Little Brats: Georgia: Forbidden Taboo Erotica (2 page)

Why was that so fucking hot?

Her stepfather slowly pushed a long, buzzing dildo, a piece of plastic thick and curved, into her the woman’s only empty hole, pressing a button at the end of a wire hanging from her mother’s folds, making the woman cry out.

Georgia fucked the air, watching her mother’s hips rock and roll. She writhed in her straps. Georgia clenched her thighs together, her pussy throbbing, watching her stepfather jerking his cock as the dildo did its work on his wife. The woman was now being tortured with pleasure. Her body responded, whether she wanted it or not. Georgia’s own body betrayed her too. She should have been appalled, horrified. She should have turned away in disgust.

Instead, she went to her knees so she could see better, watching her stepfather stroking his big, beautiful cock as he went around his wife’s bound body, near her head. Georgia saw her mother’s body jerk and convulse as her climax neared. Georgia’s breath came faster and her breath fogged the glass, her pussy so hot it felt as if it was on fire. Her stepfather fed his wife his erection, making her swallow it bit by glorious bit.

“Come for me!” Her stepfather’s voice boomed, his hand on the back of his wife’s head as he fucked her mouth. “Come for me now!”

Georgia cried out as her stepfather looked up, straight at her. The man’s wife was climaxing, shaking all over with pleasure, swallowing his cum the best she could—he spilled copious amounts of the stuff and it dribbled out the sides of her mouth—but Georgia knew,
she knew
, he was really talking to her. He wanted his stepdaughter to come. Now. Right fucking now.

And to Georgia’s own shock and surprise, her body responded to his command.

She came, with such great force she thought it might tear her apart, even though
Georgia hadn’t touched herself
. As the hot, quivering pulses ripped through her, stole her breath, gave her already shaking body the strength of gelation, she knelt, stunned, feeling the flood of her juices that had already soaked her panties move onto her thighs. Even as her mother shook all over with her contractions, her stepfather pulled everything from her body and unbound her.

He walked from the space Georgia could see into as her mother moved slowly, like a wounded animal, off the table to grab a robe. Her stepfather cradled the woman, soothing her, and she looked up at him with such worship and admiration, it took Georgia’s breath away. She knew that feeling. She knew it well.

Georgia’s phone buzzing in her pocket startled her, and she blinked a few times before she gained the wits back to grab the thing. Sliding her hand over the screen to read the text that had come through, under her father’s name and number, it said, “Sitting Room. 8:00AM.”

She saw him looking up at her.

Then the room went dark.

Her alarm pulled her from a deep sleep at seven-fifty in the morning. The smell of her own sex hit her first as she pushed aside her covers, littered with sex toys. Groggy, she pulled on clothes, still waking up as she ran down to the sitting room. She entered to find her father sitting on a chair, legs crossed, one arm propped up on the arm of the leather, his first two fingers swirling over his thumb.

In his weekend silk dress pants and shirt, no tie, he was a harsh contrast to her mother, the frail shell of a woman who stood in the corner, shoulders slumped, head down, in a basic black frock of a dress. Georgia entering had not even roused the woman.

“Say good-bye to your mother, Georgia.” His tone was matter-of-fact. “She’s traveling to Spain today to be admitted into a recovery clinic where she’ll be treated and instructed to reclaim her spirit.”

Her mother lifted her head slightly as Georgia went to hug the woman. Wrapping her arms around the tired, defeated skeleton, she wondered if her mother had a spirit left to reclaim. Giving her a gentle squeeze, acutely aware her mother hadn’t even made an effort to raise her arms to hug her daughter back, tears stung Georgia’s eyes only a second before she willed them away.

“
You
have the spirit,” her mother whispered into her ear.

Pulling back, Georgia’s face scrunched up in shock and horror, her mind playing through the possible implications of the woman’s words as, with the ding of a bell, a servant appeared to take her mother away to a waiting car. Georgia could see it through the corner of the window.

