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.
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Chapter 4
Maddy stared at Markez, eyes burning behind her mask. At twenty-one, she was completely trapped in the nightmare he had carefully planned.
A year ago in Russia, Markez had pretended to be a kind man offering her a new life in America. He deliberately gave her a package to carry, unknowing to her they were drugs, knowing she would get caught at the airport. When she was arrested, he "rescued" her by paying seven million dollars in bribes , money he now used as a weapon.
Every dollar she earned at Velvet Eclipse went straight to him. She received only scraps for food and survival. She had no real freedom, no passport, and no way out. If she tried to run or disobey, he would send the evidence to the police and have her thrown in jail. He had orchestrated everything to own her completely.
Markez's face twisted with rage after she pushed him.
"What the fuck did you just do?" he snarled.
Maddy's breath came sharp, her cheek still throbbing from when he slammed her into the floor earlier.
"I pushed you because you were hurting me," she said defiantly. "Don't touch me like that again."
Markez stepped closer, his voice low and venomous. "You think you can fight me? After I planned every step to bring you here? You owe me seven million dollars, little girl. Every cent you make in this club is mine. You only get scraps to eat and survive. Try to leave and I'll make sure you rot in prison for the drugs you carried. You're mine until I say otherwise."
"You didn't do shit for me," she spat. "You tricked me. You made me carry that package. You set me up, then used seven million dollars to trap me here like a slave. Every night I dance for your disgusting clients, and you take every fucking cent. I'm done being your prisoner, Markez."
The backstage area had gone deathly quiet. Some of the other girls watched from the shadows, too scared to intervene. Vanessa stood frozen, eyes wide with terror.
Markez's hand shot out lightning-fast and grabbed Maddy by the throat, slamming her back against the lockers with brutal force. Her mask shifted slightly from the impact but stayed on, hiding her identity like always.
"You ungrateful little bitch," he growled, his face inches from hers, breath hot and sour. "I own you. That seven million debt isn't going anywhere. You'll keep working in my club until I say otherwise. And if you ever try to run or talk back to me again, I'll make sure the cops get the full evidence of your little drug run. You'll rot in prison, Maddy. Or maybe I'll just sell your tight little ass to someone worse than me."
His grip tightened, making it hard for her to breathe. Maddy clawed at his wrist, gasping, Maddy's eyes burned with hatred behind the mask, but she knew she was trapped, because no matter how much she worked, he still said she owed him seven million dollars, which she couldn't argue about.
Markez finally released her throat and shoved her hard. She stumbled but caught herself against the locker.
"Clean yourself up," he ordered coldly. "You look like a used whore. And fix that fucking mask. If one more client sees your real face, I'll beat it off you myself."
He turned and stormed off toward the front of the club, barking orders at the other girls as he went.
Maddy slid down the locker slowly, coughing and rubbing her sore throat. Vanessa rushed over, tears in her eyes.
"Maddy... I'm so sorry," she whispered. "He came back early. I couldn't warn you in time-"
Maddy cut her off with a weak shake of her head. "Not now, Nes."
She touched the hidden phone in her coat pocket, she saw her client has already giving her a buzz call to save his number, she inserted the worr "Slave" and clicked save.
Maddy stood up, straightened her black lace bodysuit, and adjusted her mask.
"Fuck Markez," she whispered under her breath. "One day I'll make him pay."
Maddy cleaned herself up and fixed her black mask back into place. She never understood why Markez was so obsessed with her wearing it every night.
She looked at herself in the mirror. Her long dark hair fell over her shoulders, framing her killer body. She had an insane figure , big, perky tits that looked perfect in the tight lace bodysuit, a tiny waist that curved out into wide, sexy hips, and a fat, round ass that drew every man's eyes the second she walked past. Her legs were long and smooth, and her skin glowed under the dim lights, she knew she had the best body in the whole club .
That's exactly why Markez hated her so much. The more she refused to fuck him, the more arrogant and vicious he got. She had already sworn that sleeping with Markez would be the last thing she ever did on this earth.
She only danced, that was her rule. The last time Markez tried forcing her to fuck a client she bit the guy straight in the balls and ran, which only made Markez even more furious.
As she stepped out, she wondered why she had even agreed to go to the penthouse with that man tonight. Maybe because he wasn't one of Markez's usual clients, or maybe because he was filthy rich and had quietly slipped her a thousand dollars for the night, money she kept completely hidden from Markez.
