[Cozy On The Couch]
I sit between my brother and my mother on the couch as the less-than-interesting movie drags on halfway. It's a cold December and even with the heater, we all swear sweats under our blankets. My tank top lets my chest breath while my bra is on vacation. Bored and in a need of a little thrill, I begin touching myself under the blanket. I keep my eyes on the screen, my breathing carefully paced as to not arouse attention. My sweatpants give me plenty of room for both hands to work my secret deeds. It starts playfully at first, caressing my outer mound softly, running my hand through my unkempt pubic hair.
After a few minutes, I'm worked up enough to feel my face flush, the excitement of concealed masturbation throbbing my pulse in my neck. The longer both don't notice the, hornier I become. My slit weeps pre-cum, dragging my middle finger up and down my labia, smearing the vaginal secretions around my lips. My brother frowns at me, suspicious of me, yet none the wiser. Mom eats popcorn, sitting so close she elbows me when going for as bite almost every time.
The close quarters ignorance of my masturbatory efforts excites me more than I feel it should. I plunge my finger inside, almost gasping from the rush of pleasure. I bite my lip, fingering myself, hoping I don't get caught, fantasizing I do. One finger becomes two, two becomes three and I begin to squirm. "You okay?" asks my brother.
"Yeah." I respond in a far too breathy tone. His eyebrows shoot up, still unable to decipher my actions. I pick up speed, making up my mind and dedicated to getting off here, now. No bathroom breaks like usual. Right between my mom and brother. While I get lost in the swirling new reality, my facade slowly crumbles as a few itty-bitty moans escape me. My brother is now in full investigation mode, saying nothing in my peripheral, unable to fathom my commitment to my impending orgasm.
"You're real fidgety over there," says Mom, not taking her eyes off the TV.
"S-Sorry," my toes curling, my cunt spilling more juices, feeling I was going to be discovered at any moment. Vigorously violating myself on family movie night always pays off in the end, committed to the cum. I can smell my own pussy now, the heated fumes from my groin rising from my cover. I imp, wriggling about while I look around to see if I've been busted, which I have. Big brother has a hard on, using his snack bowl to shade his sizable girth, with not much success. Oh damn! Why does that turn me on?
He's actively ignoring me, or at least attempting to. I fantasize about seeing his dick, about him pulling it out and jerking off alongside me shamelessly. I visualize cum erupting from his tip and spilling over his knuckles. My asshole is completely sticky from my cunt leaking profusely. I want to cum. I'm going to cum. I dare myself to reach across the gap between us and jerk him off. God, I'm such a god-forsaken slut! As I find the courage to take the leap, I see my brother covertly rubbing the length of his shaft, wordlessly accompanying me in self-stimulation. Oh Jeez, I'm almost there.
I'm panting now, my audible pleasure more difficult to mask. I take a deep breath and abandon my own penetration, taking the dive into my brother's blanket and grasp his cock. Her jerks slightly at the intrusion, keeping his eyes straight forward as to not give anything away. His dick was so thick my thumb and fingers couldn't touch. My eyes go wide, my mouth goes wider. The sheer electricity of tightly holding his shaft brings me to the cliff. I don't jerk his, I can't. I become consumed in my own orgasm, my face contorting into an expression which could only be described as 'terrifying discovery'. The shock and surprise of grasping his cock wittingly in my hand, my other hand rubbing down my clit has me overcome. I want to tell him I'm cumming, to announce it, to scream it to the world. I'm too close. I don't care if I'm caught. I'm going to cum.
I belt out a prolonged whorish moan."What in the world has gotten into you?" demands Mom. Mom sits forward, ripping my blanket from me and exposing my aggressive fingering and my grip on her son.
"I'm cumming! I'm sorry! I'm cumming so hard, oh FUCK!" My pussy squirts, sprinkling the rug with my despicable juices. I lock eyes with my mother, unable to stop confessing my continuing climax over and over until I frost over in an orgasmic stupor. My brother prematurely ejaculates from my nymphomanic display, plastering his chest and belly, jizz covering my knuckles just how I fantasized.
