Dirty Daddies Underground

Chapter Eight

Theo’s POV

I don’t reply to her message. Not yet.

Her words are still sitting there, staring up from the screen like they know they’ve unsettled something in me. I told the others I’d respond while they were tied up in that meeting, promised them I’d keep the conversation moving until we could all sit down together. But the truth is, I can’t. Not after what she said.

We hadn’t expected a response like that. Not from someone new.

Most girls who find us on the app know exactly what they’re looking for, or they pretend to. Some are playful, a few are bold, and the rest are so carefully rehearsed it’s hard to tell what’s real. But her? She came to us raw. Nervous, yes, but direct. Honest in a way that doesn’t feel curated. And now this, these latest messages, they’re so certain, so grounded in her own voice, it doesn’t sound like a girl guessing her way through a role she doesn’t understand.

And that’s what worries me.

I set the phone down on the bench and step away from it, forcing myself to focus.

I’ve been in the gym for over an hour now and haven’t accomplished much beyond pacing between machines and replaying her words in my head. The pull-up bar is still overhead, waiting, and I reach for it with a sigh, wrapping my fingers around the metal and lifting myself up in a slow, controlled motion. My body moves on instinct, but my mind doesn’t follow. It’s still caught in that last message.

She said she was doing this for her. Said she wasn’t untouched. That her nerves weren’t from fear of us, but fear of disappointing us. That she wanted this.

And maybe she does.

But I’ve been doing this long enough to know that some people lie to themselves first.

That screen between us can turn anyone into whoever they want to be. I’ve seen it before, girls who sound fearless in chat, who speak like they’ve already tasted every shade of submission, and then fold the second reality begins to bite.

It isn’t the inexperience that bothers me. We’ve all agreed, we’d be willing to guide someone new. We’ve even talked about what that would look like. What we never discussed, not really, was the idea of someone completely untouched by the world itself. Someone who’s never had a Daddy. Never explored kink. Never tested the boundaries of this lifestyle, even in a one-on-one dynamic.

That’s different.

That’s a kind of blank slate we weren’t expecting.

And if we misread her, if she’s not as ready as she thinks she is, then we could do real damage.

I drop from the pull-up bar and stretch my arms, sweat already sliding down the curve of my spine, dampening the edge of my tank top. My muscles burn in that satisfying, slow way, but the tension hasn’t left me. If anything, it’s settling deeper into my chest.

I move toward the rig at the back wall and lower myself onto the glide board. It’s part of a newer setup, one of those viral trends I’d seen floating around for weeks before we finally installed the equipment. Lying flat on my back, I grip the overhead bar, bracing my legs while the pulley system holds my weight. Then I begin pulling myself forward in steady, deliberate reps.

The motion is smooth, rhythmic. It gives my hands something to do while my mind keeps circling back to her.

She doesn’t sound like someone unsure.

But that’s the problem.

Because what if that certainty is just need?

Need makes people brave in all the wrong ways. And money, God, money makes people leap before they know where they’re going to land. She said she wasn’t doing it for that, but I’ve heard plenty of people say the same thing with trembling hands and eyes they couldn’t hold steady.

We don’t do this to save people. We don’t pay as a lifeline or a rescue.

We pay as a gesture. A thank you. A shared reward for something that belongs to both of us, not just us taking what we want and leaving someone hollow behind. That’s not what we do. It never has been.

If we take her on, if we agree, it wouldn’t be for a quick night where we get what we want and don't help her.

It would be a process.

We’d guide her, teach her, train her, not just in obedience, but in understanding. In trust. In choice. She’d be allowed to explore, to enjoy, to discover what this world means to her, not just what it means to us.

That’s why we ask questions.

That’s why I’m hesitating now.

Because if I thought for even a moment that she was forcing herself into this, trying to survive something instead of wanting it, I would walk away without a word.

And I’m not sure yet which it is.

So I keep moving, keep pulling myself up and down that rig, sweat clinging to every inch of skin, muscles aching with the slow resistance, heart pounding as hard from thought as from exertion.

And I wait.

Not just for my own answer.

But for theirs.

