Page 27 of Sugar Daddies

“Work,” Daddy answers indifferently as he buttons up his shirt, his eyes fall on the moving covers, and my skin bleeds pink at the heat rising from my impending orgasm.

Swallowing the dryness of my throat, I croak out with a sniffle, “You said you would spend time with me, but you didn’t come home.”

“I was home, but you were already asleep.” Daddy turns his wrist up to fix the cufflinks. It’s a sexy move, and I’m getting too wet under his watchful gaze.

“Liar,” I pout the best I can given the circumstances where I’m moaning and shaking on the bed. Mr. Stephan is merciless when my attention isn’t on him.

“Say that again, little girl,” Daddy drops his hands and glares at me. I keep passionate eye contact with him, and I pat myself on the back for not shrinking back into the bed and becoming one with Mr. Stephan’s colossal-sized body.

“Liar,” I bravely and very foolishly repeat.

Mr. Stephan scrapes my swollen clit with his nail and takes away his fingers, leaving me throbbing in violent tremors and a choked sob of their names.

Their rightful title,Daddy.

“You’re a bad, little princess. You don’t deserve to cum,” Mr. Stephan says as he wipes the sticky juices onto the clean sheets and I shake my head frantically while trying to grasp his retreating body.

“While Stephan and I are at work, you will sit here and think about this bratty attitude.” Daddy fixes his suit jacket, and it enhances the size of his shoulders.

“You will be punished when we return home,” Mr. Stephan’s voice comes from the other side of the bed, and I’m indecisive about which one to pull back first because they’re both leaving in a synchronized move.

“Do not touch that tight little cunt; it’s ours,” Daddy sneers with a thousand thorns stabbing into my skin.

I’m excited, and it’s mostly going to make my punishment more severe if they see me practically vibrating at the thought of a little pain.

Does that make me a masochist?

Chapter Eight

Pepper

I don’t mind the pale white colors that are the foundation of the mansion; I love it because it doesn’t hurt my eyes nor does it mean anything odd; it’s comforting and relaxing to see after a long day.

It’s not overly stimulating like a blue or too gloomy such as grey and black. The walls are uplifting and easy to take in without making me sick of seeing them.

Most of the white walls are empty, but some have paintings up to put some life and color into the massive home.

I help decorate it after seeing how plain it was, but Daddy gave me strict orders to never repaint them since the chemicals in the paint are not good for me.

Overall, I like the pale vanilla color that is almost close to a lighter side of ivory.

Not anymore, though, not after my men had come home from work thirty minutes ago.

They went to the office with Mr. Stephan’s order bouncing around in my head.

“Corner, now.”

It’s clear that the best thing I can do is to follow his command. I wouldn’t want them to be angrier at me for today’s mishap.

I don’t know what came over me, but I was upset that I couldn’t spend time with Daddy. Also, how was I supposed to know that Mr. Stephan would take Daddy’s side?

They left me sensitive, tender, and dripping on the bedsheets. I wanted to touch myself and bring closure to the pleasure that throbbed insistently throughout the day, but one message from Daddy stopped any of those thoughts from living up to the expectation.

I was ordered not to leave the mansion, not to touch myself, and I was to be expected to be clean and sitting at the corner of the master bedroom when they returned.

That left me wondering exactly what time they would return home, but I figure that I shouldn’t call them and distract them from their work.

I had been sitting on the bed for more than thirty minutes; I just know it because my feet are getting restless.

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