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

by S. L. Finlay

  For the rest of the afternoon, I wandered around Paris, trying to rid my mind of all things Daddy-related, of course it didn't work. All I ever thought about now was Daddy. But at least I would be able to say that I had tried. I had tried to think of other things, I had tried to keep myself busy. I had tried to start the process of moving on as obviously this man no longer wanted me. At least I wasn't moping around my apartment anymore. Perhaps it was progress that I told myself, that I was moping around the streets of Paris, and although not much better, there wasn't much more I could do with my broken heart.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The traditional wisdom around break-ups is a bit of a joke. Everyone says keep busy (well, I did), they say to date other people as soon as possible (well, I couldn't make myself do that) and they say to never contact your ex. Because doing so will just suck you back in to the relationship. Contacting your ex they say will mean the healing takes even longer. There's even an app to stop you contacting your ex, but it doesn't work. I tried it.

  My attempts to move on were pretty well thought out. After running away from America to escape one break up - or at least I told myself now that might have been part of the inspiration behind coming here in the first place - I decided throwing myself more into the life here would help.

  So I attended more French classes, and I even took myself out at times when I had nothing to do. I went out to explore more of Paris. My explorations would mean I would get the Metro somewhere I had never been before and walk around. I needed to see more, to experience more. I figured that if I went out and took more of this wonderful city in, I would connect with it. I would feel like I had more reasons to be here than this one guy.

  Outside of the part of Paris I lived in, Paris wasn't quite what one would expect when they thought of the beautiful city. The city was dirty - as many cities are - and there was poverty, beggars and thieves lurking around every corner. The gypsies were everywhere, much to the average Parisian's distaste. At first, before leaving America, I had found the idea of gypsies to be a romantic one. Now I thought that they were less than romantic, these people who lived under the poverty line and often begged or stole to survive. It all felt very medieval. I was sure there was stories as old as time about them living this way, and wished they didn't anymore.

  But, life isn't always as clear-cut as one wants to believe.

  I would wander the neighborhoods filled with poor immigrants one day, then the neighborhoods of the rich the following day. Getting to know Paris was like getting to know any person, she has many facets, and often parts of her were at odds with the rest of her.

  When it came time to try to move on with someone else - or at least to date other men to distract myself from the love I had lost - I put in a serious effort to meet other men. This was for the sake of moving on, and for the sake of doing things the 'right' way according to social standards that said moving on was seeing other people.

  In an attempt to do things the 'right' way, I joined dating websites and used dating apps, I would smile at strangers on the street (not always returned, and when it was, it was usually returned by a tourist) and I would accept advances by men who seemed to think they were attractive, witty and funny. Of course they would have thought I was accepting their advances for these reasons, but the truth was I was accepting their advances because they came on so strong I hardly had to do any work at all.

  I had a few dates, but none of them would go anywhere. I would go out with a guy for a coffee or lunch, and would chat with him in English or French (sometimes both) for a while, then I would find that things got a little stale after a while, because we had nothing to talk about. There wasn't anything we had in common, or there wasn't any spark.

  When I looked at my money one day, I thought I perhaps should stop doing this dating thing. The money Daddy had left me when we were together, not the regular parcels of money that the courier was dropping off that I had piling up in my kitchen, was going to stretch thin pretty easily as I kept dating.

  Most of the men I dated didn't seem that interested in me, and they were even less interested in paying for my food or drinks. So I would pay for me. Sometimes I would even pay for them. This didn't mean the men would go their separate ways after the date. They would still try to get me to go back to their houses or apartments to fool around.

  It frustrated me so much that these men obviously weren't interested in me - they didn't like me, or even date me properly - but they were still keen to get me home and get me naked. It frustrated me so much that I forced myself to always have fake plans after I was meeting them. Then, after those fake plans were used by me too many times, I simply stopped going out on these dates as these men lost interest in asking.

  Conventional break-up wisdom be damned, I wasn't going to be that person. I wasn't going to go on these dates with people who didn't interest me just so I could 'get over' someone. When I went out with these guys too, I found that they drove me further and further in the direction of Daddy. They made him look so good by comparison. The man who had rejected me and broken my heart being made to look good wasn't helping me to move on.

  When I was trying to get over him, I forced myself to download an app onto my phone that would stop me contacting him. I had believed, too, that it would really be what I needed to stop me contacting him. It even had a little calender that I could mark when I contacted him or when he contacted me. When you reached milestones of a day, a week, etc. It would congratulate you on your hard work and affirmations would pop onto the screen about how good the single life felt and how you were doing so well on your own, and wasn't this great?

  The affirmations didn't help. One popped onto the screen after a particularly bad date and I found myself pushing the call button to Daddy's number. When I pushed it, all these reminders came up onto the phone to say that did I went to call? Was I sure? The reminders said that I had done so well without making that call, etc.

  But I pushed through those reminders. I was making this phone call, damn it.

  Evidently, the phone had already been ringing while I pushed through the reminders because when I finally put it to my eat expecting to hear the dial tone, I was shocked to hear Daddy's voice.

