Story by: iammegadaddyissues (MDI)

9/11 - Free intro added

He’s the kind of Man who uses words sparingly and when He does He expects you to listen. His deep, low voice reverberates through you. He’s intimidating to stare at, frightening even, and His body language says “Don’t touch me and don’t talk to me.” His thick mustache and cool stare makes His face impossible to read.  He’s a Man’s Man: strong, decisive, fearless and independent who doesn’t suffer fools and is impervious to societal trends, standards, and conventions. 

And thus it boggles everyone’s mind to see us together in public. No one can figure out our connection: am i a nephew that He’s ashamed of? A charity case? A hired worker? i always follow behind Him at a respectable distance and never speak to Him unless spoken to. My submissive reverential position to Him is obvious. i’m not afraid of Him as others are but i have a healthy respect for what He can do when angry or focused. 

i was a slutty twink, a player and a flamboyant fag. i would never have gone for a Man like Him of His age, mostly because i was too afraid. i wouldn’t have known He was even into me had He not asked me out. He was so casual and confident that saying anything but yes was impossible. 

Still. Our first date was confusing because i couldn’t read Him at all nor could i figure out why He wanted me - a thin, smooth, effeminate, silly boi. i thought the evening was a total failure but then He very matter-of-factly told me when He was picking me up next. i was a horny fag and wanted to see what He was packing but didn’t dare make any advances. i started to think He just wanted companionship. But one night He took us to His home - a surprisingly stylish 50s Modern ranch style house.  The surprises continued: suddenly the asexual Man i’d know wanted to me. The strength i felt when He grabbed and held me startled and scared me, as did the forcefulness with which He kissed me.  For a moment i couldn’t breath. i felt so small and frail next to Him. And helpless. So damn helpless.

All my rules, all my conditions evaporated with His touch. Clearly He was going to do with me whatever He wanted and i was going to let Him. People can’t understand our connection because they don’t see how He fucks me, how our bodies fit together and how we complete one another. i was made for a Man like Him. He is all Man and i His boi.

His is enormous: thick and long. His balls are heavy and his body covered in dark wiry hair. Next to Him i look and feel like a woman.  The bed moves beneath us when He fucks me and despite years of taking His i still cry out from the pain.  He can’t help Himself; it’s who He is. But i gladly take it and i hold onto His every single time, wanting it to stay in me forever. 

Yes, i cook, clean, and run His errands. He never asked me to. My role, my responsibilities are just understood. Am i kept? Yes, i suppose one would see it that way. He’ll never marry me because that’s not the kind of relationship we have. It’s unconventional and defies categorization and that’s fine with us. i am His woman. His fag. His property. And His love. And all He is to me is Daddy.