Too Taboo! 3: A Forbidden Fun Taboo Bundle

by Saffron Daughter

  “Just let me touch you,” I urged her. “That’s all. Just let me finger you.”

  “No!” she insisted, pressing her knees together.

  I grabbed one leg and yanked – my promise to myself not to do anything without her permission flying out the window. She was persistent, and she squeezed her thighs together with an iron grip. I yanked the hem of her t-shirt up and thrust my hand inside her panties. The grabbed my wrist and tried to push me away, but my fingers managed to find their way inside her slit, and as soon as I touched her slit, she stopped struggling. Her legs loosened slightly.

  She was already wet. Apparently, the struggle had excited her. I swiped some of her juices from inside her pussy and slipped my finger over her clit. She shuddered, and I began to rub her button fiercely.

  “Jace…” she whispered.

  Once again, she made a feeble attempt to pull my hand away from her. She looked distressed, but I surmised she was more distressed over her own lack of willpower than anything I was doing. I kept rubbing her clit vigorously.

  “Please…” she begged, but her hips pushed against my hand as though she were begging me to keep going.

  “I want to taste you,” I whispered.

  “No…”

  “Please, Lacey. I need to taste you! You taste so good, so sweet.”

  “Ohh…” she whimpered.

  I pushed her gently onto her back and grasped the waistband of her panties. I paused for a moment, and when she didn’t object, I tugged them off and discarded them. She willingly spread her legs, and I lowered my head and dove in. She was already on the brink of orgasm, so I skipped the teasing and went straight for the kill. My tongue flicked rapidly over her clit, and I growled like a dog as I lapped at her greedily.

  She began to pant, her breath escaping in small, shuddering squeaks. “Oh, oh, oh!” she panted, her fingers lacing through my hair and pushing my face against her. “I’m going to cum!”

  My tongue slipped up and down over her clit as her body began to tremble. My scalp burned as she grabbed handfuls of my hair and pulled, but I barely noticed. I was crazy with lust. As her body stopped shuddering, I freed my hard cock from my pants and mounted her. Instantly, her knees clamped together.

  “Come on, Lacey,” I groaned. “Please!”

  “No! I can’t!”

  “God, Lacey, you don’t know what you’re doing to me. If I don’t fuck you, I’m going to die!”

  “No you won’t,” she said.

  “You don’t know how much this hurts,” I pleaded. “Lacey, it hurts so much!”

  I wanted her so badly, I felt tears stinging my eyes. My cock was aching so much I felt like it might explode. It throbbed angrily. I was afraid of what I might do if she continued to resist.

  “Please, Lacey. Don’t do this to me!” I begged, trying desperately to pull her legs apart.

  I thrust the weight of my entire body against her knees, trying to pry them apart. My cock prodded helplessly against her butt, but it could not penetrate her while her knees were pressed so firmly together.

  “Get off me!” she grunted, pushing against me.

  “Lacey, I’m fucking begging you!” I growled. “Please! My dick hurts so much! It’s the worst pain I’ve ever felt. I’m fucking begging!”

  She looked up at me, and her face softened. I could tell she hated to see me in so much pain, just like I hated to see her hurting. Her hand reached up and stroked my cheek, and then she nodded. Her knees relaxed slightly, and with firm pressure, I managed to pry them apart. I wasted no time, trying to get into her before she could change her mind again.

  My dick pushed firmly against her. I used my fingers to pry her labia apart, and I guided the head until it rested just at the opening. I pushed gently at first, but her hymen wouldn’t budge. I didn’t want to hurt her, but I felt if I didn’t enter her shortly, my dick would burst into flames.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered just before I thrust inside her with all the force I could muster.

  I literally felt her hymen rip as my cock tore through it, and she shrieked in pain and clawed my back.

  “Ow, ow, ow!” she cried. “It hurts!”

  “I know, baby. I’m sorry,” I said.

