Dylan Garcia

The moment the door shut behind me, I thought my body would melt from anticipation. My heart pounded so hard it was a wonder Charles couldn’t hear it echoing in the silence of his apartment.

I’d fantasized about this exact moment so many times, Midnight Daddy pulling me close, pinning me down, using that deep voice to command me, ruin me, own me. But instead, I was met with his cold stare.

Charles leaned against the door, arms crossed over his broad chest, his eyes fixed on me like a hawk staring at prey it wasn’t sure it wanted. The room smelled faintly of leather and cologne, the faint hum of his air conditioner breaking the silence.

“Sit,” he said, his tone flat, no warmth, no softness.

I obeyed immediately, lowering myself onto the edge of his dark leather couch. My hands fidgeted in my lap, but my gaze never left him. Every move, every breath of his seemed deliberate. Calculated.

Finally, he broke the silence.

“You weren’t supposed to know,” he said coolly. “Nobody is. That part of me stays… hidden.”

“I didn’t mean to—” I started, but he cut me off with a sharp wave of his hand.

“Save it. I don’t care how you figured it out. What matters now is keeping your mouth shut.” His voice was steady, businesslike, as if he were discussing a contract, not the most intimate secret of his life.

He stepped closer, his towering frame making me shrink against the couch. His hazel brown eyes bored into mine. “How much?”

My brows knitted. “What?”

He pulled out his wallet with fluid precision, fingers sliding out a thick fold of cash. 

“How much to keep you quiet? A thousand? Two?” He tossed the bills onto the coffee table like an insult. “Name your price.”

The coldness of it stung more than the offer itself. Money. He thought that’s what I wanted. He thought I’d sell his secret like a whore in the street.

I swallowed hard, shaking my head. “I don’t want your money.”

His eyes narrowed. “Then what the hell do you want?”

My throat was dry, my cheeks burning. The words tasted dangerous, shameful, but I said them anyway. “I want… you.”

His jaw clenched, but I pressed on before he could shut me down.

“I don’t care about your face or your real name. I don’t care if you’re Midnight Daddy or Charles Johnson. I just… I want to be yours. Your submissive. Your plaything. Use me however you want. That’s my price.”

The silence stretched, unbearable. My chest heaved as I waited, every second dragging like an eternity.

Charles studied me with that same cold stare, his expression unreadable. No kindness, no lust, just that dangerous calculation that made me shiver.

Finally, he leaned down, close enough that his breath ghosted across my cheek, and his voice dropped to that low, resonant growl that had haunted my nights.

“Are you really ready to give yourself up like that, Dylan?”

“I–” My throat caught, the word snagging halfway between fear and desire.

“Are you?” he pressed, the sharp edge of command cutting through the air.

My fingers curled against my knees, knuckles whitening. I wanted to say yes, wanted to scream it, but the weight of his gaze pinned me in place.

“I think so,” I whispered.

Charles tilted his head, a mockery of curiosity, though his eyes were merciless. “Think so? That won’t be enough. I don’t deal in half-answers, Dylan. Either you want this… or you don’t.”

Heat burned at the back of my neck. My heart pounded so hard it felt like it might bruise my ribs. “I do,” I said, firmer this time. “I want this. I want you.”

His lips curved, not a smile, not even amusement, but something darker, sharper. “You say that now. But once you’re mine, there’s no room for hesitation. No crying when it’s too much, no begging me to stop unless you’re prepared to lose everything we’ve built. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” My voice trembled.

“Then prove it.” His hand came up, fingers grazing under my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes. “Tell me exactly what you think you’re agreeing to.”

The words caught in my throat, but I knew I had to convince him that I was willing to submit myself to him. I knelt in a position that subs usually do when talking to their master, and that’s exactly what I did to Charles.

“I’m agreeing to obey you. To let you take what you want. To be… whatever you need me to be.”

His eyes narrowed, searching me for cracks. “And if I break you?”

