I still remember the day my obsession started:
"Michael, hurry up!"
My brother, after taking
way
too long in the shower as he'd been doing since puberty hit, came out- and I found a discarded negligee on the floor.
Hey that's mine
, I thought as I stepped into the bathroom for my nightly shower, even though I knew that I certainly didn't leave it there.
Thinking nothing of it, I picked it up and tossed it into the wash basket, only to find my fingers coated with a slimy substance.
What the...-?
Then the realization dawned on me; the reason for my brother's extended stays in our shared bathroom.
Should I be disgusted? I wasn't sure.
This was the kinds of things boys did, right?
I mean, why should I be mad, it's gonna get washed anyway.
Just the thought of it though! My 'oh so independent' goody goody two shoes of a brother had masturbated into my undergarments!
Michael had been so independent all his life that sometimes I barely even felt like an older sister.
He was the pride and joy of my mother's life; good grades, never partied, and did the chores without seeming to ever really leave his room.
I chuckled in amusement at the juicy bit of beef I would have to hold over him.
But as I turned on the bathroom faucet to wash my hands, I began rubbing my fingers together, my naturally curious nature kicking in.
I never really knew what the big deal was with cum anyway.
It felt sticky, and kind of gross.
But I'd never really examined it up close and without thinking, I brought the sticky residue to my nose and sniffed.
One whiff; that was all it took.
What happened in that moment was beyond anything I'd ever experienced.
The pores along my neck and back fluttered outwards down my spine, and my knees quivered under the weight of the flutter that it aroused in my stomach.
Was the scent pleasant?
No, not even a little.
It was potent, pungent even, sure.
Yet it had awakened something in me that I'd never knew existed.
Something primal; feral almost.
A kind of desire that I couldn't even explain.
I was suddenly compelled by this
need
, this
thirst
, this unfathomable desire to suck on my fingers and
taste it
!
So despite every rational thought possible, I brought the slimy residue to my lips and sucked it from my fingers, and a new overwhelming sensation rocked my body.
I fell, trembling to my knees, and before I knew what was happening my other hand had found its way under my towel, and began massaging my moistening pussy mound.
I shamelessly pleasured myself; the lust ignited in my veins more fiery than anything I'd felt in my life, and within minutes my body shook as my orgasm overtook me.
That day, I pleasured myself repeatedly as I helped myself to the discarded remnants of my brother's cum, soaked into my negligee.
After that it became my little habit.
Almost every day after that, I would lie in wait for his daily baths in anticipation of the sticky reward he'd leave in some discarded garment.
And he never made me wait that long either.
After all he
was
an eighteen year old high school boy.
He masturbated daily, and I was certain that that goody two shoes girlfriend of his, Susan McDonaugh, had never done anything more with him than some light petting while making out.
The risk of being found out
The rush of adrenaline.
The taboo of it all!
It gave me some of the most intense, exhilarating sexual experiences I could have ever dreamed of.
That pure, unadulterated scent of sex; of something so dirty and forbidden in every way, it satisfied me on a primal level, in ways I never even dreamed could exist.
And I wasn't some kind of virgin saint like Susie!
Not that I was a slut either; I mean, I'd had my share of male partners throughout my college days, but this was so different from anything I could imagine that I quickly found myself hooked on it so much so that I guess it was only a matter of time before the inevitable happened:
I was on the floor, furiously masturbating while I sucked on the crotch area of my brother's underwear where his seed had been deposited.
As usual, I was lost in the thrill, the excitement, involuntary moans escaping from my lips as I ground hard against my hand anticipating the oncoming orgasm when-
"Ash- what the hell are you doing?"
Michael was staring open mouthed, the scene before him almost unimaginable.
I struggled to compose myself, my hands shaking as much from my oncoming orgasm as it did from fright.
"I- um, uh."
I stuttered, the incriminating article of clothing falling to the ground in front of me as I scrambled to cover myself with my discarded bathrobe.
"T-that's my- but I just..." he stumbled backwards, seemingly more stunned the further he took in the unbelievable scene before him- then, to my horror he bolted.
I jumped off the ground, furiously fixing my bathrobe as best as I could as I sped off desperately in pursuit; but in vain.
The door slammed shut in my face, and I heard the lock click just as my hands reached for the handle.
"Michael!"
I pounded on the door, tears now streaming down my face.
"Please, let me explain!"
I had no idea how I was going to explain but I was desperate.
