Escort or Sugarbabe?

Despite the run of disclaimers on the sugar dating sites, “if you are an escort, please do not use this site”, kind of thing, escorts are rife.

If you leave your profile visible, which I never recommend, you will very soon get quite a few messages that are basically from hookers,

“My friend and I are in Mayfair tonight and we could meet you for £500” or the slightly more subtle, “Can we have a pay by date arrangement”

Now, this is not some downer on escorts, I’m sure there are quite a few SBs out there who’ve been down that road, Mr LSD amongst them.

But if I wanted an escort, I know where to go. I don’t, I want a Sugarbabe.

So, how to tell….

Firstly, photos. Your average Sugarbabe doesn’t have a set of beautifully airbrushed pics, that usually look like they were done at a continuous photoshoot. It’s always a mixture, one or two portrait shots, a couple of iphone selfies and maybe one of them amongst a group of friends on a night out. (Pictures of your prospective SB with a range of male companions are more of a turn-off than a sign she’s an escort!)

Next, check her out. OK, so at this stage you have very little information to go on, but let’s say she says she lives in Kilburn, an area of north west London. Find the postcode and go to a popular escort site like Pop in NW6 to the search engine and look for escorts in a 2-3 mile radius. You can narrow the search down a bit if she is say black, or asian. You may get 20-30 results and it’s easy to quickly flick through. I have found 3 out this way, the most interesting being one who escorts as a couple with her husband – she’d also told me she lived alone!

Thirdly, where’s the job? Unless she’s a student, which is easily checkable, or the beneficiary of a trust fund, she needs a job. It’s easy to verify if your sugarbabe is a student, students leave a prolific e-trail, google her course, her college and up will pop some line of information that will prove she’s a genuine student. So, if you can’t find her, or her job seems sketchy, chances are she may be an escort.

Lastly and this is a useful tip generally, verify the photos. When you start the initial contact, it’s not a bad idea to say you’ve been stung before and could they send a selfie next to today’s newspaper….any genuine SB won’t mind.

Lastly, trust your brain, not your dick. Most women don’t launch into sexually explicit convos with complete strangers, they may allude to certain things, say being submissive, but any woman who launches into a detailed itinerary of what she’d loved to do to you the first time you’re alone should make you think.


Of course, all this said, one of my favourite SBs had done some escorting in her earlier years and was completely upfront about it. We dated for 9 months and it was not just some of the best sex ever, but she was also an amazing sub….

It’s just good to know.


Hello Daddy…

A Thursday night date in London and at last Nina and I got to see each other after a three week delay.

It was with a delicious mix of excitement and trepidation that I left work at 7.30, to grab a taxi over to Soho to a sushi restaurant that Nina suggested.

Thursday being the new Friday in London (cliche alert), it was heaving. I checked my coat in at the reception and made my way to the massed lump of people crowded at the bar.

The traffic was light and I’d got there early, so there was time to spend before Nina was due. The menu irritated me, for some stupid marketing reason, some idiot had thought it was a good idea to tweak a few classic cocktails with some unneccessary flourishes…please. I managed to convince the barman that I really did only want an ordinary Tanquerey Martini and victorious, settled into a quiet corner.

Within seconds, my phone vibrated to a text from Nina, ’10 mins away x’.

Nina arrived, I leapt up and made my way over to her as she joined the short queue to check in her coat. We kissed, we fit well height-wise and it seemed so comfortable, like we’d kissed many times before.

We were led to a table in the basement by a Russian hostess with a very unfortunate manner, I guided Nina from behind, which gave me every opportunity to suck up the beautiful visual image of her in a tight, short black dress.

She looked wonderful, the dress, some pearls and a silver Cartier tank.

“So tell me about your day?” I was immediately hooked back into her.

We chatted just like before, easily and comfortably, so much so that our first bottle of champagne was gone and I hadn’t noticed.

Despite the fact that with small dish Nikkei cuisine, the food and the interruptions seems to never stop, we didn’t notice.

So, onto the second bottle.

There was a small pause in the convo, the she looked up at me and said, “I really want to call you Daddy, do you mind?”

“Of course you can, tell me more about how you want this to work?”

“I want you to Daddy me, treat me like your little girl, when I’ve been naughty you must, well, make me see I’ve been bad”

“Of course I can darling, I wouldn’t be much of a Daddy if I didn’t. Daddy can be harsh, but it’s only because he wants to look after you”

“I understand, it’s what I need”

“Well, in that case”, I slipped into my authoritative voice, “I need your limits, your wants and hates”

“Yes Daddy”

“If you’re not sure about anything that you think may interest you, just say, we can then explore it together”

There then followed Nina mention a number of things, some she tried and had been disappointed by, but wanted to give another go, to things she was totally curious over.

It was at this point that I realised that I couldn’t remember wanting to fuck someone so much.

Sadly though, this was a first date and that was not in the plan.

We passed midnight and I called Nina a cab, I saw her to it and we kissed one last time.

