Big Book of Smut (47 page)

My mother looked at me, concerned. "What's the matter? Did you hurt your back?"

"No, it's nothing. I just got stung." I looked at my stepfather and we both started giggling.

"What's the joke?"

"Nothing," I replied. "Look, I have to go. It's a four-hour drive."

"Call me when you get there, okay. And no getting distracted by boys!"

I looked at Keith one last time. "I'm not interested in boys."

We smiled and I turned the key, heading off to my new life with the thought of the last man I fucked causing a wetness to form down below.

I couldn't wait for the holidays.

About the Author

Katie Cramer writes erotic stories featuring strong, sultry characters. They also like to have hot, steamy sex. A lot.

Katie is married with two beautiful boys and loves dancing around to vinyl records in high heels and vintage clothing. What girl doesn't love heels?

You can visit her web site by visiting
http://www.katiecramer.com
where you can find release dates and more information on Katie's filthy, filthy books.

Also available from Katie Cramer

SEXUAL CRAVINGS (Pregnancy Erotica)

DADDY OF THE BRIDE

DOUBLE TEAMED WITH DADDY

DADDY'S WATCHING

DADDY'S BIG PACKAGE (An Erotic Bundle)

TO HAVE AND TO CUCKOLD

THE COUGAR GETS HER STUD

WHAT LISA DID

Available at all ebook retailers:
CLICK HERE

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Thank you for buying this ebook. Please get in touch with Katie for information on book releases, special offers, competitions and more:

Web:
http://www.katiecramer.com

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I paused in my bedroom door. I could hear them in the kitchen, being all lovey-dovey. My mom, the cougar supreme, went to Las Vegas and returned with a new French husband. Who knew I’d ever had a new daddy, much less a young, buff hunky step-daddy with a killer French accent. Just listening to him speak made my insides melt.

I have to move out
, I thought.
That man is raw sex.

“Don’t worry about Raquel, darling,” Mom said. That got my attention. They were talking about me? “She’ll come around. I think we surprised her by getting married.”

“Let’s hope so,
ma belle
,” he said in that husky voice I loved so much. “You know it hurts me when beautiful women do not like me.”

He thinks I’m beautiful?

“You are such a sweetie,” Mom said.

The sounds of kissing, of moaning and groaning, reached me. I rolled my eyes. Those two were constantly at it. I guess if I was forty and had a twenty-eight year old love god with killer abs and an even sexier accent, I’d be all over him, too.

“Oh sweet darling, I hate to leave you,” Mom said. I closed my eyes. I had to listen to this crap every morning for the last week. Maybe if La Boy Toy had a job it wouldn’t aggravate me so much. “I have to go to work. I will miss you so much.”

“Not as much as I will miss you,
ma belle
,” he said.

“Love you,” she said.

“Love you more,” he said.

I opened my mouth wide, feigning shoving a finger down my throat. Mom strode out of the kitchen in time to catch me in the act. Her eyes narrowed dangerously. My insides went cold.

“Morning, Mom,” I said, standing up straight and rigid, hands clutched behind my back.

Mom had upped her game since marrying Jean-Luc. She wore tighter, sexier clothes. She called them her “Melrose Place” power suits. I had no idea what she was talking about, but it seemed to please her.

My mother and I could be sisters, despite the twenty-two year age difference. She looked thirty, and if she really tried could pull off twenty-five. We both had long glossy black hair (mine to my waist) and slim, shapely bodies. Her breasts were a bit larger than mine. I think the only noticeable difference was I inherited my father’s brown eyes and full lips, and she had bright green eyes and thin lips.

“You be nice to Jean-Luc,” she whispered, eyes fierce.

Mom wore her red power suit, with a white silk blouse and black stiletto FMPs. In fact, they were my newest pumps. I’d only worn them once. I hated it when she borrowed my shoes. Her feet sweated. A lot. Unfortunately, her demanding, high-paying corporate job left her little free time, so she couldn’t go shoe shopping as much as she would like, so she took mine. Sometimes she didn’t give them back.

“What do you mean? I’m nice.”

“Cut the BS. You mock him,” she said. “Every time we show a little PDA, you roll your eyes and develop a bad fake French accent.”

“What do you mean ‘bad’ French accent? I’m good.”

She stepped closer. Violated my personal space, forcing me to press back against the wall. I hated it when she intimidated me like that.

“Don’t get sassy with me, young woman.” Her eyes narrowed. “I’ll cancel all of your credit cards.”

Why did she always threaten to take away my credit cards? Nobody likes to be blackmailed. The problem was, her threats were never idle. Mom followed through, and she’d cut me off twice in the last three years. In my senior year in high school I went six months without an allowance or credit. It was nightmarish. I think she only returned my credit cards because she needed new shoes, and knew the shoe store would be my first stop.

“I’m going to so sweet to him your Jean-Luc will have diabetes by the time you get home tonight,” I said. “He’s my big daddy today. Yep, King Jean-Luc rules my world.”

“Oh, you’re going to be that way, are you?”

“No. I’m sorry. Mom, you’ve been crazy since marrying him. Stop trying to shove him down my throat,” I said. Poor choice of words. The thought of him in my mouth, pushing down my throat sent a ripple of the best kind through my nether regions. And the vision that flashed through my mind was even more wicked. I struggled to keep my composure. “God, I never thought ‘Good Time Jenny’ would get married again. I’m in shock.”

Mom stepped back, an odd look on her face. “You knew my girlfriends called me ‘Good Time Jenny?’”