  "Hello, little one." He said in a voice like velvet, that gorgeous accent capturing me again, "I was wondering when I would hear from you."

  Hearing his voice, and the certainty there that he knew I would come back made me swallow hard, I was pushing all my feelings down into my guts before I answered, "hello, Daddy. I have missed you."

  Silence met my words, and I wasn't totally sure what I wanted to say, so nothing was said for a long moment before Daddy asked, "do you need anything little one? Is everything okay?"

  I nodded, not realizing Daddy couldn't see me nodding down the phone, then when I caught myself I told him, "no, I don't need anything Daddy, thank you."

  "Okay." Daddy said, "then you are having a good time in Paris?"

  I sighed, "not really, Daddy, no."

  "No?" He asked, sounding genuinely shocked that I could possibly be having anything but the time of my life in his beautiful Paris, "why not?"

  "Because I am not with you Daddy!" I burst out. My eyes filling with tears right after I had said the words. Of course I was unhappy that Daddy and I were in this position, of course I wanted to be with him. The tears fell down my cheeks, fat and salty.

  Daddy obviously wasn't sure what to say to that so all he told me was, "baby girl, you know I can't be what you want me to be..."

  "What do you mean?" I demanded, feeling the anger rise in my belly. "You don't even know what I want!"

  There was silence for a few moments, then Daddy cleared his throat, "I know you want a romantic partner, I am not cut out to be that for you." He told me.

  "What do you mean you're not cut out to be that for me?" I demanded, feeling more frustrated than ever, "I want to be with you. I don't want you to give me anything you don't want to give me, I just want you."

  A
nother extended silence. I let the frustration in my body rise and lower, like the beating of my own heart. Daddy obviously didn't have a lot to say, but when he spoke it sounded like his words were pained, like he had thought about this enough to know that this relationship wasn't for him. I wasn't willing to concede that. I knew that I was up for negotiation. I would give him the kind of relationship he wanted, just so long as he wanted to be with me.

  "If you don't want to be with me -" I began, and cut myself off as my breath caught in my throat. I struggled, and I forced myself to go on, "if you don't want to be with me, if you don't care about me, then why do you send me all this money?"

  "To look after you!" Daddy said, the first thing he had said quickly and obviously without a second thought since the start of the conversation.

  "You want to look after me?" I asked.

  "Yes. Of course. I am your Daddy." He told me.

  "But that's a lot of money you're giving me, and for nothing." I told him.

  I heard Daddy sigh down the phone, "it's not as much money to me." He told me, "and I want to give it to you, to make sure you are being looked after."

  "But why would you want to do that for someone if you didn't care about them? If you didn't want to be with them?" I asked

  I could imagine Daddy shaking his head down the phone, I could see his facial expression in my mind as I imagined him on the other end of the cell phone, "you do not understand." He told me finally.

  "What don't I understand?" I asked, frustrated and upset. I felt like I was begging, and I felt pathetic, but I wasn't going to give up. I wasn't going to let him get away. Daddy was worth fighting for.

  "Listen, baby girl, I have to go." Daddy was telling me.

  "Fine." I said, "if you have to go, then I can see you later?" I was trying for my bratty princess voice, the one that implied I was still strongly invested in being demure and strong, not a weak, crying little girl.

  Daddy sighed, "Fine. I will pick you up at eight. Wear whatever you want. We will go to dinner." Then he hung up the phone.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Daddy's car arrived at eight like it always did in the old days when we were still seeing one another, and when it did, I was wearing a cute pair of pink over-alls and high-top pink sneakers that I knew Daddy would like. It wasn't the usual dinner-wear, but I didn't care. I was going to use all that I had to get him to come back.

  When I climbed in beside Daddy, he was sitting in his seat looking as polished and professional as he always did, he pulled his paper away from himself as he looked me over.

  "So," Daddy said in that nervous way that made me smile because it meant he still cared, "are we going to McDonald's then?" He asked.

  Even as his comment was meant to be disparaging, I knew it wasn't. He was nervous, for one, and he cared about what I thought still. These were good signs. I just smiled at him for a good long moment before I thought to answer his question, "Sure, let's go to McDonald's!" I cried.

  Daddy's driver had been sitting in his seat awaiting instructions this whole time. I wanted to be the one to turn to him, but Daddy did before I could, He told the driver - in French, of course - to take us to McDonald's.

  I laughed as I reached for Daddy's face. I ran my hand over his freshly-shaved skin and we shared a smile.

  "I love you." I told him, unable to stop myself. I felt like a drowning woman, as if I couldn't wait to tell him this, as if I didn't tell him this, this most important thing, then I would never be able to tell him.

  Daddy sighed, then unbuttoned my seat belt and pulled me to his body. He held me there, close to his body and kissed the top of my head. "I love you too, baby girl."

  "But can you ever love me as anything but a baby girl?" I asked, moving away from him, back to where I had been sitting and doing up my belt again. I needed the space to make my point. I needed him to hear my point. I needed him to see me, I had to be seen.

