Daddy’s World from Ava Sinclair.
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or FREE on Kindle Unlimited
What reviewers are saying about Daddy’s World:
- … a great utopian story it really is worthwhile reading.
- A well written story with strong characters and an interesting and unique storyline.
- … the premises is a bit out of left field but it is so well written that it’s a blast to read.
I’m aware that my legs are spread in this position, which has me tilted towards the floor, that the air of the room is caressing the inner labia that must be visible between the spread outer lips of my pussy. I’m also aware that despite the pain, I am growing wetter by the second.
“Such a bad, bad girl,” Roman says, his spanks now landing three at a time on first the middle left buttock and then the right. “Such a bad, naughty girl.”
I wriggle, trying to position myself so I can stop the onslaught of stinging spanks and close my thighs, as if that will somehow halt the flow of arousal. Has he seen? Is this why he’s calling me a bad, bad girl?
I have never felt such deep humiliation, nor such exposure, nor such vulnerability.
“Hold still, little one. I’m not finished with you. Only a cherry red bottom will teach such a naughty girl not to lie.”
“It hurts, Daddy! Stop!” The words are pushed out by a flood of tears, but with them comes a deep fluttering low in my core. What is happening to me? I’m sobbing, but I’m also moaning. I’m hurting but I’m also cresting a wave of pleasure that does not belong here, that should not be. I’m mortified and confused. “Oh, Daddy! I’m sorry! I’m sorry, Daddy!”
His hand falls again, but this time it stops, the weight of his warm palm molded to the burning expanse of my bottom. It’s just like my dream—the pain, the contrition, the humiliation—but there’s an element of surprise to it, a richness, like the first time I tasted the trifle. It feels surreal.
“Let it out, Kit,” he urges. “This is what I’m here for, to let you be both a child and a woman. You can be both with me.”
I feel something else then. The hand on my bottom moves, the finger slipping lower to find my pussy, the inner lips slick and engorged with need. I feel myself arch towards his touch, like a flower towards the heat of the sun. His finger teases, brushing lightly until my little girl cries are mixed with the groans of a woman’s deepest unspoken need.
“Please…” I say, looking back at him. The man I see is a man in charge of himself, of me. He’s controlled as he strokes my pussy, petting it, drawing even more slickness from within so that my inner thighs are coated, and the room is perfumed with my soft musk.
“What do you want, little one? Tell Daddy?”
I think of the picture of Mary, standing in the corner with her red bottom. The book never showed her going over her daddy’s lap, but in the next frame the love between them was apparent. And I know now that its presence in my personal library was no accident, just as the illustration with the ambiguously aged Mary was no accident. Mary found happiness in her submission, but it did not change her. Her daddy did not want to change her.
I know what I want, but I can’t put it into words. I can only arch towards his hand, and when his finger pushes into me this time, I weep again, but with joy. He is careful as he moves his fingers in and out.
“More. I want more. Please…” I’m shameless, pushing my hips back against his fingers, wanting the forbidden touch of the hand that just spanked me.
“Just a little,” he says. “We mustn’t spoil you completely. Not yet…”
BUY LINK ->-> https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07DMBXM2M/
“Kit is one of the last holdouts of a female-led resistance to our government’s utopian vision. I’m her last hope. But to save this Rebel, I’m going to have to give her something she’s never had: the firm guidance and nurturing of a daddy.
The colony of Paternas was built to reform women like Kit, who raised themselves in the shelled remnants of a city called the Warrens. I want to give her the childhood she missed. I know it won’t be easy. She’s never known love. She’s never known discipline. She’s never been spanked. She’s never really laughed. She’s never really cried. I intend to change that.
Ultimately, I intend to make her my wife. But there’s another reason I’m doing this. The utopian world of New Bethel, which sees itself as an ideal world in the wake of a global disaster isn’t perfect. I’ll eventually need Kit’s help to change it, but first I have to earn her obedience.”
BUY LINK ->-> https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07DMBXM2M/
Variety is the spice of life and Ava Sinclair writes a little something for everyone, from dark romance to menage to kinky AF age play. But the one thing that is consistent in her books are strong storylines, alpha males, and strong women whose hearts and bodies aren’t given up without a fight.
Ava lives in southern Virginia, where she enjoys hoarding books, hiking, running, spoiling her cats, and spending time with her Eurasian eagle owl, Lucius.
Web site www.avasinclairauthor.com
Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/Author-Ava-Sinclair-490738981084361/
Join her mailing list: http://www.avasinclairauthor.com/mailing-list
“SHO FE JE ashewo?! Eh? You wanna end up a prostitute? Ah, Omo de yi, ko kin gboro! You’re a disgrace! Sho gbo mi? You hear me!? A disgrace! (Hissing)0 ru igi oyin!” You should be embarrassed! Skipping class?! Vandalism!? You think you are going to bring shame on me and your papa?
