Filthy Daddy's Taboo Erotic Sex Stories

by Amira Bradford

  The two of them came repeatedly, for hours on end. The quickfur gave them only brief respites to recharge their sexual batteries before it fucked them again. It was well past dark by the time they regained their senses. James could see the outline of Cheryl's face by the glow of the moon.

  She looked over at him and smiled. "I've never felt anything like this!"

  "I think I came fifteen times!" replied James.

  "I lost track somewhere around forty!" she said.

  The quickfur gently swirled around them, causing their bodies to bob up and down like two skinny dippers swimming in the moonlight. They closed their eyes and swooned each time the fur brushed their naked bodies. They basked their afterglow, enjoying the pleasure of each other's company even if they couldn't have the pleasure of touching each other.

  There was a sudden movement in the quickfur. James and Cheryl felt themselves being jostled around.

  "What's happening?" cried Cheryl.

  "I don't know!" James replied.

  "Something's different this time!" Cheryl said.

  "I think it's time for number twelve!" said James with a smile on his face.

  "This is going to be the end of us!" she worried.

  Cheryl shrieked as unseen hands suddenly seized her from below and pulled her completely under the surface. They spun her around, head over heels, until she didn't know which way was up anymore. The musky, fur smell filled her senses. The effects came on stronger and faster this time. She knew what the drug was doing to her mind. Cheryl wanted to get stoned. She breathed in deeply, savoring the euphoria that overcame her. She drew in breath after breath until rational thought abandoned her. A great animal lust overcame her.

  Lieutenant Haskell wanted to fuck. She wanted to fuck Ensign Travis. She always wanted to fuck him. She wanted to fuck him from the moment she saw him board the Galaxy. She fantasized about him all the time. She couldn't stand the thought of bunking right next to him in the shuttlecraft sleeping quarters but not being able to have him all to herself. She masturbated in her bed, just two meters away as he slept only an arm's length from her.

  Lieutenant Haskell's career meant everything to her. She would never jeopardize it by fraternizing with a junior officer, no matter how badly she wanted him. Her cold demeanor was just a front to hide her feelings for the one she loved. She had her chance to make her dreams come true but her hopes were crushed when she wrecked the shuttlecraft. This time, she wasn't going to let anything get in her way.

  Cheryl was going to fuck Ensign Travis. She was going to fuck him long. She was going to fuck him hard. She was going to fuck him and fuck him until she couldn't fuck anymore. She made up her mind. Cheryl was going to fuck James and she didn't care what she had to do to get him.

  James called out, "Cheryl!" as he searched for signs of her beneath the fur. It boiled and seethed all around him, spinning him in circles until he started to get dizzy. Cheryl! Cheryl!" he cried again and again.

  Cheryl's head slowly surfaced in front of James. The look on her face showed nothing but pure lust. She grappled her arms around him and pulled his naked body close.

  "Just shut up and kiss me!" Cheryl commanded.

  As their lips met, the quickfur sucked them both under. Their bodies intertwined as they tossed and turned in the torrents of fur. James was frightened and disoriented. The scent of the fur drug saturated his lungs making him relax. Cheryl ran her hands over James' naked body. The aphrodisiac took its affect on James' mind and rejuvenated his body. His giant cock became rock hard and stood fully erect as he groped her body through the fur.

  The quickfur massaged and tickled their bodies, bringing them to the brink of climax. It teased and tortured them endlessly. Just when they thought they would have their relief, the fur denied them release. It swirled around them, massaging them, kneading them and breaking them down into complete, willing submission. They both grunted and groaned and screamed and made inhuman noises in the night. They were so overcome with pleasure that they felt like they were going to explode.

  "I've got to have you!" Cheryl demanded between gasps for air. I've always wanted you!" she confessed. "Fuck me!" she screamed. "Fuck me now and don't you ever stop!"

  The quickfur fur pulled Cheryl's legs wide apart. It guided James in like a shuttle docking with a starship, slowly but firmly bringing him home, until his long, hard shaft was pressed against Cheryl's pussy lips.

  "Fuck me, Ensign Travis!" screamed the Lieutenant with an animal growl in her voice, "That's an order!"

