My Husband Caught Me Having Sex with my Brother – Part One!


I was taking languorous and lascivious licks along the thick veiny shaft of my husband’s waning penis, like it was French Vanilla ice cream on a stick.  After a long and spirited cock-suck, his cork had been gloriously popped and I was now slurping up the last remaining vestiges of recently spent dribbly spunk from his pendulous nuts to that bulbous bit on the end that’s looks like a puking mushroom. I gave his rapidly deflating rosy head a big soggy smooch and looked up to my beloved with a big impish grin.

“So, what do you want?” Donny queried, staring down from up on high.

My smile sagged slightly (like his withering pant proboscis), but I mostly maintained my post-fellatio felicity. “Why, whatever do you mean?” I innocently responded, after taking a last big swallow of his salty seed.

“Every time you greet me naked at the door and proceed to give me one of your patented deluxe blowjobs, there’s always an expensive request or some piece of sour news at the end of it.”

I braced myself. He was completely right, of course. Not that I minded going down on the big lug, but I always put a little extra effort and suction into my hummers when ill tidings were at hand.

“My brother’s wife just threw him out,” I blurted. “Oh no…”

“We’d only have to put up with him for a short while. Until he can find a new place. A month at the most.”

“A month!”

“Gosh this looks so tasty,” I naughtily observed, placing his flaccid wanger back between my lips and giving it a few loving sucks.“Stop that!”

Mr. Happy began to grow like an Scotsman’s bar tab as I swirled the knobbily end round and round the inside of my cheeks with a warm, wet talented tongue. He didn’t say much at all after that. Jimmy moved in the next day.

My little brother was as handsome as shoebox full of bunnies and possessed the body of a Greek God. I don’t know what the fuck that bitch was thinking, giving his young sweet ass the heave-ho.  Jimmy had seemed a little down lately, but it was understandable. His home-life with the missus had been pretty rocky since they pushed inedible wedding cake down each other’s throats at the church but this dust up had been a corker. Changed locks, thrown pots and kicked balls – the whole magilla! When he showed up at the house, Jimmy’s face told me his marriage was as dead as Mel Gibson’s career. And his unusual gate told me that she’d bolloxed him with a pair of her pointiest.

I helped my poor lugubrious bro unpack and served his favorite meal that night. Donny was polite and welcoming but I could tell that hubby was really regretting he liked blowjobs so much. Yep, I was going to have to spend a lot of time on my back with the legs generously spread to placate Mr. Grump while Jimmy boy was under our roof.

Things went along as smoothly as could be expected for about a week. We settled into a routine. I did all the work and Donny did all the complaining. And then one night, we had a barnburner of a fight over dinner at a local restaurant. No blood was spilled but a lot of red wine and spaghetti Bolognese became indiscriminately airborne. When we got home, I stormed into our bedroom, grabbed a nightie and headed off to where my brother was sleeping I knew if I locked Donny out of our room, he’d simply kick Jim out of the house and take that bedroom. FUCK HIM!!.

I knocked and walked in quickly, to avoid having to see my fucking idiot husband. There was a mad scramble on the bed.“Ah, hi,” he said looking as flustered as all get out.

Oh shit! I’d walked in on my little brother while he was whacking it. I felt so embarrassed for him.

“Is it all right if I sleep in here tonight?” I asked, pretending I hadn’t seen a thing. “I can just make up some sheets on the floor.” “No, I’ll sleep on the floor. You take the bed. I insist.”

After a few minutes of pointless back and forth, we agreed to share it like we did when we were kids. Of course, we slept on opposite edges of the mattress as etiquette, and probably the law, in these situations would dictate.

While on the outside I was doing the right thing, on the inside I couldn’t get that image of Jimmy with his dick in his hand out of my brain. I kept imagining if I’d walked in a little later and gotten to see a big healthy stream of jism gushing towards the ceiling and then raining down on his dishy solar plexus, leaving big gooey puddles. I was as wet as The Little Mermaid’s closet andsoooo wanted to give myself the two-finger salute, but…hey, I was sharing a bed with my brother! Ladies outside of the Deep South just don’t do things like that!

