9 comments/ 230728 views/ 16 favorites Washing Up? By: romanticredhead He caught me watching him over the table, and grinned at me, raising his cup of orange juice in a mock toast. I smiled back, raising my glass slightly as well, happy to play along with his little game. I was about to take a drink, when I realized my cup was empty. Josh had been watching me in amusement, wondering when I'd notice, and when I looked in the glass, a bit confused -- I swear I'd only just filled it! -- he reached over and took the glass. 'Here.' He said, chuckling slightly as he refilled it. 'I think you might have put some alcohol in this, hmm?' 'Oh, yeah, you know me. Always looking for a chance to get drunk.' I shook my head at him, and took the glass back. 'Thanks.' He let out a soft laugh, returning to his food. Let me sketch a quick outline. I was 19, Josh was 20. He was my brother, and he had been thrown out of his flat -- he was very hazy on the details, and I knew better than to press him -- he could be very hard to live with sometimes! He was staying with me until he got somewhere else to live, which I had no problem with, I got on well with him, and he was good fun. I hadn't seen him for a couple of years, since he moved out, and he had changed a lot. He used to be a lanky teenager with no real sense of balance and very inexperienced, staring at me when he thought I wasn't looking, but I just found it funny. Now he was a lot more confident, and, although still thin, not as ridiculously stick like as he was before. His dark brown hair had grown out, flopping over his eyes, blue eyes, like mine. Eyes that always had a happy twinkle in them, that twinkle had got me through many problems. All in all, he had improved. He still had the sense of humour that I liked so much, which explained the alcohol comment, which, from anyone else, I would have been a bit 'What the hell?' over. I was really pleased that he was staying with me, I'd missed him a lot over the past two years, and Cathy, my roommate had just moved out, into her boyfriends' flat, so it really couldn't have come at a better time, which was why I'd actually made a dinner tonight, instead of getting one of those 15 minutes jobs from M&S, which, by the way, are delicious. Absolutely delicious. When we finished it, I gathered the plates and dumped them in the sink, planning on washing them later on after I'd left them to soak a bit -- basically just stalling! I didn't enjoy washing up most of the time, unless I was having one of those bored days, when I wanted to scrub at a bowl, and feel very satisfied when I got a patch of dough or something off it. I was just heading over to the sofa, where I'd left my book, when Josh interrupted me. 'Ahem, I think you've forgotten something, my dear girl.' Slightly nonplussed, I turned around, and squinted at him. 'Huh?' He raised an eyebrow and pointed towards the sink. 'Huh, what?' 'I'm leaving them to soak!' 'That won't help. You're just stalling, aren't you!' The last was not a question. He clearly was not going to let this go. As I walked fast him, muttering under my breath, he caught hold of me, and rubbed my head. 'I've missed you, you lazy sod.' He chuckled, planting a kiss on the top of my head and propelling me in the direction of the sink. 'If it makes you feel better, you can do the drying.' Now completely nonplussed -- since when did Josh like doing washing up? -- I murmured an affirmative, and grabbed a dishtowel thing from the drawer I kept them in. He glanced over my shoulder as I opened it, and raised his eyebrow. 'You may hate washing up, but you sure as hell keep your dishtowels neatly folded.' He commented drily. I didn't even dignify that with an answer, but couldn't help a grin cross my face, as Josh started to scrub at the plates, chatting to me as he did. It went on... and on.... and on. I do have a reason for hating washing up, and this was it, it wasted so much valuable time. Josh clearly thought so as well, and he eventually picked up the bubbly liquid thing that I used for cleaning them, raised an eyebrow and gave me a look. 'Do you even... do you actually know what this is?' He asked in quiet disbelief. I somehow knew that whatever answer I gave would be wrong in some way. 'Washing up liquid? Cathy gave it to me.' Josh leant his elbows on the edge of the sink, and buried his face in his foam covered hands. 'It's flipping bubble bath liquid thing, my dear sister.' His voice was muffled against his hands, but I got the feeling he was suppressing laughter. 'It's bubble -- what?' 'It's bubble bath stuff.' This was just great, wasn't it? I've been struggling with the stuff Cathy gave me for months, and now I discover its bubble bath liquid stuff. God was cruel at times. 'It's bubble bath. It's flipping bubble bath.' I look at him, now definitely seeing his shoulders rocking up and down with laughter. 'Okay, I don't want to discuss it when I come back, okay? Josh?' I wasn't getting an answer, but as I started to leave the room, I heard his voice. 'Where are you going?' He asked, his voice breaking at the end with mirth. 'Shower.' I needed to wash some of the shame I was feeling off my body. 'Maybe you should get some washing up liquid and have a bath instead?' He was unable to get the last few words out and just spluttered them as I gave him a dirty look and left the room. *** When I got to the shower, I flicked the switch on, and as I waited for it to warm up, I sat on the toilet lid and buried my face in my hands. Vision of Josh's hysterical face kept coming back to me. I, personally, didn't see what the problem was. Bubble bath was pretty much the same as washing up liquid, right? Just... maybe slightly different... I just did not want to think about it. I dipped my hand in the shower of water, finding it was a good temperature. Hanging my towel on the rail, I quickly got undressed, and was just about to jump in the shower when I hear Josh barging into the room. 