Dirty Daddies Underground

Chapter Seven

Harper's POV

Is it strange that I’m already beginning to feel safe here? Not safe in the way of knowing someone, trusting them entirely, but safe in the way I feel when I’m sewing, when the world goes quiet and all that matters is what my hands are doing.

They aren’t pushing me. They aren’t rushing toward anything. There’s something strangely respectful in the way they’re approaching this, and I don’t know what to make of it.

But I do know I have to be honest.

Maybe they’re looking for someone with experience. Someone who knows the language of this world already and doesn’t need to ask what every word means. I hesitate for a second, then type.

BruisedLace: No, this is my first time. I’ve never had a Daddy, or done anything like this before. I understand if that’s an issue and you want someone more experienced.

I stare at the message after it sends, chewing my bottom lip as I debate whether to leave it there. But I need to ask them something too, something that’s been circling my thoughts since their last message.

BruisedLace: What about you? Have you ever shared someone before?

They said it was rare, but rare could mean anything. It could mean once a year. It could mean once in a lifetime. Was it casual? Was it something fleeting, or was it with someone who knew how to belong in that world? I don’t know why I care, but I do.

I don’t close the chat. I watch the little icon shift to read, and then the typing bubble appears. They’re still here. Still responding. And I can’t lie, part of me is grateful for that.

The other part of me, the one buried deep, is scared to admit just how much I want this. I want it for reasons I can’t tell Mark. I want it for reasons I can barely explain to myself.

Part of me still believes if I do this, if I go through with it, Mark might let go of the debt he keeps hanging around my neck like a noose. Maybe he’ll stop reminding me of what I owe him. Maybe things will go back to how they used to be.

But the other part, the one Mark can’t reach, the one that’s mine, wants this for entirely different reasons. That part is quiet but real. That part craves it.

The_Triumvirate: Don’t worry about your experience, or lack of it. Your past isn’t an issue for us, it’s a concern, yes, but not an obstacle. As for your question… we have shared before. Not often, and never with someone who truly fit. By the end, it always felt like something was missing. We can each find someone individually, but together? That’s harder.

Their honesty makes something shift in me. But one word keeps repeating itself. Concern.

Why is it a concern?

BruisedLace: Why would my lack of experience be a concern?

I don’t wait long. Their answer comes quickly, and with it, another unexpected heat spreads through my chest, not fear this time, not shame. Something else.

The_Triumvirate: Because most people start with one Daddy, and those relationships tend to be soft, slow, and carefully guided. When someone’s new, they’re gently introduced to the world. You’re jumping into the deep end. Three of us, one of you. That’s not small. We’re concerned for your well-being, that’s our priority right now.

I blink down at the screen, not sure why those words stir something warm in me, but they do.

They’re concerned for me.

Not the money. Not the logistics. Not what I can give. Me.

Most men I’ve known don’t care if I’m overwhelmed or scared. They don’t ask. They don’t check. They take what they want and leave me with the silence after, as if I was never meant to feel anything at all.

But these three? They’re asking.

Mark’s voice echoes in the back of my head again, full of contempt and certainty. They’re probably fake. They won’t go through with it. You’re wasting time.

Maybe he’s right. Maybe they’re too kind, too patient, too perfect to be real.

But maybe this world really is different.

I don’t want to doubt them, but I don’t want to make excuses either. Not for myself. Not for them. I shift, adjusting the blanket, and spill what’s left of my coffee across my thigh. I jump, startled by the sudden wet warmth, then curse softly and tug off the damp fabric.

I toss the trousers aside, pull on a pair of shorts, and return to my phone, still open in my palm. I don’t give myself time to hesitate. I type what needs to be said.

BruisedLace: Your concern for me is sweet, but not needed. While I’ve never done anything like this before, I’m not new to s*x. I’m not a virgin, and I’m definitely not untouched. I’ve experienced all kinds of men, some decent, most not. But I’ve always been drawn to this lifestyle, and I never knew how to start exploring it until now.

I pause briefly, then continue.

BruisedLace: I’m doing this for me. My nerves don’t come from the fact that there are three of you. They come from the fear of disappointing you, of getting something wrong, of not living up to what you’re expecting.

Even as I write it, I know it’s only half the truth. But it’s the half I’m willing to share.

BruisedLace: Your concern, as I said, is appreciated. But I’m here. I’m willing. If you’re struggling to trust that I know what I want, then maybe this isn’t a good fit after all. And that’s okay. One of the biggest rules in this lifestyle is trust, right? If you don’t feel it, then just tell me, and I’ll thank you for your time and walk away.

The message feels sharp in my hands, but I don’t take it back. I send it and watch the screen, the message turning to “read” almost immediately.

But then there's nothing.

No typing bubble. No response.

Just stillness.

I stare at the screen, and every second of silence stretches wider, deeper, until it starts to feel like an answer in itself.

Maybe Mark was right.

Maybe it was never going to happen.

I close the chat with a quiet breath and move on to the next notification.

A message from the first man.

SilverFox: Hello, BruisedLace. I hope you’re well. Would you like to know more about what I want?

His message is polite, measured, but something about it doesn’t sit right. I can’t quite explain why, not yet.

BruisedLace: Thank you for the reply. I’m good, how are you? What does the date with public affection include?

I already asked this once, but he didn’t answer. I scroll back and confirm it, watching the old message sit untouched.

SilverFox: I’m good. It’s great to hear you’re well. Dinner with public affection is exactly what it says.

That tells me nothing.

BruisedLace: I understand what it means in theory. But I’m asking what your public affection includes. Everyone defines that differently.

There’s a pause, then his answer appears.

SilverFox: How about we meet for a coffee and discuss it?

I stare at the message, blinking.

He wants to meet to discuss what the dinner date would look like?

It feels like a stall tactic. Like a baited hook, not a genuine invitation.

I set the phone aside without replying.

There’s something about him that feels off. Not aggressive, not inappropriate, just evasive. Like the list on his profile isn’t real, like he’s not actually offering anything except empty language dressed in polite conversation.

He was the only one who actually said the price upfront as well, was that to draw in people

And I don’t have time for games.