Power

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Blonde

Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains – no matter how improbable – must be the truth.

Sherlock Holmes

Foreplay: This is something new for me, so my apologies if it doesn’t work for you. You have the choice of endings – either one or the other takes place, not both of them. Either sister or mother takes Brendan’s virginity – its up to you.

It could have happened on any street, in any town and in any country, indeed I was sure that it often did – perhaps much more than was reported to local cops. OK, you read about it in the local press and sometimes, if serious enough, in the national redtop newspapers. This time however it happened in my home town and on a street where I was biking home from my mate’s house, early evening on a mild October day.

An elderly lady, laden with two carrier bags full of food, was making her way slowly towards the bus stop when two young lads stopped her, asking her if she knew the time – I know this from what she told me later. Of course it was an excuse. They started pushing her, making her drop her bags then they demanded her purse – containing her weekly pension, she told me – hitting her as she stubbornly refused.

I dropped my bike and quickly ran to help her. The kids – only 11 or 12 years old I guess – ran off, but not before pushing her roughly to the ground. I had the choice of chasing the two on my bike but they darted up a narrow alley between two shops. I decided to help the old lady, easing her up to sit then stand, trying my hardest to console her and check she was OK.

“Thank you very much,” she said. “All the money I possess is in my purse.” It was then she explained about drawing her meagre weekly pension from the in-store ATM, money that would pay her bills, her gas and electricity tokens, her other necessities for the week ahead. She was in shock, clinging to my arm until her breathing returned to normal.

“It was all I could do,” I said, “It’s a pity they ran off so quickly, though I was more concerned that you had been hurt.”

“Thankfully only my dignity,” she replied, “And I really must repay you.” She pulled her purse from her zipped coat pocket, opening it and offering me a £10 note.”

“That’s very kind of you,” I said, “But you need it more than me.” That was true, for even though I wasn’t working and myself relied on social security job seeker handouts, she needed her food, heat and other basics.

She probably looked older than she was. Age-wizened face, hair above her lip and on her chin, an ugly blackhead, dark brown half rotted teeth, shabby worn out clothes and shoes and stooped forward from arthritis told a story of a hard, poor life probably home alone in a small, dingy apartment.

I picked up my bike and her two laden carrier bags and walked with her to where the bus would take her home. We chatted for a short while and as the bus appeared in the the distance she offered me money again. I politely refused.

“But I must give you a gift for your selflessness and kindness,” she insisted, then before I had chance to react she grabbed my balls through my pants with one hand and covered my eyes with the other. “Power,” she said simply, then let go, picked up her bags and motioned the bus to stop.

“What …?” I began to say but by the time I’d recovered from the flash of crippling pain she had mounted the bus and was on her way. ‘What a bitch,’ I thought, ‘What a way to repay my kindness.’ For an old lady, she had a grip like a Stillson wrench.

I mounted my bike carefully, the pain slowly ebbing away, wondering afterwards why the lady hadn’t shopped earlier when more people would have been around. Fortunately the pain didn’t last and by the time I was a few streets nearer home the pain was gone. What replaced it though was a kind of … what? A kind of gentle warmth, a trickle of odd pulses, vibrations; hell it felt like … like … like my sister’s vibrator that she’d left carelessly in the bathroom one day. I left it alone thinking she’d remember exactly where she’d placed it next to her panties. Panties? Oh yes, my sister is an ace untidy bitch. Luckily for me, oh yes, despite mum’s cajoling, big sister Vanessa either leaves stuff scattered on her room carpet or bra, panties and wet towels strewn on the bathroom floor tiles until mum shifts them. My resistance was weak that day and after all of 15 seconds I picked up vibrator and panties.

“You have a brother and a father,” mum preached tirelessly and pointlessly because Vanessa rarely listened. “Do you want your panties soaked in cum?” Mum never took any time to come to the point – she was as blunt as a lump of putty. Sexual terminology was never spared; if the phrase “soaked in cum” sufficed then mum knew there was no confusion in Vanessa’s mind. Nor did mum skip telling Vanessa that she’d put her vibrator away in her bedside drawer where it belonged.

“As long as that’s the closest they get to me, I don’t care,” big sister would answer, pendik escort “And don’t you ever use yours in the shower?” was Vanessa’s one time answer before a very sarcastic reply came from mum’s lips. That was the last time I ever saw that piece of energised, polished plastic in the bathroom.

