GAY Sugar Daddy

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"Good morning," I greet him at the pool once I set my stuffs on my sun-lounger.

"Morning." He replies briefly then floats to the middle, so I sit and apply the sunblock while watching him does another lap.

"Did you have breakfast yet?" He asks once he climbs up from the pool.

I watched the whole Despicable Me series last night so by the time I finished the last one, it was already seven in the morning. I slept for a few hours until I woke up just half an hour ago, thinking it's better to hit the pool straightaway instead of taking a shower since I'll be going there after my swim anyway.

"Not yet."

"I cooked pancakes this morning, left some at the kitchen for you. But I can cook an early lunch if you don't want it."

"It's okay. No biggie, Owen. Stop worrying too much about feeding me. I'm okay with anything." I'm the middle class girl, remember? We eat everything, since there isn't much option. Either stay hungry or eat the food you're served, is my parents’ mantra when I was growing up.

He sits on his chair and sips on a glass of cold juice. Remembering the little rule we have, I stand up and walk to him, ready to occupy his lap.

But he quickly opens his tab and puts it on his lap, giving me a subtle rejection since I'm this close to dump myself on him. What was that?

"On second thought," I sit at the end of his sun lounger, parking my ass next to his long legs, "Maybe we should eat out. Hm?"

"Okay." He doesn't lift his eyes from the iPad screen, still sliding his index finger here and there. Is it just me or is he really behaving a bit odd? As if he's avoiding me? Is this about last night? I rejected his offer so he rejected me?

"Owen," I put my hand on his leg, seeking for his attention.

"Ya?" He answers without looking at me, still.

"Wanna go now?"

"Ya okay, sure," with that he flips the casing of his iPad, ready to leave.

"Here or upstairs?"

"Huh?" He finally looks at me, confused.

"I thought you said eat out?" He asks again when I just stare at him, my palm is still touching his leg.

And when we just stare at each other for a good thirty seconds I drop another hint by wiggling my eyebrows, fingers sliding to under his swimming trunk, straight to the centre of his legs. That's when he finally gets it, "Ohhh."

"Oh God." I sigh loudly before laughing along with him. Yeah, eat this one out. Duh.

"In that case," he sits up, "Let's bring this fine ass back inside," his hand slaps my bottom hard even before he finishes his words.

"Aw!" I yelp in pain, pushing his hand away.

He doesn't bother with my reaction as he gathers his stuffs, too eager for his after-swim meal.

"Don't you want to finish your drink first?" It's seriously hot today, being the first week of August. I bet he's parched after the swim he took.

"Do you know human body contains sixty percents of water?"

"... yeah?" We're quizzing now?

"I can just drink you, Precious."

I blush hearing his lame line. Fucking blushed. Damn it.

"Let's go, I'm thirsty now." If I can even get any redder...gosh! But you know what, let's make a good come back.

"The thirst is mutual, boy." I reply as nonchalant as I can, already carrying my towel and phone to follow him inside.

We keep on throwing lines to each other until we get inside the house through the kitchen entrance and he decided there and then to kiss me and carry me to the kitchen island.

He doesn't eat me as I imagined but more to making out with my pussy that I scream for all the highs he gave. This gay man does it better than any straight men I've ever had sex with. Cliche, I know.

But it's the truth. Or at least that's what I felt at that moment.

I try to compare him with my previous partners, not wanting to entertain that one thought that keeps on bugging me these days; I don't wanna lose him, even if he's nowhere near mine.

Shit. There it goes again.


"About last night..." I know I won't be able to sleep until I ask him about it, "Were you mad at me?"

It's dark, not sure what time it is now but we've been talking and laughing, said goodnight to each other few minutes ago but here I am, asking that one question. From the sound of his breathing, I know he's not sleeping yet.

"Were you mad? When I went to my room? Instead of stay the night here?"

Nothing, not even a movement. But he isn't sleeping yet, I'm sure of that.

"I think you're a bit mad... even this morning too. Am I right?"

I turn my body to face him, it's dark but after some time I can actually see his figure, a glance of his facial expression. We're sleeping in his room tonight instead of outside, not sure why but we sort of just strip while talking and get into the duvet.

Yeah, it's nakey Saturday.

"Owen..?" My hand stretches out to reach him which he takes it on his end, bringing it to his chest, clutching it tight inside his palm.

"I wasn't mad." Liar.

"Maybe upset, but not mad." Aren't those two just the same?

"It's like asking you to stay here after the contract is over," he sighs, "I know you're here, I want you here, but I also know it's your right to choose where to stay."

So this place is a metaphor to New York, his room is this palace, and mine is my own place after the internship, "You're thinking too much."

"I know," he mutters in a low tone. As if he can't help it himself.

"I really can't stay, Owen." I have to take care of my heart.

"I know," again, with the same tone.

"Hey we can still hang out, you know. Like go out for dinner at that restaurant you brought me last night." I slide myself towards him to get closer, wanting to make him feel the friendliness I aim to show him.

"And have sex later here?" He raises his hand just enough to let me in, as I turn my body and park it in front of his, letting him spoon me.

Giggling I take his hand and put it under my breasts, letting him hug me, "Sure, if I'm not dating anyone."

"You plan to date someone after you move out?" He sounds surprised, which I quickly turn my head to look at him, "No."

"But you-"

"We can never predict the future so maybe I'll find someone, maybe I won't, but I'm not closing the door to the possibilities. If it happens, it happens."

He hums in agreement, "If it happens, it happens."


His hands have long gone to my breasts, squeezing them gently, feeling them. It doesn't give me the sexual vibe but more to... hm. What's the word. Belong? Feel at home? Like it's meant to be treated that way when we're spooning like this?

"They're like soft stress balls," he whispers in my ear, "they help me relax."

I laugh as my body shakes lightly, so he stops squeezing but puts his hand back under the boobs. I turn around to meet his chest, and naughtily grabs his balls, "They're soft too."

He groans when I cup them, "Don't do it. I still want kids."

I ignore his warning and let them roll on my palm, just playing with them like they’re two big marbles, "Gay dads are so hot."


"The whole thing about being masculine and sexy but you can't get your hands on them, or the fact they'll never be interested in you, makes them soooo much hotter."

Then I realise he's semi-hard, again. But this time I'm not wearing make up, or have my hair curled, not even putting on the corset or fuck-me heels so what gives?

"Are you... thinking about hot gay dads too?" That must be it.

But he takes my hand and places it on his dick instead of the balls, as he kisses me without giving an answer.

Stroking him up and down, while his hands are busy with those stress balls again, I've decided returning his kisses are more important than figuring out the answer.
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