I’m Dakotah. I work at a kiosk at Pecan Valley Mall over on Third and Avila. I’m located on the west side of the mall near the closed up Sears. If some store moves into there, I’m sure my traffic would increase. I’m 19 and at this kiosk I sell overpriced knockoffs of all your favorite perfumes by Chanel and Sephora and Abercrombie and Dior. We don’t sell any of those. Just scents that are like them. We charge less than those brands but I know it’s still too much.

I’ve worked here for three months and it’s pretty boring. No, it’s extremely boring. Most people walk by without even slowing down. I make maybe four or five sales on a good day. I guess it’s enough to pay my salary. I struggle with conversation or should I say shallow conversation so people think I’m shy. It’s just my heart wants to go straight to deeper talks. I don’t have to talk much to anyone who buys or just stops by. Just the price and a thank you mostly.

It’s not all bad working at this kiosk. I spend a lot of time reading books on my phone between the infrequent customers and people who browse just long enough to interrupt but by the time I move to respond they leave. I have the libby app so I have access to all kinds of books from the library and I read everything and not just what I know I will like. I’ve always been a good student in that B-plus / A-minus range. Not an elite student but a good student. I read history which can be tough to get through and how-to books on things I’ll never do and I enjoy most fiction books about adventure or fantasy. I’ve read romance books and they are hard to stomach. They don’t speak to me. It’s like every girl loves these books and the movie equivalent, Hallmark Channel stories, but it’s not me. I know I’m different but I’m not sure how.

I don’t recognize people at the mall except the employees at the shops near my kiosk. Too many people to remember anyone. Today, however, is the second day in a row an older man probably in his mid-40s, so he’s close to my parents’ ages, sits on a bench near my kiosk. Yesterday he often looked my way and today he’s doing the same. Is he fantasizing about having sex with me? I’m short and small with neck-length blonde hair and small breasts. I’m not your hourglass figure most men prefer but any old guy would love being with any young girl like me.

My first sexual experience was when I was sixteen. It was pure curiosity. My boyfriend Andrew and I were making out on my bed after school since my parents don’t get home until after five. He started trying to take my clothes off and I let him. It was okay. I didn’t know what to expect but that’s why I did it in the first place. It was a strange feeling having my pussy filled by his dick and the rubbing felt good and a couple minutes later I felt his penis throb and the warmth of his cum inside me. I’m glad I didn’t get pregnant. He wanted to do it again like the next day and I wasn’t ready and that lead to our breakup. At seventeen I dated Jason and he was so wonderful and he was always careful by having condoms and sex was so good and I knew I was going to marry him and spend the rest of my life with him raising a boy and a girl and living happily ever after but it didn’t work out that way. I started to see more and more sides of him I didn’t like so I broke it off. That’s it. That’s my entire sexual experience. I’ve dated and most guys are nice but I don’t know. I’m looking for something different. I think. I feel confused about relationships so I try not to think about it and I stopped dating ever since I graduated high school.

My back and right side is to the man sitting on the bench while I’m in my chair immersed in my book or trudging through depending on the subject matter. I do regret sometimes making that pact with myself to read all types of random books. Will The History of Citrus help me in my life? Life is my problem. I don’t know what I want to do with it. I didn’t do anything after graduation. I only got this job because Dad and Mom said I had to get out of my room. I think it’s for the best that I have to go to work instead of letting my mind think so long on life things. I’m different. I know it but I can’t explain it. Not in a lesbian kind of way. That’s not different anyway. No one would care if I preferred girls. It’s just I know it has something do with ... again, that’s my problem. I don’t know.

The man has a notebook. Is he taking notes? Is he drawing dirty pictures of me naked? I assess him. Brown hair on top with gray mostly on the sides, a face with a few wrinkles, body looks fits with no belly. He’s wearing an untucked light blue dress shirt, denim jeans, and black sneakers. A handsome man for his age like my dad is still a handsome man. I think I look at the man as much as he looks at me. When our eyes meet his face is always expressionless. I expect a smile or something. He must not be sexually interested in me after all but then why does he keep looking. An artist? There are many more attractive girls than me to be his model.

He sits there another couple of hours then stands. Instead of walking away, he walks toward my kiosk. He’s a good foot taller than me. He places a folded piece of paper on the counter in front of me and walks away.

I take the paper and open it. I read, “I know who you are.”

What does this mean? Does he know my name? Is he a stalker? Something about his demeanor says “no” to the last.

He’s back again the next day sitting on the bench often looking at me. After two hours he again drops a folder paper on the counter.

“I recognize who you are.”

This is even more confusing. Recognize? I’m a 19-year old girl. That’s who I am.

I don’t work the next day but he shows up when I work the following day.

His note says: “You have a deep desire.”

How does he know that? I feel I have a deep need but I don’t know what it is.

Another day, another note: “Follow to your happiness.”

