DIRTY DESIRES: A Collection Of Erotic Stories

Two: Begging like a Goodslut

Seraphina's jaw dropped slightly.

Crawl to him and beg him? Why the f**k would she beg him for his c**k when she had already paid for this?

She had paid good money for this session, an embarrassing amount of money if she was being completely honest, and now he wanted her to crawl across the floor like some desperate little—

Her core clenched.

Okay. So her body had an opinion about that and her body's opinion was extremely unhelpful right now.

She straightened slightly, lifting her chin, clinging to whatever was left of her dignity with both hands.

She was Seraphina Cole. She had a masters degree. She had never begged for anything in her entire life and she was not about to start because an attractive man told her to.

Even if every single nerve ending she had was screaming at her to stop being so stubborn and just crawl and beg.

Nope. Absolutely not.

"I... I can't," Seraphina stuttered.

The temperature in the room dropped immediately.

She watched his face harden, his jaw tightening, and his eyes going from dark to black in the space of a single second and her stomach dropped straight to the floor and kept going.

Oh no.

"I—" she swallowed hard, heart slamming against her ribs, "I mean... I find it h ... humiliating to crawl and beg." She wet her lips, fingers twisting in her lap.

"And besides I paid for this so I shouldn't have to beg for something I already paid for. You could just—" she gestured weakly, the sentence crumbling completely under the weight of his stare, "w-why can't you just f**k me without me having to—"

She swallowed back the remaining words.

Because he had risen from the couch.

She didn't even see him cross the room.

One second he was there and the next his hand was fisted in her hair and she was dragged off the floor roughly and shoved back onto the bed so hard the air left her lungs in one sharp gasp.

Before she could pull it back in his weight was on top of her, pressing her down into the mattress, and a hand wrapped around her throat.

He squeezed roughly.

She gasped, fingers flying up instinctively to wrap around his wrist, not pulling though, just holding on, her eyes going wide.

His face was inches from hers now, while she was busy gasping for hers, and his eyes were pure black and completely unreadable and terrifying and she had never been more turned on in her life.

"I tell you what to do and you f*****g do it without questioning me" His voice dangerously soft, fingers tightening just slightly around her throat.

Her mouth opened.

Nothing came out. Just a broken breathless sound that was embarrassingly close to a moan.

Her lips parted again to speak

"Shut that f*****g mouth. You're only permitted to speak when I ask you to" He growled, eyes flashing dangerously.

She clamped her mouth shut instantly.

"You want to talk about what you paid for? You paid for me to use that pretty little body however I see fit not the other way around. You don't get to sit there with your wet little p***y dripping all over the floor and make demands like you have a single ounce of power in this room so I suggest you remember that before you open your little mouth again."

A desperate sound crawled out of her throat.

"And that disrespect? It's going to cost you" He released her throat slowly, dragging his hand down her collarbone, between her breasts, stopping just above her aching core and resting there.

Her stomach dropped so fast she felt dizzy.

"Please—"

"I did not tell you to beg." His voice was almost gentle now which was somehow worse. "Here is what is going to happen. I am going to pin you down and spank that ass until it's red and burning and you are sobbing into the sheets. I am going to spread those pretty thighs and edge that dripping little p***y over and over until you are shaking and crying and begging me to let you come." He leaned down slowly until his lips were brushing her ear.

"But then I am going to leave you there soaking without a single f*****g thing. Not even my fingers. I'll send you home with that needy little cunt aching and empty without a single inch of c**k inside it. Go home to your sweet little husband like that. Wet for a man that isn't him and completely unsatisfied because of your own stupid mouth."

She stopped breathing completely.

How the hell did he know she was married?

She had taken her ring off.

And what the hell did he just say to her?

"No—" the word came out before she could stop it, panicked and shameless, "please no... I'm sorry... I didn't mean to... please Sir I—"

"You're begging now," he observed, pulling back to look at her with those black eyes, something almost amused in them, "funny how that works."

"Please Sir I'm sorry. I won't do it again. I swear I won't. Please don't send me home without—"

She felt her face burn.

