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First Date

Saylor St. Cloud

Copyright 2016 by D. Miles

Smashwords Edition


Smashwords Edition, License notes

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All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.


Cover photography copyright AS Inc/Shutterstock.com


First Date: A Sugar Baby Tale


The last thing I do when meeting a potential sugar daddy is be alone with him on the first date. The second last thing is daydream about a possible future with him, professional or otherwise. So far I’ve had a few good relationships with SD’s, but nothing’s stuck except my rules; my needs first, everyone else second. When I meet Morgan Godfrey, all six foot one and salt and pepper beard and rumbling voice my rules dissolve into those dark green eyes of his.

He’s a man used to getting what he wants, even from a girl half his age, and he’s going to take it, if I let him. A first date can set the tone of a relationship, and I’m ready to let a real man be in charge for once.


Mature themes for readers 18+ containing light BDSM.




More by Saylor St. Cloud


Sugar Baby Tales

First Date


Convincing the Preacher

Dealing in Dominance

Lessons in Italy



Holiday Themes

Mission Under the Mistletoe




First Date


Ask any girl in the business, sugaring is hard work. Damned hard. I’ve had my fair share of bad dates; the guys you think are going to be primo Sugar Daddy’s only for them to turn salty by the end of the date when they realize you’re not going to sleep with them just because they dropped a couple hundred dollars on a meal. It’s a relationship between two people, and those take work.

And yet everything about my date with Morgan Godfrey has been easy. Well, it was pretty hard to stop staring. I’d been blown away by men before, whether it be their hard jawline, brilliant eyes, or luscious hair, they were always a celebrity. Someone unattainable, totally untouchable, and always what I thought about when I was with a boyfriend. But Morgan stands before me in Lilly’s Ends picking out a gift for me, and checking off every box that made me weak in the knees. I was glad I went for the two inch ankle boots today, otherwise I was certain I wouldn’t have been able to walk after meeting him for coffee.

He stands at 6’1”, with thick dark brown hair parted on the side, and a salt and pepper beard as the only thing showing his age. Normally beards were a turn off for me, but I wouldn’t mind feeling his scratch in a few places.

I knew he knew I was attracted to him. If he didn’t catch on by my staring, or by the fact every woman nearby turned to check him out, then by the way I took too long an inhale of his cologne. Whatever it was, the spicy scent makes my head spin, and walking with him now it’s hard to keep a straight line.

We’d barely talked any business before he offered to take me shopping.

Morgan takes me through the shop, with four women working on pleasing the other two customers in there. There’s another woman behind the counter and as soon as her eyes land on the broad shoulders of the man at my side she perks up. There’s wrinkles around her eyes as she smiles, but they fade when they land on me.

Yes, this is the familiar gaze from the public. The one that says, “gold-digger” without uttering a sound. It doesn’t matter that I’m wearing a grey knit dress that goes to my knees with a turtle-neck, I might as well be walking around in my underwear as far as she’s concerned. I simply give her a kind smile and continue down the sparse aisles with Morgan.

He’s looking through the designer dresses on the mannequins as if they aren’t even there. These dresses that cost more than my car insurance and one of the reasons I started sugaring. These were the dresses I drool over on Pinterest at night, the ones I dream of owning once my student loans were paid off. They were the dresses that other sugar babies would post about and the really lucky girls would brag about getting from their Daddy’s. They were the dresses new girls thought they would get right away instead of a hundred dollars for a quickie in the back of some perverts 2008 BMW. The sugar bowl is filled with plenty of salt, but I think I’ve hit the jackpot with Morgan.

I knew he was different the second he picked out this store. He’d passed my first test by coming to this mall, and so far he’d been more than charming. Those pretty green eyes alone could have gotten me at least ten minutes into the date, the very yankable hair another ten. His voice? That deep rumble that I can practically feel in my chest is more than enough for him to get a second date. I’m already dreaming about Morgan buying half the store for me when he comes to a stop in front of a pair of heels.

“These,” he says, the surety of his tone bringing me down from cloud nine. He picks up a pair of Louis Vuitton Stardust Sandals, stunning black suede with gold flower chain details on the front. I snap my mouth shut before he turns to me, a smirk playing on his plump lips. “I think these would look beautiful on you.”

You and me both, I think. “They certainly are something.”

“Try them on.” He waves his hand at the woman behind the counter. She quickly comes over, her attention on him. He’s about to say something when he turns to me, eyes travelling slowly down my legs and to the heels I’m already wearing. “What size are you, darling?”

