Little Brats: Hanna: Forbidden Taboo Erotica

by Selena Kitt

  “Or?”

  “Or from…” Hanna’s mother blinked and pursed her lips for a moment before giving a small, delicate shudder. “From abusing themselves.”

  Hanna thought she knew what this meant, at least in theory—the book she’d read had covered topics like masturbation—but she wasn’t going to ask her mother for specifics.

  “How will I know when I meet the right man? What would God have him be like?” Hanna asked as she carefully placed handfuls of potatoes in the big stew pot.

  “Well, you need to look for a godly man,” her mother began. “Pastor David gave the best talk at our bible study on being a Godly couple. He said a couple needs to follow how love is described in the Bible in 1 Corinthians 13. A man must be patient and kind, as it says love is.”

  “Like Marshall?” Hanna had always believed her stepfather to be both of those things—until last night, anyway.

  His angry words had echoed through her head as she rolled around in her bed, trying to get to sleep. She’d thought of them again as the sun came up and her alarm went off. She couldn’t imagine her life without Marshall. He was the only father she’d ever known—her biological dad had died when she was very young, too little to even remember him—and the thought of losing Marshall, too, brought a lump to her throat.

  “Yes, like my Marshall. He does his best to be Godly.” Her mother sounded so pious, like she was talking about her naughty little boy who tried hard to be good. It was demeaning, even angering to Hanna. Did her mother really believe Marshall was a bad or unholy man? “He does his best to protect us, and he’s not proud or boastful, not easily angered. You’d be very fortunate to find a man like him.”

  Did her mother feel fortunate, though? She clearly wasn’t showing Marshall that she felt fortunate. Aside from whatever was happening in the bedroom—and that was none of Hanna’s business—every other phrase out of Hanna’s mother’s mouth was about Pastor David. And wasn’t a wife supposed to follow her husband? If Marshall had a job opportunity in California, why was her mother following Pastor David’s advice, rather than supporting her husband? It didn’t make sense.

  Hanna dog-eared the Christian novel her mother had loaned her—Irene told her daughter she should read it for inspiration to act like a proper Christian woman—and put it aside on her bed. Something had disturbed her, besides the protagonist in her book, who talked about God’s will almost as much as her mother—a noise. A low sound. The wind moaning outside?

  She was supposed to be at church with her mother at women’s bible study, but Hanna had begged off, saying she was having her “woman time.” It wasn’t true, but she just couldn’t face Pastor David’s smug, smiling face. Not today. Her belly was still in a turmoil over her dilemma, and her mind hadn’t caught up with her feelings, after everything she’d seen between Marshall and her mother.

  Marshall had come home from work—she’d heard him come up the stairs. Usually, she would have called out to him, asked how his day was, but she hadn’t. She was still too ashamed of what she’d seen. She could get the image of him out of her mind, his erection in his hand, the look of lust on his face.

  Hanna sat up in bed, listening. The sound came again, louder this time. A low moan. Was Marshall ill? She stood, cocking her head, hearing another muffled moan through the walls. Poor man. He worked so hard. His job as a physical therapist was time consuming, and when he wasn’t working, he spent as much time as he could riding horses. He liked to take Hanna riding with him on the weekends. Irene hated horses and refused to go.

  Hanna had been surprised to hear him home so early. He usually went riding while they were at women’s bible study. But this explained it. He’d come home sick, thinking his wife and daughter at church, when Hanna was here the whole time.

  She went to his door, hesitating a moment before she knocked.

  No one answered. A groan swallowed the light rap of her knuckles on the door, a throaty sound of pure misery. The door wasn’t fully closed and her knock had opened it just a crack. She could see him sitting on the edge of the bed, flannel shirt still on but open, revealing his broad chest, jeans pulled down around the tops of his cowboy boots, the ones her mother forbid him to wear into the house.

  Marshall had his erection gripped tightly in his fist.

  She knew instantly what he was doing. It seemed to Hanna he was determined to break every rule he could, his wife’s and God’s. She also knew she should turn around and go back to her room and pray. Pray a lot. But she didn’t. In the conflict between sin and curiosity, curiosity won out. She watched him abuse himself, fascinated by the shameful, sinful act her stepfather was committing. She had, after all, done it to herself. She knew how good it felt, how tempting it was.

