Extra Taboo - a Collection of Taboo Adult Erotic Stories for Women: Erotica for Women, by Women (9 page)

Gail’s desire to see the cum on her skin grew and she pushed Mr. Blair back to force his cock back out from under her bikini briefs. She grabbed hold to start stroking it and knew that this time it wasn’t going to be her picture that her neighbor finished on. Parting her legs wide she pulled the solid cock right up to her body and stroked it furiously to get what she wanted. She looked up to catch her lover’s gaze.

“C’mon,” she urged for the second time that day. “Show me just how much you want to dirty my pretty body.”

She stroked even harder as the sex between them came to another high and as his cock tensed in her hand she gripped it tightly. It jerked powerfully as a string of thick white streamed across her bikini bottoms and midriff.

Gail let out a squeal of delight as more cum was launched across her body and she looked to see the streaks of white that were sticking to her skin. They continued to splash against her each time Mr. Blair convulsed and as his release came to an end she stroked out the last few drops to make them spill on the wet material between her thighs. She worked the tip of the cock on her dirtied bikini briefs and groaned as her excitement slowly drained away.

Mr. Blair’s eyes were wide as he looked down at her cum-stained bikini briefs and skin, but he made no effort to pull back until she released her grip on his fading erection. As soon as she did though he grabbed his phone and started to take pictures of Gail’s body.

“Let me see,” she said and held out her hand. When she took the phone she looked at the pictures and couldn’t hold in her laughter. “You dirty pervert,” she teased him. “Look what you did to my fucking bikini.”

“Next time bring something to change into so that I can keep the bikini briefs after we finish,” he said.

“Oh…,” she said. “So you think there will be a next time?”

“Are you going to say no?” he asked.

Gail grinned and knew she would be back. It looked as if her neighbor wanted more than just cum-covered pictures in his collection and she knew that she would be giving him her bikini next time they played together.

“I’ll let you know,” she teased as she dropped down from the desk, but the smile on her face was a sign that she would be back. “Show me where your shower is so I can get cleaned up.”

She followed as Mr. Blair led the way and didn’t stop him as he took more pictures of her showering.

“Pervert,” she said as she got back out and grabbed a towel to dry herself.

“You bring it out in me,” he shot back.

Gail laughed as she walked out of the bathroom and headed back to the front door of the house. She glanced at her home as she walked back outside and moved to the pool. A quick swim and then some more sunbathing, she thought. There were still around a couple of weeks of her vacation to go and she suspected that there was some fun to be had with a kinky older man before she finally went back to college.

***

by
Nellie Cross

I have about a month until my graduation from Berkeley. A month until I can finally get my life started. School is fine and everything, but I’m ready to get out into the world, even if things are uncertain with the economy and all. I should be alright though, with me getting a degree in economics and having several internships under my belt, I hope I’m fine.

Today, I’m at the gym working out. I have to keep in shape — nobody likes a fat frat boy, unless he’s funny. But being well put together and funny will get you laid more. At 6’1, 246 pounds, I get laid a lot; once I get out into the world and stop making my own money, and stop living off of my dad, I’ll get laid even more.

Don’t get me wrong, coming from money is great. I have friends that survive on Top Ramen for a week while I can afford a nice steak, but my dad and I don’t have the greatest relationship. I think he’s too stern, and he thinks I’m too relaxed. He’s also disappointed that I didn’t try to come and work for his company. No thanks Dad.

My mother left my father and granted him full custody of me in the divorce, with her getting visitation. I figure that she had some type of breakdown being married to a man like my father, who treats everything like a business transaction, and not a humanistic transaction.

So when he calls me just as I’m completing some reps on the bench, I’m a little annoyed. What is he going to bitch about now?

“David,” he says (because he never calls me Dave like everyone else), “you have to come home, now. Isabella was in a car accident, and she’s in a coma…..”

Isabella is my stepmother. She’s the woman that raised me after my mother left my dad. Isabella is a saint. How she managed to put up with my father, after my own mother wouldn’t, is a testament to her patience, kindness and overall toughness. She doesn’t let my father get away with treating her as if she’s one of his employees. She went to bat for me many times when my dad would lay into me about my life. I love her as much as I love my own mother. She damn near is my mother. For her, I will make that six hour drive home.

***

…beep…beep…beep…beep

The breathing tube in Isabella’s mouth looks as if it’s floating above her mouth. Her lips are chapped and pale, much like her face. I swear I saw her eyelids flutter, but it’s me getting my hopes up once again. She’s been like this for almost six months, and every day it looks like she’s no closer to waking up.

