My Teddy Bear Ch. 03

I start to retort, but there isn't much time for me to deflect his concern before we turn into the drive at home, and have to button up our brazenly intimate behaviour at least for the next little while.

***

We'd missed dinner - a discovery about which we both attempted to conceal our enthusiasm - so quickly sorted out sandwiches and some egg salad for ourselves, bustling away in the small kitchen enjoying being close to one another but remaining mostly silent. Mum and Dad were in the next room watching telly, so we didn't trust ourselves not to blurt out something inappropriate. He made the sandwiches and I made the salad, and within about fifteen minutes we were back upstairs in his room wolfing it all down.

Even though more private than downstairs, we had to continue to be circumspect, as most unusually Joanie's door was open. The mostly dark room beyond appeared to be empty, but we couldn't be sure, and again we didn't think it was wise to risk anything when our much more perceptive and undeniably spiteful younger sister was possibly lurking somewhere nearby.

We still managed to communicate a surprising amount of lustful information with glances, eyebrows, and occasional brief touches. Certainly enough to be fully aware that as soon as the coast was clear we would be all over each other again.

Before we get to that, though, I need to get clean. I'm filthy after my day in the garage and my run across the fields into town. Ted also wants to shower so I pop downstairs to ask Mum if I can use their bath. Before long I'm basking in the hot water. I scrubbed myself down under the shower head before running the bath, to get the mud and dust off and leaving me to enjoy the soaking part in clean water. The heat works away, penetrating my tense and aching muscles, sore from the running but also very stiff from last night. I've got the new Laura Marling album playing on my phone, and it's well into a random album radio playlist before I stir again and contemplate getting out. My fingers are all wrinkly when I brush the soapy water off my arms, tummy and thighs as I stand up to climb out.

After towelling dry, I'm starting to moisturise when a thought occurs to me. *Let's give him another treat tonight.* I reach for my wash bag and retrieve my razor and shaving gel. After inspecting my legs for any areas of regrowth, I start to work up a lather of gel and apply it carefully between my legs... I don't usually use a razor for this, but as with many of my routine items the depilatory cream that I prefer is back in Manchester. I'll have to get some soon, as maintaining a shave like this with cream and blade is definitely *not* worth the effort, or danger.

Once finished, I clean up the area and finish off the moisturising. I'm still all pink and flushed from the bath, but feel clean and sensual again. Wrapping the towel around myself, I gather my things and pad back upstairs. Joanie's door is back to its usual state of fully locked and sealed, and although Teddy's door is ajar, I resist the urge to just go straight in, instead returning to my room.

After dropping my washbag back on the dresser, I crack the window open to cool off a little and do some gentle stretching before deciding what to wear in order to really blow his mind when I *do* eventually make that trip across the landing. I also retrieve a couple of the new condoms from the box and put them on the side to remind me to bring them with.

I'm at the full extent of a stretch, palms on the floor and bent over at the hips, when there's a knock on my door.

"Claire?" *Shit!*

"Hang on Mum," I yelp, and recover to standing a little too hastily. I'm still completely starkers and frantically grab my bathrobe before going over to open the door.

"Sorry was just doing some stretches."

"That's ok love, can I come in?"

I step back into the room and gesture for her to sit on the bed. I reach for my hairbrush and start to work some tangles out, facing the mirror but able to see her in the reflection.

"I'm worried that you're overdoing the running sweetie," she looks distracted, staring out of the window at the treetops, dark against the orange sunset. "We worked really hard in the garage today and even after all that you bolted off without stopping for any food, and it was *hours* before you came home."

"Oh Ma, it's not like that. I only did a run into town. I still needed some things from the chemist and when I was there I bumped into a friend from school. You remember Jess Phipps? She's just come back from the Caribbean."

"That's nice. I suppose you've not been able to catch up with anybody like you normally do at Christmas." She looks back towards me, assessing my face in the mirror. I can tell she's trying to decide whether she can be reassured by what I said or not. She can probably detect some trace of a lie but I'm pretty confident it's not the big one.

And then as she's starting to speak, I remember the condoms, sitting plain as day just to her left on the dresser. My blood runs cold, but I have the presence of mind to amplify my movements and facial expressions, trying to keep her attention focused on me.