  Cheryl felt James penetrate her. He groaned as her wet, hungry pussy greedily gobbled him up. She began to climax almost the second his big cock filled her up. Cheryl panted loudly as the fur forced James to stroke in and out, slowly at first, gradually moving him faster and faster. It swirled around them and glided over their bare skin, deftly attacking their every erogenous zone. The quickfur moved their bodies like puppets, manipulating them in a bubbling cauldron of flesh and fur. They screamed and moaned and cried out with ecstasy. Cheryl felt her third orgasm overtake her. James screamed loudly as he shot his first load deep inside. The quickfur kept pumping them. It forced them both to come, over and over, until their bodies went limp, too exhausted to move under their own power. They were jostled about like rag dolls. They were helpless to stop fucking each other but they didn't want it to end. Then, with a mighty squeeze, the fur wrung one last, great orgasm out of the helpless couple. They groaned in breathless ecstacy. The fur tightened around their bodies, squeezing them like a giant boa constrictor. Their vision dimmed until they gradually fell unconscious in each other's arms.

  "Captain Rice, I'm receiving a distress signal from shuttlecraft Alpha," reported Lieutenant Loomis.

  "On speaker, Lieutenant," said the captain.

  "We are making an emergency landing on the planet, Delta Vega Three. Please send rescue party immediately!" Lieutenant Haskell's voice cracked from the speaker.

  "Captain, I'm picking up a locator beacon," said Loomis.

  "Can you home in on it?" asked Captain Rice.

  "Triangulating its position now, sir," Loomis replied.

  "Set a course for their position," ordered the Captain, "three quarters impulse." "Engage when ready," he added.

  "Aye, aye, sir!"

  "Captain, may I have a word?" said the First Officer.

  "Come to my ready room, Commander Harrison," replied Rice.

  The two men moved discreetly into the captain's office. The doors slid shut behind them.

  "Speak, commander," said the captain.

  "Sir, don't you think we should go to warp? It will take thirty six hours to reach Delta Vega at impulse," said the commander.

  "We don't need to expend the warp engines, William," said Captain Rice.

  "No, sir? Why not?" William asked.

  "Delta Vega Three is a habitable, class M planet with no hostile life forms," said Rice.

  Commander Harrison nodded.

  The captain continued, "Lieutenant Haskell and Ensign Rice are both capable of surviving on Delta Vega Three. I see no emergency, here."

  "I understand," said the commander.

  "Will there be anything else, Commander?" the captain queried.

  "No, sir!" he answered.

  The captain dismissed the commander. Harrison turned and walked toward the door. Captain Rice paused a second before speaking up.

  "One more thing, Will," the captain said, a sly smile appearing on his face.

  "What is it, sir?" Harrison asked.

  "Travis and Haskell should have found the quickfur, by now..."

  The End.

  The Inlander

  Leaving his two bodyguards outside, the tall, handsome askari with the tribal tattoo swirled on his cheek came blinking into the purple tent, out of the strong morning sunshine. The shadowed coolness was welcome after the equatorial Sun's heat against his dark brown perspiring skin.

  "Welcome, welcome, o' Worthy to the humble tents of the Dhahabu Market," said
the short squat slaver, who ushered the Inlander warrior in with an ingratiating smile.

  The slaver gestured to a wide-backed rattan chair, a matching foot stool set before it. There was a table within easy arm's reach on which set vessals of food and drink. "Sit, great sirrah, be at ease. As you can see there are victuals to delight the palate and incense to stir the senses. The musicians in yonder corner will play any tune you fancy. I will send in the girls. Your merest whim is their most passionate pleasure, you may be assured."

  Traditionally, the best girls of a slaver house are featured in their purple tents. Absent was the shouted, bawdy bidding of the masses. There, where the rich men shop, a kajira's charms can be intimately sampled by the potential buyer. In the select tents, only after he has tasted what is for sale is the buyer required to make a bid, if any.

  The tall man nodded, seeming neither impressed with the slaver's servile mien nor the rich interior decorations of the large tent. He moved in an easy gait to the fan back chair and sat upon it. His deep brown skin, high-cheek boned features, his long-limbed arms and legs made him plainly of Inlander heritage. The folk who inhabit the vast Rainforest of Gor's Equatorial Belt.