“Eight and a half,” I admit with a shy smile. Morgan turns back to the woman but when she doesn’t move, star struck by his eyes as I was I’m sure, he arches an eyebrow. A little spark of jealousy blooms in my chest at the motion. I can’t seem to control my body as he sets the shoe down on the rack; I reach out and link my arm through his. “They are beautiful, but…they are very expensive.”

The first date is the time when a man and woman figure out if they’re compatible, it’s no different with sugaring. It’s the time I use to find out if the man is serious about the potential relationship, and if I want to see them again. I expect some kind of gift, hence using the mall as a first date location; of course, I usually think the gift is going to be a two hundred dollar purse, not a pair of two thousand dollar Louis Vuitton pumps.

Morgan pulls away a moment then wraps his arm around my waist. I keep my hand on his bicep, enjoying the feel of his muscles as he pulls me closer. My left side is flush against his right, and he gives me a kiss on the temple before saying, “Let me worry about the price, princess.”

Despite the shiver that runs down my spine, I feel hot as his hand travels a little lower. It rests on the curve of my hip and it’s almost like his fingers are on fire. I’m burning up standing with him, and I completely forget that I don’t normally allow this.

The woman quickly returns with a brown box in hand and begins to open the top when Morgan holds a hand up. He leans down, his breath tickling my neck as he suggests, “Why don’t you pick out a dress to go with them?”

I’m stunned. I turn to look at him but he stands his ground, his lips only centimeters from my own. I don’t wait for him to tell me again, and nod. “I’ll pick out something you’ll love.”

With a quiet sigh, I step out of his arms. I turn back towards the aisles of mannequins, eyeing each dress with care. I make sure to move my hips as I walk, taking each step slowly and reaching for each dress but never touching. Finally I stop at the first one that had caught my eye; a long sleeved black dress with a keyhole cutout between the breasts. I look over my shoulder, barely turning my hip as I meet Morgan’s hungry gaze. “Size ten, please.”

“Right this way,” the saleswoman says. She heads for the back of the store and as I go to follow I give a sly smile to my date. He licks his lips, and I know we both feel the electricity between us. I don’t know where it came from, and I don’t really care; I can’t remember the last time I’ve felt like this with anyone, let alone someone looking for a sugar baby. My legs are a little wobbly as I make my way around the corner to the change rooms, where the woman has pulled back a curtain on a single stall.

“The last one,” Morgan says. I furrow my brow at him and the woman hesitates but nods. She moves further down the hall, to the final change room with dim lighting and places the shoes inside.

“I’ll be right back with the dress,” she tells us and skitters off.

I place my hands behind my back and lean against the wall next to the curtain. “Dare I ask why you wanted the last stall?”

“I want a private viewing,” he replies, “so I’m the only one that gets to see you in that dress.”

“You aren’t coming in here with me,” I say with a laugh. “I don’t think that’s allowed.”

“I’ll wait out here.” Morgan copies my stance, leaning on the wall directly across from the change room.

I enjoy the way he keeps his eyes on mine, never letting them stray lower, but I want them to so badly. There’s a growing heat between my legs and no matter how hard I press my thighs together it won’t go away. I find myself biting my lip as I take in Morgan’s features; his clean-cut beard, the flecks of blue in his eyes, and the way he always stands so tall.

“Here you are.” The saleswoman reappears, dress in hand. She passes me the hanger and I thank her before stepping in and drawing the curtain closed. It’s silky and red with a matching red carpet, and makes the change room seem sultry. There are small pieces of braided gold rope on either side to ensure the curtain stays closed, and I wrap them around the hooks screwed into the wall.

There’s a wide chair in the corner and a table beside it, with more than five feet from wall to wall. The mirror travels from the floor all the way to the ceiling, and beside it is a small golden bar. I hang up the dress, taking a moment to admire it. Even if Morgan doesn’t intend to buy me these things, there’s potential here. This could be his way of showing me what could be in the future for us.

“Don’t forget to put the shoes on before coming back out,” Morgan calls quietly.

“Oh, I could never forget these,” I say back, taking the lid off the box. I take my time getting the dress on and manage to zip it up all the way. The shoes slide on with ease, and when I stand to look in the mirror it’s hard not to admire myself. With no bra the keyhole between my breasts is a perfect fit, and my hips are wide enough to make the dress stop just below my ass. If it’s intended to end there I don’t know, but I don’t really care when I see how long my legs look in the pumps. I whisper, “Damn.”

