My Love Affair with a HairbrushbyRobynG©
My love affair with my hairbrush began innocently enough. It wasn't an accident, but it was innocent.
Back in my teenage years my mom insisted, no demanded, that I remain a virgin. That wasn't a real problem, because although a couple of my friends were going all the way with their boyfriends, it was a rarity.
And when Jenny Ducca got pregnant, pure, chaste Jenny Ducca, it nearly choked off dating for many of her friends. Jenny got knocked up and we all got lectures. All of a sudden, even as college girls, we had to be in a little earlier, had to have our boyfriends come in to meet dads and get a stern lecture, then get the 3rd degree when we got home from our dates.
Still, I had to desire to have a boy put his "thing" in me back then. It wasn't that I wasn't sexually turned on or didn't want to have intercourse. Rather it was I knew that even at age 18 I wasn't ready, that I wanted to wait until I really loved someone and was sure I could handle it all. Looking back my mom taught me well.
I wasn't a prude, and over time as I dated more and got comfortable being with several boyfriends I began to like making out. Kissing, holding hands, feeling each other's bodies, first over clothing and later allowing a guy to feel my bare breasts. It was very, very exciting. But I wasn't going to go all the way, and I let them know it. That cost me a couple boyfriends, and several times I cried myself to sleep at night because I was dumped by a guy who wanted more than a hand on my bare breasts.
Sometimes, while parking by the lake in a hot and heavy make out session, I'd so much want a guy to make love to me. I'd get so hot, so wet, but I would push hands away often more often than someone on a diet at a buffet. There were times after such tug of wars that I'd end up awake, unable to sleep, in my bed. That was when my fingers began wandering around my pussy, and the sensations were sensational.
I'd slowly run my clit, somehow knowing the feeling would get better and better. I would stroke myself with gentle passion until my juices would moisten the sheets. The first time I made myself cum was awesome and I knew that I had what my friend Jessica called an explosion of my cream machine.
At first I was almost afraid of doing it again, the feelings were so intense. But a date with Randy got me so hot I couldn't help myself. It was a week after I first made myself cum with my fingers. Randy and I went to a movie then parked by the ball fields where on many days he'd either scored a touchdown or scored a goal. On this night he wanted to score with me but my defense prevented his sneak attack.
He almost was begging that night, and when we were making out I began stroking his jeans like I stroked myself the week before.
"Oh Robyn, take it out," pleaded the 18-year-old horny boy for the fifth or sixth time in as many minutes.
I couldn't help myself. I told him I wasn't that kind of girl, but when he unzipped his pants I just hand to snake my hand inside. I just couldn't help myself. I pulled out his cock and slowly stroked it. My first touch of a cock was deliberate, like it was electrified or something. I gently felt it and the pulsations I felt were very erotic.
Groans came from deep within him as I played with his teenage dick. It jerked against my hand as I stroked up and down, bringing grunts of ecstasy from Randy. He was sort of mumbling as I jerked him off. I swear it got bigger and bigger as I jerked on it, and soon my work paid off as the guy started shooting his sticky stuff all over my blouse, his pants and leather car seat.
I have to say I was very proud of myself, as my work clearly was something Randy liked. He kissed me for several minutes after his orgasm, and begged me to let him play with my pussy like I played with his cock. But I knew better, there was a line drawn there, and crossing that line was not for me.
He dropped me off that night horny as all get out, and I couldn't wait to get to my room.
After saying hi to my parents I made a beeline to my room, first taking a shower then slipping into some pajamas for the night. I had my fan on, and while it wasn't really hot I needed something to mask what I was going to do. Then, lying in my bed, I began stroking my legs and, well, higher. Yes, I began playing with the folds of my pussy, slowing stroking my pussy lips and especially my clit as I thought of Randy and his pulsating dick.
The thoughts were erotic, and it had me getting hotter and hotter, just as it had in recent weeks as I learned what my pussy liked most. Remembering that dick from earlier in the night I rubbed harder and it was taking me higher and higher.
I don't know why, but I looked at my nightstand and spied my wooden hairbrush, thinking to myself that the wooden handle looked familiar. It was cylinder shaped, not totally round or anything, but it had a look of something I had in my hand earlier in the evening. I reached over, grabbed it by the bristle end, and then move it down between my legs.
