Page 7 of Sugar Baby

Holy fuck.

Questions launch themselves through my mind.

How would that even work?

Would it be one after the other? Like a train?

Or would they all use me at the same time?

Would I get to pick which holes they used? Because I’m not the biggest fan of anal, but with that much dick in the room, surely they would expect it?

I take a deep breath. The only way to find out is to keep reading. The rest of their profile is pretty blank, so I click back to the invitation for the description.

Four daddies want to pleasure a special baby girl. One night only. Play time only. No age play required, but role-play is a must. Real life age is just a number; if you have the soul of a baby girl, please contact us. And if you have a bit of a brat inside of you, even better. Your interests do not need to align perfectly with ours. We have not listed everything.

We want to spoil our girl.

If this sounds like the perfect evening, be a good girl and hit the Pick Me, Daddy button. Your daddies can’t wait to play with their new toy.

Activities we are interested in: Hand jobs, fingering, oral (him), oral (her), anal (her), MF, MFM, role-play, vaginal penetration, double-vaginal penetration, triple penetration, stretching, fisting, sex toys, voyeurism, exhibitionism, light bondage, dom-sub, edging, and spanking.

My pulse flutters.

Be a good girl.

I reread the words, more than I probably should, but with every pass, the itchy feeling under my skin gets more persistent.

I know I’ve already checked most of the sex activities boxes, but there are a few on that list I haven’t. Group sex being one of those.

More than a few, actually.

Double-vaginal penetration?

Stretching?

Fisting?

Not to mention, every single one after that?

And anal is on there.

My chest is tight. For ten thousand dollars, could I actually let someone do those things to me? And not just someone.Four someones. It would only be for a few hours. All of the times I’ve had to help Tray out of a bind, when he’s gotten in too deep, were over in a few thrusts. Very few have lasted more than ten or so minutes.

But Tray was there. In another room, sure, because the guys obviously didn’t want him watching us. But I’d known that, if I needed to tap out, he would put a stop to it. Or at least, I’d always assumed so. I’d never needed it. I lay there, and they did their thing. Yeah, a few times it had been uncomfortable and kind of gross, but it was for Tray. He would do the same for me.

But I don’t have him now.

And that list . . .

Would they want to do everything on the list for this particular date, or is that like a copy and paste or some shit? Or a long-ass checklist, where they just selected whatever looked good when they were posting their invitation? I bite the side of my thumb as I mull over my options.

And, really, there are only two.

Message or move on.

I mean, yeah, I could pin it, but that option isn’t vibing right inside of me. It’s either message or move on.

But ten thousand dollars.