  He was of the Kirotobo Clan. His name was Moto Kutwa, gifter of fire or fire giver, in the Inlander language. Prometheus in City Gorean.

  He was traveling incognito, in the simple guise of an askari, an Inlander warrior. While he had a right to don the askari regalia of leopard skin loincloth, the wicked curved belt knife, feathered headdress with amulets, bracelets and anklets of gold, panther and mamba teeth, in actuality, he was the Mfalme, the Ubar, of the Island of Kailiuak, on the famous trade island by the same name on Lake Ushindi.

  He had just endured a week-long secret trade conference with the Schendi Council and he felt he owed himself some recreation before beginning the long journey back up-river to Lake Ushindi. The Dhahabu Slave Mansion of Schendi was well-known for its high-quality slaves throughout the Equatorial Zone of Gor. And so, it was to their purple tents that Prometheus had went. :. He drank Turian brandy and ate river-fish caviar on fresh bread as he watched the first presented girl dance before him.

  She's heavy-footed, he thought, dismissively. He was a fan of the Dance, a severe critic, and didn't appreciate dilettantes diluting the ranks. He didn't bother to suppress a yawn a few ehn through the girl's routine. The anxious slaver, sensitive the potential buyer's mood, hurriedly pulled the girl out and brought in another.

  The second girl was a songstress. Her voice was light and clear, such as to charm any master. Prometheus could see why she'd been reserved for the purple tents. But, within the walls of his palace, he had many such singers and didn't need another. He gave her a silver tarn when she finished, sparking a wide smile of gratitude from the songbird. More likely than not the valuable coin would be taken from her but it was the gesture the girl would truly treasure.

  It was the third girl who got the Mfalme's attention. The moment she thrust aside the flap and strutted into the tent he knew she was of a singular quality.

  Her walk was buoyant, agile, the balls-of-her-feet gait of a superbly healthy female. Her natural scent suffused the air, overwhelming the fainter traces of the perfumed sluts before her. Her hair was dark-hued crimson, which fell in cascading waves down her sun-kissed shoulders, framing a face a man usually saw only in his most lust-inspired dreams. Although her height was demure, the slave's breasts were full melons, capped by rose madder aureole. The pinched waist helped to form a classic heart-shaped ass, supported by shapely thighs. Her sex was partially hidden by pube fuzz as fiery as her mane. Her navel was a deep dimple on her belly and a tiny gold ring graced her pierced clit. The nails of her tapered fingers were painted green. She was naked, save for the clit-ring and slave bells at her ankles, and as haughty as any prima ballerina absoluta ever born.

  Seemingly indifferent to the wench, who pridefully struck a sensual pose, Prometheus cracked nuts against each other in his big closed fist, then made a business out of judiciously picking the edible nuggets from amongst the shell shards. After a few ihn, he looked up. His dark black-brown gaze met her midnight blue eyes. Although her glance was fleeting, he saw the expressiveness of those almond eyes shaded under long curled sooty lashes.

  "Well? What are you waiting for, slut? Sing, dance. Surely you can do more than just stand there licking your lips and pouting."

  The girl's deep blue eyes narrowed just a bit. The implied criticism of her kajira skills stung her, as it was meant to do. Kajirae are vain of their talents, easy prey to criticism. The slave nodded respectfully to the musicians in their corner, then began to grind her hips.

  Quickly, the girl's dance made Prometheus forgetful of the nuts in his hands. He watched as she closed her eyes. Her sinuous body moving with the beat of the drum. The purple satin of the large tent billowed slightly with the wind as the kajira moved seductively in the lamplight. Her expressive eyes held the assurance of a pleasure slut who knew her heat was high, her skills just as rarified. She swung her hips and rolled her ass as if in the arms of an ardent lover, her slim arms entwining over her head of brilliant scarlet hair, long nailed slender fingers moving with serpentine grace.

  Prometheus found it pleasing, if curious, that although the red-haired girl was clearly of Northern stock she danced with the uninhibited instincts of a jungle slut. It was obvious to the slaver that the proud girl had caught the Inlander's attention. He did a quiet fade from the tent.