"I know you're wanting to get back to your marathon fitness darling," she's venturing to say. A bit hesitant, obviously afraid of upsetting me. Or maybe thinking there's something wrong, and that's the undercurrent she can detect. "But you know I thought you overdid it last year. We talked about it then, so I shouldn't patronise you again. Just, please. Be careful." She's wrapping up, about to rise, and begins glancing around her again.

I scoot over, to sit beside her on the opposite side to where the condoms are waiting to be discovered. "Really mum, I understand. And thank you." I've taken her hands in mine to keep her attention fixed in the right direction. "I'm being careful. I promise."

She smiles, and squeezes my hands. "I just hope you know that I... your father and I... think you're perfect the way you are. I know how much pressure there is on young women to look and act a certain way..."

"*Mum*, I get it. But I'm not a teenager. Really, you don't have to worry." She nods. As she gets up, I stand too, keeping one hand in mine in an awkward pose, trying to look natural as I keep her directed towards me while we cross to the door. I'm wittering some pleasant nonsense about being happy to be at home, anything to keep her attention. She's almost at the door when I give her a kiss on the cheek and a hug. "Night mum, love you."

"Love you too sweetie." And she's gone.

I feel bad for the relief I feel. And for the chattering nonsense I spouted at her. But I am also pretty sure she didn't see the condoms, which is obviously the main thing. I mentally berate myself for the close call. Must be more careful.

I primp and prep myself a little more, partly to kill time and let the rest of the house get to bed, and partly to give Ted even more of a treat when I go through. I paint my nails a lustrous hogs blood colour, apply a modest flick of mascara, and select the sexiest negligée items I have in my limited wardrobe: a matching cream set of a floaty lace chemise and tiny thong. I don't judge my old self too harshly for her taste in underwear: this is *fine* but it's a bit blander than I'd go if I had my full set of options.

I'm finally ready, and the house is settling down for sleep. Three fifths of it is, anyway.

I palm the condoms and peep around the door to make sure the coast is clear.

***

As soon as his door is closed and locked behind me, I let the bathrobe fall and reveal my lacy underwear. I hold the condoms up, fanned out like a hand of cards, and grin at his transfixed face.

"I think I'm literally the luckiest man alive."

"Quite a proposition isn't it? I'm all yours baby."

I slink across the room, swaying my hips and sending the floaty lace flicking all over. It's almost completely see through, so he can see my nipples stiffen under the rough fabric, and I can watch his crotch swell beneath his jogging trousers. He's topless - perhaps deliberately, knowing what effect *that* has on me - and sitting under the window on the faded dark blue sofa that used to be in the lounge downstairs until that day when Dad ordered the current monstrous slab of grey leather that dominates the room today. I'd already moved away at that point so my dibs as eldest were suspended, and Teddy had got the aged but still moderately comfortable relic.

He hasn't moved, but his eyes have followed me all the way across the floor. I'm standing just in front of him, knees together, hip cocked, and arms out to my sides.

"Tell me what you want to do to me Teddy," I beg. "If it sounds good enough, I may just let you."

"The main thing I've been wishing I did was taste you. Been regretting that all day."

*That's* his first thought? Lucky me! As he speaks, I very slowly start to twirl in front of him. By the time he's finished his sentence my bum is facing him, the outrageously tiny strip of material running down the cleft is all that there is between me and him. I slowly bend forward, planting my hands on my knees, and scandalously pushing my sex towards him. The scrap of fabric that barely covers it is getting damp already. Behind me, I can hear him swallow, presented with the exact thing that he's been thinking of.

"My, what a coincidence. I seem to be right where you need me to indulge that wish."

I feel his hands on my buttocks, fingers slipping under the elastic of the thong, pulling the pointless garment down around my thighs. I can feel the wetness of my lips and know they will be glistening for him; puffy and newly bald, awaiting his attention.

"That looks amazing Pipsi. You shaved!"

