making her bite her lip until the metallic taste of blood graced her tongue.
Georgia walked on shaky legs to the parlor, just as instructed. Her stomach was in knots, roiled with fear, defiance, and a sick curiosity. She walked slowly, wide-eyed, trying to convince her lungs to keep working. She’d had hours to think of every possible scenario that might play out, from a father taking his daughter over his knee, humiliatingly naked, to him waiting, erection in hand, to have his way with her. Of course, none of that was likely to happen. She’d probably end up grounded, her car impounded, her phone and laptop taken away.
Even though she’d used every toy in her small arsenal to satisfy herself, her sex still throbbed as she walked now. She couldn’t help it. Her fantasies were sick, but she loved them. She got herself off again and again, imagining depraved, twisted things, most of them involving her stepfather and his commanding voice, his own sick need.
She stepped inside the parlor, shoulders back, arms rigid at her sides. Standing there, she pondered the decanter of cognac and glass sitting out on the coffee table for her.
Walking slowly to the middle of the big room, one dark with rich mahogany wood and leather furniture, she picked up the decanter to pour herself a drink—she wasn’t yet twenty-one, so this was an illicit act, one pre-approved by the man who’d raised her.
Her breath caught to see a glass-covered opening in the table that let her see into the room below. Her brow furrowed, realizing the heavy, wooden serving tray that usually adorned the table had been removed. She’d never been in the room below this one. It was just storage, housing expensive, unsold items for her father’s auction house. That’s what her mother had always told her when she ushered Georgia away from the always-locked door.
Instead of shelves of expensive items, Georgia saw her mother in a compromising position. Her body hung draped over and below three black bars on a metal table, waist high to her stepfather. Contorted and bound, body limp, Georgia guessed the woman would have slid from the table like a rag doll had she not been tied to the bars with cuffs and chains. Her arms stretched out in front of her, cuffed to the table, her head rested on them. Not one emotion showed on the woman’s face. She looked strung out, in fact, maybe on her mind-altering drugs, worse than Georgia had ever seen her before. Her glassy eyes stared at nothing.
With her ass up high in the air, over the highest bar, her legs chained far apart with some sort of separator, Georgia saw a butt plug forcing the woman’s ass open. Her father held a long wand in his hand, one with a round black ball on the end of that he pushed against her mother’s clit, making her limp body jump and tremble. The woman began to whimper and then finally cry out, tears actually streaming from her eyes. She heard a faint grunt through the glass as her stepfather shoved this thicker-than-any-cock-she’d-ever-seen wand into her mother.
As the woman huffed and puffed, her face turning an odd shade of red, her body trying to squirm despite her restraints, her stepfather looked up at the glass opening—right at Georgia. He wore only his silver silk dress shirt, tie loosened around his neck. His erection stood out from his shirt, long and thick, veins bulging in the shaft. Pulling out the wand, he replaced it with his cock, thrusting into her up to his balls in seconds. As he forced himself in and out, he twisted the butt plug in her ass.
Georgia had seen the plugs before on the sex toy sites she frequented, but had never understood how something so large would fit in such a tiny hole. But there it was. Her mother had taken not only the plug in her ass, but now her husband’s thick cock too, filling her pussy. She wasn’t crying. She wasn’t screaming. She wasn’t really responding at all. She just laid there, inert, eyes closing, taking what he gave her. How
Georgia walked on shaky legs to the parlor, just as instructed. Her stomach was in knots, roiled with fear, defiance, and a sick curiosity. She walked slowly, wide-eyed, trying to convince her lungs to keep working. She’d had hours to think of every possible scenario that might play out, from a father taking his daughter over his knee, humiliatingly naked, to him waiting, erection in hand, to have his way with her. Of course, none of that was likely to happen. She’d probably end up grounded, her car impounded, her phone and laptop taken away.
Even though she’d used every toy in her small arsenal to satisfy herself, her sex still throbbed as she walked now. She couldn’t help it. Her fantasies were sick, but she loved them. She got herself off again and again, imagining depraved, twisted things, most of them involving her stepfather and his commanding voice, his own sick need.
She stepped inside the parlor, shoulders back, arms rigid at her sides. Standing there, she pondered the decanter of cognac and glass sitting out on the coffee table for her.
Walking slowly to the middle of the big room, one dark with rich mahogany wood and leather furniture, she picked up the decanter to pour herself a drink—she wasn’t yet twenty-one, so this was an illicit act, one pre-approved by the man who’d raised her.
Her breath caught to see a glass-covered opening in the table that let her see into the room below. Her brow furrowed, realizing the heavy, wooden serving tray that usually adorned the table had been removed. She’d never been in the room below this one. It was just storage, housing expensive, unsold items for her father’s auction house. That’s what her mother had always told her when she ushered Georgia away from the always-locked door.
Instead of shelves of expensive items, Georgia saw her mother in a compromising position. Her body hung draped over and below three black bars on a metal table, waist high to her stepfather. Contorted and bound, body limp, Georgia guessed the woman would have slid from the table like a rag doll had she not been tied to the bars with cuffs and chains. Her arms stretched out in front of her, cuffed to the table, her head rested on them. Not one emotion showed on the woman’s face. She looked strung out, in fact, maybe on her mind-altering drugs, worse than Georgia had ever seen her before. Her glassy eyes stared at nothing.
With her ass up high in the air, over the highest bar, her legs chained far apart with some sort of separator, Georgia saw a butt plug forcing the woman’s ass open. Her father held a long wand in his hand, one with a round black ball on the end of that he pushed against her mother’s clit, making her limp body jump and tremble. The woman began to whimper and then finally cry out, tears actually streaming from her eyes. She heard a faint grunt through the glass as her stepfather shoved this thicker-than-any-cock-she’d-ever-seen wand into her mother.
As the woman huffed and puffed, her face turning an odd shade of red, her body trying to squirm despite her restraints, her stepfather looked up at the glass opening—right at Georgia. He wore only his silver silk dress shirt, tie loosened around his neck. His erection stood out from his shirt, long and thick, veins bulging in the shaft. Pulling out the wand, he replaced it with his cock, thrusting into her up to his balls in seconds. As he forced himself in and out, he twisted the butt plug in her ass.
Georgia had seen the plugs before on the sex toy sites she frequented, but had never understood how something so large would fit in such a tiny hole. But there it was. Her mother had taken not only the plug in her ass, but now her husband’s thick cock too, filling her pussy. She wasn’t crying. She wasn’t screaming. She wasn’t really responding at all. She just laid there, inert, eyes closing, taking what he gave her. How
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