The Parisian Billionaire Sugar Daddy Agency_A Billionaire Age Play & Spanking Romance

by S. L. Finlay

  Then, as quickly as they had all gotten excited, they also went quiet as the room's lights were dimmed.

  Even if everyone hadn't told me this award was a big deal, I would know it was now when the lights were low and the room had fallen into hushed silence.

  Daddy grabbed my hand as he turned to face the stage, "This is big!" He told me in a stage whisper that made me smile. I bought my other hand up to cover the back of his so I was holding his two hands in my own.

  His skin felt hot, I imagined he must have been nervous, despite all outward appearances to his colleagues of being in control and calm. I guessed considering his position and his age (and the fact that the two didn't necessarily correspond in most peoples minds) he had to keep that cool, calm and confident appearance.

  It made me feel humbled to be privy to this information, to be close enough to him - physically at least, holding his hand - to know what was really going on. I smiled a little but tried not to show it. Everyone was so tense about this award that Daddy had tried to dismiss it as not being a big deal.

  I sighed and squeezed his hand a little harder between my own, waiting for it to be over. Win or lose, I knew it was the waiting that was killing everyone. I know it was the waiting that had made them tense.

  I was sure if I knew these people before tonight, I would likely see some changes in their demeanor. They all seemed nice to me, but I wondered if they all talked as fast as they were tonight usually, for example.

  As I imagined what they were like normally, in their dull banking jobs, I reminded myself that I was likely going to be at Daddy's other events, and would have a chance to get to know his team - and practice my French on them - in other circumstances. Right now though, I had to stop thinking of other things, and stay in the present. The presenter was on stage talking in the clearest French I had heard all night about the banking industry and about the banks that were up for this award.

  I sucked my teeth as I listened to what they competition sounded like. Although I couldn't understand every word, I understood enough to know that they were good at what they did, very good.

  Daddy and I stole a glance at one another and he gave me a smile that told me it was fine, his team was just as good as everyone else up for the award. I was taken aback that he could have known what I was thinking. Could my face really be read like a traffic light?

  The moment it took him to turn back and give me the smile was when the presenter started talking about Daddy's bank, and the team that was nominated for the award. When the presenter was talking about them, I felt the air being sucked out of the space around me as all the bankers and their partners took a deep breath in and held it. Daddy was one of them.

  The presenter babbled on about Daddy's team and how great they were before he took the envelope and was peeling it open. If my table had been nervous before, they were one hundred times more nervous now. There was a heady sense that this could be it, and I bit my lip hard, hoping Daddy's team would win. I wanted this for Daddy so badly it hurt. I wanted him to be happy.

  Then, the world seemed to slow down. The presenter was saying Daddy's bank's name and I was so shocked I bit down hard on my lip which I had been chewing.

  Daddy, beside me, jumped up and went to hug one of his male colleagues. I was shocked to see these open displays of affection from around the table, but they were all kissing and hugging and I was sitting there feeling like this was all so crazy and European. You'd never see two men who were unrelated hugging in my home town.

  But here they were, the cream of the banking crop in Paris, and they were being so openly affectionate with one another.

  Although the world seemed to slow down for the initial shock and excitement at the announcement, it seemed to return to normal speed as the bankers all pulled one another towards the stage, with very little regard for the expensive suits they were wearing.

  It was time for them to accept their award, and there was plenty of shoving one another to indicate that someone else should give the speech.

  In the end, Daddy, rolling his eyes at the juvenile behavior of the suited men who were twice his age, stood up to accept the award. He graciously thanked the other teams who worked at the bank and said the executives couldn't do what they did without such a fantastic group of people working around - and for - them. He thanked everyones families for their support, and partners. He thanked the people who gave the award for the recognition and he bowed out gracefully as the man behind him - who I noticed had pushed another man at the microphone just moments before - took his place. Daddy handed that man the microphone as he eagerly wanted to give his own thanks. The other man thanked a few people, then handed the microphone on to someone else, and then that someone else passed on the microphone to someone else until everyone had said their thank yous.

  The whole time that the other executives were jabbering their own thanks, I looked at Daddy who was standing there looking strong and dignified. He had said all the important thank-yous, and now everyone else was using their fifteen seconds to suck up to someone. I couldn't respect that, but the contrast made me respect Daddy more.

  Daddy wasn't looking at me though, and I desperately wanted him to. I wanted him to stop looking around the room and not focusing on anyone and to look right at me, to focus on me so I could give him the big smile I wanted to. So I could show him with my body language how proud I was of him to be up on that stage.

  At the end, when the final person was giving his little thank-you speech, Daddy looked over at me and I gave him the biggest smile I could. He returned my smile and when it was time for his team to leave the stage, he walked down behind the other excited bankers who were vying to see who could hold the trophy. Daddy had accepted it then handed it to the next person who gave a speech who then handed it to the next and the next until the person holding it as they walked off stage was the last person to say his thank-yous.

