My name is Lethabo Mokoena—thirty-something, a single mother of two girls who think TikTok dances are Olympic sport. I live in Motheo Lifestyle Village, tucked neatly into Pretoria East, the kind of place where garden services arrive like clockwork and everyone smiles but no one really knows each other. On paper, my life is golden: a secure job, financial stability, a little townhouse I can call mine.
But the truth? I was starving.
Not for food, not for money, but for something deeper—something that no pay rise, no wine-soaked girls' night, no bath bomb in a scented tub could reach.
And then came Motlatjo.
That girl is dangerous, a storm wrapped in lip gloss. If friends could be classified like liquor, she'd be tequila—bad decisions and unforgettable nights packed into one shot.
One evening she came over, a bottle of rosé in hand and a mischievous glint in her eye. We curled up on my couch, my girls fast asleep in their room, while she talked about therapy.
Not the Dr. Molefe kind.
She leaned closer, voice low as if confessing a crime:
> "Lethabo… I've found a man who unlocks women."
I laughed into my cider. "Unlocks women? Motlatjo, please. The only unlocking I need is when my WiFi freezes."
But she didn't laugh. She just smirked.
> "No, chomi. This is not wine-and-candles therapy. This is Daddy."
I blinked. "Daddy?"
"Yes. Master Vincent. But you don't call him that. You call him Daddy. And once you do, you'll never be the same."
I tried to wave her off, but her words stayed. Like a secret itch under my skin. That night, after she left, I lay awake staring at the ceiling. My body restless. My mind racing. Daddy.
By the third day, curiosity had overpowered pride. My phone was in my hand, his number saved with trembling fingers.
---
The Call That Changed Everything
"Hi… um, MK—sorry, Master Vincent," I stammered. "I'd like to make a booking. I heard you're very good at… relieving tensions."
My voice was smooth, but my body? Shaking like a new weave in a thunderstorm.
The voice that answered was deep, honey-coated, with an authority that settled in my bones.
> "Who am I speaking to?"
"Lethabo. From Pretoria East."
A pause. I could hear him smile.
> "Oh, Lethabo. And what dream do you wish fulfilled?"
Dream? God, I hadn't thought that far. My throat was dry. "The… full house. That Christian Grey kind of thing."
He chuckled, low and rich.
> "Have you ever explored this before?"
"No. Never."
"Perfect."
The word slid into me like a promise.
He explained the process—his rules, his safety protocols, the deposit. His voice was patient but commanding. My fingers were sweating when I pressed send on the transfer.
Friday, 8 p.m. At my place.
I ended the call, heart pounding, staring at my reflection in the dark phone screen.
I had no idea what I had just signed up for.
But I knew one thing.
There was no turning back.