What If I Just **** You And Not Panic You?

His voice was harsh in my ear.

His language was rough, coarse, crude.

He’d promised me some raw *******, and he was as good as his word.

I’d been afraid to phone him, nervous about the feelings he’d brought out.

I was right to be afraid.

But I could not hang up.

I wanted it…needed it…wanted him…needed him too much.

And so I listened, my legs spread as he’d instructed, hands on the edge of my kitchen sink, as he asked if I had obeyed him.  Questioned what I was wearing, and demanded I divest myself of the garments.  I ******** quickly per his commands.

My Master spoke to me last night.

We’d chatted on line for hours beforehand, my new gentleman friend and I.  He is a Dom unlike others I’ve encountered.

Those in their fifties and sixties tend to have a certain world weary humour about them.  They do things tongue in cheek.  They are still horny as hell, but most are married, and the urgency to **** me is not as great as it would be if they were without wives in their beds.  I am a little something extra, fun to spice up their workday or their evening when wifey has gone to bed.  They are fond of me, and try to get me to go to Bondage a go go, and offer to buy me **** shoes, and even do sweet, romantic things like deliver roses in dead drop locations.  They write to me and call me their **** and their *****. They are dear to me.

Those in their twenties are ridiculous for the most part.  How can a man who could be my son be my Dom?  As it is, my offspring boss me around enough that I’ll be damned if I’ll take orders from some twenty-something.  Except Steel.  I would have done anything for him.  But he was too young, and I can’t begin to provide him with all that he deserves.  At least, not in this life.  Next one, we’ve promised to find each other and have at it.

This Dom is in his late thirties.  He’s old enough that I’m not cast as a cougar in being with him.  And he has the strength of personality to put me in my place nicely.  That place ranging from kneeling before him, mouth open and ready to receive, to bent over my kitchen sink, him ******* me hard, pounding my puss.  At least, that’s how it felt as he instructed me to take my toy and thrust it in me.  Henry V (named thus by yours truly because of the whole “Once more into the breach, dear friends” Agincourt speech) filled my **** nicely as my lover rasped his desire for me in the harshest terms I’d ever heard from a man.

I’d been unsettled beforehand.  Oddly enough, this treatment settled me.  I suppose it’s a touch of the hair of the dog that bit me treatment.

He’d spent the better part of three hours calming me down, reassuring me as I struggled to explain my fears about the intense feelings I had about him.  Two nights before, he’d talked me through a painful series of *******.  I’d been terrified of the way my body responded to him, to the rush I’d had as he told me to place clothespins on my sensitive nipples.  Intellectually, I knew I could just refuse to do this thing.  Or I could fake it.  But I’m done with lies, and I wanted to try this.  There are a helluva lot of people who are pretty enthused about the practice, and I knew he was my best shot at having an experienced partner who could guide me through it.  He did not let me down.

I shall tell you about it another time.  Suffice it to say that I was so unnerved by all that welled up inside me that I wound up whimpering, and as I bid him goodnight, I told him I loved him.

I’d hid out for two days after that.  I’d put him off following night, saying my husband wanted me in bed, which in fact, he did.  The next morning, I wrote that I’d fallen asleep afterwards.  In fact, though, I was afraid to get on the phone.  But last night, after almost 48 hours of no contact, he wrote me and I was forced to confront my demons.

12:19 AM
‪Him‬: Are you there?
12:20 AM
‪me‬: yes, love
‪Him‬: Is your phone next to you?
12:21 AM
‪me‬: Yes, love
I am in bed though
12:23 AM

I waited.  He waited.  We are both patient people.  He proved his worth as my Top, though.  I finally cracked.  I wrote him a brief email, explaining I was frightened of becoming addicted to the pain to get off.  That I was frightened of needing him too much when I’m not in a position to be with him.

Then I waited seven minutes, hoping for some response.  Nothing.  So I wrote in chat to let him know it was there.  Even though I figured he knew, based on our past interactions.  Not a helluva lot slips past him.  

1:20 AM
‪me‬: Love...I sent you an email.

Six agonizing minutes passed.  Then finally, a reply.

1:26 AM
‪him:‬ Thank you acknowledging your feelings and what occurred.

‪me‬: yes

‪him‬: I've thought you've wanted to
but have been reluctant to do so.

‪me‬: You were right.

Him: So I waited.

‪me‬: I'm overwhelmed, love.
It's more than anyone has done with me.
And I don't know how to handle it.

And somehow, chatting with him, I figured out how to handle it.  And when we slipped into the rhythm of love that we’d previously enjoyed, and he proposed making love, I knew things would be okay.  But I still was nervous about hearing his voice.  Then, suddenly, I wanted nothing more than that.

‪Him‬: One quick housekeeping item
before the *******

‪me‬: yes?

‪Him‬: Do you feel comfortable phoning or not?

‪me‬: May I phone tomorrow?
I'd like to.

‪Him‬: You'd like to phone tomorrow or now?
Was confusing.

‪me‬: I'd like to phone you now.
But I think I should wait a day.
Just to settle myself a bit.
I don't want to get panicked again.
I just want to be with you.
But not get too excited.
And your voice does that.

‪him‬: What if I just **** you and not panic you?
raw *******

‪me‬: yes.
2:50 AM
‪Him‬: call me wench, let's **** from your kitchen

‪me‬: yes, love
I'll just be a moment

‪Him‬: bring your toy

‪me‬: Yes, love
Talk to you soon

What followed was not the pretty poetic sort of love one gets from a man trying to woo a fair maiden.  There was a brutality in his voice I’d never heard before.  A note of possession, of conquest.  He forced me to admit I wanted him, needed him.  That I was a *****, his *****.  His rough talk held me captive as I stood, naked, bent against my kitchen sink.  He told me to press my legs together but not touch myself.  And then, as he continued talking, he commanded me to ***.

I did.  Hands-free ******.  What the hell.  This man has snaked his way into my brain, connecting with me in a fashion no one else has attempted.  His skill made me tremble.  Recalling it now, telling you of it, I’m trembling again.

He made me *** again, this time using my toy, ******* myself roughly, without mercy, shoving the **** inside me deeply, imagining it as his **** thrusting hard, and then after I’d *** on command, he made me suck my toy, cleaning my frothy cream from the cockhead and shaft.  As I did so, holding it to the phone as I slurped and gagged, I heard his harsh breath signalling his own release.  It was as though we were together, my mouth’s ministrations triggering his climax.  It felt real.  It felt perfect.

“Good girl.”  He laughed softly, saying he was tired, that I’d worn him out, and we both needed to rest.  “I want you to sleep well, and I’ll talk with you tomorrow.”

I lay down in my bed, thinking of him, thankful for his patience with me, for his passion, for his love.
milkynips milkynips
46-50, F
4 Responses May 23, 2012


these aren't the droids you're looking for.........

The Midichlorians are high in this one, methinks. :-D

your mind tricks wont work on me......

Enthralling to read. =)


WOW! Intense and erotic! You're a wonderful writer.

Thanks, but the real strength of the piece comes from his words. I'm just a scribe with a fabulous bunch of muses.