Tabu Mother Novels & Stories

Not that she needs the spoiling, but it’s always nice to have adults to support and look after one’s children. “She is a trooper for sure. With everything that happened with her birth mother, and Tabatha having to fight to get out of Bane’s rogue camp. We’re very proud of her! And yes, I know she may not remember, but that is a lot of stress for such a little baby.” Ruby nods, her expression serious.

It doesn’t make sense, and something doesn’t feel right. And I mean something other than me being possibly sentenced to death. Tabatha slowly shakes her head. I’m sitting behind her but can imagine the way her eyes are narrowing. The flames around us intensify again. “My son,” she starts, speaking through gritted teeth, “is possessed by a demon.” The council behind Ruth gasps, and Ruth herself looks stunned. Ruby’s hand flies to her mouth and she inches to the edge of her chair, staring at Tabatha and looking like she might burst into tears.

But who? "Am I ruining it?" I ask him quietly. "Or are you breaking your own path?" "She belongs to my line, Dad," Julian snarls. "She is supposed to be my mate." "No, she is not, Julian," I say. I start organizing the pack papers on my desk just to make him mad. "She is!" Julian screams, hitting the desk with his fist. "She is the only female I want in my nest! And you are letting Nikolai touch her!"

Tabi received an employee discount for her purchases, so she often came home with pretty nice clothes, which is usually what she wore to work. Tabi is known for being friendly, and many have described her personality as "Bubbly." She is petite at just over five feet barefooted. Her butt is round, curvy, and toned. She is athletic and firm. Her tits are not small or flat, but they are also not large. I would say like nice firm coconuts.

The youngest giggled nervously, toes sinking slightly as if into mud. “Like Mama,” she said. The middle child shook violently. “No,” he whispered. “Not like her. She stayed with words. It wants more now.” The eye beneath the floor shifted, rolling slowly beneath the wood. Wherever it passed, the hut creaked in pleasure. “Blood ends hunger,” the voice murmured. “Blood makes home.” Memories surged again — not visions this time, but feelings. Lerato’s exhaustion. Her fear. Her love sharpened into desperation. She had bargained for shelter, for safety, for time.

Watching her was his obsession, plain and simple. Teresa, the young woman the world thought was his daughter, stood under the hot spray, her lithe, twenty two year old body glistening with water. Her long, dark hair clung to her olive skin, cascading down her back like a waterfall. She leaned against the tiled wall, one hand braced for support while her other hand dipped between her thighs. Her fingers circled her swollen clit slowly at first, then faster, her full breasts heaving with each breath. "Daddy, oh God, Don Moretti, please. I need your dick so badly. God daddy, I'm so fucked up. Your little girl wants your dick wrecking this pussy," she moaned, her voice echoing off the walls, cap

I had spent my entire life being the perfect daughter. Lina Chen. Only child. Sole heir to the Chen Group. Fluent in four languages, top of every class, polished enough that I hosted state dinners by the time I was sixteen. My father, Victor Chen, built an empire on discipline, image, and an old-world hardness that never softened. He loved me in the only way he knew how, by shaping me into something untouchable. Perfect. And part of that shaping included the quiet, constant lessons about who belonged near us and who did not.

Whenever my son, Ethan Shaw, cried, my mother-in-law, Jacqueline, would pat his back and call his name. She said it was to keep his soul from leaving his body when he got scared. I thought she was just being superstitious until one day, an old woman stared at my son and her face went pale. "Why are his pupils so dilated? He only has one-tenth of his soul left! Has anyone tried to summon his soul?" A chill ran down my back and I told her about his grandmother. She said, "She isn't calling his soul back. She's calling it out of his body! I'll give you the candles. Take it home and light it, or your son will die." I was a little wary. Was I really going to suspect my son's own grandmother

I have always been fair to my sons, but Tim, the eldest, always complains that I'm never fair to him. It's unfair for him that I stopped him from eating seafood because of his allergies. It's unfair for him when my husband and I refused to take him to the amusement park, when his brother was bleeding profusely after a bad fall. It's unfair for him that we didn't buy the exact same shirt as Joe's because he wasn't the same size. As long as I don't do what he wants, he will keep calling me unfair. Later, he brought home a delinquent, saying she's his fiancee. When I refused to give them my blessing, he took to the internet, complaining that I was a control freak and I had been unfair for

My mother, Samantha, believed I was born a liar. Because she was deceived by my father's sweet words in her youth and abandoned after giving birth to me and my sister, Mia, she harbored a deep, bitter hatred for lies. She begged a witch for two magic rings. The rule was simple: if the wearer lied, the ring would glow red and burn them with magic. Mia's ring never hurt her, even when she broke a vase and blamed it on me. But if I simply said, "I'm thirsty," my ring would sear my flesh until I screamed. At first, I tried to defend myself, but Mom would just say, "The ring doesn't lie. Only through repeated punishment can your wicked soul be cleansed." After thousands of burns, even I started t