Mile-High Club With My Rapper Brother
T. A. BEAU
Mile-High Club With My Rapper Brother
T. A. BEAU
A Brother/Sister Incest Erotica Short Story with breeding.
Copyright © 2024 T. A. BEAU
All rights reserved.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the writer and the publisher.
WORD COUNT: 2600 words
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I adjust my flight attendant outfit. The skirt is a little shorter than it should be, but my replacement hasn’t come in yet. My blue button-up is open to show my throat so I don’t overheat, and the white scarf tied around my neck is pulled straight from the fifties.
People who use private jets like a touch of the old flair and I’m more than happy to be on the little more risqué side of things where D12 is involved. I’m always excited to book time on the jet when my brother’s involved.
It’s been a month since I last saw my brother for family dinner. Being a celebrity and a rapper at that, he is always busy jetting off somewhere to perform, stuck in the studio or doing TV shows. But when he does have the time, it’s always a surprise when he drops by unexpectedly. And when he does show up, there’s no doubt in my mind what will happen between us.
It’s been 3 years since we drunkenly fucked each other during a family reunion. Ever since then, I count down the days until my famous brother visits me. I fixate on my skirt, knowing that being 30, 000 feet in the air won’t stop what is about to happen.
I’m not sure if my boss knows, but I tend to get booked when my brother uses our company to travel. Today isn’t a long flight—I was told that upfront. It's a three-hour flight to L.A., where we’ll pick up another celebrity and fly six hours back across the country.
I adjust my heels, make sure my hair is back in a perfect bun and grumble to myself about how the deep navy doesn’t highlight my skin the way the peach does when I get to wear it.
Checking myself out in the mirror, I smear a light pink over my full, pouty lips and adjust my eyeliner so my dark eyes are more balanced. My high cheekbones, heart-shaped face, and ‘delicate’ body, as my mom puts it, all look in order.