  Eventually, they decided to put the trophy in the middle of the table and Daddy took his place beside me. I rushed to tell him congratulations and that I had loved his speech.

  Daddy smiled back at me and told me that it wasn't a big deal. He was just happy that it was over. He said this before taking a sip of champaign and looking deeply into my eyes.

  I could fall into his big, beautiful blue eyes without any problems I thought as I gazed into them.

  But I wasn't given the chance to think too deeply about it as the bankers excitedly gathered their things and kept saying "after party!" In French and English. I looked over at Daddy to see if he wanted to go and saw his smile grow as he teased the other bankers, saying they couldn't handle a party with him.

  Then, we were off, to party in Paris in celebration of the award that had just been won.

  As I looked around the room, I could see the other tables were gathering their things and leaving. Some were full of people with sad faces, others had people sitting there who seemed pretty happy with themselves.

  The difference between people who had won an award and those who had not was stark.

  My table of people who had won an award (and a big, big award at that) was grinning from ear to ear and heading for the door.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  After we left the very famous French restaurant where the awards ceremony took place, we found ourselves in the underground bar scene of Paris (or at least it felt underground to me who hadn't bothered to look into it during all my research of Paris).

  As someone who had very little experience of bars, even back home, this was pretty awesome. There were so many different types of bars for us to go to that I had a wonderful time with my new banker friends. I was trying to be engaging with them, as I knew Daddy would want me to be, but I had trouble. When the opportunity to talk to Daddy one-on-one would arise, something that would only happen when no-one else was talking to us and we had a quiet moment, I would take it. I took every one of these moments because I so loved talking to my Daddy and it made me smile so big.

  The more we dr
ank, the more relaxed everyone became, and the more I spoke French rather than English. I was surprised at first how comfortable I was speaking the language but then after a while, speaking French felt as though it fit me like a well-worn glove. I felt so beautiful and creative speaking this language. I am sure that my accent was awful, but no-one really corrected me (unless I used the wrong word), so I wouldn't know how I sounded to them, really.

  Everyone appreciated the effort in a big way, not just because French people were so proud of their language, but also because these people were all relived they didn't have to attempt to speak to me in English, a language none of them was really comfortable in. Something that was made obvious by their awkward stop-start attempts at English that all went out the door after too many drinks when people stopped with English and I stepped my French up about ten notches. It was funny how alcohol made me feel as though I was suddenly a fantastic French speaker!

  Daddy joked, pretending to scold me for speaking too much French when he had commissioned a sugar baby who would speak English to him so he could improve that language. But he really didn't mean the scolding, he only said it so he could threaten me with a sound spanking.

  I was surprised how aroused I became when Daddy whispered in my ear about the sound spanking. I could feel my cheeks turning red and couldn't keep the smile from my face. The thought of being draped over his knee while he spanked me was simultaneously erotic, exciting and embarrassing.

  As a grown woman being spanked by a man who they find so attractive, spanking takes a whole different meaning than being spanked when you are actually a child.

  As a grown woman, the idea is thrilling. When Daddy spanked me, I wanted to tell him to take me home right then so we could try it, but after we had had the incident where he had walked in on me dressing, I held back. I didn't know if I really wanted to bear my bottom for Daddy or if perhaps sober me would think completely differently about this.

  I remembered those conversations they had with us as high school kids. The ones where someone would come in to address teenagers about how they shouldn't have sex or whatever, and where they would lecture about the evils of alcohol. About how it would basically make us super keen for sex and would make us make poor choices we wouldn't normally make.

  Being spanked by your Daddy isn't the same as having sex, but there was an amount of sexual tension between us, and the idea of being draped over his knee was far hotter for me than the idea of having some other teenager fuck me when I was in high school.

  I tried to push on with the drunken French conversation with Daddy's colleagues, but every so often Daddy would whisper something into my ear about what he would do to me if we were alone, and the thoughts got dirtier and dirtier. After about twenty minutes of this, I could feel the tingle in my panties. My body was ready for Daddy to take me, I was ready for Daddy to take me. But still, he kept teasing me, recognizing the power he had over me.

  By the time Daddy was ready to leave, after most of the bankers had already left or been lost in the underground Parisian bar crawl, he ushered me into his car and asked, "Do you want to go back to your flat, or do you want to come home with me?"

  The question felt a little forward until I reflected just how much I had been touching Daddy and flirting with him. I took a deep breath and gave my Daddy the answer I was sure I would regret later, "Take me home, Daddy." I said quiet enough that only he and I could hear my words.

  Daddy pulled me towards him, and the whole way home I was cuddled to Daddy's body. It felt amazing so be that close to him. I felt cherished. Daddy was still wearing the suit he had worn when he won the award but had loosened his tie. He looked sexy in that after-work-drinks kind of way. I guessed it was more like after work drinks that had gone on far too long, but I didn't think about that too deeply. Instead I smiled to myself, with my head upon his chest.

