21 Taboo Tales

by Robin Pressley

  I turn my hips slightly to get a better angle, and I slam my fist backward in a hammer strike, nailing my assailant right between the legs. The way that he grunts with pain tells me that my strike was right on target. I got the bastard right in the nuts!

  His grip slackens ever so slightly around my neck and I’m able to turn my hips through and duck my shoulders, twisting my head free of his grasp.

  I’m free.

  The smart thing to do now would be to run for it and scream at the top of my lungs. But my adrenaline is pumping, and that punch to his balls makes me think I’ve got the upper hand. This guy’s big, but I’m quick, and I have a few more tricks up my sleeve.

  Plus, even though I’m facing him now, I can’t really see him clearly enough to make out his features. I don’t just want to get away. I want to take this bastard down so that I know he won’t hurt any other women.

  I throw a whirling kick at his head, but he ducks it. Shit. Maybe this guy is more than just your average street thug.

  Without missing a beat, in one fluid motion I send another kick swinging toward his head, but this time he expertly blocks it with his shoulder. His arm reaches under my leg and levers me backward.

  I lose my balance and tumble backward, hitting the ground hard. The wind is knocked out of me, and before I can let out a scream, a hand is clapped tightly over my mouth. My attacker is on top of me, and I’m instantly regretting not making a run for it when I had the chance.

  Now my pulse is really pumping with fear and survival instinct. Jared has trained me to fight from this position too, and I prepare to fend off my opponent, but I know it’s going to be hard—he’s got the advantage and he’s much bigger and stronger than me.

  Fuck, where is Jared when I need him? A professional fighter like him, he’d be able to tear this jerk to pieces.

  And there’s no telling what this attacker wants from me. If it’s money he wants, I don’t have any on me. But maybe it’s not money he’s after.

  I prepare to fight back grunting in rage against the hand covering my mouth, but then I freeze.

  That smell.

  Warm and musky and masculine, it envelopes me. So familiar.

  It’s Jared. The man attacking me is Jared—my supposed protector. How can that be?

  His hand comes off my mouth and he raises himself off of me.

  “Why did you hesitate, Mo?” he asks, standing over me in the darkness of the alleyway. “Never hesitate.”

  2. JARED

  “Come on, stand up.”

  I reach down and offer her my hand. She’s bewildered but she accepts my help, and I pull her back up to her feet.

  “Jared?” She gasps. Her breathing is ragged and tight.

  “How many times have I told you, Mo?” I ask as I turn her around and brush the dirt off the back of her hoodie. “In a real-life attack, you can never ever hesitate. You have to fight with everything you’ve got. You can’t hold anything back. Anything less could mean death.”

  Without thinking, I swat the dirt and dust from the back of her baggy sweat pants too. An unexpected thrill courses through me when I feel the shape of her perfect, firm little tush underneath the baggy pants. Shit. I pull my hand away.

  “But…Jared?” She breathes again.

  “Yes, yes. It’s me,” I answer, pulling back my own hood. “Come on, let’s get out of this fucking alley before we really do get attacked.”

  I lead her out to the street where it’s safer and better lit. She is just staring at me gape-jawed like she still can’t believe it’s me.

  “And what the fuck were you doing in a dark alley like that, Mo?” I ask her. “Jesus. What were you even thinking?”

  Her face flushes, and I can’t tell if it’s from embarrassment or anger—maybe a little bit of both.

  “Well, I certainly wasn’t expecting to get attacked by you of all people,” she snaps. “What the hell is this all about Jared?”

  I can tell she’s pissed. I knew she would be. But so am I.

  “It’s about protecting you,” I say. I set off toward the gym, which is around the corner. Maureen follows me but her eyes are still flaring with anger.

  “Protecting me?” she huffs incredulously. “You just attacked me, Jared!”

  “Did I hurt you?” I ask over my shoulder.

  “N-no. I guess not.”

  “Maureen, I need to know that you can defend yourself in a real life-or-death situation. The exercises that we do together in the gym, the sparring, all of that—it isn’t worth a damn if you can’t put it into practice in an actual self-defense situation. Just imagine if I had been a real mugger back there. Or something worse.”

