Bigger Brother HBO Ep. 05

Bigger Brother HBO Ep. 5 - Bigger, Bolder... and Uncut.

Episode 5 - Day Five: Flash- Born to Hand Jive. Details at Three.

It's morning. I'm feeling pretty depressed. Of course, when depressed, you go shopping. And when you can't go shopping, you pull out happy clothes from previous shopping trips. A flouncy, bright white floral pattern dress is the answer. The flounce vaguely hides my lack of bra, the rest is so light & breezy, it's like going naked.

When I first heard about a 'day of acclimation and rest' as the first day of each four day/four episode cycle, I thought it was silly. Today, though, I'm busy giving those big heads in show production a huge thanks. Even in my pretty dress, it's hard not to start re-thinking yesterday. I just feel drained and completely spent.

I pass a mirror and do a little runway pirouette. Does everything need to make me feel bad today? Black glaring panties show through the beautiful fabric. I'm not about to put double the panty laundry in my basket, so off they come. Having the extra freedom and no pressure on my little, well exercised kitty isn't all bad after the triathalon that was after the triathalon a couple days ago. I take it as a sign. It's a commando kind of day for Rosie of the House. I'll pretend I'm saving the world from eco-terrorism by reducing my laundry footprint.

Yesterday was certainly a wake-up call. Today I vow to rectify my previous lack of social butterfly flittering, and take off from my roost to sow my seeds of "you bastard, you were really going to vote to exterminate me, weren't you?" Oops, I mean, flirt about and make friends.

My first lovely little flower I alight upon is none other than our petite pole dancing wonder. I resist the immediate urge to rip her head clean off and deposit social butterfly poop down her scrawny little tanned neck. Calm, Rosie, quiet, happy thoughts: pretty dresses, rain drops on roses, and warm wooly mittens. I can do this.

"Hi, Binky! Oh my goodness, are you okay?" I ask, shocked to find her out of a bikini for the first time since the show started. Today she's almost wearing a pair of short-shorts, the dental-floss thong visible along the top edge any time she moves. Her crop top is stretched tight and fighting physics to remain a single piece of fabric over her unyielding mountains.

"Why? Am I limping? I'm not walking funny, am I? Max and I were only, uh, um, talking for a long time last night in my private Head of Household room. I'm probably walking funny because I'm tired..."

"No, I mean you're not wearing your bikini. No one was teasing you about yesterday, were they?"

"Oh, no one said a word. I'm sure they understand that wasn't a regulation size pole, so they wouldn't hold me to my normal quality performance. Oh, uh, wait, you said I'm not wearing a bikini. I'm not. Because the clothing list said to only bring one, I only brought one. They never told me I could wear a bikini, like, every day. Max is busy doing my laundry, but I'll be able to change back into it soon. I do look good in it, don't I?"

"Max is doing your laundry?" I ask a little stunned. First that Max could accomplish such a task, and second that any woman worth her ovaries would trust a man to do her laundry. Especially confined to a house and unable to go shopping for the next month. That's a lot more trust in the male species than I have, that's for sure.

"Yup. I don't do laundry. I also don't do cleaning, or dishes, or... hey, say, how are you at doing nails?"

"You mean how many knuckles up do I get nail polish? I'm not very good at coloring between the lines. It's probably why I don't wear it very often. About like most make-up." Oops, I accidentally answered honestly.

"You don't wear nail polish? Or make-up? I thought you were just sort of going native just because, well, I didn't really notice you, but... Any way! So, you don't do nails, huh? Pity."

I'm better than this. I can make conversation and be friendly. "So you're a dancer?"

"I'm a skilled erotic performer, but usually I'm an actress. Only right now I work in a restaurant, you know."

Her screech is getting to me. My resolve to make nice and be friendly is wearing thin. Third time is the charm, pick a pleasant, simple topic.

"Cute how you have that coy little string peek up over your darling shorts. Yet I've always wondered, how can you wear those? Isn't it like flossing your ass and uncomfortable?" Dang it, I'm trying, I really am, but I'm grasping at straws here.

"It's like your bra, silly. You don't feel it now do you?"

"Nope!" I lean forward, pull out the top of my dress a bit giving her a clear view down my bare chest. My cute little kittens peek out at her as they jiggle slightly.

"Well, it's, uh, like your panties. You don't feel them now, do you?" She sounds a little flustered. Still screechy, but flustered.

"Nope!" I can't resist. I turn around, bunch up my beautiful dress around my waist... and moon her. I kink my hip to the side to give my bottom a nice little sexy curve and look around at her, "Don't feel panties at all."

"You're just so impossible. You're trying to be difficult and you're making fun of me!" She huffs off.

So much for making female friends. I wander off in the other direction to avoid crossing Binky further. I'm sure if I give her a little time she'll forget it all. Well, that was probably long enough. Just not long enough for me to clear the ringing in my ears, though.