  I tore at her t-shirt and yanked it off, staring down at her perfect breasts. I touched them as I thrust deep into her. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and her face was red and contorted with pain. I wanted to be gentle with her, but my cock wouldn’t let me.

  I slipped my hands underneath her back and put my hands on her shoulders, gripping her tightly to aid my thrusting. I pushed my dick deeper and deeper into her pussy, and it gripped my dick so tightly it was almost like a vacuum cleaner sucking me in. Over and over, I slammed my cock into her, pounding her relentlessly. I knew she would hate me. Once it was all over, she would despise me for the pain I caused her. I knew it. But I didn’t care. I couldn’t think of anything else but the intense pleasure of fucking my stepsister – of ripping her hymen to shreds and pounding her virgin pussy mercilessly.

  “Oh… my… fucking… God…” I grunted as I continued to thrust inside her. “Your… fucking… pussy… is… so… hot…”

  “Fuck me harder!” she gasped suddenly.

  Shocked that she actually seemed to be enjoying it, I complied. My hands tangled into her hair, and I used it like reins, pulling it hard as I used it as an opposing force to allow me to penetrate her more deeply. I lowered my mouth to hers, and she pushed her tongue into my mouth at once, kissing me passionately.

  “Oh, yes,” she moaned. “Fuck my pussy!”

  “I’m fucking your pussy!” I grunted back. “I’m tearing your virgin pussy apart! How do you like that?”

  “I love it!” she shouted. “I want you to cum inside me! Please cum for me!”

  “How much do you love it?” I groaned, my balls slapping against her ass as I banged her over and over.

  “I never want it to stop! Cum inside me, Jason! I want to feel you cum!”

  “Ohhh, yeah,” I groaned. “I’m gonna cum!”

  I could feel the pleasure mounting as I slid in and out of her. Her pussy was wet and slippery, but it still gripped my cock tightly. I wanted her to cum with me, so I reached my hand down and used my thumb to finger her clit.

  “Cum with me,” I begged her. “Let’s cum together!”

  “Ohhhhhh…” she moaned softly. “I’m going to… I’m going to!”

  I rubbed her clit furiously with my thumb as I felt my dick begin to pulse. I felt the throbbing ache of the orgasm building, and I needed to release it. I groaned loudly as it burst forth, filling her pussy with cum. I could feel her pussy contracting repeatedly as she climaxed, massaging my cock and sucking every last drop of cum out of my shaft. I collapsed on top of her, struggling to breathe.

  “Did I… cut you off?” I panted.

  “No!” she gasped. “It was… amazing!”

  We held each other for several moments, still trying to catch our breath. I lifted my head and looked into her incredible blue eyes and my thumb brushed gently against her full lower lip. I was overcome with bliss.

  “Lacey?”

  “Yes?”

  “I love you.”

  “Oh, Jace! I love you, too!” she cried, squeezing me.

  “Marry me,” I said suddenly.

  “What?”

  “Marry me,” I repeated.

  “Are you… serious?”

  “I’ve never been more serious,” I said. “Will you marry me?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, and I met her lips with a kiss that sent a jolt through my entire body. Lacey was mine, and I would never let her go.

  # # #

  Marion's Motherly Need

  By Saffron Daughter

  Marion Hawthorne was a woman in her forties, divorced, and, ultimately, happy. She led a self-admittedly exciting life. She often rock-climbed, even though she wasn’t very good at it. She also took to windsurfing, but she also wasn’t very good at that, eithe
r. But she never let it get her down, or stop her from trying in anyway.

  And so, for nearly five years, she lived life to the full, and why wouldn’t she? With the shit of a husband finally gone, and a nice lump of savings of her own money, and a property owned, she retired, knowing that for the rest of her life she’d live in comfort.

  It was the best kind of dream, really. She rarely thought about her ex-husband, but when she did, it was only ever tangential, circumstantial. She had been married to him for a long time. Nearly twenty years. He had brought a young son into their marriage, and she had become his mother, in every sense.