The next morning though, I rubbed out three juicy ones in the shower. I was in the bathroom so long that Donny had to pee out the window. It did not help our ongoing marital problems but it sure helped me.

After my grouchy hubby had gone to work, it was just me and sweet Jimmy in the house. I for some reason, I didn’t get fully dressed after my morning ablutions and began prancing around the house in my flimsiest attire. My brother did his best to be the perfect gentleman when he saw me but I caught him guiltily checking out the goods when he thought my attentions were otherwise engaged. What was I doing? After about half an hour of this shameless exhibitionism, I came to my senses and stopped acting like a demented tart. That night, I gave Donny the ride of his life. By the time I was through with him, I think he wanted to go sleep in Jimmy’s room, just to get away from me.

The next few days were a confused mess. I became thoroughly obsessed with men in their most private moments. Every time I’d clap eyes on some guy in the street or at the grocery store, I’d imagine him with his cock in his hand, pounding it furiously till his balls exploded. I began pummeling my plumb cross-eyed in parking lots! In my, car of course. But, there were a few lucky people passing by who got to see some major mound mauling going on.

Alas, even with psychotic sessions of self-abuse, I could not sate my slit. All I could think about was seeing Jimmy playing with himself again. It had me dripping like a Walmart faucet all day long.

One afternoon, I walked by the bathroom and heard the shower running. My palms began to sweat. The thought of my brother in there, naked and soapy…possibly pleasuring himself under the hot water…I couldn’t help myself. I tried the door. When the knob turned in my hand, I almost passed out. But in I went regardless, knocking after the fact.

“It’s just me,” I called out cheerfully. “I need to get something from under the sink.”

“No problem,” Jimmy replied good naturedly, never suspecting the true and lurid reason for my surprise visit. I sat down on the floor, opened up the cupboard and took out the first thing I saw. “Hey, remember when we were kids and we used to have baths together?” I playfully inquired, watching him suds up through the steamy glass.

“I think our parents would probably frown on us doing it now, though,” he joked back.

My stomach felt like it was being used as a speed bag. How long dare I stay there? I almost sensibly got up and walked out of the room but he started to wash his nutsack and I just couldn’t take my eyes of it.

“It would also be a much tighter fit,” I force-giggled.

The water turned off. Jimmy waited. I jumped up and grabbed a towel. It was very tempting to open up the door and hand it to him but I tossed it over top of the glass. My heart was pounding so hard, it was practically bouncing my left tit up and down.

“I’ll leave you to it, unless you need help drying those hard to reach places,” I blurted out coquettishly.

“I think I can take it from here.” He didn’t take the bait. Oh Well.

Off I trotted. I didn’t see him when he came out of the bathroom because I was back on my bed, wanking up a storm, with images of steamy nut-washing raging through my head. That night, I just happened to have another blistering argument with Donny.

This time I didn’t knock. But I did turn the heating off in the house. “Hey, mind if I bunk in here with you again, tonight?” I wobbled my lip.

“Sure,” Jimmy said sympathetically, as I slipped under the covers. “This isn’t about me, is it? I can move out, if my staying here is causing a problem between you two.”

I cuddled up to him, plopping my leg across his. “No, it isn’t about you,” I whimpered, placing my head on his shoulder. “We’re just going through a bad patch.”

I could tell my brother was more than a little uncomfortable with the situation. He was only wearing a pair of jockeys and my nightgown was not of the flannel variety. “Gosh, it’s cold in here,” I sighed and cuddled him even tighter. “Can I just stay like this for a few minutes, until I get warm?” (I am so evil!)

“Of course,” he half-heartedly replied.

“Thank you so much. I am so cold.” I lifted my leg slightly, so the top of my thigh was touching the bottom of his balls. His body tensed, noticeably. He was trying his dig-darned best not to sprout a boner and I was not making it easy for him. “I’m so sorry I interrupted you the other night,” I softly whispered in his ear.

“What do you mean?” Now he was really, really tense.

“I remember once, mom walked on me while I was playing with myself.” I stroked his chest, as though I was deep in thought. “Talk about mortified, so I know how embarrassed you must have felt. But, I just want you to know, there’s no reason to be.”

“Ah, thanks.”

“I still masturbate like crazy, and I’ve got Donny.”

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