My White Sugar Daddy

by Sasha Collins

  Interracial Romance Stories: My White Sugar Daddy (BWWM)

  by Sasha Collins

  Published by Sasha Collins, 2013.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  INTERRACIAL ROMANCE STORIES: MY WHITE SUGAR DADDY (BWWM)

  First edition. October 8, 2013.

  Copyright © 2013 Sasha Collins.

  Written by Sasha Collins.

  Also by Sasha Collins

  Standalone

  Confessions Of The Secret Call Girl

  Interracial Sex Stories Collection: Seducing White Guys Vol.1 (BWWM)

  Interracial Romance Stories: My White Sugar Daddy (BWWM)

  Table of Contents

  My | WHITE SUGAR | Daddy | SASHA COLLINS | Chapter 1

  My

  WHITE SUGAR

  Daddy

  SASHA COLLINS

  Chapter 1

  The white limousine is slowly making its way down the street. On its own, it looks incredibly out of place, all shiny with the gleam of wealth radiating off its spotless exterior finish as it makes its way down this, particularly run down, neighborhood. However, there's something about it that's even more conspicuous in an area filled with people just struggling to make their ends meet. There's a man emerging from the sun roof towards the rear of the vehicle. He's standing up inside of the limo, and everyone can see the tailored gray suit that adorns his athletic frame. He's probably in his mid 30's, but the salt and pepper hair atop his square head gives the movie star good looks of his face a certain kind of maturity. He's holding a bouquet of roses.

  "VIVIAN!" he screams. "VIVIAN!"

  Inside her rundown apartment, Vivian is packing up to leave for somewhere when she hears the familiar voice call her name from outside. She heads for the window. She sees the limo approaching as a flock of pigeons disperse in all directions to avoid it. Opera music is blasting from the limo's premium sound system.

  "PRINCESS VIVIAN! Come on down!"

  He climbs up out of the sunroof and hops down on to the street.

  Vivian smiles a broad, toothy grin. Before she can say anything, she and her prince disappear into blackness.

  "What a pile of shit," Tasha says to no one in particular, tossing the remote on to her coffee table. "Pretty Woman, my ass. Skinny woman is more like it. White girls get all the good ones."

  She grabs her laptop from the other side of the couch and flips it open. Her web browser is still the active window on the screen, and it's still logged into her profile on sugardaddy.com. Emma had told her about this site a few weeks ago.

  "It doesn't make you a whore to have a sugar daddy," Emma told her. "Think of it like this: you're looking for some security—you can't even pay your rent!—and there's plenty of men out there who can give that to you."

  "I don't know," Tasha said. "It just feels dirty. I'll be getting paid for sex."

  "No! You get gifts in exchange for companionship. You don't have to sleep with the guy."

  "What guy is going to give me gifts, of any kind, to a woman who won't fuck him?"

  Emma laughed. "None! But then you just move on to the next one. That's what I'm saying—it's up to you. You go on a date and if it doesn't work out, fine. No harm, no foul. If it does, though..."

  It was the thought of what could happen if it did work out that got Tasha to sign up and create her profile on the website. She'd always had a taste for older white men, but none existed in her social circle—she certainly wasn't going to find one in any of the scenes she hung out in. And at 23, she didn't exactly want to settle down with someone. She had a lot of living to do as far as she was concerned, and she'd be damned if she was going to submit to the first guy who could satisfy her just because he might be able to help out with the bills now and again. No, the sugar daddy thing was starting to make more and more sense. No strings attached and financial security? Why the hell not?

  She'd decided to make her profile private, and only grant access to men whose profiles didn't make them seem like a Craigslist killer. She entered her measurements, hair color, even shared some of the kinkier stuff she'd be willing to try with the right guy. But every time she got a bite from someone who seemed halfway normal, she'd grant access to her profile and she'd never hear from them again. Or worse, she would hear from them, and it was the same old story.

  "I didn't know you were black," one of them typed to her. "I'm not into that kind of thing."

