Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

Ebony sees I’m online.A message pings through as my cab arrives back in London.

How was it? Did you like being naughty little Holly all night long?

She has no idea how much I liked it. My stomach is still churning with the want, need, to go back there right now, to Daddy’s house. The thought of him is still so alive in my head it’s making me dizzy.

User 762 was such a powerful figure. So caring, but so stern. So loving, but so commanding. The thought that it’s over now – after just one single night – feels wrong. Again, oh the irony.

It’s fucked up on so many levels, but my emotions are singing to a crazy, frazzled tune.

I loved it, it was weirdly amazing, I tell her, but what I really want to say is I loved him. I loved Holly’s daddy.

And…her next message says.

I’m still trying to find the words to describe it, how to even begin. I type and delete, type and delete. How the hell do I say it? I’m crazy about a stranger I met last night.

She must see my stilted typing.

Are you struggling? Morning after syndrome?

I look at her message, puzzled.

What’s morning after syndrome?

The cab pulls up at my place. It looks like more of a shithole than ever after the beauty of Daddy’s. I don’t even want to go in.

I’m stood looking at the wooden door, with its chipped black paint and loose handle when my phone buzzes with Ebony’s next message.

Morning after syndrome. It’s a term we use. Look it up in the chatroom, or I’ll give you a call about it, if you like? I’ve just got in from an all-nighter with Mr Medic, and Stephen’s done the school run.

Great, thanks, I say. Give me five.

At least it gives me the impetus to go inside.

I grab a glass of water from our gross excuse for a kitchen, stacked high with dirty plates, then head up to my room. I toss my backpack and coat aside and throw myself down on my bed.

Urgh.

I stare up at the ceiling, still in pigtails and my school uniform, already pining another round in Wrenshaw.

I want Daddy again.

I reach my laptop from the dressing table when Ebony’s call starts pinging through. I’m virtually lying down when I click answer, and she does a double take. My pigtails must be sprawled across my pillows.

“Holy fuck, Ella. You make a convincing schoolgirl. I wondered if it was really you then.”

My laugh is shallow. “Yeah, well, I wish it was convincing enough to be true right now. I’d love some more time as young Holly the naughty schoolgirl.”

She sighs, her eyes scoping mine out through the screen.

“You missing him? Did you want to stay?”

“Want the honest answer?”

“Always, yeah.”

I place a hand on my stomach. It’s still churning. My brain is still trying to process things, like a spiral of a whirlwind, everything out of control.

“I swear to God, Eb, I didn’t want to leave, and how I have, I feel sick. Like a pang, right here.”

I point to my sternum, where the ball of aching want is.

“Yep,” she says. “You’ve got morning after syndrome. It happens, don’t worry. You’re a newbie. Everything is intense. So many sessions will feel like they mean something. Totally normal.”

I think of Daddy holding me in his arms last night and telling me what a good girl I am. It makes the aching ball in my ribs pang even harder.

“We were so up close,” I tell her. “It felt so real. Not like in the proposal.”

She looks confused by that. “It wasn’t like the proposal? Did he tweak it, or offer additional terms or something? What happened?”

That’s when it occurs to me. It didn’t deviate at all from the proposal. It was exactly as he said it would be, it was just more heated… more real… more intimate. But that’s my take, not his. To him it was probably just a game. He’s probably played it a hundred times over. It likely meant fuck all. I meant fuck all.

The very thought of that hurts.

I sigh. “No, actually, it was exactly like the proposal. It’s just weirded me out.”

“Yeah,” she says. “Morning after syndrome. It feels like it was real. It’s ok, babe. It happens, all the time. You’ll get used to it, and then it eases off again. Clients blur, roleplay becomes easier, less personal.”

I look away from the screen. I’m not convinced.

“Ella,” she says. “Listen to me. It’s normal. Look it up in the chatroom. Morning after syndrome.”

“Ok, I will.”

“What was he like?” she asks. “He must have been quite a guy to get you this caught up in him.”

I tell her about my night with Dadd–, no. No! He’s User 762. I tell Ebony about my night with User 762. Because that’s what he is. He’s a client. He’s not my daddy.

I have a daddy of my own in Australia, and I’ve never, ever, EVER in a million years contemplated getting off on fake daddy play, the proposal would have likely squicked me the hell out if it wasn’t for the 5k on offer.

Wait… about the 5k…

I check the funds are in my account, and they are, minus the agency cut. Plus there’s a bonus. An extra 1k. Fucking hell.

My eyebrows shoot up.

“What?” Ebony asks.

“He’s given me a bonus.”

“Great stuff! You might well be seeing him again, then. Another night with Daddy might well be on the horizon.”

I’m still staring at my bank account balance. It’s easily as surreal as the lovesick puppy feelings in my gut. I have money. Real money. The balance is healthy beyond healthy.

“Has your review come in yet?” Ebony asks. “If he’s given you that much of a bonus, I guess it will be top marks.”

