Little Brats: Taboo A-Z Volume 1: (Forbidden Taboo Erotica) (Little Brats Boxed Sets) (14 page)

“Do you like Daddy’s cock?”  He watched her curiously.  She didn’t know what to say, so she nodded. 

“You can touch it,”  he urged. 

It seemed to wink at her.  She reached for it hesitantly, wrapping her hand around it, mimicking him.  Her slender, delicate fingers encircled its girth.  He groaned and thrust gently, almost imperceptibly, into her hand.  He moved her fingers up his shaft, so she was holding onto the mushroom-like tip, and showed her what to do, his hand covering hers at first, moving it up and down, again and again.  He moaned when he let her hand go and she continued the motion.  Excited by his response, she went faster, matching her movement to his breath. 

“That’s it, baby, God, yeah… good girl… faster,”  he urged. 

Her arm was tired, so she switched hands and he shifted and threw his head back when she did.  She found the tingly feeling coming back between her legs and she longed to touch herself there, but she didn’t want to stop pleasing him.  She found a quick solution, pulling her wet panties aside again and stroking him against her.  The tip of him rested right against her tender button, and she rubbed it there.

“Oh no,”  he moaned, looking down to see his cock pressed against his daughter’s little pussy.  “No, no.”  His denial was weak, and she pressed him harder against her. 

“Yes, Daddy,”  she whispered, her hand slick on him.  “I want to be all yours, forever and ever.” 

“You don’t know what you’re saying,”  he said, his breath ragged.  “What are we doing?”

“Please, please,”  she whispered, her hand tugging awkwardly at his firm flesh. 

He growled, relenting, grabbing his cock out of her hand.  He positioned it at her tight, virginal hole, spreading her lips with his fingers. 

“Don’t move,”  he told her sternly.  She obeyed him.  He was using his daddy voice.  He pressed his hips upward, easing her open.  She whimpered, feeling a sting, a slow burn between her legs.  He let the tip rest just inside of her, putting his hands on her hips.

“Honey,”  he whispered.  “This may hurt, just a bit at first… but it feels so good for Daddy… God… are you sure?”  His eyes, dark with lust, convinced her.  She so wanted to please him.

“Yes, Daddy, yes,”  she said.  “Put it in me.”

He used his hands to ease her hips down, sinking slowly into her flesh.  Darla felt tears sting her eyes.  He was stretching her so wide open! It felt as if she might tear in two! He did it slowly, inch by inch, watching her face the whole time, seeing her biting her lip, squeezing her eyes closed, and then held her still for a moment when he was as deeply into her as he could go. 

“Ahhhhhhh God, you’re so tight,”  he gasped, looking down at her smooth pussy lips wrapped around his shaft.  “Oh Darla, it feels so good.  I have to fuck you!”

“Yes, Daddy.” 

It was she who began to move, rocking gently on top of him.  His eyes widened at the sensation, jammed into that too-narrow fold that somehow was making room for his enormous hardness.  She saw his hesitation, and she said something she thought might encourage him, although her face flushed and the words felt too big in her mouth. 

“Fuck me, Daddy!”  She wrapped her thin arms around his neck and pressed her little breasts toward his face. 

He turned into an animal then, nipping at her breasts with his lips, thrusting up into her with abandon.  Darla was taken aback at first at the violence of his movements, the way it made her teeth jar and her ponytail bounce, but she soon found herself overwhelmed with feeling, the sensation between her legs an achingly sweet cross between pleasure and pain, something beyond comprehension as her daddy’s big cock moved in and out of her tiny sheath, impaling her again and again. 

He grunted and growled, fucking her harder now.  “Ahhh fuck I’m gonna come.  God help me, oh, no, yessss, I’m gonna come! Darla! Fuck!” 

She held him tightly, arching her back, and she saw a splash of headlights on the ceiling above.  She knew instinctively it was her mother’s car.  Her heart lurched. 

“Oh Daddy, hurry, I don’t want mommy to catch us!”  she urged, and he arched up to meet her with a yell, coming hard, his body convulsing.  Her tiny pussy simply couldn’t hold it, and it seeped back out of her immediately, pooling on his lower belly and running down his scrotum. 

She jumped off him quickly, tugging her skirt and shirt down.  “Daddy, hurry! Mommy’s home!” 

His startled look was almost comical, his cock and balls bunched up over his zipper.  She could see what had impaled her still pulsing in a wet nest of black hair.  He tucked everything back in, zipping himself up, and quickly buttoned his long coat. 

“Oh God, oh my God, what have we done?”  He sat forward on the couch, putting his head in his hands.  Darla heard her mother coming up the walkway.  She moved to sit next to her father, slipping her hand into his.

“It’s ok, Daddy,”  she told him.  Her heart was racing, knowing they didn’t have much time.  “I love you.  I won’t tell.”

He gave her a pained look, swallowing hard and closing his eyes briefly.  “I love you, too, Darla,”  he told her, his voice barely a whisper.