  As if being with a black woman was the same thing as some freaky stuff like wanting to get peed on. Tasha was feeling very discouraged about the whole thing.

  "I thought we were past this racist shit," she thought.

  But here she was on her couch, grabbing for the laptop and obsessively checking to see if she had any more leads. She refreshed the screen, and saw that she had a message. Here we go again, she thought. What was this one going to say to her?

  From: Tom F.

  To: Tasha Y.

  Wow. You're just about the most stunning woman I've come across on this site. I'd love to chat with you some time. Can we make that happen?

  -Tom

  A smile worked it's way wide across Tasha's face. There was something about his message—beyond the obvious lack of rejection—that sent a shiver up her spine. Can we make that happen? She liked that he used the word 'we.' There was kind of humbleness to it, a glimpse into someone who viewed this sugar daddy thing as a two way street. She clicked on his name and brought up his profile to remind her of which one this guy was.

  Her smile grew wider. Oh my lord, she thought, it's the hot one! She'd had some interest from a few guys over the last few days, and yesterday she granted access to her profile to three of them: the old one, the married one, and the hot one. She could see that he was online at that moment, and decided to send him a private message.

  TY: I just read your message. Thank you for being so kind! Am available to chat now, if you want.

  She stared at the screen, watched the cursor blink as she waited for a response. The wait seemed like forever. Was he going to bail? Had he had second thoughts? Would he follow-

  TF: Great. Do you have video capability? I suck at typing.

  TY: Well, I don't know if I can be with a man who's not good with his fingers.... ;)

  Again, his response took way too long. He really did suck at typing. She decided to head him off at the pass.

  TY: But, yeah, I've got video. Send me the request and I'll accept!

  There was a long pause. Tasha could feel her body temperature start to rise. It had been so long since she'd been with a man that just this little bit of flirting was making her feel excited.

  TF: Cool. I'll send the request. I'm much better with my mouth, anyway :)

  And he knew how to flirt! She closed her eyes for a brief moment, and envisioned what it would be like to feel the weight of this man on top of her. She wondered how big his hands were, and how they'd feel on her waist. She was already feeling his tongue swirl around in her mouth and had him unzipped when a shrill beep from her computer snapped her out of it. She accepted the video chat request, and then panicked. Oh, shit. I'm not dressed for this, she thought. In her excitement, she'd forgotten that she was basically in her pajamas: a tight white spaghetti strap tank top and black boyshorts were all she had on. Tasha quickly adjusted the camera so it only captured her from the neck up. Tom appeared on the screen, a little more of him in the frame than she was showing of herself. He was in a faded gray t-shirt, his sandy brown hair seemed a little tousled and messy. He was definitely hot, but he didn't look like any sugar daddy. Tasha smiled at him.

  "Hi...." was all she could get out.

  "Hey, there!" Tom answered. "Thanks for being a
vailable. I mean- er you know. For being so flexible."

  Tasha went for it. "Oh, I'm plenty flexible," she told him. His nerves were cute, and also reassuring. It made her more confident.

  "You don't have to do that," he told her. "Make sexual remarks, I mean."

  "Oh! I'm sorr-"

  "No!" he interrupted. "It's not offensive or anything. I just meant if you were trying to impress me, you don' t have to. I'm already impressed."

  Damn, Tasha thought. He's too sweet. Is this for real? she asked herself. And then, "Are you for real?" she asked him.

  "What do you mean?" Tom asked.

  "Like, you seem really nice. And nervous. And, I don't know. I guess I thought on a site like this, I'd be meeting...well, guys who are more arrogant. You're not what I pictured a sugar daddy to be like."

  Tom seemed upset. "I'm sorry. I mean, I don't want to disappoint you—"

  "No!" Tasha shouted over him. "No, I am not disappointed." She held her right hand in the air, in some approximation of the scout's honor symbol that she wasn't sure where she'd ever seen before. "I promise."

  "You've got a beautiful smile," Tom told her. "Here. Hold on."

  Tasha watched him on the screen as he looked down at his keyboard. He slowly typed something out, one click of the keyboard at a time.

