21 Taboo Tales

by Robin Pressley

  Taking her by the hand, I help her to her feet.

  “Dean,” she whines as we climb back up to the trail, “what am I gonna do? I got that crap all over my body. Oh I wish I hadn’t worn this dumb outfit!”

  Her voice is cracking and big old crocodile tears are brimming along the lids of her gorgeous green eyes. I want to tell her that I wish she hadn’t worn that outfit too, but for totally a different reason. It’s damn near impossible to keep my cock under control with her nubile body nearly naked and just inches from mine. Even though it covers her most intimate parts, the pebbled contours of her hard little nips and the delicate groove of her sex are clearly visible. And it’s making my poor old balls ache something fierce.

  Wrong, Dean. So fucking wrong.

  This girl is practically family to me now, and over the past years I’ve basically helped raise her like she was my own. But somewhere along the way, this little girl transformed into a young woman, and now that she’s nineteen and fit as all get-out, my natural instincts are hard to reign in.

  But right now, this poor little thing is about to start bawling her eyes out. Her precious little chin is dimpling, and tears are jiggling at the corners of her wet eyes. I need to let her know everything is going to be okay.

  “Don’t worry, baby girl,” I say, realizing I just dropped that pet name again. “I’ve got some special soap at home that’s made just for getting rid of poison ivy.”

  “Really?” she sniffs.

  God, the way her voice sounds now, so tiny and in need of reassurance, it stirs protective feelings inside me that are almost overwhelming. I want to toss her over my shoulder cave-man style and race her home as fast as possible. But I keep myself under control. We’re almost back to the house already, and as long as we jog quickly, we’ll make it home in plenty of time.

  “Yes, really,” I tell her, gently thumbing the tears from her cheeks. “It works like a charm. We just need to hurry back and get you scrubbed down as soon as possible.”

  “Oh, thank you, Dean,” she says.

  The way that her bright smile beams across her face quickens my pulse.

  “Come on,” I say, “follow me!”

  ***

  A few minutes later, and we are jogging out of the woods behind both of our houses. The neighborhood is spread out before us, and it’s just starting to come to life this Saturday morning. A few people are walking dogs, and I can hear the rumble of a lawn mower off in the distance. Meanwhile, me and Becca have already been sweating it out together for almost an hour. We’ve got a real head start on the day.

  Back at my place, I open the wooden gate, and we both step inside, crossing the neat little patch of freshly mowed green lawn enclosed by my picket fence. Becca’s two-story stucco house where she lives with her mom is right next door, but she comes inside my place because that’s where the special anti-poison-ivy soap is.

  I point toward the stairs that lead up to the back door into the kitchen.

  “You can go ahead and run upstairs,” I tell her. “I’ll find that soap in the basement and bring it up to you.”

  As Becca’s athletic little toes tap their way up the steps, I head into the lower door that leads into the basement, and I start rummaging around, trying to remember where I put that soap.

  While I’m looking, I can’t help thinking about Becca’s incredible body. But more than that, I can’t help thinking about how proud I am of her. It’s not about being beautiful—she has always been that. But now she is healthy too, and it’s all because of her lifestyle commitments. She’s got a wonderful, healthy glow about her now that makes me so happy for.

  At last I find the poison-ivy soap. With the plastic bottle in my hand, I stomp up the basement stairs to the main part of the house

  “Becca?” I call, but I get no reply.

  Climbing the steps to the upstairs hall, I notice a strip of light peeking from under the bathroom door. That must be where she is.

  I knock loudly before opening the door a crack, just enough to let my voice in. But through the gap in the door I can hear the hiss of the shower head and the gentle patter and splash of falling water. I figured I would just give her the soap and she could take it back to her house to shower, but I know she’s really worried about that poison ivy, so I guess she just wanted to rinse it off as quickly as possible.

  But maybe she hasn’t gotten in yet.

  “Hey Becca,” I call. “I’ve got that soap.”

  “Great,” she answers. “I hope you don’t mind if I use your shower, Dean?”

