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That doesn’t make sense to me.
One or two “coincidences” between people, okay. Reasonable doubt.
More than that though—like I said, it doesn’t make sense to me.
It makes more sense that other forces are at play, since I’m not one to care I can’t see the force with my shifty eyes.
Perception is reality, just like I told her.
And right now, what I want to perceive more than anything—as she smiles sweetly when I hand her the two paper cups—is this little sub as mine.
Chapter Fifteen
A GLIMPSE INTO THE FUTURE
Club Alias Members Community
Sienna’s Public Diary Entry #3
I have to write this down before my intrusive thoughts ruin it. I want to remember how it really happened forever.
I was so excited to see Zen today, craving his presence, that my usual shyness didn't even bother popping up her ridiculous little head when she sensed he was near. I got his command ("Get in, little one" ??) and hopped out of my car and over to his, juggling his hot coffee, my iced Chai, and a cup of ice in case his drink was too hot. (??Star Student??)
Like the fucking gentleman he is (*dreamy sigh) he got out and opened the door for me, taking the hot coffee from me so I could climb in without disaster happening—which he knows I'm prone to, yet he still adores me for some reason. ?????
Like the good girl he's training me to be, I took off my top and my shorts, leaving me in a new set of undies I bought to wear just for him. It's almost a bubble-gum-pink, maybe a little lighter, and I must say I felt a little confident in it. Weird for me—the only thing I'm usually self-confident in is my job. The bralette, in its pretty pink, is sheer, completely unlined, and with him so close, standing... right... there... my nipples were hard and clearly visible. Yet somehow I didn't feel the urge to cover myself.
Normally, I'm to undress down to my panties and get into the position he taught me he likes—on my knees, legs spread, head down (although I think he added that one for my own comfort, since it's a lot for me to make eye contact) arms behind my back, and "tits presented." ?? But this time, he must've sensed how excited I was to wrap myself like a gift to give to him, because he told me to keep the bra on.
Against my tan, and combined with the matching lacy thong, I felt... sexy.
Yeah.
ME.
The girl who was picked on her whole life for being so thin, no curves to speak of, who found it impossible to feel like a "real woman" because "boys like a little more booty to hold at night" and NOT a "stick-figure, silicone Barbie doll." (Thanks for that, Meghan Trainor)
But let me tell you, Zen seems to REALLY like my perfect, full-D silicone fucking tits, so suck my lady dick, Meghan.
And the way he likes me to sit, back arched, my ass resting on my heels, my knees spread... it gives me that feminine curve whether I have any or not. It widens my hips, giving his big, strong hands something to grip after he smooths those masculine palms over my flesh, making me shiver every single time.
I was eager to start his day on a positive note. He's told me numerous times now that his stressful days are so much more tolerable when he takes the time to let me... enjoy his company??... at the beginning of each one.
I had no expectations for myself today. NONE whatsoever. I'm still sore from begging him to make me forget my bad day a couple days ago, which he did so very impressively and selflessly. At least it seems selfless to me—but he insists he gains pleasure from just giving it to me.
Is he real?
Surely I've died somewhere along one of my disaster-riddled paths and have been sent to some kinky Heaven, where I'm now rewarded for being such a good girl during my life, which never got recognized while I was actually breathing.
Worth it.
Back to this morning—I was there to give him the morning he deserves. Delicious coffee, visual stimulation with my adorable new lingerie, and his addictive cock in my mouth.
And yes, all that happened.
God, did it happen.
But what I wasn't expecting was to be ordered to turn around, finally take my bralette off, and then to bend all the way down, head and shoulders to the floor with my ass up.
I did it without hesitation, but God, for the first time with Zen, I REALLY wanted to question what was happening. He knew how sore I was. The day before, I couldn't even stand tight panties against my wonderfully abused flesh. I couldn't even tolerate the feel of a razor gliding over my sensitive skin. I apologized profusely as I bent over, "I'm sorry I'm not as smooth as I usually am for you, Sir. I was too sore, and when you said we'd give her a rest, I didn't think you'd be—"
