Little Brats: Georgia: Forbidden Taboo Erotica Read online

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  High school senior, Moxie, agrees to be moral support for her friend, Patches, who is totally enamored with a college boy, so she says yes to a double date, even though she has to lie to her parents to do it. But Moxie wasn’t counting on lying about her age to get into an x-rated movie, and she definitely wasn’t counting on her date’s Roman hands and Russian fingers, or the fact that the pants she’s borrowed from Patches are several sizes too small. By the end of the night, Moxie finds herself in far more trouble than she bargained for!

  Table of Contents

  BOOK DESCRIPTION

  Little Brats: Georgia

  IF YOU LIKE THIS SERIES, CHECK OUT THESE

  GET FIVE FREE READS!

  ABOUT SELENA KITT

  BONUS EXCERPT

  SELENA KITT’S OTHER WORKS

  MORE FROM EXCESSICA!

  BOOK DESCRIPTION

  Georgia runs with the goth/emo crowd at school—she dyes her hair and wears black nail polish and lipstick, but she has to hide all of this from her disapproving mother and stepfather. When she decides to get a tattoo on her birthday, she makes the mistake of talking about it on her cell phone to a friend and her stepfather overhears. Georgia discovers that there’s a price to pay for disobeying her stepfather—a very naughty price indeed.

  Little Brats: Georgia

  By Selena Kitt

  IF YOU LIKE THIS SERIES, CHECK OUT THESE

  Little Brats:Anna

  Little Brats: Becca

  Little Brats: Clara

  Little Brats: Christa

  Little Brats: Darla

  Little Brats: Eva

  Little Brats: Fiona

  Little Brats: Hanna

  Little Brats: India

  Little Brats: Jenna

  Little Brats: Kayla

  Little Brats: Leila

  Little Brats: Maya

  Little Brats: Nina

  Little Brats: Olivia

  Little Brats: Paula

  Little Brats: Qesa

  Little Brats: Tina

  Magical Moments

  Camping Brats

  Heavenly Brats

  Traveling Brats

  The Preacher and His Naughty Brat

  The Cougar and Her Cub

  The Nudist and His Princess

  The Man of the House

  The sticky juices of Georgia’s wet pussy made the black, glass dildo moving in and out of her wet folds sparkle in the blue light of her laptop. The screen showed a goth guy squatting against a brick building, his black hair and pale skin making her mouth water. His fingers, draped in silver jewelry with black painted nails, gripped his not inconsiderable erection. He wore nothing other than those rings on his fingers and black combat boots. Her own hands, still dripping with heavy silver and adorned with black nail polish, were the female equivalent of his, even though hers clenched tight around the ring on the end of her toy.

  “Your dick’s so hard.” A moan escaped her throat as she spoke to the picture on her laptop, imagining his dick as her dildo, but she was also talking, hands-free, to her cell phone sitting beside her and the guy she’d met in her college lit class who thought having phone sex would be “sick.” He meant that in a good way, of course.

  Nothing about him mattered other than he played a willing audience, an able participant, the masculine voice she needed to get off. He’d been willing enough when she’d offered this little date to him after class today. She snuck in the house late this afternoon still dressed in her goth attire, covered up with a jacket and hoodie. Living a double life had its positives and negatives. She loved the thrill of getting away with something, her backpack stuffed with black clothes, black spray-on hair dye, and black makeup along with all her jewelry—she changed at school each day in the library bathroom.

  At home, she wore basic slacks and turtlenecks, her shoulder length hair dark, but not dark enough. The spray-on stuff made it shine a coal black. She usually returned home with her goth washed away, using the sink in that same bathroom. No one ever used it—the basement housed archives barely anyone had a need for. Yet, today, for this call, she’d pulled her hood tight and crept to her room, knowing her mother, Dorie, would be in her room nursing a migraine or nervous fit, whichever the day had brought, and her stepfather, Edward Manor—the third—would still be working at this hour.

  Looking down, she admired her pussy, a pink bordering on red, glistening inside, framed by a closely cropped patch of dark curls over skin that had never seen the sun. It all struck a sharp contrast to her full, creamy thighs and the black glass toy, complete with carved head and veins. She liked it hard, and had built up a sheen of sweat pumping the thing in and out, her inner walls gripping at the thick, well-built appendage.

