tagToys & MasturbationStrange Insertions Ch. 01

Strange Insertions Ch. 01


The sun was setting outside of Madeline Engels' Winnipeg hotel room, and soft rays of color were leaking through the plastic blinds, bathing the room in a gentle cascade of colors: pink and peach, a gentle swelling of red, an orange like marigolds. A cool breeze followed the light in through the open window behind the blinds, and it carried the scent of fall: dry dust, damp leaves and beneath it the crisp scent of freshly lit tobacco from some smoker on the street below. The day outside hardly stirred Madeline, but the smell of tobacco teased her nostrils with its sharp, acrid scent. The taste of smoke on her tongue kindled a fire inside Madeline's gut, a dull yearning ember, orange and glowing in a cradle of dry leaves. It reminded Madeline of every cigarette she hadn't had for over a year.

Madeline had chosen her seventeenth birthday to quit smoking, largely as an act of rebellion against her family. They all smoked; her sister, her mother, her father, all of them. Caught in the usual rush of hormones and teenaged angst she'd suffered through her final school year, fighting with her family as much as she fought with her teachers. On the verge of adulthood, Madeline yearned to escape and be free, to test her new wings and fly, but every day was a new frustration, a new drama. Her birthday had seemed the worst of all. Her parents had cooked porkchops for dinner, even knowing that she'd hate every bite. She'd tried to be a vegetarian for years, but her parents wouldn't let her, saying that they bought the food, and that they made the meals, and that as long as she lived under their roof she'd eat as they did. Madeline had hated that, the insult and injury heaped atop her wounded pride. After her birthday dinner she'd watched her family finish their cigarettes. Then, as they stubbed out their smokes in the communal ashtray she'd let loose, exploding at them in the way that only a teenaged girl can, and loudly swearing to never smoke again.

That had been a year ago. A year and twenty three days. Now eighteen, bored and tired, Madeline was beginning to feel that a grown woman should be allowed to do as she pleased.

One cigarette. Just one. Adults can smoke if they want to, and it would be the perfect way to finish off the second last day of a week long drive across Canada; a week stuck in a tiny hatchback with her twin sister Jeannine while their parents took turns with the driving. A perfect end to a week visiting family; a week of blacktop and prairie skies; a week without work or school or any other responsibilities; a week without friends or any kind of escape. Madeline wanted a smoke. Madeline deserved a smoke.

The hotel room was neat and empty, without much to do but watch the same boring shows on the old tube tv. There wasn't any distraction, and she was too tired to go out on the town. Madeline had left her parents after dinner, excusing herself to her room and a quick nap. After only two hours, she was restless again. She stood up and stretched, catlike, langorous.

Arms raised, back arched, Madeline caught a glimpse of herself mid-stretch in the hotel mirror. Her hair was mussed, a torrent of red ringlets that fell around her shoulders, the same hair her sister Jeannine would have, if she didn't insist on keeping hers cropped short like a dyke. Madeline swore it was all that time playing soccer and hanging out with boys that did it. She'd watched time and athleticism steal the baby fat from her sister's body, replacing it with the smooth, muscled form of a woman, even if she was an exceptionally short and perky one. There was no denying that Jeannine was cute. But knowing that her sister was cute, only roused Madeline's own doubts. She'd grown into a woman, shapelier by far than her sister, and she was still getting used to the idea of curves where she'd always had straight lines. The mirror reflected all of that womanhood back at her.

Insecurity and lethargy kept Madeline prisoner in her hotel room. Nothing about the view in the mirror made her hurry to go outside and find a smoke. She'd washed off her makeup after she woke up from her nap, and there were still smudges of mascara under her eyes, but nothing at all on her cheeks or lips. And besides, she was a long way from dressed to leave the hotel. She could admit that her tight cotton t-shirt looked pretty good with panties. It was good in the sort of way she wouldn't mind showing off to the right guy, but it sure wasn't the way to go outside: too much nipple through the fabric of the t-shirt, too many unrestrained curves, too many red curls sneaking around the laced edge of her panties.

Already forgetting a wave of insecurities, Madeline paused, the thought of boys lingering in her mind.

She touched her side, felt the smooth curve of skin beneath the fabric, cupped a breast that's soft weight was still new to her. She rolled her head back and batted green eyes at her reflection.

