Saved By The Gold Digger

Daphne moaned loudly. Her eyes squeezed shut, and her back arched. Another orgasm shook through her.

She was still wearing the diamond earrings I had given her earlier that evening, and she was in bed with me, paying for them, but sex wasn’t what she paid me back with.

I’ve had many of these nights with Daphne.

Daphne isn’t the kind of woman that you find. She finds you.

She finds you only if you have enough money, and she found me.

If you want to be where I am, in bed, having sex with Daphne, it comes with expectations. Her expectations. I knew that the moment she said to me when we first met, “I never thought an author would be so good-looking.”

I almost laughed when she said that to me. Daphne’s face was so sincere. Her tight dress and magnificent cleavage said otherwise.

We always went to the fanciest restaurants. We drank cocktails in the trendiest bars, surrounded by the rich and famous. Some places I liked; many I didn’t. The people we met were a superficial façade. Daphne conversed with them excitedly. Creating contacts for when our arrangement will come to an end.

Daphne loves gifts. Expensive gifts. Jewellery was her favourite. Diamonds naturally. Other stones are acceptable if the price and store are right. Perfume is another she enjoys. I’ve taken her to Paris, Milan, Barcelona, the south of France and St Kitts.

I began dating Daphne with my eyes wide open, if you could call it dating.

I do respect Daphne. She has an incredible work ethic. Her body is like a goddess. Pilates twice a week, the gym twice more. Her beautiful breasts are surprisingly real. Her beauty regimen and hair care aren’t cheap. The clothes she wears are designer. She is dedicated to her work. For her, it is a job, and she must look the part.

I’m not worried that a younger gym trainer with a muscular, toned physique would tempt her. I know they’ve tried, but they can’t afford her. I can.

This is why I spend the night in bed with Daphne, moving on top of her sculptured, milky-skinned body. It’s my cock that is pounding her pussy, making moans come out of her seductive, crimson lips.

Sex with Daphne is incredible. Her mouth, which earlier had slowly worked my cock to a hardness that it never had before, is a wonder that has me hooked. She knows exactly what a man wants and needs.

I thrust hard.

“Oh god!” she cries in ecstasy. I knew this part was real

Daphne is honest and clever, despite her living. She might not be as intelligent as a scientist, but she knows who she is, what she has and more importantly, how to sell it. You must respect that. It isn’t easy.

She knows that I know what her game is.

With me knowing, we have a good relationship based on money and sex.

Why do I spend thousands on a woman who is only after my money?

It’s because she makes me feel like a man. She is what I need, right now.

Daphne could well be the world’s most expensive therapist.

When she found me, I was a divorced, emasculated author who had just hit the big time. My ex-wife kicked me out, fed up with supporting me. She called me all sorts of names. Called me less of a man and said my writing career was going nowhere.

My faith in myself was all I had, but faith doesn’t feed you or your family. It doesn’t keep a roof over your head.

My ex-wife’s comments were unfair. I was earning a small living.

I lost everything in our divorce: the house, the car. I had to take my kids out one day a week because I had nowhere for them to stay over. I was only given a small lump sum, which helped me keep my head above water.

Then there was John.

My ex-wife moved on quickly. She took delight in parading him in front of me. Telling me in front of our children that he was what a real man looked like, a man who could provide for his family.

Did I deserve that?

No, but it was what I got. Worse was that I could feel that my children were slowly losing their respect for me under the verbal onslaught from their mother.

Then my book was found.

It was only a short email which changed my life. A production company wanted to turn my book into a film. I found a literary agent to help me sell the rights. Netflix were to screen it.

I purposely signed the contract days after my divorce was finalised.

An advance gave me the money to buy a house, bigger than my ex-wife’s. My book sales went into orbit. My children’s poor, worthless dad became their cool, bestselling author dad. John… well, to my wife’s chagrin, he became John ‘who’ to my children.

Book signings, interviews, and Q&A sessions at literary festivals became my new life. I was living the author’s dream.

My ex-wife’s attitude towards me dramatically changed. She stopped parading John in front of me. She became nicer to me. She was pleased with my success. She said I deserved it. She said she knew I would one day be somebody. My children said she and John were arguing. Their mother was comparing us again. This time John always lost.

When she found out about Daphne, her attitude changed again. She accused me of not being honest in declaring my finances when we divorced. But I had signed the contract after our divorce, so she couldn’t touch it.

When she tried to belittle me in front of our children, her words backfired, and our children lost respect for her.

John soon left her, and she was now bitter and alone with a reputation as the woman who had thrown the rich, successful author into the arms of a beautiful, younger woman.

Daphne had found me drinking alone in a hotel bar, contemplating the rollercoaster my life had become. I had been doing promotional work for the film adaptation of my book.

She wore a tight, short dress. I needed to check that she was talking to me.

