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Taboo Night-Time Affair: The Black Cop Stepman

Here’s the entirety of Taboo Night-Time Affair: The Black Cop Stepman, a hot story by Otto Van Raunchenhausen! It’s part of the Taboo Night-Time Affair series, all of which is in Kindle Unlimited!

Ian woke up just as the fight was getting really bad. He heard his mother scream, “Don’t you talk to me like that, asshole!”, and it was her voiceless shout of anger that actually woke Ian. Then there was a loud bang as though she had thrown something at Daddy Travis and hit the wall. Whatever it was shattered.

“I tol’ you I’d be late!”

“You promised you wouldn’t work this late anymore! You promised!”

“I know, but-“

“No buts! When you promise me something, I expect you to follow through! You bastard! You can sleep on the couch!”

“It’s too small…” his voice trailed off as she slammed the door shut. He sighed loudly and walked away.

Ian felt a guilty sense of relief. He had come to like Daddy Travis in the years since he married Ian’s mother, but it was difficult to overcome first impressions. He had hated his stepfather for so long he still enjoyed it when Daddy Travis got in trouble. He got a vicarious sense of satisfaction out of hearing Mama yell at him because Ian had wanted to yell at him for a long time.

The floorboards creaked as Daddy Travis went out to the living room. The police radio he always wore crackled into life, but the dispatcher wasn’t speaking to him. Ian heard him wait motionless in the living room. He must have considered sleeping on the couch, then decided against it — that wasn’t surprising, since he was much taller than the couch was long. He’d probably sleep on the floor, which was something he had done before.

But much to Ian’s surprise, that isn’t what he did. Daddy Travis slid the door open to Ian’s bedroom. He stood there in the dark as though waiting to see if Ian was awake.

Ian lifted his head. “Travis?”

He came in and nodded. He began unbuttoning his uniform shirt. “Is it okay if I sleep in here wit’ you? Yo’ mama and me… we’s havin’ a fight.” He had light brown skin that was smooth, marked with only a few tattoos, most prominently the symbol of his police department on his neck. The lean muscles of his toned body writhed in the moonlight as he came over to the bed and took off his boots. “I don’t wanna sleep on the floor, Ian, it hurts my back somethin’ fierce.”

Ian nodded and said yes. It seemed Daddy Travis had assumed the answer was yes anyway; he didn’t wait for Ian to agree. He sighed loudly as he sat on the edge of the bed.

Though he had unbuttoned his uniform shirt, he didn’t take it off. He just sighed and dropped onto his back on the bed. He laid there for a moment, motionless and quiet except for his loud breathing, on the covers and next to Ian. The smell of beer was heavy on his breath, and he burped loudly.

“You’re drunk?”

“Niggas don’t get drunk, Ian,” he said. He didn’t elaborate on that. His voice sounded slurred though — he was drunk, at least a little bit.

“You shouldn’t break your promises to Mom,” Ian said.

“Don’t you start on me too,” he said with a sigh. “Don’t you get it? I keep this town safe-“

“You’re not the only cop.”

“I know, but I’m the best,” he said. Ian could hear the smile in his voice. “I feel like this town might fall apart if I don’t do everything I can to fix it.”

“You’re not gonna wipe out crime, Travis. You can’t fix everything,” Ian said..

“You don’t understand, nigga, I came from the ghetto. I can’t just abandon-“ he paused and laughed. “Did I just call you my nigga?”

Ian giggled and nodded. “You do that when you’re drunk,” he said. He scooted closer to Daddy Travis, so close he could smell the sweat clinging to the shirt he had taken off but still lay on top of. As soon as he moved closer, Daddy Travis stopped laughing, and Ian blushed, wondering if he had embarrassed himself.

“You knew Robert Winchell?”

“Robbie? Yeah. We went to high school together.”

“Oh. I arrested him tonight. He’s a meth dealer,” Daddy Travis said.

“Oh. Wow. Well, I can’t say I’m surprised,” Ian said. Robbie had always been a trashy white thug, so if he had had to pick one person he went to high school with who started selling meth, that’s who it’d be.

“You hang out with him?”

“No! We ended up at the same parties sometimes, but we didn’t hang out. He was always smoking weed with the potheads out back,” Ian said. He didn’t mention that he was usually smoking weed there too.

“Good. Don’t mess around with that stuff, Ian.”

“I don’t! I don’t do meth, I barely even drink,” Ian said. He found that his body had scooted closer to Daddy Travis’. It wasn’t really deliberate, it was just the weight of his stepfather’s body on the mattress weighed it down, pushing Ian closer to him. Ian didn’t mind. He loved his stepfather’s musky, coconut butter smell. His hand was touching Travis’ thigh through his jeans, which sent a shiver of sexual anticipation up Ian’s spine.

After a long, awkward silence, Travis cleared his throat and said, “I know you… Uh… Look…. You can tell me anything, you know. And yo’ mama is gonna love you no matter what.”

“I know.” Ian’s voice trembled, unsure what his stepfather was trying to say.

“She don’t care that you’re gay,” he said.

Another long pause filled the room. Ian wasn’t out of the closet. He had just started visiting gay bars and had briefly had a sort-of boyfriend. He had never had sex before. But as far as his mother was concerned, he was straight.

“It’s okay, neither do I,” he said. “My partner saw you at the Dirty Dancer.”

“Oh. I thought I ducked out in time,” Ian said quietly, avoiding Travis’ intense stare. Last time he had been at the Dirty Dancer, the cops showed up when a fight broke out. Ian had managed to escape out the back door, worried that Daddy Travis or one of his coworkers would recognize Ian. Apparently he hadn’t been sneaky enough.

“You can tell yo’ mama whenever you’s ready,” Travis said. He leaned over and wrapped an arm around Ian’s prone body, his warm muscles and inviting chest sending a thrill of arousal through Ian’s sleepy mind. He stirred and again scooted closer to his stepfather, the edges of his police badge pressing into Ian’s shoulder. “You a virgin?”

Ian hesitated before answering. “Yes.”

His voice soft and weak as though nearly asleep, Daddy Travis murmured, “You wanna me to fuck you?”

“Yes,” he said without giving it a moment’s thought. He gulped. He had never really acknowledged how much Daddy Travis turned him on, though he always had, from the moment Mama introduced him. Ian had masturbated dreaming of this exact scenario on many occasions. He loved the way Daddy Travis’ muscular chest barely fit in his uniform shirt, biceps bulging against the seams, broad shoulders straining within the fabric. When he was off, he walked around the house in his boxers, slung low so his ass was slightly visible, the big bulge in his crotch attracting Ian’s attention and making it hard to concentrate. He wore a jockstrap with a cup most days because perps had kicked him in the balls on many occasions, so even in his uniform slacks, his mouth-watering bulge was apparent. That was what he still wore now, and since he lay on his back, the bulge was even more prominent than usual. Ian’s arms felt weak with anxiety and self-consciousness, since he was so skinny, bulgeless and twig-limbed compared to Daddy Travis’ gym-toned muscles.

“Whatchoo wanna do?” Daddy Travis said, reclining on his back as though to suggest his body was open for Ian. “You can go to town, boy… Y’ain’t gonna tell yo’ mama, right?”


