Todos os capítulos de Sinful Nights: A Filthy Collection of Steamy Stories: Capítulo 151 - Capítulo 160

The rules of the contract became my new reality. Rule number four: The Submissive will not touch herself sexually without permission from the Dominant. It was a rule I found increasingly difficult to obey. My body was in a constant state of heightened awareness, a low thrum of arousal just beneath the surface. I’d be in the middle of painting, and the memory of his hands on me would hit me, a wave of heat so strong I’d have to stop and catch my breath.Two days after my initiation into The Sanctum, I broke. I was in the bath, the warm water a sensual caress on my skin. I closed my eyes and my hand drifted between my legs, my fingers finding my clit, still sensitive from his attentions. I started to rub, slow, lazy circles, building a gentle pleasure. I was just thinking about him, imagining it was his hand, when the bathroom door swung open.Julian stood there, fully dressed in a suit, his expression thunderous.“What did I tell you, Ava?” he asked, his voice dangerously quiet.I snat

My final rendering for the Sterling Tower annex lay on the polished mahogany table, a beautiful, intricate model that had taken me three sleepless weeks to complete. And it was wrong. The client, a cold, formidable man named Mr. Koenig, had just pointed out a critical flaw in the load-bearing calculations, a mistake so basic it was laughable. A mistake I had made.Caine Sterling, the founding partner of the firm and the man whose name was on the building, hadn’t said a word. He just sat at the head of the table, his fingers steepled, his face an unreadable mask of cold fury. Caine was a legend in the architectural world, a genius known for his brutalist designs and even more brutal management style. He was in his late thirties, with the kind of stark, chiseled beauty that belonged on a Roman coin, dark hair, piercing grey eyes, and a mouth that seemed permanently set in a disapproving line. I had been worshiping him from afar since my first day as an intern, and now, I was about to be

I woke up the next morning in the vast, white bed. Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, but I was alone. Caine was gone. On the pillow next to me was a single, perfect white orchid and a tablet. On the screen was a document titled, “The Internship Contract.”My heart hammered as I began to read. It was not a legal document in the traditional sense. It was a list of rules.Rule 1: Availability. You will be available to me at all times. My summons, whether by text, call, or direct command, is to be answered immediately, regardless of time or circumstance.Rule 2: Attire. You will not wear underwear in my presence. Your wardrobe will be curated by me. You will wear only what I provide for you. Your body is to be displayed as I see fit.Rule 3: Obedience. You will obey my every command without question or hesitation. Hesitation will be met with punishment. Obedience will be rewarded.Rule 4: Pleasure. You will not touch yourself sexually without my express permission. Y

The dynamic between us shifted after the Koenig dinner. The lines blurred. The lessons became less about punishment and more about exploration. He would spend hours teaching me about wine, about classical music, about art. He would fuck me against the wall, hard and fast, and then hold me for hours while we read in bed. He was a man of contradictions—cruel and tender, controlling and vulnerable. And I was falling for him. Hard.One night, he came home from work in a black mood. He was silent, distant, radiating a cold fury that was more terrifying than any anger he had ever shown me.“The San Francisco project,” he said, his voice clipped. “It’s been cancelled. A competitor undercut us. Stole the design.”He was hurting. I could see it in the tight set of his jaw, in the storm clouds gathering in his eyes. I wanted to comfort him, to reach out to him.“I’m so sorry, Caine,” I said, putting a hand on his arm.He flinched away from my touch as if I’d burned him. “Don’t,” he snarled. “Yo

A week later, Caine informed me we were going out. “There is a club I belong to,” he said, as I stood naked in the closet, his eyes roaming over my body. “A private club. You will accompany me.”He laid out my “uniform” for the evening. It was a simple, black silk sheath dress. It was elegant, but it was also completely backless, plunging to the top of my ass, and it had two high slits up the sides that ran almost to my hips. It was designed to be worn without underwear. The only other item was the leather collar from our first night, now a permanent fixture around my neck.As we rode in the back of his car, my nerves were a tangled mess. “What kind of club is it?” I asked.“It’s a place where people like me go to enjoy their possessions,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “You will be on display, Elara. You will be obedient. You will not speak unless spoken to. You will be a perfect reflection of my ownership. Do you understand?”“Yes, sir,” I whispered, a fresh wave of arousal mixing