  Though not blood related, Sean was her son. That could never be debated. Sean had decided to stick with her after learning what his father had done – namely, secretly steal her money to spend it on his two mistresses – and Marion didn’t mind that one bit.

  She loved Sean. Of course, something like that goes without saying, but she really, truly, deeply loved him. She knew it bordered on inappropriate when he was an athletic rugby player in his last year of secondary school, over six feet tall, lean as all heck, and with a face so handsome she often found it disarmed her; robbed her of her words, of her breath.

  That had only bordered on inappropriate.

  But as time went on, and as she got older… forty six… forty seven… forty eight… forty nine… she no longer found that trying new things, that parasailing or scuba diving or base jumping – no, she never tried base jumping, but she had always wanted to! – wasn’t enough to fill that hole in her life.

  She began to realize that she was feeling lonely. It was not a loneliness for mere companionship. Sean came around at least twice a week, and he was extremely good to her. They got along like friends, often chatting at length, with no topic out of bounds. They even sometimes saw films together (he was a film guy), and people always looked a little surprised when, during those oft-spontaneous and always-odd conversations that sometimes sprung up, she revealed that she was his mother.

  Well, step-mother, technically.

  That fondness she had for her step-son, bordering on the inappropriate, was beginning to occupy her thoughts daily. First it started out just a fleeting thought. Something along the lines of: Wouldn’t it be nice if Sean came over today?

  Then it morphed into something a little more dangerous: Maybe I should call Sean and see if he’s free?

  Those daily thoughts became twice-daily. Then thrice-daily. Before she knew it, Marion was thinking about her step-son constantly, and wondering what was going on, wrestling with the idea that it was something very, very wrong.

  Because it was, wasn’t it? No mother should like her son that way, no matter how much of a great guy he was, no matter how well they got along. She always found herself qualifying the thought, though.

  Step-mother, she would think to herself. Step-mother.

  She found herself wondering why he hadn’t broken away like so many sons usually did. Eventually, all birds leave the nest, and yet Sean was around regularly, called or texted during the week, and was, for lack of a better way to describe it, always a constant in her life.

  A thought, an idea, was seeded in her mind then. Could it be that he…?

  No! The idea was too scandalous, too ridiculous, and most of all, too unlikely.

  But could he?

  Days crept my, weeks, and then months. The idea fertilized, germinated, and soon she was convinced of it. She had taken to studying him, looking out for telltale signs. And she had certainly caught a few. Errant glances at her breasts, even when she didn’t wear revealing clothing. At her age, revealing clothing was becoming something a little too… well… risky.

  It took a while for her to summon up the courage to actually put a plan in motion. Yes, she called it a plan. Doing so made it seem more nefarious than it really was. All she was planning on doing was coming forward and telling him the truth. How he reacted would determine her next step. It would also determine the future course of their relationship.

  Would he be shocked at the horrendously taboo idea, and retreat? Or – and Marion allowed herself the liberty, the guilty indulgence of entraining this possibility – would he reciprocate in kind, and confess to her his secret, taboo love? What would become of them, then?

  Often, she found herself so caught up in such musings that she lost herself to imagination, or masturbation.

  But, eventually, she did find that bravery. She could think of no better way to ease into the conversation than by putting Sean in his comfort zone. Then, at least, he wouldn’t panic if all went to hell.

  And Marion was never ignorant of the fact that it could all go to hell.

  *

  “What did you think?” Marion asked her step-son Sean. She walked beside him, and he had his arm loosely around her in a rather affectionate manner, one that was making her heart beat faster. She could hardly take her mind off it, but she had to assume that it was just something casual. She was, after all, his mother.

  Step-mother!

  They had just seen a film together, the artsy type that he liked. While it wasn’t exactly Marion’s cup of tea – she had more of a lose-yourself taste, and preferred to be swept along for a ride rather than analyze – she had found The Soil In Us oddly engaging, if entirely unfathomable.

