"... so I might have to ask my
boss
for a lift," Ian moaned.
"That sucks," I replied vaguely. I hadn't really been listening. I stole another glance at the clock on the wall as I took another bite of the piece of toast I had been nibbling at for the past ten minutes. Eight twenty-six.
Come on.
"Anyway, I'm gonna go," Ian said as he downed the last of his coffee. "Don't forget, it's your turn to do laundry this week, sis."
"Yeah, I'm not the one who always forgets," I called after my brother, but he was already out the door.
As soon as I heard his footsteps receding down the stairs, I dropped the rest of my half-eaten toast and made for the bathroom through my bedroom. The apartment our aunt had found and rented for us in town after Mom and Dad died was quite small, with only two rooms and an adjoining bathroom between them, but neither of us had really cared. I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but it just felt good be away from concerned relatives.
The laundry basket we shared was about three-quarters full. I reached into it and fished a pair of boxer shorts off near the top of the pile. There was, as always, a telltale drying stain at the front. Bringing the soiled boxers to my face, I breathed in the heady smell of my brother's cum. The alkaline tang made my breath catch in my throat. Ever since I found out that my brother jacked off when he woke up every morning it had become almost a morning routine for me to use his cum-stained boxers as a masturbatory aid.
Ian had left later than usual today, and I had a class at ten. To be safe, I decided to load up the washing machine first. The wash-and-spin cycle took a little over an hour, which would give me ample time to cum and shower before taking the clothes out, loading in the delicates and going to my ten o'clock class.
An idea struck me as I was sifting through the laundry taking out the delicates. I picked up my brother's boxer shorts again. Why not? The morning air wafted against my nether lips as I quickly slipped out of my comfortable pajama shorts, and into the boxers. I usually just buried my face in the boxers as I got off, but the coolness of the still-damp stain as it rested against my lower belly felt for some reason even naughtier.
A familiar sense of shame washed over me at feeling lust towards my brother, but the vague sense of wrongness only made titillation more potent. I felt my pussy clenched with arousal, and almost on its own volition my hand had slid down under the elastic band of the boxers. I managed to stop myself before my fingers reached my clit. I should probably deal with the laundry first. I'd almost certainly have no time to take the first load of laundry out if I started pleasuring myself now.
Energized by the anticipation, I quickly sorted through and brought the delicates to the washing machine. There wasn't a proper laundry room in the small apartment, and the washing machine was just tucked into an unused corner of the kitchen. Ours was one of those old top-loading behemoths. It was probably older than I was, and it shook and clanged mightily every time.
I loaded the clothes into the washing machine absently, set the wash cycle and started it up. I barely registered the low hum of the washing machine starting its cycle, my mind already focused on the sensation of the fabric of my brother's boxers rippling lightly against my crotch. As I turned away there was a niggling feeling that I had forgotten something. I scowled at the washing machine for a moment before I remembered.
Damn. In my haste I had forgotten to put any washing powder in. I scanned the kitchen and realized that the washing powder was up on a high shelf above the washing machine. When it's my turn to do the laundry I always leave the box of washing powder on the top of the machine instead of back on the high shelf, but Ian always forgets that I am half a foot shorter than he is.
I leaned on tiptoe over the rumbling washing machine, trying to reach the shelf. I gasped as the corner of the vibrating washing machine slid under my crotch. The flash of pleasure that shot through me as it grazed my clit made my legs go a little weak, and I had to brace a hand on the machine to prevent myself from crumpling to the floor. The motion made the corner slide up over my clit again.
"Oh," I said. "Ohhh."
Experimentally I tiptoed again, at just the right height that my clit was pressed against the corner of the machine through the fabric of the boxers. As if it read my mind, at that very moment the washing machine began spinning faster, making the whole thing shake and hum more vigorously than before. The sensation on my clit of the vibrating metal through the wet cotton made me feel light-headed. I had wanted to take this slower, but the novelty of this exhilarating new method was rapidly pushing me over the brink. When I looked down I could see the damp stain that marked Ian's cum being subsumed by a growing dark patch of my own wetness. The thought of our juices mingling together-
"Oh." I flinched at the sound of Ian's voice behind me. The shock made me stumble sideways, and I grabbed onto the kitchen countertop for purchase.
"Oh god, Em, I'm so sorry," he said, quickly swinging the kitchen door close. Outside the door he paused. "Are those my boxers?"
"No," I lied, "I, um. Don't know what you mean." My denial was undercut by the husky quaver in my own voice.
I held my breath, waiting to see how he'd react, but he made no reply, though I could still see his shadow from under the door. There was a moment of awkward silence before I saw the shadow under the door move away and heard the door to his room click shut.
Oh, no.
That snapped me out of my trance. I knew I had to handle this quickly, or it'd become weird between us. I desperately wanted to avoid that.