"Without your c**k," she whispered. "Please. I need it. I need you to f**k me. Please Sir."

Something dark flashed in his eyes.

"Then get off the bed," He said quietly, stepping back and leaving her sprawled and trembling, "crawl back to the floor. Get on your knees. And beg me"

He straightened his sleeves.

Walked back to the couch.

Sat down like nothing had happened. Like she wasn't lying on his bed with her thighs slick and her chest heaving and her entire body one continuous desperate throb.

"Don't make me ask twice."

Her bones shook at the stern warning tone he used.

She was not going to do it.

She was absolutely not going to crawl across this floor and beg this man for his c**k like some desperate shameless creature who had completely lost her mind.

She was not.

She rolled off the bed and lowered herself to her hands and knees.

Okay so she was doing it.

Ugh!

The floor was cool against her palms and her knees ached and she could feel everything, the air on her bare skin, the slick warmth between her legs that had been getting progressively worse and more embarrassing since the moment he walked in, the weight of his gaze burning into her back as she crawled across the room toward him and

Why did being watched like this make it worse?

Why did the humiliation of crawling naked across a floor for a man make the ache between her legs pulse harder with every single move she made forward?

She didn't want to think about what that said about her.

She reached his feet and stopped.

Looked up at him.

He looked back down at her from the couch.

His eyes were dark and patient and waiting and she hated him a little bit for how devastatingly good he looked sitting there while she was naked on her hands and knees on his floor like some desperate little pet.

A desperate little pet who was dripping onto her thighs.

Fuck Daniel for starving her p***y for too long.

"Please," she whispered.

He said nothing..just raised an eyebrow.

A single slow movement that said that is not good enough without using a single word.

She exhaled shakily.

"Please Sir," she tried, her voice barely holding together, "please f**k me."

Still nothing.

Just that devastating unbothered look that made her want to scream and grind against the floor at the same time.

She knew what he wanted.

"Please," she breathed, all pretense of dignity dissolving right there on the floor.

A broken desperate whimper slipped past her lips.

"Please Sir. Please use this p***y. Please. I am begging you. I'll do anything. I'll do exactly what you say just please, please give me your c**k. Please f**k this desperate p***y. Please Sir I'm begging you I need it so bad I can't—"

She stopped because she had run out of breath and pride simultaneously.

Her face was on fire. Her knees were aching. Her core was clenching desperately around nothing and she was kneeling naked on the floor of a b**m club begging a stranger to f**k her with actual tears of desperation threatening to spill from her eyes and she had never in her life felt more humiliated.

She had also never in her life felt more turned on.

He looked down at her for a long still moment.

Then the corner of his mouth curved.

He leaned forward, bringing his face closer to hers, his eyes dropping to her lips and then back up to her eyes.

"Now...was that so hard?"

Seraphina shook her head innocently, sending a ripple through her loose hair.

She kept her gaze lowered, though she could see the corners of her lips twitched upward in a mask of feigned innocence but she didn't dare look up to gauge his reaction.

A low, rumbling sound broke the silence.

It was a chuckle, but it was devoid of any real warmth.

It was a dark, jagged sound that mocked her attempt at playing the saint.

It didn't offend her; instead, it made her skin prickle with anticipation.

"H... Have you forgiven me, sir?" The words tumbled out before she could stop them, her voice trembling, and breathless.

She regretted speaking instantly.

Her heart skipped a beat as he leaned forward, his shadow falling over her, blocking out the light from the burning candles.

"What did I f*****g tell you about not speaking unless I ask you to?" The words were gritted out through clenched teeth.

His hand moved faster than she could track, fingers clamping around her jaw with a grip that bordered on bruising.

He forced her head up, tilting her face until she had no choice but to look into his eyes.

They were dark, burning with a fury that made her heart hammer against her ribs like a trapped bird.

"I... I'm sorry, I—"

"Goddamn it! Shut the f**k up!" he roared, his grip tightening on her face, squeezing her cheeks together until her lips puckered.

Her mouth snapped shut with an audible click.

She felt a sudden, sharp throb between her legs, her n*****s hardening painfully.