It’s another confusing note but I can’t get my thoughts off the word “follow”. I think it has something to do with my desire. He does see something in me. What?

Next note: “Release yourself.”

Release. It’s another word that seems to have to do with my deep desire. I feel like if I know what it is, my inner turmoil will also be released.

“Let go and you will be unlocked.”

Let go. I’m trying. Wait? Is that my problem? Trying? I need to let go. Could this man be the answer to what my deep desires are?

I don’t work the next day but I go to the mall anyway to see if the man is there so I can ask him questions. He doesn’t show. Does he know my schedule? Has he been around enough that he knows my days off?

I work the following day and he shows up again. I’m trying to build up the nerve to ask him about the notes but my kiosk is weirdly busy for two hours. It’s just as well. I probably wouldn’t have asked him anyway.

Today’s note states, “I have the key to who you want to be.”

How could he know that? I go over to the bench and sit down. I can watch my kiosk from here.

“What do you mean that you have the key?”

“I can recognize girls who are different inside but don’t feel they can follow their desires. You’re that kind of girl.”

“I don’t know what I want,” I say.

“I am the key to unlocking it and showing it to you.”

“What is it I want?”

“You are disturbed where your life is and you don’t want to follow where people expect you to go. Deep down you know it’s not you.”

I nod. Doesn’t everyone my age feel that way?

As if hearing my thoughts, he answers, “Most girls go where they decide to go but you don’t want to decide.”

“What ... what do you mean?” Something about what he said rings true. Deep down.

“You want someone to take control of your life. The only decision you want is for someone else to make your decisions. I know you want it. I knew you would talk to me today.”

“How do you know that?

He hands me a pre-written note. It’s his address.

“You’re ready to take the final step. Think about it tonight while stirring in your bed wondering what to do with your life then think about how happy you would be if you gave up control. Stop striving and give in to your deep desire. I will be the owner of your life. I will see you at my house tomorrow after your work.”

I do think about everything the man said that night. How he could say such a thing to me? Could he be right? What does he see in me that he could know that about me? He’s right. I don’t want control of my life. I don’t.

That must be why I gave up dating. What do you want to do, Dakotah? I don’t know. You tell me what we’re doing tonight. You’re the guy. This is why I don’t like the movies and TV shows where the women are basically guys that unrealistically can beat up men and they have no emotions. It’s not realistic. I don’t want to be a Rey Skywalker or a Melinda May. I don’t want my life. I want someone else to have it.

This man. If I go to his house ... my body ... he will ... I will need to submit to his desires. Submit. It’s become a dirty word for the modern woman but I’m a different woman and this man knows it. Somehow. He’s right. I look at his address. I’ve decided. Tomorrow evening I will drive over to his house. I can feel it’s true. My life finally will have fulfillment.

I have doubts about my decision all day during work but when I’m off, I put his address in my phone’s map and drive toward his house.

I park on the street in front of his house. It’s in a neighborhood with bigger houses. The outside of his place looks very nice with a well-kept lawn and a big tree in the middle of the yard. I take a deep breath and get out of my car. I walk to the front door and I move my finger to the doorbell and I hesitate. This is ridiculous. I’m my own person. This isn’t what a modern girl should do. I should try to advance in my work life. I should meet guys on dating apps and have meaningless sex. I ... I don’t want to do that. It’s not me. I’m a different girl. I don’t want to be defined by how society says modern girl is supposed to be. It would not be me. I would be living a lie. I would be living a life of depression. A life unfulfilled. I ring the doorbell.

The door opens. The man is wearing a solid purple terrycloth bathrobe. He’s barefoot.

“Welcome,” he says. “Come in.”

I step in to the small entry way. The floor is tile with a small oval area rug covering most of it. He closes and locks the front door.

“Why are you here?” he asks.

“Uh ... you know why ... because of what you said about me.”

“I need to hear it from you. What do you want from me?”

“I ... I want you to make the decisions for my life.”

“What does that mean to you?”

“You know...” I feel flustered. “You have control of my life.”

“Continue.”

I think a moment. “I don’t know what else to say.”

“What does it mean to give your control of your life to me?”

I take a second to think. “Everything. You decide my life.”

“I believe you’re ready but I must be sure. What do the words submission and obedience mean?”

“I ... I will do whatever you want. Whatever you tell me to do.” I glance down to where his dick is concealed under his robe. I will need to let him fuck me whenever he wants. However he wants. “Everything ... sir.”

“You may refer to me as Coach.”

“I will do whatever you want Coach and I know that means you will have sex with me.”

“I will fuck you,” he corrects.

“Yes.”

“I’m claiming ownership of you. Get undressed.” His robe falls away showing a nude man still fit in his 40s and a hard and large dick.

I undress. My eyes keep gravitating to his dick that I will soon have inside my body. His face is passive as I become increasingly nude. His face doesn’t light up when he sees my breasts. When I’m finally naked, his face doesn’t change at the sight of my bare pussy. All he does is nod. Does he like my body? He’s about to fuck a 19-year old girl. You would think he would look happy about it.

