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 1
Erotica Warning
This is a dark erotic novel intended strictly for mature audiences aged 18 and over. It contains highly explicit sexual content and intense adult themes that may be disturbing or triggering for some readers.
The story features strong BDSM dynamics, including female domination and male submission, heavy humiliation and degradation, orgasm denial and chastity play, face-sitting, pegging, slapping, choking, and rough sexual use. Expect graphic descriptions of the male protagonist crawling, begging, and being used mercilessly as a pathetic sex slave, along with strong language and explicit dirty talk.
Additional themes include power imbalance, hidden identities, obsession, jealousy, and elements of consensual within the established dominant/submissive relationship. The book also contains darker suspense elements involving threats and violence from the protagonist's past.
If you do not plan on reading something this intense , with raw, unfiltered kink, deep humiliation, and explicit power exchange - you should turn back now.
Reader discretion is strongly advised. Proceed only if you are comfortable with extreme erotic content.
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He glanced over her body with raw hunger, his lips pressing hot kisses onto the soft swell of her cleavage. His eyes never left hers, dark with lust as he inhaled her scent. One hand boldly trailed up, cupping and squeezing her breasts through the thin lace, while his mouth found her nipples, nibbling and sucking greedily.
Maddy let out a low, pleased hum, her fingers sliding into his hair for a moment before she gripped his silk tie tightly around his neck. She pulled him closer, forcing his face harder against her chest.
"Kneel!" she ordered, her voice sharp and commanding, laced with that sweet venom that made his cock twitch instantly.
Reeves groaned softly against her skin. Without hesitation, he dropped to his knees right there in the middle of the penthouse suite, the expensive carpet cushioning his fall. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he looked up at her, tie still wrapped in her fist, completely at her mercy.
Maddy stared down at him, lips curved in a wicked smile,
"That's better," she purred, tightening her grip on his tie like a leash. "Look at you... already on your knees for me like a good little slave. Is this what you've been fantasizing about every time you came to the club?"
She slowly dragged the pointed toe of her heel up his thigh, stopping just inches away from the obvious bulge straining in his trousers.
"Beg me," she whispered, voice dripping with dominance. "Beg your Pretty Devil to use you tonight."
Maddy looked down at him from above, her dark eyes gleaming with a mix of curiosity and power. She didn't know who this man really was, all she knew was that he was wealthy as hell.
After he had paid an obscene amount to spend the entire night with her, away from the club and its rules, he had finally confessed his deepest fantasy in a shaky, desperate voice:
He wanted to be her slave!! Completely!!
Maddy tightened her grip on his tie, using it like a leash to tilt his head further back so he was forced to stare up at her pretty face.
"So this is really what you want?" she asked, her voice low and teasing, but edged with command. "All that money... all that power you have out there... and the only thing that gets you this hard is kneeling in front of me, ready to be used like my personal toy?"
Reeves swallowed hard, his breathing ragged. His hands rested obediently on his thighs, not daring to touch her without permission.
"Yes... Mistress," he whispered hoarsely. "That's all I want tonight. I want you to own me."
Maddy's lips curled into a slow, devilish smile. She stepped one sharp heel closer, the glossy black leather brushing against his chest as she looked down at her wealthy, powerful client now reduced to this.
"Good boy," she purred. "Then let's begin. Take off your jacket... slowly. And keep your eyes on me the entire time."
Maddy glanced at the toys he had already laid out neatly on the table. Without a word, she picked up a thick leather belt, looped it around his neck, and pulled it tight like a makeshift collar.
She yanked the belt hard, forcing him to crawl behind her toward the bed.
"Move faster, slave," she ordered.
Reeves groaned as he crawled on all fours. "Yes, Mistress... Fuck, I'm so hard already."
When they reached the bed, Maddy sat on the edge and spread her legs slightly, still holding the belt tight.
"Look at all these toys you prepared for me," she said mockingly. "You really planned this, huh? Tell me....which one do you want your Pretty Devil to use on you first?"
Reeves looked up at her, neck straining against the belt. "Whatever you want, Mistress. I'm yours. Please... hurt me. Use me."
Maddy smirked and gave the belt another sharp tug. "Beg louder. I want to hear how pathetic you sound."
"Please, Mistress!" he gasped. "I'm your worthless slave. Please use your toys on me. I need it."
Maddy grabbed his jaw tightly with one hand and slapped him hard across the face with the other.
"Call me Mummy!" she ordered.
She yanked his head violently forward and shoved his face between her thighs. Reeves groaned desperately as he pressed his mouth against her, still covered by the thin black G-string. He used his lips and tongue vigorously, forcing the soaked fabric to the side before sucking and licking hungrily at her exposed pussy, devouring her juices.
Maddy moaned and tightened her grip on his hair, grinding against his face. "That's it... eat Mummy's pussy like a greedy slave. Suck it harder."
