Epilogue V – Now I’m perfect

The fire crackled, but for Amara the glow felt cold.

Spurt and Slurp twitched on the carpet, ruined, sobbing. What should have been her triumph lay as filth at Father’s boots.

Garrett broke the silence. “Lexi,” he said evenly. “They’re yours.”

Her smirk curved cruel. “Gladly. I’ll make use of them.”

The women laughed, sharp and mocking.

Amara’s chest hollowed. He gave them away. No value. No pride. I failed.

Tears welled hot, spilling as she dropped to her knees. “I failed you,” she sobbed. “I thought I trained them, but they crumbled. You didn’t even want them—you must think I’m weak, too weak. Maybe I should just be another worthless, because that’s all I’m good for.”

The room stilled.

Garrett rose. His steps were heavy, deliberate, until he stood over her. His hand caught her chin, **** her tear-streaked face up.

“Shhh.”

He bent and kissed her forehead. A kiss that silenced everything.

“You think I rejected them. You think I rejected you. Wrong. What you gave me was perfect.”

Her breath hitched. “Perfect…?”

“Yes. Strength isn’t how long they resist. Strength is how quickly they kneel. You showed me that. And it was exactly what I wanted.”

Her sobs broke again, but now with something warmer burning underneath. He had not cast her aside.

He straightened, his voice carrying for all. “Every Christmas, this will be our ritual. The family gathered. Lexi, Nia, Amara—you will each present the most broken, the most loyal of your slaves. A theater of devotion. Proof eternal.”

The women murmured approval, Lexi smirking, Simone glowing, Nia clapping like a child with a secret gift.

Then Garrett turned his gaze back to Amara. “And because you stood first, because you proved yourself tonight, you are the victor. And the victor’s prize is a wish. Anything. Everything. Even your old life, if you want it.”

The air seemed to stop.

Lexi’s smirk cut sharper. “Then let her claim it tonight. She’s been waiting long enough.”

All eyes pressed down on Amara. Her body trembled, but her voice, though soft, was steady.

“I don’t want my old life,” she whispered. “I don’t want freedom. I don’t want anything but this. But you.” Her lips parted, her whole body shuddering. “My wish… is that you take me, Daddy. I want to be wholly yours.”

Gasps and laughter rose around the room, but Garrett’s gaze never wavered. He pulled her into his arms, her sobs melting against him.

“Your wish,” he said, his voice low, final, “is my command.”

She clutched him tighter, lips brushing his jaw, her words raw and trembling. “Daddy?”

“Yes.”

“Does it… does it mean tonight?”

The women laughed, Simone hiding her smile behind her hand, Nia giggling out loud. But Garrett’s voice was steady, absolute.

“Of course. Tonight. Prepare yourself. Go to your room. At nine, I will come to you.”

Amara’s tears turned to shaking laughter, her whole body light as if she might float. She kissed his cheek with **** gratitude, her voice breaking into a whisper: “Thank you, Daddy.”

The fire popped. The family still chuckled, Lexi’s smirk deep, Simone’s eyes glowing—but for Amara the world narrowed to his promise.

At nine, she would be his.

---

The laughter still lingered in the salon when Garrett rose from his chair. He gave Amara one last look—a glance heavy with promise—before turning to Octavia and Amita.

“Come,” he said simply. “We have matters to discuss.”

The three of them left together, the doors closing behind them.

The women who remained all turned toward Amara. She knelt still, trembling with the aftershocks of his words, her lips damp where he had kissed her forehead.

Simone’s voice was soft, almost maternal. “Who should help you prepare, my dear?”

Amara’s breath caught. Her eyes swept the circle, then settled on her sister. “Lexi,” she whispered. “I want Lexi.”

Lexi rose smoothly, her smirk melting into a smile that was almost gentle. She crossed the rug, extended her hand. “Then it will be me. You’ll enter fully—your place in this family—with me beside you.”

Amara’s fingers clutched hers, her chest tight with gratitude.

But before they left, Lexi’s eyes cut to the pair still trembling on the carpet. “As for you two—Spurt. Slurp.”

They flinched at their new names, faces pressed low to the floor.

“Go to my chambers,” Lexi ordered, her voice sharp. “Strip bare, kneel at the foot of my bed, and wait. You will be reminded tonight what it means to belong to me. Fail once, and you’ll wish Father had finished you instead.”

“Yes, Mistress,” they stammered together.

“Louder.”

