All I Want for Christmas…

After a good few days deliberating over the Welsh virgin spanking fan, my sugar life was overtaken by a major new project at work that saw me in various European hotels, living out of a suitcase for most of November.

OK, they were all 5*, but living off a hotel diet is not good for either the figure (despite my daily 6am runs), or the sanity.

I exchanged a couple of more emails with Leanne, but I realised that taking it any further wasn’t exciting me, so let it go before I got in deeper.

So, been back for a week now and my thoughts are drifting back to finding a new Sugarbabe.

It’s got to be sorted soon, in another week it’s the usual round of end of term Christmas events at my childrens’ school and the interminable drinks parties that are the North Oxford social scene, leaving little time for overnights in London.

I’ve got quite a backlog of unanswered emails from prospective Sugarbabes clogging up my inbox and started to get in touch with a couple that sounded promising.

Just as I was writing a reply to one, I got a mail from May, a former SB I’ve written about before. She was planning to do some Christmas shopping in London on Thursday and did I fancy meeting for a drink?

The thought of cocktails and maybe more, with the gorgeous, redheaded siren suddenly brought a smile to my face as I remembered our last meeting a few months back.

Without sounding too bloody enthusiastic and slightly desperate, I coolly answered that it would be great to see her.

I may not find my SB for Christmas, but a night out with May would be the next best thing.

Searching Again

The end of the relationship with Cleo coincided with an exceptionally busy time at work, one of our partners has had an unfortunate cancer diagnosis and your blogger has had to cover his work.

He’s a lovely guy, late fifties, been married to a long suffering wife for 30 years that he met at Cambridge and his hobby is fucking black women.

Yes, whilst many management consultants are happy to sate themselves with golf, or watching rugby, my dear colleague has a penchant for ebony ladies, usually under the age of 25.

Like me, you may feel that knowing a secret like this on a work colleague is a tremendous burden, however, since I chanced upon it after a late night whisky session during a week in Tallinn a year ago, he’s actually gone up in my estimation and it will go with me to the grave.

So, dear Patrick’s, thankfully treatable, cancer shock, has prevented me from dipping into the sugar bowl for a couple of weeks.

Thursday saw my first post-Cleo date.

I had exchanged a few mails with a lady called Leanne, who’s been in London a few months after moving here from N Wales. She’s a trainee accountant with one of the big boys, straight after 3 years in a middle rank uni, which no doubt had some kind of positive discrimination programme going in favour of Welsh comprehensives with names that no Englishman can pronounce.

She caught my eye a few months ago as she advertised that she was looking for an older guy who enjoyed spanking.

My attention was captivated and we arranged to have a drink in the City.

I arrived around 7, and waited.

She arrived a few minutes later, not the thinnest woman, but witty and funny with a lovely deep Welsh accent.

Although we had only planned on a quick drink, we decided to have dinner and all seemed good. She went on at length at how she loved being tied up and had several relationships with both older men and women.

Then came the bombshell…

“I’m a virgin”

“Excuse me?”

She repeated it, she was a virgin.

“Hang on, you’ve just described all sorts of sexual adventures that are relatively advanced for a 23 year old and you’re a virgin?

The answer was again affirmative.

“Does it put you off?”

I couldn’t have been more shocked than if the attractive lady opposite me had confessed to gender re-assignment (she’d have still held my interest!)

Leanne went on to explain that her first few years sexual activity had been only with women and she’d only found herself attracted to guys in the last year or so. She’s been a bit apprehensive about letting them fuck her and always contrived to blow them.

My immediate answer was no, of course not.

We left the sushi place and I put her in a taxi home and paid the driver.

I walked along the Embankment to the tube, thinking that I’d heard it all.




Decision, Indecision

After last week’s news, I’ve not had the time to think about how to play things with Cleo, work’s just been too busy.

I’ve had three days in Europe; Prague and Budapest this time and have generally been feeling a little listless about what to do going forward.

Cleo is off to the north on Wednesday this coming week, I really can’t see how we could keep an arrangement going with her 200 miles away.

So, to add to my slightly downbeat mood, Mrs LSD breezily announced that my sister was going to visit this weekend. She and I get on well, though I think her husband, Ben, is a total arse.