  The muscles in Marshall’s strong thighs tightened as his hips bucked up off the bed—just like hers had last night. His hand, slick with some sort of substance the made the tight skin of his male parts all shiny, moved up and down, squeezing up over the bulbous head and then moving down to the wondrous sack that hung between his thighs, cupping them, big and heavy.

  He panted, eyes screwed shut. From all appearances, he seemed to be torturing himself. No wonder her mother had called it abuse. The faster his hand moved, the louder his groans, the redder the skin along the shaft. The veins there bulged. His moans became growls deep in his throat, his ridged stomach tightening, accentuating each muscle. Between her own thighs, she felt dampness, a soft dew, the telltale sign of sin.

  His movements grew more frantic, fist rising up and down his manhood, his face scrunched up as if he was in pain. He let out a primal cry, like and animal, as he grabbed himself and squeezed. Hanna saw a slow spill of clear liquid from the head of his erection, dribbling down over his fingers. He was squeezing it so hard his fingers were practically purple and he gave another cry, this time, murmuring, “Fuck! Not yet! Not yet!”

  Hann had never heard Marshall swear before.

  She gasped, pulling her own thighs tighter together, that soft squish between them drawing a soft moan from her throat. She didn’t mean to make a sound, didn’t even register she had, until Marshall opened his eyes and looked right at her.

  “Hanna.” His voice was hoarse, pained.

  He reacted quickly, pulling the afghan always folded nicely at the bottom of the bed, the one her mother herself had crocheted, into his lap to cover his erection.

  “I’m sorry.” Hanna blinked, her voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t mean. I thought you were…”

  “It’s okay.” He attempted a smile and for a minute, he was the Marshall she knew. “Come in, sweetheart.

  She hesitated, a little afraid, but she opened the door enough to step just over the threshold. He was covered now, after all. And… she had questions. Maybe, if her mother couldn’t answer them, Marshall could?

  “Mom says…” Her hand still gripped the doorknob so tight her knuckles were white. “Mom says Pastor David says what you’re doing is a sin. It’s not godly. Just today, Mom said that men… do this. They abuse themselves this way. But…”

  “But…?” Marshall urged her to continue.

  “Sometimes I…” She bit her lip, her cheeks flushing with heat. “I feel things. Sometimes I… abuse myself too.”

  “Oh Hanna.” Marshall frowned, a pained look crossing his face. “It isn’t self-abuse. It’s self-pleasure.”

  “Self-pleasure.” She tried the words out in her mouth. That felt better than calling it abuse. But wasn’t it a sin?

  “Pleasure is a gift from God,” Marshall said, shaking his head, looking sad. “Why would he make it pleasurable, if He didn’t want us to enjoy it?”

  “I don’t know.” She swallowed, trying to think of what Pastor David would say. He’d tell you to turn around and go to your room and pray for forgiveness, that’s what he’d say. But she didn’t do that. “Maybe… maybe it’s Satan’s way of tempting us?”

  “No, Hanna.” Marshall smiled. “God intended a man and woman to find pleasure togeth
er, through each other’s bodies. That’s why he designed us the way he did, to fit together.”

  “But you weren’t… with a woman… just now…” Hanna swallowed, remembering him pleasuring himself, the sounds he made, the look on his face. She couldn’t help picturing his erection, knowing it was there, just under the blanket. “If it isn’t to make a baby, isn’t it a sin?”

  “Our bodies were made for pleasure.” He met her eyes and there was a heat in them that made her feel warm all the way to her toes. “Pleasure puts us in touch with God. And nothing feels better than sex, Hanna. It’s the closest we can come to feeling the unexplainable bliss that waits for us in Heaven.”

  “Even if you’re pleasuring yourself?”

  “Yes.” He nodded slowly. “Sex is a biological need. Like hunger. It needs to be sated. God wants us to feel that pleasure, whether we’re alone or with a partner.”

