The way a boy should wait for his daddy

Mufasa’s mind wanders every evening, always back to the same fantasy. He pictures himself waiting. The house quiet. The door about to open.

And him—already stripped down, completely bare, in position.

He wants me to find him like that. On all fours. Exposed. Inviting. It’s not just about the physical, it’s the act of offering himself completely. A silent message written in posture:

I’m yours. Do what you want.

He doesn’t want tenderness. He wants to be used. To be claimed. To feel every ounce of my frustration, my tension, poured into him. The thought alone gets him flushed. Breathing heavier. Wanting it more than he knows how to say.

Because for Mufasa, the day doesn’t feel complete until he’s reminded of exactly where he belongs, waiting, ready, and desperate to be what I need most.