Trust Fund Baby Pt 14

I really kept a close track of my sexual partners, and just before my twenty-third birthday, I had slept with over three hundred women, just five of whom had managed to escape my clutches without eating my ass, the most regrettable being the lovely Jody. I would see her around town occasionally, in a progressively more expensive car, as she periodically upgraded her benefactor. In her quest to be married, Jody moved on from relationships after six months or less, if she didn't have a ring on her finger.

Unsurprisingly, each successive man was wealthier than the last, and her latest sponsor, a fifty-year old investment banker, had gifted her a Convertible Lamborghini Aventador, wrapped in the brightest shade of bubble-gum pink you could imagine. Over the years, a significant amount of time and money had been invested in her appearance, and she truly was a spectacular looking woman, if you liked the platinum-blonde, bimbo look.

Of the three hundred plus women I had fucked, it was Jody that still elicited the strongest physical response from me, my heart literally skipping a beat every time I ran into her. She was always flirty and playful, fully aware of the effect she had on me, and inevitably by the time she was done with her coquettish charms, I would have a noticeable erection. Even with my trust-fund disbursement of two hundred and twenty five thousand dollars per month, financially she was hopelessly out of my league.

I wasn't too bothered about the fact that I never enjoyed Jody's cute, upturned nose buried between my ass-cheeks, because the house-pets kept my nuts drained at all times. It was, however, a testament to the desire that I harbored for her, that Jody could get me hard without any physical contact, even as I was blowing my load eight or nine times every day.

Olivia continued to procure fresh pussy for me, trolling the bus depots and beaches where the young runaways gathered. However, the biggest improvement in my sex-life occurred shortly after she decided to attend Saddleback Community College. It was with my complete blessing and support that Olivia enrolled, and her decision to only take a twelve unit course-load for the first semester, allowed her enough spare time to continue to find new house-pets for me. The first weekend after Olivia enrolled, she was invited to a frat-party, and she asked me if I would go with her for moral support.

I was reluctant to attend initially, but as the event approached I agreed to accompany her, and I brought along three of my house-pets for additional female company. For a laugh, I dressed the three of them identically, selecting bright pink, Hello Kitty crop-tops to make a statement. The hot-pink tops were made of spandex and were extremely form-fitting, particularly as I purchased them one size too small for each girl. Ordering the three of them to forego wearing bras only highlighted their pert breasts, and when matched with a tiny pair of hot-pink spandex shorts, made it obvious that the three of them were my fuck-toys.

I was only two or three years older than most of these college kids, but when I showed up in my Ford Raptor with four hot chicks, and two kegs of beer in the truck bed, I was instantly welcomed, as if I were a celebrity.

My confidence had soared over the years, the way I held myself giving off an air of importance, and the young women at the party picked up on it. I found myself being approached all night by young co-eds, and even though I only sipped a couple of beers, my contribution to the party was appreciated by all. Of course, to the young men in attendance, my sixty thousand dollar truck was a conversation starter, and I found myself making several new friends.

I instructed the house-pets to mingle, and gave them my permission to flirt with any young men that they found attractive. Everyone at the gathering was aware that the "Hello Kitty girls" were mine, and I was reveling in the attention that came with showing up to a frat party with three identically-attired young women. They had attracted quite a crowd, predominantly male, and hyped up on alcohol and testosterone.

As the beers flowed, some of the guys became a little more aggressive, and after coming over to get my consent, the Hello Kitty trio, began to make-out with several of them. I knew exactly what they were up to before the guys figured it out, and I was smiling from ear to ear as they systematically got guys excited, before moving on to the next.

I remained with Olivia, and the two of us chatted quietly and watched the house-pets use their sexual allure to get men erect. It was fun watching the abject disappointment on the men's faces, as they were left with a hard-on, and forced to watch on in envy as the Hello Kitty trio moved on to their next victims.

After they had enjoyed a few drinks, the trio ended up giving one of the guys a little extra play, after asking for and receiving my consent. It was just an over the jeans hand-job, but administered as it was by all three of them, the guy was getting visibly worked up as they stroked and caressed his teenage cock through his jeans, until he tensed up, and blew his load in his undies.

