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I don’t know if it’s just coincidence or if all these stars aligned to create this perfect moment in time. But what I do know is I will do anything and everything I have to in order to Own and Master Sienna Brookes.
Chapter Ten
FROM SIENNA AND FELIX’S GOOGLE CHAT
12:20 a.m. - 3:58 a.m.
RomanticSadist:
I'm extremely proud of you. You did AMAZING. You were scared and nervous and still made my soul smile more than you can imagine. Thank you, princess.
Sienna:
Thank you, Sir. But also, dis me, Sir.
Gif: Thumbs-up sinking into lake
RomanticSadist:
Ummm… you're drowning ??
Sienna:
LOL!!! No, Sir. Just a part of me.
RomanticSadist:
You can call a timeout, little one… ask some—SOME—of your questions going through your head.
LOL! Drowning is generally not seen as good, but yours has a thumbs-up, so really could’ve gone either way.
Sienna:
Ok. 1: WHERE THE HELL DID YOU LEARN THAT?
"You get that on Amazon?"
If you don't have Tiktok, you're not gonna know what the hell that last sentence is from lol
2: Well, that's really it. Because the other ones fully stem from my intrusive thoughts and low self-esteem, so we'll just ignore those and let the Prozac take care of them in the morning.
RomanticSadist:
LOL so out of everything tonight, and after being told to ask the thoughts I know are running through your head—given EXPLICIT permission and carte blanche to say whatever you want—you choose a vague question and a comment I won't understand ??
How high was the brat score again?
Let's hear the intrusive thoughts. And the low self-esteem should be good. *grabs popcorn and sits
Sienna:
Ha! You fell for my TikTok play on the old figure-out-if-he’s-single trick, Sir. So you don’t have one? Bummer.
But also, I'm writing this: (Photo of Excerpt)
The question wasn't vague. I'm serious. Where did you learn REAL Domination and not the fake shit on pornos?
RomanticSadist:
Oh, I have TikTok. But let me break it down: 48-year-old male who looks up DIY ways to fix things, tools, weaponry, and Viking cosplay costume ideas for the next RenFest. So obviously, the algorithm decisively fills my For You Page with girls in their 20s just shaking their ass and tits. Needless to say, I don’t waste time on that app unless I just want to use the search feature.
I meant vague, because I wasn't sure exactly what you were talking about lol.
And for some reason, it's not letting me pull the pic up to expand and read.
Sienna:
Hm. Interesting. I look up plants, cleaning, and people turning lame crybaby music into badass rock covers. But the algorithm insists I want to know everything about this chick in Utah who outted a whole Mormon swinger ring.
Uno momento, Sir <3
“So responsive, little one. Your mouth might be begging me to let you go, but the rest of your body? It’s begging for something completely different,” he purrs, and to my utter shame, my vision goes blurry, my eyes unfocusing in order to concentrate more closely on my other senses—the sound of his deep, quiet voice, the scent of his intoxicating, crisp cologne, the feel of his heavy body on top of me, my mind trying to pick out the specific parts of him and where they’ve aligned with the different parts of me. My senses magnify even more from there.
I can smell the lumber stacked not too far away, the grass all around me, but laced through all of it is something spicy… dangerous. I’m at this man’s mercy, and he’s right; my body is turning on me, and if any normal woman experiences that, surely she doesn’t feel what I’m feeling. She absolutely doesn’t use all her mental capacity to take a snapshot of this moment so she can remember it for all time.
The way my skin feels like it has an electric current running over it.
The way my blood feels like it’s boiling, expanding inside my veins, making them vibrate from being overfull and like I’ll soon be proof that spontaneous combustion can really happen.
The way I can hear my heart thumping inside my head, my eardrums being pounded to its beat.
The metallic taste in my mouth from breathing so heavily, panting so uncontrollably my throat has gone dry.
And so many other tiny little details that should not be making me needier and needier. They should not be making my pussy beg to be roughly filled with something long and hard… ravaged… fucked until its raw.
I should be fighting with every ounce of strength in my body, and I want to do that, crave it. But a normal woman wouldn’t also still hope to be fucked while she struggles; she’d want to get away.
When my eyes refocus, I look away from his, unable to take all the things reflected in them at once. Maybe if it was only the throat-gripping desire, but not that while it’s combined with the artfully put-on evilness along with the genuine care I’ve always seen there, acting as the base.