  “Of course not,” I holler. “Are you presentable?”

  “Yeah, come on in,” she lilts in her lovely, girlish voice.

  I open the door further and step into the bathroom which is already thick with steam that is fogging the big full-sized mirror over the sink and obscuring the marble tiles of the counters and floor. But when I look through the haze to the far end of the bathroom, my eyes go wide with surprise.

  And my cock is surprised too.

  Apparently Becca has a different definition of “presentable” than I do. Her sneakers are sitting by the wall, her white socks balled up inside, and her skimpy little sweat-drenched two-piece running outfit is draped over them.

  Becca is already in the big, glass-enclosed shower. Fortunately, the steam from the hot water has fogged up the glass panel of the door, so even though she’s completely naked beneath the flow of water, the details of her nude body are slightly obscured.

  Still, even through the blur of the steamed glass, I can make out the delicious curves of her hourglass shape. Her skin is flushed a lovely pink color, partly from the exertion of our morning run, and even more so from the hot water streaming over her bare flesh.

  I gulp, struggling to regain my composure as my stupid cock thickens in my shorts again.

  “Dean?” Becca calls.

  “S-sorry,” I stammer, “I’ll just put the soap right here on the counter for you.”

  Becca’s back is to me as she faces the spray of the shower head. Now her blurred form turns slightly, and I can see her smoothing her wet hair back as she turns and looks over her shoulder at me through the glass.

  “Could you just hand it to me, Dean?” she asks. “I’d hate to get water all over the floor.”

  For a moment, I just stand there in the doorway, one foot on the tile of the bathroom and the other on the hardwood floor of the hallway. This is so fucking indecent right now. I should do the right thing and refuse her request. Just set the damn soap on the counter and tell her to come get it once I’ve closed the door."

  “Please?” she sings, really stretching that vowel out.

  I just can’t help myself, I guess. I just can’t refuse my sweet little girl.

  “Okay,” I manage to choke out.

  As I cross the bathroom with my half-hard cock throbbing between my legs, I do my best to avert my eyes. I know that the closer I get, the more details of her nubile body I’ll be able to see through that clouded glass panel. And I also know that if I see too much, I won’t be able to keep my dumb ass under control.

  “Here you go,” I say as I hold the bottle of special soap over the top of the shower glass so she can take it.

  “Thanks,” Becca chirps

  I’m looking at the floor, but on the edge of my peripheral vision, I can see her blurry form turn around and step toward the glass. The panel of the shower is tall, and Becca’s just a tiny little thing, so she has to stand on tiptoe to reach the bottle I’m dangling over the glass for her.

  And that’s when I fuck up.

  Without even meaning to, my eyes reflexively dart toward the glass. The beads of water and steam on the glass make a pebbled effect that still hides most of the details of Becca’s body. But that all changes when she leans herself lightly against the glass. Her incredible, plump breasts squeeze and flatten against the clear surface, and I get an unobstructed view of her perfect, pink nipples pressed flat and staring right back at me

 
Below that, her sexy little tummy is also flattened against the wet glass, and a little farther down, the dark, closely cropped tuft of her pubic hair scrubs away a bit of the condensation as well.

  Oh fuck me. I knew that she had an incredible body. I mean, I’ve been running with her every morning for months now, and every new outfit she’s picked up has been skimpier than the last. The one she was wearing today—that little black number that’s scrunched up on the floor by my feet—that thing left very fucking little to the imagination.

  But now, seeing her breasts, belly, pussy and upper thighs squished against the glass between beads and runnels of water, I realize that the reality is even more amazing than anything I could have conjured in my dreams.

  Perfection. This little angel is absolute perfection.

  And she’s making me feel like a pervy old devil for sneaking a peek. An instant later, I avert my eyes again, but it’s already too late. The afterimage of her exquisite, naked femininity is already scorched onto my memory, and I just know it’s gonna take a hell of a lot of jerking off later to get her out of my mind..

  “Got it!” Becca chimes as she slips the bottle of special poison ivy soap from my fingers.

