The Size of Power follows Roberto, a restless man in Milan whose carefully curated identity begins to crumble during an unexpected online encounter with Francesco, a confident and dominant stranger. What starts as casual exploration transforms into a journey of submission, vulnerability, and self-discovery, forcing Roberto to confront his deepest desires.
I will be publishing here a condensed version of the full-length story, which delves deeper into their connection and is available on Amazon Kindle. Dive in to experience the beginning of Roberto's awakening, and explore the complete tale for the full, unfiltered journey here: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DRPG8QCM/
Roberto leaned back on his worn leather chair, staring at the pale glow of his laptop screen. The dim light accentuated the tension in his jaw, his furrowed brows betraying his unease. Another Saturday night in Milan stretched out before him, hollow and uninviting. Despite his compact, muscular build and striking features that could turn heads, Roberto felt invisible in a city alive with glamor.
Scrolling through an endless thread of curated photos in a gay chat room, he sighed deeply. The perfect smiles, the polished personas--they left him cold. At 38, Roberto craved something raw, something real. He wanted a connection untainted by filters and pretense. Almost impulsively, he switched to a straight chat on Telegram. The anonymity promised a distraction, if not the thrill he sought.
The crude bravado of the chat room poured onto his screen like spilled ink--brash, unfiltered, and unapologetically masculine. Men boasted of conquests with a casualness that bordered on caricature. Words describing women in vivid, visceral detail made Roberto's breath hitch. Their primal confidence was alien to him, intoxicating in its directness.
Roberto's mind wandered as he read. He imagined broad, hairy chests and coarse hands gripping flesh with unbridled confidence. These men seemed so far removed from the polished perfection of Milan's gay scene, yet their ruggedness resonated with something dormant within him. His gaze lingered on one username--BigFra89. The profile picture was blurry, but the audacious name sparked a flicker of curiosity.
With a smirk that carried equal parts amusement and intrigue, Roberto typed a message: "Ciao Fra. Big, huh? How big are we talking?"
The reply was instant, bold, and electrifying: "23cm. Want to see?"
Roberto's heart raced. Whatever lay ahead, it promised to be anything but routine.
Roberto's fingers hovered over the keyboard, a cocktail of excitement and trepidation coursing through him. The chat room's buzz faded into the background as he replied, his words laced with equal parts skepticism and dare.
"Prove it," he typed, his heartbeat loud in the stillness of his apartment.
Seconds later, a photo materialized on his screen. Roberto's breath caught. The man hadn't exaggerated--the image was startling in its audacity, the veined and towering flesh captured with unrestrained confidence. It was raw, unapologetic, and undeniably potent.
"Wow... that's impressive," Roberto typed back, swallowing against the dryness in his throat. "Congrats."
"Thanks," came the immediate reply. "What about you? How do you measure up?"
Roberto hesitated. A flicker of insecurity swept over him, the kind he worked so hard to keep buried beneath his well-toned physique and self-assured demeanor. For all his strengths, this was one area where he'd always felt overshadowed.
"I'm... average. About 15cm," he admitted, feeling an unwelcome warmth rise to his cheeks.
There was a pause, and Roberto braced himself for mockery. But when the reply came, it was unexpectedly kind. "Nothing wrong with that. I bet you know how to use it well."
The words sparked something in Roberto--a strange mix of relief and vulnerability. He couldn't help but smile faintly. "I try," he responded, feeling oddly seen. "But yours... yours is something else. I imagine it gives you a certain confidence."
"It does," Francesco replied, his tone as self-assured as the photo. "But what I enjoy most is how it makes others feel. That look of shock and desire when they first see it--that's intoxicating."
Roberto leaned back in his chair, the shadows of his quiet apartment pressing in around him. The words on the screen felt alive, tugging at parts of him he'd long ignored.
"I can imagine," Roberto typed slowly. "It must feel powerful, knowing you have that kind of effect on someone."
"It does," Francesco admitted. "But tell me--have you ever felt that kind of power? The ability to command attention just by being who you are?"
Roberto hesitated, his fingers trembling slightly over the keyboard. When he replied, his words carried a quiet honesty: "Not like that. Not the way you describe it."
"And how does that make you feel?" Francesco asked.
Roberto's gaze lingered on the screen. The conversation had taken a turn he hadn't expected--introspective, probing. Something about Francesco's unfiltered confidence was disarming.
"It makes me feel..." Roberto hesitated, the words difficult to admit even in anonymity. "Frustrated. Like I'm missing something. Like I'll never quite measure up."
