Father Made Them Do It: Taboo Incest Erotica E-Book

Kurt Doom

• 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: 

Months later a social worker was to prompt me, "So this man deflowered you and you told nobody but your eighteen-year-old sister. Go on, Carol."

"Winnie Joe and I were very close," I told her. "And I guess nooky stuff was a favorite topic as we lay in bed hugging together at night."

Seemed funny to hear it called deflowered. I was eighteen and a virgin when it happened, or at least up until then I'd never had a man's finger poked into me. Mel Blossom got me down and screwed me, but I don't think there was a flower other than weeds within a mile of the farm where we lived.

T. Melville Blossom was his full name, the assessor of Bindale County, and he owned the eighty-acre farm. We Weavers, Daddy, Winnie Jo and myself, had a cottage on the south forty. Dad did most of the work on the farm, although Winnie Jo and I rode the cultivator and got out there with a hoe once in a while, too.

My father was a fine-looking man, with powerful shoulders and a sort of proud walk. I used to love just to see him stride across a room. But after our mother skipped out, he turned weak in other ways, lost his good principles. Like he'd drink too much of his own moonshine and waste the little money we had hustling after women. He took naked pictures of them, too, then sold the prints in a pool hall.
​​​​​​​

Leseprobe

Father Made Them Do It

Kurt Doom

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

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER ONE

"Winnie Joe and I were very close," I told her. "And I guess nooky stuff was a favorite topic as we lay in bed hugging together at night."

Seemed funny to hear it called deflowered. I was eighteen and a virgin when it happened, or at least up until then I'd never had a man's finger poked into me. Mel Blossom got me down and screwed me, but I don't think there was a flower other than weeds within a mile of the farm where we lived.

T. Melville Blossom was his full name, the assessor of Bindale County, and he owned the eighty-acre farm. We Weavers, Daddy, Winnie Jo and myself, had a cottage on the south forty. Dad did most of the work on the farm, although Winnie Jo and I rode the cultivator and got out there with a hoe once in a while, too.

My father was a fine-looking man, with powerful shoulders and a sort of proud walk. I used to love just to see him stride across a room. But after our mother skipped out, he turned weak in other ways, lost his good principles. Like he'd drink too much of his own moonshine and waste the little money we had hustling after women. He took naked pictures of them, too, then sold the prints in a pool hall.

Winnie Jo and I never discussed our mother although I know we both often thought of her, wondering where she'd gone, was she sick or something and if she'd forgotten us. I was only nine when she left with a man she'd been writing to. He had sent her some money.