“Down on your knees.”

I drop down sitting on the back of my legs.

“No, rise up on your knees. Now open your mouth wide.”

So I’m going to start with giving him a blowjob. Ok.

“This is the first of three positions you will learn. This is called ‘Open’. What is this position called?”

“Open,” I repeat.

“Very good.”

He steps forward and puts his dick in my mouth. I close my lips and bob.

“No!” He sounds displeased, pulling his dick out. “You will not move.”

He returns his dick to my mouth. He does slow thrusts. So I won’t be giving him a blowjob. He will fuck my mouth.

He puts his hands behind my head and thrusts deeper. My mouth is filling with dick drool and my saliva. I feel it dripping out onto my chin. My mouth is getting messy. His dick touches the back of my throat. I gag and cough but he doesn’t stop thrusting. His dick stops inside my mouth then he pushes forward. I gag as the top of his dick meets my throat. He keeps pushing. Oh fuck! He’s trying to push his dick into my throat. I put my hands up and press against his stomach.

“No!” he shouts. “I’m claiming your life!”

I drop my hands. I must do this. I’m scared but it’s more about letting go. This is the path I want.

His dick touches my throat again and I gag. He keeps pushing and I feel it going in. It’s going deeper and it’s stretching my throat. More and more pushes in until I feel his balls against my chin. My throat feels full and his dick is trembling inside it. His dick retreats. I gasp for a breath then he pushes back into my throat. Increasing wetness makes it easier and easier for his dick to slide fully deep. I discover breathing through my nose is more helpful versus gasping mouth breaths.

Coach is fucking my mouth and I feel excited. I’m able to take his entire dick into my mouth. I did it! Ok, maybe he did it but I’m able to do it. I’m pleasing him. He’s using my body because he has control of my body and it’s what I want. I feel happiness. I feel satisfaction.

His thrusting abruptly stops. He groans and retreats then pushes it all the way back in. He gasps loudly and repeats the thrust, again stopping with his dick in my throat. He releases a groan that sounds like it comes from the depths of his being then his dick jerks and I feel his cum. It feels hot in my throat. He releases all of his cum directly into my throat. It’s a strange sensation feeling it slide down to eventually reside in my stomach to be added to the nutrients I ate during breakfast and lunch.

His dick retreats but I notice it hasn’t softened much. I gasp heavily.

“Very good,” he says.

He’s pleased. That makes me happy.

“Now the second position, you will remember. On your hands and knees. Face away from me. This is called ‘Ready’.”

“Ready,” I repeat, getting down on the rug into position. Now I’m sure he will fuck my pussy.

He drops down to his knees behind me. I feel the head of his dick at my pussy and as expected he fills me. He feels deep. It’s big. I feel stretched.

“What position is this?” he asks.

“Ready,” I answer.

“Very good.”

I already understand that is his response for when he is pleased with me.

He fucks me. Long, slow strokes move inward and outward inside my pussy. The only sounds are his heightened breathing and a soft wet sound where his dick meets my pussy. I shudder as a pleasure ripple happens and I softly moan.

“That’s good,” he says softly. “Enjoy me taking ownership of your body.”

“Yes ... yes, Coach,” I hiss out.

“You enjoy that I’m using you. You get off on it. I know it. That is who you are.”

Coach is absolutely right. This isn’t love ... ok, maybe it could be and I think it will be, but not love in the conventional sense. My love to him will be obedience. His love to me will be using my life and most importantly my body however he wants. If he doesn’t fuck me then maybe he doesn’t want me and I need to be wanted by him from the depth of my inner core.

My thoughts inspire my sensations. I moan harder. My pussy feels on sexual fire. The motion of his dick is the best thing I’ve ever felt. My balloon of ecstasy is filling. Its growing. It’s reaching the stretching point. Pop! I moan loudly and shudder as my balloon explodes and pours pleasure all throughout my body.

“Now, it’s my turn.” He holds my hips tight and rams into my pussy. It’s hard jolts that feel a little painful. My pussy is super wet and his dick slides easily. The wet sounds are more pronounced. He keeps ramming me, fucking me with strong violent thrusts. His groans get louder, coming from his gut then I feel it. He’s cumming in my pussy.

“The final position for you to know. Down. It’s this position but drop your head to the floor.”

I’m uncertain but I drop down with my head turned to the right.

“What position is this?”

“Down,” I respond.

“Very good.”

His dick head touches my anus. I tremble. It makes sense that he’d fuck my ass too. Complete and total ownership of my body, it just never crossed my mind.

“You will learn to keep your ass lubed so you are ready for my cock at any time but my cock is very wet from your mouth and pussy so we will skip lube your first time.”

“Yes ... yes, Coach.” I’m fearful. My mind is in a haze.