Pretty Devil
Maddy worked at an exclusive underground club, always hidden behind a sleek black mask. One night, a wealthy client approached her with a filthy fantasy , he didn't want to just fuck her. He wanted to be her complete slave.
He took her to his luxury penthouse, while she shoved her soaked pussy onto his face and rode his tongue until she came, then mounted his cock and used him mercilessly, slapping and choking him while denying his orgasm until he begged like a broken whore. Even after she quit the club and started a new corporate job, she kept hooking up with him. One day, she walked into the CEO's office... and froze. Her new boss was the same man.
By day, in his luxurious office, he is the dominant, commanding CEO , barking orders, running the company with iron authority, and no one suspects a thing. By night, he becomes her secret pathetic slave: crawling, getting pegged over his own desk, licking her cum off his floor, and having his cock locked in chastity while she laughs at how easily she owns him.
Pretty Devil is a raw, extremely explicit erotic novel packed with intense femdom, heavy BDSM, humiliation, orgasm denial, pegging, face-sitting, and twisted power exchanges that blur the dangerous line between boss and secret slave.
This book is unapologetically nasty and graphic. Reader discretion is strongly advised.
Chapters
Share
Chapter 2
As he devoured her, Maddy's grip tightened in his hair. She reached for one of the toys he had laid out, "A thick riding crop" and brought it down sharply across his bare back. "Deeper, slave," she commanded, voice dripping with dominance.
"Suck Mummy's clit properly while I whip you." Reeves moaned loudly into her pussy, his tongue working faster as the crop landed again and again on his back.
Maddy's breathing grew heavier. She ground her hips against his face, using the crop without mercy. "Good boy... make Mummy cum," she growled. "If you do it right, I might let you taste everything." Her body tensed. With a sharp cry, she orgasmed hard, squirting all over his face and mouth. Reeves drank most of it greedily, swallowing her juices while some dripped down his chin.
Maddy watched him with satisfaction behind her mask, still holding the crop. "Look at you... drinking Mummy's squirt like a desperate whore." Still panting, Reeves stroked his throbbing cock furiously. "Thank you, Mummy... I'm cumming... please..." He groaned loudly as he came hard, shooting ropes of cum onto the floor while his face remained buried between her legs.
Maddy smirked and gave his hair one final tug. "Pathetic. Clean up your mess with your tongue later." Maddy stood up and kicked him roughly to the floor. Reeves panted heavily, his face and chest covered in her juices.
Without looking back, she walked toward the luxurious marble bathroom, her soaked legs glistening. "Crawl," she ordered. He obeyed instantly, following her on all fours into the large bathtub.
Maddy stepped inside, turned to face the wall, and arched her back slightly, pushing her ass toward him. "Lick every drop of Mummy's juices from the back," she commanded coldly. "All of them. Don't miss a single one." Reeves pressed his face between her ass cheeks and began licking hungrily from behind, his tongue cleaning her thighs, pussy, and ass thoroughly. Maddy moaned softly, pressing back against his mouth. "Good boy... get your tongue deep. Clean Mummy properly."
When he finally finished, licking up every trace, his cock was rock hard again, throbbing painfully. Maddy glanced back at him over her shoulder. "Look at that... already hard again like a desperate little slut.
Do you want Mummy to let you put that cock in my pussy?" Reeves nodded frantically, eyes wild with desperation. "Yes, please, Mummy... I need it so bad. Please let me fuck you." She smirked behind her mask and spread her legs a little wider. "Beg properly." "Please, Mummy," he groaned. "Let your slave fuck your pussy... I'll be good, I promise."
Maddy reached back, grabbed his cock, and guided the tip to her entrance from behind. "Then do it. Put it in slowly... and thank Mummy while you fuck her." Reeves moaned loudly as he pushed inside her from the back, his hands gripping her hips. "Thank you, Mummy... fuck, you feel so good..." Reeves gripped Maddy's hips tightly and started pounding into her from behind, his cock thrusting deep and hard inside her pussy.
The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed through the marble bathroom as he fucked her with desperate, hungry strokes. Maddy braced her hands against the wall, moaning loudly with every powerful thrust. "Fuck... yes, just like that," she groaned, her voice thick with pleasure. "Pound Mummy's pussy harder, slave." Reeves groaned, breathing ragged as he slammed into her faster. "Yes, Mummy... you feel so good... so tight." Maddy pushed her ass back against him, meeting his thrusts. "Deeper... don't you dare slow down.
Fuck me like you mean it." He obeyed instantly, gripping her tighter and pounding her relentlessly, the wet sounds of their bodies filling the room while Maddy's moans grew louder and more uncontrolled. Maddy moaned loudly, pressing her hands harder against the wall. "Fuck yes... destroy Mummy's pussy, you filthy slave. Harder!" Reeves groaned, thrusting faster and deeper, his balls slapping against her. "Mummy... you're so wet... I can't hold it much longer."