“Good,” he said. “We gonna fuck on the downlow.” His body twitched as Ian awkwardly placed one hand on his chest, feeling his muscles beneath his shirt. His pecs were softball-sized rocks beneath Ian’s fingers; he had never felt muscle like this before, except on the few occasions Daddy Travis hugged him. His fingers crept to Travis’ nipples. Travis groaned. “You know what downlow means?”

“Kinda,” Ian said. His hand moved lower and lower until it slipped under Daddy Travis’ uniform slacks. His belt was loose so Ian’s fingers crept in easily, to the moist and warm hairy nest of his crotch. Ian had an idea of what downlow meant, but only because he had heard the black kids talk about it in the locker room, laughing and accusing each other of being on the downlow. Ian had no idea what it meant then, he just knew it turned him on, and he gathered the gist of it the longer he stayed there sneaking glances at their naked bodies.

“It means what happens in the dark, stays in the dark,” Daddy Travis said. “I’m a little drunk anyway. It don’t count in the dark. It don’t count if you’s drunk. It don’t count if you’s family. It don’t count in jail neither, but that one don’t apply here. Ya understand? Girls never get that. Sex is always an emotional thing for them. It always counts, as far as they’re concerned.” He scoffed. “Bitches!”

“Yeah…” Ian said, his mind too distant to pay attention. His fingers touched Travis’ dick, which was hot and veiny, throbbing as it grew hard beneath his grasp. Ian had touched cocks before, but it was never as sexy as this; he had never touched a black man either, and he wondered if the slick, vascular smoothness of the shaft was characteristic of black men. The handful of gay white men he had shared handjobs with were more clammy and spongy even when hard, but Daddy Travis felt sexier and harder even before he was erect.

He unzipped Travis’ slacks and pulled his dick out of his pants. He gave it a stroke and moved his head lower and lower. He hesitated, then let his mouth encircle the tip.

Having never tasted cock before but having fantasized about it many times a day since he was a middle-schooler, Ian was turned on instantly by the flavor. He moaned exquisitely and moved his head lower.

Soon his nose was ensconced in the kinky pubic hair of Daddy Travis’ crotch, which smelled of soap and black man’s musk. Ian inhaled deeply of the scent, his dick spasming inside the boxers he slept in. His hands roamed over Travis’ trunk-like thighs and the smooth muscles of his chest.

Daddy Travis took his shirt the rest of the way off and guided his head up and down. His dick turned hard in Travis’ mouth. The flavor of his masculine meat was so spicy and so pungent it brought tears to Ian’s eyes as his veiny shaft pulsated between Travis’ lips.

Much to Ian’s surprise, Daddy Travis didn’t act like what he assumed a straight man would in this scenario. He didn’t just lean back and let his dick leak precum down Ian’s throat. Instead, his hands roamed from Ian’s smooth back down to his ass and even into his crotch. He stroked Ian’s dick to full erection.

Ian wondered how common this was for him — was Daddy Travis on the downlow all the time? His friend and partner, the only other black cop in town, was named Winston, and he was a burly, hairy sheriff; the thought of them awkwardly fumbling with each other in the dark made Ian shudder with desire. He wanted to watch that more than anything.

They both jumped, startled, when the radio flickered into life. It was still attached to Travis’ pants on the ground.

Dispatch to Unit Eighteen.

Travis groaned. “He’ll remember I’m off-duty now, in a second.” He and Ian remained still and silent as though if they made a sound, the dispatcher would know where Travis was and make him come back to work.

Dispatch to Unit Eighteen. Where you at, Travis?

He dropped his arm to the ground and fished around for the radio. He pulled the entire pair of pants up along with it and spoke into the receiver. Ian kept his mouth on Daddy Travis’ dick the whole time, even as he spoke into the radio.

“This is Unit Eighteen, Dispatch. I’m off now. I’m at home. You can’t tell me what to do anymore.”

Oh. An emergency caller is requesting you.

“Is it Sheila Brandon?”

Yes it is.

“She’s crazy, Jim. She thinks black folk can’t be replaced by reptilian doppelgängers, that’s why she wants me,” Travis said. He closed his eyes and leaned back, his cock pulsating deep in Ian’s throat.

Well, she was throwing bottles at Scotty.

“She don’t like white people. Send Rizzer over. He’s dark-skinned. Tell him to pretend he’s a real light-skinned ni… African American,” he said, censoring himself since he was speaking on a public band. “She’ll believe that. She’s kinda stupid too. Stupid and crazy, the Alabama double-whammy.”

She said she’ll only talk to you. She said she’ll keep throwing stuff at anyone who comes to her door, until she talks to you again.

“Then she’ll have to wait until five o’clock tomorrow, Jim. Leave me alone. I’m going to sleep,” Travis said. “Or whatever, have Scotty tase her or ask her out on a date or hire a lady-boxer to take her down or he could just wear a helmet. I don’t care, as long as you don’t get me involved. I’m off now. I’m trying to spend some quality time with my wife, and you are not invited, Jim.” He held on to Ian’s head as he fed his dick down deeper. It got even harder as he talked, as though either frustration or subterfuge made him horny. He groaned, cockmeat spasming in Travis’ mouth.

Fine. Ten-four. Love you, Travvie-Wavvie.

“I hate that fucker,” Travis said to Ian as he dropped the radio to the ground. “Goddamn honky. Your family is cool, Ian. Jim at dispatch is a fuckin’ honky.”

Ian giggled around Travis cock. He licked down the shaft, tracing the track of a bulging vein as he went. The flavor of Travis’ manhood grew more intense the lower he went, the more his scent moved from clean soap to masculine musk.

Moving on pure instinct now, not worrying about whether he was doing this right, Ian moved to mount his stepfather. He placed his legs on either side of Daddy Travis’ hips and put their cocks together. Travis’ meat was hot as fire, and as solid as steel. Ian felt cold and insubstantial in comparison, and his skinny body jerked in stark contrast to Daddy Travis’ bulky frame, which flexed sinuously as pleasure overwhelmed them both.

Travis jerked and spasmed like he was uncomfortable with their cock-on-cock contact, then sighed as their precums mixed, running down their shared shafts and Ian’s hands. The sensation of creamy fluid lubricating their meatsticks made Ian shudder with desire.

The rock-hard feel of Travis’ throbbing cock next to his made Travis tingle with anticipation. He knew what was coming next, and he could see it in Daddy Travis’ eyes. The thought of being penetrated made Ian nervous, but he wanted to do it more than anything.

“You wanna sit on it, boi?”

“Yes,” Ian said without giving it a second thought. He scooted forward and lifted himself up, moaning as he did — he had never thought he’d lose his virginity like this, to his stepfather. It was already the most exciting thing he had ever done.

A biting pain hit him as he lowered himself onto Travis’ cock. Travis bit his lip as well, and Ian held his breath. The pain was excruciating, and he almost backed out.

But then pleasure washed over him as well. Like a switch had been flipped, the pain was still there but the pleasure overwhelmed it. He grunted, and Daddy Travis did likewise.

He didn’t stop stroking Ian off; he just closed his eyes and let Ian lift himself up and down, gradually working every inch of Travis’ big black meat inside him.

Ian was so aroused he shot his load almost immediately. He grunted and choked. He spasmed, sending fresh waves of bliss and agony up his spine.