'FUCK!' he yelled, spinning around on his heel and jumping out of the door, me pulling up a towel to cover myself maybe two seconds too late. I couldn't believe it -- I'd been reunited with my brother less than two hours before and two excruciatingly embarrassing things had already happened. But there was something else that had shocked me, when he came in to the room; he had put his nightwear on, which consisted of a pair of loose blue trousers, leaving his upper torso bare. What had shocked me, wasn't so much that he had barged in, he didn't know the layout of the flat, he probably thought it was a bedroom or something, but that when I saw him in his nightwear, I had experienced a feeling that only one guy had ever ignited in me, him and my fingers. As I slowly climbed into the shower, I couldn't stop thinking about his chest, exposed to my gaze. I mean, I'd seen it before, when he was still living at home, but he's changed in so many ways, it was, I suppose, naïve to think that his body had stayed the same. It wasn't so much that, that was making me feel terrible, but the fact that I wanted to see it again, the fact that I was starting to think about Josh in way that I'd always been taught was terribly wrong between relatives. As I stood in the shower, soaping my body, my right hand found my nipples, and gave them several tweaks, seeing them start to stand up, and my other hand slid down my body, my soapy fingers starting to play in between my toned thighs. I rubbed my lips, and was shocked to find moisture already gathered there, making it easy to slide a finger inside me. I only realised was I was doing a few minutes after I started -- I was imagining Josh making love to me, and when I realised that, I quickly withdrew my finger, and gasped. 'Shit. Shit, shit, shit.' I muttered to myself, leaving the shower, and turning off the water, as I dried my body, and brushed my hair into a ponytail, leaving it to dry on its' own -- it brought out the red colour more, and it was curlier when I left it on its' own. Wrapping a scarlet towel around me, I gathered my clothes, and tidied the room, intending to go and talk to Josh, try and get the impure thoughts I was starting to think about him out of my head. I crossed to the room Cathy had recently deserted and Josh had moved into, and knocked gingerly on the door. When there was no reply, I knocked louder, and then opened the door. What I saw, I had no way to prepare for. Josh was lying on the bed, frantically rubbing himself, his eyes tightly closed and his breathing laboured. For the couple of seconds I watched in dismay, I heard his moans form a word, and I slowly backed out of the room, closing the door gently behind me. I crossed into my bedroom, and sat on the bed, kicking the door closed. I felt completely dazed; unable to comprehend the word that my brother had said when he was touching himself. He'd said my name, 'Francesca.' I didn't know what to do, but one thing I did know. Our relationship had definitely changed -- and for the good or the bad... only time would tell. Washing Up Constance Garret stood by the kitchen sink. Dishes were piled high all about her, but then again it was Christmas Day. And all eight of her children and twelve of her grandchildren were packed into her tiny two bedroom flat for the day along with half a dozen or so friends and acquaintances from the school where she had taught for almost three decades. Their laughter drifted into the room as her gloved hands sank deeper into the hot, sudsy water. She should be happy. She knew that. But after thirty-two years married to the same man, she would give herself a break that this first Christmas without him. Duncan had been a wonderful husband: kind, a good provider, a wonderful father and not too bad as a lover. That was the other thing that his absence reminded her. It had been too long since her mature body felt the touch of a lover. At fifty-one, she was still a passably handsome woman. Of course, she was no longer the fresh young beauty that had first attracted her husband. Perhaps her size sixteen curves did not appeal to everyone, but still perhaps after ten months of mourning his loss she should consider seeking her pleasure somewhere. Duncan might be dead, but she most certainly was not. She smiled secretively as she watched thee snow falling outside. She had kept her promise to him. Her special apron that she had sewn for their first Christmas together was tied about her waist. But beneath her soft slip, the conservative red satin skirt and plain white blouse, she wore the same attire that she had from the beginning. A white lace bra with slits that exposed her dark nipples, a matching garter belt and stockings. No knickers. Just that this year, it all seemed pointless. Santa would not be stopping by to grope a feel of her wet pussy. Thick fingers would not torment her until she collapsed over the sink in a powerful orgasm. Not this year...never again. *** Paul Windsor stared at the long, thin box that was neatly wrapped in the bright, metallic paper. He read the card once more as his best friend's oldest son went on to deliver the next gift to another reveler. He recognized the writing even if it were a bit messier than usual. Those last few months, Duncan had been so weakened by the cancer that ate away at his once brilliant brain. Paul choked round the tightness that his friend's death always brought. It was fresh, but also the reminder of another loss. His own wife Margaret had been dead almost a decade now. Another victim to this nasty monster that turned one's body's own regenerative powers against it, causing cells to divide and grow unchecked until they choked out healthy ones, choked the life itself from its victims. It was a reminder of how short life really was. At fifty-five, he did not feel old. His mind in its prime and his body still hanging on to its vitality, even if not quite as buff as it had once been. He had tried dating a couple of years after his wife's death, but he had never found a woman that interested him. Not the way she did. But then again, she was off limits. His best friend's girl. He pushed the thought aside as he tore open the envelop and read the few scrawled words. 