The Unpaid Dynamic: Lust, Power and the Space between

I’m insatiable. Again.

After learning the hard way that I’m exceptional at companionship but not so great at relationships, I knew what I was in for. We’d connected before—back when I was married and ethically non-monogamous—and there was something about you I couldn’t shake. So when you reached out,

I knew I’d tell you about my sugar baby offerings. You can afford me. Financially, anyway.

I see your success, your curated opulence. I don’t know if it’s how you live, but it’s what you sell. And that alone is sexy. But it’s not what draws me in. It’s your quiet confidence, your understated humor, your sigma energy. I don’t know you well enough to say I’d date you. I know you’d be unlikely to make partner. But I lust after you.

I want you in me, on me—taking me, talking to me. I fantasize about you. And I love our conversations just as much. You’re smart. You listen. You laugh easily. It’s a no-brainer to tell you I’m a sugar baby. I suspected you’d find it hot. I was relieved when you did.

But I also offer you the unpaid dynamic. And that’s where the fear lives.

No structure. No clarity. Just covert contracts and emotional landmines. I don’t want to be hurt. I remember the pain—maybe ‘17 or ‘18. You didn’t show up great, but you didn’t inflict what I inflicted on myself. Now, nearly a decade later, I’m ready to level up. I’m happy with the unpaid dynamic, I’ll meet you there.  “A lover who supports her and ravishes her at any chance.”  I suspect you know words are my love language. Maybe I told you.  It’s exciting and flattering, but a little scary knowing you have the old texts….   

I don’t think it’s about money for you. The romantic in me believes you want to see what we could be. And I want that too. And oh, we have fun. I’m proud to show you my home. You’re still a great kisser. I love how you handle my body.

And then—you go dark.

I process. I find the shadows. I remind myself I’m enough. Again. I wrestle with the voice that says, “You’re an idiot. What did you think would happen?” I get mad. I soften. I settle into the truth: it’s not me.

And then you reach out.

We talk. You’re accountable—like no man I’ve known. You set things upright again. I’m high on connection, rocking life for two days. Then it gets quiet. But this time, it feels different. I feel good in the space between us. I realize how much control I have over my thoughts, my feelings. And it feels good.

I imagine you working hard, in flow. But somewhere in your consciousness, there’s me. And you want me. And your quiet confidence knows you’ll have me again.

We talk. I wait without waiting. I touch myself, orgasm over and over, lost in the fantasy of you—of us. You take me, rougher in my mind than we’d likely enjoy in real life. But it’s hot.

“Just wait till I get bossy,” you say.
“Yes please, Daddy,” I responded, dripping with anticipation.
“I need some connection with you soon.”