My Sugar Daddy With a Twist. Part 2

Part 2

"Of course, that's entirely on top of paying your student debt, once you accept."

As a calculated response, I smiled and I uncrossed my long legs, allowing the movement to draw his full attention, before slowly, deliberately recrossing them. My left hand trailed, down the smooth line of my thigh, brushing against the silk of my pantyhose. He was utterly captivated, staring with a raw intensity, a pure, unmasked sexual desire that nearly made him lose control.

This intentional, slow play was purely for me: a move designed for a rich man who deeply appreciated the long, elegant lines of my legs and my quiet confidence. I offered him a slow, decisive nod.

But then he adds, almost gently: “For our next “date”… I would like you to wear the clothes and shoe I will buy for you. Also one small addition, you need to wear an ace bandage on your left ankle. And use a pair of crutches. Just pretend a non weight bearing sprained ankle. Just a little performance. Nothing unsafe. Nothing painful. Simply… a look I enjoy.”

I breathe in slowly… Not from fear… But from the Psychology professional in me, pure curiosity.

A controlled scene. A polished fantasy. An older man’s taste, not in harm or pain he says, but in the delicate way a woman moves when she leans on crutches with strength and grace at the same time.

I say yes. Way too much money to turn it down because of this small quirk or fetish. My voice is soft, steady, sure. Little did I know what I was getting into. Because in his eyes, I see something rare, a man who sees me as a dream he never expected to meet. With a small twist.

And part of me is willing to step into that dream… as long as I stay the one who decides how deep I go. 

The next day in my apartment, the air was heavy with anticipation. On the bed, my sexy evening gown waited: It was a short, black cocktail dress, very beautiful with all the necessary elements of his game: a pair of black pantyhose, black rolls of Ace bandages, and my two metallic crutches.

I dressed quickly. The pantyhose went on first, sheer black silk running up the length of my long legs, adding a layer of sleek formality. The dress was next, short, sharp, and undeniably glamorous and sexy. Then, the contradiction to the look in my eyes: the rolls of Ace bandages that I wrapped firmly around my left ankle and lower leg. Finally, the slingback heel on my right foot, demanding more attention since I was going to pretend being non weight bearing.

I picked up the crutches. Having used them extensively at sixteen with a 3rd degree sprained ankle, the weight and rhythm felt instantly familiar; they were extensions of my will, not cumbersome aids. I stood, non-weight bearing on the bandaged ankle, knowing this forced constraint only amplified the sensual display of my long, powerful legs, perfectly framed by the crutches. 

He hadn't requested this for necessity, but as a deliberate act of theater. “Just pretend,” he’d commanded. “Just a game.” It was a complex tableau of vulnerability and utter, knowing control.

When I arrived moving gracefully on my crutches, his eyes devoured the vision, starting from my green eyes and trailing down. His gaze lingered on my wrapped ankle and lower leg over the black pantyhose, then swept back up the long line of my leg, past my short cocktail dress, across my round breasts, to meet my eyes.

"Vivian you look amazing," he breathed, a low sound of pure sexual approval. But instead of going straight to the bar, he took one magnetic step closer. I remained poised, leaning gently on the crutches, my knee bent and my bandaged ankle off the floor. His eyes dropped to my mouth and red lips, his intent now undeniably sensual.

He closed the distance. As he lowered his head, I shifted slightly, and offered my mouth to him. Our first kiss was instant heat. It was meant to be his dominant move, but I took immediate control. My tongue teased his lips, a slow, confident invitation that slid deeper, surprising him with its sudden, intimate boldness. He groaned, a sound of pure male hunger muffled by my mouth, his hands immediately stabilizing my hips as I balanced on the crutches on one single heel.

When the kiss finally broke, his breath was shallow and fast. 1-0 Vivian…

I used the crutches to navigate toward the low sitting area. My movement was controlled elegance: every shift of weight, every swing of the non-weight bearing ankle, every tap of the rubber crutch-tips on the marble floor created a rhythmic, focused display. 

The short black dress and pantyhose made it even more sensual, a real performance of beauty. He approached, offering me a glass. "To our first evening," he toasted, his eyes full of sexual desire. "And to accept the terms of this delicious game even if it’s clearly not your first time on crutches."

I leaned casually on one crutch, taking the glass with a steady hand. The clink of our glasses was sharp, the sound cutting through the sexual tension between us like a knife. "You enjoy control, Vivian. But control is just an illusion, one I’m going to strip from you piece by piece."

"Strip?" I repeated, letting the word linger on my lips like a promise. "That’s a bold claim for a man who hasn’t even earned the right to touch me yet."

His hand lifted, fingers hovering just above my collarbone, not quite touching. "Like the urge to see how far I can push you."

"Try it," I challenged,  my nipples tightening against the fabric of my dress.

"Fuck, Vivian." His hand finally landed, fingers curling around the nape of my neck, pulling me closer. "You’re playing with fire."

"I like fire," I whispered against his mouth.

His mouth crashed onto mine, hungry and demanding, his teeth nipping at my lower lip before his tongue swept in, claiming me. I gasped into the kiss, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as he deepened it, his other hand sliding down to grip my hip, pulling me flush against him. The hard ridge of his penis pressed against my stomach, unmistakable, insistent. 

A whimper escaped me, and he swallowed it, his growl vibrating against my lips. His hands slid up, thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts through the fabric of my dress. 

"I bet you taste even better."

"Find out," I challenged…

Part 3 to come
Ashley

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