  “Bit pretentious,” Sean said, and she looked up to meet his gaze. Being as tall as he was, Marion was overcome with the sudden urge to rest her head on his shoulder. But that was entirely no good, especially out in public.

  “It’s an art house film,” Marion responded, not bothering to finish the thought. She grinned at him, teasing.

  “Not all are pretentious,” he said. “And some of the best are the most pretentious. But there’s no correlation, I think.”

  A question struck Marion, something she was a little startled to realize she didn’t know the answer to. “When did you first start liking these types of films?”

  “University,” he replied. “Why?”

  “Just wondering. We never kept stuff like this on tape or laser disc when you were growing up.”

  “Yeah, but you had plenty of Die Hard and Terminator 2, didn’t you?”

  “That was your father’s collection,” Marion said through a smile.

  “Admit it,” Sean said. “You enjoyed them.”

  “I did. And, as I recall, you used to sit down every Saturday in front of the telly and watch all your father’s action movies back to back. Then,” Marion said, memories flooding back into her consciousness. “Then there was this period when on a Saturday we couldn’t get you to stay at home, you were always too busy out with friends.”

  “I was a growing young boy,” he said. “What do you expect?”

  “Consistency?”

  “People are never consistent, Marion.”

  Marion blinked. It had been a very, very long time since he had called her Mummy, or even Mum. She knew that it was a little unusual, and that he was creating a distance between them, but she had always put that down to the fact that she was not his mother-by-birth.

  But, given the circumstances of their ‘movie date’, she was beginning to wonder if there was another reason for it.

  She decided to go for it. “Why don’t you call me ‘Mum’ anymore, Sean?”

  He blanched a little. “I don’t know,” he said, shrugging. “I just don’t, I guess.”

  It was obvious to Marion that he didn’t want to talk about it any further, and so she backed off. Comfort zone, she reminded herself. Because the night had the potential to get much more awkward, and much more uncomfortable.

  A shroud of doubt swirled around her, and she was all of a sudden wondering if it would be a good idea or not. She had gone over it a thousand times in her head, but there was no way to answer a slew of questions properly.

  Is it the responsible thing to do?

  Is it the right thing to do?

  Are you only asking to satisfy your own guilt or curiosity?

  Are you doing this for hi
s well-being, or yours?

  The questions bobbed around on the surface of her thoughts for a while then, and they walked in silence toward the car. She didn’t doubt that she was being a bit selfish by wanting to tell him the truth, unload herself of that guilt that was nagging her.

  But at the same time, she couldn’t conceive of not telling him. He was an adult now, all grown up, and her feelings had just become so strong, so overpowering, that it was the only thing she could do.

  The thought of having to live the rest of her life with this secret burning a hole in her heart was too much to bear.

  Reinforcing her resolve, she took his hand from her shoulder and gave it a light squeeze before letting it go. “I know we said we’d eat out tonight, Sean.”

  “It’s okay,” he said, anticipating correctly what she was about to say. “I’m happy to eat at home.”

  “I’ve actually made an apple crumble.”

  His angular, handsome face lit up. “Really? What’s the special occasion?”

  “Nothing,” Marion said, shrugging through a smile. “Just know you like it.”

  “Like it?” Sean beamed. “I love it!”

  “Good, then.”

  “Want me to drive?”

  “No,” Marion said, shaking her head. “That’s fine, but thanks.”

  She would need the distraction, the concentration, to keep her nerves from working her up too much. She watched as her slim, athletic step-son climbed into the car.

  It was really something more than lust, she thought to herself. It really was love. She felt that pang in her stomach, that ache in her chest, that stuck hiccup in her throat, and the nervousness in her mind.

  Marion swallowed, thinking to herself: Just do it. Just tell him. What’s the worst that could happen?

  *

  “So what’s really up?” Sean asked her as she was putting the dishes into the washer.

  “That obvious, huh?” Marion asked, feeling her cheeks redden and her pulse quicken.

  “Come on, Marion,” he said. “I’m not an idiot.”