She climbed onto the main stage under the flashing lights, the bass from the music vibrating through her body. The moment she grabbed the pole, every eye in the club turned to her. Maddy started slow and seductive, rolling her hips in deep, filthy circles while sliding her hands down her curves, squeezing her own tits for the crowd. She arched her back hard, pushing her ass out as she spun around the pole, then dropped low into a squat, thighs spread wide so the thin lace barely covered her pussy.
She climbed the pole smoothly, wrapping her strong legs around it before flipping upside down, her fat ass cheeks spreading as she twerked in mid-air, making her ass clap for the hungry men below. When she slid back down, she pressed her belly against the pole, legs wide open, grinding her soaked pussy against the cold metal like she was fucking it, moaning loud enough for the front row to hear.
Maddy turned around, bent over deeply and shook her juicy ass violently, the lace riding up between her cheeks while she looked back at the crowd through her mask, eyes daring them to want her more. She dropped to her knees, crawling forward seductively, then flipped onto her back, spreading her legs wide and rolling her hips like she was fucking an invisible cock, her tits bouncing with every nasty movement.
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9.7
Clarissa rushed into a crowded nightclub for one simple reason: to save her wildly drunk best friend.
But her ruthless billionaire husband, Giovanny, was watching from the VIP room. After effortlessly ruining a man just for grabbing her wrist, Giovanny punished Clarissa for breaching their public image contract with an impossible curfew.
When she inevitably arrived back at his penthouse late, he didn't just yell. He forced her to her knees by his bathtub to wash his back, making her watch an explicit, humiliating video as punishment.
A sudden family medical emergency dragged them to his parents' estate. Still in her soaked, transparent dress and his misbuttoned shirt, Giovanny's mother caught them. She joyfully assumed they had been passionately intimate.
Instead of clearing her name, Giovanny pulled Clarissa close and lied to his mother's face.
"We are working very hard on the family's future, Mother."
He locked her in the guest suite, tossed a sheer silk nightgown on the bed, and literally shattered the tablet holding their "no-contact" prenuptial agreement. He then slapped a file against the window—he had secretly bought all her father's toxic debt.
Clarissa was terrified. They were supposed to be business allies bound by a strict contract. Why was he suddenly acting like a predator determined to own her body and soul?
"Give me an heir, or your father goes to federal prison," he whispered.
Stripped of all choices, Clarissa picked up the white silk. She would surrender tonight to save her family, but as his shadow swallowed her, she made a silent vow to survive this monster, and one day, tear his empire to the ground.
8.9
For seven years, I hid my MIT Ph.D. and my identity as a top haute couture designer to be the perfect, obedient wife to billionaire Cornelius Lambert.
But on our anniversary, while I waited at home with a cold dinner, I found him at a Michelin restaurant with his childhood sweetheart, Halle.
My seven-year-old son sat between them, laughing loudly.
"Mom is too boring. I wish Aunt Halle was my real mom."
Cornelius didn't defend me. He just smiled and affectionately ruffled the boy's hair.
When I finally packed my bags and left, I accidentally triggered an old AI robot prototype Cornelius had given me years ago.
A hidden recording played his voice from the very night he proposed.
"Why marry her? Because she's easy to control. Halle doesn't want to settle down yet, so Cassidy is just a perfect, temporary shield."
Later, when I caught them being intimate in a dark parking garage and snapped a photo, Cornelius watched with cold, dead eyes as his massive bodyguard shoved me against a concrete pillar.
My arm was torn open, blood dripping onto the floor, as they forced me to delete the evidence of his affair.
For seven years, I filed down every sharp edge of my brilliance for a man who saw me as nothing but a pathetic, disposable placeholder.
My heart turned to absolute ice. He thought I was just a weak, powerless housewife.
But he forgot who he was dealing with.
As his luxury car drove away, I pulled up the hidden command terminal on my phone and recovered the encrypted cloud backup of the photos.
I looked at my lawyer with a bleeding arm and a cold smile.
"Let's go. Now, we have a weapon."
9.0
I died on the cold delivery table, bleeding out while the heart monitor flatlined.
Through the blinding surgical lights, I heard my husband Damon's cold, final order to the doctors.
"The child is the priority."
He didn't care about my life. To him, I was just a vessel to produce an heir, a tool to fulfill his prenuptial clause and secure his billionaire empire.
While I took my last agonizing breath, he was already planning his future with his fragile, theatrical mistress, Jasmin.
In my past life, when he first brought her into our home claiming she was a helpless victim, I shattered.
I screamed, threw vases, and played the hysterical wife perfectly.
My desperate pleas for his affection only gave him the exact weapons he needed to ruin my reputation, isolate me, and ultimately force me onto that fatal delivery bed.