There was no judgment in Francesco's reply, only a challenge: "Maybe you're trying to be something you're not. Have you ever considered that you're not meant to dominate?"
Roberto stared at the screen, the words pulling at him in ways he didn't understand. What had started as idle curiosity was now exposing cracks in his carefully constructed facade.
"I don't know," he typed, his pulse quickening. "I've never let myself think about it."
"Maybe it's time you did," Francesco suggested, the weight of his words settling like a stone in Roberto's chest. "Close your eyes. Picture my cock in front of you. How does it make you feel?"
Roberto swallowed hard, the shadows of his empty apartment seeming to close in. With a shaky breath, he closed his eyes and let his imagination take him to a place he'd never dared venture before. Francesco's words lingered, drawing him deeper into the moment. He closed his eyes, picturing the image Francesco had sent--the sheer size, the power it exuded.
"It makes me feel..." Roberto typed hesitantly, opening his eyes to the dim glow of the screen. The admission came slowly, his cheeks burning as he pressed each key. "Small. Inadequate. But... also excited."
Francesco's reply came quickly, his words firm yet inviting: "Good. Now imagine kneeling in front of it. Tell me how that makes you feel."
The suggestion was bold, crossing lines Roberto had never dared approach. But instead of closing the chat or brushing it off as a joke, he leaned into the vulnerability. A vivid image formed in his mind--himself kneeling, exposed, powerless. His own cock twitched unbidden at the thought.
"Powerless," he admitted. "But also... I want to touch it. To worship it."
"You're honest, Roberto. That's good," Francesco replied. "Now, imagine taking it further. My cock, heavy in your hand. The way it feels on your lips. How does that make you feel?"
Roberto's fingers trembled over the keyboard. He had spent years defining himself by strength and control, by a version of masculinity that demanded he always be the one in charge. But here, in the quiet of his apartment, Francesco's words unlocked something deeply buried.
"It makes me feel... like I've finally let go," Roberto typed, his heart racing. "Like I've found something I didn't know I was missing."
Francesco's tone shifted, a subtle edge of authority coloring his response: "Good. I'm Francesco, by the way. 28, from Rome. And you?"
"Roberto. 38. Milan."
"Milan? A bit of distance between us," Francesco mused. "But distance can add excitement, don't you think?"
Roberto chuckled softly, a mixture of nerves and exhilaration bubbling to the surface. "It certainly seems to have tonight," he replied.
Francesco's next message carried a weight that hung in the air: "Tell me, Roberto. How far are you willing to go to explore this?"
Roberto stared at the screen, the cursor blinking as he wrestled with the question. It was no longer just a fantasy or idle chat--it was becoming real, a doorway to desires he had long suppressed.
"I'm not sure," he finally admitted, his fingers slow on the keys. "But I can't seem to stop thinking about it."
Francesco's reply was a simple yet commanding directive: "Then don't stop. Let yourself feel it. Let yourself explore it."
Roberto's breath hitched as he reread the words. The decision loomed before him--terrifying and exhilarating all at once. For the first time in years, he felt like he was standing on the edge of something transformative, a truth waiting to be discovered.
The evening deepened, and the air in Roberto's apartment grew heavy with anticipation. His laptop screen cast faint shadows across the room, but the rest of the world felt far away. Francesco's last words--"Let yourself feel it. Let yourself explore it."--hung in the air like a challenge, daring him to take the next step.
Roberto's mind buzzed with contradictions. He had spent so long carefully constructing his identity: a confident, dominant top, commanding in every sense. But tonight, with every message exchanged, that image was unraveling. The possibility of surrender, of yielding, tugged at him with a magnetic force he couldn't resist.
Francesco broke the silence with another message: "Close your eyes again, Roberto. Picture it. Picture me standing in front of you. My cock right there, inches from your lips. What do you do?"
Roberto hesitated, his breath quickening. The scene Francesco described materialized in vivid detail--the imposing figure, the weight of the moment. He could almost feel the tension in the air, the heat radiating from Francesco's body.
"I'd kneel," Roberto typed slowly, the words feeling foreign yet undeniably right. "I'd... reach out. Touch it. Worship it."
The reply was immediate, as though Francesco had been waiting for this moment. "Good. That's a start. But worship isn't just touching. It's submission. It's letting go of everything else. Can you do that, Roberto?"
Roberto swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, trembling. When he finally typed, the words felt like a confession: "I want to. I want to let go. But it's so... new. It scares me."
