Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 61332 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61332 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
I wonder what he drives. I know he has a motorcycle, but he also seems like maybe a truck type of guy. I don’t get a sports car vibe from him. Definitely not sedan. I haven’t asked him what he does for a living, but the neighborhood he lives in suggests he at least isn’t a bum with a prepaid phone who’s texting me using free Wifi. Plus, he has a membership here, which isn’t one of those super-cheap gyms in shopping centers that are everywhere. Time of Your Life Athletics is pretty bougee, if I’m being honest. It’s one of my splurges I just refuse to give up, no matter how low my savings account goes.
Thankfully, a fellow Club Alias member I chat with whenever I see her works here, and I confided I hadn’t been doing very well on the mental health front when I finally got my ass here a few days ago and she asked where I’d been. She was kind enough to pause my card from being charged for the next few cycles after seeing on my account I hadn’t been in for five months.
When I check my notifications for the first time since leaving my car, I’m utterly thrilled to see Gym Daddy has not only sent me a couple of messages, but the first one is super long, my heartbeat skyrocketing as I sit back in the cushioned seat to devour his words.
RomanticSadistLL: The ones who understand (newbies are unfortunately preyed upon) what it is to be a true submissive are often very strong, powerful, intelligent, and independent women in real life and who offer and desire what they do to whoever they trust and feel deserve it. Because they need/crave the release they get from submitting. They want to feel a sort of freedom from the power, responsibility, decision-making, and those they view as weak. Speaking strictly of straight women who desire to submit, they want a man to be a MAN—strong, protective, decisive, a leader not to be questioned, and physically and mentally able to guide, control, and correct by any means necessary. But also a gentleman, nonetheless, who knows how to treat someone who gives themselves over and is under their care and protection. Cis female subs, slaves, pets, princesses, masochists, brats… these are egos I know and understand. Different kinks have different rules. True sadists just torture, and that's what they are and do. Their partners have different mindsets and needs. *I* am a hedonist… pleasure just for pleasure as well. If a girl wants to just fuck and play without anything “other”—meaning other than they just like to be used like some nympho porn star slut and probably fuck like one too—then by all means, let's fuck. Because vanilla is still ice cream. Not going to turn it down if it’s someone I desire, just because she doesn’t want to be ruled 24/7. It’s actually a very, very rare thing to find someone who wants to live the lifestyle all the time.
RomanticSadistLL: Can't meet in gym, little one. Discretion. I'll tell you where when I’m done showering. You'll have to just trust me… and you… to behave.
Oh, fucking hell. I can’t even spend a second dissecting what his long message means because he clearly wants me to meet him somewhere else. Somewhere that’s not my safe place, my happy oasis, where lots of the employees recognize and would look out for me if I told them I needed them to. And while I feel an embarrassingly deep connection to Gym Daddy after chatting with him and opening up more and more over the past week, in reality, I still don’t even know his name. Not even just his first name! I don’t know his occupation. I don’t know anything personal about him whatsoever.
And trust me, I’ve used all the FBI skills I’ve ever learned during book research to try to find this motherfucker. Reverse image search. Scouring the different social medias that are neighborhood and area based. Searching his screennames on every search-engine site on the fucking internet.
Not one damn thing.
He does not exist.
If it wouldn’t break the promise I’ve made to him about being discreet, I would totally ask my Club Alias acquaintance at the front desk who he is. I would walk up there and casually stand with her while we chat, letting her know that a hotty’s about to walk by us and out the door and that I’d buy her a coffee or something if she’d tell me who he is. Just his name. That’s all I’d need. And then I would deep-dive once again into the internet’s depths to find out all I could about him.
But doing so would call attention to the two of us. It would form an association, at least in that one employee’s mind. And there’s no way to be sure she wouldn’t say something about my little crush to someone else. I’ve been burned too many times to trust any woman who is not Vivian Lowe or Astrid Walker with an actual important secret.