I left before eleven that night, rounding up the three runaways before they got too wasted, but as we were leaving several of the partygoers promised to invite me the following weekend, as soon as the plans were set.

I got a call on Thursday night, confirming the upcoming frat-party, and I offered to bring the beer, and some young girls to beef up the numbers. When I showed up on Saturday night with four kegs of Budweiser, word had already spread about my largesse, and when the guys realized that Olivia and I had three completely different chicks in tow, I was treated like royalty. I couldn't be sure exactly what my runaways had been talking about at the event of the prior weekend, but lots of female college students descended upon me, asking questions about my beach-front house and my Orange Lamborghini.

As the beer flowed, and the hours ticked by, the party descended into an alcohol-fueled fuck-fest, and I ended up getting cornered by two co-eds in the dorm-room lounge area.

Judging by the way that they approached me, arm in arm, and with the focus of a lion stalking its prey, this was not a random meeting, but rather a premeditated attempt to seduce me.

"Hi girls," I said cheerfully. "Are you guys having fun tonight?"

"Hopefully, we are about to, Pete," the shorter one said suggestively. "I am Betsy, and this is Gina. Do you really own a Lamborghini?"

I am a big proponent of stating your intentions up front, and while I greatly appreciated Betsy's forthright approach, I wanted to share my expectations with them, so that there were no misunderstandings between the three of us.

"I think you are asking whether or not I am wealthy," I responded playfully. "The answer is a resounding yes. However, unless you are writing a dissertation on the overt signs of success that men display, I can only assume that you come in search of a sugar daddy."

"First of all, Daddy," Gina interjected, answering the question before she even finished her response. "We are way too young to be writing dissertations. Betsy and I are Freshmen here at Saddleback College."

"Both eighteen, I assume?" I responded, trying to judge their body-language as they answered my direct question.

The only reason that a young man would ever ask a young woman their age, is to establish that they were of a legal age to consent to sexual activity. I was a stickler for this, demanding proof of age for every single previous encounter in my life. Betsy and Gina had done their homework, because before I could even ask for their IDs, they pro-offered their California Driver's Licenses.

After establishing that Georgina Thompson and Elizabeth Wilson had both turned eighteen years of age, I scanned the licenses to see what other information I could glean. Their stated heights and weights were certainly within my preferred zone, and seemed to be an accurate assessment of their current physical dimensions, although I had no doubt that the "Freshman 15" would catch up with them during the second or third semester. The "Freshman 15," as it was universally known throughout the American education system, referred to the common weight-gain experienced by female college students in their first year of school, as they sought to adjust to their new-found freedoms.

If, as I suspected, Betsy and Gina were looking for a sugar daddy, one of my expectations was going to be the maintenance of their exact current weights. Once this was firmly established, I may even slim them down a little, I mused, as I continued to digest the information on their licenses. I couldn't help noticing that they had already updated the address on their CDLs to their campus one, which indicated to me that both of them were organized. I also gleaned that they were currently room-mates, which was convenient, as I envisioned using them as a package deal.

Lastly, I saw that they had both elected to use the honorific "Ms" before their full legal names. Recently introduced under new California legislation, after intense lobbying by Millennial females, this title enabled young feminists to identify the fact that they were proudly single, and send the underlying message that they didn't need a man.

Betsy and Gina stood silently before me, offering their assurances that they were ripe for the taking, and of legal age to do so. It did occur to me that their current actions seemed to belie their long-term goals, and with the two appearing to be in direct conflict, I decided to press them for their true intent.

"I am open to taking on a couple of sugar babies," I said condescendingly. "However, I need for our respective expectations to be crystal clear," I added firmly. "I will go first."

The two of them shuffled nervously before me, as they realized that they were about to enter into their first pay for play relationship. I am sure it had been all fun and games for them, as they drank their beers and contemplated being wined and dined by a wealthy man. However, as the rubber now hit the road, their self-confidence had evaporated, and they looked exactly as they were, two eighteen year old kids who had just left the safety and protection of the nest.