Something inside me lurched, a mix of terror and yearning. “…Then I’ll let you.”

For a long moment, he said nothing. The silence wrapped tight around us, suffocating. Then, slowly, he lifted my chin, his expression unreadable once again.

“You’ll get your chance to prove that, Dylan. But if you falter, if you ever break a rule or lie about your limits… I’ll cut you off. Completely. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“I think you didn’t understand me slut, I said Do you understand?”

“Y-yes, Master.”

“Good.” His tone was final, a verdict delivered. “Then tonight, at eleven, you’ll come to my apartment. I expect you to wear something that pleases my eye, and you’ll show me just how much you’re willing to give.”

I swallowed hard, nodding. My pulse thundered in my ears.

He smirked then, the faintest curve of his lips, as though he already knew exactly how this game would play out. “Now go. I don’t want to see you again until you’re standing outside my door.”

The dismissal stung, sharp and deliberate. I stood, unsteady, my legs threatening to buckle beneath me. But even as I left his apartment, the weight of his words chained itself to my chest.

The hours crawled by. Work was unbearable—I couldn’t focus on spreadsheets, on numbers, on anything but the clock. Eleven. He’d told me to be at his apartment at eleven. Every tick of the second hand only made the anticipation coil tighter inside me, an ache that throbbed all the way to my bones.

By the time I got home, my hands were shaking. I tore through my closet like a man possessed, pulling clothes out, holding them up, discarding them just as quickly. Nothing felt right. Nothing felt like it would be enough for him.

His words echoed in my head, “Wear something that pleases my eye.”

What did that even mean? Elegant? Slutty? Minimal? Every second I wasted felt like another point docked from a test I hadn’t even started yet.

Finally, I stopped overthinking. I stripped, my body already burning with shame and anticipation, and pulled out the one thing I had bought months ago but never dared to wear, black lace briefs. Sheer, delicate, sinfully revealing. They clung to my hips, framing me in a way that made my own reflection look like a stranger’s.

My skin prickled as I slid into them, my breath quickening. Over that, I shrugged on a thin satin robe, midnight blue, the fabric whispering against my skin with every movement. It felt obscene, luxurious, like I was wrapping myself in a secret only he would get to unwrap.

I caught sight of myself in the mirror. The robe looked almost innocent when tied, but I knew what was hidden beneath. The lace hugged every line of me, a silent confession of how far I was willing to go.

Heat flushed across my face, and I whispered to my reflection, as if practicing for him, “Yours. I’m yours.”

The words trembled, but they steadied something inside me too.

When the time finally came, I stood in front of Charles’ door, palms damp, heart hammering like I was about to step into another world. And in a way, I was.

He opened the door before I could knock, as if he’d been waiting. Dressed in black, sleeves rolled up, hair styled back, he looked every inch the man I had dreamed about, only sharper, colder, more dangerous. His gaze flicked down my body, lingering on the knot of the robe’s sash, and I swore I felt the heat of it sear straight through the fabric.

“Come in.” His voice was clipped, commanding.

I obeyed.

On the coffee table lay a piece of paper. Not what I’d expected, contracts, typed neatly, with bold headers: Limits. Boundaries. Safe Words.

Charles gestured toward them with two fingers, casual yet commanding. “Before anything happens between us, this comes first. Consent. Rules. We both sign, or nothing happens.”

I swallowed hard, lowering myself onto the couch. The paper stared back at me like a test I hadn’t studied for. My hands trembled as I scanned the words. Hard limits. Soft limits. Checkboxes. Safewords.

Charles sat across from me, posture relaxed but eyes sharp, watching me like a hawk circling prey. “Read carefully. I won’t repeat myself.”

My throat tightened as I tried to focus on the lines, but his presence pulled at me more than the ink did.

“You’ll address me as Master, Daddy, or Sir. If you ever utter my name, I will personally destroy your life.” His voice was ice, meant to cut, meant to linger.

