The Devil's Bride (His Lustful Obsession)

Siena was just a girl no one wanted. She had always wondered why she was ever born. Why had the creator seemed it fit to put her in her mother's womb? Had she been created as a mistake? Because I gat was how it seemed. Her creation must have been an accident.

after the accident of her birth, her parents died and that was another thing she could not help wondering about. Had they died because they could not bear to be with and bring up a child like her?

"I must be cursed. Jinxed, more like", she thought miserably . As she stood outside their house

The rain fell hard that day.

She stood on the porch of the Greystone Estate, her school uniform soaked, knees bleeding from another fall she couldn't explain. Her guardian - Aunt Lillian - barely looked up from her phone as she opened the door.

"Don't drip on the marble," she snapped. "Use the servant's entrance next time."

Siena was sixteen. Silent. Dismissed. This was her life. The life she had lunch ved for the past sixteen years and who knows how much longer she would have to leave ve this way. Probably, forever. After all she did not have a say in it. She had been told she should be grateful for the little she got and that she was alive at all. It was a laugh because she didn't feel she was living. She was merely existing and sometimes, she wished for death. She was just too cowardly to commit suicide. It was not as though she had not tried. Oh, she had trued to do away with her miserable life a number of times, but she had been unable to go through with it.

"I am really pathetic", she always thought in self disdain."No one wants s me and I can't even summon the courage to do everyone a favour and end it all!"

She limped through the back and went straight to her room - if you could call the attic that. Cold in the winter, sweltering in the summer. A cot. A cracked mirror. A single bulb that flickered like it was trying to die.

It was darkness. It was hell and she had been asked to be grateful for even this.

"I guess I have to be. Isn't it better than staying in the streets?" she often said with a smile by way of consoling herself.

At school, she was quiet. It was her defense mechanism. Her attire was old and torn, no matter how hard she tried to keep it neat. She still stood out and the bullies had a field day with her.

At home, she was invisible.No one took any notice of her, except to send her on errands, treat her like trash and leave all the chores to her, not caring if she was in good health or not. Rest was a luxury she treasured anytime she could get it.

But though she was invincible, she watched. And listened.

She learned to shrink into corners. To take blows without blinking. Her uncle - the one who smelled of cigars and vodka - liked to remind her she was a burden, something left behind by a mother who'd "spread her legs for the wrong kind of man." She never met her father. Her mother was a whisper and a headstone.

So, not only did she have to endure the hardship and misery that was her life, she was also reminded that her mother was a tramp who may not have known who amongst the numerous men she consorted with was the father of her child.

But there were other things.

Secret things.

Late at night, she'd sneak into the library and run her fingers over leather-bound novels with forbidden stories. Tied wrists. Dominant lovers. Obedient girls. Things that made her ache, made her question her own mind. It was always an explanation scape from the harsh world she was living in. It transported her to various desirable places and with people - men who desired her and showed her their desire in a number of different unconventional ways.

She'd press her thighs together in the dark, pulse racing, as she read about surrender - not from weakness, but longing. And she found herself longing for things she could not yet understand. Not only did it keep her entertained but it was also her form of escape from the world that hated her. A world that did not want her. But for this moments of pleasurable longing, her life might have no meaning.

One night, when Uncle Frederick found the book tucked under her mattress, he sneered. "Filth," he said. "Is this what you want to become?"

Then he slapped her. Twice.

The bruises healed, but something inside her didn't.

Something burned. Something that cried to be let out.

Then she turned eighteen and accidentally found a hidden letter addressed to her from her real mother - it had one name and a bloodstained seal - she made her choice. She could not longer remain in this prison her uncle and aunt had made for her. She could not longer continue living this way. She had to find or forge her path, whichever one it turns out to be.

So, she ran.

She ran straight to the underground. Straight into the mouth of desire. Where she was not called a nerd, a bumpkin, someone not sophisticated. Someone who didn't belong in the modern society. Someone who was trash and treated as such. She ran to where her innocence wasn't mocked. It was sold.

She had not set out to sell herself - her innocence but as she watched others in the underworld, as she watched their unrestrained attitude towards sex, everything she bottled up since she turned sixteen and started reading about desire, dominance and surrender till date, came to the fire, wanting to consume her.

She wanted to live out the fantasy she had had for so long but her handler/ guardian in the underworld had other plans for her.

"You are still a virgin, aren't you?" he asked. "You have not done it before, have you?"

She didn't know how to answer. She didn't want to discourage him. But her silence was answer enough.

