hot,” Cal grits, rubbing the cum into my skin. “Look, babe,” he pants. “Look what a pretty painting our boy makes.” There’s a growing softness in his voice, his touch gentle now, perfect. My ass burns in the most delicious way.

“Perfect,” Mitch whispers, his voice strained from his orgasm. His fingers are there now too, intermingling with Cal’s, skimming my skin carefully. “Perfect,” he rasps, and I can hear the awe in his voice. Perfect. The word echoes through my chest. That’s me, the imperfect Tyler, a perfect boy for my Daddies. All my imperfections are just right for them to mold me into a perfect creature. It’s like they’ve tamed me. They’ve tamed me without restricting me. With their love and their safety, they’ve set me free. Free to be the person I’ve always wanted to be. They see me. Really, truly see me.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Daddies,” I sigh, rolling onto my back, reaching out my arms toward them, making grabby hands. Laughing at me, they both fall into my embrace, their bodies deliciously sweaty.

“Happy Thanksgiving, baby,” Cal hums against my neck. “Love you, sweet boy.”

“Love you too, Cal-Bear,” I half-sob.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Ty.” Mitch kisses the words into my chest, just above my heart. “Love you, precious boy,” he hums.

“Love you too, Mitchy. Eeeekkkk ! That tickles Cal-Bear. Stop!” I squeal, as my toes are being licked sloppily.

“What?” Cal objects. “I’m not doing anything.” Looking up from my neck, he groans, “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Bree! Stop licking Ty’s toes! Go find your own toy,” he laughs.

“Yeah, go find your own toy, Bree,” I giggle. “This boy’s all fucked out.” But she doesn’t, of course. She just sighs and goes back to gobbling on my toes, happy dog grunts spilling from her snout. And it’s perfect. Just perfect. My life’s perfect. Your boy got his happily ever after.

Now go chase yours, too.

Happy Thanksgiving!