"Your powers of observation astound me brother." I reach one hand back and pull myself open, letting him see my hooded clit, inner lips, and just a hint of my vagina. "I usually keep it hairless, just let the routine slip when I got back from Manchester. I wasn't expecting to end up presenting myself for a savage fucking before dinner last night, or I'd have done it ahead of time." I feel a thrill at the obscenity of what I'm saying, and know my flushing petals are getting hotter and darker, just inches from his face.

A finger brushes over my outer lips, shooing my own hand away. Another gentle digit, thicker, probably a thumb, places itself between the folds, and slips down over my opening on its way to gently stroke my clit. Some other fingers on that hand reach forward, grasping over the top of my pubic mound, snugly holding me in place and gently pulling me back towards-

*Oh my god.* He kisses me and I feel his lips parting to allow the tongue out; flickering all the way up the sopping cleft before retracting. He swallows, and I hear him groan. Then his tongue is back, snaking inside, brushing against the narrow sides, only penetrating a little way but it feels *so* deep because he's pulling me back to meet his gentle, forceful mouth. The thumb is still working away, massaging circles around my now raging clit, pulling the hood away on the downstroke and back across on the up. The edges of his callused thumb pad are sending little blasts of pleasure through the tiny nub, but amazingly he's using the hood itself as the main source of stimulation.

His soft beard tickles my inner thighs, and my legs - still a bit shaky from what I've put them through in the last 24 hours - tremble. His other hand reaches forward, between my legs, groping my for my tits but he can't quite reach, so it contents itself with being placed over my stomach, fingers outstretched and reaching almost all the way from side to side. Palm flat, over my dormant womb. Another momentary flare of a very different kind of feeling: awareness of the potential ovulation that could be happening or have already happened, and the residue of him that's still inside, awaiting it.

But now his lips and tongue have moved down, directly lavishing themselves upon my throbbing clit, and the explosion that follows soon behind banishes such thoughts from my brain. I stagger in response, glad of the hands on my knees bracing me, but almost falling all the same.

I yelp slightly as I feel him pulling me backwards, threatening to topple me completely. "Stop, Ted, I'll fall!"

"It's ok Pipsqueak, I've got you." His voice is combing from under me somewhere. Certainly he's paused his oral activities, but I can't tell what's going on. Trusting him, I allow myself to collapse backward.

He really does have it under control. One hand is on my arse, taking most of my weight as my legs give way, the other is still on my belly, manoeuvring me onto the sofa. But to where? I feel him shifting under me now, and hear the brush of his skin and trousers on the material of the couch.

And then suddenly I'm squatting above him. He's quite impressively managed to manipulate my fall and shift himself all at the same time to coordinate this. He used one raised knee to catch my flailing right leg at the thigh and flick it over so I'm astride him, my hands now on his tummy and my dripping cunt more or less directly above his face. I can tell because his hot breath flares up and over me. His coaxing hands are now on my thighs, pulling me down towards him, and don't have much choice but to descend the final inches until I'm truly and firmly sitting on him.

I feel his busy lips and tongue, working fiercely under and around my clit; the flashes of energy that are radiating from there through my lower body are making my thighs quiver. My tummy muscles flex in response, knocking me forward and shifting my weight onto the palms that clutch instinctively at his hips. The assault on my button is unrelenting, fizzling pleasure overwhelming me, sweeping all over and bringing me, shuddering, to climax.

As I gasp and clench my way through the orgasm, I simply become aware of him still between my legs. He's switched to more gently kissing my pussy, the hood of my clit, each caress of his lips softly reminding my centre of the pleasure he just created. His strong hands are clutching, pulling me onto him so that I can't move away, and as I gradually relax back into post-orgasm he takes it as a cue to start all over again. I can't really take it, it's too much. I try to jerk my pelvis away from his face and eventually he gets the message. His hands relax and I loose myself from his strange embrace, tipping forwards and flopping down bodily along his outstretched length on the sofa.

I lie there for a while, hugging his legs, murmuring appreciation for the delicious feelings whose echoes are still gently coursing through me. His hands are on my back and bum, fingers idly tracing close to my nethers but never too close as to spark my overworked nerve centres.

When I push myself up with my elbows, I feel his dick spring up against my belly. It's been trapped beneath me but stayed rock hard while I recovered myself. I guess I did have my sloppy quim on full display to him and if I hadn't been able to keep him hard with a view like that, I would have cause for concern. But more to the point, now that I'm reminded of the presence of it, I know exactly what I want to do in this moment.

