In an instant I was crying and shrieking loudly with each of his penile stabs, paying no mind to the fact that I was out in public, in a park, and it wasn’t even eight.
He brought a hand down and began to thumb my clit, and I gasped in delight as his skilled digit moved around my bud, touched the sensitive stub peeking out from beneath its hood. He had evidently watched me as I had rubbed my clit while he fucked my mouth because he started to rub me in the exact same way, my way, the way which got me off.
He thumbed my pearl vigorously, moving in circular motions, my pearl beneath this thumb rotating wildly. He began to fuck me harder from beneath me, and I minimized my own movements, not wanting to lose rhythm with him.
I could already see the point of no return approaching on the horizon. The feeling of having my cunt stretched to what felt like its maximum, to having my clit thumbed with such practiced power, it was as if my entire conscious and unconscious focus, my entire brain, had been turned into a receiver and processor of the intense sensations of pleasure thrust upon me.
It was as if all the usual peripheral, automated actions of the brain and body had become strenuous, the precious resources of my nerve center targeted at my cunt and my clit.
I had trouble breathing in between my groans, gasps, moans and sighs, and couldn’t hear or see anything but his thrusting body, abdominals tensed, or his own guttural groans.
My hands found their way to my breasts, and my fingers slipped beneath my tank top, beneath the cups of my bra. My fingers closed around my nipples, began to squeeze and pinch them tightly, roll them, massage them. It was as if I was not in control of my own hands.
“Oh Jacob,” I snarled. “Fuck me! Fuck me!”
“Ashley,” he groaned. “Fuck, Ashley.” He increased the pressure of his thumbing and the pace of his fucking. He groaned and grunted and called my name over and over again.
“Ashley… Ashley… Ashley….”
It was too much. I crested, screaming silently into the air, my mouth open wide and my lips curled above my teeth. I was overcome with spasms and twitches and my cunt clenched tightly around his thick cock. Ecstasy enveloped me. I had reached my crisis.
He continued his thumbing, not for a moment slowing down as orgasm crashed and broke all over me, wave after wave of intense and searing pleasure rippling through my body, cutting to my core. It was as if I was being struck by lightning repeatedly. I thrashed in bliss, writhed in joy, squirmed in delight.
Out of nowhere a second orgasm rushed me and surged through my body. My vocal chords found purchase and I screamed loudly into the night, digging my nails into Jacob’s back as my body was yet again beset by a siege of pleasure, so intense it was nearly agonizing.
My scream faltered, transformed into a strangled cry as my body violently jolted and shuddered. My knees weakened, and I felt myself struggling to hold up my own weight while Jacob continued to fuck me.
“Oh fuck, Ashley,” he whispered into my neck before biting into my shoulder, his long, undulating groan sent reverberating through my bones.
His body tightened and he twitched inside me, and he lunged wildly forward in one final thrust. The tendons on his neck showed angrily through his skin, and his mouth was drawn into a tight, severe line. He shut his eyes tightly and I saw his muscles all tense up. Once. Twice. Three times. Four times.
He was filling me up for all he was worth.
We remained connected for minutes, holding each other, panting and gasping as we recovered from climax. He kissed my forehead then, something so intimate, and I held him close with me, and I wanted to tell him that I loved him. Because I did. But I was scared to say it first.
But then he saved me from that. He said it first, and I held him tighter, feeling his sweat against me, feeling his heat pulse through me.
Eventually we both became aware that we were still in public, and as his still-hard cock slipped out of me, gigantic globules of his cum dribbled out of me and down my legs.
“Fuck, Jacob,” I said, looking down at the mess he’d made. I cleaned it up with some tissue, and together we left the park, hurrying like schoolchildren who had just vandalized something, laughing and holding hands.
We went home together, and all that was going through my mind was that I knew what I was going to do when I got home.
I was going to fuck my brother again.
# # #
Kristen's Taboo Reunion
By Saffron Daughter
Kristen Thompson was having a midlife crisis. At forty five, she felt bored. She was a trophy wife to a rich and distant man. Sam Thompson, her husband, was vice president of a pharmaceutical company, and rarely had time for the family. Or for her.
It had been that way since the start, but Kristen didn’t really mind all that much. Sam was terrible in the sack, and as he had grown older, he had aged far beyond his years. He looked almost frail these days, and for a while she had been content to take care of him. It was an extension of her motherly instincts that had been aroused as she had raised their son, Luke.
Well, technically he wasn’t Kristen’s son. They weren’t blood related, and Sam had brought him into the marriage at the age of fifteen. Already a smashingly good looking young boy then, Kristen was fairly certain that once he became of age, once he reached adulthood, she would find herself attracted to him. She knew herself well enough to realize that, even if it was a fairly obvious fact.
But since he had gone off to architecture school, all eight years of it, her life had grown aimless and meandering. She still looked after Sam, but it was all routine. She prepared simple suppers, and he nursed a whiskey afterward over a piece of cheesecake or bit of summer pudding. They didn’t speak to each other much, outside of the pleasantries and garden variety small-talk.
“How was work?”
“How was your day?”
“What are you reading?”