“YES, MISTRESS. THANK YOU, MISTRESS.”

Satisfied, Lexi flicked her fingers. The pair crawled away on hands and knees, chains clinking, their sobs echoing down the hall until the door slammed behind them.

Lexi turned back, her smile returning. “Now, little sister. Let’s make you perfect for him.”

She led Amara down the corridor into a side chamber lit by soft lamps. Candles glowed on a low table where white lace and silk lay waiting—stockings, garters, a delicate collar with a silver heart. On a tray nearby rested polished steel, jeweled plugs that caught the flickering light.

Lexi shut the door. For a moment the room was silent, only Amara’s quick breaths filling it.

Lexi’s hand brushed her arm, light but steady. “I’m proud of you. You’re not just bending anymore. You’re here, in the family. Exactly where you should be.”

Amara’s lips trembled. “I want to be more than worthy. I want to be perfect.”

Lexi leaned in, pressing a brief kiss to her lips—soft, fleeting, enough to steal Amara’s breath. Then she pulled back with a low laugh. “But tonight belongs to Dad. Don’t forget.”

Heat rushed through Amara’s cheeks. She nodded quickly. “I won’t. I just want him to see I’m ready.”

Lexi’s gaze drifted to the table. She picked up the white lace lingerie, letting it dangle from her fingers. “This will do. White for purity. White for surrender.” She laid it on the bed, then lifted the collar with the silver heart. “And this—you’ll wear it for him, a gift waiting to be unwrapped.”

Amara’s hands shook as she stepped out of her dress. Lexi guided her, dressing her piece by piece: lace slipped over her trembling skin, garters snapping against her thighs, silk stockings drawn smooth up her legs.

Finally, Lexi picked up a jeweled plug, its tip gleaming. Her smirk returned. “And this, to keep you primed.”

Amara bent forward against the mirror without being told, her body tense but practiced. When it slid into place, she exhaled with something close to relief.

Lexi’s brows arched. “You’ve been practicing.”

Amara flushed crimson. “I wanted… to be ready. For him.”

Lexi’s grin widened. Her hand slipped lower, cupping between Amara’s thighs. She drew back her fingers glistening, smirking as Amara gasped. “Soaked already. No wonder you wanted me here. You’d be dripping before he even touched you.”

Amara whimpered, face burning.

Lexi fastened the silver heart-collar around her throat, then tilted her chin up. “No cuffs tonight. No blindfold. He’ll want you seeing. He’ll want you knowing.”

Amara nodded, trembling. “Yes… yes, you’re right.”

Lexi led her to the bed, arranging her on the pillows—lace gleaming white, collar shining, body taut with anticipation.

She stood back, arms folded, admiring. “Perfect,” she whispered. Then she leaned down, brushing a last kiss against Amara’s cheek. “Wait for him. At nine, he’ll come. And after tonight, you’ll never doubt again.”

She turned and left, the door closing soft behind her.

Amara lay waiting in candlelight, her heart pounding so loud it drowned the silence.

At nine, she would be his.

---

The room waited with her.

Candles burned low, flames trembling like coins on dark water. The silver heart at Amara’s throat rose and fell too fast to match his steadiness. White lace hugged her trembling body; the air carried warm wax and a faint memory of cold from the latched window.

She knelt on the bed, hands flat, breath sharp. She whispered once to herself, the word that steadied her: “Daddy.”

The latch turned.

He entered without ceremony. The room adjusted to him, as if reminded of its true order. He stood a moment at the foot of the bed, looking: lace, loose hair, the silver heart, the tremor she could not hide. His mouth curved just enough to show approval.

“Daddy,” she breathed, and the word calmed her.

He crossed to her. The bed dipped. His palm pressed to her chest until her frantic heart slowed into his rhythm.

“You chose,” he said. No question. “You chose tonight. You chose me.”

“I did.” The words trembled but held. “I saved everything for you.”

“Good girl.”

A tear slipped down, but she smiled through it. “I need to belong.”

“You already do.” His gaze stayed steady. “Say it.”

“My first time,” she whispered, proud and shaking. “Given to you.”

“Perfect.”

He guided her carefully, slowly, but with command. The first sharpness made her cry out; a tear slid; her fingers clutched at his shoulder. He held her chin still. “Too much?”

She shook her head hard. “No. It’s good. It’s yours. I’m yours now. All yours.”

“You were mine already,” he said. “Since the first time I saw you.”

“Yes,” she gasped, broken smile shining. “But now I am a part of you.”

