Everyone in this tale is over 18. I also note that these stories are fantasies, however contemporary the setting; as such, I choose to ignore certain realities of sex, such as pregnancy or disease, for the sake of fun and erotic potential. For those interested in such details, the scene in the second half between Kady and Just was actually the first to come to me, and the rest were written as a sort of buildup to that. Please enjoy.
I woke up in my own bed.
The slow, lazy feeling of waking up on a fine day with nothing to do is a nice one, being able to slowly wake up, letting your senses turn on bit by bit: the smell of clean sheets, the warmth of the air, the feel of good cotton on your skin. I was naked under the sheets; Mom must have cleaned us both up and put me to bed. I couldn't complain. I stretched and yawned, and winced as muscles twinged and complained. I stretched again anyway, deliberately. A little workout would get rid of those aches, I was sure. But I wasn't quite ready to get out of bed yet.
Instead, I let my hands trail over my skin, thinking of the past couple of days. I'd given my virginity to a friend of my parents', a man named Neil Dodd, who had been a sex therapist until his wife had died. He'd gone nearly full-on recluse after that, but he was handsome and sweet, and he'd taken good care of me....once I'd convinced him to do so. He'd taught me to deep throat, the pleasures of the slow build -- the man liked to take his time -- and introduced me to anal sex as well. And I had to confess -- I loved it. I loved all of it. There had been some blood and some pain involved, but nothing worth doing is free of effort or cost, and it was worth it to me.
I cup my hands over my full breasts -- good sized for my frame, full and round, capped by pale pink nipples that immediately harden against my own palms, reacting to the softness and warmth of my hands. I stroke light fingertips along the underswell, enjoying the sensation, and trace circles on my aureole before tugging on the nipples lightly. I remember Neil's mouth on them, how he liked to nip with his teeth. A slow heat begins to build lower, but I ignore it for now, tracing lines around the weight of my breasts, the soft skin between, cupping and massaging them with a little more force now.
I'd come home to find my mother waiting for me, and we had showered together while I told her about it all. We've always been a close-knit family and we're a bit odd as well, at least as people outside our home would think of us. She had brushed my hair, and I had found myself turned on, and we'd just ...gone with it, right there in the shower, as she assured me that Dad wouldn't be at all offended. My Amazon mother had tasted of the earth, and her mouth on me had sent me screaming into climax. I had made a joke about seducing Dad or Just, and she'd just told me to be careful, not to be offended if they turned me down, and not to get too tied up at home. The heat pools down in my belly, and I let my hands drift lower, tracing the shadows of my ribs and the taut muscles of my belly, lazy, undirected circles for now, as I close my eyes and let the touch become all.
I'd be lying if I said I never thought about Just, my brother. Hell, I'd thought about Dad, too, but it's hard to compete with Mom. Just, though, is eleven months older than my nineteen years. He'd been taking college courses at home, I knew, though I wasn't sure all of what he studied. He was, in some ways, the best combination of our parents -- Mom's height and athletic, powerful build, only masculine, and Dad's fine, almost noble features. He had Dad's eyes, a bright, merry blue. I was like the opposite -- I had Dad's medium stature, and a long-limbed, lean build, though with curves that must have owed something to Mom -- firm, bountiful breasts that nevertheless fit my body rather than overbalancing it, and a narrow waist that flowed out gracefully into wide, full hips and an ass that turned heads. My own eyes are green, like Mom's, like grass on a cloudy day, and I have delicate, almost sharp features that make me look elfin according to my brother. Top all this off with a wild mane of red hair that falls in a mass of ringlets, and that's me. Just's hair is straight, blond, like Mom's, and I've always been jealous of it. I imagine running my hands through that fine blond hair, and sigh as my hands slip lower, running light fingers over my pelvis, tugging idly at the little strip of hair I keep there. I can feel the heat building between my thighs, the moisture growing, the desire becoming a need, and as I let one hand rise above my head to take a hold of the headboard, the other slips down between my legs and strokes lightly over my lower lips, parting them, coaxing out the wetness inside.