I’m scared to look, in case it’s not. Any criticism of last night would feel like a punch in the ribs.

Ebony’s stare is quite something onscreen when I meet her eyes again. She looks as though she’s worried I’m ill.

“I don’t need hospital or anything.” I laugh, trying to make light of it. “I’m sure I’ll survive.”

“Yeah, I know that, but this isn’t like you. He’s really had an impact.”

“Sure. Morning after syndrome, like you said.”

“Exactly. It can hit like a slammer.”

“I’ll look it up in the chatroom,” I tell her, but she doesn’t seem to believe me.

“People always say that, then they wallow for days.”

I feel like a criminal caught in the act, because that’s what I want to do. Wallow in memories of my fake daddy for days, still lying here in my pigtails. The realisation is so dumbass that my rationality switches back on, at least just a little.

Daddy was a client. For one night. I don’t even know his name.

I now have thousands extra in my bank account and should be dancing around the room, not maudling in a fake school uniform, panicking that I didn’t land an A++ in my review. School report. Ha.

“That’s good,” Ebony says, when she sees the glint of a smile on my face. “I thought you might be stalking out Wrenshaw from how you were acting.”

“I’m not that bad!”

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t so sure.” She fake wipes her forehead with a phew, and I see the genuine care in her eyes. “Go on,” she says. “Check out the review. The notification must be waiting there.”

It is. I can see the icon at the top of my phone screen.

“Do it!” she says. “I’m as intrigued as you are.”

“I doubt that, somehow.”

“Ok, well, nearly as intrigued.” She waves her hands at me. “Jeez, Ella, just open the review, will you? I want to see what he’s had to say!”

“Fine, alright.”

I still have an edge of the impudent schoolgirl Holly about me. That alone makes me smile as I finally click to read my feedback. My nerves are jangling as bad as they were in the cab yesterday. Damn, that feels so long ago.

Five stars.

Holly the schoolgirl was a pure treasure. Her acting was impeccable. Her roleplay was divine, and as for her bedroom skills – I’d be very surprised if anyone would be able to surpass this experience. I’ve enjoyed a lot of entertainers over the years, both naughty boys, and naughty girls, but this was a new dynamic. She almost blew me out of my role, and that speaks volumes in itself. I’m a very, very determined actor.

Her ass is perfect for a spanking, and her sweet voice is beautiful. She looks wonderful in pigtails, but she’d look wonderful in anything from lacy lingerie to a clown outfit, so take your pick.

Holly was the best entertainer I’ve ever shared the night with.

I don’t say that lightly, so take heed.

Wow. Just wow. And oh my God. Daddy likes naughty boys, too. Fuck, that’s hot. Insanely hot. Urgh. That’s only made the pang of wanting him even worse.

I read the review out to Ebony, and she cheers for me.

“Five stars! Nailed it again! Go you!”

I’m glowing happy, but reading his words only makes the puppy dog lurch come back stronger. Maybe I will have to look up this morning after syndrome.

“How do you suggest I get over him?” I ask Ebony.

“It’ll only take a few days. The trick is, stay busy, and remind yourself that he isn’t real. He’s a character, just like you were. It’s easy to make characters into fantasy heroes when you’ve had a good night with them.”

“Great timing, isn’t it?” I roll my eyes. “The one time I need to keep busy is the one where I’ve just quit my day job.”

“Tempted to go ask for your job back? You could beg and plead to be a good girl.”

I laugh at that. “NO!”

“Exactly, so find some hobbies. Some actual hobbies, and I don’t mean following Connor around like a groupie, cheering him on from the side of the stage.”

Jesus. I haven’t thought about Connor in ages. It’s like he’s been wiped from my head, erased into nothingness. I look over and his rucksack is still there, but I haven’t even registered it. I haven’t been giving a toss about him and Carly. I genuinely couldn’t give a shit about him anymore.

He was the only hobby I really had.

How pathetic really. My life was all about him. Just WTF, seriously?

“Right, I’ll get some hobbies,” I say to Eb. “I might take up yoga. Pilates. Crochet.” I laugh. “Drama classes. Sounds like with training, I could win an OSCAR… Will you walk down the red carpet with me?”

That sets us off in giggles, and I love it when that happens. We’re laughing until she’s holding her sides, and I roll over on the bed, pretty sure I’m snot-laughing into my pillow.

The comedown from that is special on its own.

“I have to go,” she says, finally. “Got to shower and sleep before later. I’ve got a bondage booking at midnight.”

“Jeez, do you ever stop?!”

“Nope. And if you have any sense, I suggest you get right on and at it again. One of the biggest ways to get over morning after syndrome is with another booking. Something totally different.”

“Ok,” I tell her.

“Catch you later.” She blows me a kiss and I blow her one back.

Then I do as I’m told and fire up the chatroom.

Morning after syndrome.

