Little Brats: Taboo A-Z Volume 1: (Forbidden Taboo Erotica) (Little Brats Boxed Sets) (4 page)

She’d spent an entire afternoon at the mall trying on outfits.  Her job at the bait and tackle shop gave her some extra spending money and she’d been saving up for a new Mossberg hunting rifle, but right now, this seemed far more important.  Her best friend, Ashe, had given his two thumbs up in the end.  She couldn’t remember how she and Ashe had become friends, somewhere back in the third grade, but he’d been her true companion ever since, and the fact he was gay—he confessed at some point in middle school—had always made things even better between them somehow.  There was no pressure and it was easy to be the best of friends. 

“You are going to knock him flat on his ass.”

She’d cocked her hip and pouted.  “Who?”

“Whatever guy you’re doing this for.”

“I’m not doing it for a guy.”

Ashe had laughed.  “You’re the world’s worst liar.”

Okay, so it was true.  But she wouldn’t tell him who, even when he begged and threw a temper tantrum in the middle of the mall like the drama queen he was, threatening to leave if she didn’t tell.  It was the first thing in a long time she couldn’t tell Ashe. 

But he’d gotten over it by the time he picked her up for school on Monday.  Duncan had a rare day off and was still asleep when she slipped out of the house.  She thought wearing the outfit to school would work on two levels—it would throw Ashe off the trail, confirming it must be some guy at school she was trying to impress, and it would serve as a test run.  If the boys at school looked twice, she’d know she hit the mark. 

Turned out, it was a perfect bulls eye.  Turned out, all a girl needed was a short skirt, a tight shirt that showed off some cleavage, and a lot of make-up to attract a boy’s attention. 
Every
boy’s attention, it seemed.  So much attention it began to be uncomfortable in class.  The girls whispered and glared, but the boys—guys who hadn’t noticed her in cut-offs and Polos in an entire four years of high school—were suddenly boys falling over themselves trying to talk to her before and after class.  She even managed to usurp the attention that had been heaped on the new girl, whose black cat suit-type outfit seemed tame in comparison to Becca’s skin-revealing bits of cloth. 

Every time she moved, she was aware of her body.  The slip of her tank-tee strap, revealing an expanse of brown shoulder, the crossing of her legs pulling her skirt far too up her thigh—but not crossing them revealed the black thong Ashe had insisted she wear underneath the incredibly short, hot-pink skirt they’d chosen.  Then there was the hardening of her nipples under her white tank-tee when someone opened one of the classroom windows—she could have sworn it was on purpose—which made her braless state even more prominent. 

So it turned out her theory was correct—dressing provocatively got a girl all sorts of attention, turned heads and made everyone talk.  As it also turned out, it landed her in the principal’s office with a call home to Duncan to either come pick her up or bring her a change of clothing.  That was after one of her teachers had given up trying to keep the class’s attention off Becca’s long, tanned legs in four-inch spiked high heels. 

Duncan chose the former, showing up at the school with a scowl, following the principal into his office with another backward glare at her.  She waited, head down, for the door to open again, her heart leaping to her throat when it finally did. 

“We’re going home.”  Duncan strode past her on his way out, but she’d already gathered that much. 

Becca followed, struggling to keep up, unsteady in her shoes, the heels clattering on the tiles.  He’d brought the truck, and she had to practically jump up into the passenger side, something she wasn’t used to.  When she finally managed to get into the seat, she saw Duncan was watching her, his face slightly red, and she wondered how much she had revealed in her gymnastics. 

She’d barely shut the door before he pulled out of the parking lot.  Expecting a lecture, Becca tugged at her skirt, trying to pull it down to cover herself, but it was no use.  There just wasn't enough material.  Duncan glanced over at her manipulations, his gaze moving from her very short hemline back up to where she was trying to make the tank-tee cover her breasts.

“What in the hell were you thinking?”  he snapped, shifting the truck into a lower gear as they rounded the corner to their street.  Becca bit her lip and tried again, a futile gesture, to get her skirt to cover more flesh. 

“I just wanted to see what would happen,”  Becca mumbled, regretting her decision now.  It had been Duncan’s attention she wanted to capture, after all, and while her mission might have been successful, it wasn’t the sort of attention she had been after. 

“You’re going to find out,”  he growled, pulling into the driveway and cutting the engine.  “Get into the house.”

She slid out of the truck and wobbled up the driveway to the side door.  She was hopeless in heels.  How did her mother do this every day? Duncan was already inside, sitting at the kitchen table.  His face was unreadable. 

“Am I grounded?”  she asked in a small voice, dropping her backpack to the floor. 

“I told you what would happen if I ever caught you going out wearing something like that.”

Becca stared at him, uncomprehending, but a dawning realization came over her as Duncan stood and began unbuckling his belt. 

I’ll spank your ass until you can’t sit down. 

That’s what he had said—his exact words.  Becca watched him unthread his belt, staring in disbelief as he folded the thick leather over carefully, keeping the buckle in his hand. 

“Come here.”  He snapped the belt and the sound made her knees weak, but she did as she was told, wavering only slightly, catching herself on the kitchen table.  “Bend over.”

She blinked at him in disbelief, her face reddening, and she cooled her cheek on the surface of the table as she bent over, feeling more exposed than she ever had in her life.  His presence filled the room, rising up behind her, although she couldn’t feel him, not physically.  He hadn’t touched her. 

