Warning: Extremely steamy content ahead, proceed if you love your Daddies dominant and your boys beautifully broken.

Surrender to the raw, intoxicating power of older men who know exactly how to break a willing boy… and make him crave every filthy second.

This scorching collection of standalone MM short stories thrusts you into the world of commanding Daddies, ruthless CEOs, ex’s powerful fathers, dad’s dominant best friends—who take what they want without apology. These experienced alphas spot a hungry younger man and unleash relentless, possessive desire that leaves no hole untouched and no limit unbroken.

Feel the heat as stern Daddies pin eager boys against penthouse windows, bend them over desks, and force them to their knees in corners. Deep-throating commands, rough bareback pounding, choking growls of good boy, and dripping, sweat-soaked submission turn forbidden tension into explosive, body-shaking ecstasy. Every story drips with primal age-gap lust—older men claiming, breeding, and owning younger bodies that beg for more.

If you live for dominant Daddies who discipline, degrade, and devour… this collection will ruin you for anything less.

A must-read obsession for every MM lover who needs their erotica raw, relentless, and drenched in Daddy dominance.

MM erotica

MM Romance

Gay Romance

LGBTQ+ short stories

MM anthology

Standalone short stories

Age gap romance

Blackmail romance

Daddy kink

Forbidden romance

Steamy gay romance

Daddy kink

Age gap

Taboo/forbidden

Ex’s dad

Dad’s best friend

Power imbalance

Dominant alpha Daddies

Rough possession

Oral worship

Bareback breeding

Dirty talk & praise

Dub-con to desperate consent

High-heat explicit sex

Standalone shorts

HEA/HFN

18+ only

Oh, to be young, desired, and so utterly fucked.

My best friend, Chloe, and I had spent the better part of the afternoon unknown to us orchestrating my own downfall, one perfectly angled snapshot at a time.

The lighting in my dorm room was a bitch, but we had to make it work. She’d draped a cheap red satin sheet over my desk lamp, casting the whole space in a beautiful intimate glow. We had a system. I was posing and she was clicking away on my DSLR.

Clothed, then shirtless. A teasing hand on the waistband of my jeans. A half-lidded gaze, lips parted as if mid-moan. We were going for art, but the pictures were looking as straight-up p**n with better lighting.

“Goddamn, Jules. For fuck’s sake,” Chloe breathed, lowering the camera. She scrolled through the previews on the little screen, her eyes wide. “You look… edible. Seriously. If I were into dick, I’d be on my knees for you right now.”

I laughed, a nervous, breathy sound, and ran a hand through my messy hair. “You’re just saying that ‘cause you love me. You can’t be objective.”

“Objective? My pussy is pulsing, Jules. That’s pretty fucking objective.” She turned the screen to me. A picture of me, sprawled on my bed, stared back. I was shirtless, the low-slung jeans doing a terrible job of hiding the fact I was commando and already half-hard. My head was thrown back, the line of my throat exposed, a sheen of sweat on my collarbones making my skin look like polished gold. “Look at that. This is Fire. You should definitely send that to Leo.”

My heart did a stupid little flip at his name, Leo. My beautiful, infuriating, commitment-phobic ex who I was still hopelessly hung up on.

“I don’t know,” I hedged. “That one’s a bit much.”

“‘A bit much’? Jules, he’s been ghosting you for three weeks. A bit much is exactly the push He needs to come running back to you.” She swiped to another photo. This one was from behind. I was on my hands and knees, looking over my shoulder at the camera, my back arched, the jeans clinging to my ass like a second skin. “Send this one too. Give him options. You know, for when he’s, ya know…” She mimed a jerking motion with her free hand, “…handling his business.”

I snatched the camera from her, my own breath catching as I looked at the images. She was right. They were hot. Hell, I was getting turned on looking at them. I could only imagine what they would do to Leo. The thought of him, alone in his apartment, scrolling through these pictures, his hand slipping down his pants… it sent a jolt straight to my groin.

“Fine,” I conceded, my voice barely a whisper. I transferred the two best shots to my phone, my fingers hovering over the screen. My contact list was a minefield. I found his name easily, Leo Sterling. I attached the photos, my thumbs typing out a caption that was both confident and desperate. Thinking of you.

I hit send before I could chicken out.

A triumphant grin spread across Chloe’s face. “There. Mission accomplished. Now we wait for the groveling and the inevitable come over text.”

