Coin Flip Destiny: My First Surrender to Master
His apartment door loomed that first evening after the coin flips. Three times pile or face. My hands shook flipping that damn coin. Heart slamming against my ribs like a trapped bird. Twenty-three, horny as hell, vibrator gathering dust. Karaoke night sparked it all. Spotted Louis across the smoky room. Older, confident. Eyes locked. Chatted till closing. Poured my soul. He listened. No judgment. Just that smile. Coin game sealed it. I won. Or lost. Didn’t care. Nervous steps up his stairs. Palms slick. What if he touched me? What if he didn’t?
Every night that week, same ritual. Knocking soft. His door opens. Quick kiss hello. Lips brush. Electric jolt straight to my core. Pussy clenches. We talk. Hours. Deep stuff. My dreams. His world. BDSM hints. Submission. Not pain. Control. Heart. I squirm on his couch. Thighs rub. Nipples ache under shirt. He watches. Knows. No rush. Tease. Hope dangles. Bed at dawn. Separate rooms. Wake throbbing. Wet sheets. Fingers sneak under panties. But not enough. Need him. Fear mixes thrill. No turning back. Coin decided. His rules now.
The Approach
Tension builds. Breath short. Stomach flips. Imagine his hands. Rough? Gentle? Voice low, commanding. ‘Kneel.’ God, yes. Maladroit fumbles in dreams. Stumble words. Blush hot. He probes mind. Knows limits before I do. Frustration burns. Virgin to this. Not sex. This power. His gaze strips me. Naked soul. Excitement unknown. Innocence cracks.
The Instant
Seventh night. Air thick. Door shuts. No hello kiss. Eyes burn. ‘Tonight,’ he growls. Voice gravel. Knees buckle. Heart explodes. He grabs wrist. Pulls close. Lips crash. Hungry. Tongue invades. Taste whiskey, him. Hands roam. Yank shirt up. Bra snaps free. Tits spill. Nipples peak hard. Gasps. ‘Master,’ slips out. Right.
Bedroom door. Pushes me in. Dim light. Bed looms. Fingers tremble zipper. He watches. Undresses slow. Cock springs. Thick. Veins pulse. Mouth waters. First real one. Not plastic duck. Kneel. Command unspoken. Crawl. Awkward. Elbows shake. Palms sweat floor. Reach him. Nose to crotch. Musk hits. Head spins. Lick tentative. Salty. Groan rewards. Suck deeper. Gags. Clumsy. Excited. His hand fists hair. Guides. Thrusts shallow. Pussy drips. Thighs slick.
The Instant
Flips me. Face down. Ass up. Rookie pose. Vulnerable. Shiver. Fingers trace spine. Goosebumps. Spread cheeks. Spit. Cold shock. Then tongue. Rim. Holy fuck. New fire. Moan loud. Fingers plunge cunt. Soak him. ‘Wet slut,’ murmurs. Yes. Cock nudges. Virgin tight? No. But this. Owned. Pushes in. Stretch. Burn sweet. Inch by inch. Gasp. Heart races. Full. Pumps slow. Build. Slaps ass light. Sting sparks. Not pain. Claim.
Faster. Bed creaks. Sweat beads. Nails dig sheets. Climax coils. His hand neck. Light pressure. Owned. Explode. Scream muffled. Walls clench. Milk him. He grunts. Fills hot. Collapse. Tremble.
The Trace
Afterglow haze. Body wrecked. Innocence gone. Not cherry. Soul. New woman. His. Glance back. Love in eyes. Watches like treasure. No regret. Horizons wide. His world mine. Coin no fluke. Destiny. Ten years later, still his bitch. Watched by him. Best high. Free in chains. Heart his forever.
