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 5
Maddy kept working the pole like a filthy goddess, rolling her hips and making her fat ass clap for the crowd. Bundles of cash rained down on the stage as they sprayed her with money, but she didn't dare pick up a single bill. Markez would take it all later anyway. Other dancers were on the poles too, but they barely got any attention once Maddy was dancing. All eyes stayed locked on her.
For her final move she dropped to the floor, spread her long legs extremely wide, and started tapping vigorously on her pussy. The thin lace string barely covered her swollen lips, the fabric so soaked it was almost see-through.
Her fingers slapped hard and fast against her clit through the delicate material, making the crowd lose their fucking minds. The men groaned and gagged, emptying their wallets completely, throwing thick stacks of cash at her. Even the female clients stared with raw hunger, biting their lips and fantasizing about burying their faces between her thighs to eat her up.
Maddy rose from the floor as the song ended, chest heaving and legs still shaky from the set. The stage was littered with cash but she didn't touch any of it. She gave the crowd one last slow seductive look through her mask then turned and walked off stage, her fat round ass swaying with every step.
Her time was finally up, she began heading backstage, slipped into the changing room and quickly changed out of the soaked lace bodysuit into a simple hoodie and jeans. She kept the mask on until the last second. It was almost dawn outside, the club starting to empty as the lights came up and the air felt heavy and stale.
Maddy grabbed her coat, stuffed her things into her bag and headed for the back exit. She was tired as hell, thighs still sticky, but her mind kept drifting back to her slave, that rich pathetic man who had begged so desperately the night before.
As she pushed the back door open and stepped into the cool air, a small dark smile touched her lips behind the mask.
Maddy drove home through the quiet dawn streets, hair still loose and blowing in the wind. The moment she stepped inside her small apartment, she paused and stared around the sparse room.
She sighed, kicked off her shoes and headed straight to the bathroom. She took a long hot shower, letting the water wash away the sweat, cum, and grime from the long night. When she finally stepped out, she dried herself slowly, then buried herself naked under the soft blankets of her bed, her long dark hair still damp and spread across the pillow.
This isn't the type of life she dreamt of living in America, she thought bitterly. Trapped, used, and still owing that monster millions she could never repay.
Exhausted, her eyes finally grew heavy. She drifted off to sleep with that heavy thought still echoing in her mind.
.....
Maddy jolted awake as her phone rang loudly, her heart racing from the sudden shock. She rubbed her eyes and checked the screen. It was her mom.
She let out a tired sigh and answered the call, trying to sound bright.
"Hey Mom," she said softly, voice still heavy with sleep.
"Maddy! My baby, how are you? I've been trying to reach you since yesterday," her mom's voice came through, warm but worried.
"I'm fine, Mom. Really. I was just... busy with work," Maddy replied, forcing a small laugh. "You know how it is here."
Her mom sighed on the other end. "Work? Tell me about this company you're working at. Is it good? Are they treating you well? Your father and I keep praying for you every day."
Maddy swallowed hard and stared at the ceiling, the lie feeling heavier than usual.
"Yeah, it's a really good company, Mom. I'm doing administrative work... mostly office stuff, filing documents, helping with meetings. The pay is okay, and my boss is nice," she said smoothly, the same story she had been telling them for months. "I even got a small promotion last month, so things are looking up."
Her mom sounded relieved. "That's wonderful, sweetheart. We're so proud of you for making it in America. Just be careful, okay? Don't overwork yourself. When are you sending some pictures of your new life? We miss seeing your face."
Maddy's throat tightened. She couldn't tell them the truth..... that she danced half-naked every night, wore a mask to hide her identity, and was trapped paying off a seven-million-dollar debt to a monster.
"Soon, Mom. I promise. I'll send pictures when I get a proper day off," she lied again. "How's Dad? And everyone back home?"
They talked for a few more minutes about family news, her mom's usual prayers, and how much they missed her. Maddy kept her voice light and cheerful the whole time, painting a perfect picture of a successful life in America.
When the call finally ended, she dropped the phone on the bed and stared at the ceiling again, feeling empty.
Maddy ended the call with her mom, she checked the time it was already one pm. She had slept like the dead after such a long night.
As she scrolled through her notifications, one unread message caught her eye. It was from her slave.
"Can we do this again tomorrow? Anytime you're free."
She stared at the text for a moment, a small, dark smirk slowly spreading across her lips. Even after how hard she had used him last night, he was already begging for more.
Maddy bit her lip, thinking. She had another long night ahead at the club, but the idea of having her pathetic, rich slave waiting for her again sent a nasty little thrill through her body.
Maddy stared at the message from her slave for a second, then typed back quickly:
"Yeah, tomorrow works."
She barely had time to put the phone down before he replied almost instantly:
"Same place tomorrow, ten pm."
Maddy let out a soft laugh and shook her head. Damn, he was thirsty as fuck. The man was clearly obsessed, already desperate for another night of being used and humiliated by her. It was almost pathetic how fast he responded, like he had been staring at his phone waiting for her reply.
She bit her lip, feeling that familiar rush of power. Her rich, pathetic slave was hooked, her eyes gleaming with wicked hunger as she typed the nasty reply.
"Mmm, my greedy little sex slave is already aching for more? Pathetic. Your cock's probably throbbing and leaking like the desperate slut you are.
I own you completely. Tomorrow when you crawl in, I'm going to use your mouth for hours, riding your face until I'm satisfied. You don't get to cum until I say so! So stay denied and dripping for me. Save every drop of frustration for when I break you."
She hit send, still biting her lip.
You may also like
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.