Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 103033 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103033 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
I sipped my coffee and scrolled through the comments in The Game group. A few subs had posted photos of the acceptance letters they’d received today.
Damn, Gael better not have seen this already.
Ah, Noa. His comment made me chuckle.
OK SO I GOT THIS IN THE MAIL AND DADDY SAID, I GUESS THEY LET ANYBODY IN. THANKS?!
KC knew exactly how to handle his boy, that much was clear.
Tate had posted a comment as well.
I’m just going to say one thing. Fuck yes, dress code! We’re going to be a stylish bunch on Saturday!
I smirked at the next one from Sloan.
Remember, brats. Any offenses will be reported to Headmaster Walker and Headmistress Penelope.
And Corey’s that followed…
@TheMechanic Don’t be such a snitch, Daddy. (I’m so gonna pay for that!)
Shay was sharp. He asked the right question.
Define offenses, Sir…
Unfortunately for him, right and wrong didn’t matter—because Greer delivered the response of a Sadist.
@LilFighterpup, that’s none of your business.
Yeah, this was gonna be fun. Gael’s acceptance letter waited for him in a cupboard where I’d hidden it.
I drank some more of my coffee, just in time for my DM icon to get that little red dot, indicating a new message. Nora had replied.
I’m boooored. And sort of embarrassed. I tried to friend Mistress Penelope, and she denied the request. :| I’m hoping it’s because she only friends people she actually knows, but IDK. Otherwise, life is great or something! How are you, Busy Bee Daddy? Your triad is all over the gossip news.
Hm. I couldn’t speak for Penelope, though I bet that stung. Nora had harbored a crush on Penelope for a while. It was one of the reasons Nora had joined Mclean.
I messaged her back.
I’ll put in a good word for you with Pen on Saturday. Life is great or something? You know what I think about vague answers. Spill.
Let them talk. I’m very happy with everyone knowing Dean and Gael are mine. ;)
In fact… Once I’d sent the DM, I went back to my profile and added two dynamics.
Daddy of @Button
Ruler of @TheHistorian
There. That felt ridiculously good. And if Gael saw the notification immediately, maybe it would distract him from the messages raining down in the event group.
Or send him straight there.
“Are these good, Daddy?”
I glanced over at him and inspected his work. “Even smaller, baby. You want it as finely chopped as possible.”
“Got it!” He gathered the pile of chopped carrots and began cutting them into smaller pieces. “Soffritto—am I saying that right?”
“Perfectly. That’s what you make from battuto.” I grinned to myself and dumped the chopped celery into the pan. “Soffritto is the finished result.”
“Ohhh.” He bobbed his head in understanding, and possibly because he couldn’t stop moving when music was playing. “And it’s the base of some sort in the food—I’m learning.”
Yeah, he sure was. It made me stupidly happy that he wanted to cook with me.
Every now and then, he ran over to the kitchen window because “Daddy was late.”
I couldn’t deny that I loved that he called Dean Daddy sometimes, more so than the Master title. But that was only because my fetish was my fetish. It appealed to me more than regular D/s. Additionally, Dean was turning into a wonderful Daddy. I mean, Gael was developing that side of Dean. To my knowledge, he’d never identified as a Daddy before.
“Four minutes late now,” Gael huffed and returned to the island. “I want him to see the dynamic stuff right this second!”
“He’s probably stuck in traffic,” I reasoned.
“As long as he doesn’t check the forum before—I don’t wanna miss his reaction.” He snickered to himself, still finding it hilarious that I’d listed myself as Dean’s ruler.
In return, Gael had added us to his profile too, and he’d had the sweetest smile on his face while doing it. He was our boy and property.
I remembered when MySpace and Facebook became the next big thing, but social media had never really spoken to me. I’d started account after account, constantly forgetting my email and password. And here I was today, all but giddy about status changes.
I shook my head to myself.
You’re forty-two, man.
Oh, whatever. I was happy. The dynamics were a public declaration, though more than that, a testament to us. To me. We were doing this; we wanted to be together. It was real.
By the time Gael was done with the carrots, I was adding the onion to the pan, and that was when we heard a car pull in.
“He’s here!” Gael gasped. Then he was sprinting out of the kitchen.
Looked like I didn’t have to distract him from the event group after all. So far, not a word about the acceptance letters.
“Hi, Daddy, you’re late! Late is unacceptable!”
Dean laughed gruffly. “I said I’d be home around six, didn’t I? How are you, my peach?”
I listened to them greeting each other while I put the pan on the stove and poured some olive oil into the mixture. I had to rub my jaw too, because I’d been smiling too much lately. Their fault, obviously. Gael’s excitement—but also his politeness and concern for others. He always wanted to know how work had been, what we were doing, how things worked, and if everything was good. He cared so genuinely, and he was constantly on standby to help out.