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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WRITING ROMANCE LINES #forehead

Every Tuesday, author R. B. O’Brien picks a word and we write a line or pull a quote that incorporates the word.  Today’s prompt was forehead.  The line I chose is from a passage in Pride and Punishment – An Erotic Retelling of Jane Austen’s Beloved Classic.  

EXCERPT:

Plucking up my coat, I turn it right side out and put it on.  On the surface, it looks the same but it smells of us, the sweat of our joining, and I wonder who will notice.

I kiss her forehead and whisper, “You are welcome.”

She draws back her head, thinking far too much for one so young.  “Let me thank you…again…and again…,” I remind her.

Miss Elizabeth blushes hotly.  When she meets my gaze, hers is soft and earnest and brave.  She makes herself naked, baring her soul in a gesture more intimate than anything we just shared.  “In the name of all my family, for that generous compassion which induced you to take so much trouble, and bear so many mortifications, for the sake of discovering them.”

“If you will thank me, let it be for yourself alone,” I tell her, forbidding thoughts of her parents to intrude upon the two of us.  “That the wish of giving happiness to you might add force to the other inducements which led me on, I shall not attempt to deny.  But your family owe me nothing.  Much as I respect them, I believe I thought only of you.”

I cannot help myself.  I look at her, from head to toe and back again, remembering the feel of her moving beneath me, those full, plump lips wrapped around my cock.  Technically, she remains a virgin.  I am acutely aware that she has made no commitment to me.

“You are too generous to trifle with me,” I say.  “If your feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once.  My affections and wishes are unchanged, but one word from you will silence me on this subject forever.”

“Master,” she whispers.  A single, heartfelt word that thrills my very soul.  “My sentiments have undergone so material a change since then, as to make me receive your present assurances with gratitude—and pleasure,” she adds meaningfully, her blush deepening at the gleam in my eyes when I imagine her naked and kneeling.

God help me, I want her again.

Pageflex Persona [document: PRS0000039_00006]

 

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PRIDE AND PUNISHMENT – An Erotic Retelling of Jane Austen’s Beloved Classic by Nia Farrell and Jane Austen

Pride and Punishment print front cover.jpg

Original material © 2016 Nia Farrell

Length 91,133 words/344 6×9 pages

#FREE ON KINDLE UNLIMITED!

Amazon e-book https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01FJ612HY

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Released June 1, 2016 (e-book, print, and large print editions)

PRIDE AND PUNISHMENT is an erotic retelling of a Jane Austen classic.  Characters that you thought you knew…well, they’re ready to reveal their secret selves.  Mr. Darcy is a Dominant.  Miss Elizabeth Bennet is submissive.  Jane Bennet might be the only “handsome” woman in Meryton, but puppy-like Charles Bingley needs a Mistress.  Mr. Darcy doesn’t think Jane has what it takes and separates the couple.

His growing lust leads Mr. Darcy to confess his desire to dominate Miss Elizabeth – a proposition that she mistakes for a proposal. Already accused of less-than-gentlemanlike behavior, Darcy must find a way to win the submissive heart of a woman who abhors him.

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Excerpt  from PRIDE AND PUNISHMENT by Nia Farrell © 2016 Nia Farrell:

I find myself watching Miss Elizabeth, with her chestnut hair caught up in a style that compliments her face and figure.  Neither her countenance nor her form are perfect by modern standards of beauty; however, her throaty laugh, her graceful dancing…her enthusiasm…more than make up for her deficiencies.  For the second time in as many minutes, I find myself entranced, watching her with her partner, those striking dark eyes aglow with delight as she perfectly executes the most intricate of steps.  I may one day regret that I shall never know how she moves in bed with her ankles around my neck.  If asking her to dance would not invite speculation as to my particular tastes and give rise to unreasonable expectations, either towards Miss Bennet or any other female with a half-full dance card, I believe that I could be persuaded to lead her in a contredanse or the Boulanger.

As it is, I am expected to dance with the host’s wife and daughter.  Seeing that Mrs. Lucas is engaged, I search the crowd and find Miss Charlotte Lucas speaking with Miss Elizabeth Bennet.  Hmm.  A quandary.  I cannot ask Miss Lucas to dance without extending a second invitation to her friend.  Then again, it provides the perfect opportunity to ask Miss Bennet to dance without appearing to single her out.