"I know just the place for you", he continued, looking at her with a leering smile on his face. "She sure will fetch a good price, what with a body and face like hers", he added to himself, pulling on his imaginary beard.

The first time he saw her, she was kneeling.

Not out of fear, not in shame - but with an elegance so defiant it made his cock hard in seconds.

She was blindfolded in black silk, her lips slightly parted, dressed in nothing but a sheer white slip that clung to her like it had secrets. Her position when he first saw her was as a result of where she was at the time of which was an auction house. Bound against her will.

The auction room was a hidden enclave beneath Manhattan's elite. Everyone in this crowd wore masks - but no one was hiding. Not really. Not from what they wanted.

And tonight, he wanted her. He wanted her like he had never wanted any woman - anything infact, in his whole life.

He leaned back in his chair, whiskey in one hand, paddle in the other. All around him, the rich murmured, fingers twitching with the thrill of ownership. Of power.

But she didn't flinch. She didn't beg. She knelt like she knew the rules and had long since decided they didn't apply to her.

Her name wasn't listed. Just her number: 43.

The auctioneer's voice sliced through the tension.

"Submission trained. Untouched. No prior ownership. Five nights. No safewords."

A murmur of approval was heard from the spectators. Their eyes turned greedy.

His fingers tightened around the paddle.

He didn't want five nights. He wanted forever.

"Opening bid?" the auctioneer called.

"Ten thousand," someone shouted.

"Twenty," another echoed.

"Fifty," he said flatly. His voice cut through the air like a blade. The room fell silent.

The auctioneer looked up sharply. "Fifty thousand. Going once..."

His eyes fell on her lips - still trembling, still unkissed - and imagined how she'd taste when she moaned his name.

"Going twice..."

One man at the back raised a paddle. "Sixty."

He didn't blink. "One hundred thousand."

A collective gasp.

The auctioneer hesitated. "Sir, are you-"

"One hundred. Cash." he stood. "Now finish it."

Silence. Then, a slow, precise smile from the auctioneer.

"Sold. To Number 9. Congratulations, sir."

He moved forward as the crowd parted, part predator, part promise.

Her breath caught as he stopped in front of her. She couldn't see him - but he would swear she could feel him.

He crouched down.

She was trembling now. Just slightly.

He took her chin in his hand, tilting her face upward. She smelled like honey and danger. His voice was low, for her ears alone.

"You belong to me now, little dove."

She swallowed, the sound delicious.

"What's your name?" he asked.

She whispered, "Siena."

He smirked. "Siena. You will not speak unless I ask a question. You will not come unless I say so. And you will learn the word 'please' in a hundred different ways."

A hitch of breath. Her thighs pressed together.

He slid one hand up her inner thigh, stopping just before the slip ended. Her skin was soft, untouched.

"Stand," he commanded.

She obeyed.

Her legs were shaking as he led her away from the stage, one hand possessive on the small of her back. He felt her pulse thrumming beneath her skin.

They passed velvet curtains into his private suite, soundproofed and soaked in red light. She stepped inside, and he locked the door behind them.

"Take it off," he ordered.

She hesitated. Then, with trembling hands, pulled the slip over her head. She stood naked before him - every inch of her flawless, glowing, breathless.

He walked around her slowly.

"You don't know what I am yet, Siena," he murmured. "But you will."

He pulled a length of rope from the drawer. Silk. Black. New.

"Turn around. Hands behind your back", hr commanded.

She obeyed - and with every knot he tied, every loop that kissed her wrists and shoulders, she gasped like he was unwrapping her soul.

When he finished, she was bound, bare, and beautiful - her chest rising and falling rapidly.

He stepped close, lips against her ear. "I don't fuck. I ruin", he whispered the threat.

He pushed her gently against the padded wall and knelt behind her. His mouth tasted her thighs, nibbled the inside of her knees. Her breath turned ragged, knees already wobbling.

"Please..." she whispered before catching herself.

He smiled. "You'll learn when to beg", he promised .

He slid a blindfold back over her eyes and whispered, "Tonight, you're going to scream into my mouth."

She whimpered.

And he hadn't even touched her properly yet.

********

She lay sprawled on the padded bench, wrists bound above her head, thighs trembling from the anticipation he'd been building for what felt like hours.

Every breath Siena took was shallow, desperate. Every inch of her body tingled, flushed, aching to be touched - to be taken.

But he didn't give in.

Instead, he leaned over her, dragging the edge of a feather slowly down her sternum, between her breasts, stopping just above the aching pulse of her core.

