This is a story about Lauren Sterling, a single mother who falls for her long-lost affair and baby daddy, Damian Grayson. It involves themes of power, submission, and eventually incest. All characters are over 18 and consenting. The themes can be taboo and shocking, intended as erotic fantasy, not real-life behavior. Damian is a toxic and powerful alpha male and Lauren's master in this story, and while his behavior here is intended to scratch certain fetish itches, this behavior would be inappropriate and unethical in real life. Don't let someone in your life be a Damian to you.
Lauren Sterling, 41, is a single mother whose daughter, Serena, is leaving for college. At 21, she had an affair with her professor, Damian Grayson, resulting in pregnancy and estrangement from her rich parents. She works as a waitress at Café De La Rue and does freelance editing to pay for Serena's college. She lives above the café in a small Victorian-style apartment in the town of Lisadelle, Illinois. She rents from her boss, café-owner Clara Henshaw. Dating her boyfriend Travis for three years, she's unsatisfied but fears loneliness. Lauren is a six-foot-tall goddess with dusty pale skin and 32H breasts that are even now only just beginning to sag. Her luscious curves scream "breed me." Her dark, striking features include perfect red lips, powerful blue eyes, and long black eyelashes, with a hint of masculinity that intimidates weak men.
Serena Grayson, 20, is Lauren's daughter by Damian, who abandoned them.
Ambitious and bookish, she's moving to Illinois State University for college. Recently sexually active with her first boyfriend, Dave, she's developed quite the appetite for his 6-inch cock. Serena is more petite and bubbly than her mother, at five foot four, with perky C-cup breasts and pointy nipples she often shows off bra-less. She has long light brown, almost blonde hair with rough messy bangs, long legs, and a charming devilish smile.
Professor Damian Grayson, 53, is Lauren's former lover and Serena's father. After the scandal ended his teaching career, he became a ruthless corporate lawyer. Now wealthy and powerful, he's dominant and seeks a submissive wife. He views women as sluts to be used and abused. Damian is six foot four, with broad powerful shoulders, arms, and a deep commanding voice. Despite his age, he's in incredible shape, with a personal trainer, nutritionist, chefs, and a gym. His beautiful big white cock is ten inches long and seven inches in girth, with a thick uncut head, and he's an expert lover.
Chapter 3
The clock on Lauren Sterling's phone blinked 10:47 p.m. as the elevator hummed its smooth ascent to the penthouse of the Grand Lisadelle, a monolith of glass and steel piercing the city's night sky. Just this morning, she'd been on her knees in the cramped back office of Café De La Rue, her face pressed against her boss Clara's sweet pussy, the same mix of humiliation and arousal that had been running around in her when she had caved and called to set up a proper date with Damian. Now, here she was, having just stepped out of a glossy black Mercedes after their date at Le Château, Lisadelle's most exclusive restaurant. The meal had been an extravagant blur--oysters glistening with brine, a filet mignon so tender it dissolved on her tongue, and a bottle of Dom Pérignon that Damian had ordered with a casual flick of his wrist, its $500 price tag no big deal to him. She'd agreed to this night, to him, and the gravity of that choice settled deep in her stomach as the elevator doors slid open with a soft chime.
Damian's apartment unfurled before her; he was clearly even more wealthy than she had realized. Black marble floors stretched endlessly, polished to a mirror sheen that reflected the shimmering cascade of a crystal chandelier overhead. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the city's skyline, a sprawling tapestry of lights that glittered, flickers of red and gold twinkling below. A sprawling leather sectional dominated the room, its dark hide swallowing the ambient glow, while a sleek bar gleamed in the corner, stocked with bottles that probably cost more individually than a month's rent at her apartment. The air was thick with his scent--woodsy cologne, sharp and intoxicating, laced with arrogance. He'd ditched his suit jacket in the car, leaving him in a tailored black shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal corded forearms, his tie loosened around his thick neck. At fifty-three, Damian Grayson was a bastard with no respect for time, six foot four, broad-shouldered, his gray-flecked hair sharpening the predatory cut of his jaw. He shut the door behind them with a deliberate click that echoed in the cavernous space.
"Drink?" he asked, already striding to the bar, pouring two glasses of something dark and rich--bourbon, she guessed, from the amber glow and the faint oak on the air.
Lauren kicked off her heels, the cool marble kissing her bare feet as she padded forward, her tight red dress clinging to her curves like it had been painted on. "Make it quick," she said, her voice steady despite the flutter in her chest. The past three days had been a tightrope walk--Clara's smug demands for "knock-offs" after every shift, her crude nickname for having Lauren crawl under her desk and eat her out. It was a twisted mercy that she genuinely loved the taste of pussy. Damian handed her the glass, his eyes lingering on her lips as she took a sip, the liquor burning a slow path down her throat.
