“Who?” He blinked at her, feeling as if he was in a dream. Maybe he was just still too drunk to process any of this.
“Taffy.” She pointed to the kitchen counter where her class rodent was busily shredding Kleenex.
“Oh.” He gave a brief nod. “Right. Sure. Not a problem.”
He listened to her climb the stairs. The house was so quiet he heard the familiar creak of the fifth step, the snick of their door closing. He should be devastated. Horrified. Panicked. Something.
But for some reason, all he could think about was his stepdaughter. He thought about her, upstairs in her room, how coolly she had handled herself, how composed she’d been. He thought about her mouth, her hands, her eyes, although he knew he shouldn’t. His marriage was crumbling and he couldn’t think about anything but fucking his stepdaughter—and his wife... his wife was worried about the fucking hamster.
That told him a hell of a lot.
His office overlooked the backyard, which was a small affair, crowded with a little pond—ridiculous in the middle of Texas, the water constantly evaporated in the heat—and a huge trampoline. Christa used it regularly for cheerleading practice, and because he worked from home, he had the perfect vantage point for her after school antics. Today, though, Christa didn’t have school.
He knew that spring break week meant both his wife and stepdaughter would be home with him all day, although this morning his wife had left for Florida and his stepdaughter had taken off in her brand new 2011 red Mustang convertible to meet Ashley at the mall, leaving him alone, which was how he usually spent his days.
Work waited while he brewed coffee, searched the Internet, dabbled on World of Warcraft for a while and even played a few rounds of Solitaire. He couldn’t concentrate. Rachel had been in a better mood before she left, even kissing him goodbye and saying she’d call him when her plane landed.
“We’ll talk when I get home,” she’d whispered, hugging him tightly before getting into her Intrepid and heading off to the airport. He’d offered to drive her, but she had refused. He stared after her, still unshaven, standing there in his bathrobe, more confused than ever.
Before he knew it, the afternoon had rolled in, and he still hadn’t touched any of his editing, although he had managed to shave and shower. That had taken far too long, because his cock had insisted on remembering the feel of his stepdaughter’s hand and mouth, her velvety tongue and achingly soft lips.
Fuck. He was a bastard. A deviant. Rachel was right to leave me, he decided, trying to decode words on the screen in front of him, but nothing made sense. The Internet’s siren call lured him and he found himself surfing and, clear admitted deviant he was, somehow clicking on a porn site. His cock made it to half-mast almost immediately, but the more he clicked, the more dejected he became. None of them looked like Christa.
And Christa was all he could think about.
As if on cue, the top of her blonde head appeared above the window ledge. Jim blinked in amazement, and then realized—she was practicing her cheers on the trampoline. Christa was so small and light that they used her to form the top of all their pyramids. He’d seen the girls during practice on the few occasions he’d picked her up from school, his stepdaughter balanced precariously on a pile of female bodies, like the fine top to a trophy, or the goddess Venus rising out of a surf of flesh.
He could see her clearly enough. He’d sat back and enjoyed this show on several occasions, had even once let himself masturbate to the spectacle from the bathroom window when Rachel wasn’t home. Christa in her cheerleading outfit was a sight to behold, all slender curves and jutting hips, the black and gold skirt so short it flipped up every time she leaped, higher and higher on the trampoline. Today she had braided her hair into two long, blonde pigtails on either side of her head, the effect of which was mesmerizing.
His window was closed—the air conditioning was on, because it was at least ninety-five out there—but he could hear her through the glass. She was cheering loudly, giving it her all, her pom-poms shaking, her feet first kicking out into a split, spreading so wide it made him dizzy, then she tucked them off to the left, her heels so high they touched her ass, then off to the right, repeating the delectable process again and again.
“Let’s get physical!
Get down, get hard, get mean!
Let’s get physical!
And beat that other team!”
Jesus.
Had cheers had gotten naughtier since he was in school? His stepdaughter whooped and hollered, shaking her pom-poms with fresh enthusiasm, and he found his eyes drawn to the yellow V at the crotch of her uniform under the pleated black skirt. She was like a tiny bumble buzzing around the yard, distracting him.