"Obedience is key," I began assertively. "The foundation of our relationship will be your intent to obey, and my intent to protect."

"Understood, Daddy," Betsy said sweetly, as she glared at Gina.

"Understood, Daddy," Gina added softly, barely able to look me in the eye.

"Good girls," I said quietly. "I expect you to act with respect, actually deference, towards me at all times. You will speak when I instruct you to. You will address me as Papa from now on, even in the company of others, the exceptions being faculty and your families. Understood?"

"Yes, Papa," came the unified response, triggering the beginnings of an erection in my pants.

Despite not yet reaching an agreement on the monthly stipend, or even the services to be rendered, I felt that it was important to set the tone for our future encounters. For this reason, I gave them their first command.

"Kneel," I said assertively, hoping that the mono-syllabic command would be enough to spur them into action.

They gave each other a quick, sideways glance, as if to ask if they were really doing this, and Gina was the first one to crack.

"I don't think that this is a good idea," Gina said tentatively. "Even though I really need the money."

"You are the one that is so far behind on your bills, Gina," Betsy blurted out, unwittingly increasing my leverage over her friend.

Gina bit her bottom lip, seemed to weigh her options, and then held Betsy's hand, before the two of them sank slowly to their knees.

"What are your financial expectations?" I asked, once they were kneeling and looking up at me.

I hadn't had any experience negotiating with sugar babies, but I had heard that women either sold themselves short, or demanded sky-high allowances. There was even a name for such unreasonably high financial demands, Golden Pussy Syndrome, or GPS. After a few seconds of silence, during which they looked extremely uncomfortable, Betsy spoke.

"Gina, tell Papa what we talked about," she said quietly.

"Well, Papa," Gina began shyly. "We want you to pay for our schooling, so that we don't have to work full-time while we are in college."

"That is a wise decision, Gina," I said condescendingly. "Do you currently work?"

"I have two jobs," Gina freely admitted, blissfully unaware of the compromising position she was putting herself in. "I am worried that they will affect my study time."

"So, you would like me to foot the bill for your education?" I said quietly, as if it were a massive demand.

"Yes, please," Gina said, the desperation evident in her voice.

Even though I was tempted to blurt out that we had a deal, I pretended to ponder it. I had just paid for Olivia's schooling, and knew how ridiculously cheap community college tuition fees were. Olivia's had been four hundred and thirty five dollars, including books and parking on campus. As part of the induction process, we had been offered accommodation in the dorm rooms, a shared room being one hundred and eighty dollars per month. As I did the math in my head, I figured I was looking at no more than one thousand dollars for each of them, for the entire three-month semester.

Of course, this didn't include food, but if my intent was to have them drop a few pounds anyway, how much could that be?

"Tuition and books?" I countered, as if they were being unreasonable in their demands.

"Yes, Papa," Gina said quietly. "Although we are happy to get our required books and materials from the used bookstore on campus."

"I always had used stuff in High School," Betsy added, "even uniforms."

"Me too," Gina said, giving me unnecessary insight into the financial deprivation that the two of them had faced in their childhoods.

I could have used their poverty against them, but it felt unnecessarily cruel to continue to barter with them, considering my bank balance received a healthy infusion of cash on the first of every month.

"I'll tell you what, girls," I said, continuing to blend their identities into a singular entity by electing not to address them by their names. "I will give you twenty-five hundred dollars each per semester. That should be enough to cover tuition, new books, parking, your dorm rooms, and your food. Use whatever is left over to get your nails done," I added condescendingly. "I like bubble-gum pink."

They giggled nervously as they processed their generous stipend, although they appeared to sober up once the subject of what I expected in return was broached.

"What do I get in exchange for my generosity?" I asked firmly.

"Whatever you want, Papa," Gina said seductively, as Betsy eyed her nervously.

"Good answer, girl," I said cheerfully. "Just what I needed to hear. We have a deal. I want you to suck me off as a token of your appreciation. Where can we enjoy some privacy?"

