Dirtiest Desires (Steamiest Short Stories)

My muscles move without conscious thought. I step over the discarded dress and walk to the padded bench.

A small hesitation runs through me, the last bit of control I've always clung to. The quiet in the room feels amplified by my own pulse, reminding me that I crossed a line the moment I stepped toward him. Every part of me is alert and braced for whatever comes next.

I turn to lie on my stomach, cheek pressed against the slightly cool vinyl.

My heart hammers so violently it sends tremors through the padding beneath me, tightening everything inside me in a way I can't ignore.

Klaus is beside me immediately. I hear the quick click of metal and something thick wraps around one of my wrists and I feel the cold slide of a lock.

"Hands flat, palms down," he murmurs, his breath hot next to my ear as I obey. "Good. Don't move."

The other wrist is secured then my ankles are spread wide and clamped. The restraints are padded heavy leather, but the final snap of the lock makes them feel inescapable. I am pinned. Spread. Immobilized.

Helpless.

The kind of helplessness I've avoided my whole life... and the kind I can't stop leaning into now.

The red light seems to intensify, pulsing with the blood in my veins. It feels like the room is breathing with me.

"We're going to start simple," Klaus says.

I hear the rustle of gear. He covers my eyes with soft black leather, securing it snugly. The absolute dark is terrifying but it sharpens every other sense and my body thrums in anticipation, wetness pooling between my legs.

The smell of dust is replaced by the scent of Klaus; expensive cologne, sweat, and dominance.

He's standing over me.

The air shifts and a soft hiss cuts through it, followed by a light, teasing touch on my hip. It's the leather of a whip, a thin one like a cat o' nine tails brushing over me like a feather, sending a jumpy, nervous tingle through my skin.

"Code Red or Code Green?" he asks quietly, close to my ear.

My breath hitches. "Code... G-Green."

The whip drags down my thigh then up my spine. Goosebumps rise on my skin as the cold air meets the heat of his touch.

Then it strikes.

CRACK.

It lands on the soft, fleshy curve of my buttock.

It doesn't hurt too much, but it's a sharp, sudden hot sting.

I gasp, my body arching off the bench before the restraints pull me back down.

"Too hard?" he asks, his voice soft yet commanding.

"No," I choke out, my voice barely a whisper. "Code Green."

He hits me again, higher this time across my lower back. A burning sensation that makes me bite my lip to keep from screaming. But the pain starts to fade, leaving behind a deep, amplified warmth that spreads through me like liquid fire.

It's overwhelming, and yet, I want more.

My body, which has been numb and resistant my whole life is suddenly pliant. It recognizes the authority, and it seems to crave the submission.

"Filthy little stripper," he growls, his words burning in my ear. "You let others take what belongs to me. All this time. Do you really think your little dance is all I want?"

CRACK.

Another sting.

"Answer me, slut."

I whimper, shaking my head under the blindfold. This man has to be a psychopath.

"I told you not to speak unless I ask," he hisses. "Now, tell me. Is this better than your pole?"

"Code Green!" I manage to yell, the words torn from me. The pressure behind my eyes is building, a dizzying mix of pleasure and humiliation.

He whips me again, fast and hard, four times in a row. Each strike a reminder of who's in charge. My muscles tense up, helpless to avoid the impact. Tears leak from under the silk blindfold, not from despair, but from the raw, overwhelming sensation.

A cold metal hook slides along my sensitive skin, tracing a line from my back to my buttocks. My eyes widen behind the blindfold-I recognize it as the one I saw on the wall earlier.

"You're trembling," he notes. "Good girl. Tremble for me. Show me how pathetic you are."

I feel him lift the whip and I wait, breath held tight in my chest.

"Do you like being used, all tied up and helpless, like a toy?"

It's a question that dares me, with a dark promise behind it.

"Yes," I rasp out, trembling against the cold bench. "Code Green, please."

The last word is a desperate plea, and when the whip finally cracks again, the pain feels glorious. It is his mark. His control.

I've never felt anything like this before. The rush hits so deep it steals the air from my lungs.

I used to wonder how people enjoyed this whole BDSM thing, what kind of pleasure anyone could get from something so intense... but being tied down under him like this has me unraveling.

I'm shaking, turned inside out, so worked up I'd probably confess to something I didn't even do just so he won't stop torturing me.

"I own this room," he whispers, the whip making soft noise behind his words. "I own your gasps. I own your silence. And tonight... I own your body. You've been a bad, bad girl."

He pauses, the silence heavier than any sound. My skin burns where the whip landed.

"One more time. Tell me what you feel right now."

I gasp, tears streaming down my temples. "I... I feel... punished."

"Punished?" he growls, and I realize I said the wrong word.

"Green," I pant. "Code green."

"Perfect," he murmurs, his voice thick with satisfaction. "Just perfect."

There's a note in his voice I haven't heard before, and it chills me in the best way.

He's just getting started... and I'm braced for it.