Master of Submission (Empress of Submission Part 3‪)‬

Aurelia finds herself drawn into a world of pain, pleasure, and intrigue as she settles into life in the Praetor's palace. Her fellow bed slaves are eager and willing teach her the ways of love and desire, and show her how to please the Praetor.

Each day brings new delicacies and luxuries and the wounds from the nights before seem to heal faster. However, the Praetor's appetite for Aurelia only continues to grow, he finds new ways to defile her body and bind pleasure with pain.

Before long Aurelia begins to wonder if she will be able to withstand his sadistic needs. Concern for her own safety is thrown away as she is consumed by the desire to please her master.

The Master of Submission is a thrilling story of sexual inhibition and domination. This erotic romance pushes the limits of pleasure and pain, with scenes of explicit sex and BDSM, dominant males and willing submissive females. Join Aurelia as she ventures in the Praetors blissfully dark world in Part 3 of Empress of Submission.

Read on for a small taste of what's inside:

In the early evening, the clattering sound of heavy boots began to ring from the corridor. The women exchanged glances, and they knew instantly that that Praetor was on his way. A hush fell over their chamber as they arranged themselves around the room in an orderly way. The Praetor was fond of order, Aurelia had found. It gave him more to disrupt.

The door to the bed slaves’ chamber flew open, and the Praetor burst into the room. Aurelia felt the bottom drop out of her stomach. He was absolutely livid; a thick vein stood out in his forehead, making his flushed red face look absolutely wicked. His chest was heaving as though he’d just run a marathon, and his hands were balled into tight fists.

Aurelia was horrified to see scratch marks running up and down his thick, muscled arms. She discerned in a moment that he must have been fighting with his cold, shrewd wife. It was said that she was a stony woman, incapable of love or warmth. Apparently, though, she was not incapable of rage. Aurelia’s heart broke for her Praetor. She simply wanted him to be happy, and fulfilled, and loved.

He cast his glance around the room scornfully, raking his eyes across the slaves’ stunned faces. His gaze landed finally on Aurelia, and a demonic smile crept across his face. He slammed the iron door behind him and stalked across the room to her. Before she could open her mouth to ask him what was wrong, the Praetor had wrapped his fingers around her throat.

Aurelia’s vision swam as he frightened his fingers, and she thought for one terrified moment that he was going to kill her. But he only tossed her away onto a pile of cushions. She caught herself painfully, crunching a wrist in the process. If the Praetor noticed her pained cry, he paid it no mind. Instead, he held out a huge hand.

“Katerina,” he said icily, “Get me my whip.”

The raven haired beauty scampered across the chamber to do his bidding. She lifted an evil-looking tool from the wall, and Aurelia cowered at the sight of it. The whip was a mighty weapon, with a thick leather-bound handle and long, snaking tendrils made of gods only knew what. In the past, Aurelia had seen the Praetor use a whip with leather coiling from its head, but this one looks more ferocious, even deadly.

Katerina placed the whip in the Praetor’s outstretched hand and shot Aurelia a sorrowful look. That was when Aurelia grew truly afraid. She was paralyzed on the floor—too afraid to move a muscle. The Praetor looked down at her with something like disgust boiling behind his eyes. It tore Aurelia’s heart in two to see such disdain for her in him. She only wanted him to love her with all his heart, the way she did him. She knew that she’d do anything to win his favor. Anything at all.

“Strip,” he commanded.