Ben is one of those complete dreamers who’s always months away from his latest project making a mint, sadly, he’s been through about 6 since he married my sister only five years ago and we’re all still waiting. He was really not the company I wanted when my mind was continually drifting back to Cleo.

Sunday dragged past, whilst I had to entertain Ben’s latest crackpot wheeze, something involving classic cars. He even had the neck to ask me if I fancied investing…I politely declined.

I managed to have a good catch-up with sis, so the day wasn’t a complete write-off.

Eventually they headed off and after putting the children to bed, I collapsed on the sofa.

Finally my mind engaged into meaningful thought and I came to the sad conclusion, I had to let Cleo go.


Cleo gets the Call

I’m writing this on a Friday afternoon, I’m at 35,000 ft on a squeakily efficient Lufthansa flight from Frankfurt back to Heathrow, it’s been a busy morning of meetings, made slightly more wearing as I was up fucking Cleo to 2am this morning….

This flight’s busy, fortunately I’m sitting in Business and I’m making the most of a large gin & tonic as I tap out this account of last night.

Cleo and I arranged to meet at her favourite restaurant, Roka in Charlotte Street. I was positively looking forward to seeing her, the last few days had been a bit difficult and I found myself daydreaming about my Sugarbabe more often than usual.

We arrived virtually at the same moment, she was stunning in a short tight green dress and a gorgeous pair of beige Kurt Geiger heels, I had a positive thrill as I followed her past a table of pissed-up guys, who clocked her immediately.

Seated in a quiet corner, I ordered champagne and we immediately connected, just as we always do.

Then came the news, she’d got the part she’d been auditioning for and would be based in the North for a 12 week stint, performing in her first proper role. I was delighted for her.

We were having one of those serious conversations where the overly-attentive waiting staff just become simply irritating.

She wanted to continue to see me, but could I also come and visit her, though she understood if that wasn’t possible. She then told me that it was understandable if I wanted to end our arrangement.

I thought about this and told her that I would try to make it work, but that it might be tricky.

I really was pleased for her, but knew that this was going to be difficult. So, what to do?

I decided the best play was to enjoy the moment, so I made sure we did.

After a dinner that was charged with a certain amount of foreboding, I decided that the best way to deal with this was to give Cleo something to remember us by.

We were staying nearby at the recently refurbished Berners Street Hotel, a recent addition to London’s booming catalogue of chic locations.

After a cocktail in the fabulous bar, we headed for bed.

I had decided that Cleo needed something a bit edgy that night and after telling her to strip, I commenced to tie her up into a wonderfully complex arrangement of rather tidy ropework.

There then followed 2 hours of the horniest fucking in my life. I alternated candle and ice play on her that had her coming so loudly I had no option but to gag her 😉

By the end I was feeling completely drained and it was a relief, in all senses, to fuck her mouth as she lay bound to the bed.

As I untied her and we arranged ourselves in each other’s arms, I had this feeling that this was the last date I’d have with Cleo.

Back to Business

Last week was my first week back in London after a refreshing fortnight in Greece. I arrived back to the usual 300+ emails in my inbox, a worryingly large amount of which hadn’t been dealt with, except in the most cursory manner, by Katerina, my PA.

Katerina is a lovely girl, hard to believe that just over three years ago she was working in an Estonian car dealership. She is now firmly established in London, has masses of friends, goes to dance classes and sends money back home to parents, who must find their daughter’s new-found position beyond their imaginings in a country that was part of the Soviet empire, only a generation ago.

Now, Katerina is a broad-minded girl, when she first came to the UK, she spent a lot of time in the, how can I put this, entertainment industry, ok, she was a lap dancer. She’s a bit too leggy and dyed-blonde for my taste and after all, off-limits – never mixing sex with work colleagues is one of the few morals I always stick to.

So, Monday morning, just as I was taking a break after 3 hours of non-stop email replies, into my office comes Jonathan, our ever-so-slightly camp, office concierge guy, carrying a couple of suits I’d left with him before my holidays.

Attached to one of the suits was one of those envelopes dry cleaners use to stick things in you’ve left in the pockets.

G String

I opened it without thinking and onto the office floor fell a black lace G-string.

Katerina looked down at it, then up at me, smiled a wicked smile and left.

Of course, it was Cleo’s parting gift before I went on holiday.

