Incest Fun: Extreme Taboo Erotica E-Book

Deacon Bock

• Herausgeber: Vintage Pulp Publishing
• Kategorie: Erotik
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Beschreibung

Warning: This is a VERY taboo, vintage, hard-boiled full length (100+ Pages), post-censorship erotic novel. This is bad stuff. Both bad meaning bad and bad meaning *good*. The story is so crazy, we can't even give a proper description.

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"You are such a lovely piece of ass my sweet daughter," Sheree's mother said. "How could we not include you sooner or later in our sex games."
"But I don't want to play in your sex games," Sheree said, her eyes still wide with terror. "I don't want to have anything to do with you people!"
"It doesn't seem to me that you have any choice," Dick said and threw back his head as he laughed too loud. "We are your parents and you are stuck with us."
"If you touch me, I swear I'll run away from home," Sheree said, her anxiety making her voice quiver.
"Maybe we want you to run away from home. Maybe we think that would only leave more money for us," Pinky said, tilting her head to one side and flashing her daughter a phony smile.
That was the cruelest thing that Pinky had ever said to her daughter.

Leseprobe

Incest Fun

Deacon Bock

Copyright © 2017

Table of Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

Epilogue

CHAPTER ONE

The village itself is no more than a crossroads, consisting of a general store, the post office and a bar called Hooky's.

Most of the people in the town are fanners, who, because they are poor, are forced to work their own fields, without the help of employees.

Others have various blue-collar jobs, like factory or construction work.

It was generally known as the poorest section of Monroe County, and the people were looked down upon as being uneducated.

The rich folks in the rest of the county referred to the residents of Rushdale as poor white trash.

It was not the best place in the world to bring up a family, but many of the people were kind and simple and everybody had a keen instinct for survival.

"At least the air is clean," they would say in defense of their community.

It was almost Christmas time in 1980, and the farmers had very little to do except to sit in Hooky's and sip the foam from the tops of small glasses of draft beer.

The beers cost a quarter, and if you sipped and didn't chug, you could kill a whole afternoon in Hooky's for a fin.

It was Saturday morning and Sheree Masters was just waking up.

She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes with two tiny fists and stretched her arms with a yawn up toward the ceiling.

She had grown used to the condition her bedroom was in and she no longer minded its shoddy appearance.