Im Like... Sick And Twisted Over Sugar Daddy Wilson Who's Enjoying His Pretty Young Thing More Than He

im like... sick and twisted over sugar daddy wilson who's enjoying his pretty young thing more than he ever anticipated. he's paying your tuition, half your rent and anything else, that you could adorn yourself with. every weekend he makes sure to taking you on a shopping spree, something that wasn't in your deal but he just really likes to see you happy. and also he gets one hell of a show each time.

something about basically paying you, more gifts than cash, dissolves his sexual inhibitions. you won't leave. you can't. he can, if he wants to, be less nice to you. he can fuck the way he was always scared to fuck, do the things he was scared to do with his girlfriends. but you're not his girlfriend, you're his sugar baby. there's a difference, no matter how much he listens to you talk incoherently about your interests, no matter how many nights you sleep over. he doesn't have to treat you like an equal. it's oddly emancipating, the idea of doing whatever he wants with you. the freedom to. unrestrained like he never was. a pet dog without his leash who gets to run wild but keeps pawing his neck, the feeling of the leash.

but he's still restrained. he's a gentleman, he's programmed that way. he would never go beyond your limits, never. when he fucks you particularly rough, the kind that makes your legs weak for days and leaves you feeling the ghost of his dick inside you every time you squeeze your legs, he buys you something particularly expensive. he just can't take without giving. you like it, of course you do, even though you tell him you like the way he fucks you too. he shouldn't apologize for prioritizing his pleasure. you're not his girlfriend, you are his sex doll. the one he likes to dress up in skimpy designer clothes he bought with his hard earned oncologist money.

you're starting to feel bad, kind of, because you're growing quite fond of him. it's impossible not to. he's the only man who isnt a pig. but this... this arrangement negates the idea of anything real ever happening. sometimes you both stay awake dwelling on the possibility at the same time, unbeknownst to each other. his heart beats precariously fast as his hand crawls into your palm one night, wanting so desperately to hold it.

he doesn't know how this thing is going to end.

when his analyst furrows his brows at the receipts from hermes and dior and chanel, he just shrugs. he can't help it, you're the most beautiful financial liability in the world.