Little Brats: Hanna: Forbidden Taboo Erotica
Read Little Brats: Hanna: Forbidden Taboo Erotica Online
Authors: Selena Kitt
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MOXIE
By Selena Kitt
High school senior, Moxie, agrees to be moral support for her friend, Patches, who is totally enamored with a college boy, so she says yes to a double date, even though she has to lie to her parents to do it. But Moxie wasn’t counting on lying about her age to get into an x-rated movie, and she definitely wasn’t counting on her date’s Roman hands and Russian fingers, or the fact that the pants she’s borrowed from Patches are several sizes too small. By the end of the night, Moxie finds herself in far more trouble than she bargained for!
Hanna's been raised to be a good Christian girl, and she wants to listen to Pastor David, who tells his flock, procreation is the only reason for relations between a husband and wife. But innocent Hanna dreams often about a mysterious man who pleasures her, waking up with a blissful longing she doesn’t quite understand. When Hanna asks the man of the house to teach her about the ways of love, they both discover the temptations of the flesh too difficult to resist.
By Selena Kitt
“Please God, forgive me for being a sinner and a whore.”
Hanna woke up with the whispered words on her lips, so automatic they were unconscious. She was caught in a moment of confusion between sleep and waking, breath coming in short pants, the sensation of her fingers still moving between her thighs making her hips jerk involuntarily.
The aching flutter in her belly held the promise of her erotic dream. She made an effort to pull her sticky fingers away, but the brush of them along her wet slit swelled into a need to be filled, to be penetrated like she had been in her dream—something her mother would have dubbed a nightmare.
Hanna knew about sex. She’d read books on the subject at the library when she was supposed to be studying history or geometry, secreted away in the corner, turning pages slowly, eyes growing wider and wider as she absorbed the forbidden information like a sponge. Her panties grew wet, her sex squishy between her thighs in a way she understood, biologically—lubrication was required for the penis to enter the vagina without resistance—but confused her thoughts. She understood the mechanics perfectly. What she didn’t understand was how it all made her feel.
She just knew, however she felt, she wasn’t supposed to be feeling it. Her mother had guilted and shamed her from birth on the subject of sex and the woman would have been proud of herself to know that Hanna woke whispering a prayer of forgiveness for nothing more than a wet dream. A biological response, like breathing or hunger pangs.
Hanna’s mind wandered, remembering her dream, even though she chided herself, told herself it was bad, wrong. She might not be in control of those thoughts when she was asleep, but she could prevent herself from thinking them when she was conscious. She worried her fingers up and down her slit like counting off beads on a rosary—although she’d never held a rosary in her life, the Catholics were all going to hell, according to her mother—her internal conflict making her hips twist. It all did nothing but serve to arouse her even more.
Her pelvis seemed to have a mind of its own, bucking and rolling, the inner walls of her vagina contracting still, as if searching for her dream man, the one who had been inside of her, pumping in and out so deliciously. What would it feel like, to have something that size deep inside her womb? Her own curiosity was torture. Her body responded, no matter what she did, her nipples growing hard, her sex wet, and it was enough to drive her mad. How was an inquisitive, inexperienced girl supposed to remain pure?
Hanna turned her flushed, red face into her pillow, remembering the man from her dream more fully, bringing her shame to the surface. Her dream man was handsome, a cowboy type, like her stepfather. Marshall Young was tall, rugged, and ripped. She’d gotten an accidental glimpse of the man’s body coming out of the shower once, and it was an image she had burned in her mind. Her dream man could have been his brother, maybe even his twin, with a broad, hard chest, defined abs, a strong jaw. Her stepfather made her feel secure in his presence, and that’s just how he dream man had made her feel.
Just the thought of the man who had invaded her unconscious, his flesh pressed against hers, sweaty and strong, made her skin tingle. Unable or unwilling, she wouldn’t analyze now. Instead, she slipped her already wet fingers inside herself, two, then three, pushing her hips up as she forced them further in, needing to know how it felt to have something, anything, in there. Curling them, she hit a soft spot deep inside that stole her breath as she moved to the rhythm she relived from her dream, a frantic pace, as if he rode her.
She knew it was wrong. Her dream, this act, all of it was a sin. But somehow her body didn’t care. Her body wanted what it wanted. It wanted this, to be penetrated, to surrender, to be pounded and ridden and taken, again and again. She plunged her fingers deeper, hearing the wet sound they made, and imagined her man’s erection, thick and hard and pumping deep. Hanna longed to see his face, feel his hips bumping up against hers, his belly slick, pelvis grinding.
