14. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Emery

On my way to the hotel and then up to the room, I distract myself from my nerves by taking pictures to entice my daddies.

A photo of my legs and bags in the back of the taxi, my brand-new teddy bear on display.

A picture of the concierge sign at the front desk.

My hand holding the folder with the paperwork they mentioned earlier as I press the button for the elevator.

A picture of the room with my bags on the couch.

They booked us a one-bedroom suite, with a small living space. There is a couch, four-person dining room table, and a tiny kitchen. The bedroom is in a separate room, and one look at the king-size bed covered in a smooth, white duvet and a half dozen pillows almost makes my knees go weak.

My shock at the room's sophistication doesn't recede until I sit at the table to go through the paperwork.

The folder contains several sheets of paper. The first includes several long paragraphs, detailing how everything that happens tonight is consensual and that I can opt out at any time without repercussions. I can walk away with the five thousand I'll be paid before the date begins if I choose not to continue with the evening.

Assuming I make it through the date, I'll receive the rest of the gift at the end of the evening when everyone is ready to part ways.

There is a whole paragraph about safe words and how this scene will operate using the traffic light system—red, yellow, green—and how the men will periodically check in. I am required to respond within seconds of the question, giving a true and accurate indication of my willingness to proceed. If I choose to stop at any point, pending satisfaction of my daddies, I can be paid a percentage of the remaining ungifted amount.

Completely fair, in my opinion.

Really, the guidelines are just incentive to follow all the way through.

The next four pages are copies of their most recent health checks, which are only a few months old and shows that they are all clean.

The last two pages are lists of sexual activities, with boxes to answer whether or not I am willing, unwilling, or interested in trying each item.

The first page is filled with all the things I would expect: oral for me, oral for them, single partner, multiple partner, vaginal penetration, condom use, anal penetration, oral and vaginal simultaneous penetration, oral and anal simultaneous penetration, vaginal and anal simultaneous penetration, double vaginal penetration, nipple play, breath play, spitting, hair pulling, kissing, and more.

Nothing on there shocks me too much, and I answer yes to pretty much all of it, except anal any kind. And the condoms. I know that they are for more than just stopping me from getting pregnant, but if they are clean and I am clean, and me being on birth control, I mark it as unwilling . Most guys hate using them anyway.

The second page is . . . a bit surprising. I have to do an internet search for some of the options.

Role-play—baby girl, role-play—kitten, soft restraints—wrists, soft restraints—ankles, soft restraints—other, collar, leash, spanking, paddling, hard restraints, shibari, penetrative sex toys, stretching sex toys, vibrating sex toys, nipple clamps, tongue clamp, age play, free use, cock warming, punishment, humiliation . . .

My clit throbs while reading through the list. I look up the difference between role-play—baby girl and age play. Age play seems to involve the use of actual baby items, like bottles, diapers, and baby clothes in adult sizes, rather than just acting younger and calling my partner "Daddy."

I glance at my teddy and coloring supplies. When I think of myself in my role-play age, I see myself as young, like six or so. Definitely not diaper wearing. Or bottles. But the idea of a pacifier is . . . intriguing. Ultimately, I mark age play as willing to try and write the number six next to it.

After sending pictures of my responses through the app, as well as a copy of my own medical record from the clinic at the last shelter I crashed out, I decide to up the ante.

If they're going to torture me with that list, then I'll have to make it worth their while.

I prop my phone on the countertop in the ensuite, aim it at the glass door of the shower, wait for the room to get steamy, and then set it all up. Using the time delay feature on my phone, I take photos of myself in the shower, all but my silhouette obscured by the steam.

After quite a few attempts, I send the daddies several shots, which turned out surprisingly well.

As I take my time getting ready, the minutes somehow simultaneously drag on and fly by. Before I know it, I'm sitting on the edge of the bed in my sexy, black-lace outfit, hair dried and straightened so that the ends tickle my upper ass. I divided the top section of my hair into two little pigtails, in a half-up, half-down look. For my makeup, I'd made the decision earlier today to just do mascara, opting not to spend money on anything else. Which is convenient, since that's basically all I own, besides a cherry-flavored lip gloss.

I stare at the digital clock on the bedside table, the red numbers illuminating the fact that they'll be here in fifteen minutes. My hands tremble as I clutch my phone, scrolling back through the photos of the daddies.

Jesus fucking christ.

Why am I so nervous right now? Even my thoughts are rambling.

It was never like this when I did a favor for Tray.

Is it because he isn't here?

Or because I said I wouldn't do this anymore, and here I am, going back on my word?

But this time is different, right?

This time is for me. For my future. Not to save Tray from some fuckup or to help him get ahead. Or because he feels like a fuck.

Goddammit, he has taken up far too many of my thoughts over the last twenty-four hours.

Cutting ties with him was supposed to clear my life of him.

It's been three weeks since I last saw him, not that he knew that was the last time he was going to see me. I'd kept my plans for myself to myself. He hasn't reached out and neither have I.

My phone buzzes in my hand and I glance down at the screen.

Holy shit, I only have two minutes until they arrive.

Below the time is a SugarLife notification and, holy fuck, there it is. My first half of their gift.

SugarLife

$5,000 has been gifted to you from Brat4Us. You can find your gift in your Vault.

My pulse thunders as I slowly stand, unplug my charger from the wall, and go to the closet, where I stashed all my things, and put my phone into my bag.

Feet slightly heavy, I walk out into the main area of the room and look around, making sure everything is where I left it.

My teddy bear is on the couch, and my coloring book and massive crayon pack are on the coffee table. A music channel is on the TV, and I consider changing it to a kids' channel but decide not to. If they want it to be on cartoons or something, they can change it.

I kneel beside the coffee table—my back to the door, because I have a feeling I'll need the extra few seconds to gather myself—and pour out a few of the crayons.

I select one at random, not even sure what color I pick, and start coloring the first picture that interests me—a kitten playing with a ball of wool.

Okay, I can do this.

As I fill in the kitten with blue, I start to settle, my nerves turning from blaring alarm bells to a quiet noise far off in the distance.

I can do this.