My First Paid Date with a Dominant Stranger

All the stories I’ve been posting are in order, exactly as they happened. Since I moved to the city, I decided to write down everything that happened to me in a notebook I keep hidden in the bottom drawer. I’m not going to tell everything, because a lot repeats itself and it would get boring, but there are nights that are worth it all on their own. This is one of them.

It was my first time being paid to give myself to a stranger, and I still feel something inside me tremble when I remember it.

I met him through one of those apps. He called himself Damián, said he was in his thirties, foreign, and almost six foot three. In the chat he was blunt: he was looking for someone young, small, obedient. A little slut, he wrote, without beating around the bush. And I, who had spent weeks imagining exactly that, replied yes before I even thought about it.

The idea scared me and turned me on in equal measure. I had never been with a man that big, or one who asked for things in that way. How much could I take? That question stayed with me all afternoon while I got ready.

I stood in front of his apartment door with my heart in my throat. Nervous and excited at the same time, I checked my reflection in my phone’s black screen. I was ready, or at least that’s what I wanted to believe.

I was wearing high purple heels, a black knee-length dress, my hair loose, large hoop earrings, and makeup in purple tones to match the polish on my hands and feet, a violet so dark it almost looked black. I had dressed for him, so he would understand the moment he saw me what kind of night awaited him.

I rang the bell. A few seconds later I heard footsteps on the other side and the lock turned.

The man who appeared was enormous. I had to tilt my head up to look him in the face, even though I was wearing heels. His shoulders filled the doorway. Next to him I felt tiny, almost fragile, and that sensation ran down my back like an electric current.

—Are you Antonella? —he asked. His voice was deep, calm, the voice of someone used to being obeyed.

I nodded, trying not to let my nerves show.

—Come in —he said, stepping aside.

The apartment was spacious and cared for down to the last detail. As he led me down the hallway, I noticed something I hadn’t expected: he was tense too. He hid it well, but his hand trembled a little when he pointed me toward the bedroom. Knowing I wasn’t the only one calmed me. Even if only for an instant.

Without rushing, he slipped the straps of my dress down and let it fall to the floor. He looked me up and down in silence, studying me like someone deciding where to begin. Then he pointed at the floor in front of him.

—On your knees.

I obeyed without hesitation. My heart was beating so hard I could hear it in my ears. He undid his belt calmly and let his pants fall, and then I saw it. It was bigger than anything I’d ever had before, and the mere thought of what was coming dried my mouth.

—Start —he said.

I took him into my mouth. I went slowly at first, getting used to him, until he lost patience and gripped my head with both hands. He set the pace however he liked, thrusting himself in to the hilt. I could barely breathe, tears sprang to my eyes, but I didn’t want to stop. I wanted to please him, to show him I could take whatever he wanted.

I loved feeling used that way. I brought my hands up to stroke him while I kept going, noticing how tense he was, how rough groans kept slipping out of him. I want him to come like that, to lose control because of me. That was the only thing on my mind.

He didn’t take long. He held me firmly, let out a long growl, and came in my mouth. I swallowed everything, leaving nothing behind, and when he pulled back he helped me to my feet. I was exhausted and shaking, but also more aroused than I remembered ever being.

—To the bed —he ordered.

I lay down face down. He positioned himself behind me and prepared me patiently with his fingers while I bit my lip, trying to relax. I knew it was going to hurt. I also knew I wanted it anyway.

When he entered me, he did it slowly, forcing his way in centimeter by centimeter. The pain was intense, like I was being split open, and a cry escaped me into the pillow. He stopped, gripped my hips, and waited for me to get used to him. Only then did he start moving.

Every thrust reached a place in me I hadn’t known existed. It was pain and pleasure at the same time, mixed together in a way that fogged my head. I felt the orgasm approaching sooner than I thought possible.

—Turn over —he said.

I obeyed. He held my wrists above my head with one hand and kept going, looking me in the eyes the entire time. I felt small, helpless, completely at his mercy, and nothing had ever turned me on that much in my life. My whole body tensed at once.