Squaring my shoulders and softening my face, I approach the two women.  Miss Lucas is nearly my contemporary, far past the age when most young women marry.  Miss Elizabeth is of that age and, as such, should greet me with a welcoming smile, if not promises of pleasure, yet I sense a satirical lift to her eyebrow, and those midnight eyes of hers – so dark a blue as to be almost black – sparkle with a hint of mischief.  I do not have long to learn what she is about.

“Do you not think, Mr. Darcy, that I expressed myself uncommonly well just now, when I was teasing Colonel Forster to give us a ball at Meryton?”

When she was baiting the bull and ignored every red flag that I was throwing?  “Yes,” I say a bit tightly.  “But then most women wax eloquent on subjects dear to their hearts.”  Seizing the opportunity when Miss Lucas is momentarily distracted, I lean and whisper, for her ears only, “You were clever, Miss Bennet, but unwise.  Some men should not be teased.”

She stiffens imperceptibly and drops her gaze to her folded fan.  “Sir, you are severe on us.”

Sir.  One word to fall from those full, expressive lips, and suddenly I want more.

 Jesus God.  I must be mad.  Or desperate.  Or both.

 Fuck.            

 Her bosom heaves with a small sigh.  I swallow, my mouth gone painfully dry.  She has deliciously small breasts, barely large enough to fit my hand, no doubt sensitive, as small-breasted women tend to be.  With the layers of clothing, I would only be guessing that her nipples were hard, but the riot of gooseflesh that dimples her skin tells me that she is not unaffected.

Miss Lucas follows the line of my gaze and rushes to rescue her friend from my scrutiny.  “It is your turn to be teased, Eliza.  I am going to open the instrument, and you know what follows.”

What follows is a performance that will inspire fantasies for nights to come.  Miss Elizabeth’s soft white hands and dexterous fingers playing the pianoforte.  Her honeyed voice is like liquid gold, a rich contralto, turning the most innocent of tunes into a decadent delight.  I cannot help noticing that her white throat and swan’s neck are perfect for wrapping fingers around.  And those luscious lips of hers, which are so very, very expressive….

I imagine them parted.  Imagine her panting, sweet moans escaping, then vibrating against my length as she swallows me to the root.

Double fuck.

 By the time that she finishes her performance, I am ready to ask her to dance…until the chilling sound of her mother’s voice acts like ice water thrown on my libido.  My sanity restored, I dance instead with Miss Lucas, as daughter of our host, with Sir William’s wife, and with Charles’s two sisters.

My obligations met, I am a free man once more.

Sir William notices that I am unencumbered and offers to introduce me to Miss Mary King.  I demur, striving to keep my tone civil despite his meddling.  Just then Miss Elizabeth Bennet approaches us.

 “My dear Miss Eliza,” Sir William snares her with his hand and voice as she passes by, interrupting whatever mission that she is on.  I follow the line of her anxious gaze across the room, to where her youngest sister is laughing with Colonel Forster.  “Why are you not dancing?” our clueless host inquires.  “Mr. Darcy, you must allow me to present this young lady to you as a very desirable partner.”

I have no doubt that she would be, if I were in the habit of seducing virgins, which I am not.  That particular kink is George Wickham’s, not mine.

Damn him.

“You cannot refuse to dance, I am sure, when so much beauty is before you.”

When he seeks to give Miss Elizabeth’s hand to me, she pulls away, refusing to touch me, anxious to separate her sister from the Colonel.  That she listened to my warning pleases me greatly, and softens the effect that her words might otherwise have had.

She says with some discomposure to Sir William, “Indeed, sir, I have not the least intention of dancing.  I entreat you not to suppose that I moved this way in order to beg for a partner.”

I am ready and willing to lend my aid in handling the Forster situation.  “Might I offer you my hand?” I say meaningfully, flicking a glance toward Forster.

“No,” she says simply, her voice a bit strained and her nerves starting to fray the longer that our host detains her.

Miss Bennet does not wish to give offense, but Sir William simply will not let it go.  “You excel so much in the dance, Miss Eliza, that it is cruel to deny me the happiness of seeing you; and though this gentleman dislikes the amusement in general, he can have no objection, I am sure, to oblige us for one half-hour.”