'I don't think I need to give you instructions on how to use this. She should be in the kitchen now. Go give her the Christmas present that all naughty girls get. Dunc.' Paul stared at the words for a long moment. He dared not read more into them than his friend had meant. The box probably held nothing more than some bracelet or trinket for the dead man's wife. But his mind could not help but remember another Christmas. *** He and Margaret had stopped by with their children on Boxing Day. Not only were the couples the best of friends but their growing young broods seemed to be the perfect match as well. Their oldest sons were playing the new Atari that Duncan had bought for his children. Their daughters hid in their rooms playing with dolls just their mothers sipped tea, nursed new babies and chatted in the kitchen. The men watched a game of football on the telly and discussed their work as investment bankers in the city. This year had been tough. The new Prime Minister's austerity measures were hitting everyone hard, even the middle class. "So what did you get, Connie for Christmas? I almost cleared out the savings to get Margaret the tennis bracelet she wanted." The other man laughed, "You really need to take my advice, begin training that woman." He picked up the pint of ale on the table next to him and drained it. "I got her the same thing she gets every Christmas. A new metal spatula." Paul frowned at him, but his friend just winked, "And a spanking from Santa for not washing up quick enough." *** He fought to control the raging erection in his slacks just as he had all those years ago. The image of Constance Garret's lush bottom blazing red from a spanking was not what he needed to be thinking about in a room full of their friends, her children and grandchildren. Paul suddenly felt old. Like a very dirty old man. He sighed and slowly began to peel back the paper from the plain white gift box. He would take his time, give his body the chance to recover from the naughty images filling his mind. But as he lifted the lid, he took in a deep breath and frowned. At the shiny, metal spatula resting among the leaves of red tissue paper. Merry Christmas, old friend, he thought as he smiled at her youngest son, who sat next to him. Making his excuses, he said, "I'll just go see if I can help your mother with the washing up." *** Connie placed the last of the dinner plates in the sink to soak for a moment. She bent over to check the Christmas pudding warming in the oven along side sheets of biscuits in festive shapes. Her grandchildren could ice and decorate those while the adults enjoyed the flaming brandy flavored dessert. She smiled as she pulled the cookies from the oven, setting them on the counter to cool. She turned down the temperature on the pudding so that it would not burn as she did the last of the washing up. The nostalgia gripped her, an actual tightening in her chest reminded her why they called it a broken heart. Her hand sank into the hot water once, but she almost dropped the plate when she felt the slight chill of her skirt being lifted. "Do not turn around," the gruff voice commanded from behind her. Her heart stuttered in her chest at the shock. Not since that first Christmas together had she truly been surprised by this little game. But Duncan was dead. Who was it running the cold metal back and forth across the bare flesh of her bottom? She looked up into the window, tried to make out the images reflected in the dark night. But his head was bent behind her back. And his voice was so low and gravelly that she could not immediately discern its owner. "Have you been bad again this year?" it asked. She tried to control the erratic pounding in her chest. Was she really playing this familiar game in her kitchen with some stranger? Well, it was unlikely to be an actual stranger. The only people here today were her family and a few close friends. She frowned and her hand came up to cover her lips at the sharp intake of breath. That could only mean that Duncan had shared their little secret with one of their friends. Her cheeks blazed red at the thought of someone else knowing of their perversion. And with her strict Catholic upbringing that was how she always felt of this little game, even if Father Thomas had only chuckled at her confession each year. But despite the embarrassment, or perhaps because of it, she felt wetness gathering between the soft folds of her freshly shaven pussy. Her nipples hardened and rubbed against the soft polyester of her slip. She jerked a bit as she felt the first soft blow land on her bare left buttock. "I asked you a question, slut," the voice reminded her. Duncan had never used such foul language with her. She knew that she ought to turn around now. Dismiss this person as crude and uncouth, ask him to leave her home, heap words of guilt for betraying her husband's confidence and taking advantage of her like this. But the tingling awareness in her clitoris seemed to override all those ought-to's. She feared for her sanity as she realized that she had never been more aroused than she was at that moment. Slut. Slag. Whore. Beneath all her polite upper-middle class rules and manners that was exactly what she was and in that moment it broke free of a lifetime of rules. "Yes," she moaned, far louder than she should. "I'm a naughty girl. A dirty little slag." Her words were greeted with silence as her mystery lover ran the cold metal across her hot skin. *** Paul's hand froze in mid-stroke. His friend had shared enough of this little game to know that despite her almost eager participation, Connie always held something back. Maintain her decorum as it were. But the woman shivering in his arm had no such decorum. She wild. Free. Pure sex. And more than he had ever dreamt possible. If some part of his mind rebelled, wondered if perhaps he was not abusing his oldest friendship, he pushed it aside. He would deal with those doubts. Later. Right now, he had the hottest woman he had ever fantasized about inches from him. He could even smell the sweet scent of arousal wafting from between those generous thighs. "Open your legs, slut. Santa wants to see how naughty you are?" The sane part of him was surprised at how quickly she obeyed, but the beast that was in complete control now only smiled sadistically at her compliance. He lunged the spatula between her spread thighs. Drew it slowly along the slightly parted cleft of her womanhood. He smiled as he saw the thick cream coating the metal surface. "Santa's little whore is very naughty this year. He's never seen such a messy cunt." He rose slowly, carefully to keep his features