Chapter 10: Steam fills the glass enclosure as Robert pins Sienna's face against the tiles, his fingers digging into her ass cheeks while he pounds her from behind, the slap of wet skin echoing off the walls.
The city light, thin and gray, filtered through the blinds when Sienna woke. The other side of the bed was empty, the sheets cool. For a few disorienting seconds, she was nowhere. Then the expanse of the room, the smell of him on the pillow, the deep, lingering ache between her legs, assembled the reality.
She heard the shower running.
Pushing back the heavy duvet, she padded barefoot across the cool floor to the bathroom door, which stood ajar. Steam curled from the opening. She pushed it wider.
The bathroom was a monument to glass and veined marble. Robert stood in the large, open shower, his back to her, water sluicing over the hard planes of his shoulders and down his spine. He was rinsing shampoo from his hair. He didn’t turn.
“Get in,” he said, his voice echoing off the tile. It wasn’t an invitation.
She stepped under the spray, the hot water a shock on her skin. He turned then, his face slick, eyes assessing. He didn’t touch her. Not at first. He just watched as she wet her hair, as she reached for the soap. His gaze was a physical weight.
“Hands on the wall,” he said finally, his voice low beneath the drumming water.
She turned, placing her palms flat against the cool, wet marble. Her heart began a frantic thump against her ribs. She heard him step closer, felt the displacement of water and air. His hands smoothed over her hips, down the backs of her thighs, spreading them wider. He knelt behind her.
The first touch of his tongue was a lightning strike. It wasn’t gentle. It was a ruthless, probing invasion, licking into her from behind with a focused, animal intensity. She gasped, her forehead dropping to her arms. He held her open with his thumbs, eating her out with a fervor that was devoid of tenderness, only a stark, carnal hunger. He fucked her with his tongue, deep and rough, then circled her clit with brutal, pinpoint precision.
“Robert, please—” she moaned, the plea meaningless, lost in the steam.
He ignored her, his grip tightening. The dual sensation of the scald of the water on her back and the hot, insistent pressure of his mouth between her legs was overwhelming. Her knees trembled. An orgasm, swift and violent, ripped through her, making her cry out, her body bowing against the wall. He didn’t stop. He lapped at her, drinking her in, until the sensitivity tipped into a sharp, almost painful overstimulation. She whimpered, trying to shift away.
He stood up suddenly. Before she could catch her breath, his hand was in her wet hair, fisting it, pulling her head back. He turned her, forcing her to her knees on the shower floor. The tile was hard and unyielding. Her face was level with his groin.
“Open,” he commanded.
She did, obediently, her jaw already aching in anticipation. He guided himself into her mouth. He didn’t start slow. He pushed deep, the head of his cock hitting the back of her throat immediately. She gagged, her eyes watering, clinging to his thighs for balance.
“That’s it,” he grunted, looking down at her. Water cascaded over both of them, dripping from his chin, from her lashes. “Take it all, you greedy little cocksucker. You love this, don’t you? Having your mouth stuffed full.”
He began to fuck her face in earnest, a steady, piston-like rhythm. He held her head still, controlling the depth and pace with his hands tangled in her blonde hair. Each thrust made her throat convulse. Spit and water mixed, streaming down her chin and neck. Her nose pressed into his pelvic bone with every inward drive. The sounds were obscene: wet, choking gulps, his ragged breathing, the relentless slap of skin.
“Look at you,” he panted. “My perfect little slut. Born to suck cock. Made for it.”
The words, filthy and degrading, sent a fresh, shameful thrill through her core. Her own arousal, so recently sated, sparked back to life. She relaxed her throat, trying to take him deeper, to please him. A low groan rumbled from his chest.
“Fuck, yes. Just like that. Take your master’s cock.”
His pace increased, becoming harder, more erratic. The grip on her hair was painful now, anchoring her for his use. She could taste the pre-cum, salty and familiar. She looked up at him through the water and steam, her green eyes blurry with submission. He was watching her, his expression fierce, possessive.
“I’m gonna come down that pretty throat,” he warned, his voice tight. “And you’re gonna swallow every fucking drop. You understand?”
She managed a slight nod around his girth. That was all it took.
With a final, deep thrust that made her nostrils flare, he held himself there, pulsing. The first hot jet hit the back of her throat. She swallowed instinctively, again and again, as he emptied himself into her. He shuddered, his body tense, his release drawn out by the tight, wet heat of her mouth. When he was spent, he slowly pulled out. She stayed on her knees, panting, catching her breath, the taste of him lingering.
