Peeping Incest: Taboo Erotica E-Book

Richard Dempsey

• 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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Better than her mother? She'd never thought of it that way before. But maybe that was part of the reason she was always trying to bug her--to show that she wasn't so damn particular and finicky, to show that her mother's values were too rigid, too demanding, maybe even a little phony.
 
She knew what her mother would think if she found out her daughter had been fucked by a dog. But how would she like it if she found out her daughter sucked cock, too?
 
"Ahhhhhh, God ..." Robin moaned, unable to keep from weaving her ass back against Midnight's furry belly and thrusting prick.
 
She licked her lips. That was all she'd intended to lick, anyway. But her tongue swept over the velvety mushroom of his straining, throbbing prick, too.
 
Flavor burst through her senses, heady and strong. She smacked her lips and saw that the big eye on his prick was leaking clear oil. She watched another drop ooze out as he stretched his prick towards her face again.
 
"Ahhhhh, yeah! Like that, baby! Lick it again! Give me that sweet tongue all over my prick-head. And your lips--those baby-soft, red lips!"
 

Leseprobe

Peeping Incest

Richard Dempsey

Copyright © 2017

Table of Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER ONE

Christine watched him come around the end of the sofa from the wet bar with the pair of drinks and knew in her mind that it was going to happen.

She felt her heart pound. She felt a thrill begin tingling through her belly, making her pussy-tunnel squirm warmly in a way it hadn't for nearly three years.

"Here, Mrs. Eglund--try this and see if it doesn't call forth faraway places and sugar-sand beaches under whispering palms for you and me."

He smiled handsomely and sat beside her. She looked into the glass and squeezed her thighs together to try to stop the quick, shameless bloating of her trembling cunt-lips.

"All that from one daiquiri?" she laughed softly, trying to sound flippant and sure of herself.

His hip slid against hers and made her catch her breath. He watched closely as she sipped the drink. She felt like jelly under his gaze. After all this time, it was a frightening feeling, and it made her wish he were Carl.

But he wasn't Carl. It wasn't three years ago, when she'd been deliriously happy, when Carl had sat beside her on this same sofa after Robin was asleep and she had pulled him down against her uplifted hips and drawn his prick deep into her quivering cunt.

Those nights were gone forever. It was the same sofa, the same balmy, tangy breeze coming in through the porch from the Gulf, the same feeling of softness and warmth and expectancy. But he wasn't the same man, whose prick had driven firmly into her succulent cunt until she'd whimpered and surged upward into orgasm.

Over the pounding of her heart, she could hear the gentle throb and hiss of the surf outside, and it occurred to her to remind him that she had a nice beach and whispering palms right outside.