Maddy laughed breathlessly and pushed her ass back to meet his brutal strokes. "Don't you dare pull out. Fill Mummy up like the pathetic cum slut you are. I want to feel you explode inside me." Her dirty words pushed him over the edge. With a loud, broken moan, Reeves slammed deep one final time and came hard, pumping thick ropes of cum deep inside her pussy from behind. Maddy moaned in satisfaction as she felt him pulsing and filling her. "Good boy... that's it. Give Mummy every drop." They stayed locked together for a moment, breathing heavily. Then Maddy straightened up and turned around, still wearing her mask.
"Now clean yourself up," she ordered calmly. "We're washing together. Use your hands and wash Mummy's body properly while my cum drips down my legs." Reeves nodded obediently, his cock still twitching. "Yes, Mummy." They stood under the warm shower, water cascading over them as he gently washed her body, his hands sliding over her wet skin while his own cum slowly leaked out of her.
You may also like
8.8
Alaia Dudley spent her life playing the devoted partner, completely unaware that her fiancé Austen was sleeping with another woman.
She thought the worst he could do was break her heart, until she found herself pinned to a cold operating table.
Austen held her down with a cruel smirk while a scalpel sliced through her sternum.
They cracked her chest open while she was still fully conscious.
The agonizing pain of her heart being cut out burned into her nerve endings.
She realized then that to him, she was never a lover—just a spare organ, a boring piece of wood to be discarded the second his true love needed it.
She died in excruciating agony, choking on her own blood while the man she loved walked away with her heart.
Until her last breath, she didn't understand why she had to suffer so brutally.
Why did she waste her life begging for a monster's attention? Why did they get a happy ending while she was carved up like an animal?
But then, ice-cold water flooded her lungs, and Alaia violently broke the surface of her bathwater.
Her trembling fingers touched her smooth, flawless chest. No scars. Her heart was still beating.
The date on her phone glared back at her: it was exactly five years ago.
Tonight was the exact night Austen first took his mistress to a hotel room.
This time, she wouldn't just expose them. She would use Wall Street's most terrifying tyrant as her personal weapon to strip them of everything they had.
9.2
I was a broke freelance copywriter, tortured for three sleepless nights by an impossible corporate client.
Needing to vent, I typed out a wild, highly inappropriate rant mocking the brand's stiff heritage.
But in my exhausted, sleep-deprived blur, I accidentally sent the massive block of text to the wrong chat.
The recipient wasn't my friend. It was Emerson Beard, the elite, ruthless brand consultant I was supposed to desperately network with.
I waited for the professional execution, terrified of the massive five-figure penalty fee hanging over my head.
Instead, he didn't block me. He critiqued my unhinged draft.
He saved my career through late-night, encrypted phone calls, his deep, commanding voice becoming my only lifeline.
But when I heard a woman with a sultry French accent knocking on his hotel door during our call, my ugly jealousy flared.
I yelled at him and hung up, completely humiliating myself.
I thought I was just a pathetic, annoying workaholic interrupting his romantic getaway.
But he texted back to clarify he was entirely single, and in the process, realized I was actually twenty-five, not a fresh-out-of-school teenager like he had assumed.
The cold, distant mentor instantly vanished.
In his place was a man radiating a raw, aggressive, and predatory energy that bled right through the screen.
"Texting is too inefficient. The full integration requires face-to-face communication."
He dropped a location pin for an ultra-exclusive Manhattan club, demanding I meet him to save my contract.
Wearing a desperately bought emerald silk dress, I pushed open the heavy oak door, stepping right into the trap of a man who had just taken off his leash.
9.1
At the project kickoff party, Isabelle casually mocked the new capital representative, calling him a suit with a trust fund.
A low, magnetic voice spoke from the shadows right behind her.
It was Bennett Lloyd, the man holding the purse strings for the entire project.
But as Isabelle turned around, her blood ran cold.
He wasn't just her new boss. He was the stranger she had a desperate one-night stand with five years ago.
The man she had fled from before dawn, leaving only a fake name.
In her panic to escape him, Isabelle tripped on the marble stairs and left behind a single, custom-made diamond heel.
Bennett found it, but instead of exposing her, he began a terrifying game of cat and mouse.
He forced her to be his exclusive on-site consultant, vetoed her vacation time, and isolated her from her team.
He trapped her in his office, his touches lingering just enough to remind her of that night, slowly suffocating her professional life as payback.
Pushed to the brink of a breakdown by his relentless torment, Isabelle sat in a hotel bar, drowning her panic in vodka.
She pulled out her phone, intending to send a voice memo to her best friend to confess the suffocating guilt she had hidden for years.