His cum sprayed out over Daddy Travis’ chest, some of it even soaking into the uniform shirt he had only shrugged off, so it still lay on the bed behind him. Ian kneaded the sweat-dappled flesh of Travis’ muscles as wave after wave of orgasm ran over his body. Travis didn’t even mind when cum hit his lips and chin, he just licked it up and grimaced at the flavor.

Gripping his stepfather’s shoulders for support, Ian rode his cock the best he could. He wasn’t sure if he was doing this right, but Daddy Travis looked like he couldn’t believe the pleasure he felt; his face was scrunched up, eyes closed tight. His hands caressed Ian’s smooth, pale torso, and he moaned as pleasure overtook him. He even stroked Ian’s limp, cum-moistened cock, squeezing out every drop of juice.

It didn’t take very long for Daddy Travis to finish as well. Ian could feel it coming a few seconds before it arrived; he felt it in the spasming of Travis’ muscles and his cock pulsating deep within Ian.

Hot cum sprayed inside him coating his innards. The creamy warmth spread throughout his body, seeping into his very soul. He knew then that all his doubts about being gay were gone — this was what sex was supposed to be, for him.

He didn’t want to pull off. He stayed there, letting Daddy Travis’ dick go soft inside him. Then he kissed each of Travis’ pecs and laid down next to him.

Daddy Travis let out a snort, then rolled over onto his side, wrapping his powerful arms around Ian’s body. He buried his grizzled face and chin in the back of Ian’s neck, and he kissed the smooth skin there.

“What time is your alarm set for?”


“Good. Make sure I get up, okay? I don’t want yer mama to find us like this,” he said. “You ain’t gonna tell her, right?”

“I won’t, Daddy Travis. We’re on the downlow.”

“That’s right. Love you, boy.”

“Love you too, daddy.”

Taboo Night-Time Affair: The Drill Sergeant

Here’s a sample from Taboo Night-Time Affair: The Drill Sergeant, a new story of hardcore gay pseudoincest military brat sex!

Sammy was glad to be home from college. He had been excited to get out of high school, out of the family home, out of the tiny town of Carlisle, Wyoming he had grown up in. He didn’t regret leaving, of course, and he enjoyed college. It was just nice to be back in his old bed, under the same old roof and cozied up in the same old sheets. Everyone who said you can’t go home again were wrong, Sammy thought as he settled down in bed. He was so comfortable and secure that he nearly drifted right off to sleep.

But then the door to his room opened, and Sammy’s heart leapt up in his chest. He had begun dozing but managed to keep himself awake — he didn’t want to sleep yet because he wasn’t sure if Daddy was coming to see him in his room tonight or not. He normally only did it when he was drunk, but he had only had one beer tonight. Still, Sammy hoped he would make an exception, and when his door open, Sammy’s heart pounded as it always did — Daddy’s broad shoulders and military crewcut cast a sexy silhouette. Light and cold air from the hallway flooded Sammy’s room, but only for a moment. Then he shut the door, and the room was dark again, except for the dim green light coming from Sammy’s charging cell phone.

Then there was just Daddy standing there, his muscular body flexing as he watched Sammy lay prone on the bed. As he always did, Sammy pretended to be asleep. He was pretty sure Daddy knew he wasn’t asleep, but that made it easier for them both to pretend it hadn’t happened tomorrow. Their shared refusal to acknowledge their affair in the light of day made it all the sexier for Sammy.

Daddy had been sneaking into Sammy’s room to fuck him every couple of weeks since he married Sammy’s mom. Back then, Sammy had hated him — he was the evil stepfather as far as Sammy was concerned.

But the older he got, the less he hated Daddy (or Daddy Mike, as he sometimes called him). Daddy was a drill sergeant at Fort D.A. Russell, and Sammy knew that was a difficult job; it was stressful, and it often left him coming home from work upset. He had to deal with the cadets he called “shitweasels”, meaning spoiled, entitled brats who needed a stern hand.

That stern hand landed on Sammy’s back. Sammy stirred, pretending that he was just now waking up. He loved the tender feel of Daddy’s strong grip on his skin.

“Sssh,” Daddy said. “It’s just me, Sammy. It’s okay.”

“Oh, hi…” Sammy said, trying to sound as groggy as he could. This was his little ritual, pretending to have no idea Daddy was there, that he was alarmed, maybe even frightened to have this big, imposing figure looming above him in the darkness.

“How you doin’?” His fingers caressed Sammy’s shoulders, running underneath the t-shirt he slept in to touch Sammy’s smooth skin. “I know you said everything was fine at dinner. But I thought maybe there was somethin’ you ain’t wanna tell yer momma.”

Sammy shrugged. “No,” he said. “Well… Nothing major.”

“Tell me about it, son,” Daddy said. He sat down on the edge of the bed, weighing down the mattress with his powerful ass. Sammy was forced next to him, and for a moment, Sammy’s face was buried in his asscrack. Daddy wore only those Army-issue green shorts, which were thin, so Sammy could feel every hair of his stepfather’s ass rub against his face. He curled himself around Daddy’s body, hugging him close, and rested his head against Daddy’s thick thigh muscle.

“I… I like this girl,” Sammy said. “But I don’t think she likes me.”

Daddy smiled. “That’s normal, son. Just be yourself-“

“Well… I should say I do know, I know that she doesn’t like me,” Sammy said. “She said so.”

Daddy clucked his tongue against his teeth. “Oh, that’s tough. It happens though.” He patted Sammy on the back of the head.

“I know. I just… I thought I loved her. I thought she was The One,” Sammy said. “Before I talked to her outside of class. I had… I’m sorry, it’s embarrassing.”

“Go ahead, son, you can tell me anything.”

“I had a fantasy of us getting married,” Sammy said. He bit his lip. “I had it all worked out. I was already naming our kids.”

“That’s sweet.”

“I wanted to name our first son Michael.”

“After me?”

Sammy nodded and blushed, glad that Daddy couldn’t see his cheeks turn ruddy in the dark room — Sammy had hated Daddy Mike for so long that it was tough to admit that he loved him now, even if they had been getting along for almost a year before Sammy left for college. Daddy sniffled. Sammy got the impression he was teary-eyed.

“That’s sweet, son,” Daddy said; since he was emotional, his Alabama accent came to the fore, which Sammy enjoyed — he had always thought it was sexy. Daddy cleared his throat. “You know how many girls were The One befo’ yer momma? Six. No, wait, seven. I used to fall in love like some of my cadets fall off they bunk. I don’t even remember most of those girls’ names. Once you finally meet her, the woman you gonna spend the rest of yer life with, everything that happened before that is gonna seem like irrelevant ancient history.”

“I guess so.”

“She weren’t right for ya, Sammy. I can tell that just from how you talk about her,” he said. His hand roamed down Sammy’s back, then crept under the blankets. He touched Sammy’s asscheeks. “You’s a perfect boy; you deserve a perfect girl.”

“What if she’s not out there?”

“She is,” he said, “and until then, you got me.” His hand crept under Sammy’s sweatpants and onto his asscheeks. His fingers were rough and callused, which Sammy always thought should feel scratchy on his skin, but didn’t. It felt correct, exactly the way he wanted to be touched.