“Y-yes sir,” I respond. 

“Red means stop. Everything ends immediately. Yellow means pause, adjust. Green means good—keep going. Say them out loud.”

“Red. Yellow. Green,” I whispered, my voice shaking.

“Louder,” he snapped.

“Red. Yellow. Green!”

His gaze softened just slightly, approval slipping through the cracks. “Good boy.”

The praise hit like fire to gasoline, my chest ignited, my pulse tripped over itself, and I nearly forgot how to breathe. We went through the pages slowly. He read each section aloud, and after every line, his eyes flicked to mine, demanding honesty.

“Do you like pain?” he asked bluntly, pen poised above the page.

My cheeks burned. “A little.”

He scribbled something down. “Humiliation?”

I hesitated, shame prickling under my skin… then nodded.

A faint smirk tugged at his lips as he made another note. “And sex?”

The air turned heavy. I looked down at the paper, unable to meet his eyes.

“Don’t tell me…” His voice dropped, sharp and disbelieving. “…you’re a fucking virgin?”

Heat roared in my face. My chest squeezed so tight I could barely get the words out. “I—I can still please you. I’ve… I’ve watched your videos, and I’ve already… touched myself. A lot.”

His pen froze mid-note. He exhaled harshly through his nose, dragging a hand down his face. “Unbelievable.” He clicked the pen shut. “Fine. But don’t expect me to go easy on you.”

My lips parted, a nervous sound escaping, but I forced myself to nod. “Yes, Master.”

He leaned back slightly, as if recalibrating. Then, brisk and cold, he continued. “I also need your safeword, in case everything is too much for you. Mine is ‘cheat day.’”

“I-I’ll go with…” The words tumbled out before I could stop them. “I love you.”

The silence shattered into a low, humorless laugh. His eyes narrowed, razor sharp. “That’s fucking disgusting.”

My stomach twisted, shame rising like bile, but I couldn’t take it back. Not when part of me wanted the words to cut him.

He ignored my reaction, flipping to the next page. His tone hardened, each word deliberate. “Let me set one thing straight. I don’t do romance. Don’t confuse this for love. This—” he tapped the papers “—is physical. Pleasure. Control. Nothing more. Do you understand?”

It felt like a knife to the chest. But I swallowed, nodding quickly. “Yes, Sir.”

For the first time, approval flickered openly across his face. “Then sign.”

With trembling fingers, I scrawled my name at the bottom, the ink smudging slightly under my sweaty grip. Charles followed with his signature, bold, decisive, a mark that felt like it burned through the page.

My pulse was a drum in my ears. With that pen stroke, I wasn’t just Dylan anymore. I was his.

He closed the folder with a snap, leaned back in his chair, and fixed me with a predator’s gaze. “One more thing. You won’t be Dylan when you’re here. You’ll have a new name. An identity I give you.”

My breath caught in my throat. “What… what name?”

A slow, deliberate smile spread across his lips. He approached the drawer near his bed and pulled out 2 black face masks. He wore one and handed me the other, which I instantly wore as well.

He reached for his laptop, sliding it closer, the glow of the screen lighting his face. With practiced ease, he adjusted the microphone. The familiar interface of his livestream flickered to life, chat scrolling at dizzying speed. Donations chimed, hearts floated, and fans begged for Midnight Daddy to begin.

Charles shifted, his hand gripping my shoulder, possessive, grounding, inescapable. He looked directly into the camera, his voice dripping with that dark velvet resonance.

“Hello everyone,” His smirk deepened. He tugged me closer, pulling me into the frame. My body stiffened, my heart hammering against my ribs.

“Meet my new sub…” His eyes cut to mine, wicked and final, as if branding me with the word. “…Luna.”

The chat exploded, hearts and comments flooding the screen. My face flushed as thousands of strangers saw me, his Luna, claimed in front of the world.

And God help me… I had never felt more alive.