I take flight once again to find further flowers to sample in my attempt to be part of the family.

I quickly find George and Bill inside playing chess. Maybe I can gain points by being one of the guys since I'm obviously not one of the girls.

"Hey." I remember to speak guy to them: single syllables, short sentences.

Grunt is the reply.

Okay. Whip out the man-woman book of translations and try again.

"You two seen Max?" Four word sentence, should be acceptable.

"Uh, PW is out doin' Bink's laundry." Bill grunts out.

"PW?" I ask.

George straightens up getting pulled into the conversation, "Bill! We're in mixed company. Ex-nay on the guy talk."

"Huh? What'd I say?" Bill's at least now up to speaking English.

"You don't say 'PW' in front of a lady," George says in a slightly hushed tone.

"What's a peeing W?" I ask, now getting more intrigued.

"Pussy Whipped. 'Course, do you blame him? Did you see her on that pole yesterday? Hell, I'd do her laundry, buff her car, clean her house, and beg for more." Bill kindly clears it up for me.

"What is it about women on poles? She's just very talented and surprisingly athletic." Ack! I accidentally slip partially back into woman speak.

"But did you see her on that pole? Can you imagine what she'd do on your pole if she can perform like that on a metal one?" His voice is actually going up like he can't believe he's having to explain this to someone.

"Bill! We're still in mixed company!" George is no longer using his hushed voice.

"Well, it's not like she ain't got no pole."

"Yeah, it's just smaller." Dammit, I am going to break into this conversation and be one of the guys.

Unfortunately, guys must not be willing to say anything on their body is smaller - let alone that. The discussion skids into a two car pile-up.

"Huh?" Uh-oh, the males are back to single syllable, one word sentences and staring at me.

Ok, so I may not be one of the guys, but I can pull the gentle, soft female part and still be accepted.

"Mine just likes to stay hidden most of the time, but it doesn't mean it doesn't get erect, or like stimulation, or..."

"Having a women slide up and down it?" Bill has that lusty, hopeful look guys get when two women hug or kiss.

"Well, no, er, I mean..." Excuse me, now is not the time to relive your triathlon and Terrence pole dance routine. Unfortunately my southern region is now fully awake and wanting in the conversation as well.

"Bill, she means, haven't you seen a lady down there before?" George's eyes plead for this to be the end of our mixed company discussion of all things private. Although I swear, he has a bit of that guy look, too.

"Honestly? In the daylight? And not in the back of a pickup truck? Uh, do I have to say?" Bill has a sheepish look, even slightly embarrassed.

Regrettably this triggers my inner teaching moment.

"It looks like this, " and I lift my dress up around my waist and spread slightly. The memories from previous nights linger, though, which is readily apparent with my puffy inner labia pouting out from between the more prominent outer lips. With a light pull on my flat, a swollen clitoral hood rolls part way out.

My teacher side comes to her senses as I note the degree of response I'm showing down below and from my attentive pupils. I may have overstepped my anatomy lesson.

"Holy shit, you're built upside down!"

"Huh?" George and I both say it in unison. At least I made it back to one of the guys - I've resorted to single word mono-syllabic answers.

Maybe next I can practice my grunts and crotch scratch. Or maybe not, because Bill's got a very serious, almost scared look on his face.

"No, Bill, I can assure you, I'm put together like every other woman."

"So you're sayin' all girls are built upside down?"

"Bill, I'm not supposed to look like you. I'm a female, you're a..."

"No. I mean, just because I ain't seen many women displayin' themselves like that, don't mean I ain't seen females. Hell, I've probably seen more vaginas than you've ever met."

I let his vulva-vagina faux pas slide for the moment to blurt, "What the hell?"

"Oh, like you think you've got a lock on vagges," Bill was on a roll now, readily proving he was right - men! He rapidly continues, "Cows, pigs, sheep - all them got'em and they all look relatively the same. But you? You're built all wrong. You're upside-friggin'-down!"

Then it clicks. "Bill, I'm standing on two legs, they're standing on four. Here, try this..."

I turn around, lift my dress again bunching the blissfully soft satiny fabric around my middle, and bend over at the waist, push my bottom out at him, and arch my back.

"Holy shit! You turned it back right! You're like the exorcist or something. Does your head spin, too?" He was truly stunned, whites of his eyes easily visible.

"Son, we need to have a serious talk. Rosie, if you'll excuse us, I believe we've embarrassed Bill enough for one day."

So much for being one of the guys. I leave Bill in stunned silence so George can calm him down so our farm boy doesn't lie awake at night thinking I'll float up off the bed, climb the wall, and drop down on him to ride his soul into the pits of hell.

Although with all the displays of my heavenly bits, I'm getting a little worked up down there, and she's starting to ask why we haven't done anything lately.