One of his fingers pressed right at the surface of Sammy’s asshole. He didn’t go in yet, he just circled the rim, sending little shocks of sexual pleasure up Sammy’s spine. Sammy began breathing heavy, glad that they were going to fuck tonight. It was a nice little welcome home present, he thought.

A Soldier Comes Home

Here’s a sample from a brand-new story, A Soldier Comes Home, which is alpha male soldier worship about a girl and her stepfather!


Callie didn’t really smoke cigarettes, but she liked to have one now and then. She slipped outside into the early night, glad to have the fresh air even if she was about to ruin it with smoke. If Momma found out, she’d have been furious, so Callie hid her smoking when she was visiting from college. She wouldn’t have even smoked until she got back to school but she found a pack in her jeans with two cigarettes left in it, so she waited until Momma was asleep and then snuck outside to smoke.

She decided to go around to the front of the trailer because Momma might have her window open a crack, and Callie didn’t want any smoke to waft in there. Momma would blame Callie for a bad smell for years to come.

Back in high school, an old bitch named Mrs. Dauterive lived next door and would have surely told Momma if she saw her smoking. It made Callie feel guilty that she was a bit glad Mrs. Dauterive had died recently because it meant Callie didn’t have to worry about her seeing the lit cherry of Callie’s cigarette.

There was someone sitting on the front porch. Callie was shocked and yelped. She almost ran away to call the police, then realized he wasn’t moving. Was it someone who was injured?

Whoever it was lifted his hand to his mouth, and she saw a bright-red cherry on the end of his cigarette. He was smoking! Callie crept closer, sure it was an intruder, and she wished she had brought her cell phone out with her. If she screamed now, would it wake Momma up? The neighbors? She didn’t think so.

“I know you’re there, Callie,” said the man, whose deep, gravely voice was unfamiliar at first. He had a thick accent forged in the hollows of Appalachia, which rang familiar in her ears though it had grown deeper and raspier since she heard it last. He cleared his throat. “Come on and gimme a hug.”

“Daddy!” she screamed and ran to the porch. “Daddy Rick!” She grabbed him and hugged, then blushed and stepped back as she realized how immature she was acting. You ain’t a little girl no more, Callie, quit actin’ like one. He wasn’t even her real father — her mother had married him when Callie was sixteen, so they had spent a few years living together before his Army battalion was reassigned to Iraq.

“You’re going to wake your mother,” he said.

“So? You’re going to wake her up too,” Callie said. “Right? You were going to go in at some point-“

“I was going to sleep on the couch,” he said.


“Things ain’t goin’ good ‘tween yer momma and me,” he said with a wan grin. “Our m’rriage is… strained. It’s gonna get better now that I’s back, but it is best fo’ now if’n I sleeps on the couch.”

“That’s terrible, daddy. Why are you back anyway? I thought it’d be at least another year?”

He nodded and blushed. She had never seen him looking so self-conscious. “I… I gots a striated bladder.” He said it with a pronounced drawl as though trying to pronounce something he had never said out loud before.

“A what?”

“I’s jest a stupid bladder condition. It’s not a big deal. But the Army doesn’t want me anymore,” he said. “At least not in the field. But I’m glad to be back Callie. I’m glad to see that you’ve grown into a beautiful young woman.” He nodded to the cigarette in her hand, still unlit. “Can’t say I approve of that, but it’d be hypocritical of me to make a big deal outta it.” He peered at it closer. “You know you’re supposed to light that, right?”

She giggled and lit her cigarette. “Is that why it hasn’t been working? Damn, this is why I need a father around!”

He laughed, and they both sat down on the porch. “Glad you’s an adult now.”

“Me too. I can go out as late as I want, no more wrangling with mom. My RA is a total bitch though. She shoots me dirty looks any time I come home after midnight,” Callie said. That wasn’t exactly true — her RA shot her dirty looks any time Callie came home in the morning, looking like she had just had sex. She didn’t intend to tell Daddy Rick about that.

“I been waitin’ fo’ you to get old enough,” he said.

“Old enough for what?” she asked, a shiver of excitement running up her back.

He didn’t say anything. He took a deep drag on his ciggie, then blew the smoke out his nostrils like an angry bull. “Fo’ whatever…” he said. His eyes narrowed to slits and looked up and down her body.

“Are you tryin’-a seduce me, Daddy Rick?”

He took his shirt off so quickly Callie was startled even though she was watching him closely. He had scruffy chest hair over his powerful body, and a few more tattoos than she recalled seeing. “Reckon you been seduced for some time, girl.”

The Taboo BW/AM Household Affair

Here’s the beginning of The Taboo BW/AM Household Affair, a new story by Ruby Redman! It’s the hot story of a black girl who falls for her stepfather, a local sushi chef.


I was upset about my stepfather from the moment I met him. It wasn’t fair — I just didn’t like where I was in life, and I blamed that on my mom; by extension, I blamed every decision she made for anything that I didn’t like about my life. So when she decided to marry a man, I blamed my bad grades on that, my lack of a boyfriend, my inability to find a part-time job, all of it was Hayato’s fault.

Of course it wasn’t his fault. I’m ashamed to admit that a big part of my response came from racism. I lived in urban Detroit at the time, a majority-black area. Nobody minded mixed-race couples, but when that couple was any combination other than a black man and a white woman, you had to expect some teasing. Even people whose parents were a white man and a black woman caught a bunch of flack over it.

Everyone expected me to defend Hayato. When my friends made fun of me and my mom, they assumed I would jump in and say there was nothing wrong with a black woman having a Japanese stepfather. Only I did think something was wrong with it — or at least this black mother and this Japanese stepfather — so I joined in.

I even one-upped my friends. If they said my mom was probably unsatisfied by his small penis, I said it looked like a large pimple. I made kamikaze jokes, referred to him as “the Pokemon nobody wanted” and worse. Now it all makes me cringe.

It all changed one Saturday. Hayato had offered me a job a couple times after I graduated high school, but I declined. I wanted a job of my own, not something my jerk-off stepfather gave me to win my love. I almost said precisely that too, and if my mother hadn’t been standing there with her hands on her hips, I probably would have.

But after many weeks of failing to find a job, I agreed. Working for Hayato couldn’t be too bad, I thought, especially since he only did this to make me like him.

He was a sushi chef at low-rent takeout sushi joints — he was good, or so he said, not that I knew enough about sushi to judge, but there just wasn’t a market for quality sushi in Detroit. So he mainly made simple California rolls, and prepared better food for himself, and for me and Momma, on the side. With such a small restaurant and no in-site seating, there was no need for a waitress or anyone aside from the chef and one clerk on the register. That was me.

I hadn’t realized it was only a two-person operation until I got there on my first morning and asked where everyone else was.

“This is it, sweetheart,” he said, and the way he said sweetheart made my scalp tingle. “It’s just you and me. I have another clerk. His name is Timu, but he’s off today.”

I nodded. He had mentioned Timu, who was elderly and didn’t speak English, so I wasn’t interested in him. It was Hayato who was intriguing me. Back at home, he was a sedate, composed Japanese man, a bit stern but not mean, always placid and never angry. Here, in the shop, he was almost manic. He danced around the kitchen, turning things out and taking items out of the fridge. Clean-smelling fish, verdant avocados, and a bevy of mysterious condiments.