hidden in the soft grey-blond curls that fell about her shoulders. He brought the instrument around to her face, pressed it to her lips. "Wash this up, slut." He felt her hand cover his around the metal handle. She tried to push it down towards the water, but he stopped her. "Not like that. Lick it clean. Lick your nasty cunt juices off like the slag you are." She stilled in his arms and for a moment he feared that he had taken their game too far. But then he felt her lifting the tool once more towards her lips. *** Connie froze as the cold metal met her lips. Was she really going to do this? Was she actually going to taste her own fluids? Her nasty cunt juices as he called them? But the pounding of her heart that filled her addled brain told her the truth even before she parted her lips and tasted the slightly salty fluids that over road the metallic taste of the spatula. She smiled a bit. It actually was not as bad as she had thought as she finished cleaning it off. "Good girl," Santa purred down the back of her neck. His other hand came up to squeeze and knead her left breast. His fingers found the hard nipple protruding against the material. He pinched it, harder than she had ever experienced. She let out a muffled yelp of surprise. "That will never do, slut. What would your children think if they came in her now? Mummy's skirt lifted high, showing her bare arse. Letting Santa feel her up like the whore she is. You don't want that now do you?" he whispered. She shook her head in horror at the image. But still some part of her recognized the eroticism. "I think we need something to shut you up, don't' you, whore?" Suddenly the oven mitt that she had used to take the cookies out was pressed against her lips. "Open up, slut." Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes as the rag was pressed deep down her throat. It had not gotten much use over the years. Usually once a year, after their special little game, she had tried her best to please Santa. Taking Duncan's cock as deep down her throat as her strong gag reflex would allow. But the mitt was pressed far deeper than her normally gentle husband had dared go. But their game was not over yet. "How bad have you been, slut? Ten?" She nodded at the accepted number of quick lashes on her bare bottom. "No, ten is not enough for a whore like you. How about thirty? Maybe even fifty?" She shook her head violently from side to side as the hand that had been torturing her tit, suddenly gather both of hers and drew them up behind her back. His body leaned into her, pushing her against the edge of the counter, pinning her. *** Paul snuck a quick glance at their reflection in the window. Her eyes were wide with fear as she shook her perfectly coiffed head from side to side loosened the curls. He would have backed off then, called it a day, apologized perhaps. Except he could feel the need strumming through her body. Need as deep as his own. He had never really taken these games that far. Oh, he had read plenty of porn about Domination and submission. One of the women he had dated briefly had even had a fetish for this sort of thing. But it had not felt right. Not like this did. Nothing had ever felt this right. "Close your eyes," he commanded. "Twenty. This year you deserve twenty spankings on that luscious arse." He felt her relax a bit at his pronouncement. She even managed to nod her head in agreement before the first blow fell soundly on her upturned derrière. Nine more soon followed suit until her bottom was turning the most delicious pink, the exact color of a rare steak. He could not resist. He laid the kitchen implement on the counter next to them. His hand caressing the heated surface of her skin, moving over it slowly and sensuously until she was moaning and writhing in his arms. He bent further placing a sacred kiss on each glowing cheek. She purred at this. Then he picked up the spatula and began the process again. Delivering ten more quick lashes. *** Connie shivered. She was not sure how much more she could take of this. Not only was twenty twice as many as Duncan had ever dared deliver, but Santa used far more power in each stroke than her beloved husband ever had. So why was her body more aroused than it had ever been in her whole life she wondered as she waited for the next blow to land. She heard the sound of metal hitting the hard tile surface of her kitchen floor. Then she felt the soft caressing of her bruised and burning flesh once more. "Good girl," Santa growled once more, this time his breath heated the abused flesh even more. But he followed that with soft kisses and gentle licks that soothed and comforted the inferno. She was not sure how long they stayed like that. Time lost meaning. But suddenly she felt the brush of her polyester slip and the heaviness of her stain skirt lowering over her tormented bottom. Santa tugged them down, smoothing everything back into perfect place. "Give me two minutes, then bring the Christmas puddings out." She jumped at the almost playful swat on her now covered arse. But it was enough to make her jump, the early spanking leaving her flesh tender. "Don't be late or there will be another twenty," Santa whispered. *** Paul shifted uncomfortably in the hard chair as he watched her serving guest after guest the rich pudding, smiling as she poured the rich cream before moving onto the next person. By the time she reached him, his cock was harder than the wooden chair upon which he sat. She bent and smiled just as she had with all the other guests. His heart fell just a bit. She really must not have guessed who her special Santa was. The sane part of his mind knew that was probably for the best. This was after all just his best friend's way of reaching back from the grave, making this first Christmas without him more palatable for the woman he had loved for most of his life. Paul had no more part in all of this than the spatula had. Just an instrument in the game between this couple. "Thank you, Constance," he smiled as she began to pour the cream. She smiled back at him, "No, thank you, Santa," she whispered. "Stick around later and I'll unwrap the yule log for you." She said as she winked and moved onto the next guest. Paul's hand was shaking as he lifted the fork of dessert to his