“I promise.”  She kissed his stubbly cheek just as her mother came into the house.  She slipped upstairs, letting them argue it out, why her mother hadn’t been home, how he constantly inconvenienced her like this, how she had a life too, you know.  Darla sat at the top of the stairs, her panties still wet with her father’s cum.  She knew she had him, now, in a way she never had before, in a way she’d always wanted.  She’d wanted him completely, had watched with envy how he looked at Irene, even at baby Carrie, had ached to have him all to herself.  She’d never understood his leaving, and now it felt as if he had finally come home.

Only she heard the tremble in his voice when he called up the stairs to say goodnight to her before he left, and she eagerly called down to him, “Goodnight, Daddy!”  boldly standing and lifting her skirt, pulling her panties aside so he could see her put her fingers deep inside like he had done.  She was unbelievably sore there.  His face reddened, but his eyes glazed over slightly and he looked at her in a way he never had before.  It made her flush, too.  She blew him a kiss and turned, hurrying off to her bedroom to bury her hot, red face into her pillow.

Eva doesn’t fit in at community college.  The kids all say she talks funny and it’s true—her Russian accent makes her a target for a lot teasing. 

She can’t help it if her mother came to the U.S.  as a mail-order bride—with her daughter in tow.  Eva’s mother keeps reminding her that they should be grateful her stepfather agreed to accept Eva, too, but her mother doesn’t know everything. 

The real secret is that Eva’s stepfather agreed to the marriage because he wanted Eva. 

And worse, the thing Eva really can’t tell her mother—she wants her stepfather too.

“Moya mat' razrushila moyu zhizn!'” Eva managed to get the words out to her Russian friend on the screen.  She didn’t know what she would do without Skype.  Probably die of loneliness.  But Lily was five thousand miles away—even if it seemed like she was in the same room—along with all of Eva’s old friends, her school, her whole entire life she’d had to leave behind. 

The sound of her bedroom door creaking caught her attention and Eva saw a glimpse of Daniel out of the corner of her eye.  Her stepfather’s six-foot frame loomed and when he knew he’d been seen, he emerged fully into her room. 

“Your mother ruined your life?”  He cocked his head, speaking in Russian, even though he knew her mother had forbidden them both.  They spoke it when they were alone together anyway, like a secret.  Daniel’s Russian wasn’t great—he’d learned it quickly, a loving gesture for his mail-order bride—but he spoke well enough for them to understand each other.  Eva appreciated the gesture, the familiar sound of her native tongue, even if her mother didn’t.  Tatyana spoke excellent English.  She prided herself on it, and her new husband’s efforts to please her with his broken Russian had gone from being initially unappreciated to outright rebuked over time. 

“What has she done now?”  Daniel raised his brows over those kind, dark eyes of his. 

“Hello, Mr.  Kingman!”  Lily waved from the laptop screen, speaking English. 

“Hello, Lily.”  He leaned over to smile at Eva’s far-away friend as he reached for the laptop’s power button.  “Eva has to go now.  Bye, Lily!” 

The screen went dark.  Eva could see her own reflection in it.  Her face was still wet with tears and she swiped at them, angry at herself, at her mother.  At everything and everyone.  Except for him.  She lifted her face to meet his knowing gaze, biting her lip to try to keep her feelings in check, but she wondered how much he saw, how much he knew.  Sometimes she thought it was nothing, sometimes she thought it was a great deal. 

“What is it, kisa?”  he asked, using a term of endearment that made her feel both small and loved—“kisa” meant “kitten” in her native language.  “Did you fight again?” 

Eva shook her head, turning her cheek toward the hand stroking her dark hair.  His fingers were calloused and rough, but it was no wonder.  He’d made his money as the third generation of his family to run Kingman Stables where they trained and breed Champion horses.  She looked up and met his eyes.  He wasn’t huge, but his body had been etched by manual labor, and his heart was twice the size of the man himself. 

He often denied himself to the point of frugality, but he was more than generous with her and her mother.  The man had been the only father figure she’d ever really known, even though she’d come to his house full grown.  Sure, men had paraded in and out of her mother’s life, but most had paid her no more interest than her cool, self-indulged mother.

“Is it so awful?”  he asked in Russian, stroking her cheek with those calloused fingertips.  He smelled earthy, but clean, a familiar scent—hay and Old Spice.  “Am I so awful?”

“No, not you.”  She shook her head vehemently.  “Never you.” 

His patience with her—and her mother—rivaled all she’d ever known of men.  She only shook her head, wanting to tell him everything she’d just revealed to her friend, the truth of her life here in America, but she held back, more out of fear that she’d break down completely if she went through it all again.

“You can tell me, solnyshko.”  Another Russian term of endearment—
little sun
—he shared only with her.  He probably would have called her mother those things, but her mother didn’t like hearing anyone speak Russian.  Her mother had been the one who wanted to come to America, who wanted all things American, from American beer to American Express to an American man of her very own.  “I just want to make you happy.” 

