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After those few times we met in his midtown hotel room while he was traveling.I didn’t feel as awkward as when he had first met me and we had a crazy afternoon/ evening of super-fetishy sex- stockings, garters, heels, bondage, lots of cock-sucking (mostly me devouring his huge dick - more about that in a moment) and the shivery thrill of having a man unload his balls onto my stocking feet just broke a lot of barriers for me. So, I liked the sick pervert. But having him basically k**nap me and keep me for his own here in a vacation home in fuck-all nowhere is taking some getting used to. I mean, I’m well taken care of- I don’t want to complain too hard because I’m certainly being paid an awful lot of attention (and money). As a matter of fact I only have another few minutes before I need to report to the basement for the regular early evening session. He’s been tinkering around down there for about an hour now and I hear all kinds of scary metal scaffolding sounds coming up. It’s best. He had no interests. He was sick and couldn't work. He kept the house tidy and clean but he always wanted to watch things on TV I had no interest in. Things that bored me. I liked documentaries, he didn't. He liked football, I didn't. I liked historical things, he didn't. In short we had absolutely nothing in common any more and yet, I still loved him. In recent times men had tried to befriend me, mainly hoping I would sleep with them, at least that's how it seemed to me, but I didn't want them. I wanted someone who wanted to be with me, someone to hold me and look after me and, equally importantly, someone to talk to who had similar interests to me whom I could converse with and not just pass the time of day. As I walked deeper into the woods and retreated deeper into myself my heart became heavy, and I began to weep gently. I didn't know what to do. I was so tired of the rows and arguments, mainly over nothing. Whenever we were together we always ended up arguing over something.
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