“Why don’t you get settled in, Paula?” he said, his accent just barely noticeable. “And then I’ll show you how to cook rice.”

“I know how to cook rice,” I said with a roll of my eyes.

He chuckled. “Uh… No. You don’t,” he said. It was the first arrogant thing he had ever said to me, and though I scowled at the time, it also intrigued me. That was another layer of energy that he had never displayed in our home or when Momma was around.

I frowned, and went into the back to take my jacket off. I was determined not to have a good time, which I knew was what he wanted — he had said from the get-go that he and I would be friends, that we’d hang out all the time if we had run into each other back in school. I never believed that, not until I actually started working alongside him, and discovered how pleasant he really was.

“Rice is the heartbeat of sushi-“

“Eww,” I said, “That makes it sound gross!”

He grinned. “Wait, let me finish… And seaweed is the sinew, and the avocado… I guess that’s the intestine?”

“Now you’re just trying to gross me out.”

“This is totally different than the rice you’ve cooked at home, that’s all I’m saying.”

As he showed me how to make sushi rice in a giant bamboo steamer, I realized how right he was that I didn’t know how to make rice correctly — the only rice I knew how to cook before that was the ten minute Uncle Ben’s rice — I found myself entranced by his muscles. I was so intent on forcing myself to dislike him that I didn’t notice myself watching his biceps flex as he lifted the heavy container of dry rice.

The Man of the House is an Indian Chief!

Here’s a new sample chapter from The Man of the House Is an Indian Chief!, a new story from Loveslice Family!

By the time Tiffany got home — or to her mom’s home, anyway, she wasn’t sure if she still saw it as her home or not — she was crying as she screamed at her mother. She stormed out of the car and into the house, barely noticing the man sitting on the couch and curling a free weight in his left hand while he watched a documentary on TV.

It was only when she was in her room for a few minutes that she realized she had met her mother’s new fiancée. Mom had talked about him on the phone, but all that had happened in the past year, while Tiffany was away at the University of Wyoming — she had been home for Christmas, but David was away with his family then. So Tiffany had never met him, only heard his curiously deep, gruff voice over the phone when he answered.

Had he been hot? That was the only thing Tiffany noticed in those few seconds she saw him. He seemed to have a handsome face, possibly, and was he Latino? He had definitely been swarthy, not unambiguously white. Tiffany wanted to go back downstairs and talk to him, but Mom would be down there and she didn’t want to see her — going back down would undercut her righteous crusade.

“Tiffany.” He didn’t say it as a question, it was a statement, like he was identifying her out of a field guide. He was there in her doorway, looking down at her on her bed. He was tall, definitely not white though she wasn’t sure he was Latino — his hair was perfectly straight, and his chin was smooth, not even a wisp of a mustache. Turkish maybe? But don’t they have curly hair? Would it be rude to ask?

“Hi. You must be David,” she said.


“I’m not going to call you Daddy,” she said.

He nodded. “I will make the same pledge.”

She giggled at him. “Sorry about the fight.” She didn’t know why she was apologizing to him — the fight wasn’t her fault, and in any case, it didn’t harm David, so why apologize to him? He wasn’t even there when it happened.

“If you have anger, you must speak it,” he said. He crossed his arms over his chest. “But now it has been spoken. Did you leave anything out?”

She shrugged. “I guess not. I didn’t really think of it like that.”

“Would you like to come with me?”


“To my home,” he said. “We will visit someone there.”

Tiffany agreed without thinking about it. David was so strangely compelling that Tiffany couldn’t imagine saying no — the less he said, the more she wanted to see what he would say next. She grabbed her jacket and followed him downstairs.

“We are going out. We will return… tonight, most likely,” David said. He didn’t wait for Mom to respond, he just walked out the door. Tiffany thought his nonchalance was sexy, and now that she got a look at him from behind, she thought his body was sexy too. He had a nice, wide ass that wasn’t fat at all, it was perfectly sculpted. His black hair was silky and long, extending just past his shoulder, but it wasn’t thick.

“Who are we going to visit?” she asked when she got in his truck.

“My parents,” he said.

“Oh. Okay,” she said. She had rather hoped it would be something more exciting, maybe sexier than that — it would hard to be sexy with a couple of old folks (though at least it would probably provide some clues as to his ethnic background). What were the chances he’d take his shirt off while visiting his parents? Probably not very good.

He drove a few minutes away to a spot in the woods in a state park. He just pulled over on the side of the road, parked there on the shoulder and got out. Tiffany followed.

“Are we allowed to be in the park at night?”

He didn’t answer. She didn’t ask again; she just hurried along with him into the woods. There were no houses here, she thought, so where did his parents live? For the first time, she wondered if he was dangerous — was he bringing her out here to kill her? Or rape her? How well did Mom know him? He was so quiet, she suspected Mom barely knew anything about him.

“Your parents live in the woods?”

He shook his head. “My parents are dead.”


“But we are going to a spot that is sacred to my people,” he said. “Here, our ancestors come to visit. Including my parents.” He stopped walking at what seemed like an arbitrary spot beneath a large elm tree. “Here it is.”

“Here? Who are your people?”

“The Wackaput,” he said. “I am the tribal chief of my people.” The Wackaput were a large American Indian tribe nearby, occupying a big corner of southwestern Wyoming. Tiffany felt a surge of pride that she had figured it out (or at least, gotten to him to say it without looking like she cared about that sort of thing).

“Oh. Okay. Well-“

“Sit down here,” he said. “And meditate. I will take care of everything else.”

“And your parents will…-?”

“Yes, they will,” he said with a smile, the first time she had seen him smile.

She sat down and closed her eyes. At first she sat cross-legged — or Indian-style, she thought, wondering if that was an offensive term — but when that became awkward she let her legs stick out. It wasn’t a ladylike position, but she didn’t think her new stepfather was a stickler for decorum.

“Listen to the sound of the wind whistling through the trees,” he said after a long silence. She immediately did as he said, following his orders instinctively as though he was her real father. The wind wasn’t loud, but it was audible, and it had a beautifully musical tone that she hadn’t noticed.

He continued talking, slowly, with long pauses, but Tiffany barely listened. She heard only the cadence of his speech, not his words themselves. She shuddered with sudden sexual desire — he had such a gravelly, rough voice that she got moister the most she listened to him. She had been thinking about how hot he was since she caught that first glimpse of him lifting weights in the living room, but it wasn’t until this moment that Tiffany decided she wanted to screw him.

“You are a very beautiful girl, Tiffany,” he said. He was much closer to her now. She hadn’t noticed him moving, but now he was just inches from her face. She tasted his pine-scented breath, and her eyes fluttered open.

“David…” She was about to say something, but just before she spoke he blew on her earlobe. She shuddered with sexual desire and forgot her words.

“The most powerful energy in the world,” he said, “Is sexuality. It is the most potent way to meditate as well.” He kissed her on the lips, no tongue, but his lips lingered on hers. He kept his eyes open the whole time, his dark irises drilling into Tiffany’s.

She gripped his back. He was more muscular than she had anticipated, with shoulder muscles that felt like warm steel. His touch was gentle yet firm, and it sent sparks of sexual desire running through her body.

