Dirty Submission To My Father's Best Friend

Mason’s POV

I have always been drawn to older men who know how to take charge, the kind that naturally commands without needing to ask. The type who can look at me once and understand exactly what I need, sometimes even before I say it out loud. There is something about that authority, that certainty, that pulls me in every single time. It’s magnetic, almost dangerous, and yet I can’t help but be drawn to it.

I like being told what to do, especially in bed, where I can finally let go completely, where my mind can stop spinning and I can surrender to the sensations but it doesn’t always stop there.

Outside the bedroom, when I feel close enough to someone, I crave that same kind of control. I crave authority and dominance, and the way it can make me forget everything else and just obey. The thought of following orders, of being guided, and of having someone else hold the reins while I let go entirely turns me on but finding the right one was the hard part. Finding the man who actually knows what he’s doing, who can handle all of me, is harder than I ever imagined.

Every time I think I’ve met him, something feels off. I can’t always put my finger on it, but it just doesn’t click. It feels like chasing a shadow, something I almost reach, only for it to slip through my fingers at the last second.

Ronald asked me about my date from the night before as we wiped down the tables at the restaurant. We both worked there, side by side most shifts, and he was the one guy I could talk to about everything and anything without holding back.

He leaned casually against the counter, a rag in his hand, glancing at me with that familiar knowing look.

“So,” he said, dragging the word slightly. “How was the date last night?”

I let out a quiet breath, shaking my head as I wiped the table in front of me.

“It wasn’t great,” I admitted. “Actually… It was really bad.”

I could have gone into details, but I didn’t, not while we were still at work. Ronald had left early the night before, and by the time I got home, I had been too exhausted to even think about talking to him. I had gone straight to bed but even sleep hadn’t been enough to reset the way my mind felt foggy, restless, unsatisfied.

My date was way too soft and gentle, which was very surprising and annoying because before we even went out, he swore to me, going on and on about how our wants and needs lined up perfectly, talking about how we had the same interests, expectations and energy. What a lie that turned out to be.

I tightened my grip on the rag and scrubbed the table harder than necessary, watching the surface shine under my hand while my thoughts drifted elsewhere. Why was it so hard to find someone who actually understood what I needed?

Who knew it would be this hard to find an older dominant man who could truly handle me? My sex life was one area where I refused to settle. I had high standards, exacting standards, and I wasn’t willing to compromise. I wanted the best and wanted the kind of man who could boss me around, push me down, fuck me hard until I couldn’t think straight, until my mind was emptied of everything except his presence and control

Ronald was the only person I could open up to about all this. Everyone else would judge me, harshly and without mercy, especially my dad. He had barely come to terms with my being bisexual. The deeper, darker cravings? The ones where I longed to be used, dominated, treated like I was nothing but a toy? My dad would never, ever understand. He wouldn’t grasp that I wanted to drop to the floor, crawl on my hands and knees, and hear a deep voice call me a good boy while gripping my hair tight. He couldn’t comprehend how I wanted someone to take control over every detail of my life and my body, how I wanted to surrender completely.

My parents would think I was broken, that there was something wrong with me. They wouldn’t accept that this was what I truly desired deep down, in the pit of my gut. My dad, especially, would never allow it. He would probably drag me to some therapist the moment he found out.

Ronald had to leave early after work for reasons I didn’t catch, my mind too foggy from the ache of disappointment and longing. I stayed behind to close up the restaurant with the rest of the team. We mopped the floors, stacked chairs, and locked everything down. By the time we finished, the place smelled of a mix of grease, cleaners, and sweat.

I grabbed my jacket and stepped out into the cool night, the breeze brushing against my skin as I walked home on autopilot. My thoughts swirled in a haze of frustration and desire. I felt grateful, though, to share an apartment with my best friend. Without him, I’d probably be crashing on strangers’ couches, wandering from place to place with nowhere safe to sleep. The apartment wasn’t anything luxurious. It was a bit cramped, a little run-down,with creaky stairs and thin walls but it was home. I felt safe there, and right now, that was enough.

I climbed the stairs to our floor, keys jingling in my pocket. The door stuck slightly as I pushed it open, as it always did. Inside, the apartment was quiet. I didn’t waste time in the living room, stripping off my work clothes right there. My skin was sticky with sweat and the lingering scent of the restaurant, clinging to me, uncomfortably. I headed to the bathroom, turned the shower on as hot as it would go, and stepped under the stream of water.

The water hit me hard, cascading over my body. I soaped up slowly, letting my hands roam over my chest, down my stomach, and between my legs. My cock stirred, half-hard, as thoughts of the night before filled my mind. I thought about the date again, how the guy had tried to kiss me softly, like I was made of glass.There was no fire in it, no edge, and no commanding presence. I wanted hands pinning me down, a voice growling in my ear, telling me exactly what to do, demanding that I take him with everything I had.

I stroked myself under the water, imagining a strong, older man behind me, his body pressing into mine, his beard scratching lightly at my neck as he claimed me. I stopped before I came, knowing that it was no use rushing alone. I needed the real thing, the intensity, the dominance, and the control.

After drying off, I wrapped myself in a towel and flopped onto my bed. I grabbed my laptop from the nightstand and logged into my favorite kink site, a sprawling online world filled with forums, tips, and people who understood. Over the past year, I had messaged more than twenty-five guys, talking late into the night about what I wanted and about what they could give but none of them had ever truly hit the mark.

I met up with a few, and even then, it fell flat. I managed to get off with three of them, but I had to take over, guiding their hands or mouths because they didn't know how to dominate me the way I wanted.

It only left me frustrated, empty and craving for more at the end.