I’ve felt sexy plenty of times before; it’s kind of part of the job. But today I’m feeling it ten times over, and I have to bite my bottom lip to stop from smiling. I spin around, getting every angle possible before going to the curtain. I take a deep inhale, suddenly nervous of what Morgan might think.

When I pull back the curtain, I’m met with a devastating silence. My eyes are on the carpet, prepared for a shy glance upwards. It wins most potential Daddy’s over, but as I begin lift my gaze I find an actual shyness taking over.

“Damn,” Morgan mutters beneath his breath. I finally look up to see his eyes taking all of me in. They move from the keyhole cutout to my hips, and then down my legs until the reach the heels and back up again. “Spin around for me.”

I do as I’m told, slowly moving in a circle with a hand on my hip. When I’m facing him again he’s stepping forward, taking my chin between his thumb and index finger. “You,” he says, “need to get that pretty round ass back into the change room.”

Once more, I do as I’m told and walk backwards. He matches each step I take until I’m standing in the middle of the stall and he turns away. He sweeps the curtain shut with a single motion, making sure to knot both sides of the rope. He’s slow to face me, and when he does his eyes drink me in as if I’m an oasis and he’s the desert. That’s exactly how it should be with a sugar daddy; he wants me, not the other way around. And yet…

I swallow audibly, heart beating hard against my ribs. This is the kind of situation I stay away from with my dates but I’m reminded we’re not alone when a woman down the hall asks for her dress in another size.

Morgan takes a single step towards before and wraps his arm around my waist. My hands press against his chest as he pulls me close, his other hand going to the back of my neck. He leans down and presses his lips to mine, and when his tongue darts across my bottom lip I don’t hesitate to open. The pressure stays hard on the back of my neck as he starts to push forward, getting his right knee between my legs. It stays there as my back touches the mirror, the cool glass freezing against my burning skin. When Morgan shifts his thigh against my core I whine against his lips.

Morgan stops our kiss, leaving me breathless. I pant for air while his fingers slide from the back of my neck and into my hair, entangling there. “You can say no anytime you like, kitten, and I’ll stop.”

His words take a moment to register, and all I can see are his lips. They’re swollen and a little red, and I want nothing more than to feel them again, with my lips, my fingertips, my entire body.

I nod, and he smiles, showing off a row of white teeth. It’s the first time I’m seeing his teeth, I realize, and I want them to mark me. As if hearing that, Morgan kisses me again, his tongue finding my own for only a moment before he trails quick kisses down my jawline. When he begins down my neck I feel his teeth scrape along my skin and then bite down, making me jump. His arm around me keeps me in place, and he rubs his thigh a little harder against my centre. My knees are shaky, and I’m pretty sure if he wasn’t holding me I’d have fallen to the carpet by now.

Morgan releases the grip he has on my hair, letting his hand trace down the back of my neck and around to my jaw. He keeps his fingers around my throat as his lips move along my collarbone, nibbling and sucking and, I’m sure, leaving many marks. Soon those lips find their way to the keyhole between my breasts, and the arm and leg that were keeping me in place so solidly have moved. He’s on his knees, kissing my chest as his hand comes around my waist, sliding along the black fabric and cupping my breast. The same thumb and index finger that had held my chin so gently now pinch my nipple hard enough to make me let out a low moan.

“Shh, kitten,” Morgan warns, his voice husky, “don’t want anyone to hear you.”

I nod, my head hitting against the mirror.

“Good girl.” His words vibrate along my skin, and even though he moves further down to kiss atop the dress the fire in my centre grows. My palms are flat against the mirror and they begin to slip down. Morgan’s hands move from my breasts to gripping my ass and holding me up, and when he gives me a little pinch I squeak. My hands fly to his shoulders to keep myself balanced when he lifts me up and moves me to the chair.

I can feel my wetness begin to soak into my thong, and there’s no way for me to hide that with my legs on top of Morgan’s shoulders. He kisses the inside of my thigh, his hands travelling to the hem of the dress and then up beneath the skirt. With one hand he plays with the strap of my panties, as if he’s going to pull them off but doesn’t. His other hand moves on top of my thigh, forcing the dress up and around my waist.

Morgan gets off his knees and leans towards me as he snaps the band of my panties. I flinch at the pinch of pain it gives me, smiling into his lips as he kisses me again.

“Kitten,” he whispers, his voice barely above a rumble. The hand he used to push the dress up is resting just below my belly button now when his thumb grazes over my panties. He presses against my throbbing bud, moving it in small figure eights with only the slightest pressure. “You’re soaked.”

