Sunday, October 6, 2013

Dance for Daddy, Salome (She forced my hand!)

After sock puppet author Lexi Wood (@SockPuppetLexi) trashed me on Twitter yesterday, I vowed not to plug her filthy stepcest book.  Why should I help someone who insults me?

But I guess I promised you, the reader, that I'd post an excerpt today from her novella "Dance for Daddy, Salome" (even if the damn thing makes me cringe) so I'll be true to my word.  She somehow convinced me to provide you with a rather extensive snippet--two whole scenes from near the beginning of the book. Here it is.

Dance for Daddy, Salome
by Lexi Wood
Word Count: 25,000

When Salome's mother marries Rod, Plain-Jane Sally falls head over heels for his son. They're only step-siblings, but John still thinks it would be wrong if they surrendered to temptation.

Right or wrong, Salome's got her sights set on her new step-brother, and she won't take no for an answer.

Rod isn't happy that his twenty-three-year-old son still lives in his basement. Now he's got a barely-legal step-daughter to support as well.  Worse yet, his new wife is forcing him to attend the girl's goddamn dance recital!

Onstage, the gangly teen transforms into a seductive stripper.  In a sexy little dance costume, Sally becomes the most seductive vixen Rod has ever seen.  There's no turning back.  He's going to bed his step-daughter if it kills him...

Warnings: This filthy book contains explicit sex and extreme 1970s outfits.  If you're not into step-Daddy/daughter erotica, adult step-siblings getting it on, or polyester pants, you'd better steer clear of Dance for Daddy, Salome.

Read an excerpt:

“Do we hafta go to this thing?”

Dia gazed at him in the dressing table mirror.  Her expression faded to disappointment.  “Rod, she’s my daughter.  What’s mine is yours.”

“Yeah, I know.”  That kid was bound to cramp their style.  They only just got married, and within a week he was being dragged to a goddamn dance recital?  Rod stared unapologetically at his wife’s incredible cleavage.  Jeeze Louise, you got great tits.”

Dia rolled her eyes as she clipped on earrings.  “No sense changing the subject.  You’re still coming to Sally’s recital.”

“Sure you don’t want to stay home instead?  We can have a little dance recital of our own.”

Circling his arms around her body, he dug her tits out of her dress.  When he squeezed those sweet melons, his dick stood at attention.  He stroked it against her ass, and she obviously felt it because her eyes rolled back in her head.  God, those tits!  He bounced them on his palms and her flesh jiggled.  He nipped her neck, and she moaned.


“Rod…”  Dia sounded tortured, and he knew she’d reached a tipping point.  But she tipped in the wrong direction, smacking him away.  “Rod, enough!”

“Aww, come on.”  He pulled up her skirt, but, shit, she had a slip on too.  “Just a quickie, since I’m in the mood?”

She kicked him in the shin.  “Not now.”

“Fuck, Dia, you didn’t have to get all physical.”

“Neither did you.”  She glared at him in the mirror.  After a long moment, a smile lit up her face.  “I’m not rejecting you, Rod, we just don’t have time.  Wait until tonight.  I’m gonna rock your world.”

“Not if I rock yours first.”  He ran his hands up and down the silky fabric of her dress.  Felt so good to have a wife again.  The worst thing in the world was going to bed at night and not smelling a woman’s hair on his pillow.  “I love you, Dia.”

“Aww, baby, I love you too.”  She turned her head and planted a sweet kiss on his lips.  “Hey, would you help me with this clasp?”

“These damn things are too fiddly for my fingers.”  He tried anyway, securing her necklace with surgical precision.  “And I don’t want you thinking I don’t care about your little girl.  Just, I’ve raised a daughter already.  I’ve seen about all the ballet recitals one man can handle.”

“Don’t worry, dear, it’s not ballet.”  Dia handed him a bracelet to put on next.  “I can’t stand all that fussy stuff either.”

* * * *

Rod shifted in his wooden seat.  Why were the chairs in these auditoriums so damn small?  His knee kept touching John’s.  Turning to Dia, he asked, “When do we get this show on the road?”

“Five more minutes, Mr. Impatient.”

“I don’t see your kid’s name in this here program.”  He held it between them.  “Did they miss her?”

“It’s right there,” Dia said, pointing to a name near the top.

“Salome?  That’s her name?  And I been calling her Sally all this time...”

