RULES OF ENGAGEMENT: A Daddy Dom Ageplay Erotic Romance

Sexy Round Woman Bottom In School Uniform Skirt

Rules of Engagement: A Daddy Dom Ageplay Erotic Romance

by Nia Farrell

Length 18,816 words.  Release Date October 1, 2017

Amazon  http://mybook.to/ROE or https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0757FKHGS

Goodreads http://bit.ly/RulesOEGR  or https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/36151097-rules-of-engagement

 

Blurb: Corporate attorney Dylan Reynolds hopes to become a first time Daddy Dom with a twenty-two-year old genius whose lack of experience intrigues him.  Holly Knox can’t deny her attraction to Dylan, but she’s never had a serious relationship, let alone been with a Dominant who’s into the BDSM lifestyle.  He’s promised to show her a world of flavors beyond vanilla, but he wants to start with a spanking.  Can this innocent embrace ageplay and be Daddy’s good girl? 

Written for Ages 18+.

 

Excerpt 1:

Holly Knox was naturally submissive but so painfully shy, a stranger might never guess that she was a genius who could be the next Bill Gates.  However fucking high she ranked in MENSA, the twenty-two-year-old entrepreneurial software designer was a wide-eyed innocent when it came to BDSM.  Then again, when he was her age—some sixteen years ago—he was still learning the ropes, as it were.

Blushing furiously, she stared at him from across the table he’d chosen, in a dimly lit corner at the far end of the hotel lounge.  He watched, fascinated, as that brilliant mind of hers processed what he’d just proposed—a night of kinky debauchery and the best sex of her life.

“I mean…you…you…you can’t be serious,” she stammered.  While a lot of men wouldn’t look beyond the no-nonsense glasses, Dylan saw everything.  Her heart-shaped face.  Delicious, pouty lips.  Satin cheeks.  Initially flushed with embarrassment, the pink had quickly edged toward the red he wanted to see on her tush after he disciplined her ass. 

Her emerald eyes were as clear as glass and lushly fringed with curling lashes that went on for miles, even without mascara.  She’d worn makeup tonight, which told him something.  She was usually scrub-faced.  With such incredible skin and that air of innocence, she’d be in her thirties before she stopped getting carded.

So young.  So innocent.  So fucking ripe for the picking.

He cocked a brow and offered half a smile.  She’d been resistant and he’d been patient, but this was going to happen, one way or another.  It was simply a matter of getting her to agree to his preferences.  He felt good about his chances; he’d made a small fortune from his powers of persuasion—although corporate law was proving far simpler than this complex young woman, who hid her femininity under frumpy clothes and her genius IQ behind conservative black-framed eyewear.

Just because she was reclusive to a point bordering on sociopathic didn’t mean she couldn’t be coaxed from her shell.  After all, he’d talked her into meeting him for a drink, and she didn’t even do alcohol.

“You can’t,” she repeated.

First mistake.  Topping from the bottom.  That’s ten.

She folded her arms across her pert little A-cup breasts and put on her game face, narrowing her brilliant green eyes and snapping her red head, tossing flames.  She was a tiny thing, barely five feet tall in ballet flats.  He’d have to be careful with that exquisite skin.  Every mark was going to show.

“We can’t,” she huffed.

Nice try.  Twenty.

“I w-won’t.”

She stumbled on the words.  Her eyes widened when she realized that it sounded like she was wavering.

Twenty-five.  Only because he was feeling generous.

He stroked the stubble on his jaw.  Three days without shaving, just for her.  He slid his gaze south, watched her nipples harden to diamond points beneath her buttoned-to-the-neck blouse, heard the catch in her breath, and caught the unmistakable scent of her arousal.  She might not imbibe the fruit of the vine, but there was no way in hell that her abstinence extended to pleasures of the flesh.

“Really?”  He parried a verbal thrust and pinned her with his gaze.   The combination of Dom eyes and Dom voice was enough to make her shut the fuck up—for the space of about three breaths.

Looking wistfully at his untouched whiskey, he imagined the smooth, smoky burn of thirty-year-old single malt sliding down his throat.  Across the table, Holly scanned the area to make certain that no one was in earshot.  “It’s…it’s demeaning,” she hissed. “Misogynistic.”

Thirty.

She was trouble.  He knew it.  But beneath that prim and proper librarian-esque façade was a passionate beauty just waiting to be awakened.  Trouble?  Hell, yes, but so worth the effort.

