Dark & Dangerous

A DevotedSub Books Collection

Volume 9

by Devoted Sub

To my husband, my Dom, my Twin Flame. My love, my strength, my courage, and the soul who awakened the parts of me I never knew howto set free.

You believed in me when my own faith had all but vanished. You saw a writer where I saw doubt, a voice where I heard silence, a futurewhere I saw only limits — and gave me the courage to put my wordsinto the world and dare to call myself an author.

You never wrote my stories for me or walked the road in my place. You gave me something more precious: the strength and courage tobelieve I deserved to walk this path, the confidence to believe inmyself, and the faith to know I could do this.

You taught me that when life knocks you down, you get back up, and you never fail. Failure is never found in falling, but in giving up.As long as I keep rising, keep trying, and refuse to surrender, Iwill never truly fail.

If my words reach the world, your love gave them wings. If my stories outlive me, a part of you will live on in every word.

You are my love by choice, my Dom by devotion, my Twin Flame by a bond that transcends the ordinary, and my forever by a promise Icarry willingly.

What is claimed is loved. What is loved is kept. What is kept is bound. What is bound is never abandoned.

And so, upon these pages, I carry the title you bestowed upon me, my most cherished one: Devoted Sub. Not simply a name beneath astory, but a name born of our bond, carried with pride, and foreverentwined with the man who gave it to me.

With all that I am, all that I create, and all that I will ever become,

Forever yours,

Your Devoted Sub.

Contents

1. His Captive for the Weekend

2. His Midnight Bride

3. His Perfect Slave

4. Midnight Claiming

5. Owned Completely

6. Spiked

7. Taken

8. The Break-In

9. The Interrogation Room

10. The Stranger Game

11. White Hunger

His Captive for the Weekend

Elena was twenty-eight years old, and she never saw him coming.

It was Friday evening, just after six, and the parking garage under her office building was nearly empty. Her heels echoed on the concrete as she walked to her car, her bag over her shoulder, her mind already on the weekend — laundry, groceries, nothing exciting. She clicked the key fob. Her car's lights blinked. She reached for the door handle.

The bag went over her head from behind.

She screamed — a short, sharp shriek cut off as a massive hand clamped over her mouth through the thick fabric, an arm like iron banding around her waist, lifting her clean off her feet. She kicked wildly, her heels clattering to the concrete, her bag dropping — but he was too strong, impossibly strong, and he carried her thrashing across the garage and threw her into what felt like the back of a van. The doors slammed. An engine started. They were moving before she could get the bag off her head.

- Please— — she sobbed, clawing at the fabric. — Please don't hurt me—

- Shut up, — a low voice said, flat and cold. — You scream, I put you to sleep and you wake up somewhere worse.

She went still, shaking violently, tears soaking the inside of the bag. Big hands grabbed her wrists and bound them behind her back with something soft that clicked — zip ties, or cuffs. Then a strip of cloth was tied tight between her teeth, gagging her. She lay on her side on the cold metal floor of the van, bound and gagged and blind, shaking, while the van rumbled on and on into the dark.

Damion was thirty-two years old, and he had been planning this for a month.

He had seen Elena in the parking garage four weeks ago — bending over to pick up her dropped keys, her skirt riding up, her dark purple hair falling forward — and something in him had locked on like a jaw. He had learned her name from her office badge. He had learned her schedule, her car, her Friday routine. He was a big man, broad through the shoulders, with hard hands and a thick cock that had been aching for weeks just from thinking about what he was going to do to her. Tonight was the night. He had the cabin ready — forty minutes out past the last gas station, down a gravel road nobody used. He had rope. He had cuffs. He had the whole weekend.

He drove with one hand on the wheel and the other resting on her bound body, his fingers occasionally trailing up her thigh under her skirt, making her flinch and whimper around the gag. By the time the van turned onto gravel, she was shaking so hard her teeth chattered against the gag.

The van stopped. He hauled her out — she stumbled on bare feet, her heels lost in the garage — and half-carried her up wooden steps. A door creaked. He pushed her inside, and the air smelled like pine and woodsmoke and dust. Then he ripped the bag off her head.

