Chapter 3: United, We Stand.

Dylan's alarm clock wailed into life, waking us both from slumber. Last night had been spent in considerably more chaste a fashion than the night before, but my brother's morning wood still jutted into my stomach. Embarrassed, he blushed; I affected not to notice, gracefully slipping out of his bed and heading into the kitchen, flipping the kettle on and microwaving some porridge. Dylan left the room soon after, evidently having waited for his erection to subside. As I heard the shower spring to life, I closed my eyes, imagining my loving brother re-igniting his raging groin, stroking himself to orgasm beneath the spray. I had to school myself to remain calm, not wanting to frighten him away. Last night, he had been so wonderful, so giving; he thought I didn't know about his plans for personal transport, and the knowledge he was willing to sacrifice greater independence to provide for me was a warming thought. He was quick in the shower, emerging in his dressing gown to eat his breakfast before it cooled.

After that, he dressed for the day, adding that he'd set up a guest account on his lap-top and prepared his mobile broadband for me so I could spend the day relaxing by surfing the web or looking for a new position. As he strode out the front door, I sighed. The only position I want, dear brother, is underneath you. The thought sent my mind down a deliciously wicked path, and as I set up in front of his laptop, I decided to see what he had hidden away. Either he hadn't given me access to all of his files or my brother was more pure than I thought; the search bar had no incriminating entries, his history was staid and boring with only visits to his University website, his e-mail account, some YouTube videos and some forums he liked to visit. A brief peek through his files and downloads revealed no pornography, either. So there you go, I thought to myself. Chivalry is not dead. It's Dylan.

I clicked aimlessly through a variety of webpages, amusing myself to stave off the encroaching boredom and gloom I could feel. The employment websites weren't encouraging; my skill set was limited, my qualifications even more so. Growing more and more morose with each job I was unfit for, I gave up my search, staring listlessly at the screen. I glanced over my shoulder to check the alarm clock; it was barely past ten. I stormed across the room, stared up at the ceiling, and cursed my ill luck. Sighing, I settled on an old stand-by to relieve the crushing sense of loneliness and failure I felt, hitching up my nightshirt and fondling myself through my panties. The strong, masculine scent of my brother in the tiny bed we'd taken to sharing for almost two weeks now spurred me on.

I imagined his tender caresses, his weight pressing down on me, as I worked my way to an orgasm. And then another, and another. I'd never realised I was multi-orgasmic before; in the past, I'd always waited to come down from my climaxes before starting again, on the rare occasions I had enough private time to indulge in extended masturbation. But between my brother's pheromones and my growing, incestuous attraction to him, I was horny beyond mere words, desperately needing to cater to my desires. Each new peak drove me higher and higher, until white stars blinded me and my vision clouded over.

I stated awake, the clock having advanced some three hours since I fainted with the intensity of my orgasm. Sitting up, I noticed I had been unconscious in a puddle of my own juices, my dripping arousal having flooded my sex and over-flowed between my legs. As I awoke fully, I realised that Dylan would be home at two thirty; scrambling into action, I stripped his bed, wrestled with the mattress and turned it over to conceal the mess I had made, and started a load of washing, adding my own- mostly unused- bed-sheets for verisimilitude. Still, the scent of my marathon session lingered in Dylan's bedroom, clear and overwhelming to my nose. I opened his windows, turned the fan up full bore, and prayed desperately that the smell of my seeping cunt would be gone before he got home. I added a spray of Dylan's deodorant to the mix, gambling that it would assist in covering my trail.

After turning off the fan, closing the window, and testing the air to ensure I could no longer smell myself, I locked myself in my room. Agitated, I paced up and down. Dylan and I struggled to sleep apart, but every night we spent together inflamed me more and more. I deliberately pressed my body against his, revelled in the jutting hardness of his arousal, even though it had nothing to do with my presence. Pawing through my wardrobe, I settled on what I would wear tonight; a baggy, shapeless tank-top that seemed demure enough, but which I knew had large arm-holes that could easily be used to access my breasts, and which barely covered my still-slick nest. After some deliberation, I added a formidable push-up bra, one that could bring my bust into prominence even under the sack I was ostensibly concealing it behind. I hoped that it would attract my brother's attention to me, and I could discard it before we went to bed. Panties proved a little more problematic, until I noticed my favourite bikini, poking out beneath my collection of lingerie. Holding it up, I contemplated them; the shiny fabric was held together by a bow at each side of my waist, long laces that had irritated me when I first bought them.

Digging out my metallic friend, I heard the front door click and clack unlocked; it looked like Maxwell Smart's front door, a ridiculous amount of deadbolts and slides installed to secure the entrance to the apartment. My brother padded quietly past my room, perhaps assuming that I still wanted to be left alone. Nothing further from the truth, I thought wistfully. Sighing, I experimented with the bikini bottoms, discovering that I could untie one bow and unhitch half of the panel that covered my backside, forming a sort of hammock that guided my shockingly cold dildo between my thighs. I guesstimated Dylan's size to be reasonably close in length to my wand. I wanted so badly to turn it on and thrust it inside me, fantasising again about my brother, but I mopped the dew from my sex with a handkerchief, laced myself up, and tugged the t-shirt on, greeting Dylan with a bright smile.

Noticing I hadn't prepared dinner tonight, he thoughtfully sent out for pizza, ordering two of my favourites (and none of his own), along with garlic bread and a rich, chocolate dessert intended to overwhelm my emotional state through targeted, massive delivery of sugar. We made small talk, both wearied from our respective days- me emotionally and physically drained after having satisfied myself with my fantasies, and my brother after a mentally gruelling day of work and lessons. He hit the hay early, stopping only to help me re-make both beds. I waited half an hour, only barely managing to hold against my mounting excitement before tore my bra off and all-but sprinted to his door. Skidding to a halt, I rapped quietly on his door.