The Art of Control

c3: Damian's Desire

The woman beneath him moaned, her wrists bound tight against the headboard with thick leather straps, her body slick with sweat and trembling as his hips snapped forward, each thrust harder and rougher than the last. Damian's eyes were dark with lust, but his mind was detached, barely registering the pleas and cries of the girl tied up in his bed. Her voice rose, begging him for more, for release, for his attention—but Damian was already bored.

Her body writhed beneath him, her legs wrapped desperately around his waist as she clung to him, but there was no challenge in her submission, no spark to ignite his interest. She was just like the others—eager, willing, and completely at his mercy. And now, as he drove into her one final time, he felt nothing but a dull sense of detachment.

He finished with a low growl, pulling out abruptly, leaving her panting and whimpering beneath him. Without a word, he climbed off the bed, ignoring her breathless pleas for him to stay, for more of his touch. He had given her what she wanted, and now he was done.

Damian tugged his pants back on, not bothering to glance in her direction as he buttoned his shirt. She wasn't the first to find herself bound and begging for his attention, and she wouldn't be the last. His needs were dark, his desires too intense for most, but he always found someone eager to please. Still, it rarely left him satisfied.

"Damian... please," the girl whimpered again, her voice shaky with desperation. She was young, blonde, pretty enough—but utterly forgettable.

Damian didn't even bother responding. He had already moved on, his mind elsewhere, already looking for his next conquest. He felt no remorse, no guilt. They always begged, but it wasn't their begging he craved. What he needed was something deeper, something more—someone who could offer more than just submission without question. He needed someone who would resist, someone who would challenge him, someone he could truly break.

Leaving the woman tied up and panting on the bed, he grabbed his jacket from the chair and walked out. The night was still young, and there was a gallery event that would offer the perfect distraction from his restlessness. He wasn't looking for art tonight, not really. He was searching for something that might spark the fire he had long since stopped finding in his brief encounters.

The Gallery

As Damian stepped into the gallery, the soft hum of conversation and clinking glasses greeted him. The place was crowded with collectors, critics, and artists, all mingling under the soft lights that cast shadows on the sculptures and paintings around the room. He let his eyes wander, but nothing stood out—not until she did.

But before he could focus on the woman who caught his eye, a familiar voice pulled him back to the present.

"You look like you've been somewhere else, Damian." The voice belonged to his friend and frequent companion, Nathaniel Sterling, a man with as much power and influence in the city's financial sector as Damian had in business. They often attended events like this together—partly for appearances, partly for the opportunities they offered.

Damian barely glanced at him. "I was."

Nathaniel grinned and nudged him with his elbow. "So how was she, then? The one you left tied up in your bed?" He chuckled under his breath, his tone filled with the casual arrogance of a man who had seen and done it all.

Damian shrugged, pulling a cigarette from his jacket pocket and lighting it with a practiced flick. He inhaled slowly, letting the smoke curl lazily from his lips. "The same as all the others. Boring."

Nathaniel laughed again, shaking his head. "Damian Blackwood, bored with yet another woman. What a shock." He paused, glancing around the gallery before adding, "You're going to burn through all of them at this rate."