No.  No.  That will not do.

“Mr. Darcy is all politeness.”  This, with a forced smile, just as quickly gone.  She catches her plump bottom lip between white, even teeth and worries it.

Would that I could bite it.  Would that I could watch her, those fine eyes hooded with desire, breasts heaving with each panting breath, her body stiffening as she climaxes, bathing my hand with her passionate release.

She smells like night-blooming jasmine.

I wonder how she will taste.

“He is, indeed,” our host agrees, “but, considering the inducement, my dear Eliza, we cannot wonder at his complaisance—for who would object to such a partner?”

She looks archly at him and turns away, headed for the youngest chick in the clutch of Bennet sisters.

I keep my gaze fixed upon her, curious to see how she will manage separating her sister from the Colonel.  Sighing at opportunity lost, Sir William moves on to his next potential pairing, and Caroline Bingley takes his place.

“You seem preoccupied.  By what, I wonder?”  She tips her head and looks down her nose at the potential disaster waiting to unfold on the far side of the room.  “Do not tell me.  Let me guess the subject of your reverie,” she purrs, showing her claws just a bit.

Miss Elizabeth whispers to Miss Lucas, who peels off, leaving the two Miss Bennets with the Colonel and his aide.  “You may try.”

“Come now.  I know what you must be thinking.”

That Forster is living dangerously.  That Miss Elizabeth Bennet is either incredibly reckless or extremely clever.

That I would very much like to see her naked.  On her knees.  Better yet, across my lap as I spank that arse of hers for what she dares tonight.

“Do you?  I should imagine not.”

She affects a sigh and guesses, “You are considering how insupportable it would be to pass many evenings in this manner—in such society; and indeed I am quite of your opinion.  I was never more annoyed!  The insipidity, and yet the noise—the nothingness, and yet the self-importance of all those people!  What I would give to hear your strictures on them!”

“Your conjecture is totally wrong,” I assure her.  My mind is more agreeably engaged.  “I have been meditating on the very great pleasure which a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can bestow.”  Especially streaked with tears, pleading for mercy.

Begging for more.

By now there are a number of females on the far side of the room.  Miss Bennet, it seems, has rallied her troops with the help of Miss Lucas.

Caroline notices my interest.  “Such a covey,” she remarks.  “Which plump breasted partridge among them has succeeded in capturing your attention, Mr. Darcy?”

“Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”  There.  I’ve said it.  Confessed it.  But I cannot explain it, not when she is so clearly beneath my station.  Like my peers, I am expected to marry a virginal bride of impeccable bloodlines and old money, not a solicitor’s granddaughter who shall be rendered essentially homeless the moment that her father is gone.

“Miss Elizabeth?”  Caroline is shocked, of course, and not just because Miss Bennet is less well-endowed than my usual choice in partners.  Caroline finds my genuine interest in Miss Elizabeth Bennet almost incomprehensible.  We have been conspiring to separate Charles from one Bennet, and here I am, fixated upon another.

“I am all astonishment,” she manages.  “How long has she been such a favourite? – and pray, when am I to wish you joy?”

I give her a look of silent censure.  “Sheath the claws, Caroline.  She is a moment’s distraction, nothing more.  Do not let your imagination leap from admiration to love, and from love to matrimony.  Such conjecture serves no good purpose.”

“I could say the same for your…distraction.  Now, if you were serious,” she says tartly, “I would consider the matter absolutely settled, replete with the prospect of your charming mother-in-law, who shall settle into Pemberley and forever be with you.”

Since there is no chance in hell that that will ever happen, I keep my gaze on the wealth of chestnut hair and close my ears to Caroline’s biting diatribe while she rattles on.  As soon the youngest Bennet is pulled away by her peers, Miss Elizabeth dares to look at me.  She glances at her folded fan and opens it, almost as if she would hide herself from me.  Her face, perhaps, but there is no hiding those dark eyes of hers, their spark of vitality, their vast relief, her gratitude for the warning that I gave.

Caroline embarks on a vacuous commentary on the lack of refined society in the county that I easily tune out.  I listen instead to the music, but my dancing tonight is done.  None of the females here capture my interest save one – the dark-eyed, honeyed voiced, surprisingly clever Miss Elizabeth Bennet.