"Tell me," he murmured, lips brushing her earlobe, "what do you want?"

She gasped, arching toward him instinctively. "I want you."

"You already have me," he said darkly. "But you want something more. Say it."

"I want to come," she whispered, voice cracking under the weight of her need.

He smiled against her skin. "Then suffer for it."

His fingers didn't slip between her legs. Instead, they ghosted around the edges of her thighs, drawing patterns on her skin as though she were a canvas made for torment. His mouth followed-hot, open kisses on the inside of her knee, the curve of her hip. But he never touched the place she ached most.

Siena writhed, moaning, frustrated beyond sanity.

"You're dripping," he observed casually, watching her body respond. "And yet you've done nothing to earn it."

She turned her head, teeth sinking into her lower lip. "Please," she whispered.

He reached down and grazed her inner thigh with just one knuckle - one single stroke - and her body spasmed.

"That's all it takes?" he said with a low chuckle. "You're that desperate?"

She nodded, panting. "Yes. God, yes."

But instead of giving her what she craved, he stood.

Just like that.

The heat vanished.

The tension snapped.

Siena opened her eyes - half-lidded and heavy with desire - only to see him buttoning his shirt.

"Where are you going?" she breathed, confused. "You're... you're leaving me like this?"

"I'm teaching you," he said coldly. "You do not come because you want to. You come because I allow it. You exist for my pleasure - and I haven't decided if you've earned any."

Tears of frustration welled in her eyes. She was shaking with arousal, with humiliation, with helpless lust.

"You're cruel," she whispered.

He leaned in again, brushing his mouth lightly against hers.

"No, Siena," he said. "I'm patient. And that's something you'll learn - tonight was never about pleasure."

He reached behind her head, untying the silk blindfold.

"It was about control."

Then he kissed her once - hard, hungry - before stepping out and locking the door behind him.

And she was left in the dark.

Panting. Wet. Unsatisfied.

She woke to the scent of leather and fire.

The room was warm, dim, the ropes still loosely draped around her wrists. Someone had covered her with a blanket sometime during the night - but her body still ached from denial. From desire. From him.

He returned at dawn.

Siena sat up as the door opened, her heart kicking like a wild thing.

He stepped in wearing black slacks and a blood-red shirt, sleeves rolled up to his forearms. He didn't speak - not yet. His presence alone did the work. Her pulse quickened. Her legs instinctively drew together.

"I see you're still wet," he said coolly, eyes scanning her like an x-ray.

She looked down, ashamed at how her body betrayed her.

"You left me tied up," she said, voice trembling. "Why?" she asked.

"To test you", he replied.

"Test what?" Her eyes showing her puzzlement.

He walked forward, slow, deliberate, until he was standing before her.

"To see if you'd break," he said, brushing a knuckle along her jaw. "You didn't."

Then, in a softer tone: "I'm impressed."

"Is that what you want?" she snapped. "Obedience?"

"No," he said. "I want surrender. There's a difference."

He stepped closer, his hand sliding behind her neck, tilting her chin upward. "Do you want to know my name now?"

She nodded.

He leaned in, mouth brushing hers. "Dominic Black."

The name burned into her.

"Dominic," she whispered.

"Say it again", he requested, his stance like an animal ready to pounce.

"Dominic", she repeated.

His eyes darkened. "You sound like sin when you say it."

Then his mouth crashed into hers.

This kiss wasn't teasing. It was claiming. He lifted her effortlessly and slammed her against the padded wall, pinning her wrists above her head. She moaned into his mouth, lips parting, tongue tangling with his.

"You want me now?" he growled.

"Yes. Fuck, yes", she replied, her eyes wild.

Dominic yanked the blanket from her, baring every inch of her flushed, waiting skin. He dragged his belt slowly from the loops of his pants - the sound making her shudder.

"You remember what I said?" he asked, looping the belt around her wrists, tightening them just above her head.

"You ruin," she gasped. "You don't fuck." Repeating his words excited her more than she cared to admit. Maybe she wanted to be ruined.

"Exactly", he replied in response to her answer.

He slapped her thigh - a warning - then slipped two fingers between her legs. She was soaked.

"Oh my God," she cried.

"You're going to come when I say," he said. "Not before."

She whimpered as he withdrew his fingers and licked them, slow and deliberate.

"Sweet. Untamed", he murmured in approval.

He dropped to his knees in front of her.

And then... he devoured her.

Tongue dragging through her folds, mouth unrelenting, sucking her clit with just enough pressure to make her buck, but not enough to send her over the edge. She thrashed, crying out, but the belt held her in place.

