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This is a rather embarrassing story to tell, but also an exciting one, about a night I will never forget. It all started at dinner with my family-my mother, father, and my brother, Pete. I was planning to meet up with some friends for a party later and was feeling pretty good about my prospects. I was nineteen at the time, buxom, with silky dark hair that reached down to the middle of my back. In my high school years, I was rather plain, but when I went away to college, and put on the “freshman fifteen,” I filled out in exactly the right places-hips, breasts, lips. It was like I was swollen with sexuality. And yeah, the guys noticed. I went from no dates to fairly persistent propositions in my first six months of college. By the end of the year, I had lost my virginity, and then some.
It was summer now, though, and I was back at home with my pervy eighteen-year-old brother and my boring parents. I could not wait to get back out there.
We were having meatloaf. And peas. Not my ideal dinner, but I was a healthy eater. I mean, once I figured out the relationship between my appetite and my sexual appetite. More food meant bigger tits, bigger tits meant more eyes on them, more eyes on them meant more dicks. I was only an incoming sophomore, but I’m pretty good at math.
Suddenly I felt something touch my ankle and I reflexively jerked my leg away. I looked over at my brother. That little twerp was smiling, his eyes squinting behind his Harry Potter-style round glasses. I gave him a look and mouthed stop it. A minute later, he did it again. This time, knowing what was touching my ankle, I didn’t move as reflexively, but shifted my legs out of reach. I watched as my brother slowly slid down in his chair, reaching out with his foot. I grabbed a handful of peas and flung them at his disappearing head.
“Jana!” My parents, who had been too absorbed in their own conversation to notice what a pest their son was being, had glanced over just in time to witness the legume launch.
“Pete keeps touching my ankle!” I realized as I was saying it that I sounded pathetic. “On purpose!” I added, not helping my case.
Now my father was on alert, eager to prove that he was the law. Short man’s syndrome. He wasn’t that short-five foot eight-but still seemed to have a bit of a complex about it and tried to stay fit at least, to keep some dimension of imposition.
“That’s it!” He paused, knowing that he had to follow through with some sort of action. “No party.”
“What?! That’s not fair! What about him?”
My father smiled. “No party for him, either.”
“Arrrrggh!” I stomped off to my room, my father still smiling at his joke and my brother smiling along with him while picking buttered peas out of his hair and eating them. Weirdo.
I was angry, but all was not lost. If anything, my tantrum ensured that no one would seek me out for the rest of the night, and that was to my advantage. No one (except that creep Pete) was spoiling for a fight. I went to my room, slammed my door, and took a deep breath. I was going to that party.
I spent some time on Instagram, flipped through some magazines, and waited for Pete and my parents to get ready for bed. When it was time, I quietly changed into a black cocktail dress I’d bought while on spring break that highlighted my bosom, put on some lipstick and eyeliner, and made my plan for escape. I’d done it before, in high school, under similar circumstances and no one had ever found out.
In the shared family bathroom, there was a small window, and underneath that window a shed, and from there I could climb into the backyard and be off, with no one the wiser. Yeah, I could try the front door, too, but with everyone so recently in bed, there was a risk they would still be awake and hear me creaking around downstairs. The window was the better option.
I opened the door from my room into the hall. My parents’ bedroom door was closed. I could hear the television in there, so they were done for the night. They’d watch a few shows and fall asleep. I don’t think they’ve had sex in years, though I’d occasionally caught one or the other in a compromising position suggesting that at least liked to rub one out in peace every once in a while.
Pete’s door was closed, too, but God knows what he was doing in there. I didn’t even want to think about it. I stepped out into the hallway and closed my bedroom door behind me. If anyone came into the hallway during the night to use the bathroom, they’d see my door closed and assume I was still in there, fuming in my dreams. I went down the hall, just past my parents’ room, to the bathroom. I’d have to leave the door open and be very quiet. If someone found the door closed and the bathroom unoccupied, that would raise questions. I opened the small window, hinged to the side, stepped up onto the toilet, and tossed my clutch out onto the shed roof, where it landed with a muted thud.
