VELVET HEAT100 FORBIDDEN FANTASIES

Trigger Warnings: FemDom, Male Sub, BDSM Dynamics, Power Play, Voyeurism,Shibari, Humiliation..21+.

"Say it again, Elio."

Janelle Montrose stood at the bottom of the staircase, glass of water forgotten in her hand, her head cocked toward the barely cracked door at the end of the hall. The soft whimpers echoing through the silence were unmistakable. Breathless. Desperate. Erotic.

And sinful.

Her lips parted as she leaned forward, heart pounding in a slow, heated rhythm.

She heard her name again.

"Janelle..." The boy's voice was soaked in need, high and trembling. "Please... oh God..."

There was the faint creak of bedsheets. A muffled gasp. The wet sound of skin against skin. Then again...

"Miss Montrose...please, tie me up...please..."

Janelle's fingers flexed around the cold glass.

The sound pulled a low, surprised laugh from her throat, quiet but dark.

He was moaning her name. Her title. Fantasizing about her. Begging the empty air to be bound and broken by her hands.

The glass of water nearly slipped from her grasp.

She hadn't come downstairs expecting this. She'd only wanted a drink. But now...

Now she was standing frozen in silk pajamas and bare feet, eyes fixed on the trembling light spilling out from under the door of her live-in housemaid.

Elio Loverose.

The pretty little thing she'd hired six months ago.

Soft-spoken. Too pretty for his own good. Wide, shy eyes and a tendency to stammer every time she walked into the room in a low-cut blouse. He moved like a breeze, gentle and precise, with hands too delicate to scrub grime and a blush too permanent to belong in a house this sinful.

He never met her gaze when she spoke sharply. He trembled when she got close.

And now he was in there, jerking off in the dark, whimpering her name like a prayer.

Janelle's tongue slid over her lower lip.

She should've been angry. She should've thrown the door open and punished him for violating her name like that.

But instead... her thighs clenched.

She stood there another minute. Listening.

He cried out again.

"Please, Miss... please use me..."

And that was when she turned away, breathing a little heavier than before.

Janelle's bedroom was soaked in the quiet kind of decadence only the powerful could afford...plush rugs, warm lighting, and velvet throws in deep wine red.

But tonight it felt hotter than usual.

She stood by the window, sipping the water she hadn't wanted, her eyes fixed on the moon beyond the glass. Her skin burned under her silk nightgown.

And she couldn't stop hearing him.

Her name.

His voice.

That little gasp he made before finishing.

She should've walked away.

She should've let it go.

But the flush in her chest said otherwise.

She set the glass down and walked to her vanity mirror.

Slowly, deliberately, she slipped the robe off her shoulders, letting it fall.

"Begging for rope," she murmured to herself with a smirk, admiring the curve of her breasts in the mirror. "You sweet little freak."

She sat down on the edge of her bed, legs spread just slightly, and let her hand trail lower.

Eyes closed.

She imagined his hands bound in silk, strung from the rig she kept hidden in the private chamber downstairs. She imagined his flushed face, eyes wide and needy, lips parted in a moan that belonged only to her.

"Janelle," she whispered mockingly, tracing her fingers lower. "Yes, Mistress."

She imagined him trembling, dangling, whimpering with every strike of her crop. His body soft and pink, begging for permission to come.

And when her orgasm crested...sharp, breathless, intense...she came with a deep growl of satisfaction, her back arched, nails digging into the sheets.

Her laugh afterward was dark and honey-slicked.

She'd give him a taste. Just one.

Let the pretty little maid find out what he'd been asking for.

The next morning.

Elio stood in the main dining room, smoothing down his apron for the fifth time.

He looked like he'd seen a ghost.

Or dreamt one.

He kept glancing around nervously, biting his lip, eyes wide and glassy. He was trying to stay focused...fold the napkins, polish the wine glasses...but his hands trembled just slightly.

Janelle watched from the hallway, arms crossed beneath her breasts, sipping her morning espresso with a wicked glint in her eyes.

She knew exactly why he was so jittery.