She wasn’t lying. There are loads of threads about it, mainly from newbies, with more experienced entertainers chipping in to help. One girl was so in love with a pair of masters that she was legit going to offer to live there with them for free. She would have split up with her boyfriend and everything. Luckily people talked her out of it, and she recovered. Plus, she searched their User IDs online, and they weren’t anywhere close to being masters in real life. One of them was a traffic warden, who also made bookings for guys offering to give him blowjobs in exchange for fake parking offences. Hardly the aristocratic lord of bondage he portrayed himself to be in the session.

It’s all fantasy. FANTASY. And being paid for it.

Reading through the thread makes me feel less alone, and considerably less crazy. The knot of loss in my stomach loosens, slowly, and Ebony was right. She usually is.

I should take the rest of her advice as well… and get another proposal booked in ASAP. Something with a totally different flavour.

I scout through my messages. Standard, standard, standard. Nope, nope, nope. There’s a guy who wants me to pretend to be his dirty girlfriend at his work Christmas party, and hang out with his friends the next day, but I can’t do that yet. That roleplay would be a whole other league. There’s another guy who wants me to shoot ping pong balls from my pussy, for God’s sake, but I haven’t got the pelvic floor down nearly enough – I need to get on that again. And then, last on the list. Ooh. This one captures my interest…

User 1982. Female. 39.

I want you to fuck my husband while I watch you. I want you to fuck him like you’re fucking crazy for him and he’s the hottest guy you’ve ever had, begging for more of his dick while he pounds you. Anal and pussy.

I’m going to be a jealous bitch right the way through. I’m going to tell you you’re a disgusting, cheap slut, and slap you around, and spit on you, but nothing is going to stop you fucking him. You’ll be too crazy about him to stop, and you’ll tell me so.

By the end, I’m going to be so frustrated that I’ll make you take a ‘dick’ of my own at the same time. It’ll be a big one. Call it punishment, but you’ll be such a needy slut you’ll want it anyway.

You’ll be grateful enough to beg for it, and demonstrate that by eating my pussy like a hungry whore.

It’ll be my husband’s time to watch by then…

Duration – 6 hours.

Proposal price – £2400.

I read that one through a few times. Not something I’d have generally considered… fake adultery while a jealous woman tells me what a bitch I am and abuses me with spit and slaps. It sounds weirdly fun, though. Definitely one for the experience book. Plenty different from daddy play in Wrenshaw that the morning after syndrome can go take a hike. Or I hope so.

I consider the price and work it out – 2.4k minus the agency cut, divided by six, works out at just over 300 quid an hour. I work it out further – £5 a minute. Five pounds a minute for fucking a guy like I love him while his wife spits and slaps, ending with a meal of pussy and a good stretch.

I click accept – it’s a great price – and I choose a date from the options.

Fuck it, why not?

I pick tonight.

Another address in suburbia. This one on the outskirts of West London. It looks an impressive abode on street view.

I’m about to log out of the app when the search bar catches my eye again, tempting me… I can’t help myself. One more little nod to the morning after syndrome, and hopefully a bit of a reality check.

I type in User 762 and hit the search button.

My heart is pounding when the list of threads shows up. My stomach drops when I see just how many users have been with him.

The best daddy ever!

Seriously. His house is crazy. I’d move into his garage it’s that flash.

King of spanking. His palms are SOLID.

Makes a great chicken casserole.

The last comment hits me pretty deep. The idea of other sons and daughters sitting at his dining table, eating chicken casserole with him makes me feel… jealous. But then again, on his review he did say I was the best of them…

I’m still scanning the threads when I find one that stands out to me. A lot. I click for more info.

Daddy is a lovely man, protective and fierce, like a good disciplinarian should be. He taught me my lesson for my naughty notebook, and I was the most convincing sorry daughter I could be. He loves big tits, and he loves bath time. I adored how he bathed my pussy clean and put me to bed like a good girl. If you get an offer of his, take it. You won’t regret it.

All great, and true, and cool – but that’s not what struck me about it. What struck me about it was the name of the entertainer who’d posted it…

Creamgirl.

The other hardcorers have given it a thumbs up. Weston, Harlot AND Bodica. Maybe they’ve played with him, too…

Suddenly my five-star review takes on a whole new significance. I read it through again with a flush of pride.

‘Holly was the best entertainer I’ve ever shared the night with.

I don’t say that lightly, so take heed.’

No, he doesn’t say that lightly. He fucked Creamgirl. The top of the block – and maybe some other hardcorers, too. But even if not, Creamgirl is the most hardcore of the hardcorers, with the best reputation on the whole entire site.

Yet still, Daddy preferred me.

Proud doesn’t even come close.

And now my heart’s pounding to a whole new beat. I have a new role to play – an insatiable lover, so fucking cray-cray she won’t even stop when being attacked by the jealous wife. Won’t back down when she’s forced to eat pussy. Won’t complain at being stretched. No, this slutty character will beg for more – and take it. I want another five-star incredible review, and I’m going to do my utmost to get it.