BDSM Erotica
Date Published: August 7, 2026
Tonight, Marley will beg for every forbidden thing she’s too proud
to ask for.
Marley -- I built the model. Denton stole the credit, sabotaged my numbers,
and tried to bury me in front of the client. Then Lucan walks in. Three nights
ago, he was the Dom who bound my wrists, stripped away my control, and made me
scream inside Sanctum Black. Today, he’s the client who can save my
career -- or destroy it. He demands I lead the account. Demands a direct line
to me. And when he orders me back to his private room, kneeling and waiting, I
know exactly what he wants. Worse, I know exactly how badly I want to give it
to him.
Lucan -- Marley thinks she can hide behind sharp suits, sharper words, and
professional boundaries. She’s wrong. I saw what she needed the first
night I had her under my hands. I saw the hunger, the surrender, the beautiful
way she fought herself before giving in. Her boss tried to take what belonged
to her. I handled that. Now I’ll handle Marley. I won’t break her.
I’ll bind her, test her, praise her, punish her, and make her beg.
She’s mine. By the time I’m done, she’ll say it. More?
She’ll believe it.
EXCERPT
Marley
I sat at my desk, staring at my finished project. Three weeks of work stacked
into a clean PowerPoint. The numbers aligned. The previous projections had
been spot on, and I had worked to complete this project and move to the next
phase for over two years. Now waves had started in upper management. The
completed work would not be presented by me.
My boss, Denton, had made that clear in his email yesterday. He would lead. I
would attend as backup for any questions he couldn’t answer. The email
didn’t mention why he’d pulled the rug out from under me, but I
had a good idea.
My phone buzzed. A text from the front: Denton wanting me in the conference
room now. I’d already sent him my presentation for review so I
couldn’t imagine why he’d want me early. Even with him doing the
bulk of the meeting, I still had prep work to finish.
With a sigh, I shut my laptop and slipped it into my briefcase before leaving
my tiny cubicle. The open-plan office stretched around me. No one looked
up… which was the first warning. The conference room sat at the far end
of the floor, all glass walls and polished table. I could see two junior
associates already seated inside, their postures attentive, laptops open.
Denton stood at the head of the table with the room’s projection screen
pulled down. The navy suit he wore looked expensive and tailored, his tie
perfectly straight.
I stepped inside and the door closed behind me with a soft click. Denton did
not look up from his phone. “Marley. Thank you for joining us.” He
set his phone down and reached for the laptop in front of him.
“I’ve made a few adjustments to the presentation.”
He opened the file to the first slide. My name in the bottom corner was now
gone, replaced by his name in a large, bold font.
He glanced up at me. “Optics. I’m sure you understand.” His
curt explanation cut me off before I fully processed he’d actually taken
credit for my work. His voice stayed level. I opened my mouth to object but
heard how petty I’d sound in front of my colleagues. “The client
expects senior leadership on engagements of this size. It’s about
inserting confidence into the relationship between our companies.”
Neither of the other two men in the room spoke up. Instead, they both kept
their eyes on their own screens.
“This is an editorial decision, not a reflection on your work.”
Denton smiled, though there was nothing remotely friendly or pleasant about
the expression on his face. “You’ll be in the room. You’ll
have the opportunity to contribute during Q&A.”
My heart pounded in alarm. He was edging me out. Denton had every intention of
taking credit for the work we’d done on the first phase. He knew enough
about the next steps to make everything work, but I doubted he could explain
the finer points, or keep the project on track to meet the projections for
phase two which would mean a significant delay in phase three. Assuming the
assigned team made it to phase three.
“I understand the optics,” I said. My voice came out clipped,
precise. Anything louder would give him what he wanted. “But the
analysis is mine. The client should know who built it in case there are
adjustments leading into phase two.”
“Of course.” Denton nodded as if I had said something helpful.
Then he pulled up a slide with a page I had never seen. A figure chart with
numbers that did not match any data set I’d worked with.
“I did want to raise one concern.” He turned the slide toward the
juniors. “This figure. The correlation coefficient here is significantly
off from the rest of the model. I caught it during my review.”
The room went very quiet. I stared at the slide. The numbers were wrong. They
weren’t numbers I had generated and they definitely didn’t belong
in my analysis. Nor had I put them there. Suddenly, everything made sense. The
way he’d undercut me in the first meeting when he’d replaced my
topic without notice. The way he’d taken credit for my work. He wanted
point on this project and the prestige that went with it.
“This is exactly the kind of oversight that concerns me,” Denton
continued. His tone had shifted to something gentler, almost paternal.
“Attention to detail matters at this level. The client will have
questions. We need to be prepared with answers.”
My whole body broke out into a sweat, the visceral reaction to the way
I’d just been undercut. My jaw tightened. The furrow between my brows
deepened, a physical response I could not control.
“That slide isn’t mine,” I said. The words came out steady.
Barely.
Denton’s expression did not change. “The file was submitted to me
under your name.”
“I didn’t build that chart. The numbers are wrong.”
“Then we’ll correct it.” He set the slide down. “The
important thing is that we caught it before the client saw it. That’s
what a senior review process is for.” Could he sound more patronizing?
Through the glass walls, I could see heads turning toward the conference room.
Not staring directly. The careful, sidelong attention of people who understood
exactly what was happening without needing to hear the words. The shape of a
public correction. The unmistakable geometry of a superior establishing
dominance.
About the Author
Welcome to Wanda Violet O.'s world of bedtime fantasy, where you'll find a
variety of sexy creatures ready to drink their fill. Wanda specializes in
extreme kink. Monsters, BDSM role play... she's got it all. Come take a look
for yourself!
Wanda on Facebook
Wanda on Goodreads
Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok: @changelingpress
Pre-Order Today