“You’re the only good thing about this place.”  She felt her chin quiver. 

“I want this to be your home.”  He sat on the bed, patting it beside him. 

“It is.  Daniel—you are,”  she assured him.  “I just… I miss things.”

“What things? What do you miss?”  He patted the bed again and this time she went. 

With the grace of a dancer, she slid onto the bed next to him, leaving perhaps an inch between them, his legs covered in worn jeans, hers half-covered by a tight cotton skirt that stretched over the full curves of her hips and generous thighs.  Eva was curvy, breasts filling every inch of her thin shirt, and she couldn’t help comparing herself to her mother, the woman her stepfather slept beside each night. 

Where her mother had an hour-glass figure, thin where she needed to be and curves in all the right places, Eva just had curves.  While not exactly fat, no one would accuse her of being thin either.  Eva’s long dark hair fell in waves over her full chest, strands slipping where the V-neck of her shirt revealed the creamy flesh of the tops of her breasts.  The contrast of colors she appreciated, though so far, few others seemed to share her opinion.  Her mother’s hair, the same rich color of a dark roast coffee, the woman kept in a sort, sophisticated cut, not a strand ever touching her shoulders. 

Where Eva preferred to go more natural, only some lip gloss and eyeliner, maybe a touch of blush, her mother spent hours applying makeup, the thick lines of black eyeliner she wore only accentuating her sharp, Russian features, making her look even more intense, if that was possible.  The woman’s gaudy clothes, the ones she thought so high class, in Eva’s mind only made her mother look like one of the over-done Barbie dolls on that Real Wives TV show the woman spent hours watching, like she was studying it for an American citizenship test or something equally as important.

When she caught her stepfather following her own gaze, taking in her body with his mouth slightly open, he moved with a jerk to begin studying the carpet.  His hands now gripped his own thighs, the tips of his fingers turning white with the effort.

“What do you miss, little one?”  he prompted her again and she saw he was looking at her, drinking in her body with his eyes. 

“My friends.  My school.  My… life.” 

“Can’t you make a life here? With me?”  He swallowed, an audible click, his next words like a reminder for them both.  “And your mother.”

“My mother.”  Eva sighed. 

“She loves you.”

“She doesn’t even know I’m alive.”  She rolled her eyes at the thought.  “I’m just an appendage.  She takes me along with her wherever she goes.”

“Didn’t you want to come here?”

“No.”  It was the truth.  She had to say it, even if it hurt him when she did.  “I had nowhere else to go.  And she wanted… you.”

“She wanted America.”  There was a painful knowing in his eyes. 

“Yes,”  Eva admitted quietly. 

“She got stuck with me.”

“She got lucky.” 

Daniel’s eyes lit up at her words, but they both knew that Eva’s mother didn’t feel lucky, getting stuck with Daniel.  She didn’t feel lucky at all. 

“But you’re unhappy.” 

“It’s her fault, not yours,”  Eva reminded him.  “It’s just… if I was home in Russia, I’d be going to open mic night with Lily right now, reading my poetry in the café.” 

“I didn’t know you write poetry.”  He raised his eyebrows in surprise, a smile fluttering on his lips. 

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,”  she confessed, swallowing hard. 

“I’d like to find out.”  His fingers brushed her cheek as he tucked a piece of hair behind her ears. 

“You’re sweet, Daniel.”  Sometimes she thought he was too sweet—especially for a shark like her mother. 

“I love you.” 

Those words.  They made her heart swell. 

“I just…”  She looked down at her hands in her lap.  “I wish I could fit in.”

“You’re a beautiful girl.”  His arm went around her, a reassurance.  “So bright.  You should have a million friends.” 

“They make fun of me.” 

“Why would they make fun of you?”  His lips brushed her hairline. 

“My accent.  My words.  I forget, sometimes, the American words for things.”  She cringed at the memory, leaning against him.  “They laugh at me.” 

“Girls can be mean.”  Daniel sighed and she wondered if he was thinking about her mother. 

“It’s not just the girls,”  Eva insisted.  “And the boys! Ugh!”

“The boys?”  Daniel’s voice was guarded, but she heard the firmness in it.  Like any parental figure, he didn’t like thinking about her in relation to boys.

“They make me wish I was invisible.”  She sighed. 

“Why?”

“They look at me like they want to undress me.”  She turned her face up to meet his eyes and saw something there that both surprised and excited her. 

“I can’t say as I blame them,”  he breathed. 

“Daniel!”  Eva’s eyes widened and then she laughed, seeing him smile. 

“You’re lovely, my little kisa.”  He kissed her forehead with a chuckle. 

“But then they talk about me to their friends,”  Eva said darkly.  “They laugh along with the girls. 

“It’s a little community college,”  he reminded her.  “They’re just small fish.  Unimportant.  Next year, when you transfer to a bigger university…” 

“It will be the same.”  She shook her head, knowing it was true.  She was never going to fit in here, never.