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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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.