It was no use. Insecurities came rushing back. Pandora's box stayed open.

Madeline sighed, shoulders slumping, head lolling forward. Even in her fantasies she wanted makeup. She was starting to get cranky, and she really needed a smoke. But she was NOT leaving the hotel.

The door between Madeline's room and her sister's adjoining room was closed. Through it she could hear the shower running, the sound of rushing water drumming through the wall, carrying with it another note now and then: Jeannine's high voice singing above the water. It's a good thing I got the room next to her, Madeline thought, she could've had some pervert here listening in. Singing in the shower. What a princess.

Still. Jeannine might have smokes. Madeline narrowed her eyes. She watched the door. She listened to the shower.

Asking was not an option. Her family couldn't know she was rescinding on her daring rebellion. And Jeannine had been in the shower for nearly fifteen minutes already! She could come out at any moment. But... the water was still on, and there might be time, if she was quick and quiet. There might still be time to steal one smoke and get out without her twin sister ever knowing.

Madeline crept across the carpeted floor and tested the door. Just as she'd thought, still unlocked. She pulled the door open gingerly, breath tight in her chest, goose bumps rising on the bare flesh of her arms and legs. The room was a mess.

After dinner Jeannine had run upstairs only long enough to change, tearing open her suitcase and flinging clothes across the bed in her haste to get back down to the bar downstairs and catch the beginning of the soccer game. Jeannine's love of soccer was something that Madeline, for all their similarities did not share. Not at all. If anything it had seemed to come between them, pulling Madeline's twin sister away into a world she didn't understand or feel welcome in. All the signs were there, reminding Madeline of that gap. A bunched green jersey lay on the carpet near the bed, a pair of sneakers were discarded randomly on the floor, a newspaper open on the chair to reviews of the last shows. Other things were there too, more familiar things: Jeanine's pushup bra was draped across the clock on the end table, her cellphone was discarded on the floor nearby, a world of recognizable trinkets and personal things were scattered across the room.

Madeline crept barefoot through a minefield of clothing, searching the room hesitantly, afraid to make a sound or disturb anything. Every creak of the floor and every shuffle of fabric was like a scream in the quiet room. Madeline's nerves tingled, the hairs on the back of her neck stood on edge, her breath came fast and tight. At any moment the reassuring drum of the shower could end and interrupt her search.

A quick glance at the open suitcase showed nothing. The endtable was open, but there was only a Gideon bible inside. The table with the tv had just a remote. A bunched sweater lay near the window.

The smokes must still be in her pants? It was all Madeline could hope for. But where were those?

There. Crumpled, tangled with a pair of filmy pink panties, her sister's jeans were caught in the bathroom door, wedging it open a few inches. Steam from the shower poured out through the crack of the door.

Step. Step. Step. Madeline crept up to the bathroom door and crouched amidst the billowing cloud. The steam smelled like her shampoo and soap, peaches and mango. It touched Madeline's cheeks like warm kisses, filling her lungs. Fingers trembling, Madeline dug through the laundry. Her sister's panties were as soft on her hands as the denim was course.

Over the sound of the shower Madeline heard a whimpered cry. She looked up, peeking through the crack of the bathroom door, sure she'd been caught. What she saw froze her in place, her green eyes going wide, her hands greasy with sweat, her breath held tight like a secret. Her sister couldn't seen her, she couldn't have: Jeannine was in the shower, with her back to the door, partially hidden by the foggy glass. Madeline had expected shock and outrage, maybe the fury of her startled sister, but instead she was treated to a blurry view of her sister's taut, athletic backside and slimly muscled legs, short mussed hair and the slim, tight cut of her naked body.

It wasn't her sister's body that caught Madeline's attention, it was what she was doing with it.

A second moan rose over the sound of running water, all too clearly punctuating the rhythm of Jeannine's hand. The motion was unmistakable. Even with her back turned, it was clear that Jeannine was playing with herself, slim fingers trapped between her parted thighs. She stood with her legs askew in the downpour, water pouring off her body, one hand bracing herself against the shower wall. Jeannine sighed and moaned, water splashing as her hand worked furiously at her soft peach.

