"What? No...Who cares? You got off!" Emma's voice carried to the next table, where an elderly woman sat eating blackberry pie. She nodded disapprovingly at the two of them. Emma waved hello at the woman, acknowledging that she knew she was listening and that she didn't care one way or the other if she did. She lowered her voice for the next sentence. "He gave you a thousand dollars, Tasha."
"I know. That's why I'm so embarrassed."
Emma scrunched her nose in confusion at Tasha. "Isn't that why you joined the site in the first place? To make a little extra cash?"
"Yeah...I mean, I guess," Tasha hemmed. "I don't know."
The truth was she had joined the site in the hopes of supplementing her income. Front desk receptionists weren't exactly commanding a livable wage, especially living within city limits. Louisville had become pretty uppity in the last few years, and the cost of living increased dramatically, but Tasha was still making Bardstown wages. But even with all this financial stress, she still found herself looking at profiles on sugardaddy.com and not thinking about the money part of the deal. If she was being honest with herself, she had to admit she'd been choosier then maybe she should have been. She had to be attracted to the guy if she was even going to respond to them, and if she was they had to have some compatibility, too. At least he had to appear compatible enough for her to grant access to her private profile. She wasn't looking for love or anything, but still, she didn't want to be uncomfortable or bored if she ever found a date.
Tom was the first guy to make it past her screening, and respond back to her. And when they first started chatting, she found him respectful and unassuming, which made him all the more charming—cute, even. They had a natural chemistry that she felt in the first minute of the chat, but would she have done the things she did if he hadn't given her the thousand dollars? She wasn't sure, actually, but if he'd just contacted her after to say "Thanks" or "Had a great time" she knew she'd feel a lot less like some cheap whore putting on a cam show for some random asshole she'd never see again.
"Don't sweat it, girl," Emma reassured. "He'll get back to you. Guy doesn't drop a grand for that kind of action. Think of it as a downpayment."
"That doesn't make me feel better," Tasha said. "I'm not an investment."
"Aren't you, though? Honey, if I were a guy, I'd throw everything I had into you. And I mean into you." Emma flashed a wicked sort of smile at Tasha and reached across the table for her hand. Tasha flinched, pulled her hand away quickly.
"What the fuck, E? Are you coming on to me?"
Emma straightened up and worked her expression back into something more sympathetic. Her face turned beet red.
"No! Just trying to make you feel better. Jesus, Tash."
Now Tasha was feeling embarrassed. She looked out the window and watched the cars drive by. They all whizzed by, moving much too fast for this part of the road, and she wondered where they were all headed.
"Sorry, babe," Tasha said. "I don't know what's wrong with me."
"Don't worry about it. I gotta say your story about the chat session turned me on. I might've been hinting at something a little," Emma admitted.
Tasha let loose a sheepish grin. "Well, pony up a thousand bucks, and we'll see where it takes you."
"I knew it! You slut!" Emma shouted, and they laughed like they were the only two people at the Goose Creek. The old woman one table over muttered to herself in disgust as he finished off her slice of pie.
When Tasha arrived back at her apartment she was in a better mood. It was going to be another lazy Saturday afternoon—maybe some TV, maybe some web surfing, definitely that bottle of white wine she'd left to chill in the fridge—but her morning ritual with Emma had a way making it not seem so lonely. She opened up her laptop and watched the screen as her email slowly downloaded. Here was some spam, a Rent Overdue notice from her landlord, a paperless bill from the credit card company, and sadness began to weave its way back into her life. But then: a notification from sugardaddy.com.
"Tom F. has sent you a message," the subject line read. Tasha's heart revved up several beats per minute as she clicked the link inside the email and waited for the page to load.
Subject: Greetings and Apologies
Tasha-
First I must apologize for my abrupt exit from a very exciting first "meeting" with you. To be honest, I was a little embarrassed, having never done something like that before. Please don't take my silence the wrong way, though. I meant what I said when I told you how stunning I think you to be, and I believe that even more after watching you "perform" that night. It only took me this long to write back because, as I said, I suck at typing, and I've been writing this for five days :)
I'm joking, of course, but I'm sure you can imagine how busy my job keeps me and weekends are really the only time I have to myself. I would like to meet you in person, are you free tomorrow night? I'm in New York City right now on business, and if you say yes (please say yes) I will take care of everything.