“Stronger than steel!
Hotter than the sun!
Jim won’t stop
’Til he gets the job done!”
He stared at her, his jaw dropped, as she jack-knifed down on the trampoline, letting herself collapse into a fit of laughter. He watched her roll on the surface, giggling, finally lying still, spread-eagle, her skirt flipped up, the distracting yellow V between her legs taunting him. Her legs were pale against the black surface, her thighs slightly splayed, her knees sweetly rounded knobs, her shins smooth and shiny with sweat under the hot Texas sun.
She wasn’t talking about him, of course. That’s what he told himself. Some guy on the football team was probably named Jim. It was a pretty predictable name for a quarterback at a Texas school, he reasoned. Still, the gentle tease of her cheer, the way she sat up and shaded her eyes against the sun, looking up at his office window, as if knowing he would be watching...
Jim stood, closing his laptop and pushing away from his desk. He needed a break. What he really needed was a long, freezing cold shower. His cock definitely felt stronger than steel and hotter than the sun, that was for sure, and he damned well wanted to do the job. And he most certainly wouldn’t stop until he was done.
Get a hold of yourself.
His cock encouraged him to do just that and he groaned, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against his office door, his hand on the knob. Then he straightened up, took a deep breath, and headed downstairs in search of some sort of distraction, whether it was a sandwich, coffee, or a nice, stiff drink would be determined by his state of mind by the time he got to the kitchen.
He stood at the fridge for five minutes before deciding, but once decided, the familiar action took over. For Jim, cooking was like meditation, and when Christa banged through the side door, he was practically zen. She shook her pom-poms in his face, making him sneeze, which only made her laugh as she tossed them on the table and toed off her sneakers.
“I’m starving!” she declared, peering over his shoulder. “Is that bacon? Oh my god, that’s bacon!”
He lifted the paper towel he’d used to cover it to soak up the grease. “Help yourself.”
“I’m all sweaty.” She picked up a piece of fatty meat and chewed happily as he started to make his sandwich. “I need a shower.”
“Glad to be on spring break?” He spread mayonnaise on his toast, arranging tomato slices, just so, totally in the zone. Christa was once again just his stepdaughter, and he was making an ordinary lunch, paying no attention to the way she peeled off her socks and wiggled her pink toes, the way she grabbed a greasy handful of bacon and sat at the kitchen table, thighs parted, skirt forming a U between them. No, he wasn’t noticing the way she licked the grease off her fingers, the hungry little monkey, rubbing her plump lips with the tips of her fingers.
“Are we making small talk?” she inquired, raising her eyebrows as she watched him stack bacon on his lettuce. Zen. Totally Zen.
“Still making all As?” More mayonnaise on the other slice of toast. There. The perfect BLT.
Christa sighed. “Well, I guess small talk it is. Yeah, Mom was bragging just this morning to my dad about it. As long as I manage to pass my advanced chem final, I’ll graduate valedictorian.”
&nbs
p; Jim nodded, bringing his plate to the table. This was the dangerous part, sitting so close. Their knees were inches apart under the table. “Speaking of your dad, I think he left a message on the machine.”
“Oh I know, I talked to him this morning too.” She grabbed his full milk glass, taking a gulp, and he watched her pale, slender throat work as she swallowed, the sight almost painful to him. She glanced up, seeing the look on his face, and grinned, the milk mustache on her upper lip making the expression even more endearing. “He called me on my cell. Guess what? He broke up with what’s-her-name.”
“The dancer?” Jim bit into his sandwich, chewing thoughtfully.
“Yeah.” She snorted, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “He’s such a dick. I swear, you’ve been a far better father to me than he ever was.”
Her words jolted him, and he felt both proud and guilty at the same time.
She snuck a piece of bacon out his sandwich, smirking, daring him to stop her. “Anyway, he’s drowning his sorrows in the Florida Keys.”
Jim stopped chewing, blinking at her. “Really?”
“Are we going to pretend last night didn’t happen?” she asked lightly, but he felt her toes beginning to walk up his shin.