mouth. He did not taste a thing, but it was delicious. "Merry Christmas, old friend," he whispered as he lifted his fork. *** It was hard for Duncan Garret the Third not to laugh as he watched his mother almost spill the cream over the man's lap. The satisfied smiles on both their faces confirmed that he had chosen well, which of his father's friends to gift with his greatest treasure. His father had been embarrassed but just days before his death he still had not figured out who to give this special Christmas present. He had written the card weeks before, but now he was too weak to wrap the gift. Instead he had turned to his oldest son. It was not like he did not know about his parents' little game. He had made the mistake of barging into the kitchen when he came home from university one Christmas. His father had merely winked and nodded his head towards the door. At first he had been disgusted that his seemingly average parents partook of such defiance, but over the years as he grew older, married and had children of his own, he had come to recognize the special bond that this ritual held for them. And now? Well, his father had never wanted his mother to spend the rest of her life grieving. Holding onto the past, the way their friend had for a decade. But perhaps his surprising choice this holiday might kill two birds one with stone. He thought this father would like that. "Here's to you, old man. Wherever you are," he said as he lifted his glass of sherry. Washing Up? Ch. 02 Hey, it's romanticredhead here! Okay, so this hasn't really got an erotic overblast... if that's even a word, but you know what I mean. I'm just trying to develop the characters, make it clear the conflicting emotions going on within the chicks mind. Okay? There ought to be more in the next one, I haven't written it yet! I've written like three or four of these stories in 24 hours... I think it's a record for me... So, yep. Peace out for now! Yours, as ever, romanticredhead A redhead with a passion. * It was a few days after the shower incident. Josh and I had been deliberately polite to each other, and we were only just beginning to get back to normal, although I caught him looking at me in a way that wasn't quite brotherly affection a few times, and I found myself looking at him in a similar fashion. I don't really know what I thought could happen, in the few days afterwards I put a lot of thought into the moral implications of incest, and came to the conclusion that... well, I guess I hadn't really come to any real conclusion, my mind was still swimming from walking in on such an intimate moment of his. Every time I looked at him, I was reminded of that, and I couldn't help thinking of his size. In the brief look I got, I was stunned by how large it was, it was bigger than the only boyfriend I'd had, James. I had never actually had sex with James, I wasn't sure how I felt about him, and he seemed happy to wait -- until I walked in on him and Maria, a girl who I'd seen a few times from school. Clearly the hand jobs I was happy to give him weren't enough. It was all very innocent, but at 19, I was still a virgin, and not particularly concerned about it, but now... I just couldn't stop thinking about Josh in a new light, a way I never would have thought of if I hadn't seen him like that, wondering how it would feel inside me, in the place where only mine and James' fingers had ever been. I found myself unconsciously touching myself when I thought about it several times, only to snatch my fingers away and curse softly as I did so. I think I was falling in love with him, his little characteristics that made me smile, his shining personality, the fact he was my brother making me want him more, the fact that if we ever became involved it would be incest made me feel aroused, something I never thought would happen, never having consciously harboured a perverted attraction to taboo love. I can say one thing; this entire situation was almost definitely spiraling out of my control. *** It was a Saturday; I was working at my Grandma's stall in the market, when I felt a pair of hands cover my eyes. Guessing instantly who it was, I laughed, and brought my hands up to cover his. 'Who is it there, oh Master?' I asked, chuckling as I did so. 'It is the man, oh, what a man.' I spun around -- the voice was not the voice I was expecting. It was Josh, laughing, clearly aware that I had thought it was someone else. 'So, who did you think I was, sis?' He asked, wrapping his arm around me, and giving me a peck on my forehead, a simple gesture that made a fire burn inside me. 'Thought you were a guy from work.' I answered, patting his head as I always did when I was younger and had undergone a growth spurt -- he caught up with me very quickly, so the happy, 'tall' feeling I had didn't last long. 'Oh? And whom is this...' he lowered his voice, and put on a deliberately secretive, mocking himself almost -- 'guy, then? Will I have to be your stereotyped big brother and tell him to back off?' He let out a laugh, and handed me a hot Cornish pasty, clearly unaware of the jolt of feeling he had made erupt in me at his words. 'I knew the market was ending soon, I thought you could pack up early and I could give you a lift home. Sound acceptable to you?' I shook my head at him, giving him a grin. 'What would I do without you, Josh?' He laughed, and ruffled my hair, as I turned, and started to pack up the stall, eating the pasty as I worked. I was very hungry, so I finished it in a matter of minutes, dumping the tissue it had been in inside the dustbin nearby. As I lifted up the heavy shelf I put the books on, I stumbled, and Josh jumped up to help, just as I let go of one end, and it crashed on to the floor, knocking me into Josh. His hand automatically reached out to hold on to me, and he only seemed to realise where it landed when he had been in contact with my breast for several second. His face blushed bright red, and he quickly withdrew his hand, looking down shyly, a characteristic I never associated with him. There was an awkward silence for several seconds, until I placed my hand on his fingers, and squeezed them softly. 'Hey.' I whispered. 'It's okay.' He looked up, and met my eyes, squeezing my hand back. 'Thanks.' He answered. 