Micro Monday

Age Difference

She sucked me dry when she saw how much her little show had excited me.

Liquid blue eyes gaze up at me from the bed. She’s looking at my hand, at what I’m holding.

The words are difficult for her, and she trembles so much she stammers over them. “I’m s-s-scared, Daddy.”

I remember the first time she said that to me. Our dynamic was new then, but the petite, timid nineteen-year-old was already devoted to me.

I’d persuaded her to try anal play. She’d been nervous, but she’d accepted a gently exploring finger, and enjoyed it. She embraced her training after that, stepping up rapidly from a butt plug no thicker than my thumb to one even larger than my dick. I gave her an eight-inch, heavily-veined dildo, and told her to practice fucking herself with it. The day she mastered it she was so proud she insisted on showing me her new-found skills, then sucked me dry when she saw how much her little show had excited me.

But the next night, when I tried to fuck her, when she’d been lubed and teased and stretched, when she’d eagerly spread her buttocks and presented her arsehole to me, when my dick was poised to penetrate her, she’d whispered, “I’m scared, Daddy.”

I stopped, of course. I held her, and she sobbed at her ‘failure’ while I tried vainly to reassure her that I wasn’t disappointed.

It was the unknown which scared her, she told me. I was still building trust, and she couldn’t be certain I would be as gentle with her as she was with herself. She often didn’t want me to be gentle, in fucking or punishment, and so the shadow of pain hung over everything we did together.

She was frightened, and so I didn’t fuck her arse that night, or any night, no matter how fervently she professed her trust to me. I no longer desired anal; I never wanted her to be afraid.

Now — five decades later — pain casts its shadow over her whole life, what little of it remains. One injection could end her suffering, but she’s scared again.

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