  We walk along without speaking for a few yards. The only sound is the scuff of our sneakers and the white noise of the city. Then Maureen pipes up.

  “So you were following me?” she asks.

  I don’t answer.

  “Okay, first of all,” she pouts, “most muggers aren’t elite martial artists. And second, I did get a pretty good shot in on your…”

  Her voice trails off. I know exactly what she’s referring too though. My nuts. And she’s right, she did get one hell of a punch in on them.

  “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” she asks, her voice softening to her usual sweet tone. I can’t help but smile.

  “I’ll live,” I tell her.

  But the truth is my balls are aching like a motherfucker where she hit me, and it’s taking a lot of effort to hide it.

  The thing is, it’s not the first time she’s made my balls ache. Not by a long shot.

  Fuck me, when did I become such a goddamn pervert?

  She’s totally off-limits and half my damn age. I mean, this is my best friend’s little girl that we’re talking about here.

  Over the past few years, she’s become more and more grown-up, and she’s filled out in ways that have become impossible for a red-blooded man like me to ignore. Christ, she’s got a body that just won’t quit. I’m just grateful that tonight she’s got it covered under those baggy sweats.

  Oh who am I kidding? I’m not grateful at all. I want her.

  But the fact remains: she’s my buddy’s daughter. He and I fought side by side like brothers and when he died in my arms on foreign soil, his dying breath was spent making me swear to take care of her.

  I’ll never forget that day, and I’ll never forget my promise to protect his little girl.

  But I don’t think her father had it in mind that I would lust after her like some kind of fucking lecher.

  I glance back over my shoulder at her. She’s got her head down, the bill of her cap covering her face. She’s still pissed at me. Fine. But I know I’m right—I have to test her, otherwise all of this training is meaningless.

  And I have to know that she’s protected. At first, it was my sense of duty to honor my promise to her father. But now it’s become my obsession—the sole obsession of my life.

  We turn the corner and cross the street to the gym. My keys jangle as I take them out of my pocket and begin unlocking the front door.

  “Ladies first,” I say, holding the door for her to go in. I catch the faintest hint of a smile on her face as she passes me. And immediately after that, I’m hit by the sweet floral scent of her hair, and my mouth starts watering.

  I wonder if she has any idea of the effort it takes for me to keep myself under control around her. Shit, she probably has no clue. A hot young girl like that, she’s got other things on her mind than an old fart like me.

  The problem is, a beautiful young creature like Maureen is going to get a lot of interest from the opposite sex, and I know only too well that most guys are fucking creeps who would only try to use her.

  That thought gets my blood boiling, and my mind goes back to a night from several weeks ago.

  She had just returned home from college, and she was staying at her mom’s place for the summer.

  I was driving by their place just to check on them. Call me a stalker if you w
ant, I don’t care. I promised I would watch over them, and that’s what I do. Short of fucking moving in, the best I can do is swing by from time to time to make sure nothing is amiss.

  Yeah, we’ll say that’s the reason I was driving past that night, although deep in my gut I know there’s more to it than that.

  On that particular night, as I came around the corner in my car, I just happened to see Maureen arriving home with some guy. It looked like they were on a date, and my heart seized up in my chest, clenching like a fist.

  It’s fucked up. I should have been happy for her, but instead, I just felt possessive as hell.

  I pulled over to the curb, parked, and killed the lights.

  They stopped at the front door, and the guy moved in to kiss her. From his awkward, jerky movements, it seemed like he was drunk, though Mo certainly didn’t seem to be.

  She leaned away from him, avoiding the kiss and laughing nervously. I was still in my car, so I couldn’t hear what they might be saying, but the guy seemed insistent. He lunged at her, trying to force himself on her, and my hand was immediately on my door handle. I was ready to leap out and pull this little rat bastard’s head right off his shoulders.

  But before I could even get my door open, something happened that had me grinning from ear to ear.