When I got home the day after the accident, I saw a man that wasn’t my father. He was broken down, tears streamed down his face, his entire appearance disheveled, a far cry from his neat and composed President of Traffix Works look.

I did something out of character also, and hugged my father. I helped him up off our tiled living room floor and ushered him to one of our leather couches. It squeaked as we both put our collective weight on it.

“She’ll be alright Dad,” I said. And then we sit in silence.

The front door opened.

Into the living room came Joanna, my 18 year old stepsister. She looked a mess, but that was her normal look. Heavy black eyeliner, ripped jeans, off the shoulder top with a cami underneath it, and too many chains around her neck; the look was completed by a look of general indifference. She was two years old when her mother and my father got married.

“What are you doing here?” She lit up a cigarette.

“Don’t smoke in the house,” I said. “Your mother was in a car accident. She’s at the hospital in a coma.”

“Tell me when the bitch is dead,” she said without a hint of sarcasm.

“For once can you show some respect? She really could die.”

“Yeah, and then all I have to do is wait for this old bastard to die and I can start living my life.”

I had never seen my father move so quickly across a room, but before I had registered it, my dad towered above Joanna and backhanded her across the face. “That is your mother!!! She is lying in a hospital bed barely alive and all you can think about is yourself?!! You smell like weed and liquor, where have you been?”

“I wasn’t fucking if that’s what you think I’ve been doing. I’m still a virgin, Daddy. I’m going upstairs.”

My mouth fell open.

“The insolence!!!” my father yelled. “After everything we’ve done for her!!” A vein was getting ready to pop out of his forehead.

“Dad, calm down so that we can go to the hospital.”

***

Since that day, Joanna has not gone to see her mother. She and Dad argue about that, and her activities, every single day. She’s become more reckless, and recklessness is not tolerated by my dad.

At the same time though, he has let up on me. I managed to secure a decent job at a small finance firm. I moved back into the house until things get better around here. I felt as if for once in his life, my father needed me. He took half days at work, and divided his time between the hospital and the house.

It was weird at first, without Isabella’s laughter around the house. It was too quiet, until the arguing started. And once Joanna stormed out of the house, it was quiet once again. Dad and I would take this time to sit in front of the TV, watch a sport or a movie, or the news, and make small talk. It was us attempting some type of normal father-son relationship.

“Isabella is a good woman,” he says one night. We were eating some pasta dish that he put together. He’s a decent cook, but his heart wasn’t into this meal. “I don’t understand why Joanna acts like she hates her so much. Isabella never did anything wrong by that girl. I never did anything wrong by that girl. Do you know that her father had a bad cocaine addiction?”

“I never knew that.”

“Yeah, Isabella made him go to rehab, and he came home, and when Joanna was born, he relapsed. Isabella wasn’t going to raise that girl around that, so she left him. I met her a little while later.”

“She’s still a bit young Dad. She’ll grow out of it.”

“No, no,” he says, shaking his head, “she needs to be taught some type of lesson. Respect and responsibility needs to be forced into her. We’ve let it go on for far too long.” The look in his eyes scares me.

“How do you plan on doing that? She’s 18; you can’t touch her unless you somehow get her arrested.”

“David, I know I’ve been hard on you, but I really need you to do this.”

A chill went down my body. “Do what?”

He explains what he wants me to do. “Please. You’ve never done anything I’ve wanted you to do, please do this one.”
             

“I don’t think I can do that.”

“Why not?”

“Dad, that’s just….wrong.”

“Everyone wins. She’ll learn some respect, and we’ll all get some peace. Isabella will be so happy to find a new daughter when she wakes up.”

“But….”

“She’s only your stepsister. Please David. This is the only way I can think of to save her.”

“Civilized men don’t do things like this.”

“She isn’t that much of a civilized woman.”

“And if I do it?”

“I’ll leave you alone about your life. You don’t have to come and work for me, unless you want to.”

The thought of finally being able to live my life, the very thing Joanna wants to do, warmed my body. Is it selfish of me that I’m thinking of doing it just for that very reason? It’s not like he’s going to give me more stuff in the will, or even money in general. But peace of mind is important to me. “How are we going to do this?”

Following Joanna around wasn’t as hard as I thought it was going to be. She almost has a set routine. She leaves the house, stops by a friend’s house (I have no idea who) and stays there for several hours. They might leave if they need to re-up on weed or alcohol; in that case, they have their fake ids for the alcohol. They might check out an 18 and over club at night, and return to the friend’s place to continue the festivities. Sometimes she’ll go to a store and shop for clothes with our parents’ money. I learned all of this in a few days; imagine what I would learn in a few months.

