STEPBROTHER COLLECTION - 7 FORBIDDEN ROMANCE SHORT STORIES: Stepbrother Romance Stories Bundle Read online

  Stepbrother Collection

  Forbidden Stepbrother Romance Stories

  Copyright@2015 by Celia Styles

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.

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  Table of Contents

  Story 1: “The SEXhibitionist”

  Story 2: “Defiled”

  Story 3: “Movements of the Moon”

  Story 4: “TOXIC”

  Story 5: “My Naughty Stepbrother”

  Story 6: “Dark Devotions”

  Story 7: “Forbidden Passion”

  The SEXhibitionist

  By Celia Styles

  Chapter 1

  “I don’t particularly care what you want to do.”

  Allison stared at her brother—stepbrother—and wanted to squeeze his throat. Her fingers even itched as she stood there, trying not to move, trying not to show him just how much he was able to get under her skin.

  “It’s not what I want to do,” she said slowly, enunciating each word carefully so that he couldn’t misunderstand her. “It’s what’s best for the company.”

  “What’s best for the company is for you to do as you were told and stop annoying the COO.”

  “You’re only COO because your father…”

  Allison stopped, aware that she was about to go too far. She stepped back slightly, her knees shaking now. And, as angry as she was, he hadn’t even bothered to look up since she walked in.

  Damn him! Damn him and his air of superiority, like he was a god and all of the people around him were simply minions put here to serve him.

  “You know Daniel won’t like it when he hears about this.”

  “Oh, are you going to run to daddy, like you’ve done every other time?”

  Allison shook her head and turned, crossing to the door. “This company needs to hire new writers. You know that as much as I do. But because it was my idea, you have to act like an ass and find another way to get things done. Just wasting time.”

  “But it’s my time to waste, isn’t it?”

  Allison burst out the door and stormed to her own office across the hall. Then she screamed, knowing no other way to vent her frustrations.

  It wasn’t like it was the first time.

  Daniel, her stepfather, was the president and CEO of BlueWords, Inc., a public relations company. BlueWords handled everything from corporations, politicians and celebrities to products, sports figures, and government agencies. It was BlueWords’ job to make their clients look good and present them to the world in a way that achieved whatever the goal was, from getting a politician elected to office to selling millions of a product that had failed with conventional advertising.

  As CEO, Daniel had run the day to day operations of BlueWords since the doors opened forty years ago. But approaching the twilight of his life, he had decided it was time to pass the torch on to his children. Remington, Daniel’s only biological child, began working at BlueWords straight out of college and worked his way up from an internship to COO. Allison, Daniel’s daughter by marriage, started working for BlueWords two years ago after a failed attempt at becoming a novelist, with the promise that she and Remington would be equal partners in the company when Daniel finally retired.

  Remington, however, was proving impossible to get along with.

  Not that they had ever gotten along.

  Their parents married when Remington was fifteen, Allison ten. Remington resented Allison from the day she stepped over the threshold of the house he had shared with his dad since his mother’s death ten years earlier. Allison could understand. She’d never wanted her parents’ divorce and resented Daniel’s intrusion on their lives. But she adjusted. She thought Remington could at least try. But he never did.

  Thank God he went to college three years later. Their paths only crossed at Christmas and on Daniel’s birthday for years after. Until two years ago.

  And he was driving her insane.

  If it wasn’t for a promise she’d made to her mother—that she would help carry on Daniel’s legacy—she would have quit long ago.

  As the anger slowly dissipated, she sat behind her desk and began scrolling through the long list of emails waiting for her attention. They were throwing a party in a few days for the launch of one of their client’s new products. There were demands from caterers for final selections, questions about décor, and a request from the florist to have someone pick up the centerpieces two hours earlier than originally planned. Allison forwarded a few of the emails to Remington—let’s see him deal with that!—and wrote responses to others.

  As she worked, a Hangouts window opened on the lower corner of her browser.

  “Are you there, slave?”

  Allison blushed, automatically looking up to make sure she had remembered to close her office door. It still embarrassed her when these messages appeared even though they had been exchanging them for several months. Once, during her short career as a failed novelist, Allison had done research on the BDSM lifestyle. In that research, she learned about these website where dominants and submissives could meet and exchange whatever level of information they were comfortable with. Some were content to never meet in real life, but to exchange emails and messages, like this one, until one or both got what they wanted out of the connection. Allison had found it interesting, but never participated until one night, a few months ago, she’d had a fight with Remington and was unable to sleep. She was cleaning out her files on her computer when she came across those websites again. Upon a second viewing, she had thought, why not? It was just a conversation…

  But now he wanted her to do something she wasn’t quite sure she wanted to do.

  “I’m here, Master,” she responded to the message.

  “Have you thought about the party?”

  Allison answered immediately, not wanting to be chastised for disobedience.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Are you going?”