"You look good," he said, voice low and deliberate, stepping closer. "Better than good."
She smirked, setting the glass on the bar with a faint clink, the sound sharp in the quiet. "I know." But her bravado faltered as he closed the gap, his hand cupping her jaw, thumb brushing her painted lips. The date had thrown her--he'd been gentlemanly, charming, a stark contrast to the brutal man she'd known in college. He'd held her hand across the candlelit table, asked about her life with a softness that felt rehearsed yet real, listened as if her words mattered. Now, alone in his penthouse, the air crackled with a shift, the mask slipping to reveal the hunter beneath.
"I've waited twenty years for this," he murmured, voice rough with something softer than she'd expected--longing, maybe, or regret. Before she could fire back, he kissed her, slow and deep, romantic in a way that knocked her off balance. His lips moved with purpose, tasting of whiskey and want, and she melted into it, hands fisting his shirt as her resolve frayed. He growled softly, a low rumble in his chest, and backed her toward the sectional until her knees buckled and she sank onto the leather, its cool surface a shock against her thighs. But he didn't follow her down.
Instead, he knelt, his big hands sliding her dress up her hips, baring her completely--no panties, a deliberate choice. Back in college, he'd taken her underwear after every fuck, a trophy of his dominance, and she'd wondered if he still kept them, a perverse reliquary of their past. Tonight, she'd skipped them, denying him that prize. "Beautiful," he said, almost reverent; his breath was hot against her inner thigh. Her pussy tingled, anticipation coiling tight, and then Damian dived in, his tongue swirling at her clit with a gentleness that stole her breath.
As Damian's tongue danced across her, Lauren's face transformed into a portrait of raw ecstasy, her features softening under the onslaught of pleasure. Her lips, still flushed from his earlier kiss, parted in a trembling gasp, each breath a soft, shuddering moan that hung in the air like a plea. Her eyes fluttered half-closed, dark lashes casting shadows over cheeks glowing with a feverish flush, a faint sheen of sweat glistening along her brow. Her head tilted back, baring the delicate curve of her throat, where a pulse throbbed wildly, a silent rhythm echoing the flicks of his tongue. Her full 32H breasts strained against the tight red dress.
His tongue was a gift--broad and long, lapping at her slick folds with a tenderness that made her gasp. He kissed her clit, slow and deliberate, lips worshipping her like she was a goddess on an altar. His hands held her thighs apart, gentle yet firm, controlling without force. He sucked softly, then flicked with precision, each touch sparking fire through her nerves. Lauren's head fell back, a moan spilling out as her fingers tangled in his hair, the grey strands coarse against her skin. This wasn't the Damian she remembered--harsh, relentless. This was intimate, almost sweet, a seduction wrapped in power. His tongue plunged deeper, tasting every inch, and she felt cherished, desired in a way she hadn't in years, not since the early days with Travis before routine dulled the edges.
"Damian," her voice cracked into a hoarse whisper, hips rocking into his mouth, chasing the heat pooling low. He moaned into her, the vibration jolting her core, and she trembled, her breasts heaving against the dress, nipples straining the fabric. She was soaked, dripping onto the leather, and he drank her down, slow and savoring, his tongue curling inside her with devastating skill. Her orgasm built, swelling like a storm, until it crashed over her, hard and unyielding. "Oh fuuuck," her cry bounced off the walls as she came, thighs clamping around his head, her body shuddering. He pushed her through it, relentless yet tender, drawing out every quake until she went limp, whimpering his name in broken gasps.
When he pulled back, his lips glistened with her, and his eyes burned with a raw hunger--not just to fuck her, but to own her, to crack her open and claim every piece. "You're mine, Lauren," he said, rising to sit beside her, his hand settling possessively on her thigh, fingers digging into her flesh. "I'm going to make you submit to me, to this. If you want that again, you'll obey me. Completely."
Her chest heaved, emotions swirling--lust, fear, a flicker of something deeper she couldn't name, maybe love, maybe dread. "Submit?" she whispered, still dazed, her voice trembling in the afterglow. "What does that mean?"
"It means you're mine," he said, voice steel, unyielding. "Only mine. Your pussy belongs to me. You don't touch yourself; no one else touches you--not that limp-dick fuck Travis, not anyone. You give me control, and I'll give you everything. Say yes, or this ends, right now, forever."
Her mind reeled. At home, she had to deal with Clara and her new relationship with her ever-demanding boss. Now Damian demanded it too, but his claim was total. She'd fought for independence, raised Serena alone, clawed her way through a life of compromises--café shifts, late-night tears, a string of men who never stayed. But her body screamed yes, a traitor to her will. If he took her fully, maybe it would drown out Clara's hold, give her one master instead of two.
