Page 126 of Morally Gray Daddies

So much of the past two weeks had been about words. Sir. Master. Yes. Please. There’d been others, too. Different words, meant to teach and remind me what my future owner would expect me to believe was my place.

Slave. Slut. Fucktoy.

Whore.

Which was actually kinda funny, because I both was and wasn’t any of those things. I’d told Sonja a lifetime ago, I liked sex. And the past two weeks I’d been shown—and had showed—that I did. All those words hadn’t changed that. They were just window dressing used for the actual physical act. A form of verbal foreplay. What mattered most in those moments when I became not the Aubrey I’d always seen myself as, but the Aubrey that had been kept hidden away, was the fact that everything being done was because I consented to it. Wanted it. Enjoyed it, even. And those times when he took and did not give in return—which wasn’t often, because of who he was—it honestly didn’t matter. I found pleasure in the act alone. Of giving pleasure. Of ultimately knowing I had control in a situation where a man believed he was the one who did, even when I knew the truth.

He didn’t.

Our second night here he’d told me his name. Another word he’d given me. I’d never used it, though. To me, he was never going to be that man. He’d always be Sir. Master. And another name, though I’d never said it out loud.

Daddy.

We’d talked, and I knew full well now why he couldn’t keep me. It made sense. In fact, given what he’d explained, I wouldn’t want it. He was right in what he’d told Master Devlin; I deserved so much more. Still, there’d always be a part of me that would think of him that way. Because he’d been the first person to open me up to what I’d kept hidden deep down, far beyond the teasing Sonja had given. As he’d put it several times, the true beauty of my nature.

Something to be cherished.

So… yeah, words. Some important, some for show, some for pleasure, and some just… words. Parts of this world I was stepping into were still so foreign to me, but at the same time, so much more intriguing and exciting than anything I could ever have imagined in my old life. And if I had to call some man Master, have him call me whore or slut or sex slave in return, dear God was that an inconsequential price to pay. Because he was right; I was strong. I was sexy. I was smart. I was worthy.

I was incredible.

And most important of all: I was the one who applied those values to myself. Others may think it or even say it, but in the end, my thoughts and what I believed were what counted the most.

Should circumstances ever put me with someone who didn’t recognize my worth, who, for whatever reason, truly, deep down, considered me as lesser than I really was… well, too bad, so sad. Their loss. I had that phone number and bank account, and if any man I chose to call Master decided to take me for granted, if they put me in a position where I really felt I needed to, I knew I could call it, and Daddy—my first, real, true Daddy—would make the problem… go away.

I really didn’t think it was ever going to come to that, though. Because nice as it was to think about, I knew the truth.

I could take care of myself just fine.

THE END

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