Semua Bab PLEASE DON'T STOP (Steamiest short stories): Bab 1 - Bab 10

People were starting to stare now, and I felt my face flushing red “you look like a cheap little tramp! If I wasn’t so busy, I’d drag you upstairs myself right now and see that you put something on that doesn’t look so goddamned slutty!” I was shocked by his outburst, and mortified by the way he said it. People were staring, and I felt a horrible wave of shame and embarrassment wash over me. My stepdad’s face was a picture of strange emotion – he looked angry and exasperated, but also... excited? He fixed me with an intense stare, and I could see that he was short of breath. All this, just because I was wearing a tight top and a tiny skirt? It just didn’t make any sense. But, me being me, I was determined not to lose face in front of all these people. I had to get the last word – so without thinking, I opened my mouth.“Sorry, Daddy” I said, in a tone laced with poison “but perhaps dirty old men like you should keep their eyes from wandering. Then maybe you wouldn’t have such a proble

“Come on, Sharleen, move your ass!” My stepdad shouted, his face just inches away from mine. He moved behind the punch bag and held it there, increasing the resistance and making me work even harder than before. I gritted my teeth and tried to dig deep, pushing myself harder than I thought possible. I was due to compete in a few short weeks, and I knew that my stepdad was far more concerned with whether or not I won the fight than I was. I had been competing in junior kickboxing since I was eleven years old, and now eight years later, I was starting to get tired of the whole thing. It didn’t help that my stepdad was also my coach, so my training seemed to completely and utterly take over every element of my life. I never went out partying with friends, and had grown up without having any sort of social life. My only friends were the ones who I’d known from the gym, but most of them had given up on kickboxing over the years partly due to my stepdad’s obsessive and totalitarian personal

Luckily, my stepdad still held me in his iron grip, keeping me on my feet while I caught my breath. Then, he reached around me and turned off the shower before removing the gag from my mouth. I gasped, grateful to finally be able to breathe again, and slumped against the wall once more, completely exhausted. My stepdad kissed me softly on the back of the neck, and I shivered. I couldn’t believe what had just happened, but I thought it best not to question it. Something inside of me told me that it was inevitable. My stepdad gently pulled out, but kept hold of me while I gathered my strength. It was strange that I had punched him for daring to call me weak, and yet now I was unable to stand unaided. “You did well today, Sharleen” my stepdad said softly, catching me by surprise. I turned to look at him and saw that he was smiling. I wasn’t sure if he was referring to my training, the punch I had landed on him or what had just happened moments ago – but I smiled back in response. I knew

The woman who picked me up wasn’t very chatty. I was kind of glad – as I’d never gotten into the car with a stranger before, and I was unsure what to say. I didn’t want to make polite conversation, and clearly she didn’t either – so we just drove in silence for the next three hours. I asked her to drop me off on the outskirts of the small village where the nearest hostel was, and she obliged. My eyes began to droop again as the dark countryside zoomed past, and the rhythmic humming of the engine had a strangely hypnotic affect on me. My head flopped forwards onto my rucksack even lower, and before I knew it I was snoring. Suddenly, I flinched as I felt a hand on my shoulder. I looked up and saw the woman peering at me with a kind expression on her face. “We’re here” she said, gesturing to the building we were parked in front of “I figured I’d just take a detour and drop you off at the hostel. It’s very late, and I wouldn’t feel right having you walk through the village on your own.” H

Bedtime was the best part of the day for eighteen year old Nita Bainbridge. She loved to go upstairs for her nightly shower, then shower and slip on the old and paper thin flannel nightgown that she had put on every night since she had turned fifteen. It had been a birthday present from her stepfather, Lyle Hannover. Nita had spotted the nightgown during a shopping trip and her mother, Althea Hannover, had turned up her nose at the garment and insisted on a frilly, girly teddy that Nita had not been comfortable with. Lyle had noticed how much she liked the nightgown and bought it for her later. In the last six months Nita had started wearing the flannel gown with nothing underneath it, the soft fabric felt good against her skin, and especially on her nipples. There were places in the fabric that were so thin that she could see right through it-and that was the biggest reason that she wore it so often now. Her crush on Lyle had begun to develop years before, but in recent months she ha