Looking in the mirror, all I see is time nipping at my heels. Until about the age of 45, I subjectively experienced myself as a very handsome man. Almost all the women and a few of the men I came across in my younger years couldn't help but make comments on my appearance. I was a classically tall, dark, and handsome man. At 6'2", with an athletic build, people noticed me. I kept myself around 200 lbs, and was a good dresser. Big brown eyes, thick black hair, smooth olive-toned skin, nicely kept teeth and a boyish face rounded out the picture.
Nowadays, as I approach 50, things look a little different to me. When I look in the mirror, I see the difference between now and then, and it torments me. While my weight is the same, it seems to distribute in different places. I've developed slight "man boobs", the belly is harder to keep tone, and worse of all, I have a thinning and receding hairline. That probably drives me the most insane.
I still get comments from the horny nurses who seem to dribble over themselves when the "handsome doctor" walks on the unit. Much younger women still occasionally stop in their tracks and smile sheepishly as I walk by. Perhaps if I were more conventional, I wouldn't be so lonely. You see, at my core, I am powerfully submissive.
I discovered this about myself quite by accident when I was having sex with Lisa, a woman who eventually became my wife. Lisa invited me to dinner at her apartment despite the fact that she could barely make white rice. As it turned out, I cooked most of the meal that evening; all the while wondering why she invited me to dinner in the first place. Perhaps the reason resided in what took place later.
After dinner we made our way to the bedroom to engage in fairly conventional but satisfying sex. Midway though the experience, she asked if I'd allow her to take control of the evening. I was up for most anything in those days, and agreed to let her plan unfold. She proceeded to restrain my hands to her bedpost with her nylons and blindfold me with a scarf. I found it fairly exciting, but was also anxious because I didn't really know her that well at the time.
She left the room for a few minutes, leaving me restrained, vulnerable, and very horny. Upon her return, I felt a sharp, cold, steel object scratching at my chest and belly.
"Don't be afraid, I won't hurt you," she promised, "This really turns me on."
I was able to relax enough to enjoy the sensations of her knife tracing a path along my body. I trembled with fear and excitement as she took long, luxurious licks of my cock while scratching my torso with her knife. She seemed to enjoy running her tongue along the rim of the head of my cock.
Lisa moved her mouth up and down the length of my shaft while scratching my nipples with her knife. When my cock was well lubricated from the mixture of pre-cum and her saliva, she grabbed it and stroked my slippery cock.
"Cum for me," she demanded.
Surprised by how excited I was by this treatment, I felt the tension mounting. My cock was very sensitive and I spurted my load. I could not see it, of course, but could tell that it was impressive. I climaxed with her holding the knife to my neck while demanding that I cum for her.
"Ah... Mmm...good boy," she declared.
It was kinda sick, I grant you that. It was also the beginning of a rocky courtship and an awful marriage. She turned out to be a horribly emotionally abusive woman who apparently only wanted a "trophy" husband to parade in front of her family and friends. Once we married, she became too busy for me, rarely made love to me, and allowed her family to treat me very badly.
I instinctively knew she was emotionally abusive but was drawn to her nonetheless. My troubled past made her emotional dynamics all too familiar to me. I almost left Lisa shortly before we were to marry; at the time, explaining to her that I couldn't take her emotional unavailability any longer. I boldly announced I was going to move out of the apartment we shared. I'm not quite sure how it happened, but that night ended with my standing in the living room bent over, grabbing my ankles and her sliding the handle of a well lubricated kitchen knife in and out of my anus with a passion, lust and perversity that made me stay with her and marry her shortly thereafter. She promised she would perversely love me forever, and I fell for it.
While the relationship was certainly stressful, it also opened the floodgates to my submissive self. The experiences with Lisa forced me to acknowledge and eventually accept how much sexual interest I have in being bound and used for the pleasure of a woman. I also have terrible abandonment fears. In my mind, to submit to a woman totally and completely, to let her use me for her pleasure, decreases the likelihood that she will discard me.
The ending of Lisa and I began a period in my life that remains to this day. A lonely, aging submissive man with no woman to serve is a very pathetic thing. I've been a closet submissive since the end of my marriage.
In my desperation, I posted a personal ad on one of those sites marketed for people looking for sexual encounters with relative strangers. I wrote what I thought was a very nice personal. In it, I described myself, and my preference to be a slave to a dominant woman. My personal posted for 6 months with very little response.
In an effort to take one last shot at finding a mate and not looking like a pathetic old man, I returned to my local hair salon after a long absence. I felt flattered that the girls at the spa remembered me from years past. Joan made it a point to say hi to me. As soon as I saw her, memories of her giving me many a wonderful facial while I secretly fantasized about serving her in whatever way she desired flooded my brain. Suzanne told me how nice it was to see me again, and Joanne looked hot as ever!
When my new stylist, Rhonda, came out to greet me, she stopped in her tracks, as if she knew me from somewhere. Gathering herself, she simply said, "Hi, I'm Rhonda. Follow me."
I'll admit I was slightly disappointed with my new stylist. She appeared to be in her mid-30's, average build, and had a stress to her face suggesting she did not have an easy road to travel in life. If I'd met her in another context, I might have thought she was cute, but in this context, where most of the girls in the shop are in their 20's, waif-like and very hot, she came across as solidly below average.