Something in her twisted and coiled tight, responding viscerally to his anger.

It was so f*****g sexy.

The way he growled, the way he demanded her silence with such absolute dominance, it lit a fire inside her that she hadn't felt in years.

If only Daniel could look at her with such consuming hunger and rage instead of boring gentleness, then she would not be here.

He held her there for a long moment, searching her eyes for any sign of further defiance.

Seeing none, his expression hardened, though the fire in his gaze didn't dim. He released her jaw, but he didn't pull away.

His hand didn't leave her; instead, it began a slow, torturous descent.

His fingers trailed from the sharp line of her jaw down to the sensitive column of her neck. He lingered there, his thumb pressing against her pulse point, feeling the frantic rhythm of her heartbeat.

Seraphina stopped breathing. Her lungs burned, but she didn't dare inhale.

She was terrified that even the rise of her chest might make him stop.

His touch was featherlight, barely there, yet it seared her skin.

He moved lower, his knuckles grazing the hollow of her throat, then sliding down the center of her chest.

Her breath hitched, finally escaping in a ragged exhale as his fingers reached the swell of her breast.

Her skin was burning hot, flushed and hypersensitive to every micro-movement of his hand.

The contrast of his rough fingertips against her soft flesh was electric.

He found the tight bud of her n****e, already pebbled and begging for attention.

He didn't fondle her gently; he took the sensitive peak between his thumb and forefinger and twisted hard.

Her eyes fluttered shut, her head falling back as a moan escaped her lips.

The sensation shot through her like a lightning bolt, sharp and exquisite, blurring the line between pleasure and pain.

She arched her back, pushing her breast further into his hand, silently begging for more.

The reprieve was instantaneous and shocking.

He followed the twist of her n****e with a stinging slap to the side of her breast.

The impact rippled through the soft flesh, jiggling the heavy mound and forcing a sharp cry from her mouth.

Her eyes snapped open, wide and watery, staring at him as her breathing hitched and came in ragged gasps.

The sudden violence of the slap contrasted with the dull ache in her n****e, creating a confusing, overwhelming cocktail of sensations that made her knees tremble.

He didn’t give her time to recover. His hand palmed the breast he had just struck, squeezing it hard enough to leave white fingerprints in the reddening skin.

He watched her face intently, his lips curving into a mocking smirk as he felt her body arch toward him.

She moaned again, a needy, pitiful sound that betrayed her completely.

She ached for his rough touch, craving the way he manhandled her like a toy rather than a person.

The pain was a grounding force, reminding her exactly who she belonged to in this moment.

Lost in the haze of arousal, her eyes drifted closed again, seeking to retreat inward and process the overwhelming stimulation. It was a mistake.

He saw it immediately.

His hand pulled back and delivered another slap, harder this time, catching the soft underside of her tit.

The sound was louder, echoing off the walls, and the force of it made her gasp out loud.

Her eyes flew open, pupils blown wide with fear and lust.

Her p***y clenched rhythmically around nothing, reacting to the abuse of her breasts as if they were directly connected.

A warm trickle of wetness escaped her, sliding down her inner thigh and cooling against her overheated skin.

He leaned in close, his breath hot against her ear, smelling faintly of whiskey and dominance.

"Your beggings weren't enough, little slut" He murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through her chest.

She gasped, her mouth opening to plead, to offer up more desperate words of need.

She wanted to tell him she would do anything, be anything, if he would just f**k her. But the thought died in her throat as she remembered that she wasn’t permitted to speak unless he asked her to.

Her jaw snapped shut, cutting off the plea before it could form. She couldn't do anything besides whimpering helplessly, a small, frustrated sound that caught in the back of her throat.

Her mind raced, spiraling in a loop of frustration and desire.

Fuck... Why can’t he give her what she wanted even after begging like a w***e, crawling on the floor, debasing herself completely, and still he wasn’t satisfied.

What more did he want from her?

The uncertainty was eating her alive, a delicious torture that kept her right on the edge of sanity.

He pulled away, straightening his posture and looking down at her with a gaze that set her insides on fire.