I move to him this time and moan into our kiss. My hands go around the back of his neck and into his hair, gripping it hard and pulling myself closer to him. My hips thrust upwards into his hand and he cups my sex with a chuckle.

“Oh God,” I mutter, “this isn’t normally how first dates go. Chocolate scones, Louis Vuitton heels and now…”

“Well I hope it’s me getting you wet and not the shoes.” Morgan grabs my hips and pulls me onto the arm of the chair, right to the very edge. Our hips are at the same level now, and I’m reaching up to strip him of his clothes. It’s not fair that I’m the only one showing anything.

“No guarantees,” I reply. He lets me pull off his jacket but holds my wrists together as I try to unbutton his shirt.

He shakes his head. “Slow down, kitten. Remember who’s in charge here.”

A jolt of pleasure spikes from my core and flushes over my body. Morgan reaches around and pulls the zipper down before lifting the dress up and completely off. I’m sitting on the arm of the chair, admittedly dripping onto the glossy fabric, and wearing nothing more than a white thong. The shop is warm, and I’m not cold at all yet I shiver and my nipples are hardened buds. Morgan straightens, looking down at me while he tilts his head to the left.

I watch, wide eyed and trying my hardest not to grind onto the chair or make any more noise as Morgan slides his belt from the loops on his pants.

“Wrists,” he orders quietly. It’s gentle and firm and I hold my hands out for him. He wraps his belt around my wrists, looping it over my skin five times before securing it with the buckle. He laces his fingers between my hands and leans towards my face, his lips almost touching mine. “We’re going to be quiet, aren’t we?”

I nod, maybe a little too much because it makes him chuckle again. His lips meet mine, giving me a slow kiss. It’s almost lazy, as if we have all the time in the world when in reality we have none at all. But the saleswoman coming back is the last thing on my mind as Morgan pulls back.

He falls into the chair beside me, spreading his legs wide. With a tug he brings me from the armrest and stands me in front of him. His eyes fall on my shoes. “You know how to walk well in those,” he says. His eyes flash to meet mine. “But what can you do with those lips?”

I almost don’t know exactly what he wants until he cocks a brow at me and darts his eyes to the floor in a silent order. With the way my wrists are tied I’m pushing my breasts together, but I manage to get to my knees. I decide that it’s my turn to tease him, and slowly run my hands up his inner thighs. I can already see the bulge in his pants, and when I undo the button and zipper his sex springs free.

No boxers, nothing separates his cock from me now. He’s leaning back, watching me enjoy the view from below with his head resting against a fist. I bow forward and lick a long line from the base of his cock to the tip, only taking the head into my mouth. I keep my eyes on his, enjoying the way his fist squeezes tighter as he tries to contain his feelings. Since he enjoys calling me kitten so much I make sure to give him small licks until his other hand travels to the back of my head and pushes me down. I take all of him in my mouth, relishing in the sharp pangs of pain as he pulls on my hair.

There’s pre-cum dripping from his slit, and it’s salty against my tongue. I balance my hands on the cushion between his legs bobbing up and down until I hold the base of his shaft, gently twisting it as I suck. His cock twitches. Morgan yanks on my hair, pulling me back and I can do nothing but lick at my lips to stop any spittle from dripping down my chin.

Morgan’s lips crash onto mine, no longer taking his time. Our tongues are battling for dominance, and he wins completely. He pulls back first. “There’s a condom in my jacket. Left breast pocket.”

I’m dazed but manage to see his jacket from the corner of my eye. I try not to scramble to pick it up, but with four-inch heels and tied up hands I’m doing just that. I have to inch carefully forward until I can reach the sleeve and pull it towards me, ass in the air for Morgan to enjoy. And seeing him watching me in the mirror I know he’s enjoying it very much.

I find the condom and return back to Morgan. He waits for me to do the work, so I open the package and roll the condom onto him with my hands. I try to slide my hands up beneath his shirt but he grabs my wrists and yanks me up, forcing them behind his head. I rest my elbows on his shoulders while he grips the back of my thighs and situates my legs on either side of his own.

I try to lower myself onto his member, but he only holds my legs harder, his fingers digging into my skin. The pain he causes isn’t enough for me to cry out, but the pleasure it brings almost is. He slides his hands up over my ass, along my torso until he’s holding my breasts and pinches both my nipples.

“Morgan,” I breathe.

“What do we say when we want something?” he asks. He’s keeping his eyes on my breasts, enjoying the way I squirm beneath his touch. He twists the buds between his fingers.

“What?”

“What do we say when we want something?” he repeats. His left hand lets me go only to slip into my panties. His middle finger and index delve into my dripping core and I gasp as his thumb finds my clit and begins to rub circles around it.

