Cliché Alert – Sugar and Polo

Ok, here it is, hold on to your cliché meter, which is now gonna go off the scale…

Yesterday was a perfect day to be a Sugardaddy.

Smith's Lawn

I had some tickets for a charity polo match just outside London, fortunately it was a beautiful day and I had arranged to meet Cleo at 11 in Kensington.

As Mrs LSD was now safely away in Greece, I decided to use her Mercedes convertible, as I drove down the M40 to London, I went over in my head the perfect Sugarday before me.

Cleo was waiting for me when I pulled up outside our rendez-vous, she looked immaculate in a short white skirt and green patterned silk halter-neck top, her long tanned legs beautiful from her beige heels up.

I think she must have had some ‘getting into a sports car elegantly’ lessons, she glided into the car like a model – I am sure her parents would have been pleased that all those school fees were not wasted.

Polo really is the sport of Kings, though despite this club being a regular haunt of the royals, that day the crowd were very ‘new’ money; it was, after all, being supported by a famous jeweller to London’s eastern European movers.

Not only that, but it seemed it almost qualified as a Sugardating sponsored event, plenty of guys, some elegant and cool, some a little sleazy, all with younger women in tow.

The play was of a great, high goal standard and pretty exhilarating stuff, Cleo had never been before and was severely impressed by the spectacle of 8 polo ponies charging down the edge of the pitch, pushing and jostling their way towards the ball, sticks flailing.

So, at the half time point, we upped the ‘Pretty Woman’ scale, treading the divots – quite hilariously ineffectual, if you’re wearing 5″ heels…

By now the champagne had kicked in and we decided to head into the shade of the woods on the edge of the grounds.

We found a spot amongst the trees, shaded from the sun and I lay down the blanket.

Within moments we were kissing, I could hear the mumbled PA in the distance announcing the next chukka, but I was strangely distracted from the polo as I felt Cleo rubbing my cock through my trousers.

She moved down to take me in her mouth and within seconds I was the sort of hard you get when you anticipate the need your partner has for an urgent fuck.

Within seconds she pulled up her skirt and was on me, keeping herself low so as not to make us noticeable, working herself down onto my cock.

It was an overwhelming moment and just so hot on it’s own, that was before she breathed “I love fucking Daddy” 

We lasted a few minutes of frantic, hard fucking, before we came together and she fell on to me with a soft moan.

Kissed and lay there for a few minutes, before Cleo looked up at me – “Champagne?”

“What a good idea”

I smiled, that was my ‘Pretty Woman’ fantasy well and truly sorted.


5 thoughts on “Cliché Alert – Sugar and Polo

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