I fear the convo in the break room at lunch time is going to be a little livelier than usual…



Back to London Sugarland

My two weeks in Greece have been a great break and a chance for a recharge, though like the workaholic I am, my thoughts over the last few days have been focussed on what awaits me in the office on Monday.

It’s Friday afternoon and another cloudless blue sky. Our last night here should be fun, we’re looking at a major piss-up with some fun Brits we’ve met. I have a strong suspicion that one couple, Jason and Hailey, from somewhere in Kent, are definitely swingers, sadly not really my scene, which is a pity as Hailey is very hot.

The chances of Mrs LSD following me down that road are between remote and non-existent.

Anyway, will try not to go too mad, dealing with two young children at Kefalonia airport tomorrow with a hangover won’t be the best end to a holiday.

Had a mail from Cleo this morning, a couple of rather hot pictures of her in bed perked me up, but as I read through the email I spotted something else. She’s going for an audition on Monday to a northern theatre for a supporting role, if she gets it, she’ll be based there for 4 months. We’re planning to meet on Tues, so I’ll be able to congratulate her.

That could be tricky, although I spend time in the north, it’s all work and little free time when I’m there.

I’m finishing this as I open another beer, thinking that I might be doing some Sugar interviews sooner than I planned.




Sugar Trophies

Into the second week on holiday and I’m getting a bit restless.

Trying not to check work email is becoming more difficult, with so many projects on the go and quite a few imminent, the temptation to see what my colleagues and staff are doing (or, rather not doing) is hard to resist.

Anyway, another lazy afternoon in the sun was dragging on, so I sought some shade and flipped open my laptop.

There were a couple of messages from Cleo, one accompanied by an amazing photo of her lying naked in the sun from the holiday she’s on in Spain, very nicely captioned “Thinking of my Daddy”

I started flicking back through emails from where I left off the other day, with the story of Gisela.

I came across some from a very attractive Sugarbabe called Roniesha, I saw about 2 years ago.

Roniesha was a gorgeous 27 year old ebony beauty from East London, she worked for a major cosmetics company as a Sales Manager.

The thing that I really loved about her was how beautifully turned-out she was. Her grooming was immaculate, which reflected the fact that she spent her working life visiting her company’s counters in London’s main department stores.

Roniesha and I had a few fun dates, I took her to the Heron Tower on a beautiful summer’s evening, just after it opened and we even managed a night in Paris when I was working there.

Looking back through her emails, I rediscovered all the photos she used to send, especially the trophy shots, which I’d saved to my laptop.

Whenever we’d spent the night together, the next day she would What’s App me with a photo of her welted arse, every time the same,  she’d go into a ladies cubicle, skirt up and snap.

Seeing those red marks on her beautiful coffee skin were always the highlight of my day…



Looking Back into Sugar History

The week here in Greece has been wonderful, it’s in the 30’s and the tan is topping up nicely.

Our holiday companions have managed to keep their usual drinking down to about twice the Government weekly guideline and they’ve even spent some time with their children so that I don’t have to, so all good.

It’s Wednesday, market day in the local town and Mrs LSD has gone off to stock us up with provisions, leaving me with two children playing in the pool, a couple of cold beers and my laptop.


Feeling rather lanquid and relaxed in the heat, my mind has been drifting back to some of my early adventures in Sugarland.

Flicking back to early 2012, I came across Gisela.

Gisela was a 23 year old German student, studying at a Uni in central London. We met, when I was a bit of a Sugar virgin, on Seeking Arrangement.

In this early flush of Sugardom it seemed that I was meeting several Sugarbabes a week for ‘interviews’ and each one turned my head and excited my interest in a different way.

Gisela’s line was quite simple. She had put on her profile quite explicitly that she was looking for a domineering ‘Daddy’ figure.

Now, I’ve always liked Germans, since I spent some time living in Berlin and so off I went to meet Gisela one evening in Kensington, with a clear sense of optimism.

We arranged to meet at a chic cocktail bar and when she arrived I got far more than I bargained for.

Now, regular readers are probably kind enough to grant me the title ‘Man of the World’, however, for once I really did feel like a Nun on a night out at a BDSM club, totally out of my depth.

After about 10 minutes chatting, Gisela got down to business.

