I regretted it as soon as it left my lips. I thought my grimace would've given the truth away, but I should've known he wasn't one to pick up on subtlety.
“You could spend the night if you wanted…” I trailed off, unsure if that was even a smart idea; but then again, I haven't been making the best decisions lately.
“Sure, but you're off the clock for the rest of the night…unless I get horny for round three," he laughed cockily, half dressed, and he immediately started peeling off his clothes once again.
I shuttered. How am I going to get through the next twelve hours? My tight pink asshole was already stinging from the fucking delivered to me an hour ago.
I managed an empty half-smile, hollow chuckle, and dropped eye contact as I made my way to the bathroom to brush my teeth and collect my thoughts before bed. I was ambivalent. Unsure of this relationship, but very certain about needing the money.
Do girls usually have their sugar daddy stay overnight? What would his wife think if he didn't come home? His kids would surely have questions.
*****
Our first date was six months ago, at a coffee shop, in public, where strangers' lingering eyes questioned our relationship. He looked wise, older but still athletic, and well-dressed. He harbored secrets he'd take to the grave, but would first share with me. Thinning brown hair, devious green eyes, charming smile, and not a care in the world; the way rich people are when they forget some people live paycheck-to-paycheck.
Paul was almost twenty years my senior. Just out of college, I needed some extra support, and by support I meant money. Paul was wealthy and he needed friendship, and by friendship he meant sex. He had a thing for young college girls and I fit the bill. He personally selected me from an app, I knew I should feel special to be chosen.
After thirty minutes of chatting, we determined there was enough of a spark to continue. We began discussing about how our “arrangement" would be as we walked to the parking lot.
“Can we sit in your car for a bit?” he inquired, already opening my door presumptively.
“Oh, uh, yeah, that works.”
I was a bit shy. I didn't know what he expected for a first meet-up and if our “arrangement” had already begun.
I was sexually experienced, but not such a master that I thought I was worth the money he offered. But it was a test; I knew I needed to prove myself and impress him. He wanted me to earn it.
I barely sat my ass in the car back seat before his strong rough hands mischievously made their way up my thigh, under my sundress, slipping under my already soaked white lace panties. His talk about his success and finances got me aroused.
"I'd like to finalize the terms of our arrangement," he said confidently, pushing a finger inside me.
I let out a soft moan, almost a whimper, as I allowed his strong finger to trace my little asshole.
"Should we be doing this in a public parking lot?" I purred, my breaths quickening.
"We could go back to your place, it isn't far right?" His hand moved up my dress and pinched my hardened nipple.
"True. But we only just met..." Clearly my good judgement was starting to fade as my pussy soaked my panties.
"Do you want to be my good little girl?" Paul started kissing my neck and pulling on my hair.
"Of course."
"Then do as I say," he ordered.
We went back and forth for a bit and decided to meet up tomorrow instead as it was getting late; he said his wife would wonder where he was anyways. He got back into his expensive car, one that I hope he'd drive me around in soon.
I felt mixed feelings about him being married. Paul shared his relationship was more about staying together for his kids, but his wife didn't want to have sex anymore, at least not the kind he is interested in. Paul explained that BDSM and anal sex were his fetishes that he wants me to partake in. He would pay me to satisfy him in all the ways his wife could not.
"Okay, I'll see you tomorrow then," we parted ways and hugged affectionately, even though we only just met, I could tell this would be a memorable relationship.
*****
My cell phone pinged just before midnight that same night, a text message from Paul that read:
I'm alone now. Show me that little pink hole of yours. I want to fantasize about what I'll be fucking tomorrow.
I contemplated if he meant my pussy or my asshole. I had never sent a picture like that before, usually men just ask to see my double D perky tits, in which I happily oblige. I tried my best to take a photo worthy of him jerking off to. I took pride in knowing he picked me, I wanted to be chosen by someone successful and handsome like Paul.
I put on some sexy black lace lingerie, spread my legs and slide my panties to the side, exposing my flesh, the kind I knew he desired. I texted him a picture with the caption:
How is this, Daddy?
He almost immediately responded with a heart eyes emoji and a message that read:
What a good little slut. You're all mine tomorrow.
I was on a high. Being submissive came naturally to me; I wanted to please him so badly. I read his words over and over again while I masturbated. Playing with my pussy, rubbing my swollen clit in circles as I memorized the feeling of his rough finger pushing inside me earlier that day, his lips caressing my neck, and his hands confidently sliding up my dress. I craved his attention, his dick, his money. I wanted all of him and I knew tomorrow would change my life as I knew it.