  Maureen expertly sidestepped the jerk’s advance, grabbed his wrist, and twisted his arm behind him, making him double over as she applied just enough painful pressure to his arm.

  I could tell he was begging her to let him go. After a moment she released him, and he stumbled backward.

  And that’s when I heard him fling an insult at her

  “Cunt,” he shouted. The word was muted by my closed car door, but I still heard it clear enough, and fire coursed through my veins.

  Maureen just ignored him, as she should. The opinion of some stupid punk shouldn’t matter to her. She went inside and closed the door. She was safe.

  As the asshole stumbled down the sidewalk rubbing his arm and cursing under his breath, I stepped out of my car.

  Maureen might have ignored his insult, but I sure as shit wasn’t going to.

  Oh don’t worry, I didn’t hurt him too bad. Nothing permanent. But I did make him promise with tears streaming down his face that he would stay the fuck away from my precious little girl.

  I shake the memory out of my head and focus on the training session that I have planned for Maureen tonight.

  “All right,” I tell her. “You can warm up by jumping rope, and then we’ll do some bag work followed by grappling.”

  “Sounds good, Jared,” she chimes. “Just let me get these sweats off.”

  She pulls her cap off and tosses it on an empty folding chair by the wall. Her long hair is a lovely chestnut brown, lustrous and pulled back tight into a ponytail to keep it out of her face while she’s exercising. She crosses her arms and pulls her baggy hoodie up and over her head, and I swear my cock jumps in my shorts. It fucking jumps.

  Underneath the hoodie, she’s wearing a tight little sports bra that shows off way too much cleavage for my comfort. And as she’s pulling the hoodie over her head, I get a good look at her tight little belly, and all I can think of his how damn delicious it looks. God, I just want to run my tongue over her until…

  I stop myself.

  Best friend’s daughter.

  Best friend’s daughter.

  Best friend’s daughter.

  I try to keep the mantra running through my head, but it’s no use because a second later she’s bending over to slide her sweatpants down and she gives a front-row seat the show of the fucking century.

  She’s wearing the tiniest little pair of spanky shorts underneath. They are so tight they look like they are practically tattooed on, and they are short enough that the bottom crease of her butt cheeks are smiling out at me from the bottom.

  My pulse throbs. I can feel it in my extremities—in one extremity in particular. I mop the beads of sweat forming on my brow and lick my lips.

  So much flesh on display. This is going to be one hell of a workout. I don’t know how I’m going to keep my concentration.

  She stands up and flashes me a lovely, girlish grin.

  “Okay, I’m ready,” she says, grabbing the jump rope off the wall. She starts skipping. Her tits are bouncing lusciously with each jump and the muscles of her thighs are flexing.

  Best. Friend’s. Daughter.

  Oh man, I’m going straight to hell. I might be a trained fighter, but I simply don’t have any defenses for something like this.

  Screwed. I’m so fucking screwed.

  3. MAUREEN

  “Again,” Jared barks.

  And again I swing my leg into the heavy bag, kicking it with all my might. Jared is standing behind the bag, holding it steady, and he doesn’t even budge under the impact of my kick.

  “Come on, Mo,” he says, “Kick like you mean it.”

  That’s Jared’s favorite catchphrase—whenever he feels like I’m not giving it one hundred percent, he says that.

  Kick like you mean it. Punch like you mean it. Fight like you mean it.

  The thing is, it works. It gets under my skin and pisses me off so much that I’m able to summon up some extra power that I didn’t think I had.

  I kick the back again, letting out a cry of rage as my strike connects.

  Jared’s massive body shifts ever so slightly. It was almost imperceptible, but I saw it and I felt it. I kicked hard enough to move that absolute mountain of a man. A tingle of joy and pride zips through me.

  “Not bad,” Jared says. That’s his idea of high praise.

  “Not bad?” I ask sarcastically, swiping my hand across my sweat-drenched brow. “I mean, don’t lavish praise on me like that. It might go to my head.”

  “Look Mo, do you think some mugger or assailant is going to compliment you on your form? Get real. I have to be tough on you, and you know that. It’s the only way to prepare you to really defend yourself.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I mutter.

