Accidents Happen by Jay_Loads

Accidents Happen by Jay_Loads

Looking for a steamy read? Dive into "Accidents Happen," a sizzling adult sex story that will leave you breathless. Explore passion, desire, and unexpected encounters in this sensual tale. Don't miss out on this thrilling adventure!<br/> My college sent students home because of COVID-19. With a roommate, I rarely had any privacy, so aside from having to deal with my parents most of the day, I relished the nightly opportunities afforded by a room to myself: lights off, no pants. The ceiling fan breeze excited my aching erection. I’d almost gotten used to the pain of letting it build up, almost like it made the release that much sweeter. But I couldn’t stand the shame: the shame of sneaking to a dorm-room stall to splash my cum against the porcelain. I needed more opportunities to ease the tension. And fewer reasons to hate myself for doing it.

One night, laying on my bed watching porn, I got a text from my step-sister, Taylor, with a picture of her sitting on the floor, touching herself over her panties. Her porcelain breasts were bursting out of a slightly too-small bra. One arm lifted them up while the other hand lay flat on the ground, propping her up in a pinup position, long legs reaching out of frame from her tight, black skirt which was pulled up over her thick hips. She bit the side of her lip and her eyes were half closed in an expression of ecstasy. From the angle, and the way it wasn’t vertical, I could tell it wasn’t a selfie; someone else took the photo.

As soon as I opened the pic and realized what it was, my balls contracted. Euphoria washed over and blinded me as thick ropes arched onto my chest. Twice. Three times. Then a couple more. When I regained my composure, I felt a similar guilt to when I’d tell my roommate I was going on a walk only to sneak into a bathroom stall. (God, I wish people weren’t so freaked out and I could be honest about my condition.) I felt even worse when, after cleaning up, I saw a dozen messages saying things like, “OMG im so sorry” and “that wasnt for you” and “Stevie, don’t tell ANYONE.” I couldn’t believe I’d just done that, but it wasn’t my fault: it just happened.

I didn’t respond to any of the messages. I just didn’t know what to say. And besides, Taylor wasn’t the kind of person to worry about something that much. She’d be at a party later that night, despite the mass quarantines, and forget she’d sent the picture. Come to think of it, why should I feel bad when she won’t give it a second thought? I didn’t do anything wrong, after all. I was too backed up. I know guys say that, but I have a doctor’s note; I literally couldn’t control what happened.

So why did I feel guilty?

I tried going to sleep and forgetting what happened, not letting it get to me, because, obviously, it wasn’t anything to worry about. But that picture was imprinted into my skull and, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get it out.

I don’t know when I finally fell asleep but suddenly the sun was shining behind the curtains and I could smell bacon. Mom yelled at me to come down. Don’t know why she wouldn’t text or call my phone. Or maybe she had texted and it was silent? I glanced at my phone, charging on the nightstand. I couldn’t bear to check and see if Taylor had sent anymore messages, so I just left it and headed downstairs.

“Morning, sleepyhead.” Mom stood at the stove and flipped an omelet.

“Morning.” I sat on a bar stool at the island in the middle of the kitchen while dad was at the kitchen table. His nose was in the newspaper, otherwise I’d worry about hiding my morning wood. I’d been trying to wake up early to relieve myself but missed that opportunity this morning. Would have to wait until my shower.

“Did you get my text?” Mom asked.

And here I was thinking they were luddites. “I didn’t look at my phone.”

“Ha!” Dad said, straight-faced, turning a page of the paper. “Thought you kids were all addicted.”

“Don’t let him bother you.” She set a plate in front of me with an omelet, bacon strips, and buttery biscuits.

“Wow, thanks, Mom.”

“She missed having someone to baby,” Dad said.

“You’re more than a handful.” Mom laughed. “Anyway, Stevie, Taylor’s coming home this afternoon.”

I swallowed my egg too fast and coughed a few times. “Sorry?”

“Don’t take such big bites!”

“Why?”

“Because you’ll choke, numbskull!” Dad rolled his eyes so much you’d think they’d unscrew.

“No, I mean…” I turned to Mom. “I mean, why’s Taylor coming home?”

“She lost her job,” Mom said, “and can’t afford rent. The service industry is getting hit hard right now.”

Dad harumphed as he turned the page in his newspaper. “She should still earn her way through life.”

Mom called him by his first name (which is never a good sign). “Be easy on her when she gets here.”

He huffed and turned the page.

“You, too,” Mom said to me.

I couldn’t stop imagining that picture: Taylor’s arm holding up her bust. The perfectly white china-doll skin of her cleavage. I couldn’t believe I’d never appreciated how blessed she’d been in that department, except to mock her as kids. And her biting that lip. Such juicy lips. She reminded me of the pornstar Alyx Star. (As soon as I had that thought, I made a mental note to watch Alyx during my next stroke session; it’s kind of sad how nerdy I am with porn, knowing so many names and even names of favorite scenes by heart.)

Mom took her own plate to the kitchen table and I rushed past her, hoping to hide my erection.

“You’re not hungry?”

“Sorry,” I said, “just gotta get ready for school.”

Since the lockdown, all my classes were pre-recorded videos and I could do homework any time I wanted. I was lucky, since some of my friends complained about teachers giving twice as much work because they didn’t have to commute to a classroom, which didn’t seem fair.

I turned on the shower and had a few wet spots on my boxers near the slit. I’d dripped a little precum. I thumbed my knob, trying to lube up with the dribbling. Our water’s too “hard”, I guess is what it’s called when it gets a lot of sediment, and I don’t have lube in the parents’ house, so if I do have to bust in the shower, I try getting as ready as I can before stepping in. It makes clean-up easier, too, since I can pop onto the wall and let the shower do its thing.

I still didn’t want to get my phone to watch some porn because I didn’t want Taylor’s messages. But then I got thinking about Taylor again, which meant imagining her bare breasts, maybe holding one hand underneath, cupping it forms below.

That was fortunately enough so I didn’t have to use up all my precum lube while stroking, and I shot several shots against the shower wall, this time with enough impact to splatter.

Again, something nagged at me after. I guess I’d have to check my phone sooner or later.

I chose later. I went to the office, where I kept my laptop, and ignored it as best I could.

A few hours later, I finished school work and my parents left to pick up Taylor. I played video games for “who knows how long” until I built another load needing release.

I went down the hall to my room, pulled my pants down around my ankles, and threw my shirt onto the floor. I pulled the underwear just under my swelling balls, the elastic keeping my balls tight.

I just scrolled past Taylor’s messages (there weren’t anymore, so I don’t know why I worried so much; sometimes I just build things in my head to be more than they are) and I found her photo. I could see her hard nipples poking through the black bra. As teens, I’d joked about her bras because she had to get them special ordered. It was never sexual, just brother teasing sis. In that picture, they looked tight and bouncy, but full enough I imagined them hanging while she was bent over, on her knees.

Then I imagined myself behind her and I could feel the euphoria about to hit. My cum shot up my chest. Three thick ropes pumped out as I closed my eyes and felt them land, wincing in ecstasy. I kept stroking, using the cum as lube, working up to a second coming, until I heard the unmistakeable sound of someone clearing their throat. I opened my eyes and saw a girl I’d never seen before: a beautiful Latina with curly hair and a tank top over her midriff, small breasts but some puffies definitely poking through. I’d soon learn that was Taylor’s roommate, and she was staying with us, too.