There, against my wet pussy, I rubbed that hairbrush, actions which brought wonderful sensations to my core. I moved it just inside my pussy, just a little, and imagined it was Randy's hot cock. Closing my eyes I luxuriated in the feelings, the sensations, the wonderful shocks it sent through my pussy. I slipped it in a little more and used my other hand to slip my fingers all around my clit.
All of a sudden there was a deep eruption within me, and I began to what I now know as cum but at the time worried I might be peeing myself. My head was jumbled as the sensations increased. I was embarrassed, but also felt really satisfied. It was an amazing feeling.
After coming down a little from my high I reached down and pulled the handle out of my pussy, bringing it to my lips, and for the first time in my life I tasted myself on the wooden cock. I nearly came again just from that naughty act.
Over the next few months my affair with my hairbrush blossomed, as on several occasions a week --- especially after dates where making out was a key ingredient --- my hairbrush had its way with me. It started innocently enough, but soon I became a slut for that wooden handle.
Over time I learned that the hairbrush handle had a number of fine attributes. It was always there for me, sitting in my purse or on my nightstand. If I needed it, it was close by...and always ready. I didn't have to excite it, as it was always excited by me. I mean, I love to get a guy hot, and over the years have gotten good at it, but my hairbrush needed no incentive to do me.
All we needed was a little privacy and a few minutes, although I preferred the lengthy satisfying meetings we'd have late at night in my bedroom.
It was a secret affair, because even on sleepovers with my friends, when we'd reveal intimate thoughts or deeds, I couldn't get myself to admit to sleeping with my hairbrush. Not even when Rachel Ann revealed she had obtained a hand me down jelly vibrator from her older sister...and that she actually used it!
It was like a government secret was being revealed. Turns out several of us regularly masturbated, but using a vibrator? It was shocking, so much so that because of the brouhaha about using a foreign object in our pussy, especially something as nasty as a used vibrator, made be totally keep my affair with my hairbrush quiet.
We were all grossed out by Rachel's actions of putting something so nasty in her pussy. But Rachel pointed out the cleaning liquid she used to spiffy it up, that it was totally clean, and that, well it felt fantastic inside her. It was like screwing a guy, without the guy. And since we were all (or claimed to be, I didn't know if Kelly Ann had or had not put out for her boyfriend Rich) chaste virgins having sex without a guy kept our "purity" intact.
Rachel's vibrator was quiet the object of our affection. Oh, we'd talk about school, hobbies and movies, but when we were totally alone in someone's basement --- just us girls that is --- the talk would invariably turn to boys and ultimately Rachel's vibrator.
It was as if we were made of metal and attracted by a big magnet. Like our mouths were attracted to chocolate. Like cheating in gym class when Mean Mrs. Jean told us to do 25 sit-ups.
Yes, the vibrator had us all attracted to it. We would talk about it, pass it around and feel it, ask Rachel how it felt inside her, and, several times, played a card game where the loser had to hold it between her legs while the cylinder was vibrating on full blast for a minute.
That was quite embarrassing, but soon we realized it was the winner who should get to play with the vibrator for a while rather than the loser. Oh, it was so hot between our legs.
On one evening we couldn't help ourselves. None of us had been able to figure out a way to get a vibrator of our own, so on a dark and rainy night in Rachel's basement on a sleepover we did the unthinkable. That was the night we all took turns slipping into the basement bathroom and (allegedly, because who knew if each of us really used the cylinder on out private part) brought ourselves off using the fake cock. Yes, a teenage gangbang. Oh that poor vibrator, it got a workout that required us to chip in to buy new batteries the next day.
That night was the first time I really cheated on my hairbrush. I told myself I wouldn't, that I couldn't, that my secret hairbrush lover would be my one and only, but the temptation of visiting the bathroom with the vibrator was too attractive. Yes, I told myself I wouldn't cheat on my hairbrush, but the slut I guess I was made me do it.
I couldn't help myself. Unlike a date where I laid down the law with a guy, drawing the line on what he could or could not do, the night in Rachel's basement had the lure of an open cash register to a thief. As each of my friends came out of the powder room with a huge grin and unsteady walk, I knew I had to do it too.
So while I wasn't first with the vibrator that night, I did succumb to the sexy cylinder. I shyly took the vibrator from Tiffany and excused myself. Behind the locked door of the powder room I lifted by baby blue baby doll nightie and lowered my panties to the floor.
