SWEET SWEET SUGAR // 18+ [On-Hold]

Chapter One

KELSEY

I'm about to stake out a sugar daddy with my best friend and sugar daddy connoisseur, Sierra Palmer. Taking her advice, I pick out my sexiest dress yet-- a skimpy cream silk dress with a shamelessly naked back, all the way down to the mid of my ass crack.

The front is nice and loose, so my breasts are pretty much out there too. It's a crime to wear a bra underneath a dress made of material that's only purpose is to showcase your thick nipples. The hem of the dress reaches only a couple inches below the hips, and its so properly skin-tight, the material hugs at my thick curves like butter on a toast... If you know what I mean.

I pair it with black garter tights and satin black YSL heels, where the tall heels are shaped into the YSL logo. I apply a seductive Chanel red lipstick, a pair of simple pearl earrings and tie my hair into a half up-do.

Gosh, I look so damn high-end and sexy, I surprise myself!

On the way out, I make sure to put on my 'quiet as a mouse' act and look all four ways with every step so I don't get caught by the restless hawk that is Gage. Thankfully, I make it to the street right outside of the Sanderson estate. There, I exhale as I hail a cab straight to Sierra's place.

***

Sierra lives in a fucking paradise. An apartment that must cost like crazy each month, all the way up on the 67th floor of a tall ass building that shoots through the clouds.

I wait a couple minutes at the fancy golden-lit lobby until I see Sierra exit the elevator with a thick blue fur wrapped around her shoulders, over what seems to be a little black cocktail dress. She never misses the chance to outdo me.

"Are you looking for a daddy, or am I?" I chuckle, running a finger across her fuzzy fur wrap.

Sierra shakes her head, completely ignoring the joke "let's get a cab. We can't be late."

Damn. I didn't know punctuality was a thing in Operation Sugar Daddy. I would've worn a wrist watch if I knew.

Following Sierra out of the building and back into the shivering cold night air, for which I'm utterly under dressed for, it takes a couple seconds for us to hail a taxi. We both hop right in, and I hear Sierra tell the driver an address that I have absolutely no idea about.

Something called 'The Outer Bar'. What kind of a stupid name is that for a bar? Why not go for something like 'Blue Rich Sea' or 'Rich Old Center of Sugar Daddies'?

I'm overthinking this, aren't I?

After about 10 minutes, we've arrived at what seems to be a normal, totally ordinary, pedestrian-looking building made of red bricks with a couple neon LED signs hanging along the front windows.

As I squint my eyes, I spot a small LED with the words 'The Outer' written in blue cursive, attached on top of an archway that leads downstairs to some kind of a basement. What gives?

"Come on now," Sierra gives me a nudge on the arm and I follow her closely through the mysteriously dark archway.

Things are looking rather cult-ish so far. Why is this supposed bar for filthy rich men shaped entirely like a dingy old pub on the outside? Not to mention, this entire downtown area looks like it has a knack for attracting goons and only goons. Poor, shabby, unkempt goons. Not filthy rich old men looking to spend thousands of dollars on a hot younger girl just for sexual pleasures.

As Sierra begins to walk down the stairs with absolutely zero hesitation and a chest full of confidence, I begin to do the same behind her. Here goes nothing...

***

At the end of the stairs, we're both stopped by a tall set of dark wooden double doors where two big buff guys in black suits stand in our way.