I flopped back on my bed, my phone resting on my chest. The thought of seeing Leo again, of finally maybe breaking this stalemate, made me feel giddy and sick all at once. We’d been on-again, off-again since high school, a whirlwind of intense chemistry and emotional whiplash. He was the golden boy, charming and popular, the kind of guy everyone wanted. And for a while, he’d wanted me. But his father, the formidable Alistair Sterling, never approved. Said I was a distraction. Then came the college acceptance letters, him to a business powerhouse, me to a fine arts conservatory on a scholarship and Leo had used it as the perfect out.

“He’s been such a tease lately,” I confessed to the ceiling, thinking of the sporadic, flirty texts that would go nowhere. “He’ll send me a good morning, beautiful and then nothing for a week.”

“Classic Leo” Chloe scoffed. “He likes to keep you on the hook. Well, consider this the shark that’s about to bite that hook right off his line.”

An hour passed. Then two. My phone remained silent. The giddy feeling curdled into a cold, heavy dread. This wasn’t like Leo. He was an immediate texter, a master of the quick, witty reply. Silence was not his language.

Maybe I’d misjudged. Maybe the pictures were too much. Maybe I looked desperate. Oh god, what if he thought I was pathetic? My cheeks burned with a fresh wave of humiliation. I shouldn’t have listened to Chloe.

At four p.m., my phone buzzed. I nearly jumped out of my skin. My hands trembled as I unlocked the screen.

Mr. Sterling: Julian, I don’t believe this is an appropriate way to correspond.

My blood ran cold. Mr. Sterling? No. No, no, no. My eyes shot up to the contact name I’d sent the pictures to. Leo Sterling. But the reply… it was too formal. Too cold. I frantically scrolled through my contact list, my heart hammering against my ribs. And there it was. Two entries. Leo Sterling. And Mr. Sterling. His father. Alistair Sterling, the university’s biggest benefactor, a man who wielded more power on this campus than the dean. A man I’d met exactly twice, and whose icy stare had made me feel like an insignificant bug.

I hadn’t sent them to Leo. I’d sent them to his father.

Me: Oh my god. I am so, so sorry, Mr. Sterling. That was a horrible mistake. I meant to send those to someone else. Please, please delete them. I am so embarrassed.

I buried my face in my pillow, wishing the ground would swallow me whole. My life was over. He’d tell my scholarship committee. He’d tell my parents. He’d have me expelled.

His reply was almost instant.

Mr. Sterling: There’s no need for embarrassment, Julian. You’re a very… photogenic young man.

I stared at the words, a confusing mix of terror and something else, something hot and twisted, coiling in my stomach. He was nearly my father’s age, but he was undeniably handsome in a severe, tailored-suit kind of way. The kind of handsome that came with money and power.

Me: Thanks.

What the hell was I supposed to say to that? ‘You’re welcome’? ‘I know, right?’ This was a thousand times worse than talking to Leo. This was the fucking father of my ex, the man who thought I was trash.

He didn’t reply again. I spent the rest of the day hiding in my room, ignoring Chloe’s texts and my own spiraling thoughts. The only thing that kept running through my head was his response: You’re a very photogenic young man. He did not sound angry at all . It was sounding as if he was… impressed. Surprised?

The next morning, a new text came through, making my heart seize.

Mr. Sterling: I look forward to seeing you at the donor gala tonight, Julian.

The gala. A black-tie event I was required to attend as a scholarship recipient. An event where both Leo and his father would be. I was going to have to look him in the eye after he’d seen me on my knees, begging for it with my eyes.

I was so fucked.

Why me? Seriously, what cosmic deity did I piss off in a past life to deserve this? I felt like I had a giant, invisible target painted on my back, and life was just taking turns throwing shit at it.

The thought of not going to the gala flitted through my mind, but it was impossible. My scholarship was contingent on these kinds of community engagement events. Not showing up would be just as suspicious as showing up and acting like a freak. So I had to go. I had to pretend like my entire world wasn’t collapsing around me.

I spent the day in a state of numb anxiety, trying to study for my art history midterm but just rereading the same paragraph about Baroque chiaroscuro over and over. All I could see was Alistair Sterling’s cold, assessing eyes in my mind’s eye.

My phone buzzed again around noon. I flinched so hard I knocked my textbook off my bed.

