The re-telling of a very private moment I enjoyed a couple of years after getting married to show we never seem to lose the urge to masturbate.
I grew up like any other girl and went through the normal exploratory ways of girls, whilst finding their feet sexually speaking. As young children my girlfriends and I had played the normal Doctors and Nurses games of examinations of ourselves and others in the neighbourhood. This had eventually led to the examinations of each others pussies that somehow always ended with their needing to be stroked to 'make them better' with a hairbrush or some other implement as we played our childish games. One could call them games, but the pleasure felt at these times of childish intimacy, left a remarkably pleasant feeling in and around our most private areas. As the years passed these feelings were explored further in the privacy of my bedroom where I had an urge frequently to sit on the bed opposite a huge dressing room mirror and watch myself bring myself to orgasm. Another favourite was laying on my back in the bathtub as I allowed the cascading water from the bath taps to again bring teenage sexual relief. Teenage years had passed and after a long time of going with the same steady fella we eventually decided to tie the knot. Our sex life throughout our years together including our early married time had been sufficient that I had found no need to tickle the clit for my self satisfaction. Anytime I felt the need all I ever need do was roll over in bed to face my new husband to ensure something would find its way toward my wanting cunt, be it a pleasuring finger, his eight inch fat cock or a tongue that seemed of equal proportions. Oh how I loved that tongue in particular. I felt content with the loving relationship we shared together. I can remember it was about two years into our married life when I was busying myself one morning, whilst dressed still in my dressing gown and performing the tasks of being a housewife, when a by now strange feeling struck me as I worked. For there on the dressing table in our bedroom stood, as it had for a long time now, my hairbrush and the rest of the items needed to make up the special set I had been given as a wedding present. I had tidied and dusted these objects many times before and never given them a second thought. This morning though with the sun shining through the window on the phallic shaped, highly polished handle, it had particularly taken my attention. The sunlight glinted on the handle and caught my eye as I tenderly took hold of the brush. My hand wandered along the length of the shaft of the handle. At the very end of the handle, my hand encompassed and held the bulbous endpiece, just as my hand had tenderly held on many occasions the top of my husband's beautiful smooth cock. Just as my husbands cock was smooth at the top, so it was rigid in the shaft when aroused. The handle of the hairbrush was likewise firm. 'My God, what am I thinking?' I said aloud for the benefit of nobody else but myself within the house. Strange stirrings were taking place within me, that were not unfamiliar, but which I hadn't known for several years, I quickly placed the brush back down onto the dressing table into its rightful place, yet somehow I couldn't pull my hand away from this piece of metal temptation. Again I picked it up, the stirrings within me were increasing and dampness was being traced onto the flimsy material that were my briefs beneath my dressing gown. It was as if Satan himself were tempting me and I was sure that in no way was I going to be able to withstand the test. I wandered over and slowly sank onto the nearby bed and placed the hairbrush gently near where I was about to lay. I rolled immediately to take a position of openness, on my back with my knees bent while gravity pulled my thighs wide apart. Oh how long it had been since I had known such a position in such a circumstance.
Not since my days of turning in early to masturbate and relieve myself after my boyfriend had said goodnight by kissing me deeply with his tongue, whilst at the same time having his hand up my skirt and teasing me, by rubbing my clit with a finger that had by magic found its way inside my skimpy teenage knickers, could I remember such a time. Years earlier these actions had left me always yearning for more and he knew it. This morning that yearning was once more clearly in evidence and was in need of relief. Those years ago were brought sharply into focus as my hands and fingers remembered all they had been taught during my formative years. The left hand removed any semblance of cover from my aching cunt by removing to one side the thin damp material, whilst the fingers of the right hand busied themselves teasing and pinching my by now swollen clit. At the same time the fingers gently ran along my outer lips which in turn found my index finger slipping into my now gently seeping love tunnel. It was too late now to turn back from the path my urges wanted to take with the placing of the finger inside my ever more gaping cunt I immediately picked up the hairbrush from where I had placed it beside me on the bed and placed the swollen end piece into the ever increasing flow of juice emanating from my pussy. The patterned handle of the brush I gently started to rub against my clit. This sent shockwaves through me. I continued doing this while gradually increasing the thrusting, as my mind started to fantasise about a rather sexy party my husband and I had held for some friends and ourselves just over a week ago. Yes I did fancy the husband of my best friend and had done so for a long time, but now here I was in my mind, about to fuck the living daylights out of him. As my sexual intensity increased the swelling of my outer lips plus the enlarged end of the handle gradually allowed it to slip into my cunt where it continued thrusting away, driven on by my busy right hand. While this continued my mind wandered even more into a state of pure lust, as I envisaged further still thoughts about the fucking I was being given by my phantom lover. If my mind was anything to go by, it was making me extremely jealous of my best friend whose gorgeous husband I was fucking to perfection. My pleasure was not to last too long however that first morning as I was so hot for something firm and smooth inside me. Within minutes the fantasy within my own brain of my friends husband coming inside me brought a welling explosion from within my own self and made me flow in orgasmic relief. My arse bucked violently off the bed as the final trace of my fantasy saw me trying to milk every last drop of come from my imaginary lover's cock.
The final thrusts of the handle into me brought the tell tale end of squishy noise as I parted company with my love juice which readily clung to the shiny handle of my new found friend. I slowly raised the smooth hairbrush handle to my lips after a breathing space and caressed it gently with the end of my tongue, before finally licking it clean as I always had my fingers as a young teenager and my husbands cock when our lovemaking ended after an oral session. The Hairbrush handle and myself after that became acquainted on regular occasions when I felt the need arise, which nearly always happened after my friend and her husband had been round for an evening. Trouble was however, my friend was also starting to look just as attractive as her husband. She also eventually became a figment of my imagination and fantasy on the mornings my hairbrush and I started to relive my days of being a teenage girl. That experience though will have to wait for another time.