"Please," she panted. "Please let me..."

"No," he growled against her. "Not yet."

She sobbed - not from pain, but from the exquisite agony of it all.

And when he finally pushed two fingers deep inside her, curling just right, her body shattered.

"Now," he whispered. "Come for me."

She screamed - and it wasn't just pleasure. It was freedom, released only through submission.

When he rose, she collapsed into him, body trembling.

He held her close.

"You'll come to crave the denial," Dominic whispered. "Because only I will give you the permission your body begs for."

And Siena realized something terrifying.

She didn't just want more.

She wanted everything he had to give - no matter how dark it got.

*******

Dominic had told her he would have ake her to his dungeon. And that is as what he did next.

But the dungeon wasn't what Siena expected.

No chains on bloodstained walls. No torture devices or horror-movie theatrics.

It was... elegant.

The room was sunken into marble and obsidian, illuminated by flickering gold light from wall sconces. Padded benches and mirrored panels surrounded them, and in the center stood a large, four-post frame of polished black steel. Silk ropes and leather cuffs hung from hooks. A closet nearby was slightly ajar, revealing racks of riding crops, paddles, and something that looked like a whip made from strands of fine velvet.

Dominic stood behind her, watching her every breath.

"You step inside this room," he said lowly, "and you don't belong to yourself anymore. You don't even belong to me."

Siena's heart raced. "Then who do I belong to?"

He stepped close, lips brushing her ear. "To your need."

She trembled.

"Strip."

She did.

Naked, trembling, heart hammering, she stood before the frame. He walked a slow circle around her, dragging a finger up her spine. She shivered at the light contact, more intimate than a slap.

"On your knees."

She dropped to the cool stone, her nipples tightening from more than just the chill. His hand threaded into her hair, gripping-not hurting, just owning. She moaned softly.

"You're not here to please me today," Dominic said. "You're here to learn about yourself."

He released her and crossed the room. When he returned, he held two things: a narrow, black paddle and a glass plug.

Siena's lips parted.

He knelt beside her. "This isn't punishment, Siena. Not yet. It's discipline. Structure. The body learns through sensation, and the mind through surrender."

He held up the plug. "You'll wear this while I teach you."

She flushed.

"Have you ever worn one before?"

She shook her head.

"Good," he whispered. "Then today you'll understand what being truly full feels like."

He slicked it with oil and guided her gently over the padded bench, her ass lifted high, thighs parted.

Siena moaned into the cushion as he pushed it slowly inside her. The burn made her cry out - not from pain, but the intensity, the depth of it. She felt owned.

Dominic massaged her thighs, waiting for her breathing to slow. Then he spoke:

"Ten strikes. Count each. Miss one, we start again."

She nodded shakily. "Yes, Sir."

Crack.

The paddle struck her ass with a sharp sting, and her breath hitched.

"One," she gasped.

Crack.

"Two..."

Her voice shook, but with each strike, the pain melted into heat - and the heat into something more. By the fifth, she was dripping. By the eighth, she was moaning his name between numbers.

Crack.

"Nine..."

The last was hardest. His aim precise, deliberate.

Crack.

"Ten."

She sagged, gasping, pulse wild.

Dominic knelt again, brushing his lips across the red curve of her ass. "Beautiful. Brave."

He pulled the plug out slowly - and she whimpered at the sudden emptiness.

But instead of replacing it with more pain, he slid two fingers into her from behind.

Siena cried out, her body clenching desperately.

"Did you enjoy your lesson?" he asked softly.

"Yes," she sobbed. "God, yes."

He curled his fingers just right. She started to unravel.

But then... he stopped. Again.

He pulled away, her orgasm lingering on the edge like a scream caught in the throat.

She twisted toward him, pleading. "Please don't leave me like this again. I'll do anything." She was shocked that he had reduced her to this.She was begging him to take her, to make her come. She never thought in her wildest dream that it could get to this. But the truth was that he knew how to make her body nit only to respond to him but to crave him violently and come violently as well.

Dominic grabbed her chin.

"You'll come," he said. "But not like this."

He helped her up, then carried her to a velvet chaise. She straddled his lap, bare, flushed, straining to be filled. He cupped her hips and held her above him - close enough to feel, but not take.

"Now ride me," he said, voice low. "But you don't come until I do."

She nodded.

And as she slid down onto him, her moan echoed through the dungeon. His name was not Dominic, she thought in her ecstasy. His name was Sin!