9. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Emery

Brat4Us: A perfect night is hard to describe. The kinks we listed on the invitation are not exhaustive. With a baby girl that we only have one night with, perfect for us would be about sharing her. She would be wearing something sexy, but cute. Maybe she has her dolls and bears out. She would kiss all four of us. She would get on her knees and wrap her pretty lips around each of our cocks. She would bend over and use her greedy little pussy to milk each of us dry. She would beg for permission to come while we took turns at eating her out. And the entire night, she would be our good girl and call us Daddy.

I read their reply about twenty times.

Holy shit.

I unknot my towel and drape it over the bathtub because I'm suddenly hotter than when I was in the shower.

My mind conjures images of each of the things they described, flicking through them like a flipbook cartoon.

Would one of them want to fuck me while I blow another one?

I press my thighs together at the thought as a dull throb shoots through my clit.

And they want to take turns eating me out? Surely, not. If they are paying to have sex with me, why would they willingly go down on me? Not even Tray has done that to me.

I read the message, again, and my attention focuses on two key things.

Wearing something cute but sexy.

Her dolls and bears.

Well, shit. How am I supposed to get those? I tap my finger against the side of the phone as I think.

This is my make-quick-money scheme. But how do I fund the upfront expenses?

I look at my reflection in the mirror, damp curls forming from the wisps of hair that had gotten wet around my flushed face. Could I ask Oakley for a loan? I'd literally be able to pay it back the moment I get home from my . . . date? But she would have to be crazy to lend money to someone she's been living with for a week and she knows is broke as a fuck.

Right?

All I can do is ask, I guess.

I wrap my body back in the towel, scoop up my dirty clothes, and walk back out into the living room. Oakley is lying on the couch, holding her phone above her head while she scrolls. As I approach her, I mentally run through the lie I'm going to tell so that it comes out smoothly.

"Hey, so I need to rain check our walk around campus. I found a daddy to go on a date with tonight," I start as I prop my hip against the back of the couch. "He wants me to wear something cute and to bring my favorite stuffed animal with me."

Oakley sits up, a smile lighting up her face. "Really? That's awesome. See, I told you this would work for you!"

I shrug and pretend to feel a little embarrassed, which isn't hard, because I am fucking embarrassed about asking to borrow cash. Although Oakley is cool about the sugar dating stuff, I can tell she hasn't taken it too much past platonic dates and kissing.

Besides, I don't know her well enough to tell her I'm going big for my first, and only, time as a sugar baby.

I do not need to make my living arrangement difficult. Hence, the lie. Which is probably for the best, because if I'm not lying to protect myself, then I'm bluntly honest. Not everyone can handle that.

"Yeah, but um, I need to buy an outfit." Please don't make me say it.

I stare at her, willing her to understand what I'm trying to say without actually making me beg her for it.

She looks at me for long seconds, and then it's like in a cartoon when a light bulb goes off above her head. "Oh! Do you need some money?"

My shoulders sag with relief. I hadn't even known they were tense. "Yes, that would be great, thanks."

Oakley jumps up and dashes into her room, coming back out with several bills in her outstretched hand. "Here you go. No rush to pay me back. I know where you live." She says that last bit with a wink.

I laugh, even though my stomach is tight at the implication of consequences. "Thanks."

"Do you need help with the actual shopping?" she asks as she plonks back down on the couch.

I shake my head. "No, I think I'm good. I'll pick up a little black dress from somewhere."

Lie. Lie. Lie.

She nods, picking up her phone and reclining once again. "Okay, let me know if you change your mind. I can go book us a study room to share and we can do the campus tour tomorrow."

Clutching my phone and the money, I head back to my room and close the door behind me before looking at how much cash she gave me.

My eyes almost bulge out of my head.

Five hundred dollars?

Fuck me.

I'd be fucking twitchy if I lent someone twenty, let alone twenty-five times that.

Reopening the app, I try to come up with something cute to say back, but I have nothing. So, I aim for bratty and hope I hit the mark.

SugarBB_Emmy: *Smirky face* I need to go shopping.

Also, I'm just now realizing that they never replied to my picture message. I frown. Maybe I should send another one?

I glance down at the towel wrapped around my body and then strategically adjust the bottom edge until almost-pussy is showing. I mean, if I tilt the camera down a little more from where I'm holding it above my head, they'll definitely be seeing pussy. But it's all about the art of illusion . . . or so I've heard.

My idea from earlier returns with a little more clarity.

I won't just send them random sexy pictures. No. As I get ready for tonight, I'll keep them hooked by sending photos of my day as I get ready. Feeling a little smug about my evil plan, I set up for the photo. Since the plan is to send them continuous photos between now and our date, I don't bother too much with getting it just right before hitting send . Not all of them will be perfect, but if they are after perfect, then they've come to the wrong girl.

I'm bruised and broken, a little shattered, but mostly, I'm just done with this version of my world. I'm ready for my time to begin, and I am hoping that starts when I wake up Saturday morning.

I pop out of the app, open up the browser and start a new search.

What should a sugar baby wear on a naughty date with their daddy?

There are a ton of results, mostly blog sites. I click the filter button to view images only, and I scroll through the various types of lingerie the internet has available.

The girls all have their hair done in braids and pigtails with fluffy scrunchies. Nightgowns made of see-through, flowy fabric with ruffles and bows. The models have modesty wear underneath, but it's clear that there isn't supposed to be anything worn beneath the sheer fabric.

About halfway down, I pause at the sight of a black lace bodysuit. The leg cutouts are high up on the models hips and the shoulder straps are tiny. But what really captures my attention is the massive black satin bow across the bust. Where you would expect there to be cups, there is only underwire, the edging of the black lace wrapping over the curved metal, leaving the model's breasts exposed, if not for the bow.

I click on the image, and I'm taken to an online store that provides an even clearer image of the outfit on my screen. There is a tiny arrow to the side of the image, so I click it and am rewarded with another angle of the lingerie. The back is low-cut and the ass converts into a thick G-string that disappears into the perky crevice of the model's ass.

Another click provides me with a third image and it's a flat-lay. When my focus lands on the crotch, my mouth drops open when I finally figure out why it looks weird.

I was wrong. It's not a G-string, well . . . the ass is. But the part that would cover my pussy has a slit down the center for what I'm sure is to allow easy access.

The outfit is basically gift wrapping.

It's fucking perfect.