I’m not sure how long I’ve been in the gym. Time seems to have bled into itself, each rep and movement folding over the last like pages turned without reading. Right now, I’m skipping rope, rhythm steady beneath my feet, but my thoughts haven’t left her.

BruisedLace.

That username alone says so much. There’s something delicate about it, something exposed. It draws a picture of softness marred by experience, and I can’t tell if that’s what appeals to me, or worries me. Maybe it’s both.

A laugh cuts across the room.

“Sh*t, he’s skipping.”

Mason drops into a nearby chair, amusement painted across his face. I glance over at him without stopping.

Nathan follows close behind, slumping down beside Mason on the bench like they’ve been running for hours instead of sitting through another expansion meeting. “Meeting’s done. Expansion’s holding steady. That’s us caught up,” he says, rubbing his temples. “Now onto you. How did it go?”

I slow to a stop and toss the rope aside, chest rising and falling with the afterburn of exertion. Sweat clings to my skin like static.

“Her saying she hadn’t done this before…” I pause, leaning back against the wall as I pull a towel over the back of my neck, “…she didn’t just mean the app. She meant everything. The lifestyle, the dynamic. All of it.”

Mason leans back in his chair, eyebrows raised. “Sh*t. So what did you say?”

“Told her we were concerned, then she replied, and I didn’t.”

I motion to the table where they’ve left their phones, and both of them grab theirs, unlocking the screens with swift, familiar movements. A silence settles over us as they read, the sound of muted notifications.

After a moment, Nathan looks up, his expression unreadable. “She seems pretty forward with it. What are you thinking?”

I rub the sweat from my arms and lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “She’s shown no signs of uncertainty. Not in the messages. She hasn’t asked about payment. Hasn’t tried to steer the conversation toward specifics that usually hint at desperation. If she hadn’t told us this was new, I would’ve assumed she was seasoned. Comfortable.”

We’ve spoken to a lot of women through that app. Most of them don’t make it past the first few exchanges. Either they lose interest, or we do. We’re careful, cautious. Always.

“She sounds like she’s in,” Nathan says thoughtfully, scrolling. “Those last few messages… she wants this. The real question is where will she go if we tell her no?”

“Her account’s new,” Mason says, not lifting his eyes from the screen. “Are we sure this isn’t about the money?”

I meet his gaze. “Do the messages sound like that to you?”

He reads in silence for a few more seconds, then slowly shakes his head. “No. She sounds confident. Like she knows exactly what she’s asking for.” He exhales through his nose. “So what do we do?”

Nathan is already typing before the question even fully lands. “We keep talking. We don’t walk away. We don’t shut it down.”

He hits send, then looks at us. Grabbing my phone I open the app to read.

The_Triumvirate: BruisedLace, we’re sorry about that. We don’t mean to sound like we don’t trust you. We do. We just have to be sure.

A solid start.

Nathan types again.

The_Triumvirate: We don’t know you, and we shouldn’t assume things. What we do know is that the few messages we’ve exchanged have us all hooked. We’re worried for you, not suspicious of you. We care—even if we haven’t met you.

I watch the words appear and feel something settle in my chest. Nathan’s always been the best with words. He knows how to soften the edge without losing the point.

The_Triumvirate: We’d love to keep talking, if you’re still willing. You’re right—trust is everything in this, and we do trust you. Will you let us continue? We can’t promise not to worry, but if you can promise to tell us the second anything feels wrong, then we’ll trust you to know your own mind.

Nathan hits send and locks his screen. “Done.”

I stand, running a hand over my hair. I glance at the screen still propped up on the bench beside me. Her profile has gone offline. The message says “read,” but there’s no response.

“Sin and Obey?” I mutter under my breath. “We just f*cked that one up.”

Mason shrugs as he stands, brushing his hands down his joggers. “We were trying to be safe. No one can hate us for that.” He slides his phone into his pocket.

“Give her time,” Nathan adds, stretching out his legs. “Let her think. If she doesn’t come back, then it wasn’t meant to be.”

I nod slowly, turning toward the hall to go to my bedroom, letting the weight of uncertainty follow me like a shadow.

They’re probably right.

But it doesn’t make it feel any better.