Page 153 of Morally Gray Daddies

I swallowed hard, my mouth dry. "I… I choose the program," I whispered, shame and fear and the bizarre, unwelcome arousal caused by the word Daddy all warring within me.

“All you have to do is sign on the tablet,” she said, nodding towards the device where it lay on her desk, looking completely ordinary and innocuous. I bit my lip. I put out my finger and traced my signature in the box.

Miss Pierce nodded, satisfied. She picked up her phone. I watched with trepidation as she spoke quietly into the handset, her words indistinct but her tone unmistakably authoritative. My heart raced, pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat. What had I just agreed to?

Only a moment later, the office door opened. A large man in a dark suit entered, his presence immediately dominating the room. He was easily over six feet tall, broad-shouldered and imposing. His salt-and-pepper hair was cropped short, and his face wore an expression of stern authority.

"Emily," Miss Pierce said, her voice crisp. "This is Victor Hargrove. He will be your Training Daddy for the first part of the program. You will call him Daddy Victor."

I felt myself shrink in my chair as the man — Victor… Daddy Victor — turned his assessing gaze on me. His eyes, a deep brown, seemed to see right into my mind.

"Stand up, young lady," he commanded, his voice deep and serious.

Trembling, I rose to my feet. Daddy Victor circled me slowly, his eyes appraising every inch of me. I felt exposed, vulnerable, like a specimen under a microscope.

"Follow me," he said abruptly. "We're going to the facility now."

"N-now?" I stammered, glancing frantically at Miss Pierce. "But my things?—"

"You won't need them," Daddy Victor cut me off.

I felt my face flush hot with humiliation at being spoken to that way. Like a child: yes, just as Miss Pierce had said. I swallowed back tears.

Only a child would think she could get away with it, right? Would tell herself she had created the money?

Not just a child, either. A bad girl.

Daddy Victor abruptly moved towards the door. I followed him out of Miss Pierce's office. My legs trembled with each step, and I kept my eyes fixed on the floor, unable to meet the curious gazes of my now former coworkers.

To make it much worse, once we had reached the corridor, Daddy Victor gripped my upper arm so firmly I almost cried out. He guided me through the office that way, and out to a waiting van. The vehicle was nondescript, with tinted windows that prevented me from seeing inside. My heart pounded frantically as he opened the rear door.

"Get in," he ordered gruffly.

I hesitated for just a moment, my breath catching in my throat. But Daddy Victor's stern glare made me move. His eyes spoke of consequences, and my now-fading memory of the agreement I had signed in Miss Pierce’s office suggested urgently that I should try very hard not find out what those consequences involved. I climbed into the van, finding myself in a small, windowless compartment with a bench seat along one side. The door slammed shut behind me, plunging me into darkness.

The drive seemed to last forever. With no view of the outside world, I lost all sense of time and direction. My mind raced with all the terrifying possibilities the agreement had seemed to intimate. What had I agreed to? What would this "rehabilitation" entail?

Finally, the van came to a stop. I heard doors opening and closing, footsteps approaching. The rear door swung open, flooding the compartment with harsh light. I blinked rapidly, my eyes struggling to adjust.

"Out," came Daddy Victor's curt command.

I stumbled out of the van on shaky legs. I squinted in the bright sunlight, trying to take in my surroundings. Some kind of manor house loomed before me, an imposing structure of gray stone and dark windows. High walls surrounded the property, topped with what looked unsettlingly like barbed wire. My stomach churned with dread.

Daddy Victor's hand clamped down on my shoulder, steering me towards the entrance. "Move," he ordered gruffly. I stumbled forward, my legs still unsteady from the long ride.

We entered through heavy wooden doors into a sterile, white-tiled hallway. The smell of antiseptic assaulted my nostrils, reminding me unpleasantly of a hospital. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting harsh shadows.

Daddy Victor guided me down several corridors, each looking identical to the last. I quickly lost all sense of direction. Finally, we stopped outside a door marked "Medical Assessment."

My breath caught in my throat. Daddy Victor pushed the door open and forced me inside in front of him. The room was small and clinical, dominated by a padded examination table with stirrups at one end. Various medical instruments gleamed menacingly on a nearby tray.

"Take off your clothes," Daddy Victor commanded. "All of them."

I gaped at him, mortified. "But…"

"Now, young lady," he growled. "Or I'll do it for you."

Trembling, I began to undress. Tears of shame pricked at my eyes. My fingers shook as I unbuttoned my blouse, face burning with humiliation. I couldn't bring myself to look at Daddy Victor as I slipped off my skirt and stockings. When I hesitated at my bra and panties, he cleared his throat impatiently. Biting my lip, I unhooked my bra and let it fall, then slowly pushed my panties down my legs. I stood there naked, arms crossed protectively over my chest, eyes fixed on the floor.

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