He ignored both her foot and her question. “Did you talk to your mother before she left?”
“Yeah.” Christa shrugged. “She came into my room early this morning. She said she was going to stay with Kathy for spring break in...”
Her voice trailed off and her eyes began to grow wide.
“Florida,” he finished for her, watching the same realization that had occurred to him moments before finally cross her mind.
“That bitch.” Her whispered words caught him off guard.
“Don’t you want your parents get back together?”
“I don’t care what they do.” She shoved away from the table, her eyebrows knitted, her face a storm cloud. “I only care about you.”
“Christa...” He barely had time to put down his sandwich before she was in his lap, straddling him, her arms around his neck
“Take me to bed,” she whispered into his ear, and he felt the press of her crotch, covered only with her cheerleader boy-short panties, against his. “Please. Take me.”
She kissed him, full on the mouth, her tongue searching, probing, plunging. She begged him with her body—take me, take me, take me. How could he say no? He knew he shouldn’t do it, he knew it, but he didn’t care anymore. Right or wrong, he didn’t care. Grabbing her hips, he lifted her easily—she couldn’t have weighed more than a-hundred-and-ten—and, still kissing her, started out of the kitchen.
“Yes!” she cried, triumphant, as he started up the stairs. Jesus, he needed to work out more. She was light, but he was panting by the time he got to the top, turning toward the bedroom he shared with her mother. “Oh god, I’ve wanted you for so long.”
“Me too,” he admitted shamefully as she rained kisses over his neck, working the buttons on his shirt. She had them undone to his waist by the time he reached the bed, her slender fingers trailing over his chest, teasing his nipples, making his cock jump in response. He kissed her deeply, feeling her slip out of his arms, her body sliding down, down, down so she was sitting on the bed and he had to bend to keep his mouth fastened to hers.
She fumbled with the button and zipper on his jeans, breaking their kiss so she could focus on her task, shoving his pants down to his knees. His cock sprung up, hitting her lightly just under the chin, and she giggled, a delightful sound, grabbing him in her fist. She rubbed him against her cheek, her lips, closing her eyes and smiling, as if she could bathe herself in his pre-cum. There was so much of it, he thought maybe she could.
“I want to see you.” He stepped out of his jeans, peeling off his shirt, and pushed her back onto the bed. She was still wearing her cheerleading outfit, but she was barefoot now. She stretched out on the bed, hands over her head, letting her knees fall apart for him, a tease. He saw the flash of gold under her black skirt, but he didn’t want to start there.
“Take off your top.” He instructed. His hand found its way to his cock. It insisted.
Christa did as she was told, pulling her uniform top up over her head, confirming what he’d assessed—she was braless. On her back, the buds of her breasts literally disappeared, leaving just the puffy rise of her pink-hued nipples. He groaned at the sight of them, his cock lurching forward, knowing just what it liked.
“Now your bottoms.” He let her do it, because he knew if he touched her now, he wouldn’t be able to control himself. She lifted her hips, sliding her uniform skirt down, catching the elastic of her yellow boy-shorts with her thumbs at the same time. He watched, fascinated, as she revealed herself to him, bit by bit—the wink of her navel, the jutting wings of her hipbones, the line of downy blonde hair at the top of her triangle.
Then she was pulling her legs up, giving him a view of her ass and that tight, puckered hole as she slid her skirt and panties up to her knees, over her shins, tossing them onto the bed. She smiled, a little shyly, her knees still together, off to the side now, her little body twisted on the bed. He thought he’d never seen anything so sexy in his life. Until she brought her knees up and let them fall open in front of him.
“Oh god.” His cock didn’t just lurch forward, it vaulted through his fist, aiming for the promised land, and he only stopped it by sheer force of will, inches from her glistening pink opening. The hair at the top of her cleft was dense, growing less so on the delicate wings of her labia. Her inner lips were pink and convoluted, hiding the bud of her clit, and his mouth literally watered at the thought of traversing that labyrinth.