I heard all about her time living in a commune in Amsterdam, how she had 30 lovers before she was 21 and how she had developed a strong interest in bondage.

I, meanwhile, was trying to assimilate the vast sexual history of one so young and deceivingly innocent-looking.

When I managed to get a word in, I tried to get the convo onto the subject of fine dining, fun shopping and did she like ballet, but I was firmly pushed back.

“No, I really just want to fuck”

Ok…direct and to the point

We parted, as I had a dinner date and we arranged to meet two days later to start our arrangement.

Now, call me old fashioned, but I like to have spent at least one date getting the measure of someone before we get down to it.

That wasn’t going to cut it with Gisela.

We met for lunch in Knightsbridge and I had thought that afterwards we’d do a little shopping.

Lunch was done and I suggested we head over to Harvey Nicks to take in the shoe department,

“Is your hotel near here?” she asked

I told her it was and she replied simply,

“Let’s go then”

And so we did.

The next two hours were the most exhausting of my life and I’ve done triathlons, it’s enough to say that Gisela had an appettite for sex that bordered on the manic.

Ground rules were quickly established,

“I want you to spank me very hard and call me a dirty whore”

I’m not good at taking instructions, but this one I was prepared to take.

And so I did.

The sex was amazing, though at times slightly troubling and the convo was pretty rubbish, I left our liaisons feeling like I’d been through the wringer, but then strangely feeling that it couldn’t last.

I do look back on it as being a fun few weeks, but not really what I wanted from a Sugar relationship.

I think it was after that experience that I tried to be a bit more critical about making sure the non-bed part of the relationship was just as important as the hot, lusty part.

That said, it was fun 😉












One for the Road

The dreaded day of departure to join Mrs LSD in Greece has finally arrived.

Family holidays are an ideal that seldom matches the reality and whilst a week in a villa in Greece with Mrs LSD and the two little ones is one thing, sharing your villa with another family is quite another.

Anna and her husband Rufus could represent England at drinking. Which would be fine if they were childless, but sadly they’re not, sadly for their children that is.

A typical North Oxford academic couple with a drink problem and two brattish children. I’m already filled with horror, remembering that it falls on my wife and I to look after their little ones when they rise, usually about 7ish, which is several hours before their parents are likely to greet the day.

How to prepare myself for this hellish holiday? Only one thing, see Cleo.

I’m writing this in the first class lounge at Gatwick (all those business miles had to pay off sometime), as I wait to board my plane the morning after a fabulous night, I’m smiling, relaxed and ready to face my Greek torture.

Here’s why….

After our adventure earlier this week, we agreed to meet up last night, before we’re both away from each other for a fortnight.

We talked late into the night about the things that excite both of us and what she wanted to try with me.

Whilst Cleo had experience of spanking before, she always wanted to try being restrained and so I told her to do a bit of research and come back with a kind of red/amber/green list.

Into my inbox the next day popped the list.

I scanned down it, there was quite a lot in the green and amber lists and a few things in the red list that don’t do it for me either; needles, strangling, that sort of edgy stuff.

So, as we’d already sorted out a safe word, we were good to go.

I’ve had a lot of experience over the years with rope bondage and have a handy bag full of useful items, including various lengths of red, silky rope.

So, armed with these, a sensible accessory in the form of paramedic’s scissors, a candle and a crop, I was well-equipped to push Cleo’s boundaries.

We were back from dinner to our hotel by half 9, it was a beautiful junior suite, free upgrades always excite me…

I began by gagging Cleo with a ball gag, then set to work creating a chest rig.

With her breasts squeezed between the folds of rope, I then bound her hands to each ankle.

Now it was playtime.

After letting her see the ropework, I decided it was time to take away a sense and blindfolded her.

Then I just stood and waited. And then waited a bit more.

By now I could sense she was becoming a little uneasy and that her imagination was busy filling the void.

I began with a broad, leather paddle, which always gives a very satisfying impact, she flinched and visible strained against her binds.

After a good dozen I stopped, by the end she was straining against the rope and biting down hard on the gag, I then lit my candle. I wanted her to recognise the click of a lighter, then for her imagination to start playing its games again.