Hope to hear from you (very) soon,
Tom
New York City? Tasha wondered how she could go on a date in New York City on a Sunday night and be back in Louisville for work Monday morning.
Subject: yes?
tom-
thanks for finally writing to me. believe it or not, but last saturday's "performance" - as you call it - was a first for me also. i am not in the habit of doing things like that, but got swept up in the moment and the excitement of meeting you. i want to say yes, i really do, but there is no way i could go to NY tomorrow and be ready for work on monday. maybe next weekend? a saturday?
-tasha
p.s. if you don't bother with capital letters, you can type much faster that way.
It was two very long hours before Tasha heard back from Tom.
Subject: yes? no: yes!
good idea on the capitals. i'm giving it a try. so far so good. in any case, i don't like to take "yes?" for an answer, and i'm anxious to meet you in the physical world. trust me when i tell you that you needn't worry about your job on monday morning. call in sick if you wish to keep it. or forget about it entirely. i told you: i will take care of everything.
tell me what airport you live closest to, and i'll book a flight.
-tom
Tasha wondered what to do. She heard Emma's voice in her head, telling her to go for it. Fuck your job, she'd have said. You can always get another one. But here he was saying he'd take care of it. What did that mean? What did it matter? She had the chance to get out of Louisville for once in her boring, money starved life, and he seemed like an honest guy. She'd do it and she'd deal with the repercussions later. She wrote back several minutes later with a message that was short and to the point: "YES!! (oh, and louisville, kentucky)"
Thirty minutes later, she received her boarding pass as a message attachment, with instructions to look for the car service he'd arranged for her. The service would bring her to the hotel, and she was to give her name at the front desk, and state that she was there to see Tom Finch. The front desk would be told to expect her. He would not be there when she arrived, but expected to return around 6:30.
"You live in Louisville?" he asked at the end. "I'm just over the river, in Cincinnati!"
Tasha couldn't wait to call Emma.
Ho-leee Shit, Tasha thought as she was escorted into the Presidential Suite of the Waldorf Astoria. This room is bigger than my apartment. She turned to the—what were they called? Bellhops? Attendants?
"What'd you say your name was again?"
"Henry," he replied, pointing at his gold plated name tag affixed over his heart.
"Henry, how many square feet is this place?"
"Only 1,800, I'm afraid," Henry informed her.
"Only?" she asked. My studio is 700, Tasha thought to herself.
"Mr. Finch usually stays in the Tower Suites. They go up to 5,400. I guess he wanted to something a little more"—and Henry paused here to look Tasha up and down—"intimate."
&nbs
p; "I'm not a whore," she snapped.
"Of course not," he replied. "I meant no such thing. Enjoy your stay."
Henry handed her a small envelope, bowed courteously, and left her alone in the room. Tasha opened the envelope, with its handwritten 'T' on the front, and read the note inside.
"Tasha," it read, "make yourself at home. There's a huge tub in the bathroom, which I find refreshing after a day of air travel."
Not a bad idea, she thought. She looked around the suite, stared slack-jawed the marble entrance, wondered who would host eight people in a formal dining room at a hotel, and then found the bathroom. As the bath filled up, Tasha took her clothes off and stared at herself in the mirror. What was she doing? There was her same old body she'd always seen, same old face, but what was all this elegance around her? It was a short flight, but she felt a hundred years away from her life in Louisville. She could get used to this. She stepped down into the tub and forgot about every little thing in her life that hadn't gone right in an instant. She was already used to this. Tom would have to be a real shit for her to walk away now.