Mr. Sterling: Are you ignoring me, Julian? It would be a shame if these photographs were to… circulate. Among the faculty, perhaps. Or the scholarship board.

Ice flooded my veins. That was it. That was the threat. Not veiled, not hinted at. Blatant. Was he trying to blackmail me?

Me: No! I’m not ignoring you. Please, Mr. Sterling. Don’t do that.

Mr. Sterling: It would be quite difficult to keep something like this to myself. However, I suppose another photograph might make it easier to remain discreet.

My core tightened. He wanted more. Of course, he did. This was a power play, plain and simple. And the sick, twisted part of me, the part that had enjoyed sending those pictures to Leo in the first place, felt a thrill of arousal. I hated myself for it.

I couldn’t. I shouldn’t. But the thought of those pictures getting out… of my parents finding out… of losing my scholarship… it was a fate worse than death.

Me: What do you want?

Mr. Sterling: I’m currently in a meeting with the Dean of Admissions. And the Head of your department. A rather tedious discussion about endowments. Your prompt cooperation would be… appreciated.

Fuck. He was sitting there, with the people who controlled my entire future, and he was texting me about nude photos. The sheer audacity of it made my head spin.

Me: Okay. Give me a minute.

I scrambled off my bed, locking my dorm room door. My hands were shaking so badly it took me three tries to get my jeans off. I grabbed my phone, propping it up against a stack of books. I needed a picture without my face. Just in case. I found one from yesterday’s shoot, a close-up of my torso, my happy trail leading down into my unbuttoned jeans. It was suggestive but not explicit. Safe.

I sent it.

A minute of agonizing silence passed. Then

Mr. Sterling: I see. That’s a start. But I believe I requested a photograph like the one you first sent to me. Not a a regular photograph of you. I want one of you on your knees. Looking directly at the camera. No face. Just your mouth. And I want to see that you’re enjoying the request.

My breath hitched. He wanted me hard. He wanted me to capture my own submission, my own humiliation, and send it to him while he was in a meeting with my bosses.

I sank to the floor, the cool wood a small comfort against my flushed skin. I was disgusted with myself, with him, with the whole situation. But I was also hard. The danger, the humiliation, the raw power he was wielding over me… it was a potent, toxic cocktail.

I took a deep, shuddering breath, unzipped my jeans, and wrapped a hand around myself. It only took a few strokes, a few thoughts of his commanding text, before I was ready. I positioned the camera, knelt, and looked straight into the lens. I let my mouth fall open, my tongue darting out to wet my lips, trying to look as wanton and desperate as he wanted. I snapped the picture and sent it before I could think better of it.

Mr. Sterling: Excellent. That’s much better. I’ll see you tonight, Julian.

That night, I felt like I was walking to my own execution. I’d borrowed a tux from the theater department, the stiff fabric feeling like a straitjacket. Every nerve ending was on fire. Chloe had tried to talk me out of going, but what could I say? ‘Sorry, I accidentally sent nudes to my ex’s dad and now he’s blackmailing me for more, so I can’t make it to the gala’?

The university ballroom was a filled with people wearing glittering gowns and black suits. I grabbed a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and downed it in one go, the bubbles doing nothing to calm my frayed nerves.

And then I saw them.

Alistair Sterling stood near the head of the room, a glass of whiskey in hand, holding court. He was even more intimidating in person. His silver-streaked dark hair was perfectly styled, his tailored tuxedo clinging to a frame that was lean and powerful. He exuded an aura of absolute control.

And next to him, looking like a younger, softer version, was Leo. My Leo. He was laughing at something his father said, his blue eyes sparkling under the chandeliers. When he saw me, his face lit up.

“Jules! You came!” He excused himself from his father’s side and crossed the room to me, pulling me into a hug that smelled of expensive cologne. “You look incredible. I was hoping you’d be here.”

My heart ached. “Wouldn’t miss it,” I lied, my eyes flicking over his shoulder to meet Alistair Sterling’s. The older man’s gaze was fixed on me, a small, knowing smirk playing on his lips. He gave me an almost imperceptible nod, as if to say, Good boy.

I felt a flush creep up my neck. I was trapped between the boy I wanted and the man who owned me, at least for tonight.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” Leo said, his voice a low murmur against my ear. “Your artsy types usually avoid these things like the plague.”

