The way he took control - my night with an older man

I never thought I’d actually get the chance to experience it, but that changed when I met him. He was in his late 40s, ruggedly handsome, with that smooth, effortless dominance that made me feel like putty in his hands from the start.

We met at a coffee shop, of all places. I noticed him before he noticed me, but once our eyes locked, I felt an instant shift. He carried himself differently than guys my age—he was relaxed, unbothered, and completely in control. When he finally approached me, his voice was deep and measured, his words slow and deliberate. I could barely keep up with the conversation because all I could think about was how it would feel to have that same voice whispering filthy things in my ear.

The tension had been building all night. Every time he looked at me, my stomach tightened. He didn’t even have to touch me to make me squirm—I felt so small under his gaze, so exposed. It was intoxicating. When he finally invited me back to his place, I didn’t hesitate.

The moment we stepped inside, the air changed. He shut the door behind us and turned to face me, his expression unreadable. I felt my breath catch as he reached for me, his fingers tracing down my arm, slow and teasing. “You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you?” he murmured, his lips brushing against my ear. I could barely nod before his hand slid to my waist, pulling me against him.

I gasped as he pressed me back against the door, his grip firm but deliberate. He took his time, teasing me, making me beg without saying a word. His hands roamed my body like he already knew every inch of it. My skin burned everywhere he touched, and I melted under him, eager, desperate.

By the time he pushed me onto the bed, I was already soaking for him. He hovered over me, smirking as he watched me squirm beneath him. He kissed down my body, slow and controlled, making me wait, making me feel every second of it. When he finally pushed inside me, it was deep, slow, and overwhelming. He didn’t rush. He didn’t fumble. He knew exactly how to make me lose myself under him.

Every thrust sent me spiraling, and he knew it. He held me down, whispering in my ear, telling me how good I felt, how sweet I sounded. I came harder than I ever had before, my body trembling under his weight. And even after, he didn’t just roll over and turn away. He pulled me into him, his arm wrapped possessively around my waist, his lips brushing against my temple like I still belonged to him even after it was over.

I don’t think I’ll ever be able to go back to guys my own age.