  I walk over to the wall and bend over to pick up my water bottle. As I stand up and turn around, I catch Jared’s eyes jumping from my butt back to my face.

  Oh my god. Was he really checking me out? A whirlwind of butterflies swirls in my tummy.

  I have to confess, when I picked out this new training outfit last week I was a little nervous about what Jared would think. I got the absolute smallest, sexiest little outfit I could find, and as I tried it on in the fitting room, I dreamed of Jared’s deep, dark eyes raking over my exposed flesh.

  It’s wrong of me to tempt him this way, but I just can’t help myself. I’ve held back my desire for him so long, but I don’t think I’ll be able to hold back much longer. I want him to see me. I want him to want me. I just plain want him. Full stop.

  “Time for grappling practice?” I ask, cocking my hip and doing my best to look sexy. I don’t have much experience when it comes to seduction. Okay, none. But from the way Jared’s jaw is clenching, I must be having some kind of effect.

  “Right,” Jared says as if waking up from a daze. “Grappling. Get over there on the mat.”

  I step to the center of the sparring mat, and Jared joins me.

  “Okay, Mo, today we’re going to practice some throws.”

  “Oh fun!”

  “And just remember our safe word.”

  I know, it’s kinda weird that we have a “safe word” like we’re into bondage or something. No, it’s not like that. It’s just that sometimes the training gets pretty intense and we need some word to use to let the other person know they really need to stop.

  “I know, I know,” I tell him. “If I want you to stop I’ll say ‘uncle.’”

  Sure, it’s not the most original word to use. When I was little, Jared would play-wrestle with me at home. Usually, in the end, he would let me win, and while I was twisting his arm or sitting on his back he would dramatically say “Uncle! Uncle!” which would make me squeal with laughte
r as a little girl.

  Anyway, the word stuck, and now we use it in our training. If he ever does anything that really hurts me, I’ll say “uncle,” and Jared stops immediately. I’ve hardly ever had to do that.

  We begin our grappling practice as he demonstrates different holds and throws.

  Grappling is my favorite part of my daily training, and the reason I like it so much has nothing to do with self-defense. No, the reason I enjoy it is that I get an excuse to touch Jared, sometimes very intimately. As we are wrestling and tumbling, his rippling muscles press against me in the most delicious ways.

  And today in my new skimpy outfit, that touching is much more intense—way more skin on skin. I have to admit, I’m getting pretty hot and bothered by it. He is turning me on in ways that are difficult to hide.

  For one thing, there are my pokey nips that are stiff as pebbles under my thin sports bra. Every time my chest grazes against his, I get a little tingle of pleasure there.

  Even worse is the growing wetness between my thighs. In these teensy little shorts, it’s literally starting to moisten my inner thighs. I play it off like it’s just sweat, but it’s totally not.

  God, what’s wrong with me? I shouldn’t be like this—not with Daddy’s friend. But I just can’t help myself around him. He’s just so darn masculine it’s almost overpowering. Like the way the manly scent of his body surrounds me as we practice.

  “All right,” Jared says, “Now lets practice our judo throws again. Do you remember how to do the O-Soto-Gari?”

  “I think so,” answer. “It’s like this, right?”

  I do my best to demonstrate the technique where you use your leg to trip your opponent. Of course, on a big lug like Jared it doesn’t work.

  “You need to swing your leg through more forcefully,” Jared says demonstrating as he grips my shoulder and wrist. “Then bring your leg down hard and turn your hips. That’s where the power comes from.”

  He does it to me, and my heart is in my throat as I feel myself tumbling ass over tits. But Jared catches me at the last moment so I don’t hit the mat too hard.

  But he slips on some sweat and tumbles down on top of me. I’m lying on my back underneath him, and as he braces to stop his fall, his soft warm lips brush against mine. It’s a total accident and not quite a kiss. Somehow it’s even sexier than a kiss, and my skin erupts in goosebumps as I savor the feeling of his plump lips moving across mine.