“Spread it open for me.” He watched her slim fingers part those lips, giving him what he wanted, a long, lingering look at the pink entrance his cock was aching to penetrate. But first, his tongue. He had to taste her.
Christa gasped and then moaned softly when he knelt beside the bed and buried his face into her flesh, like her pussy was a juicy, ripe peach. He couldn’t believe her sweetness. Her pale thighs quivered, the muscles on the insides growing more taut as she spread for him, offering more and more of her delectable fruit. He drank her in with relish, wetting his face with her juices, his tongue tracing the soft pink folds of her flesh, an intrepid explorer.
“Oh Daddy!” she cried, her hand moving in his hair, and he groaned at the reminder. This was his sweet little stepdaughter’s pussy under his tongue, her hips thrusting up to meet him, her orgasm quivering, just at the verge of overtaking her. It was probably wicked, practically criminal, but that fact excited him even more. “Oh fuck! Daddy! Daddy! Make me come all over your face! Ohhh fuck, like that! Lick it hard! Harder!”
He grunted and brought his mouth down on her fully, lips fastened and sucking at the button of her clit. Christa bucked and cried out again and again, words he’d never heard her mother utter in the entire time he’d known her, words that made his cock weep with lust and jerk in his hand against the collar of his fist. She came and came, all over his face, just as she had promised, and he could have died right there and his life would have been utterly complete.
“Fuck me!” She insisted, pulling him up on the bed, but he was still too dazed, slow and full of her sweetness, so she pushed him onto his back, straddling him. “I want that fucking cock. I want you inside of me.”
He just nodded, letting her, but he watched, like a dream, as she took his cock in her fist—Jesus, her fingers barely met around his girth—and aimed him. How often had he thought of this, imagined just this very thing? Countless, endless fantasies. And here she was, one little thigh out to the side to keep her balance, the tips of her pigtails teasing those delicious puffy pink nipples as she wiggled down toward his cock.
“Slow,” he advised, knowing all too well that he just might explode instantly if she started like a racehorse out of the gate. “Easy, baby girl. Easy.”
She sighed, but she followed his instruction, parting her lips with t
he head of his cock. He held her hips steady, watching himself begin to disappear into her tender flesh, feeling it, oh god, no, he couldn’t concentrate on that. That was too fucking good. Christa straddled him fully now, her knees drawn up against his hips, sinking down, down, down, until she was seated all the way to the base of his cock, her tiny, rounded bottom wiggling against his balls.
She sighed happily, smiling down at him, and he smiled back, his hands at her waist spanning such a small distance his fingers almost touched at her spine. He rubbed his thumbs over the angles of her hipbones as she began to rock, not riding him up and down, but back and forth, tucking her hips and then moving them back, forcing his cock to deeply explore the achingly tight clench of her pussy.
“Here.” She guided his hands up her waist, over the fine, delicate protrusion of her ribs, to the pubescent thrust of her tiny breasts. “Play with them. Yes, like that. Ohhh god yes like that. Tug at them, Daddy. Harder!”
Her nipples turned from pink to red from his attention. He thumbed them, but that wasn’t enough, so he twisted them in his fingers, making her moan and gasp and rock harder in the saddle of his hips.
“Harder! Oh fuck, suck them, Daddy! Lick them! Suck them hard!” She moaned, arching her back, leaning in and offering her tits to him “Oh I can feel it right in my pussy when you do that!”
He suckled greedily at her girlish flesh, feeling her breasts swell, her nipples hard under his tongue. She didn’t stop fucking him, the sweet rocking driving them both to distraction, his cock clasped in the velvet vice of her cunt. It was exquisite. He couldn’t take much more of it.
“Come here.” He grabbed her hips, pulling her off his dick, and they both cried out at the loss of it. He manipulated her easily. She was like a little doll he could toss around at will if he wanted. He settled her over his face, and she cried out, twisting, arching, but he didn’t let her go, his tongue finding the sensitive spot at the top of her cleft, licking there, just there, swallowing her pussy juices in huge, throat-aching gulps.
Taboo Greatest Hits, vol 2 Page 12
