Couldn’t Wait. Didn’t Try.

Mufasa couldn’t hold it in. He was out, in public, surrounded by people — but the second I popped up on his phone, everything else disappeared.

The ache took over. The obedience kicked in.

He slipped away. Found a quiet bathroom. Locked the door, pulled out his phone — and stripped. No skirt this time. No panties. Just skin. Raw, flushed, shaking.

He angled the camera just right.

Back arched. Mouth parted. Eyes full of that helpless, ruined need. And then that voice — low, breathy, wrecked.

“Please, Daddy… I wish you were here. I need to be seen. I need to feel like yours again.”

And he was. Every inch on display. Not just to tease — but to belong.Because for Mufasa, there’s no such thing as “just once.” There’s only submission.

There’s only me.