Running around pelu those losers like you have no sense.
Have you no sense? Have some pride! It is my fault for allowing you to have such an easy life; a maid to clean up after you, no struggles to speak of. You’ve had no responsibilities. But I hear you now, omo de. From now on you will do the maid’s work, and she will be paid to see to it you do. And you will still complete your studies and excel. Sho gbo?! You hear me!? By the time you are done each day your arms will be too tired to deface property, your legs too tired to skip!”
Her mother’s almost musical application of vernacular moved rapid fire in between the cracks of the cane landing on her hands so that Grace Ife, as she would one day be known, whose cries came in rhythmic response to each lashing, had the odd understanding of what it meant to be a talking drum in the band at the parties she attended with her parents as a child. “Obinrin o ti ri aye li le! Mase sege si e lara!”
And her mother was true to her words that day, for Grace had never received a beating so thorough, until her father arrived later that evening, and having learned from her mother that she had been caught cutting class (exposed when Officer Babawale found her trazing the side of a condemned building earlier that afternoon) proceeded to lay into her with a series of insults so punishing, he needed not lift a finger.
And so the cane of his voice went, Wai-Wai-Wai-Wa punctuated by the neighboring tone of her wails. If there were any musicians worth their salt living in the adugbo who happened to be present during that interval, fortune had clearly favored them with so many great opportunities for inspiration, or, if they were shameless enough to press record, free instrumentals for their next set (they did not even have to open their doors). Grace suffered greater injury from the internal humiliation brought on by her father’s harsh words, for there was nothing more viperous than the tongue lashing of an angry Yoruba parent in Yoruba. Her greatest regret besides the trouble she was in was she hadn’t been able to somehow prevent the news from arriving until both Mama and Papa were home at the same time. Oh well.
As she washed the dishes and turned the house upside down, jolting all clutter and dirt from the corners in which they’d grown comfortable, her aches didn’t throb so much as knock, demanding to know when sleep was imminent, a query that would undoubtedly never make it to her parents. She completed her last homework assignment in time to shower and dress for school, and was more awake and alert in class than if she’d slept a full night. She was of the notion however, that her outer shell had disappeared-perhaps abandoning her to continue polishing the cabinets in the kitchen-and that she was a glorious apparition, unburdened of rude things like physical discomfort. As she received the results from her calculus exam, she barely acknowledged the instructor who muttered “Iranu. Nonsense … what a waste,” as he sent another green check mark to her panel:
The ire of her parents and teachers was justified. Grace knew this. She was quite easily the brightest of her peers which was almost miraculous, considering many of Nigeria’s most luminous, most privileged-the one percent of the one percent-attended Gregory’s College.
JOSEPH OLUMIDE ADEGBOYEGA-EDUN was born in Lagos, the then-capital city of Nigeria. A great-grandson of the First-Secretary of the Egba United Government, he was brought to the United States at age two when his parents came to study. Increasing corruption in the Nigerian government followed by the return of military rule thwarted their plans to move back and America became home. They set roots in Brooklyn, New York, a vibrant environment colored with graffiti and steeped in elements of hip-hop that left an indelible mark on the future author’s consciousness.
The cultural influences and experiences of his homeland and the city of his early youth have been a strong source of creative inspiration for the author. Trazer: Kids of Stolen Tomorrow is his debut novel, and the first entry in the Trazer Series. When not writing, Joe enjoys working on other projects with his creative partners LenStorm, 7Woundz and Soundz, and exploring the breathtaking wilderness of the Chesapeake.
by Jessica Jayne
Publication Date: July 23, 2018
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance, Standalone
Gracelyn Riley married a firefighter and knew that came with risks. But she never imagined herself widowed in her early thirties with two children to care for on her own. Even though her marriage to Chad Riley had its difficulties, dealing with the last year without him has not been easy. Her brother-in-law, Matt, has been the rock that has kept her from collapsing or imploding.
As a fireman, Matt Riley had been at the scene when his brother, Chad, was killed. For the last year, Matt has suffered from survivor’s guilt and drank himself into oblivion. His sister-in-law, Gracelyn, supported him, lending him a shoulder to cry on. Her friendship has pulled him through time and time again until he finally sobered.
With the year anniversary of Chad’s death upon them, Gracelyn and Matt turn to each for support and comfort. What they didn’t expect was to realize that their feelings for each other go beyond the solid friendship they share. Can they overcome the guilt and the scrutiny of their family and friends to find love together?
The epiphany that had smacked Gracelyn on the forehead last night while sipping her wine and listening to Coldplay was what had brought her to the station this morning. Matt couldn’t just ignore her. They’d been through too much and had known each other for too long. He didn’t get to play decision-maker on this because how they handled the situation affected her, too. They were adults. It was about damn time they acted like grownups.
