Conference Meeting With Brother

Thank you for reading my story, I hope that you enjoy it. Love Mica xx, Yorkshire England.

All email comments good or critical welcomed. Please note that all email comments from an invalid email address will be deleted immediately and will not be read, so please take care when entering your email if you want a reply. Rude or abusive comments may result in blocking. Please note that I am a British female, and I write in British English and vernacular, so for me a fanny is the correct term for female genitalia, a pussy is a pet cat and the ass is a bum or arse.

I had to go down to Birmingham for a conference, three days at a town centre conference place, deep joy. I don't dislike Birmingham especially, I just dislike all towns and cities that aren't Bingley. They are busy, they all have their own smells, a mix of street foods and body odour generally. My brother Steven lived near Birmingham in a place called Sutton Coldfield, so I texted him to see if he wanted to meet up whilst I was there.

He rang me, he is not big on texting.

"Hello Sis."

"Hi Bro. How's it hanging?"

"Nicely thank you, so, you are leaving Gods Own County for a few days?"

"Yes, I have to go to a conference and I am staying at the Britannia near the Station. I am not happy."

"You should have said, you could have stayed with us."

'Us' being him and his wife Shirley.

"You're too far out, the conference is all day and I want to fall out of bed and into the conference."

"It's only half an hour by train."

"Too long."

"Okay, perhaps I can come and meet you in town one evening."

"Yeah, that'll be nice. Any decent restaurants? I will leave that to you to sort out. I am at a hotel that is right in the middle, so anywhere within walking distance."

"I will come in by train, parking in town is a nightmare."

"Okay, we can meet up either at my hotel or the restaurant, it is up to you."

And that had been a week ago. Today I had just booked into the Britannia Hotel and the conference started tomorrow, tonight my brother was meeting me at reception in 30 minutes and we were going to a Brazilian Restaurant, an all you can eat feast of meat apparently. Not sure how that works.

I quickly showered and sprayed here and there, bra and knickers and then a mid-length off the shoulder with a sweetheart neckline, flatties for walking in, a shawl, after all it is February, and my handbag, with my usuals, tampon, condom, twenty pound note, credit card with only one hundred pounds of credit, for emergencies, not a great loss if it gets stolen. It is my usual stash for a night out, much will not be needed as I am going out with my brother.

The tampon is for the over amorous, sorry not tonight, it's my time of the month, the condom in case I score, and the rest are emergency funds. But, none will be needed tonight, but I always pack the same items, it is a force of habit. I added my room key, which is actually a digital card, and left my room to go to reception.

He arrived in reception just as I did, and we hugged.

"God, you look good," he said as he came in for a second hug, not a very brotherly hug either.

"Not so bad yourself bro," I said kissing his cheek and stepping back. "Right," I continued, "how far is this restaurant?"

"Not far it is in the arcade, come on." He led me to the door and then we were both through he linked his arm through mine and we headed off. Birmingham centres was, like most cities, totally pedestrianised, some roads allowed buses and trams, most did not. People were milling around, walking haphazardly, not caring about traffic as there wasn't any.

We walked arm in arm, Steve taking the lead, he knew where to go, I hadn't a clue, I knew Bingley, I knew Shipley, and not a clue about any other city, even Bradford which was on my doorstep; I just hate cities. We took a turning and we were in the Arcade and a few establishment down we were there. Steve unlinked our arms and opened the door for me, following on behind.

He spoke to the greeter, giving his name and we were shown to our seats.

"Sir, Madam," The greeter said, his accent local and broad. I guess mine was, to him, foreign and broad, "a drink to start?"

"Yes," I answered, "a Chardonnay please." Steve also wanted wine, so he asked the greeter to bring us a bottle.

"So," I asked him, "how is Shirley?"

"At home, as she always is, since the pandemic a few years ago, she just won't go out. She has just lost the love for it. She isn't that happy that I have gone out, but it is what it is."

"She's probably happy that I am not staying at yours then."

Steve kept his face straight, I knew I was right.

"You guys are okay aren't you? I mean, there isn't going to be a divorce party on the horizon is there?"

"Oh God who knows, most of the time things are good, sometimes that are not, but every relationship is a bit like that."