If he told mom she would kill me.
I had been out of a job for months now after barely making a dent in the massive debt that student loans had left me with.
I would be out of the house for certain.
"Please-"
I slumped next to the door, leaning on it as my life seemed to seep away into darkness.
That night as I lay in my bed, a multitude of thoughts ran through my mind.
I was crestfallen. I felt as if I'd thrown my life away for little moments of blissful pleasure, but what made me feel guiltier than anything else was that I didn't really feel sorry for what I'd done.
I loved my new taboo habit, but Michael's reaction made it clear:
I was a disgusting pervert of the highest order, and as his older sister I'd clearly let him down.
He would probably never speak to me again.
Not that we spoke that much to begin with, but even if we weren't the closest of siblings I cared deeply about him.
Knowing how much I'd let him down reminded me further of how much of a failure of a human being I truly was.
That night I tossed about, unable to sleep.
But to my surprise a gentle knock came at my door:
"Sis? Are you up?"
The voice was hoarse and anxious, and barely a whisper.
"Y-yeah, I'm up. Come in."
Michael opened the door and peeked in timidly, and I could feel all of my guilt well up inside, threatening to overwhelm me.
My own brother is afraid of me!
"Have you been crying?"
He took one step into the room, opening the door just a bit.
I instinctively shifted my covers, trying to hide the mess of tissues that had strewn my bed, and wiped at the tear streaks on my face with the sleeves of my pjs:
"No, I- uh. I mean, come in- if it's ok."
I patted the bed, and Michael came in, sitting gingerly at the foot of the bed.
He rubbed his head nervously, then muttered:
"I- uh, I won't tell anyone... ok?"
He seemed awkward; afraid almost, and I blinked at him uncertainly.
Was this some kind of trick?
"R-really?" I was stunned, not sure what to make of it.
"Yeah," he added, as he gave me a little reassuring smile, and I realized that he really meant it!
I practically leapt at him with joy.
"Thank you, thank you thank you thank you!"
He recoiled from me as he so often had, but I was so happy I didn't care.
"Jeez sis, quit that will you."
Despite the protest, he smiled, and I slobbered a few more wet, teary kisses on his cheek and squeezed him with a final 'thank you', before withdrawing once more to that awkward distance that always seemed to stretch the space between us.
He got up and headed for the door, but before pulling it shut, he looked back at me-
"If you want to- um, talk about anything, maybe we could-?"
He looked down, seeming uncertain about how to express what he was trying to say.
"Okay. Goodnight Michael."
"Goodnight sis."
The next few days were as awkward as I'd predicted.
Every time Michael's eyes met my own, he'd look away sharply, and more than once he'd all but turned tail when entering a room only to find that he'd be alone with me.
It made me feel miserable again, especially since he'd offered to listen if I wanted to talk.
Talk. Hmm. I had no idea how that would go. Like, 'heey, let's talk about that super embarrassing thing that happened that we both wish we could forget!'
The thing is, I almost wanted to talk to him but I had no idea how to even begin.
And to make it all worse, I had become so self-conscious about my habit that I couldn't even bring myself to masturbate at all now, and as the days stretched by I became increasingly edgy.
I became really wound up and tense, until Friday came, about a week since our 'encounter'.
I was about to get ready for my nightly shower when a soft knock sounded on my door.
"Yes, come in."
Michael's head popped in gingerly-
"Hey, uh, I just wanted to let you know I'm done in the shower."
"Oh, um- thanks."
The door pulled shut, and he disappeared into his room.
I blushed slightly at the courtesy which I was almost certain had never been extended to me, and I went in for my nightly shower with a feeling of lightness that I'd not felt since this whole mess began.
But as I undressed and turned on the shower, waiting until the water warmed up to a preferable temperature, I noticed, to my absolute shock, that a crumpled up t-shirt lay on the floor next to the wash basket.
Could it be? No, he wouldn't- would he?
I picked it up, and as I opened it out, a faint familiar scent filled my nostrils, and a longing inside me erupted into life.
The long week since I'd last masturbated suddenly felt like an eternity, but as my left hand instinctively cupped my bare breast, a feeling of trepidation still gnawed at me.
Was it really ok?
What if this was some kind of trap.
No that's silly
, I thought, but then a new thought occurred to me.
What if- he's watching me?
I turned my gaze apprehensively to the door, which as I expected, was still firmly shut.
