Lollipop

Actually, that Sunday, I wasn't expecting guests to drop by. I had planned to spend it in my usual, favorite way—plug in my headphones, flop onto the sofa, and read a book.

The weather was gloomy; I occasionally looked up from the pages to watch the round, silvery droplets roll down the slanted surface of the slightly open window glass.

I turn the music up to maximum volume. And probably because of that, I didn't notice him at all, frozen in the doorway. And when I looked up again to glance out the window, I almost tumbled off the sofa onto the floor. A guy was standing in the doorway.

And what a guy! Solid, tall... shaggy-haired, fair-haired... with a kind of aristocratic face. His wet dark hair was pulled into a tight bun at the back of his head, an earring gleamed in his ear, and on his arms—metal spiked bracelets... A metalhead?...

— OH!" I said, puzzled, pulling the earphones out of my ears.

— IRA!!!" Mom barked, popping out from behind the tall stranger's shoulder.

Turns out, she almost lost her voice trying to shout over the wail of Lesiar ("... gouuuuuuge out my eyeeeees, draaaaaain the blood by the bucketful, laaaaaay out the tablecloths..."). And also, it turns out guests had dropped in and my help was urgently needed.

We set the table, ate, and I was shown off for a long time to two aunties (one of them was the mother of that unfamiliar guy), whom I stubbornly didn't remember, but they, however, had known and seen me once, for which they pinched my cheeks and were generally overly familiar.

In short, everything as usual.

After the son of one of the guests and I had eaten (by the way, his name was Stan), we were kicked out of the kitchen, with the reasoning that adult conversations would follow. Well, obviously—they don't have enough cognac for themselves...

Honestly, from the moment I saw him, my legs just went weak. He, however, avoided eye contact, and I wasn't looking at him either—I was shy...

We were sent to my room.

I turned on my computer, then, mustering some nerve, asked why on earth he had long hair—just like that, too lazy to cut it or listens to the corresponding music.

— Well, just... yeah, I listen to heavy..." Stan muttered.

I snorted. That was more interesting.

— Well, come sit closer, we'll rummage through my stash, I think there's something there that'll interest you," I promised, pulling out a stack of DVDs.

The guy moved closer, pressed against my thigh, and I almost squinted with pleasure. What a disaster...

My parents had gone to grandma's for the whole Sunday—to help with my sick grandpa. I was left home alone.

Stan showed up in the morning—with a guitar, a stack of exclusive discs, wine, and pockets full of candy. The wine was successfully guzzled from teacups, and we, already a bit tipsy, went to the computer.

I immediately cranked up the music, he sat there picking out chords, and I rummaged in his pockets for candy. He told fresh jokes, I laughed. Then we both tormented the cat together... sometimes grabbing onto each other's hands. Stan was embarrassed, I was openly thrilled.

Meanwhile, the candy ran out. One lollipop remained. Lemon.

I fished it out from the bottom of his front pocket for a long time.

Stan pressed the guitar tighter against himself, played a beautiful chord.

With a satisfied smirk, I shoved the lollipop into my mouth.

My brother turned down the music and said in an even tone:

— I want candy too...

— There isn't any.

— There is...

— Should I spit it out for you?" I said sarcastically.

He carefully set aside the guitar, and I noted with surprise that his jeans were characteristically bulging.

Burning me with his gaze, he moved closer.

— That's an idea.

Eye to eye.

I turned monstrously red. My cheeks even went numb.

He touched my burning face with his icy hand. Brushed the corner of my mouth with his lips, pulled back.

— Ira..."—a fallen whisper in my ear. Everything was like in thick jelly. My gaze was probably absolutely stunned and dazed. He smiled with his mind-blowing huge eyes and, without further ado, kissed me hard on the lips. I almost swallowed the candy in surprise. His tongue slipped into my mouth unhindered. His hands pulled me to him with a familiar motion.

Kissing me was probably absolutely uninteresting. Because I just sat there, stunned, with a bunch of thoughts in my head that I wouldn't even dare to describe.

But he didn't let me go for a long time.

And when he did let go, the thoughts vanished at once. I hugged him myself and kissed him. He immediately responded with hungry, rough readiness. Pushed me onto the sofa, went under my linen dress. Firmly ran his hand along the inside of my thigh, pulled down my thin panties. Without interrupting the greedy kiss.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, tangling my fingers in his hair.

His hand finally slid into the hot, wet cleft. He caressed very skillfully too. So much so that it took my breath away and my body shuddered.

I slid out from under him onto the floor, sat him on the sofa. He helped unbutton the button and fly of his pants, pulled out his rock-hard cock himself. All entwined with pulsing veins, tense to the point of ringing, wet with pre-cum.

First, I exposed the head, pulling the foreskin down with my palm (Stan gasped and leaned back against the sofa back). My palm felt nice and warm. I ran my tongue along the entire length, as if tasting it. I had dreamed of doing this for so long... I indulged in sweet dreams at night, then pleasured myself... and finally, it was happening not in my imagination...

