Too Big Taboo Bundle: Naughty Brats, Forbidden First Time, Man of the House

by Veronica Vaughn

  Wearing my sports bra and pink gym shorts, I tried my best to follow his lead. My long, dark hair flew and whipped my face each time he spun me to and fro.

  “That’s it, Abbi, you’re doing fine,” my stepfather said, boosting my confidence as he turned my body and pulled me close. His left hand was tucked firmly against the small of my back, holding me tight. His right hand was clasped in mine. Holding hands with him, it reminded me of the times when I was a little girl and he was helping me to cross a busy street.

  With my head against his shoulder I breathed in deeply, enjoying his familiar smell, an intoxicating mix of leather, aftershave and man. I’ve always loved that smell, ever since Christoph married my mom when I was six. Although we’re not blood-related, he has never let that get in the way of our relationship. I’m his little girl, and he’s the closest thing to a dad I’ve ever had, or ever wanted.

  When I was a little girl I loved watching Christoph dance with my mom. They seemed to be so in love. I used to fantasize that someday I would be the one dancing so beautifully with my strong, tall stepfather.

  Now, after all these years, I was all grown up, and I finally had an excuse to dance with Christoph, to touch him and hold him tight. He guided me across the impromptu dance floor that we had created by pushing all the furniture against the wall, freeing up space on the hardwood floor of our living room.

  “Just follow my lead as I move to the rhythm of the music,” he soothed.

  Just then, he turned left and I turned right. I nearly fell as I tumbled out of his grasp.

  “This is useless!” I pouted. “I’ll never learn in time.”

  Christoph grabbed me by my shoulders, forcing me to look him in the eye. I must have been glistening from the exertion. My stepfather gently brushed a bead of sweat away from my forehead, then tucked a lock of my hair behind my ear to keep it out of my eyes.

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself, princess,” he said. “You’re learning fast. With a teacher as smooth as I am, soon you’ll be the belle of the ball.”

  He smiled, and I giggled in spite of myself. Christoph took my laughter as a sign that my pity party was over. He grabbed me again, and the next thing I knew we were dancing in unison, practically floating across the living room floor. I gave in to his guidance and found that I could follow him almost intuitively, as though our bodies were attached, operating as one.

  “That’s what I’m talking about, princess!” my stepfather beamed. “Now you’re getting the hang of it!”

  “Thank you, Daddy,” I smiled, glad that I could make him proud of me.

  I leaned my head back into my stepfather’s shoulder and smiled contentedly. With a dance partner like my stepfather, I felt safe and secure letting him take control. He guided me expertly in wide, slow circles around the room, our bodies in tune with the music. The next song was a slow ballad, and Christoph’s grip tightened against my back, our hips swaying together sensually. I loved the feeling of my stepfather’s body pressed against mine. At six feet, two inches, he stood about a head taller than me. I could feel the firm muscles of his chest rising and falling when he breathed. Without even realizing it, my own inhalations began to fall in line with his rhythm, as though our deep breaths were dancing together, too.

  Christoph was wearing an expensive suit. Earlier in the evening, when he had gotten home from his day at the law firm, I was so eager to begin our lesson I hadn’t even given him time to change. He had tossed his dark suit jacket over one of the sofas, then taken me in his arms. He had always called me his little princess, but now I truly felt like I belonged to him, that I wasn’t just a stepdaughter. That I was something more.

  With his hand still cradling the small of my back I felt little bolts of electricity shooting from his open palm and fingertips. If he would only slide his hand just a few inches lower, I fantasized, he’d grab a handful of my round little butt. The idea of my stepfather squeezing my ass filled me with excitement. It was so naughty, even to contemplate. I sensed my arousal rising, the warm wetness gathering between my legs.

  I could feel my nipples tightening, and my clit felt tingly, pulsating and warm, which made me even wetter. I couldn’t think about anything other than my desire to be filled by a fat, juicy cock for the first time in my life. I was eighteen years old and extremely curious.

  Without even realizing it, I had started to rub myself against my stepfather. It felt so good I couldn’t even think about anything else, losing myself in the pleasurable sensations filling my pussy. I started to grind against his leg, practically dry humping him. When I realized what I was doing my face turned bright red with embarrassment. Did Daddy have any clue that his sweet little stepdaughter was getting her rocks off just now? My God, I hope he wasn’t paying attention.

  Daddy didn’t seem to notice. I pressed myself against him and rocked from side to side in unison with his body, my perky boobs pushing against his washboard stomach. My nipples were crushed against him, driving me wild. I knew I shouldn’t be enjoying myself so much, but I couldn’t help it. Daddy was the most handsome man in my life. What did it hurt, to enjoy myself a little bit? It was all very innocent.

  Then I felt the bump—a hard little bump rising from Daddy’s pants, poking my belly. I casually began to rock and sway my hips, like twirling a hula hoop, allowing my firm little tummy to massage and caress the bulge in Daddy’s pants. It made me so excited to feel his swelling hardness that I wished I could drop to my knees and let him dominate me with his cock. I’d suck him off and drink down his hot white cum.

