Page 4 of Daddy’s Rules

He squeezed my fingers in his grip. “An exit from a company. Made fifteen-fold the investment, and it wasn’t a small chunk of change either.”

Now I tingled, my entire body like Jell-O. He was in a different league to me. He was dealing with million-dollar deals, and I was dealing with boxes of legal papers and deadlines with no wiggle room. Thinking about it forced a lump of anxiety to settle in my throat. “I wish I had something like that to celebrate.”

With another tug, he now had my eyes focused on him. “What would you want to celebrate?”

“I’m studying for the LSAT, so I can apply to NYU School of Law and become a lawyer,” I told him. “I don’t want to be a paralegal for the rest of my life. I know people do, you know, to avoid the stress and debt of law school, but it’s not what I’ve always wanted to do.”

Max smirked, reaching out. He touched my face, hesitating slightly like he wanted permission. “Let me guess. You watched Legally Blonde and decided that.”

“Kinda. Is that bad?”

“Not at all, I just like to be right about these things.” He nodded. “Are you feeling up to exploring this place?”

I looked around, over my shoulder. Part of me wondered what the point was. I could never afford the membership fees or club dues—I’d flicked through the pamphlet. “I don’t wanna fall in love with the place, though.”

He laughed. “That’s why you get someone to sponsor you,” he said.

“And how many people do you sponsor?”

“Nobody. I’m not a sugar daddy,” he said. “And that’s what most of the people here want. Gifts. Money. A card in their name.”

I shook my head. “If I can be honest, it doesn’t sound like you’ve been having fun.”

Pulling his hand away, he shrugged. “I have plenty of fun. But I’m not here to be used. If you’re forgetting, I’m not the submissive. I will not be dominated financially like some of these men.” His eyes darted around the room behind me. “The question for you is, are we going to leave this table and I’ll give you a tour, then we’ll head up to my room, see if there’s a vibe, and maybe hookup? Or are you going to take your drink and head back out there?” His hand was on my leg, caressing my thigh with a firm grip.

“One more real question,” I started.

“Nine inches, uncut, and my bulge is prominent. I’m not all balls but they hang low, and yes, I’m getting hard.” With his other hand on mine, he pulled it to his thigh, mirroring each other, except my fingers were in a wet patch against the fabric tensioned over his dick. “And that’s just from you right now. If you were to submit and play, it could tear through this very expensive suit.”

Stunned to silence, the questions I had were nowhere to be found, but one was still there, the question he might not have answered at all. What was his net worth? If it was anything like his dick, it probably carried heavy weight in rooms I’d never get the chance to be in.

“I want it,” I whispered.

“Good boy.”

2. MAX

Moves were made. I liked to be the one making them and less the person being put in a situation to react. It was the control of approaching someone, of asking them if they wanted a drink, of encouraging a person to give in to themselves and confess to the things they desired.

Benji was new.

He was the type of guy I liked going for, the guy with the cute smile and innocent doe eyes. Beneath them, it was obvious he had a little freak waiting to come out, and I was a teacher, patient and understanding, but who could hand out a punishment.

The bonus that came with Benji was how much he knew of himself. What he liked and wanted, and from it, what I could give to him. He was a little, and I was a Daddy. Like peanut butter and jelly, we were a match made into the most indulgent of snacks.

I took him on a tour of the Playhouse, and he didn’t want to interact much with anything. We viewed the rooms on offer, unoccupied, and those stuffed with littles, mostly the ball pit. But he stayed right by my side, like a shy child. Even the alcohol hadn’t killed off those nerves.

On the tour, we went over my rules, the immediate ones.

Always be honest. Ask before you touch. Use your words.

They were key to consent, to understanding, to communication.

Benji was in his head, from the moment I met him, right up until I walked him to the door of the hotel above the club. Mine was a permanent fixture, twelfth floor, room three. It was a large room in the corner with a nice, almost panoramic view.

“If you’re overwhelmed, tell me,” I said, my hand on his lower back as he stood holding a fresh daiquiri, slowly sipping and melting the ice with his warm hands. “And if you want to go back to any of the rooms, let me know. I saw the way your eyes lit up at the pit.”

He nodded. “I might, if I had a onesie,” he said, screwing his lips together.