She inhaled a deep breath of crisp autumn air as she approached the entrance to the station house. Even though she’d convinced herself that this needed to be done, it didn’t make coming here any easier.
She heard the laughter of the guys from inside, and she smiled. This firehouse had its fill of shenanigans. The team had struggled greatly with the loss of Chad, so it was nice to hear the joviality behind the door. She used to stop in regularly during Chad’s shifts, but since his death, she’d only swung by a couple of times to drop things off. The building held many memories, too many. Facing them and the guys who had been like brothers to her husband had seemed like too much. Until now.
She knocked on the door, then twisted the handle and stuck her head around the corner. The smell of sausage, eggs, onions, and peppers assaulted her. Someone was cooking a hearty breakfast for the crew.
Four men stood in the kitchen. All eyes turned in her direction.
Matt leaned against the far countertop, holding a cup of coffee, his smile fading at the sight of her. He pursed his lips and tensed his jaw when his gaze met hers. Her skin tingled from his penetrating stare.
“Gracelyn,” Drew Anderson said with a smile. His voice broke the silence she’d dropped on the group.
Drew stood at the gas stove, flipping what appeared to be sausage patties. He’d been with the department for over ten years and had been one of Chad’s closest buddies. They’d played softball together and cards on some nights. As diehard Cleveland Browns fans, they’d commiserated every football season. He’d been a big part of Gracelyn’s and Matt’s support system after Chad’s death. For several months afterwards, he and his wife, Stacey, cooked meals and stopped by the house to visit, despite how hard Chad’s passing had been on Drew, as well.
“Come on in.” Drew waved her in with the spatula.
She stepped through the door and into the lounge area in front of the kitchen. On one side, a long, wooden table stretched with chairs haphazardly pushed in under it. Paper plates, napkins, and silverware sat in piles atop the table, waiting for the breakfast sizzling in the pans.
“Hey, Drew. Tim.” She nodded her head in Tim O’Leary’s direction before closing the door behind her.
“What brings you here on a Monday morning?” Tim asked. The toaster popped, and Tim plucked out two pieces of toast and set them on a plate.
“I need to see Matt.” She’d chosen her words carefully. If she’d said “wanted” instead of “needed” she feared Matt would find a way around it. Despite their current situation, he would never deny her what she needed.
“Lucky bastard,” the unfamiliar blond guy said. He must have been one of the new recruits or candidates, as they were often called. He was young, probably in his mid-twenties, with shaggy blond hair, blue eyes, and the hard body of someone who worked out daily. He’d fit in quite well with the crew at the Mason Ridge Fire Department.
“That’s his sister-in-law, you asshat.” Tim slapped the guy on the head. “Gracelyn, this is our new candidate, Kevin Thompson. He’s training with us. Maybe he’ll even get to stay if we can housebreak him and teach him some manners.”
Drew chuckled. Matt’s tense face even cracked with a smile at Tim’s comment. When an emergency broke, these men were serious and organized. However, during their downtime, horseplay and hazing ran rampant. Giving the candidates a hard time was a favorite pastime of the veterans. Appeared to be Kevin’s turn at the roasting spit.
“Hi, Kevin.” She walked over to him and held out her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“The pleasure is all mine.” He grasped her outstretched hand and brought it to his lips, pressing a slight kiss to her fingers. “All mine.” He winked at her. His gaze roamed over her slowly while he kept her hand in his. A flush washed over her at being so intimately perused in front of the men that had considered her husband their brother. “It’s good to know you’re single.”
“Let her go,” Matt barked, setting his cup down hard on the counter. All eyes turned to him. He flexed his hands at his sides. A flush crept from his neck to his cheeks. He glared at the back of Kevin’s head before meeting Gracelyn’s gaze. Something flashed behind his eyes. Jealousy? Whatever it was, she’d never seen the emotion on his face in the past.
Kevin dropped Gracelyn’s hand. Then Tim popped him on the side of the head again. Everyone but Matt puffed out a laugh.
ABOUT JESSICA JAYNE
Jessica is a born and raised small town Ohio girl, who moved to the Sunshine State after graduating from college. She graduated from college with a bachelor’s degree in English. What college major could possibly be better than one that makes you read novels and write about them! Now she is thrilled to be able to share all the stories floating around in her head!
Jessica loves to travel and travel often! She’s a huge sports fan, especially college football and the Ohio State Buckeyes! She’s a wine-making (and wine-tasting) aficionado. She loves all music. And nothing is better than sunset at the beach!
In the journey of life, she also married a wonderful man and had three beautiful (and sometimes crazy) children. Life is always an adventure.
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