This was clearly their first foray into pay for play relationships, as they made no attempt to secure payment upfront, which would have been totally expected. Rather, demonstrating that they had obviously had way too much to drink, they fumbled with the zipper of my jeans, as they giggled like a couple of schoolgirls.

"What is your major, Gina?" I asked, as she slid my jeans down around my ankles.

"We are both enrolled in Women's Studies," she said cheerfully, as she began to remove my shoes.

"We are going to rule the world after we start making bank," Betsy added enthusiastically. "Let's take him to the showers."

As we stumbled down the hallway to the gender-neutral shower block, leaving a trail of clothes in our wake, they were trying to enlighten me as to the opportunities that would be presented to them, once they had graduated. To hear them tell it, the Center for Women's Studies at Saddleback was among the most well-established bases for feminist and gender-oriented teaching and research.

"They adopt a women-centered and interdisciplinary approach to the changing nature of both women's experiences, and gender relations," Betsy informed me, as I unhooked her bra.

"And," Gina added excitedly, as she wriggled out of her silk panties, "after we graduate we will have a large network of female professionals, alma mater, who are looking to hire recent Women's Studies graduates, to perpetuate the cycle."

"Good for you guys," I said encouragingly. "Two strong women righting the wrongs of corporate America. Now, why don't you two feminists get on your knees?" I added, the almost comical nature of our exchange making it difficult for me to suppress my smile.

As they lowered themselves slowly to their knees, I began to explain the imbalance of power between the sexes. As they had only just begun the first semester of their long road to a degree, they hadn't been fully indoctrinated by the all-female faculty of the Women's Studies program, and after a lifetime of deferring to men, they appeared comfortable following my direction.

"At some point in your careers you will have a male boss," I began, as two pairs of lips descended onto my cock. "You will need a back-up plan, if you ever find yourselves employed outside of the protective canopy of your alma mater. At some point it may change, but as it stands our democratic capitalist system is male-dominated, and you may need to do whatever it takes to get ahead."

"I will never have a male boss," Betsy said firmly. "And if I do, I certainly don't intend to suck my way into his favor."

"That may well be, Betsy," I said agreeably, "but you will have male clients and male co-workers. You will still be in the patriarchal system. You will end up blowing someone to make a deal, or to apologize for a missed deadline, or to avoid undesirable work assignments."

As they worked in unison to pleasure me, I let them understand the imbalance of power that existed right at this very moment.

"Suck my nuts, Gina," I said firmly, as the young co-ed adjusted her position so that she could take my balls into her mouth. "Betsy, lick my frenulum. Good girl."

I had learned over the years to be direct and unequivocal about my expectations when it came to women. Occasionally I got slapped, but the vast majority of the young females complied, and got with my program. Even these two future feminists had knelt before me upon instruction, and were obediently following my commands.

I had never even spent one day in the workplace, having been a Trust Fund baby for my entire adult life. However, as I continued to pontificate, mansplaining about something I knew absolutely nothing about, the imbalance of power was more apparent than ever. Speaking in a condescending tone, I demeaned the young women as they knelt before me, too ingrained in our culture of deference to males, to offer any pushback.

"I am close, guys," I said, as I felt my nuts tighten. "Kiss each other and look up at me. I am going to jerk off on you bitches."

Armed with the knowledge that they were roommates, and having been informed that they were also feminists, it wasn't too much of a stretch to suspect that the two of them had at some point been intimate with each other. They were after all, college Freshmen, away from home for the first time as young adults. My suspicions were confirmed when they began to kiss, their tender, familiar manner suggesting that this wasn't their first intimate encounter. Within seconds they both closed their eyes, seemingly enjoying the moment.

They obviously needed the money, but I imagine for a feminist, kneeling before a man and sucking his cock was a tough pill to swallow. Oral sex is demeaning enough for financially independent women, but when you throw the exchange of money into the mix, it becomes a very subservient act. At least blow-jobs have a sense of intimacy about them, as a woman uses her lips, mouth and tongue to extract a man's load from his nuts.