Although it had been a few years since he’d trained a novice submissive, the lesson plan remained, beginning with the basics.  He set his glass aside, in deference to her, as a sign of his willingness to compromise.  “A dominant must prove himself worthy of his submissive’s trust,” he told her.  “To be allowed to meet your needs is an honor for you to give and for me to earn.  Tell me, Holly.  And be honest.  Do you trust me?”

She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and shied her glance away.  “Yes.  I guess.”  Fingering the stem of her glass, she exhaled softly.  “You’ve never given me any reason not to, but that was business.  This is…”  She lifted a hand and gestured helplessly, not ready to acknowledge what he already knew.

“Pleasure,” he finished her sentence.  “Pleasure—ideally, far beyond what you’ve ever experienced or known.  Holly, you should understand, I don’t do anything halfway.  I believe that intimate acts should be…extraordinary, whether it’s a hot, hard fuck, an all-night sexual marathon, or multiple, mind-blowing orgasms—pleasures taken, pleasure given, preferably with sexual intercourse, but only if you’re ready.”

Behind those black-framed lenses, her eyes were wide.  Thoughtful.  He wondered if she knew just how sexy she was, blushing like a school girl on prom night.

“I want to know what tempts you.  Learn what you’ll let me do, to tease you, to please you.  I wonder, what can I do that feels so good, it sends you spiraling out of control and I won’t stop until I hold you, shattered, in my arms?  Eroticism, kink—they’re just different points on the compass.  Whatever path we take, it all comes down to the seduction of the senses.  Getting there…well, every nuance, every detail matters.  Whatever I choose—believe me—is for the enhancement of your pleasure and mine.  If plain and simple is all you’ll consider…I’ll be honest.  I won’t like it but I can accept it, and I’ll make certain that you’re satisfied.  But there’s a world of flavors beyond vanilla.  Nothing would please me more than to give you a taste.”

Excerpt 2 (XXX)

Robbed of breath, she curled her fingers into the carpet, struggling to not push back while her tissue stretched to accommodate a second finger.  God in heaven, that felt good, despite her ass burning like it was on fire—or maybe it felt better because of it.  She was confused.  She didn’t like pain, but she liked how Dylan made her feel.  Sexy.  Desirable.  Feminine.  People always wanted to pick her brain, but he wanted her body.  Her submission.  Wanted her in ways that no one ever had.  Tied up.  Spanked.  Spread for his pleasure.

Kinky pleasure.

Daddy’s girl.

It sounded so…so…taboo.

His fingers delved deep at the same time his palm struck her buttocks.

“Twenty-two,” she sobbed, tears coursing down her cheek and dripping with a thread of spittle onto the floor.  Embarrassed, she struggled with the part of her that questioned what she was doing.  What they were doing…it might be rash but it wasn’t reckless.  She knew that Dylan was acting responsibly, with careful deliberation and practiced response, while she submitted to him.  To his discipline.  To his experience.  To his will and his desire.

Do you trust me?

Yes.  Yes.  Yes.

He fucked her with his fingers and rubbed the points of impact, offering pleasure to balance the hurt, keeping her yellow and out of the red.  While she couldn’t say that she was enjoying it on every level, he clearly was.  His erection strained against the front of his pants, begging to be freed.

At the count of thirty, he did.

While she hovered on his lap, with her blistered bottom and dripping wet pussy, he took a moment to undo his fly.  She heard the tiny snicks of the zipper teeth releasing, the rustle of a sturdier fabric, the softer silky hiss as he reached inside and pulled out his engorged length.  She wasn’t in a position to look, of course, but it was long enough to thump against her waist—hot, heavy, meaty.  He picked up where he’d left off, fucking her with three fingers and spanking her ass for five more counts.

“Thirty-five,” she gasped, feeling his thumb grind against her clit.

“Good girl,” he crooned, rubbing her bottom, admiring his work and her body’s response.  “Now kneel between my feet, clasp your hands behind your back, and wrap those lips around my cock.  You’ve got me so hard, baby, I’m afraid this first time’s going to be quick.”

She looked a mess.  She knew it.  She had to have raccoon eyes from running mascara and a nose as red as Rudolph’s, but when she knelt before him and dared to look up, there was nothing but pure, carnal pleasure on his face.  Dylan fisted himself and pointed his erection at her lips.   She stared at it like a charmer’s snake, only it was a boa or a python bobbing and weaving in front of her mouth.  She hadn’t done a lot of research on the subject, but she remembered a survey that ranked penis size by nationality and how many men really needed magnum condoms.

Dylan Reynolds was definitely a six percenter.

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