The restaurant was a Brazilian all you can eat set up, they put a bowl of fries in the middle of the table and then servers came around with meats impaled on swords. Beef, pork and lamb. They portioned off some meat onto your plate. There was a flag thing next to you that you raised if you wanted more meat and left down if you didn't.

A bowl of vegetables appeared and a couple of jugs of sauce or gravy, who knew, I didn't. It was different, the meat wasn't that special, especially the beef, which was a little tough, but it was different. We took our time, we chatted, we ate, probably far too much, we drank wine, definitely too much, and the evening rolled on and eventually we left our flags down, declined any more fries or vegetable refills and sat back.

"Well, that was different," I said, "I have never had my meat served by sword before."

"I wonder how sharp they are?" Steve mused.

"Let's not find out," I suggested.

We left the restaurant and headed back arm in arm towards my hotel, there was a good comforting feeling having him close as I walked in a strange city. Strange to me, not strange, I presumed, to the locals, Brummies they are known as. It was lively and the bars and restaurants were very busy, people milled around the pedestrianised streets, and police in high viz mingled. It still did not feel comfortable, I would not have felt safe if Steve had not been there.

He saw me back to my hotel, declined my offer of a room coffee saying he ought to get the train back as it was getting late, we hugged, again a little more than a brotherly cuddle, and then he was gone, and I was in my hotel.

In my room I stripped, Lord these hotels do keep their rooms hot, and washed, I suppose I should have showered, but too much wine and too much food meant that was not an option for me tonight. A good wash would have to do. I went and lay on top of the bed wishing I had brought Bob, my battery operated boy, but I hadn't, he was at home in my night stand. At least Bob was plastic and inanimate, it wouldn't miss me the way I missed him.

I parted my thighs, my ankles apart like an acrimonious divorce from each other, and my finger gently walked down my crease, my labia parting and curling around my finger, waves of pleasures running though my body. There was no rush, no need to hit the button, not just yet.

My finger circled my entrance, each circle pressing a little deeper towards my opening and before I knew it, too fast, too fast, I was a knuckle deep and I could hear sighs in the bedroom, my sighs. My fanny walls squeezed my finger, and my finger wiggled back as it entered further, a second knuckle, more squeezing, more pleasures rippling through my body, my sighs became gasps.

My finger moved back out, knuckles teasing my entrance, and then I pushed back in, as far as I could, the web between my fingers stopping me going as deep as I wanted. I pulled back a little and added a second finger and I gasped loudly as my fanny was stretched more, my fanny muscles squeezing my fingers, pleasures now coursing through me, my gasps louder and louder, my back tightening as my breath caught in my throat.

As I fucked myself with my fingers I couldn't help but think back to Steve and his cuddles, his hard dick had been pressing against me, was he imagining shagging me, I tried to imagine how that would be, my fingers fucking me became Steve's dick, in, out, oh gosh.

My other hand decided it was time and reached down and lightly touched my clitoris as my fingers fucked my fanny, and I almost screamed, the pleasure was so intense, my fanny squeezing my fingers as if trying to extract the spunk they don't possess.

And then someone did scream, a piercing orgasmic bellow that echoed around the room leaving me bucking and gasping on the bed. My fingers withdrew and I felt cold, and I got under the quilt, my mind in a turmoil, full of images and desires about my brother and his dick.

The conference was being held in a big round building called The Rotunda just at the end of the street, about a hundred yards away. It took me all of three minutes to get there from the hotel. I was directed to the appropriate floor and to the lifts and I went up to check into the conference and get my name tag and a bag of goodies, including a retro folio binder and pencil. I mean, who writes anything these days?

The room was around half full, and I settled myself in a chair towards the centre of the room, and then decided I wanted a coffee. I put my goody bag on my chair and went back out to the reception area and grabbed a coffee. Two sips later and I was looking for somewhere to leave it. It was disgusting. It was one those awful drip system coffees so beloved by the Americans, just ends up being awful over cooked stewed blackish sludge. I grabbed a mineral water instead.