Elena blinked in the dim light, gasping around the gag. A cabin. One big room — a stone fireplace, a massive bed with black sheets against the far wall, a kitchen corner. And in the middle of the room, a heavy wooden chair with rope coiled over its back.

Her stomach dropped clean through the floor.

He stood in front of her — and she saw him for the first time. No mask. A hard face, dark eyes, flat and hungry, fixed on her. Huge — towering over her, his shoulders blocking the light from the single bulb.

- Please— — she sobbed around the gag. — Please let me go—

- No, — he said simply. — You're mine for the weekend.

He untied the gag — she gasped, sucking in air — and before she could scream he had his hand over her mouth.

- Rules, — he said, his eyes boring into hers. — You scream, I gag you again and it stays on all weekend. You fight me, I tie you tighter. You do what I say, this goes easier. Understand?

She nodded frantically, tears streaming. He took his hand away slowly.

- Please, — she whispered, her voice breaking. — Please, I have a family, people will be looking for me—

- Nobody's looking for you. — He grabbed the front of her blouse and ripped it open — buttons scattering across the wooden floor. — It's Friday night. Nobody misses you till Monday.

She screamed — a real scream this time, raw with terror — and he backhanded her across the face. Not hard enough to truly hurt, but hard enough to snap her head sideways, hard enough to shock her silent, her cheek stinging, tears flying.

- I told you the rules, — he said quietly.

She stared at him, her cheek burning, her blouse hanging open, her bra exposed — and the fight went out of her all at once, replaced by pure shaking terror.

- Good girl, — he murmured, and tore her blouse the rest of the way off, throwing it aside. He unhooked her bra with practiced fingers and stripped it away. Her breasts bounced free — full, round, her nipples hard in the cool cabin air — and he stared, his breathing going heavy.

- Beautiful, — he growled, cupping one breast, squeezing hard, thumbing her nipple until she whimpered. He bent and took the stiff peak into his mouth — hot, wet, sucking hard — and she cried out, her bound hands straining, her body arching despite herself as shameful heat coiled low in her belly.

He stripped her skirt off, tearing the zipper, and dragged her panties down her legs. She stood naked in the middle of the cabin, her wrists still bound behind her, trembling, crying.

- Look at you, — he breathed, his eyes devouring her, dropping to her pussy — her thighs shaking, her folds glistening. Because she was wet. The terror had her blood pounding, every nerve lit up, and her pussy was slick and swollen despite her, despite everything. — Wet already. Your body's smarter than you are.

- No— — she sobbed, shaking her head. — No, I'm not—

- We'll see.

He sat her in the heavy wooden chair — and tied her to it. Rope around her torso, rope around her wrists, rope around her ankles, spreading her legs wide, tying them to the chair legs. She sat naked and spread in the middle of the cabin, utterly helpless, her pussy bared and glistening in the firelight — he had built up the fire while she watched, helpless, the flames crackling.

He stood in front of her, unbuckled his belt, unzipped his jeans, and freed his cock. She stared — he was enormous, thick as her wrist, long and heavy, the head flushed dark and leaking, pulsing.

- Please— — she whispered, straining against the ropes. — Please don't—

- Jade't what? — He knelt between her spread thighs, his big hands gripping her knees, holding her open. — Jade't touch you? Jade't taste you?

His tongue licked a broad stripe through her soaked folds — and she screamed, straining against the ropes, the chair creaking. He ate her — his tongue licking her in deep, hungry strokes, pushing into her dripping pussy, fucking her with it — while she writhed, helpless, sobbing. His tongue found her clit — circling it with slow, maddening rings, then flicking it fast — then sucked the bud between his lips, pulsing his tongue against it. She howled, her back arching off the chair, her head thrown back, her cries echoing off the cabin walls.

He slid two thick fingers into her soaked pussy, curling them hard against her front wall, his thumb grinding her clit — and she shattered, screaming, her pussy clenching around his fingers, her juices flowing. He kept finger-fucking her through it, his mouth sucking her clit, dragging a second orgasm out of her before the first had ended.

- That's it, — he breathed against her folds. — Come for your captor. Come all over my face.

He stood, positioned his thick throbbing cockhead at her entrance — she was tied spread, helpless, completely open — and pushed in. She screamed — the stretch, the fullness, the helplessness of being bound and taken. He was so thick — her pussy stretched wide around his girth, her walls clinging and fluttering around his thick throbbing shaft.