“Sure, Sally for short.”  Dia chuckled to herself.  “My mother said she’d disown me if I didn’t give my child a biblical name.  It’s a wonder she didn’t disown me for having a child out of wedlock.  Sometimes people surprise you.”

“Hmm.”  Rod didn’t like thinking of his wife fucking other guys.  Made him want to toss his cookies.  But, hell, that would have been eighteen, nineteen years ago.

Dia started talking to the lady on her other side, and John stuck his nose in a book, as usual.  Rod felt claustrophobic, trapped between them.  All these people, all these chairs.  What if there was a fire?

He gazed at his step-daughter’s name in the program.  Kid didn’t look like a Salome.  Salome was a sexy name, a stripper name. Girls, Girls, Girls!  Curves, Curves, Curves!  Salome wasn’t a name for a twiggy stick bug with gangly hair and pimples.  Dia’s kid weren’t nothin’ to look at.

When the lights went down, Rod’s heart raced.  Music seemed to rise out of the floor, and a whole bunch of dancers hit the stage.  It sure wasn’t no ballet they were doing.  This was new stuff, Disco, all the rage.  They pointed and strutted.  Guys in suits fucked the air.  Girls got brazen under the mirror ball.

Stupid dance shit.

Rod looked for Dia’s kid, but didn’t see her.  Maybe the girl wasn’t in this number.  He tried to divert his mind to something else.  How long until this goddamn show was over?

He slid his hand up Dia’s thigh, but she smacked it away.

Maybe he could play a game—a game called If I Could Only Fuck One Dancer, Who Would It Be?

None of them girls with the short hair.  Nah, they looked too much like guys.  He wanted a girl like Dia, with wide hips and nice tits, but none of these dancers looked like that.  A few leggy blondes caught his eye.  Hell, what man could resist a leggy blonde?  And he wouldn’t mind riding the chick with the ‘fro—she had a butt that wouldn’t quit.

But if he could only pick one out of the entire crowd?  Well, he’d go with the girl in that sparkling silver dress.  She’d be down with it, for sure.  Any woman in a dress that short was guaranteed to be a floozy.  Every time she kicked, he got a peek at her panties, and they were silver too.  A girl like that was just begging for it.

As he watched her slim hips gyrate, his cock filled his pants.  He squirmed in his seat, because the seam was cutting into him, but his squirming drew Dia’s evil eye.  Sitting still, he covered his crotch nonchalantly with his programs and tried to adjust himself.

When the number ended, the auditorium burst into over-eager applause.  Family and friends were always too generous.  The dancing hadn’t been that great.

Dia leaned in close and asked, “Wasn’t Sally stunning?”

“Oh, sure.”  No way he was about to admit he couldn’t pick his own step-daughter out of a crowd.

Leaning across Rod’s lap, Dia asked John, “Are you feeling all right, dear?”

Rod hadn’t noticed that his son wasn’t clapping.  Kid’s arms were crossed over his chest and, without looking at Dia, he snapped, “I’m fine.”

Strange behaviour, for John.  He usually went in for this artsy bullshit.

Dance numbers came and went, but they didn’t capture Rod’s imagination.  He kept watching for the girl in the silver dress.  Even with his beautiful wife at his side, he found himself craving young pussy.  Craving the girl with the silver panties.

And there she was!

When the lights came up on a sexy scene, Rod did a double take.  Was that girl naked?  No, couldn’t be… couldn’t be… but the silver dress was gone.  And the silver panties.

Two dancers kneeled together on heaps of velvet pillows, offset by barely and arm’s length.  The sexy mama with the ‘fro was on her knees, just a touch behind the sweet thing with the long, dark hair.

What were they wearing?  If only he’d brought binoculars.  Were those flesh-toned bikinis?  Yeah, mesh string bikinis with sparkly rhinestones, which caught the light as the girls gyrated in unison.

This wasn’t like any dance Rod had ever seen.  He didn’t know what you’d call it.  Modern, maybe?  Seemed better suited to a strip club than a dance hall, and the music was straight out of a porno film.  He didn’t feel exactly comfortable watching this show of rippling flesh with his new wife at one side and his son at the other, but he couldn’t take his eyes off that dancer.

As it turned out, John was even more uncomfortable than Rod, because he stormed from his seat, stepping over eight sets of knees to get out the aisle.  Normally, Rod would have followed his son—any excuse to get out of a dance recital!—but he remained transfixed.