  When it was time to get out, Daddy whispered to me in French to wake up. It sounded so lovely being whispered to by my Daddy in French that I smiled into his chest before pulling away and sitting up. I hadn't been awake. We hadn't been in the car long enough for me to fall asleep.

  Daddy helped me get out of the car (even as I didn't really need the help) and guided me up to his apartment where all was quiet. He took me into his bedroom and went searching through his drawers for something before producing some flannelet pajamas. I giggled when I saw them, they were all pink and soft and when Daddy handed them to me they felt warm in my hands.

  "You can put these on." He told me before sweeping out of the room.

  I slipped the gown I had been wearing over my head and stripped the tags off the pajamas before slipping into them. They held my body in a warm embrace.

  Before I had a chance to move from beside the bed where I had slipped into my pajamas in the first place, Daddy had swept back into the room.

  "I want you to drink this." He handed me a pint of water. "It will help with your hangover tomorrow."

  I nodded and took the water, greedily gulping it down. I didn't want a hangover and trusted Daddy that this would prevent one. When I was finished, he took the glass again and went outside.

  He was holding both our glasses - he had also had one which he drank while I drank mine - and walked back out of the room with them, pausing to tell me to get into bed and put my gown over that chair in the corner.

  I did as I was told and when I was safely in bed, Daddy reappeared with a full pint of water for me and for himself. He put the pint for me next to me along with a packet of pills he told me I could take in the morning if I had a headache.

  Then when everything was in place, he made sure I was tucked into bed (which made me giggle, being tucked in by my Daddy) then he went around to his side of the bed and climbed in beside me.

  When Daddy was laying beside me, I felt nervous where before when I thought about being in Daddy's bed, and being spanked by Daddy, I had been aroused. This was really happening, and as much as I wouldn't have admitted it to Daddy if he'd asked then, I was incredibly nervous, even with a system full of alcohol.

  Daddy just lay there though, and eventually, his breathing became slow and even. He was asleep. But that evening, all I could do for hours though my drunken haze, was stare up at the ceiling. I felt nervous and excited. I felt a little strange, because I had been so mad at Daddy when he walked in on me getting changed on purpose, that all I could do was just stare at the ceiling and say nothing. It took me a long time to fall asleep that night, and for most of the night I regretted not going back to my own apartment when I had the chance. I was so uncomfortable and unhappy being there, and I wanted anything but to be that unhappy.

  Sure, it seemed like a good idea to be here, but the reality was, I didn't really like being here with my Daddy. I should have been in my own bed, this just felt uncomfortable for me.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  I must have slept a little bit that night as I did wake the next morning. I woke up beside my Daddy, but before he had woken up. The thought did cross my mind to sneak out while he was sleeping, but I didn't act on it. He did know where I lived, and he could cut off my allowance at any moment. In all honesty though, I didn't mind the second one too much as my parents back home had offered to send me money should I need it, and I still had savings.

  When I thought about it, I really could survive just fine here on my own. The thought of surviving without my benefactor or my parents help at first blew my mind. When I did the sums - in a mild hangover haze - I knew I would be fine should no-one support me here from hereon out. I would have enough money to live a simple existence in a big, expensive city. But I would have enough.

  It had been scary at first, being in Paris all alone but as time bore on, I saw plenty of opportunities to grow and to learn. I saw plenty of opportunities to earn money. But now, I realized that I had been so good with saving money before I had left and with saving most of my allowance, that I wouldn't need any of those things like a local job, they could truly be my back up plan, and that wa
s so odd to realize for the first time when you'd been trained your whole life that you had to work to get money, that you had to work to survive. To know you could get by for a period without worrying about work was mind-boggling. Hey, if I left Paris too, I could even stretch that money out.

  I could, if I wanted to, stay here and keep growing as a person, and keep learning French. I could do that without the pressure of finding work or paying my own bills.

  But then I thought that I could always leave being a sugar baby and do some sort of part-time work, just for the experience of having worked in this country. So I would have stories to take home to people in the States, even as the States felt like a million miles away.

  When the thought crossed my mind, I entertained it for a while. I could go work in an English language bookshop, or teach English, or work in a tourist cafe, or, do one million things where they need native speakers. I didn't need to have a sugar daddy.

  As I looked at my Daddy though, I thought that even if he wasn't paying me, I still wouldn't mind spending time with him like I had last night. My head was a little sore and I knew I would need to move (and maybe wake him up) in a moment, so I could have one of those pills and some water for my hangover, but as I looked down at him, I thought how even if I didn't take his money, I would still want him. That thought, along with the thought that I could make it on my own in Paris without an income from here on out, also blew my mind.

  The only difference to me taking him like this and taking him without him paying me was that I would want him on different terms to how I now had him, should he stop paying me.

  Sighing, I sat up in bed and reached for the water and the little pill. Popping the pill into my hand from the little bubble packet, I heaved a sigh of relief. This would take my physical pain away at least, even if I was so hell-bent on being upset with Daddy, even if I was so hell-bent on this weird relationship we had.