Yes Master

I now have a 35-year-old lover. He has long red blonde hair and a rather unkempt beard. Intense blue eyes. He's in construction. You would think he would smell like dirt and dust, but he smells heavenly. He's one of the sexiest most intense lovers I've ever had.

He instructs, "Say I want to suck your cock Master."

I respond, "I want to suck your cock Master."

I hesitate on the word Master. If I felt truly safe, if I felt this were only play, I would be OK. But he's intense. He's serious. I start to shake. Tears well and slide down my face. I shut my eyes tight.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I can't."

"You're OK," he said. "I don't want to hurt you."

I want to give of myself to him in this way. I love to serve. I love to make a man happy. I want him to be happy and excited and full of my adoration of him. I want him to come back and fuck me, and often. He fucks excellent. But subservience is not natural to me. It feels wrong. It feels a betrayal to my person. Me betraying me.

When he came, he had me suck my juice off the condom. I was all over, slathered on him. Even wiping as much off with my hand as I could, there was still so much wet left. I put my mouth on me on him. I gagged and gagged, spit on the cement floor, spitting out my fluid.

"That's alright," he said, "You tried. That's all right."

He took off the condom and I sucked him more. He got hard again, fucked me and came again. This is a miraculous thing young men can do. It's wonderful.

He wanted to finish in my ass. I didn't want it. The ass takes preparation. And it's nice sometimes, but unpleasant a lot of the time. Not painful, just not always pleasant. I said no. He asked me to eat his ass. I said I didn't want to.

"If you want to see me again, you'll eat my ass for five minutes."

I looked up at him. "That's not fair," I said.

He laughed. "Don't worry, I'll come back if you don't eat my ass. Don't worry."

I got up and took two Klonipin. There wasn't time for them before we finished. He held me some, when I asked. The tears and the trembling. Still with my fists clenched. My body curled. I tried to wrap into myself. I tried to be small.

When he left, he hugged me for a long time.

I asked, "Am I good lover?"

He said, "Yes, you're fine."

I said, "I've never been with anyone like you. With men in their 30s I always have the upper hand. I'm the alpha female. You know that right? I'm the alpha female. I've never been with an alpha male as intense as you are. It scares me. But it scares me more that I won't satisfy you and you won't come back." He nodded in understanding.

So far, the focus has been exclusively on his sexual satisfaction. No serious attention paid to mine. No offer or even acknowledgement of my need for orgasm.

I said at the end, "Maybe next time I can cum too."

He responded, "Yes, there will be time for that."

He's a fuck and run. And with him, that is good. I can't take his intensity right now, not yet. I couldn't sit still and have a conversation with him. Bits and pieces are enough.

This is my first relationship of this sort. I have mixed feelings. But even with my fear, with my clenched hands and tears pushing through my clenched eyelids, still I want this. Perhaps I will be less fearful over time. But the fear adds to the excitement. I'm pushing my own boundaries, willingly, reticently, but still willingly.

I'm letting him control me. It makes me less, on the face of things. But it makes me more, because I'm facing things I didn't know I needed to, or wanted to. I'm allowing him to push me, to "teach" me. I'm allowing him to transform me. And feel as though I control the pace. He pushes and I push back. He is respectful. But he continues to push.

This is good for me. Will it make me a better lover? I don't know. I was a good lover before. I am still. Will it broaden my view of what a sexual relationship can be? Absolutely. It already has.

I want his intensity, I want his fuck, I want his control as much as I've ever wanted anything. I am becoming better and more me than ever before. I embrace all the new.

"Physical experiences, lacking the joys of love, depend on twists and perversions of pleasure. Abnormal pleasures kill the taste for normal ones."

-Anaïs Nin