  I withdraw my hand from over the top of the glass wall of the shower and turn to hurry out of the bathroom. One more second in here, and I’m afraid I just might do something stupid. Something that can’t be undone.

  “Now remember,” I call to her as I reach the door. “Make sure to scrub real good so you get all of the poison ivy off of you. You really got it all over you, so you don’t want to miss an inch.”

  As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I realize just how dirty I made that sound. Yeah, I think it’s time to get out of here before I really mess up.

  But just as I’m about to step out the door, Becca calls to me again, and I freeze.

  “Dean?” she says, “I think I need a little help…”

  My heart skips a beat and I can feel my jaw clench with tension. I can’t help feeling like there was a hint of teasing in that lovely little voice of hers.

  “Help?” I call, trying to conceal the crackle of lust in my voice.

  “I can’t reach my back,” she calls. “You don’t have a shower brush, and I’m not flexible enough to reach.”

  “You want me to…scrub your b-back?” I stammer, almost unable to believe what I’m hearing.

  “Well you said yourself I need to scrub myself real good,” she pouts. “And I got that stupid poison ivy all over my back.”

  The girl does have a point. She got that shit all over her body, but her back probably got the worst of it. That part of her will really need a good scrubbing. Then again, I know for a fact that she’s a flexible little thing. We always do a good stretch before running. I would have thought she’d be able to reach it herself.

  “Please,” Becca interrupts my hesitation, once again stretching out that vowel like a piece of putty.

  And I might as well be made of putty too, considering how easily this bratty little thing gets what she wants from me. But she knows me too well. I’ve never been able to deny my sweet girl. And besides, I tell myself, I don’t want her to get a rash on her back. That’s the important thing. At least that’s how I justify it.

  “Fine,” I say.

  Keeping my eyes cast down so I don’t have a repeat of that little glimpse, I walk back to the shower and pop open the door just enough to get my arm inside. A puff of thick steam wafts out and curls around my face.

  “Squeeze some soap onto that loofah, and hand it here.” I do my best to keep my voice gruff.

  After a second, Becca drops the foamy loofah into my outstretched hand and backs up until the smooth, slippery skin of her back touches my fingers, sending an intense sensation of desire slithering through my veins.

  “Okay,” she whispers, her voice barely audible over the shower, “I’m ready.”

  Awkwardly, I start scrubbing the loofah over her back as best I can, feel the gentle cover of her spine, the delicate blades of her shoulders, and the delicious flare of her hips. As I run the loofah over her body, it’s almost like I’m mapping a 3-D image of her in my mind, picturing every slope and recess as I wash it.

  But it’s damn hard to scrub her effectively without looking. Plus, the stupid shower that I put in last year is so big that she has to step out of the stream of the falling water in order for me to be able to reach her with my arm through the door.

  “Dean,” Becca pouts, making my name into two syllables somehow. “You’re not scrubbing me hard enough.”

  “Give me a break,” I groan, “It ain’t easy doing this blind.”

  “Well I don’t want to get all itchy from the poison ivy,” she whines. Then she adds in a low sultry voice. “So why don’t you get in here and do it the right way.”

  “Becca!” I gasp.

  I’m so shocked that the damn loofah drops out of my fingers.

  “Oh look, you can’t even hold on to your loofah,” Becca giggles.

  The supple, soap-slick flesh of her hip grazes my fingers as she bends to pick it up. I should draw my hand back but I don’t. And that tantalizing touch just leaves me wanting even more. But it’s just too damn wrong.

  “Come on,” I say, still looking at the floor. “Hand it here, Becca, so I can finish scrubbing you down.”

  “Take it,” she teases.

  “Come on, Becca,” I say, starting to get irritated. “I’m not playing around.”

  “Neither am I.”

  My heart is thundering against my ribs now, and it feels like it’s about to jump out of my goddamn chest. Hell, I’ve been running every day since high school, which is more decades than I care to admit, but right now I’m seriously worried I might die of a fucking heart attack.