"Crawl back to the bed. Face down. Ass up. On the bed. Right now!"

The order washed over her, stripping away the confusion and replacing it with a singular, driving purpose.

Her p***y fluttered happily at the harshness of his tone, the muscles clenching in anticipation of what was to come.

Finally! The thought screamed in her mind.

Ignoring the ache in her joints, she scrambled toward the bed.

The carpet burned her skin, but she welcomed the sensation, focusing entirely on obeying his command.

She reached the mattress and climbed up, positioning herself exactly as he had demanded, pressing her face into the cool sheets, muffling her breath, and arched her back deeply, thrusting her ass high into the air.

Seraphina exposed herself completely, presenting her wet, swollen cunt, and waiting for the next move with her heart hammering against her ribs.

She deliberately caught her lower lip between her teeth, biting down hard as stared at Mr mysterious, her gaze heavy and lidded, projecting every filthy thought racing through her mind directly into his.

She wanted him to see the desperation there in her eyes and he didn't even look away.

His eyes were dark, fixed on her 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩.

She watched his throat closely, mesmerized by the column of muscle and skin then she saw the subtle bob of his Adam's apple as he swallowed.

He was looking at her red, bitten lips and probably imagining them wrapped around his c**k, or maybe bruised from his kisses.

The thought made her dizzy. Oh, the things she would do just to have a kiss from this man.

He suddenly stood from the couch.

Seraphina tracked him with her eyes, her body tense as a bowstring.

He walked past the foot of the bed, heading toward the shadowed corner of the room where the dresser stood.

Her breath caught in her chest. She knew what was kept in those drawers. She knew exactly what he was going for.

Her heart jumped into her throat as she heard the distinct, heavy metallic clink of steel against steel.

It was a sound that conditioned her body to react instantly.

Her stomach prickled with a mix of anticipation and nervous excitement, the skin tightening into gooseflesh along her arms.

She squeezed her thighs together, trying to alleviate the ache building there, but it only made the wetness more obvious.

He turned back to her, the shadows clinging to his frame. In his hand, he held a bundle of black leather and gleaming metal. The cuffs. The restraints. The tools that would turn her into his object.

He stopped at the edge of the bed, his presence looming over her, dominating the space without touching her yet.

Then, his hand moved. He reached out and grabbed a handful of her hair, his fingers tangling roughly in the strands.

The grip was tight, and possessive.

He used the hold to pull her up from her prone position, forcing her to follow the direction of his fist.

Seraphina gasped, a sharp intake of air that was half surprise and half relief.

Her scalp stung pleasantly, the pain radiating down her neck and sparking a rush of endorphins that made her head swim.

She scrambled to obey, panting now, her heavy breasts rising and falling with each ragged breath, her n*****s hard points begging for attention.

She looked up at him, her eyes wide and watery, waiting for the next step.

In his other hand, he held a strip of black silk.

He brought it up to her face, and she closed her eyes willingly, tilting her head back to offer herself to him.

He tied the silk securely around her head, blocking out the light completely.

The world vanished, leaving her floating in a void of sensation. Her hearing sharpened instantly, picking up the rustle of his clothes and the sound of his breathing.

Without warning, his hand pressed against her chest, right between her breasts, and he pushed.

He didn't guide her down; he shoved her roughly.

Seraphina fell back onto the bed, bouncing slightly against the mattress. She landed on her back, her limbs splaying out in unconscious invitation.

She heard the clatter of metal again, closer this time 𝘢𝘯𝘥 felt him shift her weight, positioning her arms above her head.

The cold metal of the cuffs clicked shut around her wrists, one after the other, biting into the skin.

He pulled the chains taut against the headboard, ensuring she was spread open, completely at his mercy.

She licked her lips, the dryness of her mouth betraying her nerves, and tasted the faint residue of her 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘬.

He did the same to the other wrist, stretching her arms wide until she was spread-eagled and helpless.

She couldn't see him, but she felt the mattress dip as he moved to the foot of the bed.

Seconds later, she gasped, her back arching off the mattress as strong hands grasped her ankles.

Oh Lord!