  “So… it’s not wrong?” Hanna swallowed past her shameful question and managed to get it out. “It’s not wrong for a woman to pleasure herself? To think about… men? Naked… men?”

  “No, sweetheart.” His voice was soft, gentle. “You’re not wrong.”

  The relief that flooded her was incredible.

  “You touch yourself?” he asked, cocking his head at her. It seemed to surprise him.

  She nodded, biting her lip.

  “And you think about men naked?” This seemed to surprise him even more.

  “Sometimes,” she confessed. “Mostly I dream about them. In my dreams, he’s tall and handsome. Like you. He’s… he has a big… erection…”

  Had she really just said that word out loud?

  “Like you…” her breath was coming in little gaspy gulps. “And he puts it inside me. I wake up shivering all over. Sometimes I put my fingers inside, just so I can feel what it might be like…”

  “But you’ve never had sex?”

  “No!” She stared at him, aghast. “I’m a virgin! And sometimes I touch myself, it’s true, but Daddy, I always beg God for forgiveness afterwards.”

  She stated this last in a flurry of words as her hands came to an automatic prayer position at her chest.

  “You don’t need to ask God to forgive you, baby.” He shook his head, looking sad. “God loves you and He wants you to feel loved. Sex is part of that. It’s an expression of love.”

  “Even when I do it to myself?”

  “Don’t you love yourself?”

  Hanna giggled.

  “Come here.” He held his hand out to her.

  Hanna forced her feet to move toward him, unlocking the fingers laced together over her chest as she approached, her breath shallow in her throat. He slipped his warm hand into hers, pulling her to the bed to sit beside him.

  “Are you afraid of me?” His thumb moved over her hand, stroking gently.

  “No, Daddy.” She lifted her gaze to meet his eyes.

  “Who was the man in your dream, Hanna?” he asked softly.

  She stiffened at his words. Oh, she didn’t want to confess this. It was too much.

  “I… don’t know.” She swallowed, shaking her head. “It was just a dream.”

  “Sometimes our dreams tell us what we really want.”

  “They do?” She couldn’t help but remember her dream man now, with him so close. It had been Marshall she was dreaming of. She was sure of it.

  “Was it a boy you know?”

  She nodded, feeling her cheeks flush, her breath catch.

  “Who was it, Hanna?” His eyes searched hers. “Who did you imagine was making love to you?”

  “I can’t.” She heard her throat click as she swallowed, avoiding his eyes. But her stepfather took her chin in hand, tilting it so she had to look at him.

  “Tell me.”

  “It was…” Her chin quivered in his fingers. She barely got the words out, in a choked whisper. “Oh Daddy… it was you.”

  “Sweet girl.” He leaned in and kissed her.

  His lips were soft, warm. It was sweet at first. Chaste. A tender, gentle kiss. Fatherly.

  And then, his mouth moved, slanting. His tongue sought entrance. Hanna moaned and opened to him as his hand moved behind her neck, keeping her pulled in tight. She barely registered what was happening. This was her stepfather she was kissing! Her mind railed. But her body responded. Her sex throbbed. Her nipples hardened under her blouse. Her back arched as she tried to get herself as close to him as she possibly could.

  This was her stepfather, but it was also her dream man.

  “Oh Daddy, I’m sorry.” Hanna felt tears prick her eyes as they parted. “I never should have told you. I didn’t mean to. I just… wanted you so much. In my dream, I mean. I wanted… ohhhh, I wanted it.”

  “If you love a man, it’s not wrong to want him,” her stepfather whispered. His gaze was on her mouth and his thumb moved there, rubbing her lips.

  She thought that over. She did love him, after all.

  “I know your mother tells you it’s a sin.” He swallowed, his gaze moving down to her blouse, buttoned up tight, but her nipples showed, hard points, even through both blouse and bra. She couldn’t help arching a little, straining those little nubs against the fabric. The sensation made her feel dizzy and faint. “She’ll never teach you what it should be like, between a man and a woman.”

  “Will you teach me?” she asked quickly, biting her lip. “Teach me what it’s like?”