“I expect you bathed and in the Wine Cellar Tasting Room by nine o’clock,” her father demanded, his harsh tone making her jump, her ass tighten. “Wear that black whorish shit you do to school. Doll yourself up, goth-girl. And bring your toys.”

She turned to look at him, willing the terror on her face into a blank stare. She’d been excited yesterday, but now, it was real. This was really happening. Fear clawed her belly. With a wave of his hand, he dismissed her. Needing nothing more than that to gratefully flee to her room, Georgia sprinted as fast as her legs would carry her through the big house to her room.

Breathing heavily, she grabbed her luggage out of her closet and began to pull her good stuff from her drawers. After tossing it in wrinkled clumps into the big suitcase, she grabbed the smaller bag and went to the bathroom to pack her secret stash of makeup and jewelry.

The man is crazy. This situation is crazy. I won’t be broken like my mother by Mister Rich and Dominating. He can’t have his way with me
, she thought, as images from last night plowed through her head.

But that was the problem. Those images hadn’t horrified her at the time. They had appealed to her
. Aroused
her. Something happened in her body, a need grew, throbbed. She wanted to see herself bound to that table. She nearly hyperventilated, imagining that butt plug in her own ass, the large vibrating wand on her clit. Her hand reached down, seeking heat, finding her cunt quivering and wet. Pushing her fingers hard against the sensation, she steadied herself.

Seeing her hairbrush on the sink, she impulsively yanked at her waistband and shoved her pants down. Grabbing the brush and cocking her hip to the side, she brought the round head of the plastic down hard on her ass. With a sharp intake of breath, she rode out the pleasure building in her body from the sting.

He’ll never break me
, she thought with a devious grin as she put down the brush. Kicking off her pants, she stormed half-naked to her room and ripped all the clothes back out of her suitcase. Shoving them back into the drawers, not bothering to hide them under her house clothes this time, she primed herself for what was to come.

Back in the bathroom, she literally tipped the toiletry bag so that it emptied its contents into her still open drawer. Going back to her bed, she gathered up her small collection of toys to wash off and pack up in her bag, preparing to bathe, dress, and meet her stepfather head on.

Arriving at the Wine Cellar Tasting Room a few minutes early, Georgia looked over the bottles and glassware adorning the walls and ceiling. The colors of burnt orange and desert brown were softened by strings of real dried grapevine wrapped in little white lights and plastic grapes draped over just about everything from rafters to shelves. Old wine barrels acquired at a high prices formed tables to serve and dine from.

She felt out of place in her tight black dress with lace arms, torn hose and heeled, knee-high leather boots. The top of the dress was corset-like, her breasts pressed together, pushed up high into two large, round mounds of white flesh. The heavy material of the dress clung to all of her curves, accentuating each one. She straightened her back and stood up tall, catching her reflection in the etched mirror.

Her hair, painted black and slicked into fringes around her face made a nice frame for her white powdered cheeks, heavy eye shadow and thick blue-black lipstick. She admired the way she’d painstakingly drawn wings with eye liner around her eyes, giving her full cheeks a more dramatic edge. She watched her eyes turned to slits as she heard her stepfather’s footsteps enter the room.

Before she could turn to face him, he stated firmly, “First order of business is your punishment for disobeying the no tattoo rule, telling lies about me on the phone, and dressing like a devilish whore outside of this house. Second on my agenda is a reward for staying and obeying my orders. Follow me.”

He turned and she obeyed, walking behind him, matching him step for step, until he stopped to unlock the door to the “storage” room. As he turned on the bright overhead lights, the table she’d seen last night loomed in the center, surrounded by a metal chest, open and filled with sex toys, along with restraints hanging from the walls and ceiling. As she scanned the wide open area, a black leather chair, ornate and throne-like, sat up on a small stage built in one corner. Crops and other punishment devices hung from a rack. The whole place was a bright, stark, white against black, and it welcomed her, made her giddy just to stand in the place.