"It's okay to be scared," Francesco replied, his tone softening, almost comforting. "Fear is part of discovery. What's important is whether you trust yourself to explore it."
Roberto leaned back, running a hand through his hair. Did he trust himself? Could he surrender the control he'd clung to for so long? The thought of relinquishing that control--to Francesco, no less--was both terrifying and thrilling.
He decided to test the waters, his fingers moving quickly across the keyboard: "If I let go... what would you do to me? How would it feel?"
The answer came swiftly, confident and vivid: "I'd guide you. Show you what it means to submit. You'd kneel before me, your head bowed. My cock in your hand, then your mouth. You'd learn what it feels like to truly serve. To give up control and embrace your place. It would feel... liberating."
Roberto's chest tightened, the words igniting something primal within him. He imagined the scene with startling clarity: the weight of Francesco's cock on his tongue, the feeling of being utterly consumed by someone else's presence.
Francesco's next message was a simple command: "Write it on your chest. `Francesco's property.' Send me a photo. Show me you're ready to explore this."
Roberto froze, his pulse quickening. This was the line--stepping from fantasy into something tangible. His hand hovered over the keyboard, doubt and desire warring within him. But as he thought about the way Francesco had peeled back his layers, revealing truths he had buried, something inside him gave way.
He stood, his movements shaky but deliberate, and retrieved a marker from his desk. Facing the mirror in his bedroom, he unbuttoned his shirt, exposing his muscular chest. The marker felt cool against his skin as he carefully scrawled the words: Francesco's property.
Staring at his reflection, he felt a wave of emotion--fear, exhilaration, and an unfamiliar sense of belonging. With a shaky breath, he snapped a photo and returned to his laptop. The moment stretched as he stared at the image on his screen.
With trembling hands, he hit "send."
The response was immediate: "Good boy. You're starting to understand your place."
Roberto exhaled sharply, his chest heaving. In that moment, he realized he had stepped into a world where there was no going back--and he wasn't sure he wanted to.
Roberto stared at the screen, Francesco's words glowing in the dim light: "Good boy. You're starting to understand your place." His heart raced, the words vibrating deep within him. They felt validating, anchoring him in this strange, electrifying moment.
He ran a hand over his chest, his fingers tracing the inked letters--Francesco's property. The declaration was stark against his skin, a tangible reminder of what he had just done. The vulnerability of it was overwhelming, but it also filled him with an intoxicating sense of freedom.
Francesco's next message appeared: "Tell me how it feels, Roberto. Seeing those words on your chest, knowing they speak the truth."
Roberto's hands trembled as he typed: "It feels... powerful. And humbling. Like I'm finally letting go of the person I've been pretending to be."
"Good," Francesco replied. "Submission is a gift, Roberto. And you've taken the first step toward truly embracing it. Now, I want you to speak it aloud. Look at yourself in the mirror and say the words. Say, `I belong to Francesco.'"
Roberto's breath caught in his throat. Speaking the words felt like crossing another line, one that would root this experience firmly in reality. He hesitated, but the memory of the exhilaration he'd felt earlier urged him forward.
He rose from his chair and approached the mirror, his reflection staring back at him--strong, muscular, but undeniably vulnerable. The words on his chest seemed to gleam under the faint light.
Taking a deep breath, Roberto whispered, "I belong to Francesco." The words were shaky, almost inaudible.
"Louder," came Francesco's immediate instruction.
Roberto swallowed hard and straightened his back. This time, his voice was firmer: "I belong to Francesco."
The words hung in the air, echoing through his apartment. A shiver ran down his spine as the truth of them settled in.
Francesco's message appeared almost immediately: "That's it, Roberto. You're learning. You're shedding what doesn't serve you and embracing who you truly are. How does it feel?"
Roberto sat back down, his chest heaving as he typed: "It feels... liberating. Like I'm finally letting go of years of pretending. It's terrifying, but it feels right."
"Good boy," Francesco replied. "Tonight is only the beginning. I want you to sit with this feeling. Let it grow. Tomorrow, we'll take the next step."
The next step. The words filled Roberto with a mix of anticipation and trepidation. He realized he wanted more--more of Francesco's guidance, more of the clarity that submission seemed to bring.
As the conversation ended, Roberto turned off his laptop and sat in the stillness of his apartment. The words on his chest lingered like a brand, both marking and transforming him. He stared at his reflection one last time before heading to bed, unsure of what tomorrow would bring but certain that he was ready to face it.
For the first time in years, Roberto felt alive.