It was only then I realised I’d been barely half concentrating on riding my bike safely through the streets home. Luckily the streets were quiet on that now chilling October evening. Hell, I was rock solid. If my cock had been able to steer it would have done. Past sunset and autumn evenings soon cooled but I was feeling a warmth radiating from my groin. Had that old woman squeezed so hard as to induce a reddening? I didn’t know, nor could I get my sister’s scent – the imagined scent in my nostrils – to disappear. My brain had honed in on it and memories of the combination of sis’s vibrator and my nose glued to that small, fantastically scented piece of gusset cotton just would not go away.

A dog running into the road switched off my auto pilot. The sudden need to swerve and brake brought me back to reality. Thankfully by the time I reached home my love pole was in its normal state of rest.

“Oh, you’re back,” was Nessie’s greeting. Vanessa hated being nick-named after the famous Scottish creature.

“Chill, sis,” I snarled, looking her straight in her eyes, “Go to your room and frig yourself.”

“Now you two,” said mum, “Why can’t you be friends for at least five minutes?”

“With him?” snarled Vanessa, “Wannabe ruler of the world?” referring to my passion for world dominance video games. “Anyway, I think I will go upstairs, out of his way.”

I faced up to her again, nose almost against nose, “Yes, go frig yourself silly and don’t forget to leave your sopping wet panties in the bathroom like you always do.”

“Fuck you,” she retorted, middle finger raised.

“Any time you want. I’ll be up later. Call me before the Rabbit makes you cum and just see how this,” I snarled back, extending my hands to exaggerate my size, “Works far better than a piece of fucking plastic. There was an odd look in her eyes as she turned towards the door. Then there was peace again.

OK, I probably earned the mini lecture from mum. Dad said nothing, his mind occupied with solving the Daily Trumpet crossword. First he read the sport reports, then the general news, then he did the crossword – every day convinced he had solved it quicker than the day before. Never did he intervene regardless of the sexual tones of the discussion.

“Mum,” I protested, “I’m late because I saved an old lady from being mugged.” And I related the story just as I have done for you.

“Vanessa couldn’t have known that,” she tried to explain. “You had no need to snap at her and no need to be vulgar. What your sister does in the privacy of her own bedroom is out of any discussions.”

“Tell her not to leave temptation in my way then. What I see with my eyes (I pointed to them to emphasise what I’d said) would stoke the passion of any hot blooded 20 year old.” A flush passed over her face. Instead of being annoyed she was, I thought, beginning to see my point. “You must agree,” I added, still looking straight at mum, “That it’s OK for me to pick her panties up and let the scent turn me on. I mean, if you were to leave yours there … mmmm, that would be an extra treat.”

“Yes,” she agreed – somewhat unexpectedly, “We’ve always been open with things. I can see your point.”

Just then I felt the same comforting warmth in my groin. I played on a hunch. Still looking straight at her even more flushed face I added, “Why not now, while you remember? It might make you feel VERY horny, ready for dad.”

“Maybe later,” she confided In a hushed tone, “Thanks for the idea.”

“Bren,” came the shout a full ten minutes later. “Come up here will you, please, I’m sorry.” Only Nessie called me Bren, to others I was Brendan except for the odd time someone chose to shorten my name. Mum apparently had a fascination for distance runners on the back of granddad’s own love of running. “I could have been a second Brendan Foster,” he often told her, with increasingly tall tales about his school athletic achievements. I’d heard them too.

“Why?” I shouted back up the stairs, “You’re just a bitch. You didn’t ask me WHY I was late”

“Bren … PLEASE,” she hollered back, PLEASE, BREN.” The cry was woeful, desperate even.

“I’m watching the news on the telly.” I answered, the only excuse I could muster.

“Oh Bren,” she pleaded, almost tearfully, “You never watch the news. Please. I need you.”

I could almost sense the tears slowly leaking from her eyes.

“You’d better go up,” said mum, “She was rather rude to you earlier. Perhaps she’s too embarrassed to apologise in front of dad and me.”

“So,” I said, entering her room without the usual knock, “You want to apologise?” She was sat, knees bent, maltepe escort hands clasped. She straightened her legs right after she’d realised that her Minnie Mouse briefs were on the floor, as was her plastic Rabbit. I’d seen just more than a brief glimpse of her puss.

“Minnie Mouse?” I queried.