  And that was the thing. He wanted her to attend a BDSM play party. There was a guy, he said, who liked to perform in front of a crowd. He would tie his subs up to a contraption that held them off the floor, spread eagle, so that he could do anything he wanted to their bodies until they either voiced their dissatisfaction or climaxed.

  Her Master wanted her to allow this man to use her.

  It was one thing exchanging emails and messages. It was another actually participating in BDSM play.

  “Slave,” a new message said, “answer immediately.”

  But what choice did she have? She wasn’t ready to end this game and she didn’t want to displease her Master.

  “Yes, sir. I will attend.”

  Chapter 2

  Allison walked into what looked like any ordinary suburban house, her stomach in her shoes. But the moment she passed the dark drapes that separated the entryway from the rest of the house, it no longer resembled anything ordinary.

  People walked from room to room clad in everything from jeans to leather bustier to nothing except for leather masks over their faces. In the living
room there was a large swing that was like nothing you might see in a child’s park, so complicated that she couldn’t imagine how the petite woman currently encased in the ties and straps would ever get out. The sound of whips snapping on the air could be heard in almost any room, as could the sounds of many different voices raised in pleasure and pain. There was very little actual sex going on, but there were more handcuffs than Allison could imagine could be found in a moderate sized police station.

  The woman who had greeted her at the door led her up a set of stairs to a small room at the back of the house.

  “Put on the green corset—make sure you remove all of your own clothing, he doesn’t like impediments. You’ll wear that mask there, too,” she said, pointing to a leather mask with a zipper down the front like several Allison had seen downstairs. “But you can wait until someone comes to help you with it. They can be a little complicated sometimes.”

  Allison’s hands shook as she picked up the corset. She opened her mouth to tell the woman she had changed her mind when she heard the door snap closed. She turned and discovered that she was quite alone.

  She could just walk out and tell him she’d done it.

  But, somehow, she was pretty sure he would know it was a lie.

  All of this for a man she had never met face to face. It seemed ridiculous, even to her. But that side of her that always believed her daddy left because she wasn’t obedient enough was determined to please this man and experience the pleasure that came with his kinder emails.

  Last time she pleased him, he’d talked her through a fantasy that still made her cunt wet when she thought of it.

  With a deep breath, she stripped out of her shirt and bra, awkwardly sliding the corset over her head, struggling with the heavy laces that held it against her ribs. She had to adjust it over and over, never sure she had it on quite right. And then the laces…she wasn’t going to be able to do it alone. She managed to get them tight enough that the contraption didn’t fall off as she moved around, but it was still much looser than she imagined this Dom—whoever he was—would want.

  She looked around, trying to find a pair of panties meant to be paired with the corset, but there wasn’t any. That made her breath refuse to leave her lungs properly. The corset fit just below her breasts, leaving her hard nipples completely exposed. Then it fit down to the top of her hips, but that was about it. She would be naked from the hips down when she removed her skirt.

  She considered leaving her own panties on—they were a delicate white lace pair that matched the white lace on the edges of the corset—but the woman had been clear that the Dom disliked his subs coming to him with any of their own clothing on.

  There was a tap on the door and another woman came inside. She was pretty, a redhead with beautiful curves that were highlighted by her own corset. Hers was black with silver and grey lace just barely covering her nipples. With it, she wore matching panties that barely covered her generous patch of pubic hair and smoky stockings attached to a garter. Allison was almost envious as she studied her.

  “Hey,” she said, smiling. “I’m Vicki. They sent me up here to escort you down.”

  “Okay,” Allison said, turning to find the mask she had been told to wear.

  “Do you want me to tighten that corset? These things can be a real bitch if you’re not experienced with them.”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “No problem. I do it all the time.”

  Allison turned as Vicki approached her, giving her access to the laces. Vicki showed no mercy, pulling so hard at the damn things that Allison would have flown across the room if she hadn’t thought to grab a water pipe snaking down the wall in front of her.

  “Does this Dom always have his subs where a corset?”

  “No,” Vicki said, not even winded from all her tugging and pulling. “He usually has them in a slightly more modest bustier and crotch-less panties. He picked this specifically for you.”

  “He did? He knew I was coming?”

  “Of course. You don’t get in here unless a member invites you.” She hesitated in her tugging. “He did invite you, right?”

  “Yes,” Allison lied.

  Well, at least she thought it was a lie. But, for all she knew, this Dom was her email-sending, messenger-using Master.

  “Have you been to one of these things before? Do you know what to expect?”

  Allison wasn’t sure what to say. The truth seemed ridiculous as she stood there having a corset laced to her body, but another lie seemed to be the wrong way to begin this new adventure. But Vicki didn’t wait for her to answer.

