All Chapters of Gay Sugar Daddy: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

"Emulsion doesn't exist in the formation," I try to control my voice as I maintain the eye contact, "It's actually formed when the hydrocarbon enters the wellbore, into the casing, which we'll have this pressure difference that will mix the oil and water like crazy, creating the emulsions." I definitely feel some sort of accomplishment to be able to finish my explanation as I pant, finally allowing my body to feel the exhaustion from moving too fast while answering his question that perhaps, will be in the paper I'm gonna take tomorrow. "Tell me about emulsifying agent." He smiles as he watches me ride him at my own pace, slow and steady but still giving both of us plenty of pleasure. "Uhmm," I release my hand from his shoulders then sit up, "When water is in the oil, they're surrounded by this tough film. That tough urgh," I choke on my words when he suddenly moves his erection from below, charging in at fast speed. "Go on," he smirks as he keeps thr

I don't think I'm the only girl who wants a man who has money, is nice, good looking, and loyal. I mean, that should be the bare minimum for the criteria of a husband. Example one: my sister. She is the first in our family who got married. Just like me, she's pretty, funny, and everything you want as a girlfriend and wife. But she chose to marry that boy she met at church. Urgh, they might have the most beautiful pair of kids but they sure live not up to my standard. I mean, I've been in that middle class family for eighteen years. I'd be stupid to want to stay that way when I have every means to change my life. So I really don't understand why someone like my sister would marry my brother in law. Like I get it, he tall he's handsome he's like a freaking model but he's a technician! And now they're living in the same neighbourhood as my parents. Urgh. Poor life decision. God is sure merciful when He gives me another example with my brother, th

As usual, once I steer clear of the client, I take out my phone and type his name for a G****e search to know more about who's I'm gonna be dealing with for the next three months. Or one day. Depending on the top secret requiring-NDA-signed reason. Though yeah, I'm very curious to know his dating history, what he owns or to be specific, how did he gain his wealth. Most importantly, what juicy gossips I can gather from the internet; the ones their PR team decided to be known to the world. 'Owen Harris is an English former professional footballer-' I choke on my saliva reading that last word. Footballer? Professional footballer? Okay. Explains the muscles. 'Born, height, spouse, number, children', okay boring. Because the only part that's filled is the born, number, and height. But good, he's not cheating then. No wife, no kids. Nothing against my principles. Because there's no way I'm gonna be with a cheating douchebag, not even for a m

Setting the temperature of the oven after sliding the tray with the giant chicken on it, I admire his back in awe. Mhmmm yummy. "Do you know how to cook?" He asks once he turns around, now standing in front of the kitchen counter, facing me. Only this giant marble thing is separating the two of us. "Not a pro but yeah, a bit." I'm from a middle class family, of course I know how to feed myself. It's not like we're blessed with a helper. But to answer with a confident yes doesn't seem like an option if we were to compare our skill level. The pots and pans picture? The pose in his chef outfit while holding a knife? Well turns out he sells them and is the ambassador of his own brand. That definitely killed my laugh yesterday when I read about that fact. That company alone must have worth millions. Besides having his own business producing all sorts of cookware, he also has five restaurants all over the world. But surprisingly, none in England. Weird, bec

It's crazy how we just met last Saturday, then become roomies the next day, and by Monday we're officially sugar baby and sugar daddy. Six days with him, and today is exactly one week since we first met, but I think I've known him for years already. Tonight, as agreed, I'm gonna go to his room for the first time ever; we agreed to share the bed once the weekend is here. Knocking on his door, I wait patiently in my champagne satin negligee, with my hair and make up done. But he doesn't respond to my knocks, making me confused if I should try again in a few minutes or just barge in uninvited. After all, we did agree, didn't we? So I've actually got an invitation. I walk back to my room because I can't bring myself to go against my own principle; I don't do stuffs without consent. So I play with my phone as I hang out at the balcony. Realising twenty minutes has passed, I force myself to go back to his room. I check my hair and make up, m