Oh God. Oh God, please. Forgive me, God, but it feels so good!
She knew what was coming and worked toward it. Wanted it. Shamefully, her face turned into the pillow still, Hanna bit her lip to keep herself quiet, but a little squeal still escaped her throat as the contractions began deep in her core. This was it. The moment she longed for, dreamed of, her sex contracting again and again. She rode her climax out, the man in her mind, the one thrusting deep and hard, become even more vivid. Her imagination exploded and no longer was the man just a dream, he was real, he was pounding into her with rhythmic intensity, and he was no longer unidentified.
He was Marshall Young. He was her stepfather.
Hanna cried out into her pillow, calling his name, panting as each ripple of post-orgasmic pleasure made her hips buck again, moving her fingers in deeper, increasing her orgasm, extending it, almost unbearably. She shuddered and squeezed her thighs together over the sopping mess between them, and still, the image of her stepfather emptying his seed into her eager, waiting womb wouldn’t go.
She wanted it. She wanted him.
Oh God, please forgive me. I’m a sinner and a whore. I’m immoral and wanton and should be punished. Please punish me as you see fit. I am helpless to temptation. Oh God, but it’s good, it’s so good, so very good…
Once her body finally calmed, her hands now curled up tightly at her chest, she forced the images from her head as she began, in the aftermath, to rebuke herself for her actions and thoughts. Yet, she wondered how someone could continue to deny themselves something so wonderful. Burdened by her guilt, she couldn’t find the words anymore to pray and ask for forgiveness again, so she got out of bed to clean herself up and ask her mother to help her to pray.
Clearly, she needed more help than she could get on her own.
Only, by the time she reached their room, smelling fresh from the soap she’d scrubbed herself with, her skin red from the using the hottest water she could tolerate, she stopped short at the partially open door.
Irene Young was on her belly, her hips high in the air. She wore her long, white nightgown still, so Hanna couldn’t see much of her mother’s body. But she could see Marshall’s. He was completely nude, kneeling up behind his wife, attempting, somewhat unsuccessfully, to push his erection into her from behind.
Hanna had never seen a real erection before that wasn’t an illustration in a book. It rose up, thick and long, the skin bulging with veins, reddened and practically pulsing with heat. She couldn’t take her eyes off it. Her breath hitched and shuddered in her chest as he pulled back with a sigh, pumping the length in his fist before attempting to push in again. His face and chest were flushed with heat, glistening with sweat in the soft light from their small bedside lamp.
“Pastor David says that married couples should only use the missionary position,” Hanna’s mother protested, her hands fists, gripping the comforter. “Missionary is the only holy way.”
“Fine.” Marshall rolled his eyes, stroking himself again as he looked down at his wife’s behind. “Turn over.”
Even Hanna could tell how rigid the woman was holding her body, and now that she’d rolled onto her back, her legs were not even parted enough to allow her husband’s hips through. He pushed anyway, forcing her legs wider, but she kept her thighs like a latch around him so he could barely move. Hanna watched Marshal struggle to thrust, but Irene had a vise-grip around him with her legs.
Then, her mother folded her hands and began to pray.
“Dear Lord, please make us a couple worthy of you, one who obeys your every command…”
Marshall sighed, reaching down to grab that glorious length, aiming, trying and failing to push into his wife again. Irene’s nightgown hid her body completely. Like Hanna’s, it buttoned all the way to the neck and brushed the floor when she walked. It was tangled around her mother’s waist, mostly keeping her modesty.
“Let me see you.” Marshall tugged up the edge of her nightgown, revealing the expanse of his wife’s stomach. “Please. Just let me…”
“No!” She pulled her nightgown down so far, her hands pushed him away. “Don’t do that! It’s a sin!”
“We’re husband and wife,” he reminded her gently, trying to nudge his way in again, but her legs actually quivered from her effort to close them, as if she could cut him in half with her thighs alone. “Just relax a little, sweetheart. Just… let yourself go. I could… I can make you wetter with my mouth.”
That did it. Hanna’s mother reacted so quickly, her daughter barely had time to register what Marshall had suggested.
With his mouth? Down there? What?
“No. Absolutely not!” Hanna’s mother sat up, yanking her nightgown down. “Marshall, we need to pray.”