“P-Please,” I let out between breaths. “Please.”

“That’s right.” Morgan’s fingers thrust in one knuckle and then out, and then in again to two knuckles. My teeth are grinding together hard enough to make my jaw ache, and I’m clamping my hands together until it hurts. Anything to not make too much noise. Morgan removes his hands and licks them clean. He moves my thong to the side, allowing himself complete access. “That’s right, kitten, we say please.”

With a sudden thrust up Morgan pulls my hips down and slams into me. I let out a cry, throwing my head back as my walls adjust to his size. After a moment he grinds against me and I let out another small cry.

“That’s no good, you need to be quiet, we’re in public.” Morgan speaks against my lips and kisses me. He pulls my hips up and brings me back down, gentler this time, but just as satisfying. The band inside me already feels like it’s about to snap but I hold back, if only to ensure I don’t stroke his ego any more than I already have.

After a few more thrusts Morgan leaves our kiss and begins to bite at my neck. I’m a whimpering mess, with tears forming in the corner of my eyes. He pulls me against him, grinding a little harder. The sensation of his shirt rubbing against my bare breasts is driving me insane, a not so gentle reminder that he’s taking me as he wants me. Everything he’s doing is for his pleasure, not mine, though I’m getting plenty. As I let out another few gasps his hand clamps around my jaw, covering my mouth and ensuring no more noises escape.

Morgan grunts and I feel his cock twitch inside me. He’s close to his orgasm but I’m closer and when he gives my ass a single sharp smack with his free hand I can’t hold it in any longer. The band in my core snaps and heat rushes through my body more than once. I’m trying to release a scream but all I can do is cry into his hand and try to breathe as much air into my lungs as I can. After another thrust Morgan let’s out a cry of his own, quieter than mine but not quiet enough. Our pace slows, and soon stops. Morgan lets go of my face, finally allowing me to gasp for air.

I sit atop him, head rolling back and my mind focused on nothing more than breathing in and out. Morgan continues to give me small kisses on my neck, moving around like he’s drawing a necklace with his lips.

“Um, excuse me,” a voice interrupts. “Is, uh, everything fitting all right?”

My face flushes red as I realize it’s the saleswoman. I look to Morgan who is only cocking one eyebrow at me and grinning. He lifts me up and stands, placing me back onto the chair.

“Everything’s fitting great,” Morgan calls to the woman. He bows his head down and escapes from my arms before untying the belt from my wrists and putting it back on. The only evidence it had been there are the red marks that have been temporarily squeezed into my skin. I drag a finger across them, enjoying the delicious soft sting left over.

Morgan picks up his jacket and puts it on, reaching into an inner pocket and pulling out a credit card. He moves to the curtain and slips out, ensuring the woman can’t see me as he leaves. I stand and adjust my thong, grabbing my dress and throwing it over my head in a hurry. I hear Morgan say, “We’ll take the shoes.”

“And the dress!” I call out, my voice muffled as I force my head through the neck. I quickly hang the sleek black dress on the hanger.

Morgan chuckles. “And the dress.”





Excerpt from Convincing the Preacher


I grip the cloth tighter and press it against my face, dragging it down my neck.  How I manage go from ice cold to burning is beyond me, but I let out a little moan as a single drop falls down my collarbone and between my breasts.  My dress, as a few women mentioned, is a little low cut for church but it's the most appropriate thing I own.  When I reopen my eyes I notice the preacher staring at the drops that chase after the first.

How long have I been out?” I ask.  Jesse blinks a few times and then practically jumps backwards, landing on his ass before planting his hands firmly down to save himself from further embarrassment.  I see his own blush creep beneath the stubble on his cheeks. I arch a brow at him.  

Maybe I'm not the only one the fire’s coming for in this church.

Those romantic brown eyes of him that always seem to be so innocent are now wide and watching my legs as I slip them over the end of the couch.  Living in the south has gotten me into the habit of shaving more often, and my legs let off a healthy shine in the sliver of sunlight that hits them.

“Preacher?” I question innocently.

“Not long,” he stammers, climbing to his feet.  I notice a bulge in the front of his pants which he's quick to hide by going around his desk.  “You should drink more water in this heat; you're just lucky someone was around to help.”

Yes I was,” I reply.  “I really owe you one.”



About the Author


Saylor St. Cloud is a journalism graduate that learned journalism is not for her. After spending much of her time working on projects she didn’t care much about, she decided to start penning her passion; short erotic stories.



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