  “The mask has material over the eyeholes so that you can’t see anything as I escort you into the room. The Dom will strap you to his dungeon…”

  “Dungeon?”

  “It’s a piece of furniture that has restraints on it. He had his own built to his specifications…it’s quite nice.”

  “You’ve been his sub?”

  Vicki laughed. “Then he’ll begin, usually with feathers, but sometimes he begins with whips. Or he might ask his audience what they prefer to see. If, at any time, you feel uncomfortable or want to stop, just use your safe word.”

  “Safe word?”

  “You do have a safe word, don’t you?” Vicki asked as she gave Allison’s corset one last, hard tug. “Everyone needs a safe word. You just tell it to the Dom before he begins.”

  Allison shook her head. She vaguely remembered reading about safe words while doing research for her writing, but it was just a passing reference.

  “You really are new to this lifestyle.” Vicki sighed as she patted Allison on the shoulder to let her know it was safe to turn. Allison pressed her hand to her sternum, trying to take in a full breath, but finding it impossible. “You can use the newbie words,” Vicki continued. “Yellow for slow down and red for stop. The moment the Dom hears either one, he will stop what he’s doing and check with you on whether he should continue or not.”

  Allison nodded, more convinced than ever that she was in over her head.

  “Has anyone ever been hurt doing this?”

  Vicki bent to grab Allison’s mask. “Only when they wanted to be.”

  Vicki gathered Allison’s long, dark hair and twisted it into a knot before sliding the leather mask over the back of her head. Once it was in the proper position, she came around Allison and tugged the bottom edges together before pulling the zipper down into place. It was tight, the smooth, cold surface of the zipper pressing hard into Allison’s nose. She opened her mouth to complain, but realized it was the point of these things to be uncomfortable.

  “Do you want me to remove your skirt? Or can you do it?”

  Allison had almost forgotten. She reached behind herself and tugged at the heavy button that was wedged just below the bottom edge of the corset. She managed to get it free and wriggle out of the skirt. She hesitated when it was time to tug her panties over her upper thigh…but she’d come this far. What was revealing all her secrets to a room full of strangers?

  This was insane.

  “I’m going to take your hand.”

  Vicki didn’t speak again as she led Allison out of that room—she knew they were in the open hallway again because of the change in sounds—and fifty or sixty feet before she paused. A moment later, another hand slipped over Allison’s arm and Vicki was gone.

  No words were spoken, but Allison could feel the presence of other people—it was something about the air of expectation around her—as hands guided first her wrists, then her ankles to soft pads that had buckled straps attached to them. She tugged at one of the straps, but there was almost no give to it. In moments, she was attached spread eagle to some contraption. And then she was moving.

  She began in a standing position, but she was lying down with a quick maneuver of the padded platform. She was on her back, her cunt completely exposed to whoever might be sitting on that side of her—for all she knew, the entire audience was sitting there. And then there were a few lo
w groans. Allison’s nerves began to crawl, her heart began to pound.

  What in the world had she done to herself?

  Fingers touched her exposed throat, making her flinch. They created a trail down over her collar bone, the top swell of her breasts, stopping just short of her nipples. She wanted to bite her lip, to offer herself even that little bit of sensuous movement, but the mask was too tight for even that much. The fingers disappeared, but returned lower on her body, moving slowly over her inner thighs.

  It was…not what she had expected.

  There was pain. She wasn’t sure what had caused it at first, but when it came again, she realized the Dom was attaching something…something tight and cold to the outer lips of her cunt. The pain was exquisite, the kind of pain that borders on pleasure, but doesn’t quite make it. Two, three…he attached four of the clips, or whatever they were, to each lip. Then her nipples, a clip squeezing too tightly there, then a ring that grew bigger and wider as he attached as many as ten to each breast…she wasn’t really sure how many there were because the pain made it all just sort of blend together.

  Once he was finished with the clips, he let her lie there and wonder what the hell was to come next. She couldn’t hear anything, couldn’t see. She heard the occasional whisper, a muffled cough, alerting her that there were still people there, but nothing else.

  Suddenly, the sound of a whip snapping in the air screamed next to her ear. Before she could react, she felt the sting of the whip’s tip against the bottom of her feet. She grunted, trying not to cry out. She was stronger than that…at least, that’s what she told herself. Seconds later, another snap, more pain. He worked his way slowly up her legs, smacking each of her feet, then her shins, the low edge of her knees. Back to her feet, then her inner thigh, dangerously close to her burdened cunt. Then her shins, her knees again, and back up to her outer thigh.

  The pain was an ache that made her thoughts totally escape her conscious mind. Moments ago, she had been sitting here regretting her decision to indulge in this sort of behavior, almost completely ready to abandon everything about this lifestyle, even the delightful fantasies her Master wrote to her over Hangouts. But then…all she could think about was the next smack, the next burst of exquisite pain.