DDLG. The letters sat on the booking like a small dare, and I found myself staring at them as if they might change their meaning if I waited long enough. I had listed the practice among my kinks some time ago, more out of curiosity than conviction, but this was the first time a client had asked for it properly. My hand trembled a little as I decided whether to accept. If I am honest, there was a flicker of hesitation that had nothing to do with the work and everything to do with memory.
Years ago, in what feels now like a different life, I dabbled in the sugar scene. I even had a sugar daddy for a while, which taught me a lot about what I did and did not want. I loved the dressing up, the theatre, the feeling of slipping into a part. I did not love the idea of being infantilised on repeat. So I kept the dress up and left the rest on the shelf. All of that made me pause, and yet I agreed to meet Tobias.
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He asked me to dress cute. Men say that before dates, but in this case it was shorthand for something softer, sweet and intentionally playful. I rummaged through the back of my wardrobe for something that read little more than a grown woman pretending. I did not want anything extreme in public so I selected a mid thigh floral dress in sheer material with a second layer underneath that kept things modest. The sleeves were three quarters length and fluttered when I moved. The print was pale lilac and pink, the shoes were white trainers and my socks had a little tulle frill peeking over the top. I kept my jewellery simple, a pair of silver rose studs, because small details count.
He wanted me to call him daddy. I wondered, briefly and not for the first time, why someone would pay for this instead of looking elsewhere, but it felt rude to ask. We arranged to meet at a bakery café famous for its cupcakes, the sort of place that makes you feel like you are inside a rom com. It was, amusingly, billed as a birthday treat. My birthday had been a week earlier. I did not mind the encore.
“Hello, you look lovely,” he said when he saw me, rising to pull the chair out. He kissed my cheek, a quick, careful gesture that tickled his beard against my skin.
He was not elderly like the caricature of the kink scene often implies. He looked mid thirties, with thick dark hair and a trim beard. His eyes caught the morning light and seemed to glint in a way I could not quite place, like coins or sunlight on water.
“Order anything you like, princess,” he said, handing me the menu. “Then there is a second surprise.”
“You are spoiling me, daddy,” I murmured, and we both bent our voices low so no one at the next table overheard.
We wandered to the hotel afterwards, hands brushing until we were actually holding. The city felt warm and easy around us. Conversation was light the way it always is when two strangers pretend they have known each other for longer than they have. In his room a small box waited, wrapped in paper with tiny bows. He enjoyed the gestures. I enjoyed being enjoyed.
“Everything for my little princess,” he said with a smile that softened his face.
When I opened the box a silver necklace with cool blue stones caught the light. I gasped. He watched me, pleased. He had, for an instant, the air of someone who might do this full time. I hugged him impulsively, because I liked gifts and because the game asked for it.
“I love it,” I said, and then I tried something half shy, half bold. “There is something else I would like for my birthday.”
He raised an eyebrow and kept his hands on my hips, warm through fabric. “And what might that be?”
“You,” I said. My voice dropped. I felt ridiculous and suddenly very sincere.
He laughed softly and kissed me. The world narrowed to the two of us then. Kissing unfurled into something with more weight and less ceremony. He steadied me when I let myself be steadied.
He was gentle first, attentive in ways that are easy to miss until they are not. He kissed the places that made me breathe quicker, the little attentive touches that are the skill of someone who does this often. Then the tone shifted, not in a way that shocked me but in a way that asked for surrender. I obliged. I am not opposed to being guided. It suits some scenes. It suited this one.
At one point he lifted me with an ease that made me laugh and then made me hush. He moved with a kind of economy that felt practiced. There were moments when he leaned forward and nibbled at the lace of my underwear in a teasing, careful way and moments when he simply held me and let the quiet speak. I found myself opening to both.
When we tumbled into more intimate territory I tried to keep my thoughts tidy, as if neat thinking could tether the nervous thrill. It did not. I let the sensation sweep me. His hands kept asking and I kept answering. There was a rhythm that was more workmanlike than flamboyant, and oddly that served the scene better than fireworks might have. He steadied the chaos underneath the silliness of the role play.
There were times when he instructed me to be softer, quieter, and I obliged without feeling diminished. I am aware of the strange power of being allowed to be small and still held as an adult. It is a paradox and I liked the way it felt under the skin. He placed a palm against my mouth at one point, not to harm but to hush, and it felt more ceremonial than cruel. We kept pace. We kept safe.
When the moment of release came it came in waves, a soft, repeated letting go that left me breathless and pleasantly dazed. My throat ached from quiet sounds and my chest marked where his hand had rested. I thanked him because that felt right for the character we had been playing. I felt a little ridiculous and a little elated. That blend is, perhaps, the point.
Afterwards we lay tangled and ordinary and everything untidy about me felt human. I folded the memory into a pocket of myself. I do not know if he will book again. I would not be surprised if he did. The part of me that liked the theatre of being cared for warmed at the thought, and the part of me that collects strange experiences already began to catalogue what I had learned.