Total pages in book: 34
Estimated words: 32067 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 160(@200wpm)___ 128(@250wpm)___ 107(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32067 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 160(@200wpm)___ 128(@250wpm)___ 107(@300wpm)
My eyes scan the profiles, looking for the perfect opportunity. Then, I see it. There’s one in the bottom corner of the screen, and like the others, the profile pic consists of a rugged masculine chest ripped with muscle. The pecs are heavy and slab-like, and there’s a full six pack beneath it, as a trail of dark hair arrows towards the waistband of his jeans. Yummy. Even better, Mountain_Daddy is terse and to the point when it comes to his ad.
Looking for my princess, he writes. I want to watch you apply make-up as you get ready to go out. Zoom only. Compensation $500.
Immediately, I click “Connect with this user,” before typing a short intro about myself.
Hi! I respond. I don’t usually wear much make-up, but I love to try new things and explore. Maybe you could teach me a thing or two about cosmetics? Write back and let’s find out together!
I hit “send,” and then immediately regret it. Oh god, what have I done? Am I really pimping myself out like a streetwalker? Why did I even write what I did, anyways? I should have said something like, “I wear enough make-up for a drag queen, and will spend three hours putting it on for you to make sure you get your money’s worth!” Ugh. I’m failing from the start.
Still, desperate times call for desperate measures, and I don’t have any other options. Even worse, my stomach chooses at that moment to growl, and shaking my head, I drag myself two steps to my emergency stash of food, which at this point consists of ... nothing. I check my wallet, and there’s only a bit of loose change in the coin pouch. Not even enough to buy a single banana.
Suddenly weary and exhausted, I open my medicine bag and take a dose of St. John’s wort. I just need to go to sleep, and the herbal remedy always puts me out like a light. Then, I climb into bed and wait for slumber to claim me while lying perfectly still. Hopefully, my sugar daddy gets back to me quick ... because this sugar baby needs his help.
3
Misty
I’m at my job the next day when suddenly, I get a ping from Sweet Lies.
You have a message, Misty_18. Click to respond.
First, I look around the science center surreptitiously. Fortunately, I’m alone at a small circulation desk, and no one seems to be approaching. Perfect.
Then, I click on the link and enter my password for Sweet Lies before clicking the icon for messages. Mountain_Daddy’s shirtless photo is displayed, along with a short text.
I like your profile, and am more than happy to connect with a sugar baby to teach her about cosmetics. Would Friday night at 8 p.m. work?
My mind whirls. Am I really ready to do this? Where would I host the Zoom meeting anyways? Could I really do it in my dorm room? On the one hand, I have a bedroom within a suite, so there’s privacy. But on the other, the walls are thin and maybe one of my suitemates could overhear. OMG, I’d die! But then I remember that Kiara and Andie are headed to a sorority rush party Friday night, so they’ll have vacated by 8 p.m. Perfect. This is my chance. With trembling fingers, I type out a reply.
Sure, 8 p.m. works! Send me the video chat link. I look forward to meeting you soon, Daddy.
Then I hit send, and a confirmation appears on my screen. Oh my god, is this really happening? My heart races, and I realize that a sweat has broken out on my brow. Even crazier, my nipples feel a bit hard and my pelvis is achy when I squeeze my thighs together. Am I actually aroused by the prospect of meeting a dirty daddy online?
Get it together, Misty, the voice in my head scolds. His profile photo was headless, so he could be a troll. This is probably a butterface situation. Hell, he could be using a fake photo for his torso too! You’re probably meeting a scrawny incel in Albuquerque looking for virtual dates because he can’t get a date in real life.
I bite my lip because my conscience is right. Still, my physical reaction is real, and I take a few deep breaths to calm my racing pulse. Then, a thought strikes and I pull out my cosmetics pouch from my book bag, and rummage through it. Blush? Check. Lipstick? Check. Eyeshadow? Check. But should I buy more things? Mountain_Daddy didn’t say how long the meeting would last, but I know I can’t log off after five minutes to earn five hundred dollars.
Zipping my cosmetics case closed again, I resolve to stop at Walgreens on my way back from work. Maybe I can’t afford name-brand Estee Lauder cosmetics, but if we’re on-line, maybe he won’t be able to tell that I’m using drugstore brands through the screen. Which begs the question: should I do my hair too? Is that part of our meeting? What should I wear, anyways, for a Friday night make-up date?