Being a sugar baby is far more than lipstick, love affairs and Louis Vuitton’s. In fact, I think it’s rather underestimated. People are stupidly under the misconception that you sleep with man, satisfy him and then an hour later you leave with £1000 in your pocket and that’s about it- easy money. Wrong, wrong and wrong. What people fail to realise is that with great boobs comes great responsibility; the emotional attachment, the lust and dissatisfaction with all things vanilla.
Prostitute is a harsh, judgemental term based on a pre-conceived idea. If you’ve ever met a girl like me before then you would know that we’re deep, promiscuous and sometimes even intelligent. As long as affluent men have money, and beautiful women possess desirability, then women such as I will always be needed. Women such as I will always be wanted and in extensively high demand.
I’m Lissy and I’m a working girl: envied by wives, disliked by those who cannot pay the price of satisfaction. We are not sluts- we are goddesses, sadists and constantly in an endless spiral of masquerade and deception, infatuated with power and the ideal female supremacy. I always knew that I was meant for this. I craved money and sex without strings and didn’t care much for feelings. Successful women do not care for others, and that I am. I care for myself. I had a fine idea of what I wanted and I would do just about anything to get it, no matter what the costs.
Chapter One
My short, tousled curls arched my face and risqué red gloss tainted my full lips. Slowly and provocatively, my hands glided down that back of my black suspenders and I rubbed down my jersey skirt which clung tight to my body, just above the knee. All of this was for him- Richard. A business man, a regular, six figure salary, mid-forties and unsatisfied with life (at least, he was before I came along.) His eyes were dark like Tia Maria and his voice was soft and succulent like red wine. To listen to his beautiful words was enough to intoxicate any woman. We met in London, I was working as a waitress whilst juggling University, and he became a regular. Needless to say we grew rather fond of each other.
“A bottle of your finest Port, miss” he said with a shifty eyed smile, handing two fifty pound notes into my grasp, his eyes drifted from my face to my breasts.
“Keep the change for yourself, miss.” He said. I glanced at him whilst reaching for the bottle, his dark hair turning grey and his tired, hungry eyes allured me. He sat on the bar stool, or rather, on my pedestal all night. He was hanging on every word I said, and drawing me in like a moth to a flame. The soft jazz music played in the background. He intrigued me, fraternising with customers was frowned upon during working hours, but there was just something about him- a mystique, a sensual, naughty James Dean quality. I took a break, sat with him and he gave me a cigar. He was good company. He talked of life and the wonders it holds. In fact, he spoke so clearly and vividly that it was almost licentious.
“Enchanting isn’t it? London, these streets. The busy city, and for a young, gorgeous creature like you, the potential to find yourself and behold your darkest most intimate desires.” I gave a faint laugh- I should have took it as panty talk. Women are enticed by the things that they hear, men are enticed by what they see. That’s why women wear makeup and lingerie and men lie.
We talked all night, and before I knew it, it was closing time. Everyone had staggered out of the bar, everyone apart from him. I tapped his shoulder, and turned to fetch my coat. He stopped me, and grabbed my arm. He held me tightly, so tightly that I couldn’t move, even if I wanted to. I was locked in his gaze. Gently, he began caressing my leg, running his fingers across my suspenders, and rubbing my cheeky, Brazilian panties. I lost all inhibitions. My mouth longed for his kisses, and my body mourned for his touch.
Panting slowly, his warm breath lingered on my neck as he pulled me closer to him. He kissed me, light, rapid and passionately. My whole body felt a euphoric burning and lust for the first time. Vigorously, he removed my blouse, stroking and grabbing my breasts and rubbing the silk lining of my bra. Forcing my torso down to the bar in a lascivious frenzy, he pulled down my skirt...