It turned out to be surprisingly tasty. The skin was tender, amazingly hot. I wanted to feel it in my mouth, wanted that tender skin to caress my palate, my tongue. I took as much as I could into my mouth, but of course, it didn't all fit, so I helped with my hand.

It only took a few movements—and Stan came, moaning loudly, sucking air between clenched teeth and moving towards me with his whole being. I didn't even have time to orient myself. What to do with the warm liquid filling my mouth and still being pushed out in spurts by my brother's exhausted flesh?

It streamed down my chin. I reflexively swallowed everything that had accumulated in my mouth. Licked Stan's relaxed "little friend" (the guy jerked, moaned sweetly). Then he lifted me with strong hands, sat me on his lap, and for a long time licked his sperm off my face, off my neck. Then kissed me even longer. Pulled the dress, which for some reason was still dangling on me, over my head. From his attentive, sharp gaze, I felt uneasy. And suddenly it became uncomfortable to sit—Stan's Warrior had risen from slumber and demandingly pressed against me.

I basically didn't want anything anymore.

— A shower would be nice..." I began.

— Let's go," Stan said and pulled up his lowered jeans.

— That's not exactly what I meant.

Stan took me by the hand, and we very quickly ended up by the shower stall. He undressed, and now I admired his neat, firm body with a strangely even tan—without the usual swimsuit marks.

— Stan, why do you go to a tanning salon in the summer?...

My brother pulled away from my neck, which he had bitten with his sharp canines so hard that I had no doubt—there would be marks.

— I don't.

— Then why is the tan so strange?...

— Want one like that? Then come with me to the nudist beach.

— Oooh," Stan dragged me into the shower like a proprietor and turned on the hot water, "Thanks, I don't want to.

Stan grinned and continued exploring my body with his tongue, my skin breaking out in goosebumps from his caresses.

I reached for the shower gel, poured some on him, spread the pleasantly scented liquid first over his chest. Then moved down to his stomach and—finally captured the most valuable part. Stan purred and buried his nose in my wet hair, moving under the shower, letting the water wash the soap off his body.

With one hand, I stroked his cock, with the other, I ran my fingertips over his back. Stan trembled with excitement. For a while, I continued to caress him with my hands, touched his scrotum with my fingers, lightly squeezed it in my palm. I really wanted to see his face—with eyes shining black from dilated pupils, a lip bitten in torment. I rose from my knees, kissed his chest, from which the gel had already washed off, tickled the tips of his rough tongue over his nipples, my brother moaned almost inaudibly and pressed his whole body against me, hugged me. Ran his hands over my body following the dripping water.

I don't know how long we stood like that under the hot water—probably half an hour—but the warm water in the heater ran out and cool water doused us.

Stan decisively turned it off, jumped out of the shower first, wrapped me in a large towel, and, picking me up, carried me to the bedroom—leaving wet footprints of bare feet on the floor.

Carefully laid me on the bed. Froze for a minute. I reached out and touched his face. Gently stroked it with my palm. He took that as a signal, started kissing the towel I was wrapped in again, climbed onto the bed, hovered over me, and plunged deeply into my lips, playing with his tongue. I embraced his hips with mine, scratched his back. My brother licked my neck and slowly entered me. Instantly it became hot, I purred and hugged tighter. He started moving. Slowly, clearly enjoying the sensations. Caught my lips with soft, short kisses, closed his eyes. Gradually speeding up. I was simply melting. Stan slowed down a little. Breathing heavily, moaning, he squeezed me in an embrace.

Then he lowered himself, licked my lower stomach on the way, and in half a minute brought me to the peak; I whispered his name in a semi-delirium when he hugged me.

— I want... too," he whispered shyly, turning me over. I turned around in surprise, not understanding. But when he placed a folded pillow under my stomach, it dawned on me.

Stan reached for the nightstand—fortunately, I hadn't put away the cream from the evening. Fussed with it for half a minute. Then, with cream-smeared fingers, spread my buttocks, penetrated my anus with his fingers; I jerked, but it was too late.

He held me firmly with his hands, carefully inserted his cock—first the head, carefully, trying not to cause pain. I instinctively curled into a ball knowing—now I would feel the tender skin tearing and for two and a half weeks I'd be provided with a walk like Marilyn Monroe. But it worked out; Stan entered to the hilt, puffing like a steam engine and moaning, pulled back a little, entered again, pressing his chest against my back. I listened to my sensations and didn't understand when I started moving to meet him. Accelerating the rhythm, caressing myself with my hand. Stan grabbed my short hair at the nape and moaned quite loudly now. Pressed down heavier, and when I buried my nose in the sheets and exhaled noisily, shuddering from orgasm, he hugged me tightly, and I felt the pulsation of his ecstasy...