Scooting myself round, I offer him an impish smile and start to slip his trousers down. The solid bounce as his cock is freed is almost comical, now quite rigidly point up to the ceiling. Also, as planned, it's within easy reach. I'm going to taste him; repay the favour.

My fingers gently curl around the shaft, a little below the head, and start to slowly work the length up and down. My other hand pulls some loose curls of hair back, hooking it all behind my ear, and ensuring he'll have a clear view of my face as I work.

After kissing the head once, I simply say, "My turn." Before taking him in, tongue teasing the underside and the wetness and warmth of my mouth surrounding him. He groans, suppressing the volume, whispering thanks, and before long is gasping with the difficulty of keeping quiet.

My free hand tickles his heavy balls, causing a jerk at the base of him that I wasn't quite ready for, and a moment of difficulty for me as I gag and cough. Taking a few seconds to recover, I'm kissing him again, trying to regulate my breath, and using the firm motion of my hand to keep up the effort. He murmurs an apology, but I coo at him to hush.

Preparing to begin again, I build up some saliva by sucking on my own tongue, then slowly lick him all around and open my lips again. Keeping them taut as I dip back and forth, using the wetness and the tightness to rapidly draw a surge in hardness from him. It doesn't take long now, he's primed to explode. I can easily tell before he warns me, urgent, whispering that he's about to come.

"Mmmfff." I try to make the grunt sound inviting and sexy, but it's just another cock-stuffed utterance that conveys no meaning. It doesn't matter though, because I won't let him withdraw, and seconds later I'm rewarded with the first jet of thick, salty fluid bursting over the back of my tongue.

Now I work to draw it all out; using my hand to bring it up the shaft and suction to get it out, I take several more spurts before swallowing the full, oily mass, smacking my lips, and licking him a couple more times for good measure. He remains pretty hard for a little while, but I know that keeping going will rapidly become too much for him, so after a downstroke I place my palm flat on his groin, finger and thumb just circling the base, and resume the gentle kissing all the way up and down that I previously used as an interlude.

He's still spaced out, fighting for breath, hands reaching for me and grasping whatever they can find. One fist has clutched a handful of hair, almost too roughly, so I cock my head that way to release the tension. The other hand is on my shoulder, and will probably leave finger-tip bruises he's squeezing so hard. No strappy tops for me then, in the coming hot weather.

Finally he's himself again, and his hands slacken in momentary fright at what they were doing. My cheek's now against his thigh as I gaze up at his lovely face, the softening cock has fallen beside me, just out of kissing reach, and my hand is gently stroking the firm muscles of his groin and belly, fingers loosely running through stiff little blonde hairs.

But much less stiff than mine, I reflect with annoyance: Despite our similar genetics, my regime of hair clearance, started so many years ago, came at a price I didn't know I would be paying. Regrowth now brings a coarseness that I'll probably be cursed with forever.

"Did you like that?"

"Oh god yes Pipsqueak. That was..." he's lost for words.

"I do try."

***

Later, settling in together to sleep, flashes of shame and guilt about what we're doing return. The casual intimacy of sleeping in the same bed drives it home, far more for some reason than all the sex. He's out like a light, but I spend a long time looking at his face in the semi-dark, wondering at myself and what I'm doing.

After the blowjob, he'd carried me to bed, and slowly, tenderly fucked and fingered me to orgasm - twice! - before filling the condom with his dangerous seed. I could tell that it wasn't as good for him, although it made his stamina quite impressive. His skilful ministrations had me in paroxysms of pleasure most of the time, and I don't think my arms and legs released from clutching him into me even once, and both sets of my lips are now exhausted, one from all the kissing and the other battered from all the fucking.

After then simply holding each other for a while, we took it in turns to shower, the much earlier hour than when we finished last night making us a little paranoid that the sounds of two people in there would be heard by anybody not yet asleep. My uncomfortable thoughts had begun while waiting for him to return, and I'd not felt able to voice them to him, not wanting to poison the bliss of the evening for both of us.