  "What are you doing?" she asked.

  "Hold on.......there!"

  Tasha's computer beeped at her again. A pop up window displayed, telling her Tom had sent her a gift. She clicked on "Accept" and saw that her profile wallet was now $1,000 richer.

  "Oh, my....I can't accept that."

  "Sure you can," Tom said. "This way you know I'm for real. And that's why you're here, right?"

  "That's only part of why I'm here," Tasha replied, batting her lashes at him. "I've got other needs, too."

  "And that's why I'm here," Tom told her.

  "I'd really like to meet you," Tasha said quietly, seriously. "Like, really."

  "Good. It seems like we have a lot in common."

  "Well, you've been so kind up to now," she said, "how about I give a little preview?"

  "How so?" he asked.

  "Watch."

  Tasah moved her computer back a little so that her cam caught every bit of her from the chest up. She ran her finger along the neck line of shirt, hooking it and pulling it down a little, giving Tom just a little taste of what was underneath.

  "You like that?" she asked.

  "Umm-hmmm..." Tom answered, eyes wide open.

  "Good. Why don't you put your hands where I can't see them?"

  Tom leaned back in his chair, and he shifted around a little. Tasha heard the faint zzzzippp of his pants, and then he got comfortable.

  "Mmmm..." Tasha said. "I can't wait to do that for myself. Are you ready?"

  "For what?"

  Tasha set the laptop down on her coffee table as far back away from the couch to get the widest shot possible. She got up on to the couch, and positioned herself on her knees and straightened herself upright. Tom could see the thick muscles of her thighs as they bore her weight, his eyes slowly moving up her body. Her skin seemed so impossibly smooth. Her boyshorts and spaghetti tee fit tight on her body. Her wide hips narrowed to a small waist. Her small waist led to her perfectly plump D-cup breasts. She was rubbing her hands up and down the front of her body and he watched her nipples harden, poking out from behind the tight white shirt that barely covered her. Tasha's long neck and high cheekbones drove Tom wild. She could see his left arm moving rhythmically, slowly, but she could only imagine what was happening off camera.

  "You like what you see..." She wasn't asking him, but he answered anyway.

  "Oh, hell yes," Tom whispered. He couldn't take her eyes off her.

  Tasha leaned forward towards the computer, and she balanced herself with one hand on the coffee table. Her face was up close to the camera, on the top half of his screen, and—below it—he could see right down her shirt.

  "Can you see my tits?" she asked.

  "Not enough...."

  "Well, here. Hold on. I've got a gift for you, too." Tasha said.

  She grabbed a remote of the coffee table and then righted herself back onto the couch. She pointed at something off to the left, and music came on. Tom could make out the slow, syncopated beats and bassline of music he didn't recognize. Tasha started to move her hips in circles to the beat of the music. Her hands moved all around her own body, feeling, exploring. She slowly peeled the shirt off her body and Tom drank in what he saw. Here is perfection, he thought. Tasha put her hands over her tits, let her nipples poke out between her fingers as she thrusted her pelvis towards him in time to the music. She watched his arm move faster.

  "I want to see you, too," she told him.

  Tom stopped for a moment and leaned toward his camera. He pointed it downward and Tasha moaned at the sight of him. Not too long, not to short, and thick as anything. She saw his hand gripped around his cock, and he was squeezing and pulsing.

  "Mmm, yes, baby," she said to him. "I'm going to put that in my mouth some day. I can't wait."

  "I want to see your ass," Tom said. "Turn around."

  "Oooh, yes," she said. "I want you to see it."

  Tasha swung around on the couch, still on her knees and upright. Her ass must have extended 3 or 4 inches out beyond the small of her back; it was big and round and Tom wanted to grab hold of her. The tension of her not being there was getting too much to bear. Tasha bent over the back of the couch, and slowly moved her ass to the rhythm of the music. It was hypnotic; Tom couldn't keep his eyes off it. She looked back over her shoulder and saw Tom's hand still gripping his shaft. His hand was turning red from squeezing so hard and the speed of his stroking increased to a fever pitch.