  And if that doesn’t kill me, I just might pass out from the fact that my erection is robbing all of the blood from my brain. Seriously, my stupid, traitorous cock is so stiff right now it feels like it might just shoot off like a rocket.

  “Look at me,” Becca says, “It’s the only way to do it right.”

  I heave a deep sigh, and ever so slowly, I pry the shower door back and drag my eyes up to look at Becca.

  The first thing I see, of course, are her lovely, delicate little toes with the bright pink nail polish, then her shapely calves sculpted by running, leading upward to the mouthwatering curvature of her thighs.

  Then my jaw drops and my eyes go wide as the settle on the small dark thatch of closely cropped black curls that adorn the top of her perfect cleft.

  “Dean!” Becca giggles, mock chiding me.

  My eyes go higher, taking in the swell of her young but well-developed breasts, the plump, round mounds tipped with sharp, pink peaks.

  I bring my gaze higher still, and there is the best part of all. Becca’s gorgeous face lit up with her adorable smile and twinkling, minty green eyes. Her lush, dark hair is plastered over her neck and shoulders in wet, curling tendrils as she hands me the sudsy loofah.

  Well, here goes nothing. I take a step into the shower

  “Dean!” Becca squeals, “What are you doing?”

  For a moment, I get a clenching sensation in the pit of my stomach. Then Becca finishes her thought.

  “You can’t get in the shower with your clothes on,” she laughs.

  I guess the girl has a point. I toe off my running shoes and kick them aside. I strip off one sock, then the other. Pulling the tank top shirt over my head, I toss it aside, and when I look at Becca again, her eyes are now raking over my body. Her teeth worry her plump, rosy lower lip as she looks me over, her eyes finally catching on my crotch.

  “Don’t forget your shorts,” she whispers, her voice tight.

  My cock is as hard as Portland cement at this point, and when I finally slip my running shorts down my thighs, my erection swings upward like it’s spring loaded, smacking against my hard abdomen.

  “Oh my God,” Becca murmurs, and her eyes become big white circles as she
stares.

  I’m not one to brag, but all of the ladies I’ve been with have told me I’ve got a big one. The thing is, it’s almost been more of a curse than a blessing. More than one of my ex-girlfriends broke up with me because they couldn’t handle my oversized dick. They said it hurt them.

  Well, that doesn’t matter now, because my dick is not going anywhere near Becca’s perfect little pussy.

  “Remember, sweetness,” I tell her, “I’m only going to scrub your back and that’s all. This is strictly about getting you clean.”

  She nods silently but never takes her eyes off my throbbing boner, all the while continuing to nibble at her kissable lip.

  “Now turn around,” I say tersely, as I step into the steaming shower with her.

  “Okay,” she squeaks.

  I wouldn’t have thought it possible, but when Becca twirls around, presenting her backside to me, my cock somehow manages to get harder still, my skin stretching so taut it feels like it could split.

  Her perfect, round tushy is just the right combination of firm and soft. The skin is glowing with a film of soapy water, and it is bright pink from the hot water that’s been spilling on it.

  Fuck that little tush is so smackable it drives me nuts. But I’ve got a job to do. It’s time to start scrubbing my baby girl.

  Collecting her wet hair into a single bundle, I drape it over the front of her shoulder to clear her back, and then I get to work. Starting with her shoulders, I work the loofah against her soft skin, scrubbing hard and working up a thick lather of suds. I scrub her arms too and underneath her armpits, accidentally grazing the side of her bare breasts once or twice.

  Becca groans in enjoyment and tilts her head back as she leans into my massaging hands.

  Slowly I work my way down her back, scrubbing her shoulder blades and her sides, feeling her ribs rolling beneath my touch. I run the soapy loofah firmly up and down the groove of her spine as she presses back against me even harder.

  “Oh God,” she moans was I wash her. “That feels amazing, Dean.”

  The loofah delves into the small of her arched back. I work carefully over the glistening dimples above her ass and her hard, smooth tail bone. She continues pressing back into me and I gradually ease up the pressure of my arms, letting her body move back toward mine.