When we got to her chair, she asked what I was looking for in a hair style. I explained that the goal was to work towards a style that complimented and distracted the eye from the thinning area on the top and back of my head. I usually don't share much personal information with my hair dresser, but being desperate and lonely, I explained that I'd been alone for several years, and wanted to get back into the dating scene. I elaborated on my hopes that a stylish haircut might attract a nice woman. Rhonda just looked at me, again, as if she knew me, but said nothing.
She escorted me to the shampoo station. As I settled back, with my head propped against the basin, it suddenly occurred to me that I was not wearing any underwear. I never wear underwear on the weekends. I was more than slightly self conscious, sitting there in a prone position, with my legs apart and my dick dangling down the side of my leg.
The custom at this particular shop is to give the patrons a scalp massage which they claim helps stimulated the hair follicles. Rhonda had very strong hands. With very deliberate strokes, she gave me a wonderful scalp massage. In seconds, I felt my eyes closing and my body settling into the experience.
I also became slightly aroused. I'm sure she could see the outline of my semi-erect penis through my jeans. When she towel dried my hair, she took care to dry behind my ears. I was both shocked and curious when she stuck her fingers in my ears to dry them. It was not just a casual brush of the ears; she was digging and fingering my ear! In my perverted little mind, I surmised that she was finding a way to signal me that she was interested in penetrating me.
Sitting in her chair, I couldn't help but wonder if her violating my boundaries like she did was her way of testing the waters with me. She offered little by way of conversation during the time we spent together. In fact, I think I did all of the talking. I jabbered about being terribly lonely and explained that I've always been a bit of a pleaser. I told her about the difficulty I was having finding woman who willing to have a man that dedicates himself selflessly to her. In uncharacteristic fashion, I explained to her that I was convinced that father time was trying to rob me of the pleasures of being with a woman I could bring pleasure to. I usually don't reveal my submissive self to relative strangers, but Rhonda caught me on a day when I was feeling lonely and particularly adrift.
When she was done with the cutting part of the process, she told me to come with her to the sink so she could rinse off the loose hairs before the final styling. Once again, she stuck her fingers in my ear as she was drying my hair. She brought me back to the chair, styled my hair and told me we were finished for today. I told her I was pleased with my haircut, but she just looked at me and said nothing. She handed me her card and walked off.
Driving home, my mind was flooded with thoughts of how Rhonda "penetrated" me, what that meant, if anything, and I was acutely aware of not having anyone in my life to love. I felt embarrassed by how much I revealed about my struggles. I also thought she was unusually bitchy for being in a service oriented profession. I was feeling so desperate that my train of thought went from thinking about how much I wanted to be anally raped by her, to feeling very impaired and confused. I thought to myself, "Your lonely, feeling your age, you go get a hair style, the woman is very unfriendly, and not very attractive, but she sticks her finger in your ear, and now you want her to fuck you. You sick fuck!"
My thoughts were interrupted by the vibration of my cell phone. I checked the caller ID, noting that it was the hair salon. "Oh fuck," I thought, "There's a problem with my next appointment." Much to my surprise, it was Rhonda.
"It's Rhonda, from the day spa. I live at 1395 E. Waters Drive. I get off work in one hour. Meet me at my house at 8:30." Before I could say anything, the line went dead.
"What the fuck was that?" I thought to myself. I figured she was either messing with my head, or felt sorry for me. Confused and shaking, I decided to drive to her address. I drove around her block twice, knowing I should run like hell, but desperately hoping it would be alright to knock on the door and at least see what she wanted. I cautiously pulled into the driveway all the while wondering what the fuck I was doing. "I don't know this woman from a hole in the wall, she was rude to me at the salon, and here I am, at her doorstep." I rang the doorbell; much to my relief, she opened the door. She didn't say a word, just looked at me, and motioned for me to enter the premises.
She told me to have a seat in her living room. Pacing the room, she explained, "I know who you are. I saw your personal ad on the Internet, the one where you are in search of a dominant woman to serve."
Embarrassed by her recognizing me from the picture in my profile, I sheepishly bowed my head, averted my gaze and said, "Yes, that's my personal."
She stated, "Rule number one, you need to speak only when I give you permission to do so. Now, how much experience do you have in serving a mistress and how far you gone in your submissive role? You may answer the question."
"Hmm," I thought, "This might be interesting." I explained that I felt totally adrift not having a mistress to serve, and I imagined I would feel infinitely more "normal" if I were able to have that kind of relationship in my life. I briefly reviewed my relationship with Lisa and admitted I'd been in search of a relationship with a dominant woman ever since. After listening to my story, she seemed convinced I was sincere in my submissive desires.
"Take off your clothes and go sit in the corner," she demanded.
I of course complied. I was embarrassed by my erection, so I sat with my knees up to my chest, holding my ankles for dear life. "Mistress" Rhonda just looked at me and said, "You're pathetic. Look at you, sitting there with a boner. Do I make you that excited?"
I asked, "Is that a question, Mistress?"