I followed it, arms and head out first, pulling myself through, casino oyna bosom next, waist, and hips. And hips. AND HIPS. I was stuck. This wasn’t going to work. I was paying the price for that freshman fifteen now. It made me sexy, but unstealthy. A cat burglar I was not. I wiggled my legs now, trying to build up momentum for the reverse, feeling for the toilet seat so I could get some leverage on my position. No good. I wasn’t going forward, and I wasn’t going backward, either. I couldn’t imagine how I’d look if someone saw me from the outside, my torso, shoulders, arms, neck, and head emerging from a window whose small frame was hidden by my cocktail dress, which had ridden up a bit during my attempt to go in reverse. And from the inside? Ass and legs and … I just realized that, expecting to get laid, I hadn’t even worn panties.
I’d never taken the time to appreciate the neighborhood at night. The sights, the sounds, the cool night air on my face and bare arms. Once I got my mind off of the pain and awkwardness of my position in the window, and ignoring the occasional buzz of my cell phone vibrating in my clutch against the shed roof, a good eighteen inches out of reach, there was a lot to take in.
Mainly, it was the night sky-even though I had started in the darkened bathroom when I first climbed out, my eyes adjusted even further and smaller and dimmer stars gradually emerged, like college ladies from bathroom windows, from the blackness. Being summer, there were the sounds of crickets and cicadas, which I’d never before bothered to distinguish. A few nocturnal birds-an owl, maybe. I saw a cat wander down the alley. It paused, briefly, looking up at me, trying to process whether this new sight was a threat. I had to admit, at this point, that the incident would undoubtedly someday make a good story, though I was curious about how it would end.
Suddenly, my ruminations were interrupted by rays of light from the top corners of the window-someone had turned on the bathroom light. And it didn’t take long to discover who it was because a split second later, I heard the croaky voice of my brother, Pete-“What the fuck?! …”
“Pete … Pete …” I whispered desperately over my shoulder. “Pull me back in!” I was mortified, not only by the sight I knew I was presenting my brother, but also by the fact that had to ask him for help. “Oh, God, Pete, please help me …”
Pete didn’t reply, but I thought I heard him chuckling. I waved my legs around, attempting to signal the silent Pete. I knew, though, that by doing so, I was only exposing myself further to him-my vulva like the moon, my labia majora waving at him with the rhythm of my gyrating legs. Suddenly mortified, I stopped moving and let my lower half slump. “Pete? Are you there?”
Suddenly I felt something on my legs, my rear-droplets, like it was raining, then more force, a jet of warm water tracing its way up my right thigh. That motherfucker was pissing on me. That motherfucker! That piece of shit little creep. “Pete!” I hissed, weighing the incense of my anger against the fear of what would happen if my parents awoke. Somehow, I was still convinced that I could salvage this night. “Pete! Please stop, god damnit!” I resumed waving my legs, trying in vain to dodge the stream of my brother’s urine.
Then he stopped. It was just that he was out, though, not that he’d taken pity on me. Nature had simply run is course. As much as I wanted out of this window, now I just prayed that my brother would go back to his room and to sleep. I was humiliated, first being stuck in the window like this, now having been pissed on by my shitty brother. Nothing, I thought, could make this night worse.
I could feel the warm liquid dripping from my toes, but the light was still on. Pete must be there. Doing what? I took a wild swing with my right leg, imagining where he might be and trying to catch him off guard to deliver some small amount of retribution for this humiliation. My leg hit nothing. I tried my left leg. Nothing. I could hear him in there, though, maybe by the sink. What was he doing? Looking for something in a drawer? I just hoped that he hadn’t gotten his phone.
A sudden whirr, a mechanical whine. Hair dryer? Hair dryer. What the fuck now? Then I felt it on me, the heat, drying my skin where he’d peed, but not exactly a comforting heat. The air from a hair dryer can be discomfiting, especially in the absence of hair as an insulator. It wasn’t quite as bad as candle wax-the heat sudden, then dimming-this wasn’t as intense, but it was also sustained. And controlled. I could feel the jet of air moving past my right knee, making its way up the side of my thigh. I tried to move my leg away, but the intense heat stayed on me, trapping me.
Now it was moving again, this time laterally around my leg to the inside of my knee, then up my thigh from that angle. My skin was even more sensitive there, the heat more personal. I waited for him to finish, to get bored, to leave me alone, canlı casino or, better, to help me out of this window and never bring this up again. But he wasn’t going anywhere. Pete was taking his time. My brother, my diabolical little brother. My thighs were getting scorched, but not burned. Reflexively, I kicked again, but he caught my ankle, held it to his hip, and continued, with his other hand, to advance with the hair dryer. I tried kicking him with my other leg, but he easily deflected with his knee without, for a second, relieving me from his advances.