He kissed her again, and his mouth moved to her neck. Tiffany again felt like speaking but all that came out was an aroused cry.

David’s head moved lower and lower, and his fingers unbuttoned her blouse as he went. She arched her back when he freed her breasts from their bra, and suckled on each nipple in turn.

She threw her head back and moaned, looking up at the sky. It only just then occurred to her that she was technically in public right now, that anyone could walk by. They were deep in the woods of a state park, but still, it was plausible. There could be people hiding in the forest and watching — Daddy David’s ancestors could be real, she thought, hanging out as he made scandalous love to his soon-to-be stepdaughter. Would that be scandalous in the afterlife? Presumably not, she thought, or he wouldn’t have brought her here.

Then her mind wandered. She felt like she was in a dream, and somehow her panties were removed, and his shirt. She didn’t feel it happen, but she was glad to be fully naked. He was naked too, his skin perfectly smooth, the color of burnt caramel, and tasting of sweetened salt when she kissed his body.

He lapped at her womanhood with fervor and abandon. His tongue encircled her clit and awakened a primal buzzing in it, a feeling that spread in waves through Tiffany’s body. It was such a potent sensation that she tensed all her muscles, and her mind raced with visions of his tribal ancestors encouraging her, and him.

Tiffany wanted to beg him to fuck her, to put his cock deep inside her, but once again, she was at a loss for words. All she could do was groan and grip him tight.

As she was riding David Chiefbear’s mouth, Tiffany had a vision — she would never have thought to call it that at the time, but when she told him about it later, that was what he said it was. “It is why we went there. It is a gift from my ancestors, the gift of a spirit animal, to provide you with guidance and surety.”

But all she saw at the time was a horse in the woods. It appeared there as if out of nowhere, and the muscles under its soft brown hair rippled just like David’s.

A tremendous sense of peace overwhelmed her. She managed to beg him to put his cock in her only to find that he was already about to do so. His long member protruded from a thick bush, and it melted inside her as he squeezed in.

She struggled to take him in, though there wasn’t any pain. He had seen to that with his expert cunnilingus, which left her so wet there was an audible splashing sound when he plunged in.

He rode her there for what could have been eons, or could have been only a few seconds, she didn’t know. Tiffany had never felt like this during sex before — she had also never had sex with a man she just met, or without a lot of lead-up and foreplay. This was rather a moment of pure passion, an exercise in unthinking abandon, and now that she was deep in the throes of ecstasy, she was overjoyed that her mother had brought him into Tiffany’s life.

His manhood filled her up, as he gyrated his hips, fucking every inch of her insides. He was grinding, inexorably, working his cock deeper into her body with every thrust.

When he finally came, it was like a riot in her pussy. Tiffany exploded with bliss, and all her muscles tensed at once. All four limbs clutched at his powerful frame.

He gasped. “The spirits were right,” he said. “Our bodies were meant for each other.”

He let his cock flop out, and Tiffany felt empty. She wished she could ride him again already, but she was too sore and tired even if he wanted to go again. He slowly rose to his feet, then helped her up.

He was in no hurry to put his clothes back on, and for once, Tiffany didn’t feel so self-conscious that she covered herself right away. She was glad to feel the sun filter through the tree cover to illuminate her body, and enjoyed looking at the dappled sunlight on his muscles.

“Come with me. There is a view you should see before we go,” he said, taking her by the hand. “Carry your clothes. This view should be seen naked.”

The Man of the House Is a Minotaur!

Here’s another outrageous story from Loveslice Family’s The Man of the House Is Sexy! series of hardcore pseudoincest erotica! This one is about a young woman who discovers her stepfather is a minotaur!

This story is now also available on Smashwords!

Tonya has always been curious about the corn maze behind her house. But she’d never gone in, until now, when she wanders around stumbles across the man of the house revealing his secret… He’s a minotaur!

It turns out he’s afflicted with a hereditary curse that causes his environment to turn labyrinthine and allows him to take human form for only a few hours a day. That’s enough for Tonya, however, who wants nothing more than to be pleased by the roughly-rutting man of the house in this outrageous taboo adventure of household-smashing fantasy fun!

The Man of the House Is My Master!

This is a sample chapter from The Man of the House Is My Master!, a new story from Loveslice Family!

Kaylie hadn’t thought about the mysterious room above the garage in many years. It was because the only door to it was deep at the far end of the garage, where you couldn’t see it unless you were looking for it, because her stepdaddy had piled a mountain of half-finished projects in front of it. There was a window but it was on the back of the garage, and there were always heavy blinds closed over it. So she never really thought about it.

But when she went out there once to get a spare house key — having left hers at the community college she attended — Kaylie saw the door and stopped. She pondered the possibilities. She had been desperate to see what was inside when her and her mother had first moved here. She had forgotten about it, however, until just now. All of a sudden she felt that intense child-like desire to get into anything she wasn’t supposed to get into.

The door was probably locked anyway, she thought, so it wouldn’t hurt to check it and see. It was weird to have a room that she had never seen, so she tried the door-handle. I have lived here for years, she thought, I have a right to see inside.

It swung open wide. It was not locked. The door was heavy, and she had to strain to push it all the way open.

Kaylie’s heart pounded as she looked around for her stepfather, Ben, who was nowhere to be seen. He had gone shopping so he would probably not be gone for long, she thought as she flicked the light-switch on.

Inside was what she could only describe as a sex-dungeon. There were whips mounted on the walls, black leather gimp suits, a sex swing dangling in the center of the room, and other implements Kaylie couldn’t quite recognize. Her heart began pounding, not because she was nervous exactly, rather she was just excited and exhilarated to see so many taboo objects. She should feel scandalized, maybe even offended, she thought, but she didn’t. Instead, she felt aroused.

An urge to begin touching herself struck her, but Kaylie resisted. No, that would be too much. You’re not a bad girl.

She walked in, entranced by what she saw. She wanted to touch the mysterious objects, but everything about this room felt forbidden, like just coming in here had set off some diabolical punishment. She kept checking over her shoulder to see if he was coming in, but he was still gone. It was just her. She could touch anything she wanted in here, see what it was like, decide whether it was something she wanted to use for real.

The sex swing beckoned her. Kaylie had never seen one before, so she crept closer as though it was an aggressive dog who might bite her. Then she reached out and touched it. It was cold leather but somehow made her feel hot all over. Her skin tingled.

“You want to get in that?” Daddy Ben’s voice echoed in the high-ceilinged room.

Kaylie shuddered, thinking she was in trouble, and turned around. He looked down at her and smiled. He raised his eyebrows.

“Huh? You can get in there if you want,” he said.

“You… What is it?”

“It’s called a Fuck-Swing,” he said.


“You can guess what it’s used for.”

“To swing?”

He chuckled. He undid one of the straps and motioned for her to sit down. “You don’t have to,” he said. “It’s up to you. But your mother loves this, so I assume you probably will too. You could just see what it feels like to sit in it.”

The leather was cold against her skin. She sat on the swing and swung her legs, using it like a child’s swing. She giggled, and clutched the chains holding the swing to the ceiling.

“Do you want me to strap you in?” he asked.

“I do.”

“Why don’t we just set up a safeword? I’ll keep going and if you want me to stop, you can say dolphin.”

