When I met my first sugar daddy, he paid me $5,000 dollars to remove my panties, force them into his mouth, and diligently enforce his chewing, sucking, and swallowing them whole. I would say it was the fastest five grand I’ve ever made, but I’ve made money faster. In New York there is no shortage of wealthy men seeking a thrill; unfulfilled, overworked corporate leaders imbued with power and authority they can hardly handle—that would be challenging for anyone to handle, to be honest. Many of these men find their satisfaction through sex, the risker the better, where New York City is flush with opportunities for danger—myself being one of them. I’ve personally witnessed Wall Street bankers spend $10,000 per hour on strippers in Times Square. I’ve literally seen New York City real estate owners pull out wads of money that were so fat, they had to ask every Dominatrix at the dungeon to help them count it. I’ve even had a Doctor offer to pay for the down payment on my apartment in Brooklyn, NY. That’s $40,000 we’re talking about and I haven’t even gotten to the good part. Behind the money, the impulsive behavior and lavish spending, is a deep desire for sexual fulfillment. One that only the most depraved, perverse sexual fantasies can satiate. Without naming names, I will reveal just a few of New York City’s richest men and their biggest, nastiest, most well kept secrets.
Do you remember Jacques? A 55-year-old Frenchman I dated while in the midst of dating a 35-year-old Frenchman of the same name. This Jacques was a retired hedge-fund owner, father of two, and resident of NYC’s Upper East Side. I never saw their home; most of our rendezvous were spent eating sushi at Nobu, conversing politely over private tables underneath which, his fingers swept hungrily against the folds of my panties. We never had sex—an act of contrition to help him deal with the guilt of cheating. But we did come close. Towards the end of our relationship we began renting hotel rooms together, where he would undress me slowly and we’d explore new orifices to probe. As I laid naked in white sheets he would get dressed, place $10,000 dollars on the counter, and take his leave.
It could have worked between us but his intermittent condescension, an arrogance symptomatic of his wealth, repulsed me. Back then I was just a sugar baby, fraught with heteronormativity and sexual exchanges that misaligned with my inner desires as a dominant woman. When I’d made enough money to support the international launch of my first company, a non-profit writing coterie, I never spoke to him again. I wish I could say I found my calling as a Dominatrix immediately afterwards, but truthfully I spent all of 2016 hopping from one rich New York City megalomaniac to the other. I made so much money doing such filthy things my life story could honestly fill a volume. And it will… stay tuned for Part 2 😉