“What do we need to pray for?” Marshall snorted, shaking his head. Hanna was fascinated by the erection in his fist. It was beginning to soften, but still.
“For your forgiveness. How could you even suggest such a vile thing?” Irene snapped. “I never should have gotten on my belly for you. It was the snake, crawling on its belly, who tempted Eve! Lord knows, I have sinned, trying to satisfy you, trying to make you happy…”
“Come on, Irene.” Marshall sighed. “I just thought I might actually be able to put it inside you that way. It’s not like I asked to put it in your mouth. Or your ass.”
“Marshall!” Hanna’s mother recoiled, grabbing a pillow and covering her body with it for extra protection.
“I’m sorry.” He swallowed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“We both need to ask God for forgiveness.” Tears choked the woman’s voice. “We need to ask Him to make us worthy as a couple to serve Him. Our marriage, our union, must stay pure. You know that! It is only through a pure union that we can serve Him best and reap His blessings.”
“Right.” Marshall watched his wife pull the covers up to her neck before she folded her hands, bowed her head, and began to pray.
Hanna watched her stepfather roll to his side, pulling the covers up on his side, covering his erection. Her mother’s words were methodical, phrases learned in their church. Hanna knew most of their prayers by heart, but these words were different. She wasn’t a married woman yet, so she didn’t know the prayers to say for a blessed union between man and wife.
She looked longingly at Marshall, who was facing away from her—and away from his wife—his broad, strong back tanned from long hours of work in the hot sun. Hanna didn’t know how her mother could resist touching him, feeling those hard planes of flesh under her hands. She knew she’d give into temptation. Irene’s faith was incredibly strong—stronger than them both, Hanna thought, frowning at her mother’s closed eyes and whispered prayers, her stepfather’s rigid posture.
Hanna knew she wouldn’t be able to talk to her mother about her dream, not now. And while she had been ready to confess her sin of masturbation, she knew she couldn’t confess that either. Instead, she took a few, slow steps backward before turning on her heel to go back to her own room. She would go to sleep and pray she didn’t have any more dreams.
Hanna froze when she heard her stepfather’s voice. At first she thought he was yelling at her—and just hearing Marshall raise his voice was a shock, because he just didn’t do that—but then she realized he was addressing his wife.
“Look at me!” Marshall snapped, his voice carrying down the hallway. “Stop that incessant muttering and look at me!”
Hanna’s breath caught. She actually whimpered.
“Fine! If you’re going to insist on praying for something, why don’t you ask God to let me go?”
Hanna’s eyes widened. Her mother murmured something but she couldn’t hear it.
“You know what I mean!” Marshall’s voice was still loud, strident. “I got the job in California. I could be earning twice—twice—what I’m making now! Don’t you want us to have a better life? What’s keeping us here, Irene? Tell me!”
Hanna’s toes curled under her nightgown. California? She knew he’d been interviewing for another job, he’d been excited about the prospect. But she didn’t know it was far away. The thought of leaving didn’t scare her, though. She wasn’t allowed to make friends at school, only church, and there weren’t many people she connected with. In fact, the thought of moving, starting over—away from the church her mother insisted they attend four times a week—filled Hanna with a sudden hope.
Then her mother spoke.
“You know why.” Her mother’s voice rose too, although she wasn’t yelling. “I told you. I prayed about it with Pastor David and he said we needed to stay.”
“Because Pastor David said so?”
“Marshall, you should have heard him!” Hanna’s mother cried. “He was so distraught when I told him we might move. I was one of the original members of the church, remember? He told me I’m one of his finest inspirations to stay here and do God’s work. How can I leave, when he needs me? Isn’t God’s work more important than making more money?”
Hanna held her breath, listening.
“What if I need you, Irene?” The pain in Marshall’s voice broke Hanna’s heart. She longed to put her arms around him. “What about me?”
“Don’t be selfish, Marshall,” Hanna’s mother admonished. “Let’s pray. Together. Let’s pray for our salvation.”
Hanna sighed and headed back to bed.
She wanted to ask, but didn’t know how.
Hanna stood at the counter, slicing vegetables for stew beside her mother, wondering just how to approach the subject. Well, subjects, plural. There was God. That was a subject her mother was well-versed on. But Hanna wanted to add boys, or men, to that equation. The problem was, she didn’t know how it added up. And when you threw sex into the mix, things got even more confusing. It turned into an impossible problem she couldn’t easily solve.