'I'll help you with the rest.' He easily lifted the shelf, and helped me pack it away to carry it to a woman who minded it for me during the week, it was such a long way back home, and I rarely got a lift. As we entered the shop, Josh looked down at me, and winked. 'Let's have some fun,' he whispered, as the bell pinged, and Annie came out. She stopped dead, staring up at Josh with a look on her face I'd never seen before. Before I could speak, Josh gave her a slow smile, nodding his head. 'Hey. I don't think we've met?' Annie shook her head, looking flustered, smoothing down her apron. 'Yes, that's right... ahem, I'm Annie, you can call me Annie, I work here. Ah, Fran, you want... you... oh, yes, the market, here, let me take them...' her words were muddled; shooting glances at Josh every few seconds. Josh winked at her, and slid a strong arm around my shoulders. 'I'm Josh. I'm with Fran, but it's a pleasure to meet you.' I was practically dumbstruck, amazed at how Josh was acting, but finding it funny as well. Oh, poor Annie, she looked so worried and slightly distressed. The reason I didn't put a stop to it, was that Annie was married, it didn't really matter if she had a crush on Josh, she wouldn't be able to act on it. She took the lighter things, and I carried the rest in to the back room, returning to Josh quickly, I knew she wanted to interrogate me on him, and I didn't want to get into it, it couldn't bring anything good. Josh let his arm fall around my shoulders, and I felt his mouth on my ear. 'Can I give her something to really think about?' he muttered to me. Not certain what this would entail, but feeling dizzy with his mouth so close to me, I nodded, waiting for what would happen. He took hold of my chin, and brought my mouth around to him. Before I could ask him what he wanted, he moved in towards me, and softly touched my lips with his mouth, a soft touch that caused butterflies to erupt in my stomach, and a fiery longing for him to tingle in my lower abdomen. I let out a soft gasp, and moved my mouth against his more firmly, all thoughts of him being my brother lost, just knowing he was the only one who ever made me feel like this, his hot breath on my skin, his tongue burning my mouth wherever it touched, my face flushing and my body acutely conscious of him, so close, so near, so perfect to make me feel this way... He gently pulled away, and my eyes stayed closed, breathing fast, shaking slightly from the feelings he had made come to life in me. We left the shop, Annie in silence, lost in each other's presence. When we got outside, we stopped, looking at each other. 'Was that all to make Annie think?' I whispered to him, so quietly I didn't know if he heard me. Josh smiled hesitantly at me, taking a deep breath before saying 'No. No, it wasn't. It was because since I walked in on you in the shower, I haven't stopped thinking of you, not as my sister, but as a woman I think I'm falling in love with, and the fact that we're related makes things so easy, so beautiful, the fact that love can develop between siblings, the people I think are the closest in the world...' he paused, seemingly to collect his thoughts. 'I think you feel like me. I hope you do -- I don't know how I could cope...' His eyes connected with mine, their deep sapphire blue seeing inside me, as I slowly nodded. 'I feel like you do. I really, really do...' I was unable to say anything more, as his eyes darkened, and he stepped towards me, taking me into his arms, and kissing my mouth with an urgency that surprised me, scaring me with my blatant need for him, my brother, the one I wanted more than anything, as his tongue branded me with its' warm mark, knowing I was my brothers', he was mine, we belonged to each other, caught with love as our guardian angel. He slowly pulled away from me, and stroked my cheek with his index finger, smiling down at me. A single touch conveying the three words that meant more to me than any others in the world. TO BE CONTINUED! Soon... as ever, feedback wanted desperately. Washing Up? Ch. 03 Josh drove very slowly on the drive back home, which seemed completely out of character for him. Not that I minded particularly, as he kept one hand held around mine for the duration of the journey - albeit not the safest driving method, but easily the nicest journey I'd ever had with him. The explosive atmosphere in the car was incredibly intimate, and I was so acutely conscious of his body just a few centimeters away from mine that when he shifted position to draw into the driveway, my breath caught in my chest and his eyes caught mine as he turned off the ignition. "Are you okay?" he asked me, his hand disentangling from mine and cradling my cheek. I closed my eyes and rested my hand over his, loving the feel of his soft fingertips caressing my skin. "I'm better than okay, to be honest," I answered, and slid an arm around him, gently pulling him closer to me. He made a low-pitched sound, and his eyes half closed as he moved against me, his free arm hooking around my waist and running his fingers up and down my side. His other hand, still cupping my face, seemed linked inextricably to my stomach, and as his lips brushed mine again, a deep ache inside me burned into life. I moved over, struggling around the gearstick to sit on his lap as his tongue gently began to flick across my lower lip and I sighed against his mouth. Suddenly the kiss intensified, and if it was him or me who instigated it I can't be sure, but I found myself pressing myself hard against his body and his arms wrapped so tight around me I couldn't be quite sure where I ended and he started. Time blurred into minutes before I finally remembered the completely inappropriateness of our location. "Oh, oops," I breathed against his mouth. I felt him laughing against my skin as he began to kiss me softly on my neck. "Remembered where we are, huh?" he murmured softly as his breath blew against me. I made a rather unintelligible noise and inclined my head in a vaguely positive way. "Might be better if we got inside, you know," I answered, smiling slightly and making no effort to act up to my words whatsoever. He laughed and stretched out, keeping one arm hooked around me. "Oh, but I don't want to take my hands off you!" he joked, his