Until my very last moment, the suffocating pain in my chest wasn't just physical.
I couldn't understand how the man I loved could treat my death like a simple business transaction.
Why was my absolute devotion rewarded with a carefully calculated execution?
But then, my eyes snapped open.
I was sitting on the edge of my king-sized bed, exactly three years before my death.
From downstairs, I heard Damon's voice echoing in the foyer, bringing Jasmin into our home for the very first time.
This time, the scream building in my chest turned to ice.
I didn't cry or throw a fit.
Instead, I calmly swallowed a secret birth control pill, smiled at his mistress, and dialed the most ruthless divorce lawyer in Manhattan.
8.9
For fifteen years, I thought my mother had died in a tragic fire.
Then the wealthy Ross family's butler knocked on my door, revealing she was alive—locked away in the psychiatric annex of their massive estate.
I rushed into the lion's den to save her, only to run straight into Graydon Ross, the ruthless billionaire CEO.
He looked at my cheap clothes with pure disgust, convinced I was a bottom-feeding scammer trying to extort his family.
"Throw this bitch out into the snow."
He ordered his armed guards to drag me away, completely cutting off my only chance to see my mentally broken mother.
But as he violently grabbed my collar to throw me out, I saw a custom eagle-head cufflink hanging from his coat pocket.
My blood turned to ice, and a wave of paralyzing terror crashed over me.
Eight months ago, I accidentally slept with a masked stranger in a pitch-black hotel room and fled before dawn.
That cufflink belonged to him.
The man who took my virginity—the Wall Street tyrant I had been hiding from—was Graydon Ross.
If he ever found out I was that woman, he would literally destroy my life.
But to save my mother, I couldn't be thrown out.
When his grandmother suddenly appeared, I dropped to the floor, exposed the dark bruises Graydon had just left on my wrists, and sobbed.
I framed the billionaire for assault to secure my place in the mansion, forcing myself to live right next door to the monster whose bed I had fled.
7.6
For three years, I played the perfect, docile wife to Brendon Jimenez, desperate for the real family I never had as an orphan.
But during a high-society gala, I peeked through a cracked door and caught him sleeping with my best friend.
When I packed my cheap canvas bag to leave the penthouse, my mother-in-law blocked the door.
She dumped my clothes on the marble floor, called me a stray dog, and slapped me so hard my mouth bled.
Brendon just stood there, watching his mother humiliate me.
To keep me trapped as his perfect public prop, he even faked his mother's heart attack in a VIP hospital suite.
"Get on your knees. Kneel down right now and beg my mother for forgiveness until she decides to accept it."
I gave them my youth and unconditional loyalty, only to realize this prestigious old-money family was nothing but a rotting corpse built on dirty secrets.
I didn't cry, and I certainly didn't drop to my knees.
Instead, I pulled out my phone right in front of him and called my lawyer.
"File for an at-fault divorce. I have proof of his infidelity with Kaelynn Hudson. I want him ruined."
Then, I touched the matte black card hidden deep in my clutch.
It belonged to Kile Barrett, the ruthless billionaire shark my husband feared most, and I was going to use him to tear the Jimenez family apart.
7.2
Dr. Kylee Mcdonald was a brilliant medical examiner whose life was defined by cold, mechanical precision.
But that perfect control shattered when her phone rang in the middle of an autopsy.
It was her best friend, Dana, whispering their old college distress code.
"Curtain call."
By the time Kylee and Detective Justice kicked down Dana's door, she lay dead on her couch, her skin a horrifying cherry-red from cyanide.
The crime scene was clumsily staged to frame a billionaire suitor, but soon, every single suspect linked to Dana turned up violently dead.
Internal Affairs pointed the finger at Kylee, accusing her of using her medical expertise to become a vigilante serial killer.
But the encrypted truth Kylee uncovered was far more chilling.
Dana had been severely abused by her boyfriend, and driven to the edge, she manipulated him into murdering their tormentors before executing him and taking her own life.
To avoid a public scandal, the police chief buried Dana's brilliant, terrifying manifesto.
Kylee's flawless mind short-circuited. She was a genius at reading the dead, so why had she been completely blind to the living hell her best friend endured right in front of her?
Three days later, while attending a formal gala to numb her grief, a nearby apartment building exploded in flames.
As Kylee examined the charred bodies pulled from the rubble, she realized the male victim was strangled long before the fire started.
She looked at the surviving mother, whose baby had just died in the blast, but the woman's eyes were completely, terrifyingly empty.
The alarm bells in Kylee's meticulously ordered brain began to chime, signaling that a new, deadly script had just begun.