Another Night, Another Stranger

I'm fifty-two and I've been in an open relationship for about three years now. It's weird to say that out loud but it feels like the right choice for me. We both agreed that we want different things from each other as far as sexual needs go, so here I am again tonight, meeting a new guy at his apartment after a quick DM on one of those apps. His place is dark and sterile when I walk in, he's got this aura about him that screams control and dominance. Tonight, it was his turn to take charge. We barely spoke before he led me to the bed and started undressing me slowly, like it was all just a formality leading up to the main event. The room gets hotter as I strip down too, my heart racing from a mix of anticipation and dread. His hands are rough on my skin when they finally touch me; there's no softness in his movements, only purposeful pressure that leaves marks behind. He positions himself over me once I'm completely naked, pushing inside with force, making me gasp out loud from the sudden intrusion. We both know he likes it this way, the raw and unfiltered version of sex stripped down to just primal urges. There's no real connection beyond this moment; we're both just empty shells looking for a brief escape. It doesn't last long before I start feeling the tightening in my stomach, my muscles clenching around him as waves crash through me, leaving me breathless and spent.