I’ve just launched three Taboo Short Stories in time for the Christmas Holidays. They’re in an erotic genre popularly referred to as ‘pseudo-incest’. This features sex between people who are not related by blood, but who have grown up together.
The general term for these type of stories is taboo. If this isn’t in your bag, please skip the series and look elsewhere…
These hot little numbers are for adults only and contain over 5,000 words each. Twenty-year old coed Cassie returns home for Christmas for the first time in three years.
Mom has gone to live with her younger lover, leaving the hunky MAN OF THE HOUSE and the BOYS SHE GREW UP WITH to welcome Cassie into their home with slightly more than open arms. Should she remain pure and frustrated, or will she submit to their TABOO LUST?
• 5,500 sizzling-hot words for adults 18+
Books #2 and #3 chart Cassie’s progress as she works her way through the ‘men of the house’.
Please note: These books are works of fiction intended for mature audiences only. All characters portrayed are eighteen years of age or older and any similarities to real people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. None of the characters engaged in sexual activities are related by blood. Extract from A Dirty Little Christmas Gift for the Man of the House:
By the time I reached my bedroom, I must confess I was feeling light-headed and incredibly turned on. What is it about alcohol that amplifies a girl’s sexual feelings? I slipped out of my clothes and decided to take a shower before I turned in. I was contemplating the ‘cold shower’ cure, but in the end I chickened out and told myself a warm shower would be almost as good.
I pulled on my silk robe and headed to the only bathroom in the house. When I went to lock the door, I saw the catch was missing. How typical of a house full of men!
From the sound of the music and laughter drifting up from downstairs, I could tell Dad and two boys were too busy drinking, talking, and listening to Sticky Fingers by The Rolling Stones to worry about me and my shower.
I set the controls, threw off my robe and stepped naked into the shower. Since I’d last lived here, Dad had installed an American-style power jet. A torrent of steaming, hot water was soon pounding my naked body.
I became all too aware that my pussy was sopping wet, and it had nothing to do with the shower. It was in urgent need of attention. I decided to bring myself off with my fingers.
I closed my eyes and splayed open my sex-lips, seeking out my clitoris. Slowly and deliberately, I rubbed with my two middle fingers, occasionally allowing myself the luxury of penetrating my sticky tunnel.
All the while, the jets of hot water were massaging my body.
With my free hand I felt for my nipples and gave each of them a tug. They were hard as bullets.
It was only when I uttered the words, “Oh, Daddy,” did I fully realize I was fantasizing about the Man of the House. The strong, masculine firefighter I’d called Dad for seven years; the man laughing and joking downstairs. His proximity made me feel even more turned on.
Beneath the sexual pleasure and the effects of the whisky, I felt a pang of guilt. I was fantasizing about the only living person I called Dad.
I tried to dismiss the guilt immediately. After all, I assured myself, visualizing the thick, stiff cock I was sure Dad kept hidden inside his pants, this isn’t real. It’s a fantasy.
If I am determined to have a moral debate, it can wait until after I orgasm.
“Oh, Daddy,” I moaned again. I was bringing myself close to climax. I could feel the waves of pleasure building up inside me.
“Cassie?” It was Dad’s voice. All too real and all too near at hand.
I opened my eyes and saw with horror that he was standing in front of me. He was naked…