My Sugar Daddy With a Twist. Part 3

Part 3

He didn’t need to be told twice. His mouth crashed back onto mine, his kiss bruising, possessive, as his hands worked the zipper at the back of my dress. The sound of the teeth parting was obscenely loud in the quiet room, the cool air hitting my exposed skin as the fabric pooled at my waist. His fingers traced the lace edge of my bra, teasing, before he pulled back just enough to meet my gaze.

"Last chance to back out," he murmured, his voice rough with desire.

“I won't back out."

His hands made quick work of the rest of my dress. It slithered down my body, leaving me in nothing but my black lace bra, pantyhose that clung to my legs and one sexy high heel shoe.  His mouth crashed onto mine again as his fingers worked me, stroking, teasing, driving me higher with every expert touch. 

My moans filled the room, broken only by the wet sounds of his fingers moving inside me, the slick slide of my arousal coating his skin. My legs trembled, the crutches forgotten as I clung to him, my body coiling tighter.

"Cum for me, Vivian," he commanded against my lips, his fingers picking up speed, his thumb pressing down on my clitoris. "Let me hear you."

The orgasm crashed over me like a wave, my back arching as a cry tore from my throat. My pussy clenched around his fingers, my thighs shaking as pleasure pulsed through me, white-hot and relentless. 

He didn’t stop, drawing out every last shudder, every gasp.

Before I could recover, he scooped me up, his hands cradling my ass as he carried me to the low sofa. He laid me down with a gentleness that contrasted with the raw hunger in his eyes.

"Spread your legs for me," he ordered. His penis strained against the fabric of his pants. 

"You’re dripping." I slid off the sofa, my knees hitting the plush rug as I looked up at him, my lips parting as I took in the sight of him, all hard, his penis jutting out, demanding attention. I licked my lips, my fingers curling around the base of his shaft, my thumb swiping over the slick tip.

"Fuck," he hissed, his hips jerking forward as I leaned in, my tongue flicking out to taste him. The first drop of pre-cum hit my tongue, salty and musky, and I moaned, the sound vibrating against his skin as I took him into my mouth. My tongue swirls around the thick head. I hollowed my cheeks, taking him deeper, my throat opening as I swallowed around him, my fingers gripping the base of his cock, stroking what I couldn’t take.

"I’m gonna come," he warned, his voice strained. "Fuck, I’m gonna..."

I didn’t let him finish. I pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, my lips glistening with his pre-cum, my hand still stroking him. "Come for me," I whispered, "I want to taste you."

His groan was raw, animalistic, as his penis jerked in my hand, the first thick spurt of cum hitting my tongue. I moaned, swallowing around him as he came, his release painting my lips, my chin, his hips stuttering as he emptied himself into my mouth. I took every drop, licking him clean as his body shuddered.

His eyes flashed with renewed hunger as he reached for me, his hands gripping my waist as he pulled me onto his lap, my legs straddling his hips. His penis, already hardening again, pressed against my slick folds.

He filled me, inch by thick inch, stretching me, claiming me. My head fell back as I took him fully, my pussy clenching around his length, my thighs trembling with the effort of holding myself up.

"You’re tight, so fucking perfect."

I screamed, my legs wrapping around his waist,  I urged him deeper, harder. "Just like that"

His mouth found mine, swallowing my cries as his hand slid between us, my back arching as another orgasm crashed over me, clamping down around his penis inside me as he came, his cum filling me. We collapsed together, our bodies slick with sweat, our breath coming in ragged gasps. His forehead pressed against mine, his penis still buried inside me, twitching with the last remnants of his orgasm.

Three weeks had passed before he contacted me again, and he tried to change the rules. The phone call came late on a Thursday. His voice, usually smooth as velvet, took on a darker, more dangerous and intense edge.

"We need to explore the limits of physical sexual pleasure, my darling," he murmured, the words curling around me like smoke. "The exquisite pleasure of sexual pain applied to submission."

My heart raced, but my voice was steady, firm. "No," I said, the word sharp and final. "That was not part of the deal we made." There was a pause, heavy and charged, before he conceded. 

"Understood. Okay... for now anyway."

The words hung in the air, a promise, or a threat of what was to come.

Less than an hour later, an email arrived. The subject line: "Preparation." I opened the attachment, and my breath caught. The AI-generated photo was undeniably me again, my long legs, my quiet confidence. But the setting was a locker room, and the costume... No black cocktail dress and heels but a tight-fitting cheerleader uniform in bold red and blue, the colors of a prestigious college that he was a benefactor too.

What stopped me cold was the detail below the knee. My left leg was in a shiny pink cast, the fiberglass smooth and unyielding, ending just below the knee. I was leaning on crutches, the metal gleaming under fluorescent lights. 

“OK now, there is no way he is going to break my leg or ankle…”

His text followed moments later:  "It's only recreational, my love. No broken bones or anything. Just a very sexy uniform for the evening. No weight bearing, of course."

I traced the image on my screen, my fingers trembling slightly. The detail was meticulous, the planning flawless. It was as much a warning as it was a promise.  The instructions for our meeting were bold, intrusive, and thrillingly sexually illicit: the ladies’ dressing room of the college gymnasium. A space heavy with the scent of sweat, chalk, and ambition.

He explained the logistics: "A friend of mine, a medical student at the college, will meet you at their medical facility. She’s going to apply the cast on your leg just for the night."

I read the words, my mind racing. This wasn’t just a game anymore. The escalation from an Ace bandage to a fiberglass cast, even a temporary, recreational one, was a significant leap. He wasn’t just interested in the contract; he wanted to control my physical world, to push the boundaries he’d tested on the phone.

Part 4
Ashley

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