The following morning Robert awoke in his apartment and reflected on what had happened to him over the previous few days. His experiences with Lydia had upended his life, taking him from an aimless, sad existence to one with direction and purpose, albeit he was now totally guided by this young, powerful woman. Barely a woman -- she had turned 18 just a short time ago. Yet, despite their age difference, she was the force in their relationship and Robert was the weaker, smaller, and malleable partner. In Lydia's presence he felt like a small tugboat being pulled along by a much more powerful ship -- even to ride in the waves of her wake was pleasurable. He was six years her senior but he had to admit to himself that he looked up to her. Not just physically -- that was obvious as she stood a head taller than him -- but intellectually and emotionally. He admired her, feared her, and wanted, more than anything else, her approval. He wasn't just attracted to her, he felt a devotion to her, a need for her to be in his world. There was something intoxicating about her power, her height, her intelligence and he found himself feeling like a combination of her child and her submissive lover.
His breath got heavy at his own admission that he felt like something of a child. How had this younger woman surpassed him so easily? Not just being stronger and taller than him -- taking from him the qualities that are supposed to make him a man -- but being so dominant and powerful, so in control -- despite being six years younger than him? If there were a list of criteria for what makes a man, she had every quality far more than he did. How long had she been more of a man than him? He thought about her and when she might have surpassed him. When she was 16 and he was 22 she certainly would have been stronger than him.
What about when she was 14 and he was 20? She had told him, when they first met, that she would have been about his size when she was 10 years old and he was 16, but surely that couldn't have been true. She must have been exaggerating. Still, something tugged at Robert's mind and he had a vision of Lydia, a younger girl, the same size as Robert but perhaps stronger, probably more assured of herself, and certainly more aggressive. Would he have stood up to her if she'd challenged him? Or would he have backed down, looked at the ground, implicitly submitting to her strength, and slunk away? He already knew the answer. He already knew, that even at such a young age, she would have dominated him.
The feeling was strange: a combination of the desire to submit, his body telling him that submission was natural for him, it just felt right and another voice urging him not to.
He texted her,
"Ms. Tasha, I have a question."
A few minutes later she texted back.
"Yes, sweetie? You can call me Lydia again. Costume is off ;)"
"OK, Lydia. You told me you were my size when you were 10. Was that true?"
"Well, I don't know if I was quite that size but close.... Are you wondering how old I was before I was bigger than you ... stronger than you?"
"Yes Ms. Lydia."
"I was 5'5 when I was 13. So I was taller by then. I started lifting weights around that time too. So easily bigger by then too."
She paused and then texted again: "I would have been bigger than you by 13. You would have been 19 years old and still been my duckling."
She continued: "There's something about it, isn't there duckling? The pre-teen version of me standing taller than you, commanding you, controlling you. Even then my muscles were bigger."
He sighed. There was something comforting and concerning in that. He always knew he was weak and obviously small, but so much weaker and smaller than this girl? It seemed almost too much to take.
"Don't feel bad, duckling. You're small and weak. I'm large and strong. We're a good match."
She continued: "That's why I'm taking you on this next step and making you my girl. You don't fit with all those ideas of being a man. You're wasted on manhood. You'll be a sweet little girl for me."
His breath got even heavier as he read her texts. It was a deeply erotic experience to receive these instructions, these commands that he must surrender his manhood to her. He 'hearted' her last text before replying.
"Yes, Ms. Lydia. Everything you say is right."
And she hearted his message back and then replied, "I don't make a good little girl and you don't make a good man so why should either of us pretend?"
She continued.
"Let's meet at the pool this evening instead. I'm locking the place up, Come after everyone leaves. I'll have a special treat for you. 8:00."
He replied, "I'll be there!"
She 'liked' his message and then replied.
"Don't forget your devotions and remember to drink your fairy juice. All day."
"Yes, Ms. Lydia."
After putting down his phone, he stumbled to his fridge and saw the 10 bottles of fairy juice that she had given him. What did they represent in terms of his life? A new beginning? Something else?
He pulled a bottle out of the fridge and began to drink -- he had to admit it was tasty but he knew that the hormones inside the drink were changing his body. As he drank it, he thought about meeting Lydia at the pool that night: he was both excited and somewhat nervous at what Lydia had in store for him that night in the pool. Would she insist on the Elemé costume, yet again, or some new humiliation?
He drank down a full bottle. It was a thick liquid that tasted both sweet and invigorating -- he could feel that he was getting used to the taste and he really liked it. After finishing the drink, he closed the fridge and looked at the picture of Lydia that he had stuck to the front of the fridge door. He had placed it above his head and he looked up at her. He began his devotions and they became something of a mantra -- the combination of the thick, intoxicating drink, the repetition of the words, and the image of her, above him looking stern and powerful: they all combined in an erotic and almost hypnotic fashion. He felt mesmerized and was slightly entranced staring at the curve of her hips, the power of her shoulders, thinking about the breasts under her swimming costume.
His eyes traced her body and he soon realized he was rock hard with desire. He finished his devotions and immediately masturbated, thinking of her power, her strength, his desire to submit. It all came together in a wash of erotic power and he moaned with lust as he came.
That evening he arrived at the pool a few minutes early and saw some of the last swimmers leaving. He walked in and waited in the lobby where, after a few minutes he was on his own. He listened to the silent building and his stomach was aflutter with nervousness. At last he was assured when he heard a door from the back room open, "Elemé, are you there?"
"Yes, Ms. Lydia" he replied.
