fear what he’d do if he ever saw me in my black leather.”
“Jesus, that’s wrong!” The guy on the phone gasped and then let out a pained moan, his hand sliding up and down his cock—she could hear it, slick with some lubrication, a slap-slap-slap sound. “And so fucking hot! Tell me more!”
That encouraged her to go on, pumping the big glass cock in and out of her cunt as fast as her hand could make it go. She was getting closer. Edging toward orgasm. When she closed her eyes, she saw him, her stepfather. Fuck. The line between pain and pleasure left her winded.
Still, she went on, “I want you to come all over the tramp stamp I just got for my birthday, baby. It says ‘Property of the Dark Lord’ in a gothic script. My father forbid it, but I got it anyway. My father can never see it. He never does more than lift my nightgown so he can slide into my pussy. But I want you to cover it with all your hot, dirty fucking cum.”
“Oh yeah!” He groaned, his voice lower now. That was good. Very good. She could almost imagine he was her stepfather. “I want to come all over you!”
“Do it! Come for me!” She scooted her ass to the edge of her seat, spreading her legs wider, bucking up with each thrust of the glistening black cock. “Come all over my tramp stamp. Brand my ass with all that hot cum, Daddy!”
He moaned and came, shooting his load with a very satisfying growl, and Georgia arched and came along with him, seeing the goth guy on the screen holding his dick, squinting and seeing her stepfather in him, jerking his cock, coming all over her. She could almost feel the heat of the man’s cum on her ass—her tattoo burned—as she shuddered and climaxed, plunging the glass cock deep into her clenching pussy.
“Oh man, that was good.” The guy on the phone was an annoyance now. Georgia wrinkled her nose, reaching for her phone. “Think maybe we could—?”
As she ended the call, a movement caught her attention, her door opening a crack. She froze as her stepfather’s large form appeared. Impressive in a black and gray pinstripe suit, well-groomed from head to toe, he presented a slick and menacing figure, a man everyone quickly obeyed. Including Georgia.
She should have been falling apart inside, frozen, paralyzed, humiliated, afraid to be exposed to him this way, dressed in full goth, no less, with a thick cock spreading her pussy open, but instead—her stomach fluttered. Terror seized her momentarily—but the thrill of being caught by him, what it could possibly mean, also excited her. His gaze roamed over her body, from the mess between her thighs up to her heavy breasts.
“Come to the parlor tonight.” His stone-cold eyes met hers, his command meant to be obeyed. No questions. “Eleven o’clock, on the dot. Pour yourself a glass of my cognac.”
With that, he was gone.
What the hell?
She looked down at herself. Not only had he caught her masturbating, but she still had her black dress bunched around her middle, hair coal black, face painted. She couldn’t image what he wanted with her tonight, not after this. Surely, he wouldn’t bother her frail mother with the incident. The woman’s psychiatric meds didn’t help her deal with the most basic elements of life, let alone something like this.
What was he going to do? What was she going to do?
She should have been scrambling to cover herself, to scrub away the evidence, but it didn’t matter, not anymore. Instead, she closed her eyes, seeing him again in her mind, his gym-built body only accentuated by his well-tailored suit. She found herself torn between her fear and the excitement of being caught, hips beginning to move again. She opened her eyes, glancing down to watch the glass cock disappear inside her. Her fevered brain mixed the goth guy on the screen with her stepfather, terror with arousal, pain with pleasure, and before she knew it, her body flew again toward climax, the searing heat of her constricting muscles
“Jesus, that’s wrong!” The guy on the phone gasped and then let out a pained moan, his hand sliding up and down his cock—she could hear it, slick with some lubrication, a slap-slap-slap sound. “And so fucking hot! Tell me more!”
That encouraged her to go on, pumping the big glass cock in and out of her cunt as fast as her hand could make it go. She was getting closer. Edging toward orgasm. When she closed her eyes, she saw him, her stepfather. Fuck. The line between pain and pleasure left her winded.
Still, she went on, “I want you to come all over the tramp stamp I just got for my birthday, baby. It says ‘Property of the Dark Lord’ in a gothic script. My father forbid it, but I got it anyway. My father can never see it. He never does more than lift my nightgown so he can slide into my pussy. But I want you to cover it with all your hot, dirty fucking cum.”
“Oh yeah!” He groaned, his voice lower now. That was good. Very good. She could almost imagine he was her stepfather. “I want to come all over you!”
“Do it! Come for me!” She scooted her ass to the edge of her seat, spreading her legs wider, bucking up with each thrust of the glistening black cock. “Come all over my tramp stamp. Brand my ass with all that hot cum, Daddy!”
He moaned and came, shooting his load with a very satisfying growl, and Georgia arched and came along with him, seeing the goth guy on the screen holding his dick, squinting and seeing her stepfather in him, jerking his cock, coming all over her. She could almost feel the heat of the man’s cum on her ass—her tattoo burned—as she shuddered and climaxed, plunging the glass cock deep into her clenching pussy.
“Oh man, that was good.” The guy on the phone was an annoyance now. Georgia wrinkled her nose, reaching for her phone. “Think maybe we could—?”
As she ended the call, a movement caught her attention, her door opening a crack. She froze as her stepfather’s large form appeared. Impressive in a black and gray pinstripe suit, well-groomed from head to toe, he presented a slick and menacing figure, a man everyone quickly obeyed. Including Georgia.
She should have been falling apart inside, frozen, paralyzed, humiliated, afraid to be exposed to him this way, dressed in full goth, no less, with a thick cock spreading her pussy open, but instead—her stomach fluttered. Terror seized her momentarily—but the thrill of being caught by him, what it could possibly mean, also excited her. His gaze roamed over her body, from the mess between her thighs up to her heavy breasts.
“Come to the parlor tonight.” His stone-cold eyes met hers, his command meant to be obeyed. No questions. “Eleven o’clock, on the dot. Pour yourself a glass of my cognac.”
With that, he was gone.
What the hell?
She looked down at herself. Not only had he caught her masturbating, but she still had her black dress bunched around her middle, hair coal black, face painted. She couldn’t image what he wanted with her tonight, not after this. Surely, he wouldn’t bother her frail mother with the incident. The woman’s psychiatric meds didn’t help her deal with the most basic elements of life, let alone something like this.
What was he going to do? What was she going to do?
She should have been scrambling to cover herself, to scrub away the evidence, but it didn’t matter, not anymore. Instead, she closed her eyes, seeing him again in her mind, his gym-built body only accentuated by his well-tailored suit. She found herself torn between her fear and the excitement of being caught, hips beginning to move again. She opened her eyes, glancing down to watch the glass cock disappear inside her. Her fevered brain mixed the goth guy on the screen with her stepfather, terror with arousal, pain with pleasure, and before she knew it, her body flew again toward climax, the searing heat of her constricting muscles
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