  “Shit, I’m so hard,” a male voice came from her phone, shocking her out of the fantasy brewing in her head. His voice was small, crackly, and kind of girly.

  She frowned at her phone. If that continued, she knew she would have been better off just masturbating to her favorite image on the internet, making him talk dirty in her head. Seemed once this guy had his dick in his hands, his voice lost the deep timbre he’d tried to seduce her with this morning. It was his voice that had attracted her. It reminded her of someone. So did the picture on her screen—the man on her laptop looked a darker, sinister version of dominating, richly attired stepfather.

  “You know, my father, he comes into my room at night, scotch on his breath, tie loosened, but still in his three-piece suit,” she told the boy on the phone, letting the images in her head slip from her tongue. It was the only thing that got her really wet. “He rips back the covers, pulls up my ass, and forces his big cock into my tight hole. I tell him no. Daddy no! But it only makes him pound me harder. He gets what he wants, when he wants, at work or at home. He’s fucked my mother into some psychotic state. Since she’s close to a nervous breakdown now, he’s moved onto me. At night, he finds me in these sheer, frilly nightgowns he buys me. He wants me all innocent and sweet. I 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!” H
e 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 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 could she not respond? Georgia wondered.

  It was a strange scene—and not just because she was watching her parents having something that might be called sex—but her pussy clenched as she watched. She tried to imagine being bound that way, having something pressed into her ass and pussy at once. What would it feel like? But it looked as if her mother wasn’t feeling anything. She thought the woman had to be near death not to react to all of that, good or bad.

  Georgia’s reaction was immediate. Her whole body filled with heat. Her pussy clenched and grew even wetter, if that was even possible. Her heart pounded, her breath turned to glass in her throat. The sight of her stepfather this way, completely in control, fucking his wife, made her want him to the point of insanity.

  Her mother stared off into the distance, grimacing slightly when he pulled the butt plug from her ass. Georgia saw her stepfather now had pleasure beads in his hands. She’d seen them before online at the sex toy sites. She watched, aghast, as he pushed them one by one into her mother’s puckered hole. Her own ass clenched, sending a ripple of contractions through her core. Her pussy gripped for something, anything, to invade it as roughly as he had her mother’s.

  A gasp escaped her as her entire body pulsed and tightened to see a tramp stamp tattooed on her mother’s lower back. It was an alphanumeric code, the same used to identify items bought and sold at her father’s auctions. A bar code.

  No wonder he saw her as an
owned object. He saw everyone that way.

  Georgia heard his voice, muffled through the glass, rebuking her mother for not responding to the gifts he was giving her. He reached for something—a riding crop. Bringing the little rectangle on the end of the thin stick down on her mother’s ass, the woman jumped and a red welt formed immediately. Every time he smacked her, Georgia saw his erection jump, and her insides throbbed, her breathing becoming labored. Her ass tingled. She wanted to feel the leather sting her own skin. She couldn’t imagine the sensation, but oh God, she longed to experience it.

  When her stepfather pulled out the beads and put a slightly bigger butt plug back in, her ass ached imagining that sensation too. Georgia’s hips began to buck, her ass cheeks clenching together tight when her stepfather doled out a few more swipes of the crop over her mother’s reddening ass. She was so turned on, she could barely breathe. What was wrong with her? She was watching a woman—her own mother—being tortured, and she wanted it too. She wanted to be that woman, tied, bound, things shoved into every orifice, spanked, humiliated.

  Why was that so fucking hot?

  Her stepfather slowly pushed a long, buzzing dildo, a piece of plastic thick and curved, into her the woman’s only empty hole, pressing a button at the end of a wire hanging from her mother’s folds, making the woman cry out.

  Georgia fucked the air, watching her mother’s hips rock and roll. She writhed in her straps. Georgia clenched her thighs together, her pussy throbbing, watching her stepfather jerking his cock as the dildo did its work on his wife. The woman was now being tortured with pleasure. Her body responded, whether she wanted it or not. Georgia’s own body betrayed her too. She should have been appalled, horrified. She should have turned away in disgust.

  Instead, she went to her knees so she could see better, watching her stepfather stroking his big, beautiful cock as he went around his wife’s bound body, near her head. Georgia saw her mother’s body jerk and convulse as her climax neared. Georgia’s breath came faster and her breath fogged the glass, her pussy so hot it felt as if it was on fire. Her stepfather fed his wife his erection, making her swallow it bit by glorious bit.