Dia was just the same.  She didn’t even seem to notice that John had left in a huff.

The girls on stage waved their hands over their heads, snapping their fingers, smiling coquettishly at the audience, and at each other.  Their hips circled around.  Their bare bellies waved like the ocean.  Up and down, like they were each straddling a lover, like they were fucking invisible men right there on stage.  Their motions were lewd, pornographic. Rod couldn’t look away.

Stage lights picked up body glitter on their chests and thighs when they launched into a modified mash-potato, like they were beating their invisible lovers with their fists.  What Rod wouldn’t give to get under those girls!  His cock strained so hard against his pants he worried his erection would tear out his fly.  He could just imagine his insistent dick ripping through the seams, expanding unbound until it filled the entire auditorium.  That’s how huge he felt, watching those girls dance.

Dance—if you’d call it that.

He couldn’t stand the sheer physical pressure.  His cock had grown into a Thanksgiving belly, threatening to rupture if he didn’t unbuckle his belt.

As the girl with the ‘fro traced her long fingers across the other dancer’s glittering skin, Rod unzipped his fly.  His desperate cock flew out, whacking the program that served as a shield.  He glanced over his shoulder, trying to be subtle, but everyone in the theatre watched slack-jawed as the two girls turned and touched.

The dancers mirrored each other, stretching their arms over their heads as they wagged their pert asses.  Rod’s precum soaked the program.  His body, mind, and spirit lived inside his dick.

Wrapping his fist around his shaft, he imagined it was the girl on stage.  The girl with the long, dark hair.  Those were her little fingers clinging to his dick.  Maybe she’d circle both hands around it and pump with all her might.  She’d look at his raging erection like she’d never seen anything so huge in all her life.

She’d say, “I don’t think it’ll fit inside me, Mister.  It’s just too big.”

“Let’s find out,” he’d say, grabbing her hips.

He’d pull her body down on his.  She’d shriek wildly as he filled her wet cunt with his massive shaft.  He could just imagine how tight she’d be.  Her sweet young pussy would wrap around him like a warm hug.

Rod squeezed harder, pretending his fist was the dancer’s pussy.  He watched her writhe against the other girl.  The way the stage lights struck them, he was pretty sure he could see their erect nipples through the glittering mesh bikinis.  Their bodies rippled.  They drew closer and closer together, until pink tits touched dark ones.  Their small breasts teased him beyond sensation.  He couldn’t bear much more of this.

And then the two girls bobbed their heads forward, like they were about to kiss, and Rod’s thighs trembled against the hard wooden seat.  Just as their pretty pink lips were about to touch, they swooped their heads to either side.  Hooking their chins around each other’s shoulders, they raised their backs and then their arms, like birds in flight.

Damn, they were gorgeous.

Could he stroke off without arousing suspicion?  The program concealed his cock.  He could feel the smoothness of the paper against his engorged tip.  Maybe if he beat off slow and hard he’d make it to the finish line without Dia noticing.  She couldn’t seem to take her eyes off the dancers any more than he could.

No more fooling around.  He circled his thumb and forefinger around his slick head and teased it.  His hand was a pussy—that little vixen’s pussy—and he was gonna punish it so hard she’d walk funny for a week.

As the girls touched and teased, playing nipples off nipples, Rod fuelled his orgasm with friction.  He fucked his hand, or his hand fucked him, until his balls clenched.  He felt warm all over.  His throat closed up.  As those two agile dancers collapsed in a heap of velvet cushions, hot jizz filled his program.

The lights went down as the awestruck audience broke madly into applause.  Thank god for the darkness, because Dia certainly would have recognized Rod’s orgasm face if she’d seen him in that moment.

By the time the lights came up on the next number, he’d regained a certain amount of composure and zipped his spent cock back into his trousers.

He was about to lean in and tell Dia, “I can’t wait to get you home,” when she spoke to him, instead.

“Wasn’t Sally spellbinding?”

“Huh?” Rod glared at the stage, but the disco dancers all had short hair.  Sally wasn’t up there.  “Where?  When?”

Dia cocked her head, like she didn’t understand him.  “In that last routine…”


If you want to buy Lexi's book, it's available from:
eXcessica EDEN:

Barnes & Noble:





No comments:

Post a Comment