“New set of five, biggest kids size – no tax, couldn’t resist them,” she replied with a cheeky smile. So hard-case big sister had a soft side? Yes, sometimes. Despite our arguing there had been mad half-hours when we’d play wrestled, sometimes with her still in short hockey skirt and dark blue panties. I always let her win, sat triumphant astraddle me. Vanessa had always been slim, almost anorexic. Small titties didn’t seem to bother her – she was very aware of her sexuality. Her petite size meant zero-rated children’s clothes sometimes fit her – 20% instant discount.

“I’m sorry,” she offered. There was just a trace of teardrop on her cheek. “That fucking thing won’t fucking work. Can you have a look at it please?”

“The Rabbit? Me? You want me to get your frig-off plastic working?”

“Yes, please. It was working but it was real slow. I got new batteries but now it won’t work at all. ”

“Just let me get my head round this; you want me, your brother, to get this piece of cheap plastic working after it’s been inside you.”

“Please,” pouted Vanessa with her little girl lost face. “It doesn’t go right inside and I haven’t got anything nasty in there. Oh, and it cost fifty quid so it’s not cheap.” I picked it up. This was similar to, but not the same as the one left in the bathroom. It looked quite solid, heavy plastic with a curious gel-like contoured end. It had a flexible rounded notch and I looked it with some puzzlement.

“Are you going to fix it or what?”

“OK,” I said, looking straight at her again, “But if I fix it I’m curious what all this extra bit does. You’ll show me.”

Vanessa had an odd look as if considering my request. “OK, it’s a deal,” she said, very quietly. We have a word here where I live, it’s ‘gobsmacked’ – I was dumbfounded, totally at a loss what to say. I unscrewed the battery cover and slid two long-life batteries out. Peering inside I spotted a lump of fluff or lint that was acting as an insulator. I fished it out and replaced the batteries. Hell, just touching the switch brought the thing to life. “It must have come off your bed,” I smiled, passing her the fluff, “Or your belly button.”

Vanessa took the fuck machine off me, adjusting the power. “It was on the ‘omygod’ setting,” she said, pointing to three push buttons embossed 1,2,3. “The ohmygod is for when I’m totally pissed off.”

“So what about boyfriend

7,” I asked.

“At least I’ve got a boyfriend,” she chirped, “But they all want the same.” She paused for a few moments, “Well … I had a boyfriend. We split. They all want big tits to grab and to fuck me as fast as they can.” Did she need to tell her brother? She thought not but couldn’t help it. It all seemed to gush out. “When did you last fuck?”

“I’m … er … last Easter,” I lied.

“So what makes you think you can fuck me?”

“I was joking. Anyway I fixed your plastic fuck buddy, you promised … ”

“I think you’re just curious,” answered Vanessa, “You haven’t seen a girl do it, have you? You spend all your time on the Game Box.”

I looked at her squarely face to face, “You will show me.” It was as if her eyes glazed over. She held up the Rabbit, “This part here is for my clit. Sometimes it’s better than fingers, sometimes not, but I feel I need it now. Watch.” She shuffled and laid back. Her skirt ruffled up leaving a neatly trimmed line of pubic hair just topping her valley. OK, she probably wasn’t quite up to date for there was a little stubble, but I could live with that. My god, she was showing me what I’d only dreamed about. “I assume that you know what a clit is?” she asked.

“I’m not sure,” I confessed. I’d had French kisses, explored under a girl’s bra and had my fingers inside panties, but otherwise I was clueless.

“Oh brother,” she murmured, “You really do spend your life playing video games, don’t you. Watch.” She parted her legs and inserted the gel-like bulbous head just inside her. With the fingers of her other hand she eased open the skin fold above the entrance of her cave. “Here, touch.”

“Like this?” I said. The little button stuck out from the fold. It was soft but firm and Vanessa shivered from my light touch.

“Yes, just there and very lightly, but first watch this,” Vanessa continued, moving the small extra bit of plastic gel to touch where my finger was. She switched to the lowest setting. The nub of plastic gel fit snugly against her clit, pushing my finger away. She withdrew the bulbous head from inside her and I could see it was wet. Reinserting carefully, steadily she moved the Rabbit around, teasing then releasing, teasing and releasing. Her eyes closed and kartal escort her lips parted as the vibrations sped pleasure ripples to her brain and back. “Now you try, just copy what I did.”