"I can't do this anymore. I'm a sinner. I killed her... I killed my mother."
She hit send, only to realize her screen didn't show her friend's name.
The confession had gone straight to Bennett Lloyd.
9.6
I was trapped in a locked-in state for six months, fully conscious but unable to move a single muscle.
My step-family, Delma and Jazmyne, marched into my hospital room, forged a Do Not Resuscitate order, and yanked out my oxygen tube just to stop paying my medical bills.
When my three-year-old daughter, Amari, leaped out from under the bed to protect me, they beat her mercilessly.
They kicked my tiny girl in the stomach, smashed a heavy metal IV pole into her fragile shoulder, and dragged her out by her ankles.
They even tied her to a tree in their backyard and let a massive Rottweiler tear into her flesh, laughing as they recorded her agonizing screams.
I lay in that hospital bed, hearing every blow and every desperate cry.
I didn't understand why they had to torture an innocent toddler just because they thought I was a worthless piece of trash with amnesia.
A tidal wave of absolute fury crashed against the invisible walls of my paralyzed body, burning away the despair.
Gritting my teeth until my jaw popped, I forced my dead weight off the mattress and dragged my atrophied legs across the freezing floor to a landline.
With trembling, bloody fingers, I punched in a twelve-digit military-grade encrypted code.
It was time for my real family—the most powerful men in the country—to make these monsters pay.
9.7
"This is not a game." As I wrapped my arm around her waist, I slipped my hand under her dress.
"What are you doing?" She froze, eyes like a deer caught in the headlights.
Kissing the back of her ear, I whispered, "Do you want me to take it out now?" I rubbed my finger against her pussy. As expected, she was soaking. A blaze of lust and need swept through me. My cock was hard, pressed against her ass. "You're drenched, my love. I know you enjoy it. Stop fighting it. Give in. Submit to your desire."
***
TARA
A family practice forces me to run away from home, leaving me disgraced and my family in shame.
Just when I start making new friends, someone threatens to expose who I am and the person behind my nom de plume. The condition- a contract marriage, the very same reason I fled from.
So, what's so different this time? Mad Shanewood- the achingly handsome, with waving red flags, an irrefutable passion, or a magnetic attraction?
With my secrets still haunting me, now the whole world is watching, and our delicately fragile public image is at stake.
After a glimpse beneath his shallow exterior, there is a damaged soul who makes me feel as if I'm everything to him.
And how is it that the one thing I never wanted has me fighting so hard to keep?
***
MAD
I always get the deal done until my recklessness has thrown the company into a tailspin, derailing my path to a billion-dollar project.
With my image under brutal public scrutiny, marriage is my last straw.
Tara Montimer not only intrigues me. She's selfless, kind-hearted, and sexy as hell. And something deep in her eyes makes me question if I'm worthy to be her husband.
For me, it seems that it's not just fixing my reputation anymore- the entrancing deposed princess didn't only steal my breath away. She penetrates the protective wall around my heart that I built for years.
Our goals may be aligned. But then there's a disapproving father who is a King, a law, and constant threats that prevent us from getting married.
Will this razor-thin edge arrangement be enough to fix what's been broken, or is something between us worth fighting for?
7.0
Elliana and her six-year-old daughter Clara were trapped in a horrific, bloody car crash.
A private medical helicopter bearing her husband's family crest touched down on the wet asphalt, but the paramedics ran straight past her crushed SUV.
They rushed to the sleek sports car that had rear-ended them.
Sitting inside were her husband Devontae's mistress and her daughter, suffering from nothing more than a minor scratch and a panic attack.
Trapped under twisted metal, Elliana dialed her husband's number with bloody fingers, begging him to save their dying child.
"Stop being so dramatic, Elliana," Devontae snapped impatiently over the phone. "I am sick of you using Clara to play the victim. Kyle needs to get to the hospital immediately."
He hung up, and the helicopter lifted off into the night sky, leaving Elliana and Clara in the absolute dark.
Elliana watched her daughter's tiny hand drop lifelessly.
In absolute despair and suffocating hatred, she dropped a lighter into the pooled gasoline, letting a wall of fire consume them both.
As the flames blistered her skin, she felt a profound, agonizing injustice.
She had hidden her brilliant talents and played the submissive, perfect wife just to protect his fragile ego, but her endless sacrifices had only bought them a fiery grave.
Why did her devotion end with her child bleeding to death in the cold rain while the mistress flew away to safety?
Opening her eyes, Elliana violently gasped for air in her massive velvet bed.
She stared at the glowing date on her phone screen.
It was exactly six months before the crash.
The phantom pain in her crushed legs reminded her of the hell she had just crawled back from.
She got out of bed, her eyes as cold and sharp as broken glass.
This time, she would send them all to hell first.