A Devil’s Handmaidens MC Novel

Wolf Creek Chapter Book 1

by Nia Farrell

Release Date 9 March 2023

Length 41,588 words

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Rumer Presley McKee

Seven years ago, I came to Illinois to claim an inheritance and discover my roots, but I found Blue, too—only I knew from the start I couldn’t keep him. He was a means to an end, and that was all. Stealing from him was my ticket to joining the Devil’s Handmaidens MC, which quickly became my family while I waited for my father’s estate to get settled. Now that it is, I’m ready to move on with my life.

Blue Boy aka Sean Callahan

I’ve never met a more perfect partner than Rumer, a beautiful woman who was open to exploring and unashamed of her sexuality. Warning her that all the Avenging Angels MC men were Dominants didn’t faze her. We had one magical weekend together before she disappeared, stealing away like a thief in the night.

I know now why she accepted my sister’s challenge. I’ve nearly forgiven her for delivering a family heirloom to get into Scarlett’s club. When fate brings us together again, the flames burn brighter than ever. The chemistry between us hasn’t changed, but Rumer’s rich now. Way out of my league.

Everyone wants a piece of her. I just want her, and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her.

This second-chance romance contains adult situations, kidnapping, consensual kink, advanced BDSM, and adult roleplay. Although the first half of their story appears in Skin (Avenging Angels MC Book 7), Nobody’s Baby can be read as a standalone. Written for Ages 18+.

Excerpt 1 (PG13):

“Why are y’all here?” she demanded to know, her Southern accent as thick as ever.  “Shouldn’t Simon Blackheart be at your door with candy and a cutlass?”

He supposed he should be flattered she remembered his annual tradition, dressing in his steampunk airship pirate attire to greet the neighborhood trick-or-treaters.

“That’s tomorrow,” he told her.  “Halloween is on Sunday this year.”

The city ordinance allowed trick-or-treating on Saturday—unless Halloween fell on Sunday, October thirty-first.  This year was the exception to the rule.

The craziest idea popped into his head, taking hold and refusing to let go.

“You once promised you’d do what you could to make things right.  To start, I want you to find a wenchy-looking steampunk costume and spend tomorrow night with me handing out candy to the kids.”

She narrowed her eyes, suspicion swirling in their depths.  “Let me get this straight.  Y’all want me to dress like a steampunk wench for Halloween?”

“And spend the night with me,” he repeated.

“Handing out candy to the kids.  What happens when the candy’s gone, the porch light is off, and trick-or-treating is over?” she asked.

“That’s up to you,” he said softly.  “I’m a Dominant.  Nothing happens without consent.  Even Simon Blackheart does roleplay—not real—forced compliance.  But if you want to be carried off to a dungeon and ravaged, being in costume will help set the mood for everything that follows.  So, tell me, Ms. McKee, will you be my wench for Halloween and spend the night with me?”

She thought about it, gaze shifting while she weighed her choices.  “If I come, it will be in costume.  If I spend the night…,” she stressed the first word, making it sound doubtful.  “If I choose to stay, I will sleep alone in the guest room, and I want those Japanese scrambled eggs for breakfast.”

The last time she’d come, she’d put her things in a spare room and spent three nights in his bed.  The first morning she was there, he’d fixed her scrambled eggs with shiitake mushrooms, small tomatoes, and fresh spinach.  Note to self: get groceries tonight.  The Italian-owned supermarket would be closed, but the twenty-four-hour supercenter should have everything he needed.

“Eggs,” he repeated in English and Japanese.  Most people couldn’t tell by looking that his great-grandmother was born in Kyoto.

Rumer dipped her chin.  “I’ll hand out candy but don’t expect anything more.”

“I’ll expect nothing less,” he said, “even if I’m hoping for more.  Remember, true power lies in the submissive’s hands.  Sex or no sex, kink or no kink—it will be your choice.  From vanilla to fifty shades of filthy, we’ll do whatever works for you.”