Twenty minutes later, the tub was draining and Tasha was back in front of the mirror, brushing her wet hair out to keep it straight. The terrycloth robe was whiter than anything she'd ever worn, and the contrast of her dark skin under it made her feel conspicuous and out of place. Tom was going to change his mind the minute he saw her in person, she thought. He'd realize he made a mistake, or that it was just some kind of fetish he no longer was curious about, and that would be that. Tasha began to fret; she needed to get out of that robe immediately, put on some clothes, make herself look sexy. She opened the large french doors of the bathroom and stepped out into the sitting area of the suite. Tasha screamed. She hadn't heard him come in, but there was Tom, sitting on the sofa drinking a cocktail. Her scream startled him and he jumped in his seat, spilling whisky all over his pressed white shirt.
"Oh, no," she said, running toward him. "I'm so sorry!"
Tom stood up and looked at her, really looked at her, and gave a nervous smile as he dabbed at his shirt with some tissue. "So nice to finally meet you in person, Tasha. Don't worry about it."
He made to move toward her, as she moved toward him. It was an awkward moment: what was the etiquette for a first meeting with someone you've masturbated on webcam with? He offered his hand for a shake as she was leaning in for a hug. Not wanting to seem to formal, Tom took back his hand and went for a hug, but Tasha had already changed course towards a handshake. They danced clumsily through a series of moves aimed at finding common ground, only to be thwarted each time by the other's differing intentions. Finally, Tom put his hands up.
"Hold it," he told her, and they stopped. Tasha stepped back and they just looked at each other in silence. Tom stood a good 6 inches taller than her 5'8" frame. His skin was pale, but not pasty. His sandy brown hair framed sensitive, blue eyes and a chiseled square jaw line, and his broad shoulders, strong chest and perfect flat stomach were almost impossible for Tasha to accept.
"Nice to meet you, too, Tom," she said, batting her eyes at him a bit. "I have to say, you're pretty stunning yourself."
Tom reached for her right hand, and enveloped it with both of his. He felt so strong to her and the sight of her dark hand surrounded by his two white ones sent another wave of pause through Tasha's mind. This can never last, she thought.
"And you are even more so in person," he said.
"So can I hug you, then?" Tasha asked.
"Please."
She leaned in towards him, wrapped her arms around his waist with her hands pointed upwards and resting on his back. Tom held her close, felt the moist warmth of her freshly bathed body against his, his hands flat against the small of her back and resting just above her ass. He felt her breasts pressed against his abdomen, her face turned to the side with her cheek to his chest, and breathed her scent in deeply.
"Tom?" she said.
"Yes?" he answered back, neither of them moving.
"My face is right where you spilled your drink."
He let go of her abruptly, and Tasha fell back a couple of steps.
"I- I'm sorry," he said reaching back for her.
"It's OK," she told him. "Its just- well, the alcohol smell was getting to me."
"Do you not drink?"
"No, I drink," she said. "I just don't usually lay my face in it."
Tom laughed. "I'm sorry. I just. I don't know. I'm nervous."
Tasha moved a few steps closer to him again, looking down at the floor.
"I am, too," she confided. "I should go wash my face. I probably stink now."
"No, wait," Tom said, grabbing her hand again before she could turn back to the bathroom. "Come here."
Tom pulled her in very close again. He brought his right hand up to her face, and placed his palm against her left cheek, fingers gently cradling her head. They locked eyes as he pulled her face to closer to him; wide-eyed, she waited to see what he would do next. Tom slowly leaned down towards her scotch stained right cheek and inhaled softly.
"You smell delicious," he told her, and began to kiss her cheek. He felt her skin swell as she relaxed into a contented smile.
"Mmmm," Tasha told him. "That feels nice."
Tom kissed down the side of her face, down to her neck. His tongue traced delicate lines along her skin, and when Tom put his other arm around the back of her waist, Tasha let her weight settle into his strong arm. With her right hand, she pulled the robe open a little exposing her shoulder. Tom continued to kiss downward and towards the newly exposed flesh of her collarbone. They turned around as one so that Tasha's back was now to the sofa Tom had been sitting on. Reaching toward his shirt, she slowly unbuttoned it, starting at the top and working her way down. When she reached the bottom button she untucked the shirt from his pants and then ran her hands flat up his body, from his stomach to his chest to his shoulders. Her hands hooked over each shoulder and pushed him downward to the floor, so that he was kneeling before her. He stopped kissing, and looked up towards her. Tasha undid the belt of the robe and opened it up. All of a sudden she felt at home again in her skin, her dark curves and strong thighs seemed a source of power, able to bring a white man to his knees.