  The Inlander lost count of the ehn as he watched the girl and she did her very best to beguile him, ensnare his senses with the slave dance. With her exertions her scent musk completely suffused the tent, adding yet another layer to her seduction. All the while her haughty glance would flick toward his face then away, seeking to ascertain the effect she was having upon him.

  The pipes thrilled, the drum throbbed.

  The girl's movements took on the pantomime of being first chased, then captured. She skipped upon her toes, causing her fulsome breasts to sway heavily, close to his face. She swirled away, temporarily escaping, only to be caught again. She fell to her knees before him, opening her inviting thighs that her sex was unobscured, crimson thatch unable to hide the plumpness of her wet cuntlips, the smell of the girl now far more heady than the incense on the humid air. She began to thrust and grind her hips, as if in response to an invisible yet violent ravishment, falling to the carpeted floor, breathless, bosom heaving. Sweat beaded over her heated form, running in rivulets down her cheeks, off her breasts, down her thighs.

  The music ended. And Prometheus shook himself as if emerging from a spell.

  He stood, looking down at the girl, now in her nadu, with the pitiless gaze of a raptor confronting prey. His voice was rough with arousal when he spoke. "A girl must slake the passion her dance excites."

  "Yes, Master," breathed the slave slut, breasts beaded with jewels of perspiration, locks of her red hair now plastered to her wet brow. A sultry worldly smile on her plush lips. "If Master so desired so clumsy a beast."

  He laughed at that, reaching down, grabbing the dancer by the mane and hauling her up against his body, forcing a kiss upon her panting lips, her sweat slicking against him. It was clear he meant to take her there and then. However, it was at that moment the slaver rushed back in. His ingratiating smile gone, replaced by an expression of near-panic. Both Prometheus and the girl looked at him, not at all pleased by the interruption.

  "A thousand pardons, sirruh,' breathed the slaver. "But, a terrible mistake has been made. This girl is already sold, I'm afraid, good worthy. Her master's agent has come to collect her."

  Prometheus scowled, it was not a reassuring expression and the slaver took a step back, conscious of the panga in the warriors belt.

  "Tell him I'll buy her."

  "If only the solution were so simple," the slaver said, wringing his pudgy sausage-fingered hands. One did not lightly frustrate an askari's designs. "The buyer departed Schendi days ago. The girl was left to await
the agent who now stands in the compound. I'm afraid she must be given to him, o' worthy one. I beg forgiveness a thousand times. But, she is bought and paid for and was sent in here through an accounting mistake. There are many other girls you may sample," he finished, weakly.

  Prometheus hurumped, but his scowl of vexation cleared as he turned to look at the girl caught up in his arms, his nostrils flaring as her aroma drifted into his nose.

  "Well, girl, I suppose the dance is over." He caressed her damp, pliant cheek with the side of a rough finger.

  "It would seem so, Master." Sincere regret was in her husky voice, as he released her.

  But, despite his words of surrender, she could tell from his touch to her cheek, the possessive glint in his dark eyes and the tone of his deep voice that nothing was over between them. Nothing was even close to being over.

  The slaver approached, attached a chain-lease to her collar and led the sweat-sheened girl from the tent. She looked back over her shoulder, giving Prometheus a last smoky indigo glance, then tent flap fell between them. :. Part 2

  Two days later, the bandit band swept down upon the merchant caravan in the late ahn of the pleasant spring night.

  The slave girl, Violet, was awakened abruptly from her dreams by the sound of alarm horns blaring , the harsh shouts of men and the screams of women. She sat up on the thin slavemat allotted her within the locked confines of the slave wagon. The chain secured to her collar rattling in the dark. She could hear other girls moving around as well, disturbed by the sudden noise from without.

  There was no lamp in the wagon, nor window so that the slaves had no clear idea of what was transpiring in the camp outside. Yet, it was clear that all was in turmoil from the shouting, screaming and blaring of horns. Perhaps three or four ehn after the beginning of the ruckus, the door of the wagon was suddenly pulled open, squealing on its hinges, and pewter moons' light poured into the interior.