I’d lived in the same house as Vanessa for most of my 20 years, save the 6 months or so that she’d moved in with an ex. Never before had she let me see her like this, hell she almost cried ‘rape’ one time I’d accidentally caught her just getting out of the shower. What had changed? All I’d said to her was … what? Then I remembered the look on her face as I’d told her ‘go frig yourself’ and ‘call me before the Rabbit makes you cum’. The old woman had insisted she repaid my help … but surely not THIS kind of power, to make someone obey me without realising or caring. Was the fluff/ lint whatever done on purpose or was it just a coincidence? The warmth in my groin was growing again and I was hard; rock hard.

“Mmmm, yes. Just like that.” Vanessa had a look of intense concentration on her face. “Press the next button,” she said, and I did. The Rabbit just purred louder, giving Vanessa even more pleasure. She pushed her sweater up, uncovering a pair of small, cone like tits. I could feel my heart beating faster and my cock straining in my underpants. Vanessa lightly stroked an already aroused nipple. Curiously her overly pink nipples seemed far too big and plump atop such small titties; did smaller breasted women have plumper nipples to compensate? The brown circles around them stood out against the paleness of her breasts as if they were targets to aim for. She pinched the nipple, pulled it, tweaked it, raising her butt and stretching her legs as she did so. Then she attacked the other in like manner, breathing heavily, almost panting. Her mouth opened in an ‘oh’ circle as she drew in sharp breaths.

I must have moved the Rabbit out of position for she opened her eyes and told me so, “You must show me properly,” I said, and she did. Moving my hand and so removing the Rabbit she switched it off.

“OK, look carefully,” she said, opening her legs wider, parting the folds of her tight labia and introducing me to a front row seat of the “This is my clit” show. It was bigger, pinker, much more moist. “Now circle your finger real slow.” I prodded but couldn’t get it just right. “Have you licked a girl out?” she enquired.

“No,” I answered, shaking my head. Hell, I’d wanted to do the same as other guys but never had the nerve to ask.

“Do you want to learn?”

My head nodded faster than the Churchill dog on a bumpy road, “Sure.”

Vanessa’s patience was remarkable. I soon learned that my tongue was much more sensitive than a fingertip and much more effective at pleasing her clit. OK, the stubble scratched a little but it was OK – very OK. Soon she was writhing about and then, all of a sudden, she let out a muted scream.

“Oh … my … god … ” she said after the waves of pleasure finally died down. “That was awesome – the best cum I’ve had for months – and all without finishing off with my plastic pet. You’re a quick learner and you can lick me out any time you want.”

“My pleasure,” I said, smiling. “But why the sudden change of heart. I mean, up to this evening I’ve been public enemy number one?”

Sis laughed a nervous laugh and furrowed her brow, “You know it just came to me that I’d been a snappy bitch. I’ve had an arsehole of a day at work and when I tried to get some comfort from my pet the damned thing wouldn’t work.”

“But why call me?”

She furrowed her brow again. “That’s a real puzzle and I don’t really know. I guess I was so horny and you’re so good at fixing things. Anyway you did damned good. Thank you.” She moved forward to kiss me, topless as at some point she’d taken her sweater off … maybe while I was licking her out and she was tormenting her tits. The kiss lingered and she moved a hand down to unzip me, “Wow, I guess I did that!” she added, grinning like a cheeky kid, “I’d better fix it.”

I must admit I’d have been happy for my sister to take my virginity there and then, but perhaps the old woman’s magic didn’t stretch to that.

“Hmmm, you’re not too bad at kissing but there’s always room to improve.” Was that some kind of compliment or a mild complaint? Vanessa returned to the kiss, her lips very soft and moist, some of her lipstick still remaining. I had one hand on her shoulder and the other tracing a line up and down her spine. She shivered. Vanessa was using both hands to extract my pole from within my pants. I suppose some guys would brag theirs was big and thick. Mine was just on the top side of average and I knew it well, used almost as much for wanking as for peeing.

Now released, Vanessa began to stroke it. Hell, my sister really knew what she was doing. This felt far better than I could manage – even when I treat it with respect (which is a rare thing).

“Is that OK? Not too rough? I can make it softer, or faster, or what you like. I owe you for giving me an excellent cum when I needed it most.”

“Tease me while we’re kissing then worship it with your mouth,” I asked her, looking straight into her eyes. There was a momentary odd expression on her face then she giggled again, a naughty giggle.

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