He obviously spared no expense for his little dungeon of horrors,
she thought, tightening her mouth against the devilish grin she felt threatening to break out over her face.

He slammed the door, giving her a start before he circled around her.

“You are a dramatic little deviant, aren’t you?” he asked, grabbing her arm in his big hand and yanking her with him to his throne.

Sitting down, he pulled her to him, bending her over his thighs, as he laid down the law.

“You will obey my every command. You will not struggle. You will not come during your punishment.”

With that, he brought his hand down twice, once on each cheek, still covered by her dress. She bit her lip to keep from crying out with the sheer pleasure, the feeling of his large hands hitting her ass. She grew wetter, his command not to orgasm giving her a moment of pause. Pulling her skirt up to expose her lace-covered cheeks, he spanked her again, just twice with his hand, one hard, resounding smack per cheek, and this time the blows were upward, causing an increased sting. The heat grew, made her want to wiggle, actually beg for more, but she clenched her ass in order to fight the urge.

“No clenching,” he commanded with another set of spanks.

She felt him grab the back of her panties and pull. The lace tore, biting into her thighs as it released. She breathed through the glorious sting, her pussy trembling already. If she could come without touching herself, she feared her fate with her stepfather laying his hands on her.

“Reach your hands back and grab that gorgeous ass of yours I plan to redden every inch of,” he insisted. As she moved her arms, he added, “You shall say,
yes, Daddy
, each time you obey.”

“Yes, Daddy,” she managed as her fingers touched her warmed ass cheeks.

Her black-painted nails cut into her flesh, and she wished she could see the sight he did. She wished she could be up above, looking down through the glass like she had before. She wanted to see herself, see him doing this to her. He hit her again, twice, making her gasp.

“Open yourself to me,” he spat.

“Yes, Daddy,” she said as she pulled her cheeks apart, showing him her puckered hole that tightened and released in anticipation.

“I have a fucking pain in the ass whore of a daughter, don’t I?” he asked. “Look at that ass, begging me for more. Dare we find your pain threshold?”

“Yes, Daddy,” she grunted out each word as his fingers hit her hole with two good taps.

She felt the tremors of the pain blissfully shoot through her core, tightening her stomach in the expectation of more.

“Spread your legs and show me that pale little pussy,” he added.

She did so, feeling her inner walls pulse as she exposed herself to him. His fingers, tight together, came down with two swats on her wet folds. Her hips bucked. God, she wanted something shoved inside her. Preferably his cock.

In response, the fingers of his other hand pushed under her stomach, finding her sticky wet pussy, pressing hard against her clit. His other hand came down hard on her ass, pushing her hands aside and then falling harder than they had onto her cheeks four more times in fast clip. Each smack forced her clit harder against the pads of his fingers.

“You’ve already earned yourself a more severe punishment,” he said, pulling her by her hair to get her to stand. He walked her over to the cuffs hanging from the ceiling and bound her hands in them up over her head. Coming around to face her, his already chiseled features held tight, he pulled at the ties on her corset-like dress. She forced herself not to wiggle against the feel of the material now laying over her stinging ass.

In strong, fluid movements, he ripped the material until she soon hung there naked, apart for her torn thigh highs and boots. He grabbed a small leather whip, a flogger with thick leather, from the wall, and without pause, brought it across her round breasts. Her nipples hardened, and she dared clench her ass and thighs against the pulsing need to be taken, invaded. Luckily he hadn’t noticed as he’d moved on to whip the leather strips down along her waist, legs and back. The caress of this light torment blanketed her body—titillating torture. She was proving to be more of a pain whore than she’d even dreamed she could be.

He kicked her feet further apart as he brought the instrument of blessed misery across her red ass. The sting stole her breath, her stomach knotting, the pleasure boiling up there. She knew at this point he held back, but as he went, whipping her body, the sting grew to a glorious fire, a glow inside and out. At this point, she already wanted him so much, she would have endured anything, even if she hadn’t wanted more. Each bite of pain brought her pleasure she’d never known, could never have imagined.