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Please, please, please. I need your orders, Sir. You basically said you wouldn’t give me any unless I agreed to allow you to praise or reprimand in return. Meaning in person. Please, read my request and know it’s my chickenshit way of agreeing to your terms. I’m still too scared to say what I truly desire. Please, plea— Oh shit!
Chapter Four
FELIX
RomanticSadistLL:
What time can I see you tonight?
She’s an intelligent woman who lacks confidence. The way she reads deeply into my messages lets me know not only that she’s aware of the stipulations I mentioned but that I should also look deeper into her request as well.
Her request.
Before, she had outright asked me about personal training, about Domination from a distance, things like that. But to phrase what she wanted as an actual request, a way a submissive politely makes her Dom aware of her needs, I know she’s giving me the green light for what I require in return. And the way she made jokes during said request shows she’s just too riddled with self-doubt and the fear of rejection that she can’t outright ask for what she desires with conviction.
I can’t wait to see the confident woman she’ll no doubt become under my hands.
Instead of an answer to my question, she sends me a short excerpt from her book. And where I’d find this annoying coming from submissives in the past, it only makes Sienna more intriguing, like a puzzle I have to figure out but with the guarantee of a prize unlike any other inside.
“What to do with you now,” he murmurs, his voice bringing me back to the present.
I swallow thickly, my own voice coming out weak. “Please, just let me go.”
He lifts a brow at me, a look I allow myself to admit is sexy as fuck, and my pussy clenches as his hand just stays… right… there… against it, barely touching me but not moving away. And now that I’m conscious of that, my hips rock of their own accord, even as I try to keep them still. My body’s instincts are starting to take over, feeling his gentle touch between my legs and reacting the way my brain has taught it to—soft and warm pressure… on clitoris… equals pleasure. Must get closer. Must have more.
And he allows it. He literally has to be, because if he didn’t want me to move, I would not have the choice. Where my husband already makes me feel tiny, his muscular frame taller and wider and stronger than my own, this Dom makes me feel fragile, downright breakable, like he’d be able to hurt me without even exerting a fraction of all that size and strength.
It’s a fact that suddenly makes me so wet I should be mortified. I can feel the wetness seeping from me, trickling between my cheeks there’s so much of it. There has to be, seeing as he still has the gusset of my panties pressed against my slit, which means I’m so aroused I’ve already soaked through the cotton.
I can’t look away as his head lowers, and I feel his hot breath on the tip of one breast. My body, choosing a different instinct to react to this time, flinches away from it, somehow recognizing that breath doesn’t belong to its master, but that doesn’t stop my nipples from tightening to an almost painful degree. Another shiver works its way from my chest to my neck and up through my trapped arms, and I hear him hum, as if in approval.
“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.
I read the page, seeing the heroine in her story is too scared to speak. From what Sienna told me about the backstory, it’s a heroine’s CNC—consensual non-consent—fantasy being brought to life by her husband and another Dom. She wants to tell the Dom yes—anything he wants from her, he can have—but she craves for him to take the lead. There’s a need in her to run, but she wants more than anything to be chased, to be caught, and to be forced to submit to the powerful male.
And she’s also told me countless times her stories are filled with parts of herself.
So my little hippie with the gentle and nurturing soul yearns to be dominated by darkness and filth. By roughness and animalistic hunger. She wants more than anything to be released of all responsibility, to just give herself over with blind faith to her Master.