However, I was not finished with her gorgeous arse yet and restarted on her with a crop, working my way to her sweet spot, inside her thighs and then onto her pussy. By now she was really warmed up. I ran my fingers over her pussy and leaned in to her ear to whisper,

“Daddy is very cross with you Cleo, you are very wet, just like the slut I took you for”

I removed her blindfold and the look in her eyes was incredible. I then brought up the candle (I’d tested the wax on myself before removing the blindfold – a scalded SB is never good), and began criss-crossing her breasts with liquid red wax, every drop elicited another moan.

Within a few minutes her breasts and nipples were covered, I then grabbed tightly hold of the chest rig and firmly pushed her onto her back.

I moved my aim down to her pussy, the wax running down her reddened, engorged folds, all the while she became more and more excited, then drops began running on to her clit and she was away…

I worked her with my fingers as she came, once, then twice. I removed the gag, to enjoy hearing her letting out a delicious moan.

“Daddy’s going to fuck you now”

“Please” was all she could manage to say.

And I did.







Spanking and Fucking

August really is the pits, well, work-wise.

All of the CEO’s I deal with are on vacation, so are half my staff, it seems impossible to get anything done.

On the plus side, the weather in London this summer has been unusually good and my sugar relationship with Cleo has benefited tremendously, I mean, meeting up after work at rooftop bars in the sunshine really does give your evening a sexy start.

So, along came our most recent date, on a particularly warm and gorgeous Tues evening in London town.

It had been a warm day by London standards and I arranged to meet Cleo at a rooftop bar in the Aldwych, Radio.

I arrived a little late, but Cleo was cool about it. That said, I was a bit grumpy when I got there, some crap I’d had to deal with just before I left the office.

Now, I’ve already noticed that Cleo has a slightly arsey side and when she’s angling for a hard spanking I’ve noticed how she will deliberately, yet subtly, wind me up.

With just certain things she does, she’ll try to get a rise out of me and the first was staring me in the face.

First of all, you have to know that in my quest to be a perfect Sugardaddy, in addition to her Allowance, I give Cleo £300 ($200) a month to cover maintenance – waxing, nails, hair and so on,

So, the fact that her nails were unpainted and her hair messy, struck me immediately.

“Er, have you been auditioning for some part as a rather unkempt woman with low grooming standards?” I asked

“No Daddy, I just didn’t get round to it”

The game had begun…

“Really?”, I replied, “Daddy is not pleased to see you looking like this, you look like a common slut”

“I am sorry I’ve disappointed you Daddy – will you punish me?”

At this point, my shitty day and everything that was bugging me, melted away in a second.

“Yes Cleo, I am going to severely punish you, we have an agreement and you have broken it – think on that, I will be back in a minute”

My company has an account with the hotel, I pulled out my phone and dialled downstairs to reservations – I explained I was in the bar and needed a room.

Within 10 minutes a Concierge was on the rooftop with a room key, delivering it with a rather obvious flourish, Cleo seemed shocked,

“How did that happen?”

“Simple, I wanted a room, I’ve got a room. I am going to deal with you now. Go to room 507 and wait for me there”

I handed Cleo the keycard and she got up and left.

I glanced at my watch, I thought 15 minutes was about right, so I ordered another mohito.

After I finished it, I headed to the room.

There on the bed, on all fours, was my beautiful Sugarbabe. She had hitched her dress up and her bare arse was beautifully displayed.

I had thought about spanking her there and then, but I wanted the punishment to be slightly humiliating.

I sat on the bed, “lay over my lap”, I commanded.

Without a murmur, she moved over, pulled up her dress and bent over my lap.

I stared down at this gorgeous arse and her waxed pussy and got to work.

Her rear reddened with every smack…by 20, she was positively glowing and moaning softly.

Now it’s my turn I thought. I unzipped my cock and pulling her hair, forced her head on to it.

“Now slut, I want you to remember Daddy hates disobedience”

Cleo sucked me like a street hooker in a hurry and after a few minutes, I was coming in her mouth.

“What do you say?”

“Thank you Daddy”, she coughed as she swallowed

Such outstanding understanding of punishment deserved something in return and within minutes my fingers brought her to an orgasm.

I held her tightly as we lay together.

“Daddy hates it when you make him cross”

“I know, I’m sorry Daddy”

This morning I got a pic from Cleo of her rose-red backside, simple message “This is my arse this morning – thank you daddy”

My day was made and it was only 9.30am.