Free Little Brats: Hanna: Forbidden Taboo Erotica by Selena Kitt Page A

She plunged her fingers deeper, hearing the wet sound they made, and imagined her man’s erection, thick and hard and pumping deep. Hanna longed to see his face, feel his hips bumping up against hers, his belly slick, pelvis grinding.
    Oh God. Oh God, please. Forgive me, God, but it feels so good!
    She knew what was coming and worked toward it. Wanted it. Shamefully, her face turned into the pillow still, Hanna bit her lip to keep herself quiet, but a little squeal still escaped her throat as the contractions began deep in her core. This was it. The moment she longed for, dreamed of, her sex contracting again and again. She rode her climax out, the man in her mind, the one thrusting deep and hard, become even more vivid. Her imagination exploded and no longer was the man just a dream, he was real, he was pounding into her with rhythmic intensity, and he was no longer unidentified.
    He was Marshall Young. He was her stepfather.
    Hanna cried out into her pillow, calling his name, panting as each ripple of post-orgasmic pleasure made her hips buck again, moving her fingers in deeper, increasing her orgasm, extending it, almost unbearably. She shuddered and squeezed her thighs together over the sopping mess between them, and still, the image of her stepfather emptying his seed into her eager, waiting womb wouldn’t go.
    She wanted it. She wanted him.
    Oh God, please forgive me. I’m a sinner and a whore. I’m immoral and wanton and should be punished. Please punish me as you see fit. I am helpless to temptation. Oh God, but it’s good, it’s so good, so very good…
    Once her body finally calmed, her hands now curled up tightly at her chest, she forced the images from her head as she began, in the aftermath, to rebuke herself for her actions and thoughts. Yet, she wondered how someone could continue to deny themselves something so wonderful. Burdened by her guilt, she couldn’t find the words anymore to pray and ask for forgiveness again, so she got out of bed to clean herself up and ask her mother to help her to pray.
    Clearly, she needed more help than she could get on her own.
    Only, by the time she reached their room, smelling fresh from the soap she’d scrubbed herself with, her skin red from the using the hottest water she could tolerate, she stopped short at the partially open door.
    Irene Young was on her belly, her hips high in the air. She wore her long, white nightgown still, so Hanna couldn’t see much of her mother’s body. But she could see Marshall’s. He was completely nude, kneeling up behind his wife, attempting, somewhat unsuccessfully, to push his erection into her from behind.
    Hanna had never seen a real erection before that wasn’t an illustration in a book. It rose up, thick and long, the skin bulging with veins, reddened and practically pulsing with heat. She couldn’t take her eyes off it. Her breath hitched and shuddered in her chest as he pulled back with a sigh, pumping the length in his fist before attempting to push in again. His face and chest were flushed with heat, glistening with sweat in the soft light from their small bedside lamp.
    “Pastor David says that married couples should only use the missionary position,” Hanna’s mother protested, her hands fists, gripping the comforter. “Missionary is the only holy way.”
    “Fine.” Marshall rolled his eyes, stroking himself again as he looked down at his wife’s behind. “Turn over.”
    Even Hanna could tell how rigid the woman was holding her body, and now that she’d rolled onto her back, her legs were not even parted enough to allow her husband’s hips through. He pushed anyway, forcing her legs wider, but she kept her thighs like a latch around him so he could barely move. Hanna watched Marshal struggle to thrust, but Irene had a vise-grip around him with her legs.
    Then, her mother folded her hands and began to pray.
    “Dear Lord, please make us a couple worthy of you, one who obeys your every command…”
    Marshall