"What do you want to do tonight?" Tasha asked him.
Tom grinned mischievously, took his shirt off, and said, "I was really hoping to eat out, if you know what I mean."
"Huh," she grinned back. "Because I was really hoping for some room service, if you know what I mean."
And she reached down for the back of his head, and pulled him towards her. Tom put his hands around her waist and began to kiss and lick her stomach, moved lower and began to kiss through the small patch of hair on her mound.
"Mmm, yes," Tasha said, "You do know what I mean."
With his hands squeezing tightly around her hips, Tom pulled her down to the sofa. Tasha leaned against the back of the couch, arching her back. He ran his hands up her body and grabbed hold of her tits, and squeezed with a quivering want. Tasha opened her legs and he paused to look up at her. She grabbed hold of Tom's hair and pulled his face into her. Tom ran his hands back down her body, and then moved them under her legs, reached below her so and palmed her ample bottom, massaging her cheeks as he kissed and licked all around her thighs. He tongue run all around her, moving close to and then away from her pussy, teasing her, but never giving her what she so clearly wanted.
"Please..." she begged. "I need to feel your tongue in me. Lick it."
Her lips were swollen with desire, she was getting wetter and wetter, and still Tom danced around the issue.
"Taste me," she pleaded. "I'm so fucking wet for you...I want to watch you, I need it."
He dragged his tongue across her quickly and she gasped, drew in a quick breath of air and held it. Looking down at Tom, on his knees worshipping at her altar, Tasha felt an intense wave of need. She couldn't take her eyes off the white of his skin, his arms entangled around her legs. It was all to
o much for her: the ache in her pussy was screaming for him, she wanted to feel him, to see his light face pressed up against her black body. His tongue continued to tease, up and down along the outside of her. She started to grind herself into him, tried to force her pussy around his tongue if she could. She couldn't bare the tension any longer.
"Do you feel how wet I am for you? Tom, baby, I need your tongue in me. Deep in me...."
Tasha felt Tom remove his left hand from under her and then two fingers slide up the parallel lips of her aching, soaking wet pussy. His fingers spread her lips wide and then he was inside her. His tongue actually penetrating her and she could feel him licking her from the inside. She pulled his head tightly into against her, could feel his nose rubbing against her clit as his tongue worked forcefully, slowly, deliberately up and down and in and out.
"You taste so fucking good in my mouth," Tom said through a moan. "I want to make you come, make you feel as good as you taste...."
Tasha was driven wild at this point. She could feel herself getting wetter than she ever had been in her life, felt her juice and his spit dripping out and down, the wetness clinging to her skin and flowing down and back to her ass. Tom stuck two fingers inside her and Tasha let out a cry—"ooooh, yesssss!"—before he was pulling them back out. His palm facing upwards, he fell into a rhythm, two fingers straight in, and then curling upwards on the way out, a "Come here" motion that hit her right in the g-spot each time. She felt him inside her, fingers curling as if he were digging up and scooping out every bit of fluid inside her, pulling it out of her and onto is waiting tongue, slurping, licking, nibbling at her.
"You're gonna make me come, baby. I'm ready...."
And then the tension seh felt let loose, a release of everything Tom had built up inside her. Her body twitched and convulsed, and with each glorious expulsion of that pent up energy, she let out another cry—"Oh!" she shouted, "Fuck!" she twitched, "Yes!" she shook. And as her body slowed itself down, as her hips stopped thrusting into Tom's face, as she began to catch her breath she noticed Tom's face was still rhythmically pushing into her. He was still twitching, and convulsing, and letting out muffled moans and she felt his cheeks grow warmer against his thighs, until he, too, gradually slowed and relaxed and caught his breath, never picking his head up or saying anything to her.
My White Sugar Daddy Page 2