I could feel the air now reflected off my thigh up across my vulva. He was getting close now. What was he looking at while he did this? Was he concentrating on the few square inches of flesh directly in front of his instrument, or was he distracting by the clean-shaven sight of his helpless sister? I squirmed. He held fast. As much as I tried to focus on the effects of the immediate heat on my inside upper thigh, I was now anticipating what was coming next. I was getting hot, but not just from the hair dryer. I tried to get away by moving forward, out the window, even though I knew this was futile. I pulled my mons up against the window sill, but when that did nothing to free me, I relaxed back. Then I tried again as the heat was now at the junction between my thigh and my pubic mound. I was frantic now, thrusting my thighs and hips, humping the window frame, trying to catch my clit on the edge of the window frame, to find some sort of relief in friction.
“Oh, Pete … Pete … Petey … please! Please help!” I had crossed some sort of threshold, though, where the help I wanted from my brother was no longer about getting out of this window, but coming in the window.
“What’s going on here?!” My father’s voice. Suddenly the dryer was off, my ankle released. My legs sank in horror and disappointment.
“She’s stuck,” I heard Pete trying to explain.
“Go to bed.” Footsteps out into the hall. Silence. Had they both gone? It was only one set of footsteps that I’d heard. Just as when I was trying to kick Pete away, I tried to imagine where it was my father had gone. Where he stood. What he could see.
“I should spank you,” he said at last and then laughed. I felt a twinge of excitement inside at the idea. Instinctively, I squirmed-a little grind against the window frame. “But it looks like you’ve already had your punishment.” I sighed. “I hope you’ve learned your lesson. Maybe you shouldn’t have had that second helping.” He laughed again. Hilarious, dad. Hilarious.
How was I supposed to respond? He was talking to his daughter’s bare legs and crotch. I wished I could summon up the motor control to open my lips down there to respond. Maybe if I practiced kegel exercises, I could use my pelvic floor like a kind of diaphragm. “I’m sorry, daddy,” I could say, legs swung wide like open arms beckoning for a hug.
“It would be cruel of me not to help you, and I suspect your brother has been cruel enough.” I felt my father’s strong arm grasp me around both thighs, pulling my legs together and back in toward the bathroom. I tried to help, too, wiggling my hips and mid-section, as if I was doing “the worm.” The window frame did not release me from its grip. If anything I only succeeded in reigniting my excitement. The feeling of being trapped, confined, and at the same time, some of my most sensitive parts on the cusp of being satisfied through contact with something, anything solid.
He released my legs. I heard him climbing up on the toilet seat like Pete had done to urinate on me. Was he going to do the same? My father now? No. He had his hands on my hips now, sliding up along the fringes of my silk dress, his fingertips digging into my flesh as he tried to pull me in. He did this over and over, each time his fingers slipping along the skin of my hips to the outside of my upper thighs. Then I felt his hands dip further, wrapping around the front of each thigh, trying to use my own legs as leverage. He only succeeded in pulling himself closer each time. I could feel the fabric from his pajama bottoms, flannel, on the backs of my thighs. At first only lightly, like a tickle, then more and more as he used his own thighs as a fulcrum in an attempt to lever me out of this window. He pulled me into him, his hands grasping at my legs, trying to find a good place to hold on, slipping further and further forward, his hands, his fingers seeking out flesh and friction, his own groin colliding now with my backside, holding it there and pulling at my body.
“Oh. Oh God, daddy. Please.” I begged just loud enough that he could hear my need from inside the house. “Please put it in me. I need it.”
He gave up any pretense on pulling me out of the window, slamming his body into mine with such force that he had a better chance now of pushing me out of the window than pulling me back in. It was get fucked or get defenestrated.
“Daddy, please, just put it me. I’ve been very bad, sneaking kaçak casino out of the house. You need to punish me like a bad girl.”
I could feel his rod, long and thick, still barely contained in his flannel pajama bottoms, as he slid it up and down across my vulva. I could feel my juices flowing, no doubt dampening the front of his pants. My legs were shivering, shaking, partly from the pressure of hanging there with nothing to stand on, but mostly out of hope and anticipation.
