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This follows immediately on from the previous chapter, at a teenage girl's birthday sleepover. Once again, there are a fair few elements that test credibility, so don't sweat the details and let the scenario take you.
I left my best friend Kirsty's house feeling a foot taller than I went in. I was frazzled, exhausted, covered in sweat, still slightly tipsy and wearing thoroughly wrinkled clothing… but underneath that clothing, I had a nubile young body to die for, the crowning glory being the most stunning, hairless pussy on the planet. With a sweet little cunt like this, nobody could turn me down. No target was out of my reach, be it man, woman, child or livestock. I almost believed that, if I flashed my vag at the traffic lights, they would have bent down and found some way to service me.
And on top of everything else, the feeling in the suddenly naked flesh between my legs seemed to be heightened a thousandfold. The touch of my panties on it was enough to set me going, and I wondered if I would ever be dry again. Not that this bothered me unduly; I wanted to be moist and ready for sex whenever, because from now on, I would be having it a lot more. Besides, I didn’t feel like juicing up was dirty any more. With my smooth pussy, it would always be slick and spicy, and a quick rinse was all it would take to clean out if it ever seemed like it might grow stale.
My dad grinned to see me so upbeat, commenting on how I must have had a good time. He had no idea. Still, my behaviour on the way home showed him beyond a shadow of a doubt that I was raring to go… for something. His grin widened for a while, but was then replaced by a look of confusion. He could detect instinctively that something was different, but not what. My aroma of recent sex and current arousal was part of it, but I kept rubbing my legs together to try and subtly get at the pleasure-inducing nub, and every time I stretched out my tiredness, my rock-hard nipples pressed through the thin fabric of my summer dress.
Whether he knew about it, though, my aura was having an effect on him: when I glanced down, daddy’s trousers were visibly tenting. This should have disturbed me, but instead it made me feel all the better. Even someone who had so many reasons – social, biological, legal, emotional – to not be affected could still not resist the powers of the brand new Sex Goddess within me. Maybe I would take pity on him and give him some relief… later.
The fact is that I was operating on zero sleep in about 24 hours though, and a fair amount of exercise – of all sorts – during that period had left me pretty much devoid of energy. In the few minutes it took to get home, I practically nodded off entirely. (Did I just dream it, or did I feel my dad’s hand sliding up my inner thigh as I sat there seemingly unconscious in the passenger seat?)
As soon as I stumbled through the door, I grabbed a towel and headed straight for the shower, partly to wake me up and partly because I bloody needed it! All kinds of nastiness coated my skin, not just from a couple of hours of copulation, but everything that had come before – beer and fizzy drinks and pizza grease and dust and badly applied make-up, and all the other accoutrements of a teen girls’ sleepover.
And of course I took the time to strum my clit while I was in there. The warm water rolling down my face, through my hair, over my small but well-shaped breasts, down my belly and onto my bare pussy felt divine. I wondered if I might, in my new sensitized state, climax just from the massage of that liquid, but I was not willing to wait and see. I had tasted bliss, and I wanted it again and again. My fingers pumped my cunt as the water splashed, and my moans and gasps echoed around the bathroom.
I spent quite a long time in there, but I didn’t think it would be remarked upon especially. It was still fairly early in the morning, so they would all be in bed except my dad, and in fact he might well be tucked up trying to work through jet-lag. Besides, I had often spent a long time showering, since I was especially careful to wash all trace of stain from my unruly bush. I was paranoid that smells would cling to it, so I often went through it several times with soap and water, just to be sure. Now that it was gone, cleaning was not much more than a rinse, so I had plenty of time for what had lain beneath.
With another strenuous workout during my ablutions, I was ready to hit the sack. I pushed the door of my room to, shucked off my towel, and lay down… but I could not resist a quick feel, and that got the whole cycle started again. A feel became a rub, a rub became a steady stroke, and I was riding my hand to yet another shattering orgasm. I never wanted to stop.