He reached down, cupping her chin, his thumb wiping a stray mix of fluids from her lip. The gesture was almost tender. “Good girl,” he said, the warmth in his voice a bizarre contrast to the brutality of the last few minutes. He helped her to her feet. “Now, wash up. We have a busy day. You need to see your new campus, get your bearings before you’re officially moved in.”
He stepped out of the shower, leaving her alone under the spray. She stood there, trembling, her body humming with a confused energy. The violation was complete, yet his praise echoed in her head, warmer than the water. Good girl. She rinsed her mouth, but the phantom taste remained, a brand.
Later, dressed in clothes he had laid out for her—a simple but expensive dress that clung to her curves—she followed him to the garage. He drove her to the university campus himself. It was a bright, sunny day. Students milled about, laughing, carrying backpacks, living a life that now seemed like a faded postcard from someone else’s reality.
“Your dorm is that one,” Robert said, pointing to a red-brick building as they walked. “But you won’t be needing it. I’ve already spoken to housing. Your things will be moved to the penthouse this weekend.” He said it casually, a settled fact. “This is your life now, Sienna. The best of both worlds. The appearance of a normal college experience,” he paused, his hand coming to rest possessively on the small of her back, “and the reality of a home. With me.”
They walked past a group of boys her age. One of them glanced at her, did a double-take, his eyes lingering. Robert’s hand tightened slightly. A silent, definitive claim. The boy looked away quickly.
“See?” Robert murmured, his lips close to her ear. “They can look. But they know. They can sense you’re claimed. That you belong to a man. It’s in the way you carry yourself now. In the way you move for me.”
He bought her a coffee at a campus shop, engaging the barista in easy conversation about local traffic. He was charming, authoritative, the picture of a supportive guardian. No one could see the marks his fingers had left on her hips in the shower. No one could know what he had just done to her mouth.
As they walked back to the car, he said, “I have meetings this afternoon. A car will take you back. There’s food in the fridge. Be ready for me tonight.”
“Ready?” she asked, the word barely a whisper.
He opened the passenger door for her, his eyes glinting with a dark promise. “Wear the black lace. The one from the drawer. And nothing else. I want to find you on the terrace when I get home. I want to see the city lights on your skin before I put you on your hands and knees and fuck that perfect ass of yours.”
He said it calmly, as if detailing a dinner plan. Then he closed her door, sealing her inside with the decree. The engine purred to life. She stared out the window at the receding campus, at the ordinary lives passing by. Her body, traitorously, clenched in anticipation at his words. The line between horror and hunger had dissolved, leaving only a terrifying, silent void waiting to be filled.
The silent drive back to the penthouse thickened the void within her. Robert’s command—wear the black lace—echoed, a dark seed taking root. She stared at his profile, the stern line of his jaw, and wondered which man would return to her that evening.
Alone in the vast quiet, she showered. The scalding water couldn’t scrub away the memory of his hands, his tongue, his praise. She wrapped herself in a towel and stood before the mirrored closet, her reflection a ghost of the girl from campus. Her skin still glowed from his rough attention.
It was a strange feeling, that she was beginning to find comfort in his presence, in his intimate touches, when she didn’t really know him. She knew he had a wife, that he was Mark's father. Sienna hadn’t had a choice about their relationship. She should feel disgusted, should want to run away. But the previous night had branded her, left her craving more of that specific warmth—the feeling of being seen as a person and not just a hole to be used.
When the evening came, she took her time doing her makeup. She applied it with a care she hadn’t mustered in weeks, lining her eyes, darkening her lashes. Then she slipped into that black lace lingerie. It accentuated and hugged every curve of her body perfectly, making her a stunning vision against the monochrome apartment. She looked at herself and saw both prey and offering.
She nervously drank a couple of glasses of wine, standing by the terrace windows. The city lights began to sparkle below. She didn’t know whether she was going to get the man who used her or the man whose presence was so strong and intense it made her feel safe enough to surrender. She craved not to be discarded afterwards, but held securely in his arms.
Sienna was waiting, as instructed, when Robert came home. She heard the door, the rustle of his suit jacket being dropped. His footsteps were deliberate on the hardwood. He entered the living space, his eyes finding her immediately on the terrace. He didn’t speak at first. He just looked.
He put on some low, thrumming jazz. Then he joined her outside, the night air cool on her exposed skin. “You look absolutely stunning,” he said, his voice a low murmur. He closed the distance, his hands settling on her waist. He pulled her into his arms, his hands intimately roaming her body as he began to sway them slowly to the beat.