Seven years ago, he’d been delighted when she was curious about the lifestyle and had agreed to a play session in his private dungeon.  They’d started with roleplay spanking, followed by shibari on a sex swing, and ended with bondage in bed.

It was some of the best sex he’d ever had.  With no prior BDSM experience, she’d certainly never done anything like it.

When she searched his face again, her brown eyes were alight with interest.  Her lips grudgingly tipped into a smile.  “Y’all are still aiming to be the best fake boyfriend ever.”

The weekend they’d spent together, that was almost her mantra.  Best fake boyfriend ever.  She’d named him that time and again.

By Monday, he’d wished it were true.

Come Tuesday morning, she was gone.

Blue shook his head.  “Not this time.  No play except roleplay.  No deception.  No hiding the truth.  From this point on, whatever happens is the real deal.  Lie to me again, and you’ll lose any chance of us being friends, do you understand?”

Excerpt 2 (NSFW):

Blue had warned that things would start when she left the bathroom, and her inner wench was more than ready for some airship pirate roleplay.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed the door open and stepped into the hallway. Before she could blink, a huge burlap sack dropped over her head, and what felt like a leather belt banded her chest, pinning her arms against her side. She squealed with Simon Blackheart hoisted her over his muscled shoulder and headed for the stairs.

He smacked her ass when she dared to wiggle and growled for her to stay still. “No noise, if you know what’s good for you,” he warned in his gravelly pirate voice. “I’d have to cut out that tongue when I’ve other used for it.”

Rumor mock-whimpered, enjoying the kidnapping fantasy too much to ruin it.

He carried her down two flights of stairs, boot heel strikes marking his steps as he crossed to the concrete basement floor. Opening the dungeon door, he walked around a bit to disorient her. He paused and a second after he moved his arm, she heard the soft hum of an engine. Opening another door, he set her down to stand on a metal floor.

Rumer shivered, her skin dimpling with erotic goosebumps, remembering the antique steam elevator cage with its sex swing. But when he loosened her arms and pulled off the sack, she found herself in a steampunk airship captain’s cabin.

The walls and door were riveted metal, with a single metal support post and overhead beams studded with rings for bondage and suspension. The hammock on one side was the right height for a sex swing, and the sea chest was likely full of ropes and vintage sex toys. The porthole above captain’s bunk revealed a starry sky above a moonlit sea, the sparse clouds moving, making it seem like they were in motion.

Rumer was impressed. The engine noise and digital display added to the atmosphere, maintaining the illusion for their roles of a kidnapped wench and an airship pirate. There was nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. Any attempt to escape would be suicidal.

She was completely at his mercy.

“Please,” she whispered, her voice tremulous.

Grinning evilly, Simon Blackheart stripped her with his eyes, then his hands, unwrapping her like a package delivered solely for his pleasure. Thankfully, he took his time and was careful with her clothes, tossing each piece on a pile near the door until the only thing left was her ribbon choker.

Grasping the key at Rumer’s throat, he pulled her against him, the wool of his pants and coat coarse against her skin.

“That’s better,” he hummed. Sounding pleased, he swept her with his smoldering gaze and Rumer quivered, keenly aware of the latent sexual promise in his eyes.

“Listen up, if you know what’s good for you,” he rumbled. “Make no mistake. Aboard this ship, I’m the only thing standing between you and a long fall straight into Davy’s locker. After my crew is finished with you, that is. So, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll give me whatever I want however I want it. Please me, and you’ll live to see another day. Bob your head if you understand.”

Lowering her gaze to his throat tattoo, Rumer nodded.

“Good.” Dropping his free hand to his fly, he pushed the buttons through the holes and reached inside to pull his erection free. There were no new piercings that she could see beyond the metal studs that pierced his glans and ribbed the underside of his erection. A drop of precum was pearled in his slit. “Now on your knees, wench, and bob that head again….”



