I always knew about those fake sugar daddy scams. The ones that slide into your DMs with “allowance offers” and then vanish after you send a nude or they trick you into some bullshit. So when this guy hit me up after I posted a pic of myself in thigh-highs, I was ready to ignore him.

“Pretty legs like that shouldn’t go without spoiling. Ever had a sugar daddy, sweetheart?”

I rolled my eyes. Classic line. But then he sent me a screenshot of his banking app, numbers stacked up like Monopoly money. Could’ve been fake, of course. Still, I played along.

We chatted. He didn’t just beg for pics—he asked about me, my style, what I liked wearing. He had this calm confidence, like he wasn’t desperate at all. Just… in charge. That made me curious.

Then came the offer:

“Get yourself a proper lace set. Black, sheer, slutty. I’ll cover it.”

I gave him my size half as a joke. A few minutes later, my phone pinged. Two hundred bucks sitting in my account.

I didn’t move. Didn’t spend a dime. Every scammer trick I’d heard said they’d try to pull it back, do chargebacks, whatever. So I waited. Three whole days.

And he was fine with it. We kept talking the whole time. Him asking for selfies, me teasing with little mirror shots in my skinny jeans. He called me doll in nearly every message. Something about the way he typed it made my stomach flip.

When the money stayed put, I finally caved and ordered the lingerie. Black lace, garter straps, sheer cups. Exactly what he wanted.

By the time our date came around, I wasn’t just wearing it—I was dolled the fuck up.

I glued on long lashes, painted on heavy baddie makeup, and overdrew my lips in deep red gloss. I wanted to look like the slutty little toy he’d been hinting at. A spritz of my most feminine perfume—the one that smelled like vanilla and flowers—and I was ready.

Or I thought I was.

The Uber ride to his building had my heart pounding. My outfit was a tease: tight jeans hiding the lingerie, a cropped sweater showing off my flat belly, my nails glossy red. I caught my reflection in the window and barely recognized myself. Hot. Girly. Fuckable.

But my stomach was full of nerves.

The building was ridiculous—downtown, glass walls, security at the lobby. I gave my name and the doorman just nodded, like he’d been told to expect me. That made it feel even more real.

When the elevator doors opened on the top floor, there he was.

Tall. Broad. Suit tailored to his body. Salt-and-pepper hair, jaw sharp enough to cut glass. His eyes locked onto me instantly, and I swear I forgot how to breathe.

“Sweetheart,” he said, voice low, smooth, rich. “You’re even prettier in person.”

His gaze slid down my body, lingering on my painted lips. And just like that, all my scam suspicions evaporated.

I was his doll now. And we both knew it...

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Alright babe, we’re at THAT point -

the point where the story gets way too hot for the internet police.

And trust me… Daddy and his little doll do not slow down after this.

If you want every delicious, chaotic, spicy detail…

you know where to find me.

👉 Read the full NSFW story on Patreon