I can't believe it - my pussy is complaining because of no action for - what - a whole 30 hours? I'll have to have a serious talk with her about realistic expectation. First I have to pee, though.

I step out of my personal little office and almost run into Randy getting out of the shower. His cute, bare little bottom freshly scrubbed, tight, and calling me.

I firmly slap it with my hand, a resounding smack through the empty restroom area. A tingle within takes over.

"Who's your mommy?" I purr my demand.

"Ouch! What the..." he turns with a surprised look that instantly changes to say he might appreciate a little womanly warmth.

"Let me see that ass of your's again," I say taking him by the hip and spinning him around.

He turns to reveal a red welt of a hand print.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry. I didn't know I hit you that hard, I..." my words are just spilling out of me. I've never really hit anyone before, let alone damaged them.

"Oh, I've been a bad boy. But if you feel the need to kiss it and make it better, I wouldn't argue with you... mommy." He shifts his weight which makes his butt look even more cute and irresistible.

I get a mischievous smile, "So I'll repeat it again, this time with feeling. Who's your mommy?" My voice seems to drop an octave and comes out with a breathy hush.

I put a kiss in the middle of my glowing red hand print. And plant a hand on his other cheek - although less hard than the first.

"You have been a naughty boy, haven't you?" I manage to continue in a warm, but stern coo.

He just shakes his head up-and-down and turns his butt further to me. The third slap on his bare bottom seems to have shot his grower straight out forward from his body, the towel that had been held in front spears outward.

I nuzzle in closer to my marks of punishment and start light kissing along the red margins. My hand glides up the inside of this leg and finds his shower was apparently quite warm. No lingering effects from his stint on the HOH pole as I tenderly cup his balls and put a teasing bite on his upper ass cheek.

"Mommy feels bad she had to punish her little boy. Can she do anything to make it better?" I can't believe this is me saying those words, but I'm thankful I'm not wearing panties, because they'd be soaked.

My hand slides up his sack and starts to explore along his throbbing shaft, my wrist now supporting his treasures while I continue to kneel behind him, putting soft, spreading pecks along his lower back.

His swollen tip has a growing area of wetness on the towel by the time I get there, my fingers circle around mid-length and with firm pressure forward toward the head I get a confirmation the shower wasn't the only thing contributing to the wetness. His pre-cum coats his throbbing urges and I slide the palm of my hand up around to roll it back and forth, sliding his bulging peak in a growing pattern of ecstacy.

I tantalizingly pull my hand slowly along his shaft, wrist pressing his balls up against his body as I draw back. Standing to kiss my way up to his shoulders I feel his body give an obvious quake as my fingers slide up and across no-man's land before getting to his lower back.

He turns, the moist towel still between us, and returns the pleasure with warm kisses along my neck. I arch myself sideways and slide my hand back under the towel.

I want to say more and give him, and us, more 'mommy talk,' but every time I try to say anything he's got his lips planted on another new, wonderful location. My hand is off on it's own exploring his wetness below.

I occasionally grasp the entire shaft, usually taking a break from his throbbing tip when I feel his knees start to buckle and quake, and with a gentle milking, urging motion, pull more slick pleasure from his soul to be rubbed on his exquisite, firm tip.

His hands have been tempting my own increasingly urgent needs above, tight nipples played through the satin fabric to hard, attentive points poking through the flounce which is supposed to hide them. He's worked his way down to the junction between my neck and chest, plus some trips up to tender areas behind my ears.

Unfortunately he's worked me up so far, I've lost track of my handy work down below because I feel the surging and bucking that says 'blast off.'

He has to pause in my pleasure while he tries to keep himself standing. It would seem one hell-of-a hand job. Wish I would've been paying attention, although I'm really glad the towel is still between us. Soiling this dress would've really pissed me off. Amazing how fast thoughts can pop back to reality as his kisses had stopped and only my nipples remain in his grasp. My breathing remains ragged, though, with his hold on my breasts being tweaked with each of his body spasms.

"Sorry, that was just..." he tries to apologize.

"Shhh. Momma understands. Her little bad boy will just have to clean up his mess, then make it up to mommy later." I give him a wink and leave him to finish balling up his towel in his crotch.

I slip back into my office, consult my own pulsing needs in quick fashion, piddle, and I'm back in action, slipping back out the door.

Back to working the rest of the crowd, although in a less exposed manner. Being more relaxed, though, certainly makes chitchat easier. I even manage not to flash the rest of the house guests over the remaining part of the day. Dammit, I probably shouldn't have given my underdog fans any ideas. Now I'll probably have to reveal myself to everyone tomorrow after chat. At least I'll have a good idea what my challenge will be.

Dinner, piddle, and bed. My routine remains intact. And pussy got her needs met... twice... over Terrence mountain. Had to make up for lost time. Deep sleep grabs me once again, without the Binky alarm clock, somehow even deeper and more restful. I love those ocean sounds.