Kaylie shuddered. Dolphins had long been her favorite animal, and her first really good memory with Daddy Ben was when he took her to a water park to see the dolphins. Thinking of that word reminded her of that day, so long ago, when she was still a little girl and scared of her new stepfather.

“You are so sexy,” he said. “I’ve been wanting to do this for a long time.” He blushed. “But only since you were legal, of course.”

Kaylie nodded. “Of course.”

He tightened the straps around her forearms and thighs. In moments, Kaylie was jolted back from her nostalgia into the present, and her heart started pounded. She was about to be fucked by Daddy Ben; she had had a crush on him when she was young. It seemed so foolish when she grew up, but now she knew she wasn’t just imagining it when she thought she saw him checking her out — he really did want her all along. She wondered if she would have been successful if she tried to seduce him when she was sixteen.

The black leather straps warmed up right away now that they touched her skin. Kaylie moaned in disappointment when he walked away, then returned with a pair of scissors he took from a drawer at one end of the room.

The sexiest thing about this current moment, she thought, was not Daddy Ben himself — he was still fully-clothed — but the very smooth, deliberate way he did everything. He picked up the scissors as though he had rehearsed this exact motion. He walked across the room back to the Fuck-Swing as though he had never been more certain of walking anywhere in his life. He stood in front of her, sure-footed and strong, as though he had been constructed for this exact day.

“I’m gonna rip your clothes off now.”

He was obviously giving her a chance to say dolphin if she didn’t want it, but all she was wearing was a ratty old t-shirt and shorts. If anything, it would be even hotter if he destroyed them both, and she forever kept the tattered rags as a reminder of today.

He cut right through the fabric with the sharp scissors. Her shirt was ripped off, revealing her bra and curvy tits. Her jean-shorts had to be worked off to get them out from under her thighs, and he had to strain to pull on them. Kaylie could have lifted her hips, but she rather liked watching Daddy Ben work for it. His muscles tensed as he struggled.

Then he went down to her panties, snaking one finger under the elastic lining. Kaylie felt a twinge of embarrassment that she was wearing her old granny panties right now, but she hadn’t known anything like this was going to happen today. Daddy Ben smiled at her as though he knew why she was blushing, as he suddenly pulled on the waistband.

Her panties tore to shreds when he attacked them. The elastic ripped at her skin, causing her to flush with pain, just enough to keep her focused on his fingers, which roughly moved up her body to her breasts. He tweaked each nipple through her bra, softly at first, then more roughly when she didn’t safeword him.

He slowly unbuttoned his shirt. It was clean and recently ironed — Daddy Ben did that himself; Mom was useless as a homemaker. Underneath it he wore a dirty white t-shirt, which made Kaylie feel better about her granny panties.

Then he undid his belt and his slacks fell to the ground. He had a perfect dad-bod, with no belly but just enough padding that he looked real, not like some Hollywood cardboard cutout with painted-on abs. He hesitated before dropping his boxer shorts, then when she nodded, they fell to his ankles.

His dick was long and thick, but not obtrusively huge. It looked exciting, she thought as she got ready for him, it looked like it was waiting just for her. It perked up when she looked at it, and he gave it one quick stroke.

There was a candle on an endtable near the Fuck Swing, and he lit it. Then he attached it to a candle-holder attached to the chain that tied the Fuck Swing to the ceiling. “There ya go,” he said. “You’re gonna feel some wax on you every time you move.”

Kaylie shifted her weight to look up, causing a drop of wax to fall off the candle and onto her shoulder. There it burned, and she squealed. The pain was so intense it was blinding, and she thought of nothing else. She threw her head back and moaned.

Daddy Ben took that opportunity to step forward and approach her. He lowered his body enough to line up with hers, then pushed the tip of his cock inside her.

She squealed, pulling against the restraints as sensation overwhelmed her. Another drop of wax landed on her arm, cooling instantly to form a tough layer of warmth on her skin.

He gyrated his hips, slowly at first, then more quickly when she didn’t safeword him. She felt his dick press against her clit and thrum inside her, vibrating like he was trying to make her fall apart, and she felt like he just might succeed, as though all of her limbs could fall off.

Orgasmic energy intensified and took over her body. The only thing forcing her to remain in the real world was the wax that dripped off the candle and onto her body with every thrust of his hips. The burning bit at her senses, keeping her soul taut and present in the real world.

Kaylie found that when she could force herself to remain still, the candle remained placid enough not to drip anything onto her. That made the sensation all the more potent when she did shift, and a giant glob of wax landed on her body. She squealed at the scorching sensation.

She felt an intense urge to wrap her arms around his muscular body, scratching at his back like a cat. She would be drawing rills of blood, she thought, if only she weren’t restrained. She almost safeworded, in order to free herself and claw at his back, but she decided to stick it out — there was always next time.

As he reached orgasm, they both climaxed together. Kaylie pulled against the bindings keeping her to the sex swing, but they held firm. Her arms were fuck-strong so they jostled the chains holding the swing and attaching the candle, resulting in a big slosh of wax putting out the flame and landing on the side of Kaylie’s face.

The burning pain was even more intense, scorching, scalding hot and arduously painful. She wanted to beg Daddy Ben to wipe the wax off, but her orgasm was so intense she couldn’t form any words.

As he groaned, however, Daddy Ben seemed to understand what she was trying to say. He smiled and used one callused thumb to wipe the wax off her cheek. Her skin felt soft and clean underneath it, and suddenly her mind was clear as well.

They both fell limp. His cock dropped out of her pussy, soft now, limpid and moist from shared fluids. He sighed and slowly untied her body.

Kaylie stretched her wrists and ankles as Daddy Ben helped her out of the swing. She giggled. “Thanks, Daddy,” she said. “I’m so glad you’re my Daddy.”

“I’m so glad you’re my daughter,” he said. “You inherited everything good that your mother has.” He sighed. “But you know we can’t do this again.”

She pouted, and smiled slyly. She thought she could convince him, but now wasn’t the time. She just nodded and put her clothes on.

“I can tell you want to talk me into it,” he said. “But this was a mistake. I’m married. I’m your father, technically.”

“Ew, not really,” she said.

“Don’t try to talk me into doing this again.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

The Man of the House Is a Convict!

This is a sample chapter from The Man of the House Is a Convict!, a Loveslice Family story by Ursula Kinkenstein and CJ Taboon.
“You wanna go on a trip today?” he asked with a grin early one Saturday. “Your mom wants us to bond.”

Paula only had a few weeks until it was time to go back to college, and she was desperate for a way to make her relationship with Raheim work. If she could get him to come visit her at college, she’d be the most popular girl in the dorm — the other girls would be so jealous of her big masculine stud and his crude prison tats. Paula shrugged back at him and said, “Okay. What kinda trip you wanna take?”

He didn’t answer, he just led her out to her mother’s car. Paula had a car of her own, but it was just a ramshackle two-door that barely even worked. Her mother had a sports car with leather seats and an engine that was about as sleek and sexy as Raheim. Her mother never let anyone else drive it.

“You have a driver’s license?” she asked. He had been in prison for years, she thought, how could he have a license?

“No.” He shook his head. “You gotta drive.”