Our plan was very simple. This was the hard part.

“First, you have to kidnap her.”

Joanna emerges from a friend’s apartment alone, eyes glued to her cell phone. I allow her to cross the street before I get out of the black rented Suburban, pull the baklava over my face and begin to follow her. Lucky for me, no one was out at this time of night.

I feel my heart beating out of my chest, which is expected, given that I’ve never kidnapped anyone before. Out of my pocket I pull out a cloth and some chloroform and I pour a liberal amount into the cloth.

I speed up to catch up with her, and my heart is damn near making an appearance. I calm my breathing, say a quick prayer, and grab her. She struggles, and struggles madly, bucking against me like a horse that’s about to be put down. The chloroform finally works its magic and she’s out.

She’s light, and getting her back to the car is easy. I pull off from the curb and drive north, towards downtown, and my father’s penthouse apartment. Joanna has never been here, and I’ve only been here a few times myself.

“I have a penthouse downtown that Isabella and I used to use for our more….adult activities. I have some equipment there for you to use,” my dad said when we were discussing the plan.

“I remember it,” I said solemnly. I had used it myself to impress people.

The penthouse is warm and dusty when I open the door. I pull Joanna into the apartment before someone sees us, and lay her on the bed. Rushing, I remove all the pictures and anything else that would give it away that this was her stepfather setting her up.

I set up all the equipment on and around the bed — chains, new toys, harnesses, whips, a ball gag and a flogger — and remove her clothing off of her. I strap her to the harness, until she is an X in the air. I strap the ball gag to her mouth. I get myself prepared as well, putting the baklava back on, and nothing else. I try to get my dick hard, but it isn’t happening. I’m still creeped out about this.

I look at Joanna’s body. She’s skinny, too skinny for my liking, with small tits. A tattoo of Tinkerbell takes up the left side of her torso. Her pussy hair is neatly trimmed to near invisible proportions.

I grab the smelling salts out of the bag and hold them under her nose. She wakes up with the start. She tries and fails to yell through the ball gag, and she begins to cry. I panic, and rack my brain for a solution to this. My father’s aggression towards her passes through my mind and I do the one thing that makes sense — I smack her across the face.

My dick perks up.

“Shut the fuck up,” I say. “Do you know why you’re here Joanna?”

She shakes her head, quietly sobbing.

“You’re a fucking cunt. You walk around here disrespecting everyone who cares about you, doing stupid shit, trying to whore your body out to whoever has enough weed and alcohol. Are you a whore Joanna?”

Her sobs grow louder, and I smack her again. “Are you a fucking whore?”

“No!!!” she cries louder.

Another smack. “Shut up! You’re not a whore? Let’s see.”

I stick two fingers inside of her pussy. She lets out a cry. I move around in there, feeling how tight she is. “Good girl. We can’t let that go to waste.” I get behind her. She struggles to see behind herself, to see what I’m doing. By now, my dick is hard and ready. Who knew that me getting into character would alleviate my hesitation? “We have all the time in the world. I am going to fuck some respect into you, and maybe then you’ll be a good girl for once.”

“No, no, no!!”

She struggles, but I manage to enter her. I try to be gentle, but with her squirming, that is damn near impossible, and she lets out a shrill shriek. I keep pumping into her, and her shriek becomes a whimper, as I effectively fuck her. I grab her by her hair. “How does it really feel you whore?”

I haven’t had pussy this tight in ages, and I enjoy it for another five minutes; eventually, I come inside of her, feeling spent. I could get used to this.

I let her down from the harness, and she slumps down into a pile on the floor, trying to cover herself up with her arms and she doesn’t look at me as I sit on the bed.

“…can I go?” She asks quietly.

“No. You haven’t learned anything yet.”

“Please….”

I jump up and grab her by her hair. “You’re talking too much.” I shove my flaccid dick into her mouth. “Lick yourself off.” She sloppily sucks me. My dick starts coming back to life, and I fuck her face until she has licked every drop of herself off of me. I toss her onto the bed and climb on top of her. I trap her wrists in the cuffs I have cuffed to the bed. She kicks me, hard, and I hold her legs by her ankles, using a free hand to enter her. She cries out with every thrust, and I push her legs forward to go deeper into her.

Finally, I finish and it feels amazing.

I sling her legs down and get off of her. “Go to sleep.”

I leave her whimpering on the bed and head towards the bathroom. I turn the water on and climb into the shower. I rest my head against the cool beige tile and let the water run over me, a figurative baptism, to rinse off what I’ve just done.