eyes hooded and dark as they stared deep into mine. I almost gave into the intoxicating urge to forget all about the neighbours and start kissing him again, but luckily he pushed open the door before I could relent. "You first, honey," he said, placing his warm hand on my back and helping me out. This didn't stop me from tripping over my own feet, and swinging around the nearest lampost to regain my balance, a feat that Josh found rather amusing. I felt his arms snake around my waist, and he bent his head forward to kiss my neck. "You fall over a lot, don't you?" he said quietly, a throaty tone betraying his amusement. I knew my brother, and it was obvious he was planning something. "Uh huh..." I replied nervously, trying to sneak a glance around my shoulder at him, and as I managed to catch a glimpse of his face, I felt myself being tossed up into the air and landing over his shoulder. "Shit!" I gasped, bouncing up and down as he jogged to the door. "You see what you drive me to with your falling over?" he teased as we reached the door and he carefully maneuvered his way inside. All that I could do was make a halfhearted noise in protest, but understandably he laughed and made his way to his bedroom. As he dumped me on the bed, I caught my breath and flopped back on the pillow "Well, that was... interesting..." I said to him and he smiled and sat down next to my legs. The silence ran on for a few minutes and I eventually reached out and took his hand. He looked up at me, and the split second warning in his eyes made me take a sharp breath in, before suddenly he was next to me and his hands were caressing my face as his lips brushed tenderly against mine. I let out a soft sigh and his weight shifted over my body, pinning me to the bed; he was so heavy on top of me but I still wanted more, and as I broke away from his lips and began kissing his neck, his fingers began to undo my shirt. My skin burned where he touched it, and the softest stroke from him was enough to turn me to molten rock. My brother, my lover, the only man who had ever aroused these feelings inside me; and now that he was touching me in this way, I never wanted him to stop. I hooked a leg around his waist, pressing against him as my shirt fell open before him, and he leant back a little, his eyes flickering over me and his breathing fast and ragged. His hard, big hands stroked over my ribs and my waist; and my eyes closed as I let out a soft sigh that somehow morphed into his name. He had zeroed in on my stomach, knowing full well that that was my main weakness, and his butterfly touches were making my head spin; as his mouth began to softly kiss my pale skin. My hands threaded through his thick hair and he breathed out slowly over me, the hot rush of air felt so good as he bit my waist softly. The sweet contrast of slight pain and dizzying sensations was driving me crazy, and I could feel my underwear clinging to me, sodden and teasing. "Please," I managed to get out of my mouth, unwilling to co-operate as it was, I'd been thrown to incoherency by the magical touch of my brother. "Please? Please what, honey?" he growled against my ribs and his fleeting stroke of them made it so much harder to concentrate on what I was trying to say. "Kiss me," I asked him, my short request interspersed with moans and sighs; and as I got the last word out, his hard mouth came down on mine; and he rolled me over to lie on top of him. I rearranged myself, straddling him and feeling his hard bulge pressing into me as I leant down to kiss him, my hands holding his head. His skin was so soft, but his slight stubble teasing my fingers and my chin made me even more hypersensitive to his every movement. As I rubbed myself slightly on him, a broken moan came from him and his head fell back; as his fingers tightened on my shoulders. I hadn't realised that I had this power over him, and I quickly took advantage of it, running my fingers down the side of his neck and into his shirt collar as I quickly undid it, unveiling the full awe of his torso to my eager gaze. I placed my hands on his sides, and thought back to where this all began; a accidental sighting of him topless. Now, I could touch him as I wanted and I could kiss him and hold him and do pretty much anything, it seemed. I lowered my head and kissed the hollow between his neck and shoulder. His hands slipped around me and he began to play with my hair, straightening the curls and letting them bounce back into shape, as his other hand began to fiddle with the zip on my skirt. "Jesus," he muttered, "how hard is this to open?" I giggled a little against his skin, and helped him open it. He slithered my skirt down my legs, and the sudden touch of cool air on my hot skin was a shock, and penetrated my foggy mind. I gasped slightly and he stilled underneath me, looking up into my eyes. "Are you okay, honey?" he whispered, his hand creeping up to caress my cheek. I took a moment to answer, hopelessly distracted by the clear lust in his eyes and the electrifying sensation of his fingers on my skin. "Yes," I told him then, and the momentary doubt in his gaze was washed away by a tide of desire, and the cool air on my clammy thighs was chased away by his greedy, desperate hands. Somehow, without me noticing, his shirt and my skirt had ended up on the floor and my bra was hanging open, chafing against my puffy nipples and arousing me still further. I arched my shoulders forward and it slid off, leaving my breasts open to my brothers heavy lidded gaze. He touched his mouth on my neck gently, kissing me with butterfly strokes as he worked his way tenderly down my chest. I pushed myself forward, wriggling in his strong arms as he flicked his tongue over my skin, desperate for him to taste my nipple but too shy to ask him outright for it. Broken pleas for him were falling out of my mouth as my eyes closed and my heart-rate shot through the roof. "Tell me what you want," he murmured against my skin, his unshaven chin rubbing deliciously against my soft skin and doing wicked things to my nervous system. I laced my fingers through my hair and tried to pull his head where I wanted - no, needed it, but I felt him smile against me and nuzzle into my skin. "No, baby, tell me," he told me again, and as he