She nodded. As she got in the driver’s seat, she was excited — she had never driven an adult like this before. She’d driven her friends places, and her mom had ridden with her a few times when Paula was earning her learner’s permit. But she had never really driven an adult to a location, and the fact that it was finally happening made her feel more mature.

She pulled out of the driveway. “So, where are we going?”

“Just get on the highway,” he said. “It’s a surprise. But trust me, you are gonna love every minute of it.” He chuckled to himself. “Every inch of it.”

Paula giggled with excitement, and pulled onto the highway. She had no idea where he was taking her — maybe somewhere for a barbecue? It was near Labor Day after all.

Raheim grabbed her hand and caressed it slowly. Her heart began pounding as Raheim moved her hand to his crotch, and she hurriedly undid the fly of his jeans.

His long cock flopped out of his jeans. It seemed bigger every time she saw it, she thought, and Paula licked her lips as Daddy Raheim gave it a few strokes. Its veiny girth enlarged and it got rock-hard beneath his fingers.

She bent over and sucked it down. The familiar musty taste of his sweat combined with his sweat, coconutty lotion and coppery pubic hair in her mouth, and she savored every drop. Her tongue ran up and down his shaft.

Precum flooded her tongue. She loved the sour-salty flavor of it, and she played with it with her tongue, letting a long string of precum stretch from his dick to her lips above his lap.

“Yeah, baby, you’re so nasty, you’re so perfect,” he said. “I’m glad you’re my little girl.”

She deep-throated him. Her tongue nestled in his trimmed pubic bush, pressed against his skin. He groaned — she loved the way his whole body responded when she deep-throated him, every limb writhing as he struggled to continue driving.

One of his hands pressed down on her back, forcing her to keep his cock throbbing inside her throat. She didn’t mind, she liked his strength and potent muscles keeping her in position, and she loved the creamy stickiness of his precum.

“Oh god, swallow this nut, darlin’, don’t spill none of it. Show Daddy how much you love him by swallowing this spunk,” he said softly. His gravely voice resonated in her ears. She nodded her agreement, but she didn’t need to be convinced; she wanted nothing more than to taste every drop of his sweet juice.

A mouthful of sweet, salty cum hit her tongue and dripped out her lips. She greedily guzzled every drop as he slowed down for a red light. He sighed and another wad landed down her throat, then a third. She swallowed all that she could fit in her gullet.

Paula sat up and wiped her lips off. He was leaning back in his seat, hands on the steering wheel but his eyes were closed. They were stopped at a red light, which turned green in front of her eyes.

He didn’t notice. He was still shuddering from the aftershocks of his orgasm.

“Green light, Daddy Raheim,” she said.

“Thanks girl,” he muttered as he shifted into drive and pulled away.

The prison was almost two hours away, and the signs pointing the way began well before they arrived. So Paula figured out where he was taking her a long time before they got there. She began to tremble with anticipation.

“What’re we doing?” she asked, her voice soft and coy.

“You gonna do what you do best,” he said. He had never put his cock away from the handjob, so it was still laying on his lap, soft and shiny and fleshy. Paula wished she could suck on it right then, but they were pulling into the prison parking lot.

She followed him as if in a dream into the prison, and then felt lonely as they were briefly separated. A mean, lesbian-looking prison guard searched every inch of Paula’s body, and she wished she could have been in the men’s area to watch Raheim get fondled by a guard.

Raheim wrapped one arm around her body, then led her to a trailer in the center of the prison yard. A sign on the door read Conjugal Trailer.

“Hey, baby,” he said. “You still ain’t pregnant, right?”

“Nope. I’m on the pill,” she said.

“Good, cuz I got a couple niggas here, they need some pussy,” he said. “And we don’t use condoms. If you get pregnant, you’s on your own, that’ yo’ problem. We just here to fuck.”


“Good,” he said, then called out, “Alright, we good. Go get the niggas.”

Paula heard the guards who were waiting outside walk away, and she became nervous as she realized what was about to happen. She nestled her face in Raheim’s strong arm, and put her hand down his pants.

His cock was hot and it got hard as soon as her fingers touched it. The door opened, and Paula was so nervous she didn’t want to look. She nuzzled her nose deep in Daddy Raheim’s chest.

Their voices were gruff and crude. One she recognized as Uncle Kev, the rest were strangers. They were talking amongst themselves as they entered the trailer, then fell silent.

She peered out and saw a half-dozen black faces looking at her. They laughed as they saw her nervous smile.

“This is my baby,” Daddy Raheim said. “Show ‘em yo’ pussy, girl.” He spread her legs and fingered her through her panties as the six inmates pulled their dick out of their orange prison pants. They were all big, though not quite as thick and meaty-looking as Daddy Raheim’s cock.

“She wanna take all this meat?” asked one of the guys. He looked doubtful.

“That’s right, nigga. You six take her pussy and her mouth,” Daddy Raheim said. “Only I get the ass.” He lifted her up by the hips and said, “Come here, baby. Sit on daddy’s lap.”

She squealed as once again her ass felt a surge of pain followed by a rush of pleasure. His dick pushed inside her, and she gasped. The six inmates watching all laughed, their deep belly laughter echoing in the tiny conjugal trailer.

Uncle Kev went first. He held on to Paula by both feet and spread his own legs around Daddy Raheim’s. Their balls slapped together as Kev pushed inside her.

Both thick meatsticks spasmed and pulsated inside her body, and Paula wondered if they could feel each other’s cocks. Kev was in her pussy, Daddy Raheim in her ass, but they were both so big it seemed like they took up the whole of her torso.

Kev shot his load first. He must have been pent-up inside her, she thought, because he was even quicker now than he had been on the outside. His hot load washed over her inside and out, some dripping down her thigh and onto Daddy Raheim’s legs.

The next inmate wasted no time in taking Kev’s place. He was gruff and grizzled, with a mustache and untended beard. He had a small afro and wild eyes that scared Paula so much she looked up at Daddy Raheim for reassurance.

Her clit was so hot and hard she was almost numb, and Paula couldn’t even tell where her hands were. At one point she was stroking off two dicks at once, but she didn’t think she could concentrate on that with her ongoing orgasm distracting her. She tasted cock as well at one point, and she licked every scrap of flesh she could reach.

The gruff man shouted insults as he came; Paula was too intent on her writhing climax to listen. He filled her full of spermy juice, followed moments later by a big muscular jock spraying cum all over her face and lips.

Her muscles were spent, exhausted. She barely even noticed as another man shot her pussy full of cum, and another filled her mouth up again. The last guy groaned about getting sloppy sixths, but when a guard knocked on the door and said they had five minutes left, he began thrusting hard.

Daddy Raheim’s load was so hot it felt like it burned, and it came just seconds before the last man shot her plump pussy full of so much cum she didn’t think there was any room. His dick was glistening with semen when he pulled it out, and she collapsed into a spermy mess on the floor.

She laid, weak and moist with sweat and other fluids, at Daddy Raheim’s feet, while he slapped hands with his buddies. They didn’t bother putting clothes on; they just walked out of the conjugal trailer with their moist cocks swinging in the breeze.

“Go on, girl. Put your clothes on,” Daddy Raheim said. “Yo’ momma is gonna be out of town next month too, so you got about four weeks to let that pussy heal. Then we be back here.”

“Yes, daddy.”