(Avenging Angels MC Book 7)

by Nia Farrell

Release Date February18, 2023

Length 44,153 words

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Blue Boy aka Sean Callahan

When a biker from a rival club chases a beautiful woman into my arms, I gladly agree to play her fake boyfriend. By evening’s end, she’s willing to take me home and spend the night. Imagine my surprise when she’s up for some kinky roleplay. This woman is a mystery and the most perfect partner I’ve ever had, submissive by nature and willing to explore.

I should have known it was too good to be true.

This book contains adult situations, consensual kink, advanced BDSM, and adult roleplay, and ends with the couple going their separate ways. Their story concludes in Nobody’s Baby (A Devil’s Handmaidens MC Novel: Wolf Creek Chapter Book 1), a second-chance romance out 9 March 2023. Written for Ages 18+.

Excerpt 1:

“We need to talk first. See what you like. What you’re interested in, what’s a hard limit, and what you’re open to trying. Let’s sit down and we can discuss it.”

Blue slid a hand onto the small of her back and guided her to the far end of the room, settling her in one chair while he took the other.  “Vanilla is always an option,” he began.

“Or fifty shades of filthy,” she purred, her dark eyes gleaming with anticipation.

She was already aroused, and Blue hadn’t touched her yet.  Rumer Presley McKee promised to be a very responsive partner, but where they’d just met, he didn’t know how far she’d agree to go.  Most women weren’t comfortable with bondage until they’d known a Dominant long enough to trust him implicitly.

“I have sex toys, including clit and nipple clamps, vibrators, dildos, anal plugs, anal beads, blindfolds, ball gags.  Breakaway handcuffs if you want the experience of being bound with the ability to free yourself at any time.  Where this is our first session, I’d suggest waiting on rope, duct tape, stainless cuffs, and hogties.”

So far, so good. Rumer seemed okay with everything he’d been saying.

“I have a whole wall devoted to impact play,” he continued.  “Floggers, tawses, canes, whips.  And there’s always sensory play.  Feathers, vampire gloves, Wartenberg wheels, ice, fire, electric sex wands, needles, surgical staples for lacing ribbon corsets, fisting your hair—the list goes on.  There’s a lot to consider,” he said softly.  “I should have asked if you have any experience with BDSM before throwing it all out there.  Have you ever done kink?”

She caught her lower lip between her teeth.  “Do spankings count?”

“They do,” he assured her, happy to see that the memory wasn’t distressing.  “Do you want to tell me about it?  I don’t need to know names, just context.  What brought it on and how it was done.  More importantly, how you felt during and after discipline.”

“Well,” she began, “it was my junior year of college, and the professor had handed out assignments.  Mine was so abstract I couldn’t wrap my head around what he wanted.  Instead of asking for clarification, I gave it my best shot and turned in my work.  He called me into his office after class.”

A junior in college would have made her twenty-one or pushing it.  A legal adult and far from a minor if a predatory professor wanted to minimize risk.

Rumer shifted in her seat.  Pressing her legs together, she rubbed her palms on her denim-clad thighs.  “He took me to task.  Scolded me for not coming to him when I was having problems.  Communication is key, he stressed.  Then he started talking about how back in the old days, teachers would discipline students with a birch rod or a paddle or their hand on a bare bottom, and he asked if I’d ever been spanked.  I’d noticed his voice changed…, grew rougher and deeper when he was talking about it, but learning I’d never been spanked got him excited.  Like, really excited,” she said meaningfully.  “One thing led to another, and pretty soon, I was bent over his desk getting paddled.”

“And then what?” Blue asked, struggling to control his anger.  Her professor had targeted her.  Had inappropriately touched her in his office, on campus where rules of misconduct were supposed to protect her.  The misuse of his authority was unethical if not criminal.

“He scolded me again for not talking to him and sent me on my way.”

What?  Had he heard her right?  Her professor had spanked her.  Just spanked her.  Nothing else had happened… unless he’d called her in again, the bastard.

“Without having sex?” he asked.

