6. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Emery

I check the time of the notification, and it's from about twenty minutes after I passed out last night.

Damn.

Okay, well. I can do this. Just, like . . . sext, right?

I've never had to worry about this part before. Usually, it's a done deal, and all I have to do is walk in and lie down on a bed or nearest piece of flat furniture.

Nerves zap down my arms, and I fall back until my butt lands on my unmade bed. Sliding my thumb over the notification, I wait for SugarLife to open, the pink and blue spinning ball taunting me as I get logged in.

I'm prompted for my license before I can continue to the chat, and I quickly get that uploaded. It doesn't give me any time to prepare myself, opening straight up to the message request once I hit submit . Fuck, will they see I've seen it?

I shake that thought from my head. Who cares if they know I've seen it? I don't know them and owe them nothing. I could totally ghost them. Block them, if they become dicks.

That little piece of perspective settles something in me.

I have a private account.

I'm anonymous.

I can decline and block.

Yes.

I let out a breath, ignoring that it sounds kind of shaky.

Once I click the accept option, I'm taken directly to the message thread, where several messages wait for me.

Brat4Us: Good evening, SugarBB_Emmy.

I do a double take at the name. Sugar B B Emmy? Oh, wait. Sugar Baby Emmy. That makes sense. Also, props to Oakley for coming up with a name on the fly like that.

Brat4Us: We hope you're having a great evening. Could you please tell us a little more about yourself?

Brat4Us: As for us, we are four professional men in our late-thirties, who require discretion. We are looking for a baby girl to share and spoil for a night. We normally play on our own but will come together for the right girl.

Brat4Us: So, let's chat and see if you can be a good girl for us.

My stomach quivers as I read the last message.

Good girl.

I've never been called good girl before.

I've been shushed. Told to take it. To not cry too loudly.

Been called a bad girl, a dirty girl, a filthy girl, a naughty girl. Been with men who thought their dirty talk was a turn on, but honestly, I'd drowned it all out, fake moaning my way through the whole thing.

But a good girl?

That's new. The idea of being someone's good girl is . . . intriguing.

I hover my thumbs over the digital keypad for a moment, worry churning in my stomach that I might say the wrong thing and scare them off. Or turn them off. Is there sugar daddy etiquette I should be aware of? Do I call them Daddy straight away? Or do I need to be invited to call them that?

I shake my head at myself. I'm overthinking this. Forcing all the noise to the back of my head, I just let the words flow out of me.

SugarBB_Emmy: Hi, Daddies. I'm not sure what to write. Honestly, I'm super nervous. I haven't done anything like this before. Being a sugar baby is super new to me.

The adult part of my brain is cringing at letting myself be so vulnerable, because fuck that shit, but at the same time, it's all true. This is totally new to me. Plus, I suspect that playing up the cute and innocent card might be the way to go here. Then a wicked idea occurs to me, and my thumbs fly over the screen.

SugarBB_Emmy: Do you think you can teach me how to be a good baby girl?

My heart and stomach are trying to merge together inside of me as I reread my messages over and over again. I realize I haven't answered their question, so I quickly put a little bit of information about me into the chat and hope it's enough to keep me in the good girl column.

SugarBB_Emmy: Also, I'm eighteen, I love trashy romance novels (but that's a secret between you and me), my roommate introduced me to SugarLife, and my favorite color is that hue of purple that is almost blue.

I bite the side of my thumb as I wait for a reply, but after thirty seconds and nothing, I figure they are busy or still sleeping or something. Locking my phone, I head back out to my probably now-cold breakfast, not surprised to see Oakley's door still closed. This time, however, I bring my phone with me.

Two bites into my food, and my phone lights up with a SugarLife notification. I almost choke in my haste to read.

Brat4Us: Good morning, Emmy. Don't be nervous. We're very excited to talk to you. And this doesn't have to go beyond talking if you feel uncomfortable at any stage.

Brat4Us: As it happens, we are definitely the kind of daddies who like to teach our girls how to be good for us. Would we be your first daddies?

Brat4Us: Your secret is safe with us *winky face* Is there anything you would like to know about us?

When a sharp sting emanates from the side of my thumb, I quickly pull it from between my teeth, grimacing at the torn flesh that is now surrounded by the smallest amount of blood. Popping it into my mouth, I suck as I search for paper towels.

Successful with my mission, I wrap the folded towel around my thumb and scoop my phone back up. I'm not really sure what to do with the first part of their reply.

Also, talking about them in plural is oddly weird, yet not. Like, I know there are four of them, but it makes it seem like they are all on the same page. I wonder if there is one speaking on behalf of all of them, or if they are all sitting together, formulating responses.

I really hope it's the second option.

SugarBB_Emmy: Yes, you would be my first daddies. Is that a problem?

SugarBB_Emmy: Have you ever shared a baby girl before?

I leave the thread open, not even caring that their message will come in as read upon delivery. I'm way too keyed up to wait for a notification, only to have to wait as I unlock my phone to get in.

Noting that the status under their username says they are typing, I force myself to eat a bite of my eggs while I wait for their reply to come through. I'm swallowing my second mouthful when their reply pops up, and the reason for the delay is evident by the lengthy message.

Brat4Us: It's not exactly a problem, more of a concern. Are you sure jumping into the deep end is the best way to start your sugar baby journey? We don't want you to get hurt. Do you think maybe exploring this lifestyle through some of the tamer date types would be a better idea?

Brat4Us: And to answer your question, no, we have not shared a baby girl before. We have yet to find the right one for us.

Brat4Us: We have shared women, but never in a baby girl/daddy dom setting.

My messy bun shifts as I wiggle in my seat. They're concerned for me? Some random chick they've never met before, who could very well be some old fat dude sitting in the darkness of his mama's basement, catfishing the shit out of them.

Why the hell do they even care? Is their concern fake? Something they think they should say? Like how you say "bless you" when someone sneezes because everyone within a ten-foot radius expects you to, but really, you couldn't give two shits about the person's soul?

The happy, squiggly feeling in the pit of my stomach is turning into something a little less pleasant and kind of uncomfortable. I decide to go with my version of the truth again.

SugarBB_Emmy: None of the other invitations interested me the way yours did. I'm not a virgin. Sex isn't new to me. I might be young, but I know what I want. Yes, I'm nervous, but that has more to do with the sugar baby aspect of things than the idea of being with four men. I don't want to make a mistake as a sugar baby. I'm thankful for your concern, but I don't need it. You don't know me, but I can assure you that I only do things that I want to do. If you are able to trust me enough to know my own mind, I am happy to continue exploring this thing with you, all of you. But if this is going to be an ongoing issue, I'd prefer to know now so that I can withdraw my interest and go try a few of the tamer, less interesting, invitations.

I hit send before I can second-guess myself.

The uncomfortable feeling expands, compelling me to stand and traverse the tiny living room, doing laps around the couch and dining table while I stare down at the screen. My message is instantly on read , and I wish I knew what their faces look like, so I can imagine their expressions.

Are they pissed off that I stood up for myself? Did I just set myself up for failure? Ten thousand dollars and my life for at least the next year is on the line here. If I truly have fucked this up, I'll have to do what both they and Oakley suggested and accept three to four dinner dates a week, meaning it would take me months to make the same kind of cash they are offering.

Why waste all of that time, when I can make the same amount of money in a few short hours?

I'm staring so hard at the screen, it takes me a few seconds to notice that the little green icon next to the username has gone dark.

I blink. Then I blink again.

Well, I guess I did fuck this up.