And more of the same.
Sometimes, Kristen felt like having a whinge, and feeling sorry for herself. Life hadn’t exactly turned out the way she had expected it to. In fact, it had probably turned out much better, all things considered. She lived a cushy upper class life, but having married upward, she felt only a distant obligation to adhere to the sniffy customs and mannerisms of the social elite.
It gave her a lot of freedom without the baggage. She was a trophy and she knew it, and though it earned her the contempt of the wives of Sam’s friends, she didn’t much care. On top of being the best looking woman in the room at all times, she had a casual and easy rapport with men, and it made her the most popular person in the room at any function or event.
The other wives hated it, but Kristen rather enjoyed it.
It would be then that she grew a smile on her face, and that fleeting moment of feeling sorry for herself would evaporate. She had a good life.
But she was so, so bored! With Luke gone, and her husband growing ever more distant, she found little satisfaction in other areas of her life. Seeing her friends seemed to become more and more irritating with each time they met, and tucking into trashy novels all day wasn’t exactly a great way to build up her self-esteem.
It was a rut, plain and simple. Born of her circumstances, ones she couldn’t really complain about, but a rut nonetheless.
So when Sam one evening casually remarked that his son, her step-son Luke would be leaving school early to travel before finishing his final year, it thrilled her to no end. It was a change, a break in the monotony, and more than that, she was interested in seeing how the young man looked these days.
Though the idea was quite improper, and certainly something she’d never admit to anybody, her taboo attraction for him made sure that she had always kept a bit of space between her and Luke, not quite developing that doting, motherly bond. Of course, it was difficult, seeing as she first met him when he was an athletic young teenager. But beyond that, she also actively tried. It has provided her with an illicit fantasy she could mull over secretly, a way to amuse hersel
f with something so naughty, so wrong.
“Wonderful,” she had said to Sam. “Will he be coming to stay here?”
Her husband had confirmed her hopes, and she spent the night languidly dreaming of what her step-son would now be like. Seven years was a long time that he hadn’t come home – he was like that, always independent – and, in secret, even semi-hiding it from herself, she wondered if there was any possibility that she might…
No, she thought. That was wrong. That was bad.
But it was also exciting, and Kristen so desperately wanted her life to be exciting.
*
Luke Thompson was going home. After seven years working his ass off in architecture school, he was taking a break, and was going to travel the world before finishing his final year. Money wasn’t an issue, too. Wise investments from the income of his part-time jobs had landed him a nice sum of money that would more than pay for a year globetrotting.
God, he thought. It had been seven years since he’d been home. Now, sitting in a taxi after a long international flight, he found himself growing increasingly nervous. He was a bit lukewarm on the idea of seeing his father again. They had a distant relationship – the man was aloof – but there was a mutual respect there.
What was making him nervous was seeing Kristen, his step-mother. She had married his father when she was young, but he had already been a teenager then. And fuck if she wasn’t the hottest woman he’d ever seen. He idly remembered all those nights he’d spent jerking himself off to the thought of her.
There were many times when his young mind had thought about sneaking a glimpse in the shower or when she was changing. But, deep down, he knew it was wrong, and so he didn’t, even though he sorely wanted to. His imagination had to suffice, and, to be fair, Luke was even sometimes shocked by his own mental conjurings of what she and he would do.
She wondered how the stunning woman looked now. After seven years – and part of the reason why he hadn’t gone back home was because he was so attracted to her, and wasn’t sure how to handle it – surely a lot must have changed. He knew that he had changed a great deal. His athletic frame had filled out, and he had grown another couple of inches. At six three with – and he was thankful for his genetics every day – a body to die for, he had come leaps and bounds since his wiry, stringy teenage days.
He wondered how Kristen had changed. Had she filled out as people did as they got older? Or had she maintained herself? He rather suspected the latter. If Kristen had one failing, it was probably vanity.
The taxi pulled up to the gates to his home. Basically, it was a manor. Huge, labyrinthine, with guards at the gates.
“Master Thompson,” the guard greeted him. “How good to see you again.”
“Greg!” Luke shouted from inside the taxi. He gave the taxi driver too much money, and then got out, refusing his change. “Greg, it’s so good to see you.”
“You’re looking well, Master Thompson,” the guard said, keeping the distance between them, and his manner of address formal.
“Didn’t I tell you before I left that when I came back, you’d have to call me Luke?”
“I’ll work on it, Sir,” he replied, winking.
“Do, please,” Luke said through a laugh. He gripped the guard’s hand hard, shook it, and then pushed through the gate and began to walk up the long and winding driveway. The gravel beneath his feet crunched, and the cool and brisk air, with an edge of dampness to it, had been missed. He inhaled deeply, the smell familiar.
God, he had missed home. That much was certain. As he approached the front door, he dawdled increasingly, stalling. He was reminded again of why he hadn’t come home in so long, and he was about to meet her, the reason; Kristen.
He had thought his attraction for her, that thump he felt in his chest and pang he felt in his gut, would have waned by now, faded over the years. But, as he drew closer and closer to the inevitable greeting, he realized that was not the case. He had simply sort of forgotten about it.