"What the fuck, you two?" yells Mom. My body convulses, my cunt raw and sensitive, both my hands covered in female and ejaculate respectively. "Wait until your father hears about this. We just had this sofa cleaned."
"If you tell Dad, then I'll tell him you had me eat you out last night." Her eyes smoldered over in a devious leer. "You know you're never supposed to have me to yourself."
"You fucking brat..." She crossed her arms. With a heavy sigh, she rolled her eyes. "Clean this shit up. Now!"
***
[Snoozy]
She was reluctant, she always was. Our dynamic was a tangle of near-misses, squandered opportunity and misunderstandings. I don't know how it started in me or when it started in her but something was dark and dormant: a sleeping dragon, made all the more dangerous by considering it a myth or fantasy. Staying at home after you graduate is not what one does when one wants to join the great wide world. College was supposed to be my destiny, not another nine months living across the hall from your painfully single mother. Yet I, living up to the dumb blonde stereotype with flying colors, did just that.
Only applying to one college, feeling in my gut that any other applications would simply jinx the process, I received my rejection letter like a death sentence. Of course drama ensued: the weeping, the self pity the week-long anti-establishment rhetoric that borderlines on premeditated domestic terrorism. I didn't hate my home life, just that I wasn't ready for more, denied a departure by an invisible hand.
It first happened while I was sleeping, unaware of the action perpetrated in my own bedroom. Legality wasn't an issue, it was her house and I was eighteen now. The issue was morality; the silent justification of one you'd never expect to do what she did. At first I thought it was just harmless fawning, the innocent clinging of a mother in her last days of my residency.
I woke up one night, my mother in my chair by my bedside. I understandably considered the intruder simply a doting mother, watching me as I slept as she's done over the years, to which I've excused. It was a bit unsettling but its not as if I could shun her, or even get mad. The frequency increased as the weeks went on, less disturbing each time until I was used to it. Then suspicion set in, secretly wondering if snooping was being committed, pardoned by her flimsy excuse. So I stayed up. Well I fell asleep, but then I woke, feigning sleep before her scheduled entrance between midnight and 2am.
The huffing, the grumbled moans, the climactic squeak that transpired during each visit before the obligatory kiss upon my sleeping head before leaving. I tried to piece it together, no visuals to confirm even my most wild theories. Then I began to peek.
With squinted eyes, through the darkness, I deduced what she was up to: masturbation. My sweet, church-going mother would now tip-toe her sway into my room a few nights a week to rub one out; always staying quiet as to not wake me as she stared at my sleeping form to get off. What a sleep creep! Now, I'm a pretty girl, former high school cheer squad, photogenic; breasts appropriate yet large for my height. But to warrant this type of attention from my mother was unfathomable. I mean, I may be a dumb nineteen-year-old blonde but I know its not lesbian act if its your mom. It's like, the exception or something, it's gotta be, cause would would that make me? I let her finish, every night, never breaking her fantasy and starting some heavy-handed confrontation that would make her undoubtedly cry. I've been accused of being vein on occasion, but I found enjoyment in the accusation, simply for the attention, not that I was ever starved for it to begin with.
She'd come in, take about ten minutes or so, squeak, kiss my head, then depart. It was harmless, this is, until I became proactive in her habit. As winter descended, that December where we would decide to be closer than family, I cranked up the heater, my devious excuse for not having to wear extra layers. I said goodnight, doubling down on the appreciation for the heating bill I did not have to pay for, then wriggled into bed, mindful to remove my shirt before turning out the light. I was so excited to see if shed take the bait that couldn't fall asleep. She entered at a quarter to One, my chair already positioned for her viewing pleasure. She began and about two minutes in, I rolled over, kicking off my blanket so she could see my bare lithe form. Peeking through my eyelashes, I could see she was thoroughly enjoying herself, more animated in her masturbatory efforts. I held back my smile, pretending to sleep with the best of my abilities until she finished. I could just barely make out the one hand on her mouth, stiffing her moans; the other, violently vibrating under her white sweat pants.