Reeves gasped between desperate licks, his voice muffled and wet. "Yes, Mummy... your juices taste so good... I'm choking on you."
She slapped his cheek again, eyes gleaming behind the mask. "Louder. Tell Mummy how much you love being her dirty little toy."
"I love it, Mummy!" he moaned loudly, tongue working frantically. "I'm your pathetic slave... please let me drink all your juices."
Maddy smirked and pressed his face deeper. "Good boy. Don't stop until you make Mummy cum."
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8.7
Ada was eight months pregnant, sitting peacefully in her husband's Manhattan estate, looking at a baby nursery catalog.
Suddenly, her husband's mistress, Jacklyn, walked in, threw an ultrasound photo on the table, and locked the door.
Before Ada could process the betrayal, Jacklyn dragged her to the top of the marble staircase and threw herself backward just as Desmond walked through the front doors.
"She pushed me, Desmond! She tried to kill our baby!"
Desmond looked at Ada with absolute hatred.
He ignored Ada's breaking water and her agonizing screams for help, leaving her to miscarry on the freezing floor while he rushed Jacklyn to the hospital.
He sent Ada to a brutal federal prison for three years, where she was tortured and left with a body covered in horrific scars, mourning the baby she was told died at birth.
When Ada was finally released, Desmond destroyed her cousin's company to force her back to his estate as a lowly maid.
But when Ada saw Jacklyn's three-year-old son, her world stopped.
Right in the center of the little boy's palm was a faint crescent moon birthmark.
It was the exact same mark Ada had kissed on her own lifeless baby's tiny hand before the doctors took his body away.
How did her dead child become Jacklyn's little prince?
Looking at the woman who stole her life and the husband who threw her in hell, Ada clenched her scarred hands and swore she would tear their world apart to get her son back.
9.5
My husband, Colton, the Wall Street mogul, slid annulment papers across the table, coldly discarding me and our unborn child. He thought he was getting rid of a useless wife, but he was actually throwing away the secret architect of his entire empire. Now, I'm ready to make him pay for every insult, every lie, and every single secret I've kept.
For three years, eight months pregnant, I secretly saved Colton's ten-billion-dollar company from collapse, enduring a cold, transactional marriage.
One night, he shattered that illusion, serving annulment papers and callously discarding me and our unborn child.
I signed, leaving luxury behind. Exposing his butler's fraud, I escaped. Colton later found his wedding ring gone and, on his desk, my SEC compliance fixes—proof I was his hidden genius.
Blindsided, he realized he’d destroyed his own empire. His mother then called, gloating. The injustice ignited a fierce resolve within me.
The next morning, I launched Kidd Legal Consulting. I'd use forty-seven folders of Farmer Capital's un-patched loopholes to force a fair settlement, securing my daughter's future.
8.4
Elia was an orphan from the rust belt, taken in by the wealthy Chapman family in New York.
To them, she was just a shameful charity case.
The parents shoved her into a dusty storage closet, treating their other daughter Geri like a delicate princess, and mocked Elia as uneducated trash.
When Elia secured her own admission to Manhattan Elite Prep, Geri's jealousy turned vicious.
Geri orchestrated a massive smear campaign, posting anonymously on the school forum that Elia was a violent dropout who sold her body to a sugar daddy to pay tuition.
In the cafeteria, the school's elite dumped dirty milk on Elia's food.
They called her a whore and told her to go back to the streets, while Geri watched from afar with a victorious, innocent smile.
They thought she was just a helpless stray dog who would easily break under their high-society cruelty.
They had no idea she was actually "L", the dark web's most feared hacker, and "The Surgeon", a genius medical anomaly.
They also didn't know she was currently tracking a dying Wall Street billionaire who had stolen her only necklace in a dark alley.
What made these arrogant rich kids think they could destroy a girl who played with international firewalls for fun?
Instead of crying, Elia calmly pulled out her phone.
Within seconds, she breached the school's server, locking every screen in the building onto a blood-red skull.
As Geri's own recorded voice plotting the fake rumors blasted through the PA system, Elia grabbed her bag, stepping back into the shadows to reclaim what was hers.
8.0
My wedding was tomorrow. I was a crisis counselor who had finally found peace with my loving fiancé, Dexter, and my best friend, Barbara.
A late-night call about a forced marriage led me to a hotel penthouse, where I found them naked in bed together.
It was all a cruel, three-year "savior game." They were bored heirs, and I was their project. They destroyed my career, caused me to lose our baby, and put my mother in the hospital.
They forced me to be a bridesmaid at their wedding-the one that should have been mine.
In front of hundreds of guests, they exposed my traumatic past and then tried to marry me off to a drunken stranger as a joke.
As I stood there, broken, a text from Barbara arrived.
"Your mother saw the livestream. She had a heart attack. She's not going to make it."
With nothing left, I ran to the 20th-floor window and jumped. They thought they had erased me. But my death was just the beginning.
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.
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.