Replay Book 12: CAGED

 

Replay Book 12: CAGED

by Nia Farrell

Length 22,689 words. Release date June 20, 2020.

Free with Kindle Unlimited

Amazon buy link      Amazon US     BookBub reviews     Goodreads TBR 

 

Kitten gets a Daddy Dom for Father’s Day!

The pandemic has struck and play weekends are canceled at Replay BDSM theme resort after one of the owner’s wife’s patients tests positive. The few patrons still there agree to self-quarantine with a two-week all-inclusive stay. While Sir Piers remains home with his family, it’s left to his executive assistant Kitten and his administrative assistant Samael to see that things run smoothly at the resort.

One of their guests is triple-platinum recording artist Thaddeus Rhodes, a tattooed, bearded Daddy Dom who’s into steampunk cosplay. Thaddeus thinks it’s a shame that Kitten takes care of everyone else and no one takes care of this little.

Faced with two weeks of lockdown, Kitten comes up with a list of things to help to pass the time. What starts out as a game of ways to please this Daddy quickly evolves into something much, much more.

This story includes consensual power exchange, DD/lg ageplay, partner sharing, domestic discipline, and bisexual ménage scenes. If any of this offends you, please don’t buy this book. Written for Ages 18+.

Author’s Note: Kitten has been a secondary character in the first eleven Replay books. It was wonderful to finally meet her. I love that Kitten finds her perfect Daddy Dom just in time for Father’s Day!

EXCERPT (PG13):

He was a Dominant without a permanent submissive and Kitten was a little who needed a Daddy. Before today, he’d only known her professionally as Sir Piers’s executive assistant and an integral part of what made Replay BDSM theme resort successful. He would never have encroached on Sir Piers’s territory, would never have offered to be her Dominant, but the circumstances they found themselves had him doing things that were, in short, extraordinary.

They’d both been potentially exposed to a deadly virus. In two weeks, they’d know if their self-quarantine was a necessary precaution. Meanwhile, he had music weaving itself in his head and a little whose ass needed reddened for working through her lunchtime.

Not good.

Not good at all.

She eyed the ornate cage in the corner with a mix of anticipation and trepidation—and who could blame her? He’d told her what he intended to do. He was going to spank her bottom, tuck her inside, and keep her there until she was truly repentant. What he hadn’t told her was what would happen next. When she was full of remorse and riddled with angst about what she could do to please him, he planned to bind her arms to the bars and take her where she stood…

EXCERPT (NSFW):

Crawling to the door of her cage, she sat back on her heels in a Gorean pose and waited for him to notice. He made her wait a minute more while he finished whatever he was typing on his tablet before hitting send and closing it.

“Well, little miss. Are you going to share what’s in that busy mind of yours? Have you thought of ways to please me?”

She knew men. He’d be expecting the usual. A blow job. Vaginal sex. Anal sex. A lap dance. A strip routine. Things men typically envisioned for immediate gratification.

“I think so, Daddy. I hope so. First, I’d like to dress like Bindi in Iron Domination and play hide-and-seek with you aboard the Nebula.”

If he’d read the books (and judging by the beard-shadowed curl of his lips, he had), he’d know exactly where to find her.

“I like the way you think, little girl. Go on.”

“When you’ve found me, I’ll give you a bath like Bindi does Adams…, rub your feet and massage your neck before bed.”

“That’s two.”

Only two, and he was already hard for her.

“In the morning, I’ll cook you breakfast and serve it to you on a tray wearing nothing but a smile.”

He liked the sound of that, too.

“Three,” he counted.

“After dinner that night, we can play a game of chess. The winner gets to pick what porn to watch and act out.”

“That’s four,” he hummed. “One more.”

“I could give Daddy a massage,” she offered.

He narrowed his eyes. “You’re already giving me one after my bath.”

“But this is different,” she swore. “Special. It’s internal massage. A prostate massage.”

“Five,” he rumbled, reaching for the door.

“And then,” she breathed, “I’ll polish your knob—” she left it hanging, letting his imagination run wild “—on your walking stick. The silver-gripped one. It’s too heavy to use for impact play, but I can help you find another cane to use. Or you can make me cut a switch.”

“Six,” he rasped, curling his fingers around his erection and rubbing himself through his fly.

