Chapter 1

Katy had a problem. Two problems, actually. She liked nice things, and she liked sex. The nice things part her parents covered, mostly. The sex part was a disaster. College guys were terrible. They talked too much, lasted too little, and somehow always needed to borrow money after.

She was nineteen. She had her own room in her parents’ house, a bathroom she had redecorated twice in a year, and a walk-in closet that looked like a small boutique. She was not, technically, unhappy. But she was bored. And bored Katy was horny Katy. And horny Katy wanted sex and things she couldn’t afford.

Her parents were patient people, but the patience was running out. Her father had said “direction” three times at dinner last week. Her mother had said “purpose” twice. What they meant was: study something or we’re cutting you off. She’d tried college. Switched majors twice. Couldn’t name one thing she wanted to study because the honest answer was nothing. She didn’t want to study. She didn’t want a career. She didn’t want to sit in an office and do tasks and be normal. That wasn’t her. She was meant for something else. Something prettier.

She’d kissed a girl once. Heather. A party, a car, a soft mouth, a hand on her neck. Katy had felt it everywhere. Heather had pulled away and said “that was weird” and they never talked about it again. Katy thought about it every day.

She’d be in lecture, staring at the board, and suddenly she was back in Heather’s car. She wanted to throw Heather on a bed, rip her expensive clothes off her hot body. She wanted to tear that purple lace bra off her big tits and suck her stiff nipples before eating her juicy pussy until she screamed. She wanted to fuck her with a strap-on until Heather was saying her name over and over again.

“Oh Katy. Fuck me. Please don’t stop. Please. Katy. Katy. Katy.”

She’d fantasize about fucking Heather while watching lesbian porn. Two girls on screen, Heather in her head, her hand between her legs. She came every time. Hard. Always Heather’s name in her mouth when she did.

Heather. Heather. Heather.

She’d never done any of it. Never even came close. Just the kiss. Just the car. Just the word “weird” and the door closing.

After Heather there were a few boyfriends. They were forgettable. The sex was worse. One guy lasted four minutes and asked her to Venmo him for the Uber. She’d blocked him. Another one called her high-maintenance. She’d blocked him too. Her mother had once sighed “demanding,” not unkindly. Katy preferred the term specific.

She knew what she wanted. She just hadn’t found anyone who could keep up. And what she wanted was simple, and very specific. A hot, older couple. A man’s hands and a woman’s mouth. Preferably both at the same time. She wanted Daddy’s authority and Mommy’s softness. She wanted to be passed between them like something precious and dirty at the same time.

She just didn’t think that existed.

One night she was lying in bed scrolling Instagram, which was most nights. She followed a lot of girls. Girls with lives that looked like hers but better. Girls in Paris in the morning and Miami by night. Girls wearing watches she’d looked up the prices for. Girls on yachts with older men who had silver hair and expensive sunglasses.

She’d always assumed it was all boyfriends. Rich boyfriends. Maybe inherited money. She’d never thought too hard about it.

Then she saw a post from a girl named Tiffani. Katy had been following her for months. Tiffani was in Capri, sitting on a terrace, a plate of seafood in front of her, the ocean behind her. In the caption, Tiffani had written: “Thank you to my sugar daddy for the best birthday ever.” And then a winking emoji.

Katy stared at the post.

Sugar daddy.

She’d heard the term. Everyone had. She’d seen it joked about, referenced, turned into memes. But she’d never thought of it as a real thing. A thing you could actually do. A thing that girls like Tiffani with two f’s were actually doing.

She clicked through Tiffani’s posts. Different locations. Different hotels. Same expensive everything. And scattered through the captions, hints. “Blessed.” “Spoiled.” “Grateful for everything.” Tiffani was not dating a rich boyfriend. Tiffani had an arrangement.

Katy put her phone down. Picked it up again. Put it down.

She opened her laptop.

The rabbit hole was deep. Sugar baby blogs. Sugar baby forums. Sugar baby TikToks. Girls her age talking about it openly. How it worked. What to ask for. What to watch out for. Some of it was scary. A lot of it wasn’t. A lot of it was girls talking about being flown places, given things, treated like they were the only person in the room. Girls who’d figured out that being pretty was enough, and being pretty and smart about it was more than enough.

Katy read until three in the morning. The next day she read more.

She found a site. One of the big ones. She made an account just to browse, no photos, no profile, just a username. She wanted to see what was out there before she put herself out there.

There were a lot of men. Older men, some in good shape, some not, all with money and all wanting someone young and pretty. Katy scrolled through them and felt nothing. She’d had enough of men wanting her. That wasn’t new. That wasn’t the thing.