Chapter 9
nine
Shea
I have a sugar daddy.
If you’d told me that a week ago, I would have been horrified.
That was before I met Jason.
I’m someone else with him. Someone daring.
I’m safe to tell him about my secret needs.
Things I’ve never told anyone. Kept suppressed and confined to my fantasies.
Last night, within hours of meeting him, he fulfilled my desperate hunger for an authority figure.
He satisfied my curiosity about being disciplined. He gave me my first orgasm.
He was my Daddy before I knew that relationship was a possibility.
Now I’m on my knees for him and all I can think about is serving him.
Serving him in exchange for the care he’s going to give me.
I shouldn’t find this arrangement so…arousing.
Should I? But maybe I do. Maybe I like kneeling in front of this huge man, fresh from economics class.
Looking up at him dutifully while I lower the zipper of his jeans, tug on the waistband of his briefs and watch his cock tumble out, veiny, stiff…
as big and thick as a rolled-up newspaper.
The Sunday Times, even.
I almost fall back on my butt, I’m so stunned by the sheer size of him.
“Th-that was inside of me, last night?” I stammer.
He takes that flesh in his hand and strokes. Up, down, up. “It wasn’t just inside of your tight pussy, angel. I sunk in all the way to my balls.” Another pump of that clenched fist. “Built to be my sugar baby, weren’t you?”
Sugar baby.
My sex slicks over that term.
Over the way he runs those tattooed knuckles up and down the primed length of his sex, his breath coming faster with every stroke.
Jealousy starts to spark in front of my eyes, because I want to be the one touching him.
Biting back my trepidation over his size, I walk forward on my knees and take over the task of fisting my Daddy’s sex, marveling over the weight of him, murmuring praise while I mold it in my hands.
“Spit on it, little girl.”
An excited whimper escapes me.
Wetness spreads on the seam of my panties.
“The slicker you make my cock with your spit, the deeper I’ll go.” He gathers a fistful of my hair and guides me closer to his lap. “I’ve had my tongue in your throat. Now I’m going to slide my cock down there. Spit and suck like a good girl.”
I’ve soaked the crotch of my bike shorts by the time he finishes speaking.
At first, I thought I would be self-conscious about spitting on him, but no, it’s freeing.
My saliva slides down the swollen stalk and I work it all over with my pumping fist, spitting again and spreading the moisture around, before I finally bring him to my mouth and tunnel him to my tonsils, the salty tang of him inciting a new kind of hunger—and all that’s available to eat is Jason’s smooth flesh.
It glides in deep and I work my mouth around, eager to please, rubbing my tongue into grooves and sucking with all my might.
“Oh fuck,” he moans. “If this is your first time, you’re going to have me begging on my knees for head within a week.” I graze my teeth along his biggest vein, from base to tip and he shudders violently. “God oh God. Forget it, I’m already there. Please, angel, please. Suck it deep.”
I lose track of time for a while, I’m so hypnotized by his hoarse calls for his maker.
The way his hand jerks around my ponytail when I allow him into my throat, swallowing in a way that closes my throat and, based on the way he shouts curses at the ceiling, feels extra good for him.
I bob my head with enthusiasm, steadily growing addicted to the little spurts of milk that he leaves on my tongue, like little treats.
Incentives to pull on him harder with my mouth, like I’m sucking on a lollipop. A big one.
“So innocent down there with your sneakers and ponytail. That mouth likes to put in work, though, doesn’t it? That mouth likes being crammed full of Daddy’s dick.”
I moan around his swelling erection, knowing instinctively he’s going to climax.
Wanting him to finish so badly, I’m whimpering, supplying more spit so he can fuck my mouth harder—and he does.
His hips start to flex, roll, slowly, then fast, faster, until he’s using my ponytail to draw me in close, so close, over and over again, my forehead smacking off his belly, the girth of him spearing down my throat to choke me.
His hand drags me off and I gasp for air, tears rolling down my cheeks, before he does it again.
Fucking me deep in my throat.
Releasing me. Letting me drag down oxygen.
Doing it again.
“Tell me you want my come,” he rasps, his tone ragged.
“I want your come. I need your come,” I babble. “Come in my mouth, Daddy.”
He has barely breached my lips this time before my mouth is flooded with liquid heat. I cough in surprise and some of it dribbles down my chin, but I surge forward and take his spurting arousal deep, drinking him down eagerly, his fingers shaking in my hair, his hips and thighs straining.
“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuuuuuuck!”
I don’t know how long it takes for him to drain himself completely, I’m too distracted by the lush taste of his spend.
I don’t stop until he must physically pry my mouth away and still I whine, trying to fight back for another suckle.
I’m pulled into Jason’s lap, instead, however, my ear pressed to his thundering heart as he rocks me, calming my whimpers with kisses and strokes of my back, my hair.
Finally, I seem to come down off my high, my pulse returning to normal. That’s when I realize the sun is nearly setting. How long were we making out? How long was I on my knees worshipping him? An hour? “What do we do now?”
“Do you have any more classes today?”
I shake my head. “No. Do you have to go back to work?”
“I’m supposed to.” He tilts my face up to his, kissing me tenderly. “But I know someone who needs some new clothes.”
A gratifying heat steals through my limbs. “Did I earn them?” I ask, innocently.
Jason hesitates and I can see he wants to reassure me that our arrangement isn’t simply business.
That it’s much more than that, because it is.
But my enjoyment of being kept and cared for must be showing on my face, because he says in a low voice, “My God, little girl, you fucking earned them. You earned anything you want.”
Satisfaction melts me into his lap. He gets me.
He really gets me.
We drive to a town forty-five minutes away that I didn’t even know existed.
It’s definitely on the posh side, everyone driving nice cars, trees lining the avenue filled with boutiques and restaurants.