  "Take off those shorts," he demanded.

  She slowly removed the boyshorts and threw them off to the side. Tasha let her right hand move slowly down her belly, and then between her legs. She was wet, insanely wet, she could feel it dripping down her finger. Tom watched as two fingers appeared from between her legs, now spread wide, her ass up in the air. She pushed the lips of her pussy apart and her dark skin made the pink of her insides look all the sweeter. Tom was furiously jerking his cock now, he wanted inside her so bad. The torture of not having this incredibly sexy woman was more than he could bare. Meanwhile, Tasha's two fingers disappeared inside her, in and out, faster and faster.

  "Oh, shit," she said. "Shit, shit, shiiiiit! You're going to make me come!"

  But Tom was in his own world, eyes locked on that ass, that pussy, those fingers. He wished it were his cock disappearing inside her, reappearing and glistening with her wetness all over. He wanted to taste her, to be on her, to feel her ass slapping against him.

  "Oh, fuck..." he grunted.

  Tasha heard him and turned to look at her screen. She flipped back around and sat on the couch, feet up on the coffee table, the fingers on her right hand still sliding in and out of her dripping, black and pink pussy, her left gently rubbing circles on her clit.

  "I want to watch you come, baby," she told him.

  "Yes," he said. "I'm so close....."

  Tom looked at her on his screen, her strong legs, tiny waist, flat stomach, and perfect round tits. He looked at her face, and her mouth, saw her tongue lick a line along her own lips.

  "Say my name," he told her.

  "Mmm, yes, Tom..."

  "Say it again, tell me what you want," he ordered.

  "Oh, shit, Tom—I want you. I want your cock inside my mouth. I want to feel you explode inside me."

  Tom's hand was moving at the speed of light. Tasha watched him, and could see the tip of his cock start to twitch a little.

  "I want your cock all the way up in my mouth, all the way to the back of my throat. I want to feel the come drrrripping down my throat...."

  She saw it happen. His whole cock seemed to shrink back for a moment before it let loose a torrent of come, up on his shirt, all over his hand, covering his legs
. It seemed to endless, like he'd been saving this one load his whole life just for her, she thought, and with that she let out a moan.

  "Ohhhh. Ffffuck!" she shouted. Her body twitched. Tom saw her hips convulsing forward toward him as she arched her back and tilted her head to face the ceiling. She pulled her fingers out and slowly dragged them up the front of her body. She made a trail of her own wetness up her stomach, past her tits, up towards her mouth. She smiled at the camera—at Tom—as she licked her fingers clean, still panting and trying to catch her breath.

  "Oh my god...." she said, quietly. "Oh. My. God."

  Tom pointed the camera back up towards his face. He was sweating and red faced.

  "Oh my god, indeed," he confirmed.

  Tasha just lay back on the couch, naked, winded, unashamed and totally comfortable in front of this man whom she hadn't even technically really met yet. She smiled at him.

  "That was fun," she said. "I want to meet you for real."

  "Yes, of course," he said. But he seemed all business now. He was no longer nervous or charming or even warm. "I think this can be a beneficial arrangement."

  Kind of a weird thing to say, Tasha thought.

  "We'll be in touch," Tom assured her, leaned forward to strike a key on his computer, and disappeared into blackness.

  Chapter 2

  Tasha sat across the table from Emma, elbows resting at the edges and her hands cupped around the shallow saucer of coffee—light and sweet—the waitress had just poured. It felt warm on her hands. They'd been meeting at Goose Creek diner every Saturday morning for the last three years, and had become regulars. All of a sudden, though, Tasha felt like an outsider, like nobody here really knew her and they were all making their judgments.

  "How long ago did this happen?" Emma asked.

  "About a week. Maybe eight days. Yeah, eight days." Tasha stared at the nearly white coffee—she used a lot of cream—never taking her eyes off the swirls of steam that rose and disappeared into the air. "God, I am so embarrassed!"