Sugar Daddies (2 page)

“We can’t all pull a PJ party and work from home every day. Your de-humidified little veggie snacks hardly cut a day on the road.” My voice came out dry as my tone got serious. “This one. Does she know? Is she… suitable?”

I didn’t pull my eyes from the screen yet I knew he was rolling his.

“Don’t start. She knows
some
of it.”

“Some?”

“
Some.
From our profile.”

“So tell her the rest.”

He groaned at me. “Listen up, Mr
tell it like it is
, we need
time
. She needs to get to know us. We haven’t even met her yet.”

“Ok, so let’s meet her, and then we’ll tell her. Lay our cards flat on the table and see if hers match up.”

He shook his head. “Six months, you promised.”

“I promised
three
.”

“You said
six
, after Nicole from Northampton ran screaming for the hills, you said
six
. You sat right there, just where you are now, and
you
promised
six.
”

“Under duress. I’ve changed my mind.”

He clapped his hands in front of my screen, forcing my attention. “
Six
, Carl. We’re going with six months this time. I mean it.”

His tone tickled me. “Who died and made you Lord of Sugar Daddy dating? We all know who wears the trousers around here, Richard.” I smirked. “Don’t pretend you don’t like it that way.”

“I’d like it a whole lot better if we managed to coax a three-way just a smidge beyond your boar-headed
negotiations
. This isn’t some sales deal. It’s about… people, Carl,
people…
”

“
It’s all about the soul, man…
” I mocked. “
I
negotiate. That’s what I do.”

“Not this time.” He shook his head. “Six months. Let me handle this one.” His eyes were like a puppy dog’s. “Please… just let me handle this one…”

I scrolled down through the email. “Where’s the obligatory nude?”

“There isn’t one.”

I raised my eyebrows. “No tit shot? Not even underwear?”

He smiled. “Nope. Not a thing.”

I was strangely impressed. “She does know we come as a pair, yes? She knows it’s two at once or not at all?”

“She knows she will need to… accommodate…”

“Such a delicate way of putting it. She’s happy with that, is she?”

“It’s clear on our profile. She referred to it in her message. It’s pretty explicit… not slutty, she’s no tramp, but she’s… clear in her intentions…”

A tickle of excitement ran through my balls.

“…her name’s Katie, by the way.”

Katie.
It suited her.

“Katie Serena Smith… and she’s keen…”

I scrolled past her picture, to the message below.

I’ve never done anything like this before. I’m sure almost every other message says the same, but I really mean it. I really have never done anything like this before… but I want to.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t on a sugar daddy website for the money, but I wasn’t expecting to find anyone close enough, and I definitely wasn’t expecting to find a profile like yours.

I’ve fantasised about taking two men at once since I was old enough to know it was possible. You ask in your profile if I’ve experienced sex like this before, and I haven’t. I don’t know how it would feel to have two men inside me, and I don’t know that I’d find it easy, but I want to try.

You ask if I’ve ever opened up enough to take two men in my pussy, and no, I haven’t, not even close, but I think about it every day since I read your profile.

It’s taken me a while to pluck up the courage to message.

But I’m ready now.

I really want this.

You ask what I want out of the arrangement, and I’m not really sure how to quantify it.

I’m just a small town girl with big dreams, that’s why I’m on this site. But it isn’t just about the money. Not anymore.

Katie. X

Explicit but not slutty. No grandiose claims of riding two fat dicks all through the night. No graphic demonstration of her pussy-stretching capabilities, and we’d had plenty of those. No
take me, big boys, take my tight little cunt
, or,
you’ve never known a pussy as hungry for two as mine.
None of that.

I tried to get a measure of
Katie
. “If she can’t quantify it, what does she want? Not college fees presumably, and she doesn’t look the type for a cosmetic surgery wish list.”

He shrugged. “A small town girl with big dreams… who knows
.
That’s cute, though, right?”

“
Cute
. Yes.”

Rick’s grin showed his dimples. “She’s seriously cute. I think I’m in love already.”

“With a declaration like that, how could I possibly say no?”

“You wouldn’t say no anyway. You haven’t stopped staring at her.”

Astute little asshole. I tapped my fingers on the desk. “Alright, message her back. It’s a yes from me.”

He punched the air. “I knew it.” He wheeled himself back across the floor, tatty jeans trailing the carpet. “I fucking love you, Carl Brooks, you will
not
regret it.”

“One last shot,” I said. “Then we’re out. Profile deleted. I’m done with this.”

He gave me a salute. “Yeah, yeah, one last shot. This one’s our girl, I can feel it in my bones.”

