Weekend Submissive 2

excessica publishing

Heat Rating: Scorching
Word Count: 14,900
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From Bestselling Erotic Romance and Erotica Author Erika Masten Part 2 of the Much Anticipated 3-Part Erotica Novelette Series

Weekend Submissive 2 An Erotica Novelette

From helpful girl next door to willing sex slave…. Brisa Martin’s brave experiment spending a single weekend as the sexual submissive for sexy police officer Wayne Fulton is teaching her that she knows nothing about the true nature of domination and submission. The hulking Dom can be tender and coaxing one moment, commanding and forceful the next, as Brisa’s first full day in Wayne’s care turns into a lesson in trust as well as lust and ends with the hard use she’s been craving.

Weekend Submissive 2 is a 14,800+ word novelette, Part 2 of the 3-Part Weekend Submissive series of domination and submission erotic shorts.

Bonus Material: Includes excerpts from The Ringmaster: Cirque de Plaisir (a domination and submission romance novel) and At His Whim: His #1 (first in the bestselling His Series) by Erika Masten.

Warning: Strong sexual content and themes of domination and submission. Intended for mature readers only. All characters depicted in this story are 18 years of age or older, and all sexual activities are of a consensual nature.

Weekend Submissive 2
0 Ratings (0.0)

Weekend Submissive 2

excessica publishing

Heat Rating: Scorching
Word Count: 14,900
0 Ratings (0.0)
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Excerpt

“It’s okay, Brisa,” he breathes with those full lips into the mussed waves of my sun-streaked brown hair, just a shade lighter than his. I can feel the curl of his soft, effortless smile against the curve of my ear, and it sends a thrill through me that threatens to tighten all those abused muscles again.

His fingertips gingerly trace their way along the supple, oiled leather straps to the metal buckle over my hip. I gasp as his fingers, working the buckle, tug the harness taut and jar the sex toys piercing my most private channels.

“Sorry. Sorry, baby,” he coos to me, and I turn my face to catch a glimpse of sincere concern in those gleaming silver-gray eyes, his teeth sunken into the plump, rosy pad of his bottom lip. The little scar above one corner of his mouth is a tiny imperfection that I want to kiss, to trace with the tip of my tongue. It only makes him more handsome.

Blinking hard, I feel like I’m looking at Wayne, at the whole room, past a soft focus lens or the haze of a lingering dream. After eighteen months of lusting after my sexy neighbor, and after spending all day yesterday at the height of arousal from his forthright confession that he knew I’d been spying on him whenever he left his bedroom blinds open, I thought I knew emotional exhaustion, sexual enervation. A night of fitful sleep at the mercy of erotic dreams and repeated climaxes has left me stunned, drained, but strangely unsatisfied. Maybe because I have yet to feel Wayne take me, f*** me, lay his body against mine and ride me.

Serving as the sexual submissive for the six-foot-four police lieutenant for a weekend is already more than I bargained for, nothing like what I expected. So much more intense, sitting in his lap and eating from his fingers, baring myself to him and hanging on his next command, starving for the feeling of his member in my aching p****. It—sex, pure hard sex—pales in comparison to the intensity and duration of the arousal he has exacted upon me in the last twelve hours, and most of those occupied by sleep.

“Can you take it?” he asked me last night, just before we fell asleep. Could I take being pushed even harder? I wonder, but I know I couldn’t take walking away from Wayne now, not until he sends me away. Will he, at the end of our weekend, at the expiration of our agreement? I shove the worry away like I push back the downy covers of his bed. This…this trial period was my idea, after all. No fretting, I tell myself. Stay with it, with the experience. Give yourself to it. That was what he said to me last night.

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