Well, the snows…the real snows, were later than expected, but last week they started, and haven’t stopped since. The lane my home is on is completely cut off and it’s still snowing hard. Dani has left us, and Emily is half a world away.
All I have right now, are my fingers, toys and me….and my dirty companion in the form of Miss Brain. In a way, it’s like being a schoolgirl again, because I’m alone, have no boyfriend/girlfriend, and only myself to assuage my horniness.
But that is more than enough.
When I was 14 or so, I went through an arid phase when I tried to bend my sexual imagination to my will, and force myself to fantasise over things I wanted to think about. All that ever resulted in was a sore clit and not a chance of an orgasm. Only when I learned that Miss Brain knows far better than my conscious self does what I need in the moment did things get a lot easier, and, incidentally, a lot move wild.
So when I felt an urge not to get dressed beyond a bra an panties this morning I went with it. I don’t need bras, and therefore don’t have many, and those I do have are little more than trainers, still, I like them and they are useful.
I padded downstairs in my underwear this morning, had a frugal breakfast and just got on with my day, or at least my morning. A few phone calls to my pubs, a long discussion with my lawyer - I want to get back into coffee shops again, but I might have a barring clause from when I sold my first small chain way back when.
Then I suddenly, and unaccountably felt myself wetting up. Why? You tell me! I have absolutely no idea. Talking to a lawyer is hardly the most arousing of conversations. Nevertheless, there it was, that feeling some girls hate of being slippery between the legs.
Miss Brain seemed to be drifting, but soon locked on to my early masturbatory efforts when I would hear mum and dad having sex. I would rub myself in time with mum’s moaning, and later, when I’d got the technical stuff organised, I knew the moaning could sometimes be interspersed with what can on,y be described as pure filth. It was such a contrast from my highly educated parents to hear such profanity, but then, as I;ve observed before, sex is a collection of opposites, is it not?
“Fuck me!”
“You fucking dirty bitch. You love my cock in you, dont you.”
“Yes! Oh don’t stop!”
“Spread your legs like the whore you are.”
“I’d fuck anyone”
“I know. I love sliding my cock in your cunt when it’s full of another man’s cum”
Moans and cries, then dad might say “Call me his name. The last man you fucked.”
“Steve….screw my fucking brains out Steve.”
At the time I thought it was pure role play but sometimes, I wonder…..did they have an open marriage? If it suits the pair of them, then he’ll, go for it.
But in my bed, I’d masturbate, wondering what it felt like to have a man on top of me, penetrating me…fucking me. Did I wonder, sometimes, if that man was my dad? Yes. I did. That only made it all the more erotic. (And the shape of things to come during the lockdown)
And I found myself on my back on my den carpet, legs spread, lightly touching over my panties. Miss Brain seemed to be in some half-way land between innocent yet horny virgin, and experienced slut.
And *POP*, just like that, a memory of when Alan first confessed that he listed over his sister, and how he sometimes ‘borrowed’ her panties. Suddenly, I was her. I imagined myself as his sister when she had discovered her panties, back in the laundry hamper, yet wet with her brother’s cum. Partly I think I was living out what I would have felt and done ing he same situation vicariously through her.
I imagined the disgust at finding her/my panties full of slime, but that disgust turning to curiosity. How I’d feel it, that consistency of egg white, and that tangy scent. I would have tasted it for sure. Salty? But still…this is my brother’s cum. But by now, his pheromones would be working away at me, and I would have laid down, taking the panties with me, and slipped a hand inside my undies. More smelling…more tasting…imagining my brother standing, his hips thrust forward, smelling my juices. Did he imagine fucking me? Licking me? Fingering me? I knew in a heartbeat that not only would I have willingly let him, I would have contrived to make it so he had no choice but to do so.
And then, at that moment when the orgasm was fast approaching, stuffing the soaked, semen-laden crotch between my labia and cumming on his spunk.
The orgasm ripped through me on the floor. I cried out his name as I orgasmed.
That afternoon, I ‘zoomed’ Allan, and told him in great detail what I’d done and thought about that morning. I asked him to get a pair of his sisters panties and we would role play, with him calling me her name. I would only let him see from my tits down, so he could get into it.
The result was…..spectacular.
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