Back in the room I sat and waited for the stragglers to arrive so that the conference could begin. I just knew that we would, at some point, be divided up and sent off to syndicate rooms to explore a particular aspect. I so love these things. Over lunch I texted Steve asking him if he was coming to take me out again. He texted back that he was. God I was so bored.

It took four and a half minutes to leave the conference and get back to the hotel. In my room I showered and sat naked on my bed, my fingers itching to revisit the pleasures of last night, but my self control wouldn't allow it. I sorted out a bra and then my dress for the evening, some flatties for walking, put a coat on, it was cold outside, and waited until it was time to go down to reception and meet Steve.

When I got down Steve was already there and we hugged, and again a degree of inappropriateness from my brother with his dick hardening as he pressed against me.

"So how was your day," he asked when he eventually pulled away.

"Possibly the most boring day I can remember."

"Oh dear. What is the conference about?"

"Inclusivity and they have a strig of speakers, each more outlandish than the previous. They parade these minority people around as if they are the majority and we must obey them and pander to their needs. No, just no. I will take their wishes into account and that is it, their so called needs are no more important than anyone else's. I include everyone, equally, and I don't need to spend three days in a strange city talking about it."

"Oh my, they have opened up a nerve haven't they? Goodness."

"Oh it is ridiculous, anyway, I have enough of that during the day, let's not discuss it. Where are we eating?"

"We are off to a French Bistro. It is a bit further away than last night."

"Okay then brother, let's go."

We stepped out of my hotel and he took my arm and we headed off, walking through several pedestrianised streets, past many pubs serving beer and food, and fast food outlets and we eventually found ourselves outside the Hôtel du Vin.

"It is in here," Steve said, "the food is utterly fab."

"Oh, okay, I hope I am dressed okay."

"No dress code and yes you are, you do look quite lovely."

"I just have a frock and a coat on Steve, nothing lovely about it, come on, let's get in out of the cold."

Steve opened the door, and we entered the hotel and followed the signs to the restaurant. We were greeted by a smartly dressed man who asked if we had a reservation and were we guests.

Steve replied that yes, we did, and no we weren't. This apparently was all in order. We were shown to a small corner table, secluded, private, perhaps they thought that we were lovers on an assignation.

"Madam," the greeter said, "may I take your coat."

"Oh, yes, thank you," I answered, putting my handbag on the table and shrugging my coat off. He took it over his arm, and then held my chair for me and pushed it under my bottom as I sat.

"Michele will be here momentarily, she will be your server," he said before he turned and he, and my coat, were gone.

"What are you favouring tonight do you think, only I will order a bottle of wine that is suitable, so fish or meat, white or red?" Steve asked as he perused the wine menu.

"I haven't seen the menu yet, probably a steak, if that helps?"

"Perfect, yes."

Michele arrived in her white blouse, black skirt, dark tights and ridiculously small pinny. Steve watched her closely, I swear he almost licked his lips. Admittedly her blouse did look two sizes too small.

We both picked steak Tartare as a starter and then we both selected the rib eye steak. Steve ordered a bottle of Rioja to go with our meal. The waitress wrote it all down in her little pas and headed off back, presumably, to the kitchens to place our order.

"So," Steve said, "not enjoying the days, how have your evenings been so far?"

"Well, the evenings have been an improvement on the days," I answered, "but this evening has only just started, so it could still all go down hill."

"It could, yes, I suppose it could, but I guess it is up to use to ensure it doesn't."

"Or does, I guess it depends on our mood."

"Oh, I am feeling great, I am with the best woman I know about to eat some of the best food in Birmingham."

"Best woman you know, crikey, I am your sister, you mustn't hardly know any women, what about Shirely, she should be the best."

"Well, there you are then, I stand by my words, you give a much better cuddle than any other woman I know."

I knew he was flirting. Flirting with his sister. That was just kind of wrong. The sommelier arrived and showed us the bottle of wine, Steve nodded, I assume to confirm that was what we ordered. The sommelier then removed the foil from the neck and with a flourish opened the wine, the cook being pulled with ease.

He poured a small portion of the wine into a glass and handed it to Steve to taste.

"Oh gosh, that is really rather nice," Steve said.

"Yes Sir, from one of the better vineyards," the Sommelier answered and then poured me a full serving before topping up Steve's glass. He left the bottle on the table and backed away before turning and disappearing somewhere, presumably his own little cellar.