In her shock Madeline was only half aware that she was staring, unthinkingly watching her sister masturbate through the warm clouds of steam. The view was blurred and indistinct, but not so much that Madeline couldn't see the motion of her sister's wrist and the rhythmic clenching of that tight, perfect butt.

A knock at the door interrupted both girls. A double knock rap. Both sisters froze.

"Honey? Are you in there?" Their father's voice called from the hall.

In the shower, Jeannine looked over her shoulder toward the door, hand slowing between her thighs, but not stopping.

"Dad? I'm in the shower!" Her voice was tight, trembling.

Oh shit. She's going to kill me. Madeline nearly died, sure for the second time that night that she'd been caught. She waited for the accusation that never came. The catch in Jeannine's voice wasn't from shock, it was the tightness of an imminent orgasm, the distraction of her fingers on her swollen clit. Jeannine didn't know she was being watched. She hadn't seen her sister.

"I'll come back!" Their father called again, muffled through the door.

Madeline, trembling, didn't move. Jeannine did, burying both hands back into her crotch. Unaware that she was being watched, the young girl slumped back against the glass and began to finger herself with fresh passion. Jeannine's changed posture flattened the cheeks of her ass against the shower door so that every line showed through the steamed glass, from the crack of her ass right down to the part of her thighs.

Taking her chance, Madeline scrambled for the pack of smokes and seized one with trembling fingers. She stuffed the pack back into its nest of clothing and scurried back toward the adjoining room, never daring to look back. It was only once safely in her own room that Madeline allowed herself to breath. The smoke, her prize, was cradled delicately in a sweaty palm when she fell trembling with relief onto the bed.

Once her breathing had slowed down she dug a lighter out of her pants, vindicating what had until then seemed like hopeless sentiment. She'd kept that lighter for a year, holding onto it as a symbol of her resolve to really quit. Now it lit a smoke in her gently shaking hands, hands that still smelled like mangoes and peaches, the steam from her sister's shower. Madeline lay back, cigarette propped between parted lips.

She filled her lungs. That was way, way too close. Exhaled. I can't believe she didn't see me. Madeline giggled. I can't believe I caught her doing that. She felt good. She tingled with the rush of nicotine, both relaxed and stimulated by the smooth drug. Wow. She took another breath and sunk back into the bed. In the other room, the shower was still running, drumming on and on like a light summer rain.


The sun had slipped down below the horizon, and left the hotel room dark.

A forgotten cigarette had burned down in the ashtray beside the bed, but the air still smelled rich with it's smoke, a smell half hidden by the fruit scent from the adjoining room, and the fresh smell of sex that Madeline had stirred up, working her fingers through her own moist cleft. Somewhere in the pleasure of the smoke she'd forgotten herself: a languid caress her of her stomach had turned into a brushed nipple, a massaged thigh, and then her fingers were probing her own wetness, tasting dew with their tips.

Now Madeline lay on her back atop the bedspread, her clothes long since discarded, naked as the day she was born. The blanket felt moist beneath her ass, dampened as it was by her sweat and the juices that drooled from the young girl's pussy. She'd been rubbing her clit, gently at first, then urgently, thinking about her sister -- thinking about anything but her sister -- just thinking about sex, desperate for some kind of release. She'd been riding a frustrating high, building to something that wouldn't come.

Madeline's fingers frantically tweaked her clit while her other hand pulled at her breast. She'd worked her pussy to a lather, but it wasn't enough. She needed something more.

She drew herself up. Her chest was splotched with the same pink flush as her face and her hair was messier than ever. Her eyes were wild. Nothing mattered but cumming, but she couldn't get there, not by rubbing her clit.

Madeline needed something more, and since there was nobody there to help, she'd have to find it herself. She crawled to edge of the bed on her hands and knees, pussy still throbbing from its fresh lashing. Ass thrusting obscenely into the air, Madeline leaned over to dig through the suitcase beneath the bed, fingers gleaming with her own juices. She left the scent of her pussy on her clothing in her haste, wiping it recklessly on everything she touched. She needed something inside herself, and that burning need was all that she could think about.