I forced a laugh, the sound brittle even to my own ears. “Well, you do not know everything about me.” My gaze involuntarily drifted back to Alistair. He was watching us, his expression unreadable, but his eyes held a predatory glare that made my skin prickle.

“I’ve missed you,” Leo added, his thumb stroking the back of my hand. The simple, familiar gesture sent a pang of longing through me. This was what I wanted. This easy affection, this connection. Not the dark, twisted game his father was playing.

“I’ve missed you too, Leo,” I admitted, my voice barely a whisper.

Before he could reply, a waiter announced that dinner was being served. We were escorted to our assigned tables. Of course, fate, in its infinite cruelty, had seated me directly across from Alistair Sterling. Leo was to my right. To my left was a stuffy old professor from the classics department. I was cornered.

Dinner was a special kind of hell. I picked at my seared scallops, my appetite completely gone. Every time I glanced up, Alistair’s eyes were on me. He didn’t leer. He just… observed. It was infinitely more unnerving. He made polite conversation with the dean, a picture of refined respectability, all while holding my fate in his perfectly manicured hands.

Halfway through the main course, my phone, which I’d placed on my lap under the table, vibrated. My heart leaped into my throat. I fumbled with it, my hands sweating inside my fine linen napkin.

Mr. Sterling: You look very handsome tonight, Julian. That suit fits you well.

I risked a glance at him. He was swirling the wine in his glass, his attention seemingly on the professor next to him. He hadn’t even looked at his phone.

Me: Thank you.

Mr. Sterling: I wonder what’s underneath it. I have a fairly good idea, of course. But I find myself wanting to be reminded.

My face burned. I typed back quickly, my thumbs trembling.

Me: Please, not here.

Mr. Sterling: Why not? I believe you owe me. And I find I’m thirsty for more… art.

He paused, and I watched him take a slow sip of his wine. My phone buzzed again.

Mr. Sterling: Excuse yourself. Go to the men’s lounge. Second door on the left. I’ll be there in two minutes.

Panic seized me. “I, uh… I need to use the restroom,” I mumbled to Leo, my chair scraping loudly against the floor as I stood.

“Everything okay?” he asked, his brow furrowed with concern.

“Fine! Just… too much champagne,” I lied, gesturing vaguely with my hand.

I fled the ballroom, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. The men’s lounge was opulent, all dark wood and leather armchairs. It was empty. I stood in the middle of the room, feeling like a lamb waiting for the slaughter.

The door opened and closed softly. Alistair Sterling locked it behind him.

“Turn around,” he said, his voice a low, calm command that brooked no argument.

I did, my eyes fixed on the antique Persian rug at his feet. I couldn’t look at him.

“Look at me, Julian.”

I slowly lifted my gaze. He was closer now, his presence overwhelming. He reached out and his fingers brushed against my lapel, his touch sending a jolt through me.

“You did very well tonight,” he said, his eyes scanning my face. “You look… presentable.”

“Thank you,” I whispered, the word catching in my throat.

“But I find I’m so… hungry for more,” he continued, his hand dropping to my tie, his fingers toying with the silk. “I believe our agreement was for more… artistic content. And yet, here I am, still wanting.”

“What do you want?” I asked, the question barely audible.

A slow, dangerous smile spread across his face. “I want a performance. Right here. Right now.” He took a step back, his gaze sweeping over me. “Unbutton your shirt. Slowly.”

My hands shook as I fumbled with the tiny pearl buttons. My fingers felt clumsy and useless.

“Slower,” he chided softly. “Savor it. This isn’t a race. This is an unveiling.”

I took a deep breath and forced myself to slow down, my eyes locked on his as I revealed the skin of my chest, my stomach. The cool air of the room pebbled my nipples.

“Now the trousers,” he commanded.

I hesitated. “Someone could walk in.”

“I locked the door,” he said simply. “And even if they didn’t, that’s part of the thrill, isn’t it? The risk. The possibility of being discovered.” He took a sip from the glass of whiskey he’d brought with him. “Don’t disappoint me, Julian.”

My fingers went to my belt. The metallic click of the buckle opening was unnaturally loud in the silent room. I slid my trousers down my hips letting them pool around my ankles. I stood before him in nothing but my unbuttoned shirt and my boxers, my erection painfully obvious.

“Much better,” he murmured, his eyes dark with hunger. “Now, I believe you were on your knees in our last correspondence. Let’s see that again. But this time, I want to watch it happen in person.”