I laughed. “In your boner, you mean.” My cursor hovered over minimise, but I didn’t click. I didn’t want to click.
Maybe, just maybe.
“Message her, then, now. Set it up.”

He reclined in his seat, hands behind his head. “Don’t need to,” he said with a smirk. “I messaged her before I sent you the email.”

Hi, I’m Katie, pleased to meet you. Handshake? Hug? Air kiss? Maybe not. Hi, I’m Kate. So good to meet you, finally. Finally? Does that sound desperate?

I reversed the car at the bottom of the street. Again. Clunky gears made me over-swing and they ground like teeth on chalk. Nasty. I could just feel the curtains twitching. They’d be calling neighbourhood watch before long. I’d already circled the road three times in the past fifteen minutes, and still I was early.

Hi, Rick! Carl! I’m Katie. Katie Smith. So lovely to meet you! No. Too gushy.

I put the car in neutral and looked again at my surroundings. The road was suburbia central, and I was surprised the street itself wasn’t paved with banknotes. I felt totally out of my comfort zone, a pathetic little duckling bobbing on the waves.

But I should have known it would be like this. It should be like this. It would be considerably more concerning to rock up on some deadbeat estate somewhere and find my sugar daddies weren’t all they were cracked up to be. I’d checked this place out on Street View, many times, but Street View doesn’t account for scale. These properties were big.

It seemed so easy in the safety of my own fantasies, but now it was a whole other ballgame, parked up in money town with a bellyful of butterflies and a serious case of fight or flight.

Fight or flight. More like fuck or flight.

The thought gave me jitters.

Maybe that’s what they’d expect. Pleased to meet you, strip now, please and show us your pussy.

Rick said not, but he would, wouldn’t he?

Still, that wouldn’t be the worst that could happen. Murder on money row, sugar daddy slut gets butchered in Cheltenham suburbia.

Unlikely, I’d checked them out. Facebook profiles, electoral roll, the business connect website. They were everywhere, bold as brass, and all the lines matched up neatly. Plus, I’d left a practical dossier of information on them in my dressing table drawer. Even Much Arlock’s sleepy police force could crack that crime in a heartbeat.

I stared over at their house, realising all over again that my car was going to look like a bag of shit on their driveway. My car would look like a bag of shit on anyone’s driveway.

I took a breath. Here goes nothing.

I pulled my battered old Ford onto their property, and immediately wished I’d given it a jet wash. Mine was covered in mud and scratches and probably half a hay bale, and theirs were gleaming. Gleaming and new. A posh Range and some sporty silver BMW, pristine on their fancy pink-bricked driveway. At least I’d made the effort to spruce myself up. I turned off the engine and kicked off my pumps, replacing them with the killer heels I’d stashed in the passenger footwell. I checked my makeup in the rearview mirror, lipstick still behaving in a shade only one darker than nude, and a few token dabs of mascara. I’d pass. Hopefully. I shimmied my dress further down my thighs, conscious of flashing my slutty little knickers as I clambered into plain sight. Long legs are both a blessing and a curse, harbouring the ability to turn a perfectly respectable dress into a whore-gown with just one false wiggle. Finally I reached for my bag, checking my paperwork just one last time. Paperwork, yikes. This was some crazy shit, but my dreams weren’t getting any smaller.

I could do this.

I needed to do this.

I took a breath and stepped out into the cool evening air, a welcome relief against burning skin. My dress was the most expensive I owned; a soft pink strapless number with a demure little diamante rose at the bust.

My strides defied my lack of confidence, my heels clacking against the ground as I approached their front door.

Rick and Carl, Carl and Rick.

I hoped it would be Rick who answered. Rick seemed nice, and kind, and cool. Rick was hot, and funny. I could fall for Rick. He had full-sleeve tattoos and his clothes were nerdy-chic. He had messy brown hair and dark eyes, and a full-on hipster beard. He was a designer, too. What’s not to love?

Carl, on the other hand. I’d never spoken to Carl. Carl seemed… intense. Intimidating. Posh suits, and steely muscles, and chiselled features, and absolutely everything I wasn’t. The corporate bogeyman under my country-girl bedspread. Maybe the photos made him look more that way than he really was.

I knocked on the door and my heart thumped like a crazy bitch, my breath raw in my throat as I saw a shadow move behind the glass.

The door swung open and I couldn’t breathe, just plastered on the warmest, brightest smile I could muster and it stayed. It stayed because it was Rick who answered, and he was smiling, too. His smile was incredible, big and genuine, and it gave him dimples. He had tight black jeans on over brogues, and a purple tie over a short-sleeved checked shirt. Rick Warner, graphic designer extraordinaire, was absolutely goddamn fucking gorgeous, way more gorgeous than his gorgeous pics. One for the win.