- Take it, — he growled, gripping the chair for leverage. — Take your captor's cock, little prisoner.

He fucked her in the chair — deep, brutal strokes that rocked the heavy wood, her breasts bouncing, her head thrown back, the ropes creaking with her struggles. She was bound and helpless and sobbing, her pussy soaked, squelching obscenely around his thick cock.

- Who owns you this weekend? — he demanded.

- You do! — she screamed, straining against the ropes. — You do—

He reached down and rubbed her clit in hard, fast circles — and she shattered, screaming, her pussy strangling his shaft. He groaned deep and erupted inside her — his thick cock pulsing jet after jet of hot come deep in her pussy, filling her, overflowing around his shaft. She felt every pulse, every throb, every drop.

He stayed buried in her, breathing hard — then pulled out and untied her, and she collapsed forward, sobbing, her legs too weak to hold her. He caught her, carried her to the bed, and threw her down on the black sheets.

- On your knees, — he ordered.

- Please— — she sobbed, crawling back across the bed. — Please, no more—

He grabbed her hair and dragged her to the edge of the bed, forcing her to her knees on the floor. His cock was still hard, glistening with her wetness and his come.

- Open, — he said.

She shook her head, tears streaming — and his hand tightened in her hair.

- Open, or I tie you back to that chair and leave you there till morning.

Whimpering, she opened her mouth — and he pushed in, his thick shaft filling her mouth, stretching her jaw. She gagged, drooled, spit running down her chin onto her breasts — and he held her head and fucked her mouth with slow, deep strokes, his heavy balls slapping her chin.

- That's it, — he growled. — Suck your captor's cock like a good little prisoner.

She hollowed her cheeks and sucked, her tongue working his shaft — and he groaned, his hips moving faster, fucking her mouth with brutal strokes. Her pussy throbbed, dripping onto the wooden floor. He pulled out with a wet pop, hauled her onto the bed, flipped her onto her stomach, and drove back into her soaked pussy from behind in one savage stroke.

She screamed into the sheets — he was so deep, his thick cock spearing her, her come-filled pussy squelching. He gripped her hips and pounded her — brutal, relentless thrusts, the bed slamming the wall, her breasts bouncing beneath her.

- Please— — she sobbed into the mattress. — Please—

- Your pussy's dripping down my cock, — he snarled, pounding harder. — You can beg all you want. Your body's begging for more.

He reached around and rubbed her clit — and she came again, wailing, her pussy clamping down on him — and he roared and erupted inside her, his thick shaft pulsing another hot load deep in her pussy, filling her until it overflowed.

He rolled off her, breathing hard. She lay wrecked — sobbing quietly, her body trembling, his come leaking out of her onto the black sheets.

That was Friday night. There were two more days.

Saturday morning, she woke to his mouth on her breast — suckling her nipple hard, his hand already between her legs, two thick fingers pushing into her come-filled pussy. She screamed and tried to push him off — and he pinned her wrists above her head with one hand and kept finger-fucking her with the other, his thumb circling her clit — until she came, sobbing, her pussy fluttering around his fingers.

- Good morning, captive, — he murmured, and pushed his morning-hard cock into her in one smooth, brutal thrust.

She screamed — the stretch, the fullness — and he fucked her with slow, deep, claiming strokes, his thick cock dragging along her swollen walls. Her legs wrapped around his waist despite herself, pulling him deeper, her traitor body arching into him.

- Who do you belong to? — he asked, his face inches from hers.

- You— — she sobbed. — I belong to you—

- Damn right. — He fucked her harder, his hand closing around her throat — not squeezing, just holding — and she came, wailing, her pussy milking him — and he groaned and flooded her with another hot load, his hips grinding hard against hers.

Saturday afternoon, he tied her to the bed — wrists to the headboard, ankles spread wide — and ate her for an hour. His mouth on her pussy — licking her slowly, thoroughly, his tongue spearing into her, circling her clit — while she sobbed and begged and came again and again, helpless, bound, his. Then he rose over her, still tied, and pushed into her — slow, deep, relentless thrusts — and fucked his captive until they both came, her screaming, him groaning, his come flooding her for the fourth time.