I woke up some time later, completely naked, lying face up on top of my duvet, my skin exposed to the open air. My knees were apart, the soles of my feet together, and my right hand rested just below my belly button. It slowly dawned on me that I must have been masturbating right up until the last moment of awareness, and nodded off, lulled by the post-orgasmic bliss.
I moved my hand, my fingertips brushed the smoothly, ever-so-slightly clammy flesh of my sex, and I was off again. My feet parted, and my fingers began their rubbing motions.
Then I looked to my left, where I had hung a full-length mirror against the wall. It was placed very carefully so that, from my bed, I could look through the mirror, over to another mirror on my makeup table, and through that to my bedroom door. From my bed, if the door was open, I could see whether anyone was approaching down the hallway. This had reassured me a great deal on many occasions: you don’t know paranoia until you are a self-conscious teenage girl, in a house with two teenage boys, my brothers Ricky and Simon. I often left my door open even while conducting private activities, because I would rather see what is coming than have the flimsy protection of a door that anyone could open and march through at any time.
Well, the door was open now – it must have fallen open, as it sometimes did, because I felt sure I remembered closing it before going to bed – and there was someone there. It was my 15-year-old brother, Ricky, and he was looking at me. Through the narrow gap between the door and frame, between the hinges, he could see my naked body, and now that I had opened my legs, he had a perfect view of my freshly shaved pussy.
And he was touching himself. Through his baggy shorts, he was rubbing the rapidly tenting bulge at his crotch, while staring at me. Had he done this before? Was it deliberate, or sheer chance that he had wandered over here and spotted me? These thought disturbed me but, to my shock, they also excited me. The illicit thrill of being watched stoked the heat within me. And I thought, “Well, if he is going to look at me, let’s give him something to watch.” I dropped my right calf off the edge of the bed, making my crotch even more open to view, and began rubbing in earnest.
Ricky appeared totally oblivious to the fact that, with my head tilted off to the left, I had a perfect reflected view of him as I touched myself. If he had, he certainly would never have done what he did next: after a quick glance down the hall, he reached under the elasticated waistband of his shorts, and pulled out his penis!
I stifled a gasp at his audacity, turning it into a moan of pleasure. Now that I saw it, it was a decent size. I can’t say that I had seen many, but I had been on the internet, so I had at least something to compare it to, and he certainly had nothing to be ashamed of… except possibly what he was doing with it. With the bottom on his palm, fingers wrapped around, he was rubbing up and down, jerking to his own sister.
And she was jerking herself too, to the sight of him. I knew I should feel ashamed, but the forbiddenness of it only excited me more. I shifted, and he almost bolted, which made me smile. Then I rolled over onto my left side. Now I could look straight forward and catch the full reflected lewdness. But what was his view? Looking up towards my lower body, all he could now see was my shapely bum and hips, which are admittedly one feature I am most proud of. With my left hand, I pulled up my left bum cheek, the better to expose my vag and puckered butthole, and reached between my legs with my right hand to keep the strumming going. He could have stared straight up my anal canal from there, which was an astonishingly dirty thought that made me hum with surprise and arousal.
We kept this pose for a couple of minutes, our hands moving feverishly on our respective reproductive organs. Finally, I felt the tide rising, and it seemed like he was approaching the end himself. I thought about stopping, marching over there and interrupting him, literally, with his pants down. It would have been hilarious, but too cruel. Now that I knew the joys of orgasm, I couldn’t deny them so viciously to another. Besides, I wanted release for myself too, and badly.
Instead, I shifted again, propping myself up on pillows against the headboard. He could now see my full body, from my dainty feet propped up either side, to my glistening cleft, squeezing and stretching under my ministrations, up my belly to my small but perky teenage breasts, one petite nipple being rolled around between my left thumb and forefinger, and even to my face, mouth open, gasping with need. I risked a couple of glances between the hinges, and thought I could detect a hint of movement, but only because I already knew it was there. Far more evident were his gasps and sighs, and even the occasional wet slap of his dick in his palm. I don’t know how he could possibly have thought he could go undetected, especially since he could presumably hear the same from me.
Then I heard a gasped “Nnnggg!” and turned my head just in time to see a spray of thick liquid emerge from the end of his penis. That tipped me over the edge, and I came, long and hard. A little bit of clear liquid emerged from my own loins, to my surprise, soaking my fingers.
“Oh, fuuuck YEE-EE-EESSS!” I cried, louder than I had intended, riding the orgasmic high, and as Ricky gasped, he fired another even larger spurt at my door.
He started to remove something from his pocket, and I leaped out of bed and rushed for the door. As I rounded it, I saw him reach the end of the hallway, clutching his shorts. Lying on the ground was a small bundle of tissues.
I opened my door fully (with my dry left hand) and looked at the thick, white, gloopy stuff sprayed across the wood panelling, mute evidence of the animal magnetism of my pulsing, bare, orgasmic vagina. At least he had managed to turn aside from the hinge before shooting his load; that would have been a nuisance to clean up.
I picked up the tissues, and was just about to begin wiping away Ricky’s mess, when a thought occurred to me. Instead, I went over to my laundry basket and picked out a pair of my used underwear. It was one of the frillier pieces, worn on a whim earlier that week (there was no way I had any thought that it would be seen, after all). Using the underwear, I mopped up the sperm of my brother, making sure to get a nice coating on the crotch. Anyone who saw them now, or for the next few days, would be easy to convince that he had been up to no good. I snapped a couple of pics on my phone, and consigned them carefully to the back of a locked drawer.
Only three or four days ago, such deviousness would have been beyond me. I was actively contemplating blackmail! Now, though, I was Queen of the World, resplendent in the crown jewels given to me by nature and a high-tech shaver, and nothing I did to get what I wanted could possibly be illegitimate.


2017-12-29 06:07:36
Hmmm, sexy blackmail, I like where this is going. The brother is in for a some sexy suffering

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