“One more,” she added, licking her lips for effect. “I want to give Daddy head while massaging his prostate. I want you to come down my throat and make me swallow every drop.”

The heat in his eyes was incendiary.

“My turn,” he growled. “I want to tie you to the sides of the cage. Clamp your nipples. Suck your clit. Get you wet and fuck you through the bars with my fingers digging into your hips so hard, you’ll be wearing my bruises tomorrow and feeling my dick for days. In your pussy. In your ass. What’s your safeword, pet? One to slow and one to stop.”

She could get creative later. Right now, she needed fucked. “Yellow and red, Daddy. Yellow to slow and red to stop. Please…,” she begged, eyes widening when he unbuttoned his fly and she saw the size of his erection. He was huge. Massive. Nine inches long and nearly as thick as her wrist.

There was no way he was going to fit.

Daddy smirked. “I like it when you beg,” he rumbled. “I want to make you squeal. Put your back against the bars, elbows out, arms bent, hands up. I’ll tie you with enough give to let you move a bit. It’s more fun that way.”

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SECRET SANTA

SS Secret Santa 6x9 sm

 

SECRET SANTA

(MADE IN RUSSIA BOOK 1)

by Nia Farrell

Length 9,323 words. Release Date December 27, 2018. FREE with KU.

Amazon Universal Link e-book     Amazon US e-book     Goodreads reviews

 

It’s hard being a spy.

Katya Dostoevsky is a “little” and the young, submissive mistress of a Russian mobster.  Posing as a mercenary, Simon Tolliver is a forty-five-year-old British operative who’s been ordered to kill her.

Neither of them is what they seem.

Sold by human traffickers at the age of 14, Katya has endured eleven years of forced consent, serving the needs of Alexei Papanov, head of the Bratva in upstate New York.  She thinks that Simon is taking her toy shopping ahead of Christmas, but he’s been instructed to kill her en route.  After what she has suffered, he plans to be her Secret Santa and give her the quick, clean death that she deserves.

It was supposed to be his last night on his last mission before retiring.  Instead, this British spy with a gun and a girl on the run embark on a dark, thrilling ride that can only end one way.

Nia Farrell’s way.  Yippee ki-yay.

Contains guns, an ambush, a car chase, a kamikaze deer, and bad guys after flawed but endearing characters who would love peace on earth but find themselves looking over their shoulders and loading another clip.  Mandatory bedroom scene included.  Have a cold drink on hand.  Obviously written for Ages 18+.

 

Excerpt:

Simon followed Papanov upstairs, past three armed guards and a half-dozen rooms.  Stopping short of his private office, the Bratva kingpin opened a door and stepped inside, motioning for Simon to follow.

The room was decorated like a little girl’s dream with a fairytale four-poster bed, an ice cream parlor table and chairs, and an antique baby carriage full of dolls and stuffed toys.  An ornate desk sat in front of a bank of curtained windows.  Light from the crystal chandelier added to the soft glow from the computer screen of the laptop perched on the thighs of Papanov’s much-younger mistress.

Simon’s cock twitched at the sight of the pretty brunette.  Dressed only in a black bra and panties and red fuck-me heels, she sat on an office chair with her face lit and her gaze locked on the screen, oblivious to their presence.

Simon felt like a dirty old man for wishing he could stand there and watch her.  He was a spy.  He should be focused on Alexei.  Instead, he looked at the exquisite turn of Katya’s ankles and imagined them around his neck.

Katya Dostoevsky was twenty-five years old, five feet, three inches, a former gymnast, and an obedient servant to the whims of her master.  Sold by her father to Papanov when she was fourteen, she’d grown into a stunning young woman.

Too bad Alexei didn’t share.

Or did he?

“You remember Katya.”  His inflection made it a statement rather than a question.

Two sets of eyes darted to Alexei—hers alarmed and his wary.  What was Papanov’s game?

Simon schooled his features.  “Yes.”

“Myshka, you remember Mr. McCartney?”

She jerked her head in a stiff little nod.  “Da.”

She was careful to not look at Simon when she answered.  She knew Peter McCartney’s reputation, but she hadn’t really seen what he was capable of.  She’d only witnessed a clean kill.

Alexei had backhanded her, busting her lip when she wouldn’t stop crying.