—Come —he ordered, and I couldn’t stop myself. I convulsed all over as pleasure rushed through me from top to bottom.

Instead of easing up, he sped up. He squeezed my wrists hard, not giving me a second to breathe. He slapped my cheek, leaving my skin burning, and then another on my breast, marking me. The sting, instead of stopping me, drove me higher.

He closed one hand around my throat while he kept thrusting. Air came to me in drops, my head spun, and even so what I felt was beyond words. He would take me to the edge again and again only to pull back just before I went over, leaving me desperate, begging for more.

—Please —I begged, my voice broken—. Let me finish again.

He ignored me. He kept me hanging there for what felt like an eternity until I could no longer hold myself back.

—I can’t take it anymore —I said between moans and something like a sob.

The second orgasm left me weak, empty, trembling like a leaf. But he still didn’t stop. He kept going as if nothing had happened, with the same roughness, as if he wanted to tear me apart. With every thrust I felt on the verge of disintegrating, and at the same time I didn’t want it to end. It was a unique feeling, addictive, impossible to explain.

He made me get on all fours. He grabbed my hips and entered me again, deeper this time, while he caught my hair and pulled my head back.

—You’re mine, little slut —he whispered in my ear, in that deep, commanding voice—. Mine, to use however I damn well please.

I could only moan. Every word tightened my body, pushed me deeper into that state where I could no longer tell pleasure from pain. When he felt me approaching the limit again, he pulled out and left me suspended there, panting, pleading with my eyes.

***

He practically dragged me to the bathroom. He put me in the tub with my heels still on, turned on the water, and ordered me to kneel. I did it without thinking, my body responding only to his voice.

What came next humiliated me in a way I had never imagined, and yet I still couldn’t refuse. I did everything he asked, even the things I never thought I would do, while warm water ran down my back and he watched me from above with a owner’s smile. I felt dirty, broken, and at the same time completely given over.

—Good girl —he murmured, and those two words gave me more pleasure than any caress ever could.

He pulled me out of the tub and took me back to the bed. He laid me on my back and spread my legs. My body felt heavy, everything hurt, but I was still aroused, still hungry for him.

He entered me again and fucked me in several positions, without rest, always with the same firmness. He gave me one last slap and ordered me to come for him. I couldn’t resist: the orgasm hit me violently, out of control, while he kept driving into me faster and faster, deeper and deeper, until finally he went still and finished inside me with a long groan.

I lay there, out of breath, feeling his warmth slowly spilling down my thighs. I was wrecked and satisfied at the same time, and I knew that feeling wouldn’t be easy to forget.

***

He took me back to the bathroom and ordered me to shower with cold water. The cold struck me like a slap and helped me gradually come back to the world. When I came out, he helped me get dressed with a tenderness that didn’t fit anything that had happened before, as if we were two different people.

He had called a taxi. He walked me downstairs and helped me in. The driver looked at me through the mirror with one eyebrow raised, but said nothing.

The whole ride was a sweet torment. My body was covered in marks, my wrists were red, and every bump in the road reminded me where I had been. I could barely stay upright in my heels. And yet, as I watched the city lights pass by the window, the only thing I could think about was when I would feel something like that again.

I got to my building and climbed the stairs gripping the handrail, step by step, feeling every muscle. I collapsed onto the bed still dressed and fell asleep in seconds.

I woke up with a dull ache all over my body. I could barely move. The marks from the night before were still there, on my skin and inside me. I felt shattered and, at the same time, strangely happy.

I picked up my phone from the nightstand. The agreed money had been deposited into my account, and seeing it made me smile even more. I hadn’t just survived my first paid date: I had enjoyed it more than I was willing to admit.

While I got ready, slowly, for a shower that was going to cost me dearly, I got a message from him.

“How are you, little slut? You were incredible last night. If you’re interested in making more, I’d love to hire you again.”

I bit my lip and replied.

“A little sore, but fine. I’d love to see you again.”