  Daddy's face was riddled with uncertainty. "I do not know." He told me, his face sad as he visibly tried to hide the feelings he had, the sadness we both shared.

  We drove in silence for some time. I had known he loved me, I had known it in my heart, but to have him here, so close to me, and to hear him say it was something else.

  I wanted to wrap my arms around him, to tell him that I really did love him and couldn't see myself without him, that he meant so much to me and would he just work it out? Whatever it was that was stopping him from committing to me. It was time he worked it out so we could just be together. I didn't want anything between us anymore.

  There was no-one else, there was no obvious reason - to me - why this couldn't work. I wouldn't want things to change in a big way, I would only want to have a relationship that was acknowledged and committed to. I was happy to go to events with him, to listen to him complain about work. I was happy to dress up for him (or not!). I didn't mind. I just wanted to be with him, and I wanted him to put away whatever it was that was stopping him from being with me.

  At the end of the day, it can be that simple, that you only want to be with someone and don't have grand plans or things that you think must happen. All you want is them, it's the simplest thing in the world and the best feeling in the world.

  Daddy would understand that in time. But right now, he wasn't understanding it. He was so out of the loop with his own feelings that he was risking loosing this relationship that made us both so happy.

  Then we pulled up at a McDonald's drive through somewhere in the suburbs outside of Paris. There were McDonald's stores inside Paris, but none that were quite like this. As I looked around, this looked a whole lot like my local McDonald's back home in the states.

  When I looked over at Daddy, I could see he had chosen this place on purpose and it made me smile. There were McDonald's stores that didn't look like this one, actually, all of them looked different to what I had back home. Daddy knew what would make me happy without having to ask and it blew me away.

  "What would you like, baby girl?" He asked.

  I smiled really big as I told him, "kids meal!"

  Then we both laughed, and it was like old times as the driver ordered food for all of us.

  We ate our food in the car with the privacy screen up (the driver had a phone call to take, he had told us, although I knew he was only putting that screen up for our sakes). We chatted in that easy way we always had, and in that moment, it was hard to remember that there had ever been a problem.

  I told Daddy about how when I was a kid, we used to have birthday parties at McDonald's and how much fun they had been. We did all sorts of games and stuff, but the one I remembered and loved the most was when you did the biggest french fry competition. Daddy and I hosted our own biggest french fry competition and laughed as he picked the biggest french fry, then I bet him by telling him my drink straw was bigger.

  Daddy laughed like it was the most charming thing I had ever done.

  He was funny that way, being this man who I always went out to fancy restaurants with then the time when we went out for McDonald's, it was my turn to show him how to enjoy this food.

  It was when we had finished our food, and I was laying with my head in Daddy's lap and we were gazing into one another's eyes that Daddy told me, "I wish I could be what you want me to be. I wish I could be the man you deserve."

  "What do you mean?" I asked, feeling a little confused but totally willing to alleviate whatever fears he had. I wanted to be with him after all.

  "You need a man who can be more for you than I can." He told me.

  Frustrated, I sat up, "what's with all this cryptic stuff?" I demanded. "All I want is to be with you. If you want to be with me, be with me. Don't sit there telling me what I want, like you know!"

  My frustration, and the offense I had taken to what Daddy had said seemed to strike him quite hard, he didn't say anything for a long moment, just sat there and stared at me. I stared right back.

  "You don't understand, baby girl-" he began, but I cut him off.
<
br />   "I don't understand?" I asked, "then enlighten me!"

  Daddy let out a huff of air then stared out the window for a long moment, just as I thought he wasn't going to say any more to me and I almost asked him why he was being so quiet, he told me, "I just don't feel like I can give you - or anyone - what they need. I am busy with work all the time, I am stubborn and like to get my own way. I am a dominant man who enjoys the company of adult baby girls. I am not sure I would be easy to be partnered to." He told me, and his voice was completely earnest.

  I let out a little laugh, and his eyes moved quickly away from the window and to my face as I sat on the other side of him.

  "Well, if I wanted easy, I wouldn't have moved to Paris." I told Daddy, aware now that he was just being silly, this whole time. We could deal with these issues together easily, if he chose to. "So, aside from being a pain in the ass, is there actually something wrong here?"

  Daddy stared at me, astounded. "Um, I don't think so?" He said finally, half a question and entirely in this odd mock-American accent that I chose to ignore as I answered him.

  "Well, I can deal with a pain in the ass, as that's what you are." I told him, refusing to let him lighten the mood and wanting to have my say. "But I won't deal with you running away from me again."

  "Running away?" Daddy asked, sounding a little confused, "But I am not running, I am sitting."

  I wasn't sure if he was teasing me on purpose, or if it was a problem in translation, then when he laughed, I realized it was the former rather than the later.

  "Right." I said, "well, do you want to be with me?" I asked

  Daddy stopped laughing and looked at me, "what does that mean?"

  I let out a huff of air, this man was really infuriating. "It means, you want to be with me. It's not rocket science. You either want to be with me, or you don't. There is no confusion here."

  "Confusion?" He asked and I just stared at him in answer. "Okay, okay, no confusion." Daddy said finally.