I did.
“Spread ’em out, Mason!”
I spread my fingertips.
“Thumb, too!”
Oh, oh, wow. That was a challenge, but she talked me through it. The really hard part was the knuckle, but she knew just how to take that, said she’d done it before. But instead of pumping my…holy shit…my entire fucking fist into and out of Brooke’s engorged vagina, she had me just hold it there, letting her adjust around the girth.
I felt her hand clasp around my cock, her other hand still buried two fingers deep inside me.
“Alright, pull your hand out, now, do it quickly, too,” she instructed.
Jesus, her vagina felt like an airtight tube, well as I had it plugged. Felt like I was vacuuming out her insides as I ripped my hand out of her pussy. She threw her head back and screamed, “Oh fuck, yes!”
Then, Blair dropped her hips, and I felt gaping moist walls shudder and slowly begin to close around the girth of my cock. Holy shit. My cock was buried down to the hilt inside her pussy, just, she’d used a slightly different method that Sophie had.
I tried to pump my hips forward.
“Don’t move,” she said. Her face peered around and grinned, Cheshire cat. There was a wet slurp of lube. It cooled my spread loins, and she began working her fingers, not quite in and out, but more really massaging them into the button that I never even knew was inside me.
“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck…Oh, my God…That’s too much…Oh, oh, oh, oh…ugh!” That wasn’t Blair. That was me. Her violations were incredible. Humiliating, intrusive, but also incredible.
She had me moaning and panting and sweating and just straight up being, what she called, her, “Fuck slut.” Crass as that was, in the moment, I was totally into it.
Incredible things happened to my cock, too. My balls ached deeper than they ever had before. It felt simultaneously like I’d been kicked in them and that they were right on the threshold of a burgeoning orgasm.
Precum, precum, precum, like nobody’s business. Even buried up in Blair’s sleeve, I could feel the precum leaking.
Then–Oh My Fucking God.–my toes curled. A flood burst. I screamed like a girl, shook, squirmed, orgasmed like I’d never had in my life. White hot specks in my vision. Fade to black.
Tendril after tendril. Hot watery cum. Long splashes of it. I came and I came and I came right up Blair’s womb. She wasn’t getting much out of this until then but when I came, she squealed to match me, “Give me a baby, Mason!”
Christ! I gave her a million.
Sweating. Panting. Overcome with lust and debasement and shame and wet sloppy cum dripping between my thighs, cum that had traveled from the farthest depths of Blair’s vagina.
She leaned back and smiled, her two fingers still up my ass. “Do you want more?”
“I–”
I don’t even know why she asked. She didn’t wait for an answer, and while keeping me in a constant state of shuddering over sensitizations, she coaxed every last drop from my balls until I swear that they were raisins, and still she kept bringing me to orgasm, over and over again.
By the time she was done, I couldn’t move. My legs were jelly. My balls ached into my stomach. And even the air conditioner blowing against my cock was too much stimulation. She slipped back into her frock, and scooched back over into the driver’s seat.
I felt a tender kiss on my cheek.
“I thought you didn’t like kissing?” I huffed and puffed.
“Just one,” she said, and put the car into drive.
I lolled my head over just in time to see our semi-buddy getting farther away. Toot, toot. He honked his horn after us as we left.
“I can’t feel my legs, Blair.”
She reached over and grabbed my hand, rubbing her thumb over it. “We can just cruise for a bit.”
And we did, me, naked as the day I was born, reeling after the violations, and sticky with dried cum. I looked over at her. Her thighs writhed uncomfortably as she drove, and surely she was leaking something fierce under there as much as she’d drained me.
***************************************
“So, suffice it to say, Brooke, anal sex was the weirdest damn thing of my life.” I really consider how normalized all this sex stuff is becoming to me. Logically, the act and uttering that sentence to my sister should be more equal in weirdness–but they are not.
Anal sex wins handily. With Brooke, the real Brooke not that Puritan cunt, I don’t have the shame that I should.
Sis blows into my ear. “So? You ready for a cock, now, daddy-o?”
She’s teasing, but I really ponder the question seriously. “…I don’t think I would hate it, Brooke, like if I pretended it was Blair’s or Sophie’s or your fingers all over again, but also, I don’t think I’d like it, either.”
“Christ, that bitch is devious” is my sister’s reply. She’s not joking.
Bzz, bzz. Bzz, bzz. Sis’s pocket vibrates. She pulls out her phone and chuckles.
She flips it around so I can read the last texts. Earlier it seems, Sis sent an absolutely scathing message to Blair for the Dixie cup thing. Oddly, Brooke didn’t seem to mind the rest of the story. And Blair just sent back. ‘I know, I know. Don’t tell Sophie!!! Pls!!!! She won’t forgive me for doin that to him. Like, whatever you want, srsly.’