I hailed myself a taxi and settled back into my seat for the ride to my flat, when just then my phone pinged, it was a text from Nina,

“Look in your pocket”

I dug into my deep overcoat pocket and felt some material, I pulled it out, it was a black thong.

Then a couple of minutes later, a second text,

“Daddy I promise I will never wear these again when I’m with you”





First Brunch

Brunch is a good time to meet a prospective SB.

It’s the sort of date which can be cup-of-coffee brief, or, if the convo is flowing and the attraction is there, can easily become a leisurely, playful, lunch.

Of the three prospective SBs, one, Nina, was keen and eager to meet. The other two were irritating me by coming back with timings that were awkward, until I got to the point of thinking, sod it, it’s you who’s meant to be chasing me….

So, Tuesday morning at 11 saw me at one of my favourite places, The Wolseley on Piccadilly, waiting for Nina.

What did I know about her? Well, quite a lot already, she was 26 and in her first job as a lawyer for a mid-sized firm in central London, she’d been to a good uni and although originally from the West Indies, had been to an independent school in the UK.

Apparently her father was some kind of diplomat and the family had lived in London for years.

Her photos were not very clear, which is usually a bad sign, but from the tone of her messages she was obviously well-educated and I thought that it was worth meeting to see if we ‘clicked’.

I got there 10 minutes early and secured a good table with a view of the main doors, I took some time to absorb the others nearby, to my right a couple of suited Americans, who from their convo were obviously bankers. Several Spanish tourists chatted loudly and incessantly on another table to my left. So, a perfect table where we could talk discretely.

Bang on 11, I saw a tall, very elegant black woman come through the doors and walk confidently up to the guy at the reception. I could see she was being pointed to my table. I was immediately captivated by her walk, her figure and her appearance –  a smart dark grey business suit, Mulberry handbag, cream blouse and a short bob.

“Nina?” I needn’t have said, but did, she smiled, I smiled. We kissed a greeting and I invited her to sit and offered her a drink. Good start.

“Yes, lovely to meet you”

The convo was flowing fast quite soon.

We talked about previous arrangements, she’d had two and really enjoyed them, her last was three months ago. We talked about shared interests, we soon settled on music; she played the violin, triathlons and cocktails!

Plenty to be going on with.

The more we chatted, the more interested I became and, I have to admit, aroused.

She was truly gorgeous, slim, yet curvy, full breasts and beautifully turned out, most of all, witty and intelligent.

She found she couldn’t date guys her own age, most bored her, those that didn’t were simply not up to looking after a lady properly. She enjoyed lots about older guys, but particularly the fact that this woman sometimes needed a man in her life who ‘took control’….

In that coded, flirtatious way, we were skirting around why a successful, intelligent woman was seeking a man who could be allowed to dominate certain areas of her life.

Time whizzed by and before long we decided to transform a coffee into brunch.

By 12.45 we had arranged a first date for next week, fixed a monthly allowance and I told her to go away and let me know if she was happy with everything. She said she didn’t need to and the answer was a definite yes.

So we left, I hailed her a cab and we kissed, said our goodbyes and parted.

I walked up Piccadilly towards the tube with a delicious feeling of excitement, I’d found a new Sugarbabe.





New Year, New Sugarbabe

So, at last, return to work and, thankfully, a return to London.

New Years was spent with Mrs LSD and the two little ones in a friend’s chalet in Verbier and with the skiing holiday over, I could relax at the thought of hunting for a new Sugarbabe, oh and going back to work, I mean let’s get our priorities right….

Unlike my colleagues in the States, we seem to have meekly accepted a 2 week shutdown over the Holidays, which usually leaves me feeling borderline suicidal by Jan 5th, or whenever the first Mon after New Year falls.

I had about 5 or 6 emails to follow up from before Christmas, well, I say 5 or 6, it was originally 30, but by the time I’d applied my in-built Sugardaddy spam filter and weeded out the a) Escorts, b) Slightly psychotic and c) Sadly desperate, I was left with these.

Some sounded promising, so I fired off my normal first email, something along the lines of “What are you looking for in an Arrangement, where are you based and when can you meet?”

I’m only ever really looking for London based SBs, no point having one who has to commute long distance, hopeless for a short notice afternoon of fun 😉

One of the replies caught my eye, she said how important is was to her to be thought a ‘Good Girl’

Now, one thing I never mention on my profile is my little kink, so it immediately catches my interest if I read a ‘tell’ like that.

Several emails exchanged and we agreed to meet for coffee at a place in the City on Monday.

Typing this on a howling, wet Thursday evening in London, it’s brought a feeling of happy anticipation in an otherwise glum January.



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 😉












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.


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 🙂





Why I’m a Sugardaddy…

Just a random thought.

Earlier today, I am sitting in one of the dullest finance meeting ever (are there any other kind?), when my Sugarphone vibrates in my pocket.

It’s a message from Cleo.

“Daddy, your baby misses you and needs you to make me a good girl again xx”

What else is there to say?