raised his rumpled head to grin lopsidedly at me, I felt my skin alight and my inhibitions fell to dust. "I want your mouth on my nipple," I whispered, making no movement. "I want you inside me and I want to taste you and feel you and, oh," I ended, as he did exactly what I'd asked him to, and the sensations rocking my body as his teeth grazed my sensitive areola were incomprehensible. My panties were sodden wet and I rocked back and forth on his hard bulge, still constrained in his jeans, and as I felt him exhale over my skin, now wet from his enthusiastic attention, he pulled away and I gasped out in protest, going limp in his arms as he cradled me and lay me on my back. I watched him as he lay next to me and undid his jeans, pulling them down in a swift, fluid motion. Butterflies erupted in my stomach as I saw the huge bulge in his pale grey boxers, with the dark patch of precum staining the soft fabric. I rolled over on to my side and ran my hand down his stomach, stroking the dark hair leading from his belly button to below the waistline of his underwear. The dark scattering looked beautiful against his pale skin, and as I tentatively ran my finger underneath it, and was rewarded by a tensing in his stomach muscles and a slight intake of breath from the gorgeous man next to me, my big brother. I wrapped my hand around his cock, and laid my head on his chest as I was taken aback by the size of it; not the length so much but the width... how could I ever accommodate it inside me? As soon as the doubt was seeded in my mind, Josh shifted a little bit and his cock twitched a little, and the worry was forgotten as I suddenly forgot everything except my desperate lust to take him inside my mouth and feel him pulsing inside me. I reluctantly let go and quickly slid his boxers down, hooking them over his erection and tossing them to the foot of the bed. As I moved down to sit between his legs, I pulled off my panties, and threw them to nestle along with his boxers. I took his cock in my hands for a moment, weighing his balls in my hand, before gently kissing the head. The slightly salty taste clung to my lips and his thighs tensed for a moment, before his entire body relaxed and I opened my mouth wider to let him slide in between my lips. I swirled my tongue around the head and began to rub him slightly where my mouth couldn't reach as his breathing began to roughen... I took this as confirmation that I was doing something right; despite my inexperience in this area. As I continued to lower my head down over him, my hair brushing and falling against his skin as I tasted him, his hands intertwined around my head. I let out a soft moan around his cock and his thighs tensed again as the vibrations of my sigh caused my mouth to caress his skin a little more and he grew inside my mouth, stiffening still further until he pulled away, his eyes tightly closed and his skin flushed. As I looked at him, his eyes flickered open, and he smiled slightly, his eyes dark and hooded before; in a movement so fast I barely saw him lean forward, he pulled me up the bed and flipped me onto my back. I gasped for a moment as he swooped in for a swift kiss and began to kiss down my neck, biting my skin softly and probably marking it. As that occurred to me, a deep ache in my stomach that had manifested a long while ago began to intensify as I considered the idea of being marked by my brother; being his for ever. This thought train lasted about as long as it took Josh to kiss down to my nipples and suck my sensitive areola into his mouth. I cried out and my back arched upwards, his teeth biting down slightly on my skin and his throaty laugh sending shivers through me as he took his mouth away and I tried to pull his head back to me. Of course, I was no match for Josh and he escaped my attempts easily to kiss down over my stomach, giving me butterflies and making my head spin as he ran his calloused fingers over the soft skin of my thigh. I suddenly felt his tongue flicking against my clit, and I spread my legs wider and gasped, my eyes tightly closed as he sucked it into his mouth and his fingers began to rub my wet hole. He slowly inserted a finger, and my pussy clenched tight around him, I was so close to coming for him that another moment would have brought an end to this exquisite build up. As I felt myself on the edge of letting go, he withdrew his mouth and his finger and the cool air on my burning wet pussy was sweet torture as I tried to push my hips towards his mouth, and his heavy weight came down on top of me. His mouth met mine quickly, and this kiss had an edge of desperate need that aroused me insanely. I had my legs wide open and his hot cock was pressed against me, the head resting on my clit. As I realised this, Josh pulled away slightly, and looked down at me. The clear question in his eyes was plain for me to see, and as I nodded, he slowly pushed his cock inside me in one go, breaking through the thin barrier and stretching me so wide I could barely think straight except to yearn and beg him to fuck me. The pain of my virginity was minimal compared to the frenzy of want and need I had for him, and as he began to thrust in and out, the pain was quickly replaced by a building pleasure that I could not hold on for long. As something rose inside me, higher and faster with the rhythm of his thrusts, his sweaty body was rubbing against me, so hot and so quintessentially male that I could not help but be amazed over and over again that it was mine. He buried his head against my neck and bit me, and this was what finally sent me over the edge - my pussy clenched tight around his cock and I instinctively wrapped my legs around his waist as I cried out his name, shaking and holding him tight to me. He groaned softly, and the raw, masculine sound sent me into another long explosion of ecstasy as I felt his cum spurting inside me, marking my body with its potency as it seemed to go on for ever. We lay there for so long that as I fell asleep with his body pressed tight against me, I slept soundly in the knowledge that my brother was lying with me, and I could not; despite the trouble that was inevitable for the future, bring myself to regret the incredible events that started with a simple case of washing up.