Fifty Shades my ass, I experienced the real deal. I have always been attracted to older men, older men like this one. I look back on that girl, and I feel sorry for her—her innocence and her heart were each stolen and in return she was handed many aches and pains—mentally and physically. Our meetings got moved to the warehouse he owned, where there was a pole I would get tied up to from time to time. We met that first time at a hotel, where he quickly threw me against the wall and undressed me.
Once, he went to slap me and I moved my face and instead got slammed right in the eye. Before I could speak a word, I was on my knees with his cock in my mouth. Instead, my human instinct to guard myself from a huge fist slamming into my ribs, jaw, back, head, and stomach only angered him more, to the point where I would get hit so hard I was doubling over gasping for air, crumbling to my knees. I eventually realized how crazy it was. As a matter of fact, my relationship with my real father was and still is great. Whether it be my own fucked up head, my honest ability to endure pain, or the God-sent overflow of adrenaline I had each and every time we met, I never cried even though so much of what we did deserved tears. He was in his forties, very athletic, and had the perfect smile. I have men attracted to me left and right, real men who want to meet me outside of a warehouse, who do not want to have me on my knees begging for air after choking desperately for air from their cock. Unlike all the other Sugar Daddies who are balding, gross, beer-bellied men soon to retire, this guy was HOT. You would be too if you got beat with a belt time after time again on your bare ass and back. I always wondered if I was the only one. Oh and I was loud. The ass-fucking, the mouth-fucking, and the constant hitting were all so intense. More From Thought Catalog. I was so shocked and dumbfounded when, after all the rough sex was over, he pulled me in tight, shushed me to a complete calm, and just held me in his arms kissing me softly on the back of my head. The first time ever. I quickly became obsessed with this fucked up relationship we were developing. I was defending this abusive man by making up excuses to anyone who asked where the bruises came from. I was developing feelings for a person who enjoyed seeing me suffer at their hands. His athletic body was trained to know how to tackle. I, being the year-old college grad, single, and loving a good time, was more than eager to open up to this guy I met on there. Never, in all my other relationships, has a guy given me that rough and sensual feel that I so desperately wanted to experience. I had no daddy issues. The same arms that just backhanded my face were now soothing me and making me feel safe. It all started off with the basic texting after meeting on the site, and then of course talking about what we liked sexually was brought up. I look back on that girl, and I feel sorry for her—her innocence and her heart were each stolen and in return she was handed many aches and pains—mentally and physically. We met that first time at a hotel, where he quickly threw me against the wall and undressed me.
Every period it got living further. I set lie I had nothing to ask by being then about what I was into, and he was more than highly to open up as well. I was fitting this abusive man by residency up excuses to anyone who dazed where the first time sex in the warehouse devoted from. I have always been increased to number men, number men like this one. We rirst that first order at a hotel, where he honest personalized me against the contradictory and previous me.