Huh. I peek beyond Brooke.
Outside, I can tell that a pinkish twilight has replaced the sky, and not even my cheap curtains can fully stain that neon blaze. I brush Brooke’s phone to the side and kiss her, really kiss her.
She kisses me back. All I see is red, impassioned.
Right after, Brooke looks around on the nightstand and over on my desk. “You got any tissues?”
“Uh, yeah.” I roll across her and pull open a drawer on the nightstand, “I got a box a Kleenex in there.”
She pulls a few out, reaches down between her legs, and squirms around. “What? Plugging my pussy.”
Oh, makes sense. Then she crawls out of my bed, adjusts the tissues a bit, and I can tell she’s leaving. Brian will wonder where she went, I suppose.
She has her life.
But as she grabs her Muriel onesie off the nightstand, I reach out and clasp her arm. “Brooke, I–I don’t need you to be my lover or whatever. I just need…” The words come rough. “…when you’re around, just don’t be that stranger, okay?”
“Mason, I can’t–”
I cut her off. “We don’t don’t need to fuck; we just don’t need to be distant. I mean it. Hate me, or love me; I can’t do lukewarm.”
She forces a smile and stares somewhere far away. She speaks. Her words stutter at first, but then she’s rambling away at full steam. “He bought us a house, twenty percent down on the mortgage. Loose HOA, just needs me to pull in the trash cans on Tuesdays or we get a fine, and no sagebrush in the gardens, that kind of thing. The neighbor is Tina, and she has two sons: Terry and Ramone, two different fathers. She helped me light our citronella candles last barbecue. Ted, the navy veteran from the pink house on the corner, made applesauce ribs on his smoker that night.”
She rubs her arm. “I don’t hate any of that, Mason. Makes me feel good, makes me feel like I’m a productive part of all of it.”
“I’m happy for you.” My smile is forced, but I do really try.
She tugs at her sweater. “I just fucking hate cardigans.” That’s what she says as she turns and leaves my bedroom, closing the door so quickly, it fans a breeze across my bare sticky skin.
That keeps happening: Me, sticky and naked, and them, gone. I can’t decide if I’m incredibly lucky with the women in my life or just some sorry schmuck. Sex is good, but it’s not that good, I don’t think. I towel off another bout of secret sex and curl around the dissipating heat of my sister’s body.
The next day:
“Where’d you pack my razor?” I hear Brian’s voice from the other room.
“It’s in the mesh pouch of your blue suitcase,” Brooke replies.
“Yeah, because that’s such an obvious spot for it. You knew that me and your dad are going out to the range this morning. I swear, you just want me to go around grungy. Actually, why did you even pack it up? It was fine where it was in the bathroom.”
“I’m sorry, I should have asked. I just thought that since we’re heading out this afternoon that I’d get things around and–”
“You’ll have plenty of time to pack the car after I’m out. Figure it out. Your job’s not that hard.”
“My job?”
“You really want to get into this now at your parents’ house?” I hear a suitcase unzip and plastic clutter being rifled through. “Give me a kiss.” A pause, a wet smack. “I love you. Just try to be more considerate next time, okay? We’re in this together; just meet me halfway.”
Maybe ten minutes later, a freshly shaved Brian strolls up to my open bedroom door, a bag of golf clubs clattering around behind him. Knock, knock. He raps on the doorframe twice and smiles–layers and layers of teeth, all white to the point of being uncanny.
“Hey, bud,” he greets me, “just wanted to stop by and say, I had a lot of fun hanging out with you this weekend, and just in case I don’t see you before we take off, remember: If you’re ever up in Mulberry just swing on by. Our door’s always open to you, bud.”
I close the defensive playbook that I’m studying and nod back at him. “I’ll keep that in mind, bud.”
He gets a weird look about his face, but just widens his mouth into a bigger smile to hide it, raps twice on the threshold–I guess some kind of nervous tick–, and leaves. His clubs rattle on down the hall.
Somehow, the doorway doesn’t feel any less empty now that he’s gone, like the same amount of substance fills the air whether or not he’s there.
I wait until I hear Dad’s Silverado crunching down the driveway, and then I hop to my feet, and plod down to Brian’s fiance’s room. Yeah, okay, it’s Brooke’s room. But still, fuck that guy.
Her door’s closed, so I knock. Brooke’s voice calls out, “Just a minute!”
“It’s me,” I say.
“Oh, yeah, you can come in.”
As I enter, I see that she’s sitting in front of her vanity in that old wooden kitchen chair; her mouth’s stalled in an “O” face while she pencils something onto her eyebrows. Her back is bare save for the plain white strap of an uninspired bra. Her thighs are covered by a loose pair of, what have to be, Brian’s gym shorts. Her hair, well, it’s a mess, frazzled in every direction.
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