“Without having sex—or at least with me.  Come to think of it, the boy waiting to see him was sitting funny the next day in class.  Gay or bi, I could never tell with my professor, but he definitely had a spanking fetish.”

“Did he ever call you in again, or was it an isolated incident?”

“That was it,” she told him.  “The next class, it was like it never happened.  He was the serious teacher I knew, not the kinky professor I’d seen.”

He studied her face, trying to discern if she was disappointed or grateful, but her schooled features weren’t giving anything away.

“And how did you feel about it?” he wondered.  “While he was doing it and after it was over?”

“I was shocked.  Intrigued.  Aroused.  By the time he got done, I was hoping he’d pull down my panties and take me on his desk, but that didn’t happen.  I went back to my student apartment, got my vibrator, and gave myself a massive O.  And I got an A on my assignment after all that.  I filed being spanked like a naughty schoolgirl under life experience and moved on.”

Excerpt (NSWF):

“Very clever, Miss McKee,” he began, shifting to the accented speech pattern he used as Sirius Blackheart, his airship pirate persona when he did steampunk cosplay. “But we must address two earlier incidents where you took liberties with my person without asking for or receiving permission. Grabbing my posterior whilst dancing. Fondling my front when I was giving you a tour of the property. You have been lewd and disrespectful, young lady, and it’s glaringly apparent that a lesson in decorum must be administered and proper behavior reinforced. You will approach my desk, drop your knickers to your knees, and bend yourself over it to await your punishment. Twenty-two strokes to begin with, one for every year of wisdom you should have gained but failed to demonstrate.”

It was odd how Sirius had slipped out before he could stop him. He wasn’t sure how Rumer would react to his use of antiquated language, but given the setting they were in, she seemed fine with it.

Rumer rose gracefully and approached his desk with trepidation. Halting when she reached its front, she unfastened her jeans, hooked her fingers in her waistbands, and pulled everything down to her knees, baring her perfectly toned alabaster ass. No tanning booth for this Southern miss. Her skin was almost as fair as magnolia blossoms.

And not a tattoo to be seen. A virgin canvas.

He wondered if her ass was virgin, too.

If so, he hoped she’d be willing to lose her anal virginity. Get her to that point, and he’d see how far she was willing to go. Mouth, pussy, ass—he’d love to claim them all.

If she wasn’t sure about anal or changed her mind, one word would stop things, whatever he was doing. His blue balls would complain, but nothing more would happen without her clear consent.

Bending over his desk, she rested her forearms on his custom steampunk-crafted leather blotter. Her position displayed that pert, spankable ass to perfection.

He crossed the floor, boot heels tapping on the hardwood floor until he hit the edge of the rug. Approaching her from behind, he made certain she heard each measured step, noting the dimpled skin of her arms and the shiver that racked her frame. Some of her waist-length curls shifted, sliding off her shoulders to pool on his blotter.

Lifting his hand, he ran the backs of his knuckles down her spine to where her tank top ended and her glorious skin began. Twisting his wrist, he spread his fingers and fondled her buttocks, admiring the tone, the tempting shape. Giving one cheek a squeeze, he drew back his hand and spanked it hard enough to make her squeak.

“That’s one,” he intoned, still in Sirius Blackheart mode. “I will not make you count this time. I want you to consider your actions and repent of your misdeeds whilst I see that you are properly punished.”

Pulling back his hand, he spanked the other cheek, leaving a matched set of reddened prints on her fair skin. “Two,” he counted. “Three….”

Remembering what she’d said about being stronger than she looked, he didn’t pull punches, building his strokes until she was taking everything a painslut like Star could handle. “Twenty-two,” he pronounced, shoving his hand in her crotch to feel her sodden folds. “You’re soaking wet,” he rumbled. “And I’m hard as oak for you. I should warn you, I’m pierced down there, a magic cross through my glans and a Jacob’s ladder underneath. Are you going to be a good girl and take my cock? Words,” he demanded. “Say yes, Sir, and I will nail this ass to my desk tonight and pound your cunny into tomorrow.”