After what felt like an eternity, Madeline found what she was looking for, wedged beneath discarded clothes and the case of her laptop: her neon pink toiletry bag. Inside she found her hairbrush. It was bristled and temporarily useless at one end, but on the other end the handle was long and smooth, rounded and bulging to nearly two inches in the middle. It had been a mainstay of Madeline's home life since she'd felt the first stirrings of desire, since she'd first found pleasure, and it had kept her busy in her room on many a quiet school night. At home she'd kept it hidden, unable to explain away the fierce blushing that stole her voice and clouded her eyes whenever her sister tried to borrow it. At that moment it was exactly what she needed.

Madeline hurried back into position on the bed, raising her knees and spreading her thighs. Her pussy drooled with anticipation, rivulets of juice running down the crack of her ass, tickling her puckered asshole and dripping down to stain the sheets. Bristles pressing into her hand roughly, Madeline grasped the hairbrush and turned it backwards, touching the knobbed end of the handle to her aching hole. Touching, and then gently probing, she worked the tip of the makeshift dildo into herself.

There was no time for teasing. With two fingers she parted her lips, and with a thrust, Madeline sunk the plastic handle deep into her grasping teenage pussy. The smooth plastic filled her, setting her nerves on fire. A whimper turned into a cry of pleasure. Guilty, embarrassed, and above all else afraid to be heard, Madeline bit down on the knuckles of her left hand. With her free right hand she began to pump herself with the toy, writhing with the joy of it.

Madeline's fingers tasted of her own sex, sweet and tangy like sweat, and the taste filled her mouth. She didn't care, all she wanted was release. Her lips trembled around her own hand, her moans muffled behind it.

The handle of the brush kept plunging, seeking, filling her, pushing her closer toward what she needed. Letting a moan escape, Madeline tore her hand from her mouth and fumbled for her clit. Her fingers slipped through slippery lips and brushed the nub of her clit. A jolt of pleasure filled her.

Frigging her clit with one hand, Madeline buried the brush to the hilt in her pussy again and again, before finally collapsing, chest heaving, gasping back on the bed.

Madeline was sure that sweat would be rising from her glistening body like steam.

Steam, like from her sister's shower. Her sister's shower...

Madeline sat bolt upright.

The shower, the sound had stopped! When had it stopped? Had Jeannine heard anything? Madeline flashed a guilty look toward the door of the adjoining room. It was open a crack, but just a crack. She was sure that her sister hadn't seen through it. Had she? Had she heard?

A spike of panic and humiliating brought new colors of pink to Madeline's face as she scurried over to her suite's bathroom. Inside she locked the door behind her, fumbling with the latch, mind clouded with emotion. The idea of being seen like that was too much to bear. Madeline couldn't imagine being caught the way she'd caught her sister, writhing like a slut, playing with her own pussy. It was too much. But she was too tired to hold the thought for long. Sighing, Madeline slumped down onto the toilet seat, relishing the feeling of the cool plastic as it sapped the warmth from her overheated cunt. She couldn't imagine being seen like she'd seen her sister. She just couldn't.

Sitting alone in the bathroom, naked and exhausted, Madeline turned the idea over in her mind again, and again, trying to convince herself that she hadn't left the door cracked on purpose, that she hadn't maybe, just maybe, hoped her sister might see her.


The next morning snuck up on Madeline. A dry heat crept in through the open window, with none of the coolness of the night before. Even through the blinds the sun was blasting the stuffy hotel room, determined to turn it into an oven. It had to be nearly forty degrees Celsius, and closer to fifty under the blankets. Madeline, with the habits of childhood still fresh in her newly adult mind, still insisted on keeping the blanket tucked up to her chin as she slept, even in the sweltering heat. As a minor concession to the season, one naked leg sprawled out from the side of the bed, but that meager attempt at cooling was more than compensated for by the stifling warmth of the pillow she'd pulled over her head to block out the light.

THUMP. THUMP. Someone was pounding on the door, and they wouldn't go away.

"Maddy! Come on! Mom and dad say we've got to go! Come on!"

Madeline pulled the pillow more tightly down over her head and hoped that her sister would go away.

"Come on! They've been waiting for hours!"

The banging continued a while longer, then stopped. Madeline cracked one eye and stole a look out at the sun-bleached room. Too bright. She withdrew back into the blankets, suffering in the oven like heat for a moment longer before throwing the blanket back and climbing to her feet.

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