The server appeared as Steve was about to speak. Our Steak Tartars were placed before us. It looked rather delicious. There was a circle of red raw steak into which I could see chopped cornichons and what I thought may be capers. There was a raw egg yolk on top, and a piece of toasted sourdough to the side.

"This looks yummy," I said to Steve as I broke the yolk allowing it to run over the meat. Raw food is something I usually only eat in a high-end restaurant where they understand and know the provenance of their supplies.

Steve nodded and took a mouthful of yok covered beef.

"Oh, so good," he said.

I wasn't so keen on the sourdough, and left most of it. Nothing especially wrong with it, I just don't like sourdough, but the tartar was pretty excellent, amongst the best I have eaten. When I had finished I put my knife and fork together on the plate and leant back in my chair.

"You know," I said, "put some fries with that and that would make a main course, that is really good."

"That is exactly one of the main course options. I wouldn't go with that as a main though," Steve said, "I prefer something somewhat more substantial."

"Oh, is that how you like your women?" I asked. His wife, Shirley, was a dress size or two larger than me. Not fat, no, just larger.

"Oh, now you are asking, no, not especially, you know your size is pretty darn near perfect."

"Oh, am I now, but you don't have me at home." I said looking him in the eyes.

"No," he said quietly, "no, I don't." I was sure I saw him mouth 'more's the pity' under his breath. Really Steve?

"And there is me with an empty home, in a city miles away from home, eating fine food with my brother. What does that say about me?"

At that point the server came and cleared away our table and the sommelier returned to top up our glasses. Steve asked for another bottle. The sommelier did not, as I would have done, shared the existing bottle amongst our two glasses, no, he simply poured us the correct amount and left the nearly empty bottle on our table as he went to source its replacement.

I thought Steve was again about to say something, but again he was interrupted by the server bringing our main course. Steve again gave Michele a very close aural examination, as if eyeing her up for something, oh no, no, of course, he is a man, he was basically mentally undressing her. God, men.

The ribeye was thick and beautifully cooked, red inside, a seared crust and a perfectly toned pepper sauce and a side of glazed carrots and cheesy parsnips. Oh, my, the steak seemed to just melt in my mouth, it was superb.

"Anywhere in Bingley do food as good as this," Steve asked.

"Actually, yes there are a couple of places, the Brown Cow for one, the Old White Horse for another. We are not so backwards you know, and there is also an excellent Italian restaurant on the high street."

"I shall have to find an excuse to come up and try them," he said.

"Seeing your sister should be excuse enough." Well, it should.

"Not sure Shirley will see it that way, especially as I will have just spent two evenings with you."

"She needs to get over herself."

He gave me a bit of a look and then went back to his steak. The sommelier returned with the replacement bottle, topped up our glasses from the old one and took away the now dead bottle.

"You would be most welcome you know," I said, my eyes again on his. "We could go out and wine and dine or stay in and wine and dine with the best takeaways that Bingley has to offer. The choice would be yours."

"Tempting," he said, "very tempting."

"You only have to say the word, I will take some time off work."

We continued our steaks until all that was left was a smear of pepper sauce on our plates. Again I sat back, knife and fork together and with a comfortably full feeling.

"And what," he said, "would we find to amuse ourselves with if I were to come up?"

"Well, you could help me with my laundry, that always needs doing. How good are you at ironing?"

"What's that? I am probably very good at it, just need to know what it is?"

"Ha, very funny."

At that moment the server reappeared and cleared away our plates and left us with the desert menu. I had decided that I was having crème brûlée and Steve chose the profiteroles. We finished off the wine, we didn't wait for the sommelier to return, Steve just poured what was left into our glasses.

The sommelier returned, 'too late' I thought, but Steve had other ideas.

"Two glasses of Late Harvest Royal Tokaji, please," he ordered.

"Drink up your red," he said, "we will need a sweet wine with our desert."

I picked up my glass and downed the rest of my red wine which went off to my stomach to find and reacquaint itself with the wine I had already consumed. I may have been feeling a little tickety boo at this point. I was sure I would be fine.

"So, Laundry?"