  “Hanna…” He took a deep breath. “I think—”

  “Show me,” she urged him. “Show me, Daddy. Please?”

  He let a hand move through her soft, long blonde hair.

  “You want me to show you?”

  She nodded, eager.

  “You want to learn how a man and a woman join together?” he murmured the question. “About what they can do for each other to bring us as close to Heavenly bliss as we can get on earth?”

  “Oh yes,” she breathed. He made it sound even better than she imagined.

  “Sometimes I can’t believe my daughter’s a woman now, old enough to marry.” He smiled, his fingertips brushing her cheek. “It makes me sad to think that your mother has already poisoned your mind against it. I don’t want that to ruin your marriage, your chance for happiness.”

  “Then show me, Daddy.” Hanna squirmed on the bed. “I love you. You said it wasn’t a sin, if you loved someone…”

  “And I love you.” He met her eyes when he said the words. “I suppose I’m the best one to teach you.”

  “You are,” she agreed. “I know it.”

  Her dream had been a sign, she was sure of it, pointing to this moment.

  “You’ve probably only seen a penis in health or biology books, right?” he asked, smiling when she nodded. “Let me show you what it looks like.”

  Her stepfather tossed the afghan to the floor and she gasped to see his erection standing up tall, rock hard.

  “Don’t be afraid.” He smiled at her wide eyed look. “It goes by many names, although the common slang is usually cock or dick.”

  “Cock.” She tried the word out as she looked as his throbbing member. Cock. She repeated it in her head. Just thinking the word made her feel warm. So she tried out another. “Dick.”

  “Good girl.” He praised her, his erection—his cock—bobbing gently in response.

  “When a man gets aroused, it gets hard, like this.” He glanced down at his lap and so did she. “Blood pumps into it, making it grow. Here, give me your hand so you can feel how hard the shaft is and how spongy the head.”

  He took her fingers, running the pads of them over his flesh. Her breath came faster as she touched the veined shaft, amazed at how soft the skin was, how it moved. The head was spongy, just like he said, and the tip glistened. Her fingers were sticky with the stuff.

  “You can squeeze it,” he assured her. “It doesn’t hurt.”

  Hanna wrapped her little fist around the length of him and squeezed. Her stepfather let out a long, low moan.

 
“You said it didn’t hurt.” Hanna withdrew her hand in surprise.

  “It doesn’t.” He took a deep breath. “It feels good. That was the sound of pleasure.”

  “Ohh.” She reached for him, squeezing again, hearing him groan in response. “That was the noise you were making earlier.”

  “Yes.” He nodded agreement.

  “But your hand was moving.” Hanna mimicked his earlier motion, up and down, feeling his hips move with her, that low sound escaping his throat again. “Like this.”

  “Yes,” he panted. “Oh that’s good. Sweetheart, your hand feels so good on Daddy’s cock.”

  “It makes me feel good too.” She met his eyes, her breath coming faster. “Down there.”

  “That’s good.” He smiled. “That’s normal. You know how it works, don’t you?”

  “I read a book,” she confessed. “In the library. I know about vaginas and penises, about the sperm and the ovum. All that stuff.”

  “Not very sexy, is it?” he laughed.

  “No,” she admitted, although she had found it intriguing. “But this is.”

  “So you know what these are?” He slid a hand down to cup the heavy sack between his legs.

  “Testicles. They hold the semen.”

  “Right. They go by many names too, but usually they’re called balls.” He smiled. “They’re very sensitive. You have to be careful with these.”

  “Okay.” She watched, fascinated, as he took her hand and moved it down to cup his testicles. His balls. Oh that word made her feel funny.

  “You can massage them gently.” He showed her, pressing a hand over hers. “I like to have mine cradled and squeezed, lightly. Just a little, like this. Mmmm. I also like to have them sucked on.”

  “Sucked on!” She gaped at him.

  “Yes.” His eyes danced as he looked at her shocked expression. “My cock too.”

  That didn’t make any sense to her at all. Penises in vaginas made perfect sense. That was how you made babies. But what purpose did putting his cock—or his balls—in her mouth serve?