Just another quiet evening at home. Bro was on the rocker, Puss in his lap, me on the couch, a book of erotic poems to hand. I’m not sure if it was the rhythmic creak of the rocker, or the steady purr of Puss, or the hard-etched sex scratch of the fuck poem, but I had to touch myself. “You don’t mind if I masturbate?” I asked Bro. “Go ahead, Sis,” he answered. So I set the poem aside and had at it, with Puss and Bro watching, rocking, purring, and I delayed things as best I could, but eventually I came, so hard, so good, clench after clench of my greedy cunt.

With a sigh I lay back. Puss bounded from Bro’s lap, sending his erect cock a wobble, leapt onto the couch, and looked up at me with bright, expectant eyes. From my fingertip I gave him a taste. The rasp of his tongue made my clit quiver.

“Do me?” Bro asked.

Languidly I went to him, knelt low, took him deep into my mouth, then just the cap, so I could stroke, and while I stroked and sucked, I imagined Puss’s tongue licking my asshole. Bro’s cum was good and plentiful, and I swallowed most of it, and shared the rest with a long, sweet kiss, and then I sucked him to enough stiffness than I could get him inside me, and we rocked together peacefully until it was time for bed.