this never happened. Avoid Wayne as much as possible. Lose myself in paperwork, helping citizens understand all the convoluted laws pouring out of the capitol, being the good little public servant. When all I can think about is being with… serving this man the way I’ve seen other women please him.
“You’ve never been dominated, but it fascinates you, makes you wet. Is that it?” Wayne’s warm breath glides over my cheek and neck as his mouth inches toward my ear. In exquisite contrast, shivers run down my body like trickles of cold rain. With my eyes closed, the feeling of him towering over me intensifies. He blocks everything else out of my senses. “Do you want what you saw me doing to those other women?”
Weekend Submissive is available now at online retailers.
ALSO BY ERIKA MASTEN
SWEET RESISTANCE: THE DOM NEXT DOOR #2
AN EROTIC DOMINATION SHORT STORY
Rina’s fantasies about her next door neighbor, personal trainer Sam Kettler, have driven her past the point of exasperation. All she can think about is Sam using his perfect body to hold her down and take her while she struggles and vents months of sexual frustration. When Rina overhears Sam talking about BDSM and force play, the fulfillment of her fantasy is too close to resist.
AN EXCERPT FROM ERIKA MASTEN’S
SWEET RESISTANCE: THE DOM NEXT DOOR #2
I curse the well-known fact that Sam makes the best cocktails in Los Angeles, having been a bartender before picking up enough clients to earn his living as a personal trainer. Drink requests from his guests draw him away from me and keep him busy a good part of the night. Without being asked, and despite feeling a bit presumptuous, I appoint myself a sort of co-hostess. Keeping drinks filled with fresh ice, cutting more cheese and fruit for the snack table, and asking after everyone’s needs give me the distraction I need to control the excited nausea churning in my belly and the anxious worries bleeding into the outer edges of my thoughts.
It’s after one in the morning before the last stranglers start wandering toward the door. As Sam wishes them off, I’m stacking glasses in the dishwasher, with the overflow arranged neatly on the counter for the next load.
“Stop it,” Sam tells me when he finds me putting bottles away in the cupboards, catching my hand and nodding toward my half-full drink before tugging me into the living room. “You’re not the maid. Relax and finish your drink.”
My thoughts have never left our encounter in the kitchen at the beginning of the evening, but I’ve nearly exhausted my bravery. Sitting on a sleek beige loveseat while he drops wearily onto the matching sofa across from me, I take a deep draught of the sugary cocktail and sigh out a giggle a little more freely than I should. If he’s about to break my heart by telling me his flirtations were innocent fun and his interest in me is purely friendly, I want to be able to claim I was tipsy earlier in the kitchen—still am, in fact. Yes, that’s what I’ll say.
Sam shakes his head at me, a slow smile spreading along his lips like honey, gleaming and lickable. “You’ve had exactly one and a half drinks all night, Rina.” His focus grows harder, more serious, tightening in on my face. “I’ve been keeping track.”
Embarrassment flows through me like ice water down my spine. Sour over being called on my little ploy and stripped of its defense, however small, I defiantly knock back the rest of the drink. “Why would you do that?” I ask as the alcohol warms my throat and chest. Too bad there really wasn’t enough of it to fog my head now that I’m getting scared.
“Because if you really were even a little tipsy, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.” Sam leans forward, elbows resting on his knees. “You started something in the kitchen, but we’re only going to continue it if you’re absolutely sober. Understood?”
I’m not used to the stern
“You’ve never been dominated, but it fascinates you, makes you wet. Is that it?” Wayne’s warm breath glides over my cheek and neck as his mouth inches toward my ear. In exquisite contrast, shivers run down my body like trickles of cold rain. With my eyes closed, the feeling of him towering over me intensifies. He blocks everything else out of my senses. “Do you want what you saw me doing to those other women?”
Weekend Submissive is available now at online retailers.
ALSO BY ERIKA MASTEN
SWEET RESISTANCE: THE DOM NEXT DOOR #2
AN EROTIC DOMINATION SHORT STORY
Rina’s fantasies about her next door neighbor, personal trainer Sam Kettler, have driven her past the point of exasperation. All she can think about is Sam using his perfect body to hold her down and take her while she struggles and vents months of sexual frustration. When Rina overhears Sam talking about BDSM and force play, the fulfillment of her fantasy is too close to resist.
AN EXCERPT FROM ERIKA MASTEN’S
SWEET RESISTANCE: THE DOM NEXT DOOR #2
I curse the well-known fact that Sam makes the best cocktails in Los Angeles, having been a bartender before picking up enough clients to earn his living as a personal trainer. Drink requests from his guests draw him away from me and keep him busy a good part of the night. Without being asked, and despite feeling a bit presumptuous, I appoint myself a sort of co-hostess. Keeping drinks filled with fresh ice, cutting more cheese and fruit for the snack table, and asking after everyone’s needs give me the distraction I need to control the excited nausea churning in my belly and the anxious worries bleeding into the outer edges of my thoughts.
It’s after one in the morning before the last stranglers start wandering toward the door. As Sam wishes them off, I’m stacking glasses in the dishwasher, with the overflow arranged neatly on the counter for the next load.
“Stop it,” Sam tells me when he finds me putting bottles away in the cupboards, catching my hand and nodding toward my half-full drink before tugging me into the living room. “You’re not the maid. Relax and finish your drink.”
My thoughts have never left our encounter in the kitchen at the beginning of the evening, but I’ve nearly exhausted my bravery. Sitting on a sleek beige loveseat while he drops wearily onto the matching sofa across from me, I take a deep draught of the sugary cocktail and sigh out a giggle a little more freely than I should. If he’s about to break my heart by telling me his flirtations were innocent fun and his interest in me is purely friendly, I want to be able to claim I was tipsy earlier in the kitchen—still am, in fact. Yes, that’s what I’ll say.
Sam shakes his head at me, a slow smile spreading along his lips like honey, gleaming and lickable. “You’ve had exactly one and a half drinks all night, Rina.” His focus grows harder, more serious, tightening in on my face. “I’ve been keeping track.”
Embarrassment flows through me like ice water down my spine. Sour over being called on my little ploy and stripped of its defense, however small, I defiantly knock back the rest of the drink. “Why would you do that?” I ask as the alcohol warms my throat and chest. Too bad there really wasn’t enough of it to fog my head now that I’m getting scared.
“Because if you really were even a little tipsy, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.” Sam leans forward, elbows resting on his knees. “You started something in the kitchen, but we’re only going to continue it if you’re absolutely sober. Understood?”
I’m not used to the stern
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