Every muscle in her body was tense as she waited, still aghast at her position, ashamed it had come to this.  Behind her, Duncan was so quiet, it was unnerving.  She glanced back, seeing his gaze on her standing bent over the table, a look on his face she’d never seen before, at least not when he looked at her. 

It was pure lust. 

Becca met his eyes, her own widening in amazement and a little fear.  Duncan scowled, snapping the belt again, and she cried out when the first blow landed on her behind, part of the strap hitting her skirt, the other slapping hard against the exposed skin of her thigh. 

“Ow!”  She yelped, involuntarily shying away from him, but the next blow came fast and just as hard, this time on her other ass cheek.  “Ow! Okay! I get it!”

“No.”  Duncan grabbed the edge of her skirt and yanked it up hard.  She gasped and the belt stung her bare ass this time.  “You don’t.”

Becca buried her face in her arms as he smacked her bottom again and again, her skin completely exposed, her black thong no protection against the blows, trying not to cry.  It hurt—a lot—and her thighs trembled as she sprawled across the table, trying to get away, but she was trapped.  Duncan punished her silently, but she heard him breathing hard behind her after the last slap of his belt had fallen. 

“I’m sorry.”  His words were soft, almost a caress.  And then, oh then, he touched her.  His hand moved lightly over the surface of her red and stinging behind, the best salve in the world.  Becca moaned softly and arched without thinking.  She heard his sharp intake of breath when she did, and then he was pressed against her, pushing her hips into the table edge. 

“Becca, you have to promise me you’ll never go out of the house dressed like this again.”  His voice was low, strained. 

She sniffed, nodding, wiping her face—she couldn’t help her tears after all—willing to promise him anything.  Anything.  “Okay.” 

“You are…”  He cleared his throat, his hand moving in her hair, across the bare skin of her neck, through the valley of her shoulder blades.  “You’re a beautiful girl.  You don’t need all this…”

Becca gasped as his hands, both of them, moved to her hips, not just caressing but gripping, pulling her close.  His crotch was right up against her ass, and she felt him.  He was hard.  So very hard. 

And then he let her go, stepping away, turning around as he began to thread his belt through the loops in his jeans again. 

“Go wash that junk off your face.” 

Still shaking, she did just as she was told, stripping down in the bathroom, taking off everything, including the thong and the heels.  She got into a hot shower and scrubbed herself as if she couldn’t get clean enough.  Her skin reddened under the treatment, growing almost as red as her still-stinging behind. 

She looked in the mirror when she got out, inspecting the damage.  No skin was broken, no bruises.  Her bottom was just hot and pink.  She ran a hand over it, caressing herself the way Duncan had, and shivered.  She’d seen the look on his face, had felt the steel-hard press of his cock against her. 

Leaving all her clothes in the bathroom on the floor, she wrapped herself in a towel and went to her room.  Downstairs, she heard the TV on and the sound of Duncan banging around the kitchen, cooking something for dinner.  It was like nothing had happened—except that her ass burned, and so did her cheeks. 

And her pussy. 

Her pussy was on fire. 

Becca crawled into her bed, the towel falling away, the air on her skin cooling her hot, burning flesh.  She buried her face into the coolness of her pillow as she stretched out on her belly, unable to stop herself from sliding a hand between her still trembling thighs.  Her pussy was soaking wet, her clit thrumming under her fingers as she started to rub it.  Closing her eyes, she remembered everything—the way he looked at her, the feel of his cock, so fucking big and hard against her crotch, his hands gripping her hips like he wanted to fuck her right then and there. 
Had he wanted to?
she wondered. 

She wished he had. 

“Oh Duncan,”  she whispered, rubbing her little clit as fast as she could.  She was so ready to come.  Even in spite of the pain of her spanking, the way the belt had caught her sometimes had nearly sent her over the edge toward orgasm.  She imagined him behind her, his cock pounding her pussy, and that thought alone would have been enough, but then she remembered how he looked at her standing bent over the kitchen table in her tiny little pink skirt, her tits on the table, her legs spread, and that sent her flying. 

“Fuck!”  she moaned, her clit throbbing under her fingers as her climax overtook her.  “Oh fuck! I’m gonna come all over your hard fucking cock! Yes! Yes!” 

She shuddered and rocked on the bed, burying her face in the pillow to keep from screaming at the force of it.  It wasn’t like she hadn’t masturbated imagining Duncan fucking her before, but he’d never looked at her like he had today.  That look of lust in his eyes made it more intense somehow—knowing he wanted her. 

Becca sighed softly, turning her cheek, looking for a cool spot on the pillow, and that’s when she saw the look in his eyes again, and it wasn’t just in her imagination—Duncan was standing in the doorway.  She was too surprised to do anything.  She didn’t even move to cover herself. 

He cleared his throat.  “Dinner’s ready.” 

Then he was gone, back downstairs, and Becca finally moved to get dressed, a little too late.  She yanked on a pair of clean, white, chaste cotton panties and a plain bra, pulling on sweats and a t-shirt before going downstairs.  He’d made spaghetti and garlic bread, and he greeted her brightly as she came cautiously into the kitchen. 

The whole meal went like that, as if nothing had happened at all.  They cleaned up together, and Becca thought something might happen then, but they washed and dried in perfect sync with no incident.  Then Duncan said he had some work to do and went upstairs to his room, leaving her downstairs in front of the TV, idly flipping channels, unseeing. 

She couldn’t see anything excerpt the way her stepfather had looked at her.  Oh God, that look.  She knew he wanted her.  And she wanted him too.  More than she could ever say.