Then, thinking of Mr. Dawson, my favorite math professor who was a hunk and the object of the affection of many college girls, I slowly began rubbing my hands on my thighs and higher. I slipped my fingers around an on my pussy, all the while eying the vibrator sitting on the edge of the sink. I made sure the powder room fan was on to disguise the buzz I knew would be soon be enveloping the room.
I gently secured the vibrator, running my hands all over it, and then shocked myself when I brought it to my mouth and kissed the pussy glazed tip. I made it wet with my tongue, somehow totally ignoring that it presumably been inside several girls that night, and lowered it to my thighs.
Leaning back on the commode, I began stroking my legs and higher. Turning the vibrator on low, I gently placed it along my clit and slowly moved it round and round. The feelings were amazing, and I held the vibe directly on my clit, bringing sensations I had never felt deep to my core.
It felt so wet down there, I was leaking like a sieve. I heard a couple low grunts and wondered what it was until I realized it was me. I slipped the fake cock into my pussy and stroked in and out, then quickly moved it back to my clit. The feelings were quite intense and before I know it I was shaking through a powerfully strong orgasm. Oh my it was hot, and as I came down from the orgasmic high I knew I had to privately ask Rachel Ann if her sister could get me one of the magic vibes for my own.
A few weeks later I had a brand new vibrator that made beautiful music with my pussy. I forgot all about my hairbrush and began a regular dating pattern with my new toy. I had no shame, using it in the morning before class, sometimes before and normally after dates, whenever. I placed it in my panty drawer, below my skimpy undies, with a pack or new batteries nearby just in case.
Then one night it wasn't there. It was gone, kaput. I started shaking, wondering what could have happened to it. Then it came to me, my mom had looked at me with those "crazy" eyes she sometimes had when she was disappointed in us but didn't want to say anything. She'd stare at us with those crazy eyes and we'd almost admit to anything, but surely would stop doing whatever it was that displeased her.
Normally that meant my brother farting in public, or me sitting unladylike at a family outing. This time I knew what the look was for.
It had to be when she was either cleaning my room or dropping off some wash. But I remembered being hurried and only running a load of jeans and shirts through the laundry before heading to class. I didn't have the time to get the flimsy undies into a separate wash. She must have done that wash and folded my cotton panties and other assorted skimpies and put them in my chest of drawers. Somehow she must have found the vibrator and disposed of it.
The next afternoon, embarrassed as all get out, she lectured me about doing unnatural things to my body. She never mentioned the vibrator, but it was implied. I was grounded for a week, and there was the threat of her telling my father (he'd have spanked me for sure if he didn't have a heart attack when learning of what I had done).
Not only was I embarrassed, I was really concerned she'd tell my dad. He was a Holy Roller type, and while I hadn't gotten a spanking in more than two years I wouldn't put it past him to use the belt if he knew what I was doing. Heck, he said he would spank me and any guy who took untoward advances on a date. I believed he had the nerve to do just that.
Over the next week I suffered withdrawal pains from my lack of having the vibrator nearby. I so wanted to work it on my pussy, I missed the attention.
In any event I still had my hairbrush. Not even my mother could surmise that the old wooden hairbrush sitting on my night stand was a demanding object of my affection. My abstinence lasted only a couple days as I soon reintroduced the trued and true hairbrush handle to the pussy it loved. Once again it became a regular part of my lovemaking.
I thought of that first night with my hairbrush and subsequent affairs with the vibrator and, once, a large magic marker (okay, I am really a bad girl) the other night after my boyfriend was too tired to give me the loving I wanted. He had played hockey all night and had to get up for an early meeting. I was staying over in anticipation of a bout of body on body, full contact, sex, but was left wanting.
It wasn't to be. He didn't even want a blow job, preferring to sleep.
But I was hot. I thought about going home, but I decided to stay. Still I went into the living room and watched Conan for a bit before the evil within me emerged. I smiled to myself, looked for my purse, and voila, there he was. My secret lover, the one which is always ready, willing and able to satisfy my animal urges.
Holding that hairbrush in my hand brought back numerous wonderful memories. I couldn't help myself. I slipped over to the bathroom, locked the door, and did the unthinkable. I fucked myself with my wonderful hairbrush.
An affair, like old habits, are hard to break.