Weekend Submissive 3

excessica publishing

Heat Rating: Scorching
Word Count: 16,400
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From Bestselling Erotic Romance and Erotica Author Erika Masten Part 3 of the Much Anticipated 3-Part Erotica Novelette Series

Weekend Submissive 3 An Erotica Novelette

In the final novelette in the Weekend Submissive erotica series, girl next door Brisa Martin’s experiment living as the willing sex slave for boy next door Dom Wayne Fulton draws to a close that suspends her on an emotional and sensual knife edge. The handsome, hulking Dominant alternately denies and demands her sexual climax, requiring the devoted, unwavering obedience of her body as well as her mind. The only question that remains is whether the submissive’s heart will resist or relent.

Weekend Submissive 3 is a 16,400+ word novelette, the final title in the 3-Part Weekend Submissive Series of domination and submission erotica shorts.

Bonus Material: Includes excerpts from domination erotica shorts Valentine’s Dom and His Submissive: Body Worship (first in the bestselling Body Worship 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 3
0 Ratings (0.0)

Weekend Submissive 3

excessica publishing

Heat Rating: Scorching
Word Count: 16,400
0 Ratings (0.0)
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Excerpt

Downy silver and cinnamon brown bed linens coil, sometimes tight and restricting and sometimes weak and limp as though from exhaustion, around my shaky limbs in the pre-dawn glow highlighting the outline of the simple, masculine bedroom furnishings—all dark wood and right angles. When I collapse forward from my arms down to my shoulders, my face and my flushed breasts rub against the sheets smelling so strongly of our sexual musk but also lingeringly of Wayne’s mint soap.

I can turn my head just enough to see his shadowy outline in the gloom. The impossibly muscular former Marine turned police lieutenant—my soft-spoken, flirtatious neighbor turned commanding Dom lover—is a wall of tensed, driving flesh at my back. His thick, corded thighs press flush to my own sore legs, and his full, engorged balls slap against my bare ass at the deepest point of each thrust as he works himself ruthlessly into me. As he has done over and over, all night.

“Stay with me, baby girl,” he huffs out in a low, frayed growl. For the last hour, I’ve been too spent, too sated, too helpless against the tide of sensations submerging me to speak or even moan.

With sleepy, glassy eyes, I see the first signs of fatigue finally softening the determined set of that wide granite jaw. Wayne’s massive shoulders round and drop slightly as he shudders through the tremors preceding another orgasm. His naked chest pumps hard as he breathes through the violent ripples of pleasure that would have had their way with a lesser man. His head, darkened at the crown by cropped brown hair, lolls back as he draws his full lips up along his clenched teeth and pants raggedly through the most grueling, bone-shaking, rapturous fucking of my life.

I am raw, inside and out. Not just my lightly chaffed wrists from the Dominant having tied me most of the long, hot, sweat-soaked, sex-filled night with the cotton sash from my discarded dress. Not just my reddened, sensitive, twitching thighs and buttocks where he has flogged and spanked and kneaded my bare flesh until it practically glows with the heat of my blood pulsing beneath the skin. Not just my pussy, the throbbing walls of my sex slick with my own juices and the silky wetness of his cum, my core still burning with arousal that never subsides.

I am raw down to the nerves and the bone. If I had the energy after being ridden all night, I’d be squirming and keening for more, and I don’t even know what more than this is. Or at least I’m not sure. In the bottom of my stomach, I feel it vaguely, sense it, but I refuse to focus on the suspicion that it leads back to the pronounced ache in my chest.

“Brisa. Fuck, yes, Brisa.” Wayne mutters my name several times in that voice that is rough around the edges but all melted honey on the inside, an endearment under his breath. And then again, as a curse of self-reproach when his climax finally takes him and his release begins to spill into me for…. I don’t know how many times this makes. My sex is filled with him. My body is filled with him, even my blood, down to my cells.

His long, thick fingers untangle from my hair to tighten around the back of my neck, the other hand gripping my pelvic bone, fingertips pressing in hard in the promise of the lightest of bruises. An unflinching, unbreakable hold. Possession.

I wish. Or dread. Maybe I wish that I didn’t wish….

Weekend submissive. Temporary slave. Flavor of the day. That’s what I am to Wayne Fulton and what I myself asked to be—what was it?—thirty-six hours ago. In that time, my gentle and protective neighbor, my heroic fantasy in black SWAT fatigues, has revealed himself to be a Dom beyond all my fears and expectations. So much more tender and praising. So much more commanding… and demanding. So much rougher with my body and so much more careful with my feelings.

And yet my heart is still breaking at the thought that this will be my last day as Wayne’s submissive. Next week there will be a new girl, a waifish model type maybe or a pale, edgy redhead. I’ll see him bring her home, as he’s walking her past my little modish apartment to his. I’ll watch from my patio, as I peer through the shrubbery and his open bedroom blinds, just like I have before. And I’ll hurt. This experiment was a mistake, an emotional disaster. I have to get away from Wayne Fulton before I lose myself, before I say something ridiculous.

Keep me. I’ll be your slave. I’m in love with you.

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