Excerpt from an original work of fiction by M. Garcés
All of my piggies were blowing my phone up, begging for a chance to see me before I went out to meet this hot and rich man I assured them had a bigger cock than any of them. They loved it when I humiliated them regarding their dick size. It was refreshing being able to actually talk about size. In vanilla world, the passing rule is to tell every man they were the best and the biggest. Most of these piggies were very small, they themselves referred to their dicks as their pathetic clits. I cackled to myself, letting each one of them know that I was going to get pounded by a nine inch cock that loved to spoil me with infinite orgasms and five star meals.
I took out the dress I had selected for my date, a silk light aqua number I had made Frank, the only piggy I actually see in real life, buy for me. He got off on buying me things he knew I’d wear for others. When we would go shopping together I’d leave the curtain slightly open so he’d get a peek of me naked. He loves knowing that he can never have me. I guess men with that much money can only get off knowing there is something in the world they can’t have. Despite not finding him physically attractive, I always came home from our dates with soaked underwear. Being able to insult him, use him, and be met with supreme devotion and an eagerness to please turned me on like crazy. I always felt relaxed and confident when I went on a date after spending an afternoon with Frank and his Amex.
The reality was I had no intention of sleeping with Zahid on our first meeting. He had left me with the impression that he craved the girlfriend experience and preferred an element of seduction with our arrangement. I also had told myself the first meeting would be to determine if there was a mutual level of chemistry and attraction between us. The idea of being granted an allowance is exciting but I need to want him in some capacity to be able to stomach moving forward. Lingerie is a key important factor in everything I do. I selected a corset and lace tanga for the occasion, being sure to make a video to send to all of the men in my life. One size actually does fit all in some cases.
I met Zahid at this three Michelin Star restaurant close to Hell’s Kitchen. Originally I thought securing a sugar daddy would be impossible, there were so many beautiful model types in Manhattan. It took months for me to find someone who was real and actually interested. I knew Zahir was legit after doing a video call over kik. His wife had died in some tragic accident that he didn’t give me details about, but it was clear he was a busy man who didn’t have the time for the real relationship he craved. Providing an allowance made him feel better about not being available to me. We had yet to discuss our arrangement, but the date was going well.
He looked very young for a man in his fifties, with a perky ass, soccer player build and a full head of dark wavy hair. His eyes were black and he kept his face clean shaven. It was clear he was used to being in control from the moment we met in front of the restaurant. He was very old school, opening the door for me and taking my coat and handing it to the hostess. I never had a chance to order for myself, he did it for me. The conversation was very much in his control as well. He asked me about my dating life, my background, my ambitions, it felt like a job interview with someone I wanted to fuck.
Eventually I teased him for his formality, “So do I get the job?” I laughed.
He smiled, blushing a bit. “I apologize, I’ve just had a difficult time finding the right girl to spoil,” he told me, reaching for my hand across the table.
I blushed, feeling slightly shy and intimidated by such a rich and powerful man. I told myself that I had no reason to be like this, that there was always Reina if Millie failed. He didn’t want Reina, he wanted me. Or a version of me I should say. The fragile child that most of the time I tried to conceal. “This is my first time meeting with someone from the site, everyone else seemed so fake or definitely married,” I confessed to him, before eating some caviar.
He smiled, “I’m glad no one has gotten to you yet. I feel so lucky to have met you.” I did a little giggle, looking up at him and blushing. “Now you won’t write about me will you?” he said seriously, “It’s important to me that our arrangement is discreet. I have no problem with people seeing us together, but I can’t have people knowing I am providing you with an allowance.”
I tried to conceal my excitement that he had confirmed this to be a done deal. “No, I would never write about you. Writing is more of an escape for me, I seldom ever have a trace of reality in my work,” I told him, lying with complete confidence. I knew I’d never use his real name or a shred of identifying details so it felt irrelevant.
He nodded his head, looking down so he could create the perfect monkfish bite. After taking a bite he looked at me, as I was indulging in my sole. “I love your body. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt someone soft,” he told me, as I managed to keep a straight face. “I will give you two thousand a month in cash, always on our first meeting, with the expectation that I will see you no more than four times a month, likely involving a sleepover at my house. I rarely go to Brooklyn so I will always send you a car to come and go from our dates. In addition to your allowance you will get gifts and pampering. If we manage to get into a long term situation there will be more perks,” he said to me, looking at me carefully.
I waited for a moment before answering, honing all of my poker playing skills, “Three thousand a month in cash, our first sleepover at a hotel to ensure my safety. If you want me to spend the night at your house I expect to know your last name. You will never know where I work, live or my last name until I feel comfortable.” The pressure not to be fucked over was high and despite being a crazy bitch I was also well aware of the dangers.
He chuckled, reaching into his pocket and retrieving his business card, placing it before me. It read Zahid Khan, Khan Financial. I had heard of the company, it was one of the leading financial companies that granted loans to startups in the city. He knew the moment he showed me his business card that I wasn’t going to back out just like I knew he would have zero problems managing to shell out 3k a month. “That seems fair, although I’m confident I will earn your trust in no time,” he smiled, watching me take his card and put it in my purse.
“Mr. Khan, I love your confidence,” I gushed, playfully kicking him under the table.
The servers brought us our last course, some delightful macaron shaped like eggs in a variety of flavors. “We will stay in hotels until you feel comfortable with me,” he told me, “I live on the Upper East Side but work downtown, so depending on my schedule we will be either at the Baccarat or the Carlyle. I will give you a hundred dollars every meet to cover your fare for making it to and from the locations, until you are okay using my driver.”
I was only half listening to him, my mind already reeling at how quickly I could get out of my crippling debt if this arrangement stood the test of time. It felt too good to be true. He was handsome, successful, willing to do things on my terms, and astonishingly uncreepy.
“Your profile mentioned that you have lived in other countries,” he recounted, “If you could go anywhere in the world next, where would it be?”
These kinds of questions were my favorite to answer and thus commanded my entire attention. “I would love to go to Morocco or Turkey,” I told him, even though there were dozens of other places I’d like to go just as much. Cambodia, Vietnam, Greece, Nepal, India, Portugal, Japan and Peru all were places I frequently fantasized about seeing for the first time.
“Good to know,” he winked at me, before signaling the waiter for the check. “Also, it’s important that we schedule our meetings well in advance and that you are open to being flexible if something should change,” he sternly told me.
I nodded in agreement, already operating under the impression that he would expect me to bend to his schedule. We planned the next four dates and placed them on our respective calendars. He hailed me a cab and handed me a hundred dollar bill, kissing me on the forehead.
When I returned home, I fought the urge to recount the night’s details to Dwight. The moment I started talking about it, I knew I would jinx the whole thing and it would be over before it began. I felt my phone buzz and saw that Zahid had already messaged me, thanking me for a wonderful evening and that he was looking forward to meeting me on Friday. I pulled out the hundred dollar bill he had given me and placed it in my combination lock briefcase. I had asked the cabbie to drive me to the closest subway station to save money.
All I had was the last of my savings (approximately 600 dollars), 200 in cash and approximately 100 in gift cards from my piggies. I had told myself that once I hit 3k in savings I could put everything else towards my student loans and medical debt. Why 3k? Because it seemed wise to always have enough to pay a month of living expenses in my savings. I bit my lip and contemplated whether I should really shoot to have two months of rent in my savings. Probably a better idea.