Saturday evening, he dragged her into the cabin's tiny bathroom — her wrists still bound behind her — and bent her over the stained sink, forcing her to look at herself in the spotted mirror.

- Look at you, — he said, standing behind her, his eyes locked on hers in the glass. — Look what I did to you.

She stared at her reflection — her face tear-streaked, her lips swollen, her breasts heaving, her body marked with his fingerprints — and sobbed. He unzipped his jeans behind her, and she felt his thick cockhead pressing at her entrance — and he drove into her in one brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt while she screamed at her own reflection.

He fucked her bent over the sink — deep, savage strokes, his hands gripping her hips, his eyes never leaving hers in the mirror. Her breasts bounced, her face twisted with shame and unwanted pleasure, her pussy squelching obscenely around his thick shaft.

- Watch yourself take it, — he growled. — Watch your face when you come for your captor.

He reached around and rubbed her clit — and she shattered, screaming at the mirror, her pussy clamping down on him, her reflection breaking apart with tears. He groaned and pulled out, spun her around, and shoved her to her knees on the bathroom tile.

- Open, — he ordered, fisting his dripping cock.

She opened, sobbing — and he pushed into her mouth and fucked her face, hard and fast, until he erupted, his thick cock pulsing jet after jet of hot come across her face — striping her cheeks, her lips, her chin, dripping onto her breasts. She knelt there, shaking, his seed cooling on her skin, staring up at him through it.

- Beautiful, — he breathed. — My filthy little captive.

He left her there on the bathroom floor while he built up the fire.

Saturday night, he took her in front of the fireplace — on the rug, on her hands and knees, his hand fisted in her purple hair, pounding her from behind while the flames threw dancing light across her sweat-slicked body. She came twice more, sobbing into the rug — and he pulled out and erupted across her back, jet after jet of hot come striping her skin, dripping down her sides.

- Lick it off, — he ordered, and pushed her face toward her own shoulder — and she cried and licked his come off her own skin, tasting his salt, while he watched, his cock already hardening again.

Sunday morning, he untied her from the bed for the last time and stood her in front of him.

- On your knees, — he said. — One more. Then you go home.

She knelt, trembling, wrecked — and took his thick cock into her mouth, tasting the weekend, tasting herself on him. She sucked him deep, hollowing her cheeks, her tongue working his shaft — and he held her head and fucked her mouth, his hips moving faster — until he groaned deep and erupted down her throat, his thick cock pulsing hot come straight into her. She gagged, choked, swallowed — his seed flooding her mouth, spilling from her lips.

He pulled out, breathing hard, and looked down at her — naked, broken, his come on her skin and in her mouth and leaking from her pussy.

- You tell anyone, — he said quietly, — I come back for you. And next time it's not a weekend. Understand?

She nodded, sobbing silently.

He threw her clothes at her, untied the last of the rope, and marched her to the van — a bag over her head again, her wrists bound, her body so sore she could barely walk. He drove for what felt like forever, the van rumbling under her, his hand heavy on the back of her neck the whole way, and then the van stopped, the doors opened, and he pushed her out onto cold pavement. She heard the van drive away. She clawed the bag off her head.

She was in an empty lot three blocks from her apartment, shaking in the cold night air. Her purse was on the ground beside her — everything still in it. Her wrists were free.

Elena walked home barefoot, her clothes torn, her body aching, his come still sticky on her thighs. She didn't call the police. She was too terrified — and too ashamed, because her body had betrayed her over and over, because some broken part of her had come harder that weekend than she ever had in her life.

She never saw his face again. But for months afterward, she checked the parking garage three times before getting in her car — and some nights, alone in the dark, her hand slipped between her legs, and she came sobbing his name into her pillow, hating herself for wanting the captor who had taken her, and wanting him anyway, always, forever, still burning.

His Midnight Bride

Peyton was twenty-eight years old, and she had come to the masquerade because the invitation said
- midnight,
and she'd always been a fool for midnight.

The mansion was old money — marble, candlelight, masks. Peyton wore black silk, a raven mask, her throat bare. She'd come alone. She liked alone.

Then he found her.

He was across the ballroom — tall, black-on-black, a phantom mask, his eyes catching the candlelight like embers. Dominic. She didn't know his name ...