  Now I was getting really wet. Daddy and I were still dancing, but more slowly now, more sensually. If I could just unfasten his belt, then his cock would be mine. Then I remembered who I was dancing with—my own stepfather. I couldn’t possibly. But I think he wants it, too. There’s only one way to find out … I touched his belt, fumbling with the buckle.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa, princess,” Daddy groaned, staggering backward. It was like we had both snapped out of a dream. He was tucking his shirt back in and refastening his belt while simultaneously putting distance between us. “I think you’ve had enough lessons for one day.”

  “But you have so much more to teach me,” I protested.

  “You need a lesson that I can’t give you,” he said.

  What was going on? I didn’t understand. Just looking at his tightened pants I knew his cock was raging for my body. I wanted him to be my first. Maybe he didn’t realize exactly what I was offering. My desperation rising, I decided to lay myself out there.

  “I want you to fuck me, Daddy.”

  My stepfather’s eyes widened in surprise. Then, almost instinctively, he looked me up and down, his gaze lingering on my tits. The tip of his tongue ran along his upper lip as he drank in the view of my round little curves. Almost immediately he snapped out of his trance.

  “This conversation is over,” he said.

  He stormed away before I could change his mind.

  II.

  “Oh my god, your stepdad is so fucking hot,” my best friend Sasha whispered, unabashedly staring at Christoph through the glass window of the yogurt shop.

  Her eyes fixed on the window, Sasha dipped her plastic spoon into her soft-serve and stirred around the tiny red, blue, green and yellow sprinkles. I turned around just in time to see my stepfather driving through the parking lot after dropping me off. I could see the profile of his face. Yes, indeed, Mr. Christoph was quite the handsome man. But I couldn’t admit that to Sasha. She already had enough ammunition to tease me.

  “Don’t be gross,” I complained.

  “Whatever!” Sasha giggled. “You know you’d love to jump on your daddy’s D,” she teased.

  “Yick! Shut up!”

  I playfully punched Sasha in the shoulder. She retaliated by flicking my boob with her finger, a surprise move that caught me completely off guard. I rubbed myself where Sasha thumped me, feeling the bump of my nipple hardening beneath my white halter top.

  “P
lease, tell me if you don’t want him,” Sasha said breezily. “Hell, I’d consider giving up an ovary for one night with that man. Just picture him all alone in that huge house, with no one but you to keep him company. After putting up with you all these years, he deserves to be sucked and fucked by someone nice. It might as well be me!”

  I laughed in spite of myself, picturing Sasha sucking off my stepdad. She was so pretty and a lot more experienced with guys than I was. I mean, I had barely made it to second base with boys, and not for lack of trying. They just preferred Sasha with her big boobs and round curves, not to mention her aggressive, in-your-face personality. I noticed guys checking her out all the time. I didn't blame them, because she pretty much oozed sex appeal and wasn’t afraid to flaunt her goods.

  I wondered what my stepdad would think of Sasha, and what he would do if he got his hands on those curves—kissing her, touching her, his hands on those big, perky tits. Her lips on his cock. It was fun to imagine, but it made me feel kind of jealous, too. I was his little girl, and I didn’t feel like the idea of sharing him with anyone. Since my mom died, he had scarcely been on a date with another woman out of consideration for me, despite the fact that beautiful women were constantly throwing themselves at him. Now that I was going off to college soon, it only made sense that he would reconsider his stance on dating around, even entering a new relationship.

  What if he found a woman when I was away at college? What if I came home for Christmas break, only to be introduced to some random lady? My face darkened at the thought of sharing Christoph with another woman.

  One thing was sure. Whoever he ended up with, she better know how lucky she was to snag that man. She’d never have to work again, unless she wanted to. She’d never have to worry about a thing—and she’d be getting her hands on a man whose mere glance can make me go weak in the knees.

  “Do you think he has a big dick?” Sasha asked.

  “Probably,” I sighed.

  Sasha snickered.

  “You know you’re in love.”

  She tried to thump me again, but I swatted her hand away before she could touch my sensitive breast.

  Our yogurt was melting and we were so distracted that we didn’t even notice the group of guys who had just entered the yogurt shop. They were all in our graduating class, and we had walked across the stage together only a couple of weeks ago. They were behaving like a typical teenage dorks, elbowing each other and laughing. The tallest one, a slender guy named Riley, was a cute rich boy with freckles and red hair. His parents had already bought him three cars because he wrecked the first two. I had a little crush on him since our sophomore year of high school, but he had never given me the time of day.

  Riley noticed us, and he immediately stormed over to our booth.

  “Hello, ladies," he said.

  “Hi,” Sasha said flatly, not interested in engaging with Riley. She preferred the older men, not immature boys our own age. But I had always had a crush on Riley, ever since our sophomore year of high school. I didn't want to run him off. Even more significantly, he was supposed to be my partner during our big dance at the debutante ball.