By the time we arrive, the sun is setting and the town glows like a jewel, string lights twinkling in the trees, soft music floating down the block.
Jason brings me to a women’s clothing store and I almost gag at the prices, but he doesn’t even flinch when he hands over his credit card to the clerk. We walk out of the shop with several dresses, skirts, T-shirts, blouses and even a fancy pair of pajamas.
Strolling down the sidewalk beside Jason, I wonder what people think when they look at us.
Most likely, they think we’re father and daughter, out for a shopping trip.
We get some strange looks when he leads me into a lingerie store, however.
I stand at his side while he picks out a variety of bra and panty sets for me, some sheer, others downright indecent.
Meant to seduce, as opposed to functional.
Black, purple, red, white. Thongs, bikini, boy short.
He spends a thousand dollars on new underwear alone, despite my protests.
“I don’t need anything else,” I say on the way out of the store. “This is way too much, already. I—”
“One more stop.”
“Jason…no. What else could I possibly need?”
He doesn’t respond to my question, but he takes my hand. He holds it while we’re walking down the street, drawing the attention of several onlookers.
Nothing to see here, folks. Just a sugar baby getting spoiled rotten by her Daddy.
Maybe I should be embarrassed. Or self-conscious. But I only feel…seen. Safe.
There is something inside of me that exults in this man choosing my panties for me.
Revels in his authority. I know how to make my own decisions.
I grew up very independent, actually. I’m an honor student.
I had a job senior year of high school. I’m the kid her parents didn’t have to worry about, because I was always on top of my responsibilities.
Giving some responsibilities to this man is a relief, though.
I feel important. Cherished. And…
His undivided attention makes my body feel sensitive. Awake. Turned on. Pliant.
I want to put on a silky panty set and have my body used for pleasure.
“What are you thinking about, angel?” Jason asks, bringing my hand to his mouth and kissing my knuckles, seemingly oblivious to the curious stares of passersby.
I can be honest with him.
“I was thinking…maybe the reason I like our arrangement so much…” He glances over, interested, a thoughtful line forming between his brows.
“Maybe it’s because I took care of myself until now.
My parents worked around the clock when I was growing up.
I cooked for myself, worked at a sandwich shop, bought my clothes at the local thrift store.
The way you treat me…it’s a nice break from worrying. ”
“Good, angel. I don’t want you to worry about anything anymore. Just focus on school.”
“But I get to worry about you, too, don’t I?
” We stop beneath an awning for another store, the wind meandering down the avenue to blow my hair around.
There’s a light chill developing in the air and I step into Jason’s warmth, running my palms up and down the slopes of his pecs.
“Your needs, I mean. I get to worry about those.”
A lustful light flickers in his eyes, but he shakes his head. Hesitates. “I’m a lot more worried about your needs.”
I tilt my head curiously. “What do you mean?”
“You’re eighteen, Shea. I’m ancient compared to you.” Slowly, he reels me in closer with a hand on my hip. “I can’t go with you to frat parties or hang out with your friends. I’m a workaholic. I’m strict on myself.”
“That’s what I like about you,” I whisper. “I want you to be strict with me, too. When I’m invited to a party, I want you to tell me no. That I can’t go. Because you need me to stay home and…”
“And what?”
My skin flushes unbearably hot. “And submit to my Daddy.”
His Adam’s apple bobs and gets stuck, hunger and affection blanketing his features. “I don’t know what the hell I did to deserve this. You. I feel fucking alive for the first time. I could buy you everything in every single one of these stores and we still wouldn’t be even.”
“I disagree.” I trace a finger down to his belt buckle, teasing the metal. “And I’m going to show you how much I disagree when we’re alone again.”
He closes his eyes, nostrils flaring. “I want to buy you one more thing.”
“What could I possibly need?”
“Jewelry. You have none.”
“I don’t need—”
Without warning, Jason scoops me up by slinging his arm beneath my bottom, carrying me into the jewelry shop that has been right behind me all along.
I squeal and wrap my arms around his neck, well aware of the disapproving looks we’re getting, but…
are we really doing anything wrong? Sure, we need to come clean to Emma—and we will, soon, but just because he’s older than me doesn’t mean we’re doing anything illegal.
I frown at the haters.
Inside the store now, Jason sets me down in front of a display case filled with sparkly necklaces. Without looking at the price tags, I can already tell they’re mega expensive.
“No. Please. I don’t need anything.”
“Shhh, angel.” He kisses my lips to quiet me, backing me up against the display case, the outline of his erection prodding my tummy. “You’ll do what I tell you.”
A waterfall of heat cascades down to my toes.
My mouth snaps shut, my pulse spiking and dancing happily.
“Yes, sir,” I whisper, trembling even though we’re no longer standing in the breeze.
“Christ. Look how much you love discipline,” Jason says gruffly, studying my face.
Absorbing. Noticing everything about me.
After a moment of thought, he leans down and whispers in my ear.
“I want to wrap gold and diamonds around your pretty little fucking throat so you don’t forget that’s where I put my cock.
If you complain one more time about how I spend money on my angel, I’m going to pull down your shorts and slap those tight cheeks until they’re bright pink. Right here in this store.”
My breath is rattling in and out by the time he’s finished. Panties sopping wet.
Tremors course through me and I’m convinced he’s the only thing keeping me from sinking to the floor in a delirious heap.
“Y-yes, s-sir,” I stammer, overcome.
A clerk clears his throat behind me, but I don’t turn around.
No, I just step into Jason’s embrace and put my face in his neck, trying to recover. Trying not to sink down to my knees and service him, right here in public, like I want to.
Jason taps the glass with his finger. “We’ll take the one that says Daddy’s Girl.”