Papanov nodded.  “Khorosho.  Good.  Myshka, I want you to pack a suitcase.  Take enough to last you a week.  Christmas is coming, and my mouseling wants her favorite bear fixed.  I say it is time for new ones if the old ones fall apart when you ride them.  Mr. McCartney will drive you to the apartment in Manhattan.  I will finish things here and meet you there.  Then we shop, da?”

Interesting.  Katya masturbated with teddy bears.  Knowing Alexei, he jacked off to the show and made her play the virgin to deflower as an encore.

Simon didn’t miss the look of dismay or the slight tremor that shook her shapely frame.  She swallowed the objection on the tip of her tongue and answered meekly, “Da, Papi.”

Alexei’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.  “That’s my good girl.  Set your luggage by the hallway door when you have it packed.  I want you downstairs and ready to leave in twenty minutes.  Come, Peter.”

Katya flew into action, kicking off her heels and sprinting to her closet.  Simon followed Papanov to his office one door over.  Katya’s room had been chosen for the Pakhan’s convenience.  When Alexei got an itch, he wanted it scratched immediately.  His personal sex slave was on call around the clock, anytime, day or night, in public or in private.

Alexei thought nothing of ordering Katya to please him while he entertained guests.  Humiliating her only added to his pleasure.

“Close the door.”

Simon did as ordered, questions writhing like Medusa’s snakes in his head.  He was pissed.  Alexei should have asked him first.  Instead, he’d told him in front of Katya.  Now Simon was stuck driving her down to the city.  He’d spend hours on the road and in traffic, closed in a car with a woman he wanted and could never have—

Unless he wanted to spend the rest of his life as a eunuch.

The last man who’d touched her without permission had his balls cut off and shoved up his arse.  Simon hadn’t seen it, but he’d heard the story, now shared as a cautionary tale.

“Sit.”  Alexei pointed to the closest chair.  Simon took it.  Papanov did the same, settling into place behind a heavy wooden desk.

They stared at each other, a pissing contest that lasted all of fifteen seconds.

“What the fuck?” Simon growled.  This was supposed to be his last night as a spy.  The final time he’d risk life and limb for his Queen and country.  His goal in recent years was to be the exception to the rule.  He knew when he left the SAS and joined the Secret Intelligence Service that spies didn’t live long and prosper.  Retirement from MI6 was a three-by-eight piece of land and a bed six feet under, not a secret, off-the-grid cabin in the Great North Woods with a prepper’s pantry, a growing library of first editions, and an arsenal that had taken half of his life to amass.

His trip to Canada would have to wait.

Alexei let his mask drop for a moment so brief, Simon almost missed it.  Whatever this was, it wasn’t good.

The head of the Bratva in upstate New York looked out the bank of bullet-proof windows.  The clouds obscuring tonight’s full moon did nothing to dilute its effects.  Driving Katya to Manhattan was lunacy.

He told Alexei so.

Papanov sighed heavily.  “You are right,” he said, sounding weary and oddly torn.  “You will not go there.  When you leave here, you take her somewhere… and kill her.”  He huffed a breath and tapped his fingers on his desk.  “I do not need to know details.  Send word when it is done.”

Holy fuck.

It was a bloody miracle that Simon managed to look like he didn’t care, that this was just another assignment, no different than the other jobs that he’d done for Papanov.  But the men and women he’d killed before had earned it.  They were criminals.  Rivals.  Chechen Mafia.  Albanian Mafia.  Hell, he’d even killed someone from the Visconti crime family who had somehow given offense.

Alexei narrowed his eyes.  “You will do this, da?”

“Of course, I will.  I just—”

“You wish to know.”  Papanov pursed his lips, considering the wisdom in telling him.  He rarely bothered with explanations unless his blood pressure was up and he needed to vent.

“She is… too soft for this,” he said, waving an imperious hand.  “It was… mistake to bring her here.”

Papanov had had her since she was fourteen.  He’d gotten bored or annoyed or both.  Clearly, he didn’t like her asking to fix her broken bears.  After nine years of statutory rape and forced consent, he was discarding Katya as casually as a toy that he’d outgrown.  The trouble was, he couldn’t pass his plaything down, and he didn’t dare release her.  His mouseling was a liability.  She knew too much.  She’d seen too much for him to ever let her go.

 

 

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