Then suddenly, he backed off. But only, I discovered, to pull his pajama bottoms down. He entered me with a fury. Pushing straight through my lips head-first and on inside, the girth of his shaft spreading me wide. I came immediately, shivering still further, gushing, my arms waving at the darkened neighborhood as I called out an only barely muffled halloo.
My father wasn’t finished with me yet. This was hardly sufficient punishment for so grievous and disrespectful an offense. He kept going, hammering away at me, pulling at my hips. He tried to spank me once or twice, but couldn’t stop thrusting long enough to focus on making the smacks painful. At this speed, he was not fucking me out of love or affection, but out of lust and need. And I needed exactly what he was giving me. I deserved it.
I quickly built up toward another climax, my legs and feet stretching, straightening, trying to replace my arms to pull him into me, to hold onto him. I mimicked the motion outside with my arms, making love to the night sky.
“Oh, God, daddy … oh, God … I’m going to come again … I’m going to come all over your hard cock, daddy …”
He was slamming into me so hard I thought he might finally succeed in dislodging me from the window. I put my arms out, ready to catch myself on the shed roof if I fell through.
“Oh, God, daddy … please … I’ve been a bad girl … come inside me … I need your hot, scalding come in me to show me how bad I’ve been …” I didn’t know where I was coming up with this stuff. It was like speaking in tongues, it just poured out of me. He probably couldn’t even hear me in there. I was just the upper half of a co-ed, sticking out of a house, mumbling gibberish to stray cats.
Then I felt an explosion. He slowed his pace and fell into me, exhausted, as he pumped me full of the same spunk that had participated in my own conception. Suddenly, maddeningly too soon, I was left empty as my father’s softening cock fell from me with all the grace of … well, a young woman stuck in a bathroom window. I tried arching my back, trying to keep him inside of me for one more pump. I was so close to coming again and now here I was left hanging, literally.
“Daddy? Daddy? Oh, Daddy, I’m almost there.” I didn’t even feel him anymore. I reached for him with my legs and couldn’t find him. I suddenly felt abandoned and scowled at the stray cat as it wandered down the alley.
“I’m sorry, honey …” My father’s voice whispered to me from a hidden place of shame. “I shouldn’t have. Honey. I’m so sorry. I don’t know …”
“It’s okay, Daddy,” I tried to reassure him while talking toward the cat. “It’s okay. I liked it. I wanted you to fuck me.” It was true, I realized as I spoke those words. I really had wanted my father to fuck me, and I don’t even think it was just the fact that I had been made, quite literally again, “hot and bothered” by my brother and the hair dryer. I’d always wanted my father to fuck me, but it never entered my mind until now that it was actually a possibility. I wanted my father to fuck me, and not just that I had wanted that, or wanted to fuck him sometime in the theoretical future, but I also wanted him to fuck me right now, to finish the job he started. My mouth was watering and my hands wandering, my whole upper body awakening now to what my lower body wanted and needed. I kicked my legs again, frog-style, trying to capture my father around the hips and bring him back into me.
“Daddy? Where are you?”
“I’m sorry, honey …,” his voice still distant. “I can’t help you. I can’t help you now.”
I realized as his voice faded still further that he meant it both times. He couldn’t help me sexually and he couldn’t help me physically. Couldn’t or wouldn’t. Society frowned on the first matter and physics on the second. But both utter disappointments. I was crushed-and what’s more, I realized, that being psychologically, sexually crushed, did not diminish me in precisely the way I needed to get out of this predicament. My father and my brother had come-well, one of them had come-and both were now gone. I was becoming a fixture. A fleshy fixture, dripping spunk from my central orifice.
“Wha …?” A broken voice. My mother’s voice. The final humiliation. What was next, our family dog? “Jana! What? Jana, is that you?”
“Yes, mom.” I spoke, looking up at the twinkling night sky. “Are you there, mom? It’s me, Jana,” I said, still trying to retain my sense of humor.
“Jana, you’re …” A pause. An increasingly awkward pause. I know this one! I’m … stuck in a window. I’m … embarrassed. I’m … a bad girl. I’m … going to have to lose a few pounds if I plan to leave the house via this route. I’m …
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