Needing a minute to myself, I grab my things, head to my room and close the door behind me, only to be confronted with the half dozen black bags of lingerie that I didn’t take with me tonight. Needing the comfort of my bed, I quickly remove everything and pull the blankets back before climbing in and snuggling down into the two pillows as best I can.
My room is bare, save for the furniture that the room came with—bed, one bedside table, and a chest of drawers, all of which have seen better days. Not that I can judge the state of the furniture, considering I turned up with my duct-tape-and-pins backpack and two garbage bags containing all my worldly possessions.
The foster system didn’t really allow for having anything more. And after a couple of weeks bouncing between shelters and street camps, my shit was limited. The majority of my clothes are hand-me-downs or from thrift stores. Besides the lingerie I bought earlier today, I own nothing brand new.
The lingerie shopping was today.
Today’s timeline of events is seriously shocking my system.
The cab ride to the hotel was today.
It all happened today.
Why does it feel like it was weeks ago?
It’s like my internal clock has been forever shifted, and I have no idea if the dial was rotated forward or backward. It’s just before hotel and after hotel.
I pull up my phone and go to the SugarLife app. It’s still open to the yet-to-be-responded-to private invitation. Doing my best to not think about it too much, I scroll down and click Accept. My breath catches when I scroll back up and spot the green icon next to Brat4Us, indicating that they are online.
A message comes through, and the screen auto-scrolls to the message.
Brat4Us: Thank you for accepting our invitation, Emmy.
Brat4Us: We have an apartment that we have adapted to our particular tastes and would love to share the space with you for the weekend.
Several grayed-out images with an icon of a closed eye appear, and I tap on the first one to enlarge it.
A stunning black, chrome, and reflective kitchen appears. Then a bedroom with an absolutely massive bed. But the next photo . . . damn. I’ve seen some of the pieces of furniture in my recent research. A St. Andrew’s Cross. A pillory. A spanking bench. A wall of paddles, whips, and crops.
Holy shit, how many do they need?
Brat4Us: If this doesn’t suit you, we are happy to book a larger suite at the same hotel for the entire weekend. Let us know your preference, and we will take it from there.
My preference? I don’t have a fucking clue. Does accepting the apartment as our location for the weekend mean I am saying yes to all of . . . that? I mean, I’m not against it. The idea of being cuffed to that spanking bench and being forced to choke on one of their cocks while another paddles my ass has my pussy trying to rally.
And the fact that I’m even thinking about sex shit like that is mind-boggling.
Could I spend an entire weekend at their mercy? Letting them use all of that on me? Or should I opt for the hotel room and force them to keep the kink light?
We would have that limits discussion again, though, right? I could tell them my yeses and noes, and then I would just have to trust them to keep to their word. And after tonight, I feel fairly confident that, while they are fucking filthy bastards, they are gentlemen.
So, apartment or hotel?
I allow the heavy thread of want that is running through my veins to tempt me as I reply.
SugarBB_Emmy: The apartment, please, Daddies.
My message is Read immediately. Bubbles appear, and I nibble nervously on the side of my finger as I wait for their reply.
Brat4Us: Perfect. Here is the address. Please use a rideshare or taxi and arrive in one hour.
A link to a map appears next. I raise my eyebrows when it loads—it’s actually super close to campus. Not quite walking distance. Convenient. Besides, they probably don’t want it to too close to their actual homes or workplaces, because that would look sus as fuck.
Four men in their late thirties all sharing a one-bedroom apartment, with women coming and going. Yeah, sure, nothing shady happening here.
I exit out of the map and return to the chat.
SugarBB_Emmy: I can be there in an hour. Do I need to pack anything, other than my new lingerie?
Brat4Us: We may choose to keep you naked and ready for us in the apartment all weekend, but just in case we want to take you out, it would be good if you brought a couple of outfits with you. We prefer sundresses.
Naked and ready? All weekend?
My thighs clench while my brain misfires, only picking up on keywords. I feel like I have drunk my weight in alcohol with the way I can’t seem to connect the dots on things. One thing I do know? I need to respond, then I need to go ask Oakley if I can borrow some sundresses—whatever the fuck those are.
SugarBB_Emmy: Yes, Daddies. See you soon xx
I can’t help but to brat, just the tiniest bit.
SugarBB_Emmy: P.S. My pussy feels stretched and used. I can still feel you all inside of me.
