lace on, lights low, line open
Sugar Daddy Phone Sex
and the sugar baby phone sex that followed
Sugar daddy phone sex started with a text that only said “pink,” so I was already dressed like his favorite secret when the sugar baby phone sex actually rang through.
The slip was strawberry milk and barely there. Thigh-highs with a lace band I had to keep tugging up. A satin bow in my hair, lipstick the same hot pink as the bow, perfume on my throat and the inside of one wrist. I was not going anywhere. I was getting ready to be listened to. That is what sugar daddy phone sex is for me: he pays for the pretty, then he calls and makes me ruin it.
“Say it,” he said, before hello had even settled. I smiled at my own reflection and gave him the sentence he likes. I am your sugar baby. The sugar baby phone sex always turns the second I admit that out loud. His breath changed. I heard the chair, then the zipper, then nothing but him waiting for the rest.
He buys the dinners. I buy nothing. On the phone I pay him back in detail until his voice cracks.
I told him the lace was scratching. I told him I had left the bedroom door open even though the apartment was empty, because sugar daddy phone sex feels meaner when I pretend someone might walk in. I sat on the edge of the bed, knees apart, slip shoved to my waist, and described two fingers pushing in. Slow, then not slow. I was wet from the outfit and from the transfer he had sent that morning. Sugar baby phone sex has a dress code. I follow it, then I talk him through taking it off me.
“Stockings stay on,” he said. “Everything else is in the way.”
How the call got filthy
I put him on speaker and let the sheets talk. Phone sex is better when he can hear the wet sound and not just the story. I moaned sugar daddy into the pink bedroom until it stopped being a title and started being an order. He told me to get on my knees on the rug. I did, phone propped on the nightstand, lipstick already smeared from biting my lip. I said I would keep my hands behind my back if he were in the room. I said I would thank him after I swallowed. Sugar daddy phone sex with him is never a script. He asks one sharp question and I run.
“You sound expensive,” he said.
“I am,” I said, and rubbed my clit in tight circles until my thighs shook. “Pay attention. This is your sugar baby phone sex, not a podcast.”
He laughed, then he didn’t. I walked him through my mouth, how deep, the lace strap slipping off one shoulder, the wet spot I was making on the rug. Stroke slower. Faster. Stop, hand still wrapped around his cock, and just listen. I came loud. One stocking slid to my ankle. The bow survived. Barely.
After, we stayed on the line, which is the part people skip when they talk about sugar daddy phone sex. He asked about dinner tomorrow. I asked if he wanted the same stockings or nothing under a coat. He picked the coat. I told him the bow stays in my hair, because sugar baby phone sex is sweet right up until it isn’t. I hung up with my makeup half gone and a grin I did not fix. Somewhere across the city he was cleaning up and already pricing the next hour of my mouth.