  “Oh, hey, Abbi, I almost didn’t see you there,” Riley said, in a false polite voice. “Are you ready for the big night? I sure hope so. The last time I saw you on a dance floor, I nearly spilled my drink you were such a riot. Let’s hope you can get your act together by Friday. I’m not a fan of girls who don't know the difference between a two-step and the moonwalk.”

  “I know the difference,” I muttered. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’ll be ready.”

  “That’s what I like to hear,” he smirked. “Now if you’ll excuse me, something white and creamy is calling my name.”

  He blew us a kiss and spun around to join his friends at the yogurt machines. Sasha’s eyes narrowed with disdain.

  “What an ass,” she said. “I can’t believe you chose that guy as your partner.”

  “He’s not all bad,” I protested. “And anyway, it wasn’t up for me to choose.”

  III.

  The bright, white stage lights beamed into my face, practically blinding me.

  It was the evening of the debutante’s ball, and it was my turn to dance with Riley, my dance partner. He was wearing a blue tuxedo and his red hair had been slicked down with gel.

  Riley and I were standing at opposite ends of the stage, but the plan was to meet at center stage and dance for the length of one entire song, as everyone watched us. The thought of all those eyes following my every move filled me with apprehension. Butterflies were flitting in my stomach and threatening to fly right up my throat.

  I looked over at the audience that filled the cavernous room. That was a mistake. Close to three-hundred people were sitting at round white tables, drinking champagne and watching my every move. I frantically scanned the crowd, looking for my stepfather. There he was! Near the front, wearing a dapper black tuxedo with a white tie. His hair was slicked back, making him look very put-together and distinguished.

  My stepfather flashed a winning smile of encouragement, and I returned the grin. He knew how to boost my confidence, at least enough to get me the last few steps to the center of the stage, where Riley was already waiting for me. The look on his face screamed, “Any time now, Abbi. We’re waiting.”

  How embarrassing. At least I knew I looked good. My hair was done up, and I wore an elaborate and very expensive white dress. As I clicked across the stage in my high heels, my knees buckled and my legs felt as unsteady as a newborn pony’s.

  When I finally reached the center of the stage, Riley snatched my hand and we both turned to the audience, smiling for them. Then we turned back to face each other, and the eight-piece orchestra began to play. With my right hand in his, I placed my left hand on his shoulder and he gruffly wrapped his other hand around my waist. Smiling widely for the audience, he whispered through his teeth, “Don’t fuck this up, Abbi. Everybody who’s anybody is watching us.”

  The lights were so hot and bright, and all those expectant faces in the audience were trained on me. I could feel myself sweating nervously. Riley took a step to his right, practically dragging me along when I froze in place.

  “Come on!” he seethed. “Get yourself together!”

  He tugged at me angrily, trying to guide me through the dance moves we had practiced. I knew the moves. I’d worked hard for this moment, the evening I would be presented as a young woman to all of our social peers. But it’s like my body rebelled, like my feet stopped working. What a disaster. I felt like crying, right there on stage in front of everyone.

  Riley was really angry. His body language gave away his fury and embarrassment as he flung me around the stage, forcing me to dance the moves I had forgotten. He tried counting out the moves—one-two, one-two, one-two-three—to no avail.

  Someone in the audience stifled a chuckle. The next time I turned the wrong way, a few more people joined in, chortling in amusement at my expense. I wished I could melt into the stage floor and disappear forever. At least I would be going away to college in a couple of months. I’d run and hide for four years, and maybe everyone would forget about me.

  I was so mortified that I didn’t even realize where we were in the song, and I completely forgot it was time for Riley to whirl me. He spun me too fast, catching me off guard. I stumbled backward, wobbling on my heels, falling, falling. As I tumbled to the stage floor I heard my dress rip. The room echoed with the laughter of three hundred people. I began to cry. When I tried to stand up and fell again, I closed my eyes and sobbed, my body convulsing with my tears. Never had I been so ashamed. It was the biggest night of my life, and I had ruined everything and made a mockery of myself.

  In a huff, Riley turned and stormed off the stage.

  As far as I was concerned, my life was over.

  IV.

  I felt his firm hands on my waist. Someone was lifting me from the stage floor, as though I was light as a feather. I blinked through the tear
s and saw my stepfather, Christoph.

  My stepfather—no, my daddy—had come to save me.

  The crowd stopped laughing and was silent, waiting to see what would happen next. I was so confused. What was he doing on the stage with me? He looked extremely handsome in his perfectly fitted tux. His eyes shone intently.

  “You look beautiful tonight, princess,” he told me. “Just follow my lead. You’re going to do fine.”

  It’s like the hundreds of people and all of the humiliation melted away. It was just me and Daddy on stage together. He held me in his arms and I lay my cheek against his shoulder, letting his strong assertive body lead me where it wanted to go. When he swayed, I swayed. When he stepped, I stepped. Our bodies were perfectly attuned to each other, as though we had been practicing for this moment our entire lives.