Those old feelings were certainly making themselves felt now. He’d never told anybody about them, not even his closest friends. It was simply too illicit, too taboo, and he knew that they’d just look at him like he was a gigantic creep if he came clean.
“Shit,” he said to himself, remembering he had not unpacked his keys from the bottom of his suitcase. He looked at it ponderingly for a moment. Had he ‘purposely’ forgotten?
With nothing else to do but ring the doorbell, he did so. The great, majestic ding dong startled him. They had replaced the bell with something oddly electronic. Moments later he heard the front door unlocking, and then he watched it open, and there, standing, smiling, was Kristen, his step-mother.
And she was fucking gorgeous! In a slim yellow dress, she looked like she hadn’t aged. She had gotten a little thicker, no doubt, but that was hot, and her beautiful face broke out into a smile, and she put our her arms and hugged him.
“Luke!” she said, holding him tight and kissing him on his cheek. He felt butterflies in his stomach, and his heart skipped a beat.
“H-hey, Kristen,” he managed after a moment. “Wow, you look really, really great!” He looked her up and down. She was as sexy – no, sexier – than he remembered. She had aged really well, and surrounding her now was this aura of confidence that he had either been too young to detect before, or that had developed around her in his absence.
With elegant and understated diamond studs in her ears, and a simple bracelet around her left wrist, she looked amazing, a woman every man would wish to have as his wife.
Only, Luke knew that could never be a possibility between them. She was his step-mother, for God’s sake!
“Come in, come in,” she said, beckoning him in. He stepped in, and all the smells and memories assaulted him at once. It really had been a long time…
Her voice broke his reverie. “You look great yourself, Luke. Wow, you’ve really filled out!” She squeezed one of his arms, and he grinned at her.
“So how’ve you been?’
“Oh, the usual. Same old.”
“Dad?”
“Same old.”
That said enough. “Ah,” Luke said.
“No, it’s not like that!” Kristen said to him, and she hooked her fingers beneath his arm and guided him forward. “Just leave your luggage here darling. I’ll take it up for you later.”
“I’ll leave it here for now,” Luke responded. “But I won’t have you carrying it upstairs for me.” He saw the look on her face. “Even though I’m sure you could manage.”
“Damn right I could,” Kristen said to him, putting on a playful smug expression. “I wasn’t born into such a cushy lifestyle, you know!”
“I know, I know.”
Luke looked at her, and they shared an odd moment where they just gazed into each other’s eyes. A thump in his chest made him ask the question internally: Could she be…?
No! He chided himself. That was ridiculous. There was no way on earth! It was too wrong. It was too inappropriate. Unthinkable! Scandalous!
But as she walked toward the kitchen, telling him she’d make him a cup of coffee because he must be exhausted from the flight, he found himself hoping that the silly thought was true. He eyed her up and down. She had a beautiful behind, and he wanted to squeeze it, slap it, pinch it.
“Luke?” he heard her call. She turned around and looked at him, hand on a hip and weight shifted to one side. “Well?”
“Right,” he said, nodding. He snapped himself out of his trance, and walked toward her. “Dad not home yet?”
“Of course not. Don’t ask stupid questions.”
“Right,” Luke said, grinning.
*
“Still like your coffee black?” Kristen asked, looking over her shoulder at her step-son who was sitting at the kitchen table. Her heart fluttered as they made eye contact, and she quickly refocused her attention on the kettle.
God, what the hell was going on? She had expected to see him an
d be positively wowed by his handsomeness, and maybe even feel that surge of attraction and lust, but she was feeling something completely, entirely different. There were butterflies in her stomach! She felt nervous! She was… worried, as though she was afraid she might lose something.
“Yeah, but put a drop of milk in it. I’ve softened up on my coffee tastes a bit.”
“Good,” she said. “Black coffee’s bad for your stomach.”
“That’s a myth, you know.”
“Don’t contradict your mother,” she said playfully, before regretting letting that slip out. She had never referred to herself as his mother in front of him before, and the joke seemed all too much a foot-in-mouth faux pas right about now.
But Luke talked the awkward silence away. “How have you been, anyway, Kristen? I mean really.”
She wasn’t sure if he was talking about her and his father, or her life in general. She decided to keep her answer broad. “A little bored, to tell you the truth. I’ve been feeling a bit cooped up lately.”
“You still see Rebecca and, um, Rose was it?”
“Rosie. Yes, I do, but only occasionally. How about you? Make new friends at school? Gosh, it’s hard to believe we haven’t spoken face-to-face in so long.”
He grinned as she handed him a cup of coffee. “Thanks.”
“Watch out. It’s hot.”
“Um, yeah,” he said. “Plenty of new friends, plenty who are no longer friends. Such is life.”
“Is it competitive?” Kristen asked. She had read about architectural schools being rather unforgiving.
He nodded then, licking his lips. “Yes. We do a project a month, and when we’re done, we have to display it to the class in a grading room. Then, the teachers come in and grade them all, in front of everybody. It’s quite harrowing.”
Too Taboo! 3: A Forbidden Fun Taboo Bundle Page 9
