Eating Up Father E-Book

Preston Wong

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

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Beschreibung

Warning: This is a vintage hard-boiled full length, 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 hive a proper description. Check out the free sample if you can.

Excerpt: 

She didn't dare tell the girl to stop; and she knew that she didn't want her to stop. She decided to give way to it, to let it run its own course, to enjoy the delicious sensations without examining them. She sighed, smiling.

"Feels good?" Melody purred.

"Mmmm. So good."

One of her occasional sexual fantasies began unreeling unbidden in her mind. Usually, in the fantasy, her car had broken down on a lonely road. A man or men stopped, ostensibly to help her, but they would take her into the woods and rape her. Midway through the rape, she would begin to enjoy it against her will.

It was different this time. The fantasy had confused itself with the memory of the sheriff's deputy who'd stopped her yesterday, on a road as suitably lonely as any in her daydreams. It wasn't the pintsized Storm Trooper behind the dark glasses, though, it was-good heavens. It was that overaged beach boy she'd met this morning, Ken Burke. He forced her to take off all her clothes at gunpoint, and then he handcuffed her hands behind her back. He was forcing her to blow him, kneeling in front of his booted feet.

He wasn't gentle. He was shoving his cock roughly into her mouth, cursing her and calling her a dirty whore because she wasn't sucking hard enough or using her tongue the way he wanted her to use it. She licked her lip, and the salt of perspiration reminded her forcibly of the salty taste and cheesy aroma of a cock

Leseprobe

Eating Up Father

Preston Wong

Copyright © 2017

Table of Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER ONE

He didn't blame his drinking for his lack of progress, not entirely. It was partly due to his utter boredom with his work. Besides, successfully courting a rich and beautiful young widow took time, energy, and careful planning. All things considered, it was understandable that his latest novel was now nearly six weeks overdue.

Unfortunately, his editor didn't find it understandable. She had taken to calling him up every day for the past week. He winced as he realized that the daily phone call hadn't arrived yet. He had a neurotic fear of telephones-no, he corrected himself, not neurotic, because it was well-founded: a telephone invariably rang because someone wanted something from him, a bill collector, an agent, an editor. These unpleasant thoughts made him consider the idea of spiking his lemonade, but he decided against it. He thought of unplugging the telephone, but he rejected that idea, too. Carol might call. Unhappily, she didn't share his distaste for telephones, and he didn't want to seem like an inattentive lover at this stage in the game.

Her love of the telephone, he reflected, was her only really annoying trait; and, once they were married, she would no longer have to call him up four or five times a day to tell him what she was thinking or what she was reading or what she'd recently heard or seen or bought. He supposed that he ought to find that trait endearing, or at least encouraging. It showed her eagerness to share every little facet of her life with him. He hoped she would be equally eager to share her money.