We began to talk. I talked. Daphne listened. The words poured out of me in a torrent. I spoke to Daphne about the pain in my life. I talked about the story of my success. As I spoke, I realised I had never shared what I told her with anyone.

What did Daphne do? She listened. Nothing more. She just listened while I bought her expensive drinks. It felt good to be listened to. My ex-wife never listened to me in all the years we were married. Daphne was interested in what I had to say, until she suggested we take our conversation to my hotel room.

That first night with Daphne was emotional, at least for me. She knew what I wanted, what I needed. Her expression was sultry as she lay naked on my bed. It was furrowed with sympathy. She knew I was hurting, and jumping on me wouldn’t give her what she wanted.

We kissed softly. She guided my hands where it felt good for me to touch her. Daphne showed me how to give her an orgasm because she knew giving her pleasure would be good for me. She took my cock in her mouth, knowing it would make me feel desired.

Daphne rode me gently with a smile on her face, encouraging me to squeeze her ass. Her orgasms came with whispered moans. I came with relief that I hadn’t embarrassed myself.

When we finished, I wept. She held me and poured honeyed words into my ear. I was handsome. My cock felt good inside her. My ex-wife was foolish to let me go.

For the first time in many years, I found the semblance of a man inside myself.

Daphne’s words that night may well have been said because she was what I wanted to hear, but they were also what I needed to hear.

Daphne knows men better than any woman I know.

The gifts didn’t begin straight away. At first, it was the restaurants. She told me where she liked to eat and drink. Over dinner, she told me, as we ate, what she dreamed of owning. She was subtle but spoke with clarity. She never demanded. She only suggested. When I gave her a gift, we had sex. When I didn’t, we didn’t.

Daphne told me what I wanted to hear when we first had sex. When I treated her with respect, she began showing me more of herself. Her walls fell.

Asking her if she liked a particular piece of jewellery, perfume, or anything else was my way of telling her that I knew what she was doing. Daphne looked at me in surprise, then she smiled in a way that appeared to be relief.

Is what we have love? In a small way, yes. It’s more like gratitude, though. Daphne is grateful that she gets from me what she wants without pretending. She didn’t have to act like other men.

I’m grateful to Daphne because being seen with a woman like her compels you to look the part. I worked on myself. I lost weight. I exercised. Her honeyed words became more sincere. She felt safe enough with me to be honest and tell me about herself.

“You’re such great company,” she told me with serious sincerity after I confided in her my fears, running her hands over my now-toned body down to my hardening cock and pressing her naked body into me. “You are better than you think, and what your ex-wife says isn’t true. You’re handsome and charming. You’ve never judged me. I’m grateful to you for that. You’re one of the few people I’ve met that I truly felt safe with, and sex with you feels so good.”

When she told me that, I moved on top of her to take her, to dominate he for the first time.

My lips travelled down her delectable body, layering kiss after kiss on her neck, breasts, and abdomen. The only sound was her contented sighs that turned into moans full of ecstasy as my lips and tongue feasted on her pussy. My head only rose after she coated my face with her wetness.

When it did rise, Daphne saw something different in my eyes. A confidence. A determination. The man I could be. She bit her lip in excitement. Her legs parted, and her hips rose in anticipation.

My breath deepened with a hunger for her.

I growled more in relief than pleasure when I entered her. I shifted my body and hers so I could penetrate deeper. Her pussy felt like a balm for my aching cock.

I paused, savouring the feeling before I began to move. Slowly at first, my eyes looked intently at Daphne’s. I then moved faster. Daphne’s eyes widened as I became more aggressive and forceful. Her mouth opened to become an ‘O’ as she felt something new from me. Something relentless. Her brow furrowed. She orgasmed hard. Then again. Then again. Then again.

Her eyes became almost pleading. Begging me to cum. Needing me to cum. As saying, “I can’t take any more!”

Then I collapsed on top of Daphne. I must have cum. I was sure I came. For a moment, the world had become a blur.

Daphne’s kiss brought me back to the here and now.

“Oh my God!” she laughed half in humour, half in pain. “I didn’t think you would ever stop.”

“I’m sorry. I got….”

Her kiss silenced me so that I didn’t ruin the moment. “That is who you are. That is the kind of man you are.”

As soon as she said those words, I knew she had saved me, and that is how she paid me for the gifts.

Daphne and I have been seeing each other for a year and a half, living and travelling in luxury while having sex wherever we go.

We won’t last forever, but she is all mine until I decide that I no longer need her and stop paying for her.

If you like my story you can buy published books from Amazon:

https://www.amazon.com/stores/Sean-Dalton/author/B0CJJT4QNY?ref=ap_rdr&shoppingPortalEnabled=true&ccs_id=a8d4c0d7-0b19-425e-b9f0-b2324f5add65