“Mom, you went through seven boyfriends in the last year. Two of them were just a year older than me. Everyone calls you ‘Good Time Jenny’ when they aren’t calling you ‘Queen Cougar’ or ruder things.”

She looked me up and down with a sneer.

“This coming from the girl who ‘dated’ every single player on the football team,” she said.

“Like mother, like daughter,” I said. She pulled her right hand back to slap me. I pointed a finger right in her face. “I’ll hit you back.”

Mom glanced toward the kitchen, thought better of it, and dropped her hand. “Fine. Give me all of your credit cards.”

I went cold inside. My belly clinched tight.

“What? You can’t do that to me?”

“Yes I can. Give them to me. Now.”

My purse was on my dresser, just inside the door. I pulled my wallet out with trembling hands, trying so hard to hold back the tears. The bitch! She constantly had to prove her power over me. The best way to do that was to hit me where it hurt the most.

“Have a nice day,” Mom said, snatching the seven credit cards out of my hand.

With that she marched out of the house. I stared after her, open-mouth and a tear rolling down my cheek. My only condolence—I spent thirty-seven hundred dollars the previous day on a pair of Christian Louboutin thigh boots, a pair of sexy, strappy pumps, and a pair of sandals.

“Ouch,” Jean-Luc said, dragging me out of my dark reverie.

I cut my eyes toward him, as they narrowed. Was he laughing at me?

“
Excusez-moi
?”

“Ooo, your French it is so good,” he said, and grinned with wicked delight. “Do you know any other French words? I mean, besides, ‘
Oo, la la
.’”

I moved my right foot toward him, giving him a nice side view of my new strappy, black patent pumps. “I know two more French words.
Christian Louboutin
.”

His eyes lingered on my shoes. Then they slowly glided up my legs, took in my body, and finally locked onto my face. The heat in those eyes had me panting before he reached my face. I lost my breath when he locked eyes with me.

“Two very good words.”

He looked me over a length. It was quite a thrill. Jean-Luc had pretty much ignored me until then. Or so I thought. But I was decked out pretty sexy, wearing a snug white mini-dress with black accents. My hair was parted down the middle, and my only jewelry were large silver hoop earrings.

Jean-Luc wore only a pair of faded jeans, and the button was undone. He was clean shaven, and that included his back and chest, too. His eyes were the same shade of blue as his jeans, and his dark hair was shoulder length and wavy. Did I mention he was raw sex?

His killer abs were coming to me in High Definition. The man exercised all day to maintain that body. Mom’s seven digit income allowed him the leisure to do it, too. I know I shouldn’t begrudge him that, since I spent an hour a day with my personal trainer, and the rest of the day shopping. Six days a week. My life was shopping, and now I had nothing to spend. Nothing to do.

“You look so much like your mother, especially when you are angry,” he said.

“Well, don’t follow my example and argue with her,” I said. “She’ll cut you off, big time.”

Jean-Luc shrugged. His hand cupped the bulge in his jeans. “Then I will cut her off.”

My eyes locked on his hand, his bulge. Surely he wasn’t endowed well enough to cause such a large bulge while flaccid. Was he aroused? Getting hard just looking at me?

My heart started pounding. Chest tightened. I balled my fists to keep from touching myself. He quirked a brow at me. Was that interest in his eyes? Or amusement?

“W-Well, I can’t do that,” I said. Why was my voice an octave lower, huskier? I cleared my throat before continuing. “Though I should hide all my shoes, since she tends to shoe shop in my closet.”

“I see why,” he said. “You have such good tastes in fine feminine footwear, as well as being well-dressed all the time. I have never seen you scruffy, or not dressed to impress.”

This time, instead of lingering on my shoes, his eyes stopped to stare at my boobs. I have to admit, they were a quite impressive pair. If nothing else, Mom taught me how to display my body in the most fashionably sexy manner. The designer dress was low cut, and really barely covered my boobs. I inherited the cleavage to pull it off from Mom.

“Hey, Frenchie, my eyes are up here.”

“I know. They scare me.”

“My eyes scare you? Why?”

“I could get lost in those gorgeous eyes,” he said. Our eyes locked, and it sucked what little air I had left out of my lungs. He really turned it on. “Those wicked, hungry eyes and your full, glossy lips call to something deep within.”

A thrill slithered up my spine. A tiny smile curled the corners of his lips when I visibly shuddered. I bit my lower lip, tugging on it. His eyes released me, to return to my lips. He moaned so low I almost couldn’t hear it.

He gave his cock a squeeze. “Such beautiful lips.”

“I-I don’t think my new Daddy should make me squirm like this,” I whispered, unable to speak normally. “Or feel like this.”

“Oh, I’ll be your daddy. I’ll be your big daddy. Your big
love
daddy.”

Jean-Luc unzipped and pulled out the biggest, most beautiful cock I’d ever seen. My knees went weak, and my mouth started watering. He stroked it once, twice, and I gasped with each stroke.

“This is wrong, Jean-Luc.”

“You want me. I want you,” he said. He gave his cock another stroke. “What is wrong with that? Come to me. Go down on me.”

“No! I can’t,” I cried. My eyes locked on his cock. So damn beautiful. I so wanted a taste. “I mean. You’re married to my mother.”

A bead of pre-cum oozed out. I had to swallow to loosen my throat. By the look on his too sexy face, Jean-Luc knew he was winding me up. Manipulating me to perfection. And I loved it.