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…



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.






Why I Love London’s Cabbies

Thursday was a great afternoon with Cleo in St James’s.

I was still on a high after our adventures at the Polo on Saturday and with me booked out of the office, it was the perfect opportunity for an undisturbed fest of good food and fucking.

Cleo was on a high, she’s been called back for a couple of auditions and so there was an all-round good vibe as we lunched and then drifted the afternoon away in bed.

Come 7, I had to head to a dinner in the City, so I offered to run her back to Shoreditch.

The taxi stopped by her flat, I opened the door, got out and kissed her goodbye, before getting back in and asking the cabbie to take me to the Embankment.


I sank back into my seat, feeling both tired and elated, when suddenly the cabbie piped up,

“You don’t mind me saying mate, is that your girlfriend?”

“Yes, she is” I replied, feeling more than a little smug, but desparately trying not to sound it

“You bloody lucky bastard, how do you do it?”

Mr Modest kicked in… “Oh, well, I don’t know, er, well, she’s a friend”

“Yeah, right, pull the other one, tell me how you pulled her” (Cabbies are the only people who still talk like this)

“Oh, ok, if you must know, I let her call me daddy when I fuck her”

A long period of silence…

“I wouldn’t care what she called me if I got to fuck her”



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.


Pretty Woman

Monday night was just such a fabulous date.

Cleo and I stayed at a chic hotel in Kensington;  she had decided that she deserved Daddy’s punishment for a list of misdemeanours that included playing with herself, without Daddy’s explicit permission.

Now, I can be a fair Daddy, but on this occasion I decided to be firm.

Cleo accepted this, with an obvious excitement in her voice and after blindfolding her, I proceeded to tie her over a convenient chair, telling her how cross daddy was that she had behaved like a slut.

I had my little green bag with me, that contains a number of fiendish implements, but on this occasion I decided she needed to feel my hand on her beautiful, round bottom.

Thwack – “Thank you Daddy”, Thwack – “Thank you Daddy” and on it went.

After a few minutes I touched her pussy, she was wet, very wet.

I then applied the amazing wand and she came very hard, her bound body straining against the rope like a tied-up animal.

Spanking repeated, then fingers, again she came, screaming “Oh Daddy”

The intensity was sending me crazy, the red mist descended and I continued alternating punishment with pleasure, I was totally gripped by the scene.

I had to seek relief and moving round the chair , grabbed her hair and forced myself into her mouth, she sucked furiously and within a couple of minutes I was spent, it was overwhelming.

After untying her, I lay her on the bed, held her tightly and eased her back.

“Cleo, it’s me – you back?”

She didn’t reply at first, just looked at me, smiled and nodded.

“I’ve got a treat for you on Saturday, we’re going to a Polo match – can you come?”

“Oh yes, I’d love to – it’ll be like Pretty Woman”






Monday, Monday

After the exciting news of yesterday, nothing was going to spoil my Monday, most of all as I had a night with Cleo to look forward to.

Unfortunately I hadn’t taken into account our most difficult client, Mr A.

Mr A is a charming gentleman from the north of England. He has an immense property portfolio, in addition to a reasonably successful clothing business that he is in the process of preparing for sale, which is where we come in.

Unfortunately he also has a penchant for erotic dancers and a very jealous wife.

How do I have this fascinating insight, you may ask, well, it’s what learn on one too many late nights out with your client in some of the north west’s “Gentlemens’ clubs” (that’s a polite name for lap dancing btw).

Now, I may be a long term Sugar addict, but lap dancing has never floated my boat.

Sadly it not only floats Mr A’s boat, but seems to put quite a bit of wind in his sails…

So much so, that it seems this rather energetic 70 year old has indulged his passion for 18/19 year old dancers once too often and has been caught out.

It appears that his ever watchful wife found an earring belonging to, I understand her stage name is Chantelle, in the back of his Range Rover…

So at 9.30 this morning my day took a sharp downward turn.

Mr A was on the phone for what seemed ages, trying to sound calm and rational and achieving neither.

Basically he needs to rush along the due diligence on his business sale PDQ, as a divorce may be upcoming and, reading between the lines, he wants to stash the proceeds somewhere safe.

All I could see was a full day of work madness ahead of me and my date with Cleo at 8 looking a bit shaky.

I marshalled all the skills of delegation and analysis that an MBA is supposed to possess and set to work.

It was 7.30 by the time I had a plan in place and summarised it in an email, thinking that I’d better text Cleo to tell her that as I had to get from Holborn to Kensington, it might be a bit tight for 8.

I arrived at our date, a small sushi restaurant, bang on time, fortunately moments before Cleo.

I really was exhausted, but the sight that greeted me elated my spirits immediately.

Cleo was wearing a tight black mini, heels and a fitted cream silk shirt, she looked amazing.

As soon as we kissed, Mr A, the lap dancers, the insane workload and the vengeful wife dropped away and I was back in Sugarland with my gorgeous Cleo.

We sat at the counter, in front of some highly skilled sushi chef, who was brandishing what looked like the sharpest knife in London, when she leant to whisper in my ear,

“Daddy, I’m not wearing any panties, as you instructed, but I think I’ve been a bad girl”

Thank God for my Sugarbabe 🙂





I love London

OK, I know from feedback I get that this may be controversial, but I have to get it out there.

I Love London.

I’ve been fortunate to live in and visit some of the World’s greatest cities, NYC, Paris, Chicago and Shanghai, but nothing beats London, especially in the summer.

london rooftop

Everyone’s happy, string 3 or more days of sun and heat together and otherwise grumpy Londoners start talking to complete strangers.

I have a team of mainly under 30’s who report to me, so I’m always hearing of the latest cool places, rooftop bars in Shoreditch, street food vans in the Borough, edgy clubs in Bermondsey.

So, weather being good on Mon, Cleo and I will be hitting a rooftop near me to get the evening started.