My vagina. I never liked that word. Too clinical, too detached. I like my pussy, my cunt, my vulva, my sex, my kitty, my juicebox, my love nest. We're good friends, she and I. I've been a frequent masturbator for quite a while now, mostly with fingers but occasionally with toys; I was careful never to use anything penetrative, though. I was serious about keeping my virginity until I decided to give it away. It had been the hardest thing I had ever done, and I'd done it, and I was justifiably proud of myself for it, but now....ohh, now those doors were opened. My fingers trace my lips, tugging slightly, fingers becoming slick and wet, and I sigh again, wiggling to get a better angle as I caress myself, slowly building.
Yes, those doors were opened. I'd told Mom, when she'd asked if I was bisexual,
I think I'm just sexual.
Having sex with Neil had been like finally sating a need I hadn't known I'd had. That's what it had felt like; I'd heard other girls talking about scratching an itch or sating a hunger, but for me, it had fulfilled a need. And I wanted more. God, did I ever want more. I had some idea of just how much was out there, too, and I wanted to
explore.
Granted, I had to be careful. There were dangers out there. People could be horrible, and a girl had to watch out for herself. Even so, the possibilities alone were enough to raise the heat between my thighs up a few notches, and my seeking fingers find my best friend, the little button, the man in the boat, the guide to the canyon, and begin rubbing slow circles around it. My breath begins to hitch, my hips to rock, pushing my pelvis into my fingers. I consciously keep it slow, pulling my breathing under control, though it deepens. In through the nose, out through the mouth, feel and taste the air as it flows through you; I can smell my rising arousal, and it makes me smile. My free hand comes back down to stroke and massage my breasts; the hand playing at my clit I keep moving in slow, stroking circles, teasing myself, letting the wanting, the need, the desire, mount. I want more. But not yet.
Eyes closed, I picture Just in my mind, tall and muscular and blond, smiling that devil's smirk of his, and a groan escapes me as a bolt of pure want races through me, sizzling through my nerves. I saw a video once of an electric current burning patterns into wood, searing curlicues and fernlike curves as it followed the paths of least resistance, and that is how it feels, a heat that sparks along my nerves, leaving them charged, energized, needing more. I rest my palm on my clit, curling two fingers in, and slip them inside, curling them up, and I exhale, losing my breathing rhythm as I do. Muscles tense and my hips lift, as I start to work my hand, but it isn't right, it isn't enough; the need is mounting faster now, and I don't have the discipline or the desire to hold it back. I need both hands.
My left hand -- I am left handed, in case you are curious -- continues to drive fingers into me, but I arch the wrist and slide my right down my body, letting the two hands focus on different jobs: the left penetrates while the right rubs the pearl. I'm still imagining Just, picturing myself licking his chest, his abs, running my hands over his skin, his hand in my hair as I pull down the ridiculous board shorts he always wears, and I picture his cock, the glorious tower of maleness, and I imagine how it tastes as I take it on my tongue, slide it into my mouth, taking control as I suck on my brother's --
It hits me like a fist to the gut, as every muscle suddenly pulls taut, my abs contracting like they were electrified. I've experienced several different types of orgasms by this point; Neil's slow build had almost made me pass out a couple times, and my mother's touch had felt like a slow tightening of a spring, followed by a gentle release. This one is sudden, shocking, powerful, and the sharp contractions force a heavy grunt from me, a sound that would be embarrassing in company. But oh God, it feels
amazing;
that sizzling feeling just under my skin as white light sheets across my vision, and I curl in a ball, shivering at the pleasure of my release. Usually, I don't get orgasms that intense from masturbation....but I am
so
not complaining. Maybe it was imagining Just, his cock in my mouth. I wanted it. Badly. This was no real surprise to me -- but Just and I had a good relationship as siblings, not especially close but not distant or hostile either. I wanted to be careful.
Or....I could trust him. Isn't that what Mom had said?
After a while, I peel myself out of bed -- have to change the sheets again -- and head for the shower. I don't use the big room; our house has a couple private bathrooms, and my Dad remarked more than once that a happy home required at least one more bathroom than it had female residents. I personally agreed with him, and politely never pointed out how long Just took sometimes.
I wonder suddenly if he had been masturbating all those times, and again, I experience a shock of lust, coupled with an aftershock from the weirdly powerful orgasm I had had a bit ago. I shake my head; if I kept going like this, I'd be too raw to enjoy myself by afternoon. Pace yourself, Kady.