Sienna was tense, anticipating violence or demand. Robert soothed her. “Just relax, darling. Breathe.” He nuzzled her hair. “I just want to hold you.”
They swayed to the music. Robert whispered comforting words into her ear for twenty minutes, just being close. Slowly, Sienna’s tense body relaxed. She leaned into his arms, her head finding the space between his shoulder and jaw. His scent, his heat, the solid strength of him, began to dissolve the last of her resistance. This was the warmth she’d been starved for.
As they swayed, Robert slipped a hand inside the lace of her panties. His touch was shockingly deliberate. He slowly, patiently circled a finger around her asshole. She stiffened for a second, then forced herself to soften again, to trust the rhythm he was building.
He spent long moments just working the tip of his finger inside, coated in her arousal. Sienna remained relaxed in his arms, her face hidden against his neck. He pumped his finger in and out of her ass, a gentle, persistent rhythm. He added a second finger when she was loose and wet, stretching her with a clinical patience. It was a mood Sienna had never experienced before—this slow, deliberate claiming.
She gasped into Robert’s neck when the third finger was added and he went deeper, curling them inside her. “So good,” he murmured, his lips against her temple. “You’re taking it so well. This perfect little ass is going to feel amazing on my cock.”
Robert pulled his fingers out, a slick, obscene sound in the quiet night. He placed her on all fours on the outdoor rug, facing toward the panoramic city lights painting her skin in neon colors. He freed his hard, huge, leaking cock. He rubbed it a few times against her damp lace panties, teasing, trying to enter her through the fabric.
Then he gently pushed the lace aside. He positioned himself and pressed the broad head against her twitching asshole. The whole evening’s anticipation and build-up crested. Sienna almost climaxed as soon as Robert entered her, the sudden, overwhelming fullness short-circuiting her nerves.
Robert was no longer gentle, but he was still a confident man who knew what he was doing. He took from her what he wanted with a punishing pace that juxtaposed the slow foreplay. He gripped her hips and drove into her, burying himself to the hilt with one brutal thrust.
“Fuck,” he groaned, his voice thick. “That’s it. Take it.”
It had been a while since Sienna’s ass had been filled so completely. The sensation was too much. She cried out, a sharp sound lost to the city hum. Robert’s cock pumped in and out, a relentless piston. Her walls clamped hard around him, a frantic, involuntary pulsing that didn’t know whether to push him out or keep him inside.
The sound of skin slapping skin was crisp in the open air. “You love this, don’t you?” he grunted, each word punctuated by a drive. “Love having your asshole used. My personal little fuckhole.” His words were filthy, degrading, and they sent a corresponding bolt of heat to her core.
After fifteen minutes of fucking her ass raw, his rhythm faltered. His thrusts became jagged, desperate. “Gonna come,” he warned, his voice guttural. “Gonna fill this tight shithole.” He slammed into her one final time and held himself deep, his body shuddering as he emptied into her.
He held her hips tightly, anchoring her to him through the wave of his pleasure. When he pulled out, he tucked himself away and zipped his fly. He helped her righten her askew panties, the lace damp and stained, and pulled her up to sit on the terrace couch.
He poured two glasses of wine. He pulled her flush against him, his arm possessively around her waist. She sat there in lingerie, his cum barely trapped inside her ass by the flimsy fabric, pressed against Robert in his suit. They drank in silence for a moment, looking at the city lights.
Robert quietly talked about mundane subjects—a stock merger, a problem with the building’s elevator. He gently pressed her to respond, to offer her own thoughts. They sat for an hour, chatting. The normalcy was more disorienting than the sex.
When Sienna got sleepy, her head lolling against his shoulder, Robert pulled her to bed. They went naked under the covers. He brought her into his arms, his chest pressed against her back. He gently lifted her top leg by the knee. He was hard again. He guided himself into her pussy, still slick from her own arousal.
He fucked her with gentle, slow thrusts that were almost hypnotic. There was no violence now, just a deep, rhythmic possession. Sienna fell asleep with Robert holding her securely, pumping his cock in and out of her with that same relentless, soothing pace. Robert finally came inside her pussy twenty minutes later, a warm, quiet pulse in the dark. He also went to sleep, still pressed inside her, a human plug claiming its socket even in unconsciousness.
She woke at dawn, still encased by him. He was awake, moving again inside her, his hand cupping her breast, his teeth on her shoulder. The new day began exactly as the last had ended: with her body being used as a vessel for his pleasure, a cycle now as inevitable as the light bleeding into the sky.