The ache softened into heat, heat into gravity. And then the first wave hit.

Her back arched, mouth open; a scream tore out, sharp and startled, echoing in the room. She shook, then laughed and sobbed at once.

“Good girl,” he murmured. “Again.”

The second wave struck harder. Her voice broke into a ragged shout that rattled the glass. Tears ran, her body shook. “Daddy—I can’t—”

“You can. You will.”

The third rolled in merciless. She screamed hoarse, hair wild, tears bright. Under it, she smiled through sobs: this is right because it is his. He didn’t chase her release; he held it, set its shape.

A fourth came fast, her cry high and raw. A fifth followed, sharp as thunder; she shrieked louder than before. He remained unbroken, iron calm, his cadence exact.

By the sixth, her throat was nearly gone. By the seventh, her scream cracked into wild laughter. Each time she broke, he steadied her; each time she screamed, he kept his count.

“Say who you are,” he ordered.

“I’m yours!” she shouted, voice torn. “Daddy’s girl. Daddy’s good girl. Daddy’s perfect pet!”

“Again.”

“DADDY’S PERFECT PET!”

The words rang through the chamber. Another wave came, eighth, rolling her body like surf. She screamed it out, louder, rawer, her voice shaking stone. He pressed her wrists to the headboard, held her chest down when she tried to float away.

“Good girl,” he said, velvet over steel. “No one else could take this. Only you. Only mine.”

“Yes, Daddy,” she sobbed. “Break me. Remake me. I’ll do everything for you. I’ll tear down couples. I’ll bend organizations. I’ll lead movements—White Lives Matters, anything you dream—I’ll put them all at your feet. I’m nothing alone, but through you I can be everything you want.”

“And you’ll do it smiling.”

“I will,” she cried. “I’ll be your hand. Your shadow. Your weapon. Not Amara anymore—only yours.”

A ninth climax ripped her, higher, sharper; she screamed it out, half joy, half ruin. A tenth followed, long and heavy, her cry filling the room. Garrett stayed iron—steady, unspent, unmoved.

He turned her toward the mirror. Her reflection stared back: hair ruined, tears shining, collar gleaming. A jeweled token glimmered faint at her side.

“You wore this for me,” he said.

“Yes, Daddy,” she whispered. “Lexi said you’d want me ready.”

“I want you mine.” His voice cut like iron. “I decide what ready means.”

He brushed it away. Gone. The silence after thundered. Lexi’s claim erased.

“Look.”

She looked. Without it, she was bare of all but him.

“Say it.”

“You, Daddy,” she gasped. “Only you.”

“Good girl.”

Another wave caught her, eleventh, shocking, her scream jagged, shaking her throat. Then a twelfth, short and sharp; she sobbed through it, eyes locked on his. He remained steady, unmoved, shaping her collapse into form.

At last he drew her down. She folded at his feet, forehead to the floor, hands open.

“Please, Daddy,” she whispered, voice broken. “Let me finish it. Let me serve until nothing of me is left. Mark me. Make me perfect.”

His hand pressed her head lower. “Do it right.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

She moved with frantic reverence, every gesture sloppy with tears but burning with devotion.

“Beg,” he said.

She lifted her face, tears blazing. “Please. Complete this for me. Mark me. Make me yours in a way no one can deny. Finish it with the service I promised. Take what I offer. Make me whole.”

He held her gaze, **** her to keep it. She did—eyes steady flames.

When he gave her the final seal, she lifted her face into it, not as shame but as crown. It landed on her like a benediction, warm and final. She sobbed and laughed together, fingers gripping the silver heart as if welded into her chest.

“Thank you,” she cried, voice wrecked and radiant. “Thank you, Daddy. Now I’m perfect.”

---

Author’s Note

Thank you for reading this story. This was the first installment in the BWC Takeover series—the first step toward a world of WNWO.

The inspiration came from the fact that there are so many BNWO stories, and in most of them the black man triumphs only because the white man is shown as weak. In a way, that’s also the starting point here—but through fantasy and sci-fi elements, everything is turned upside down.

I hope you enjoyed the ride. Looking back, I feel the cast could have been smaller—some side characters weren’t really necessary and ended up stealing focus from others. All in all, I would give this opening story a 6/10.

I’d love to hear your feedback. Up next will be the story featuring Eli, which was both voted for and requested. After that, we’ll hold new votes on the next main setting and potential side stories.

—Thanks again for being part of this journey!