Oh, Sister! (3)

Oh, Sister! (3)

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Summary

What on earth is a hairbrush during under the Erotica genre? you may well ask. Well, Hank can't talk of course, but he's asked me to tell the strange story of two sisters ...

Summary

What on earth is a hairbrush during under the Erotica genre? you may well ask. Well, Hank can't talk of course, but he's asked me to tell the strange story of two sisters ...

Content

Submitted: June 20, 2012

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Content

Submitted: June 20, 2012

A A A

A A A


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Well, it's usually a pretty quiet life being a Hairbrush.

It has to be really, we can't talk, hear, smell or taste.

We can feel though, the Great Hairbrush-In-The-Sky at least granting us the gift ot touch.

Without boasting, I can say I am a pretty special hairbrush. They size isn't everything, but I am about twelve inches long - sounds freakish, I know, but I was especially made to be used in a children's pantomime that featuring a couple of giants as the main characters.

The show lasted about three months before I was longer of any use to them, and along with a few other friends, the Rolling Pin, Jimmy the Comb and Robby Razor, I was dumped at a downtown costume hire store.

That's about the end of the road, I thought, not much future here and I suspect it will be an ignominious end at the city dump for one Hank Hairbrush. But to my surprise, one day I felt myself picked up and then felt the delightful sensation of long, beautiful hair being drawn through my bristles.

Given that my handle is already hard, I can't get a hard-on, but if I could, it would be about now at the touch of that slick hair.

Hello, hello, I'm being wrapped in what I think is tissue paper and I sense I'm going for a ride and maybe the dump is no longer an option after all!

It's now a few weeks later and many times I've felt the rapture of that hair sliding through my stiff bristles; I like it most when it's slightly damp and I'm guessing from pantomime days, that it's just been washed.

Something soft is gripping the contours of my handle, and again I wish I could get a hard-on and another six inches as I wait to be stroked that delicious long hair, but this is different, very different!

I'm conscious of being held a little tighter, and instead of being stroked up and down those long tresses, the hair is much shorter, a bit thinner and definitely curlier. A few moments of this and I feel myself pushed down a bit further and my bristles are pressing against something warm and wet, not like the long hair when it's been washed, but definitely soft and wet and I feel myself being spun ninety degrees this way and then back again, and although it is a very pleasant sensation, I can't quite work out what is going on.

Suddenly things change - something is holding my bristles and I feel my handle being pushed down and rolled across some sort of soft hill, except each time I roll, it seems to be a little harder and little bigger, and underneath there seems to be some sort of heaving movement.

Now my handle is being pushed further down and it's all wet, just like my bristles felt, but now wetter still and I can feel two soft mounds against me as I'm moved up and down and rolled this way and that.

Longer and longer the strokes become and now the very end of my handle senses it is being rubbed over some sort of opening, something like the entrance to a cave perhaps, again all warm and wet.

I wonder what inside there, some sort of wild animal, perhaps, as that heaving movement seems to be getting stronger and stronger and I'm being moved faster.

All of a sudden, I am twisted around and instead being rubbed up and down over that strange entrance, my head is pressing gently against it and getting coated with that moisture that I have no recollection of ever feeling before.

What's this? I cry out, or would cry out if I could; I'm being pushed into the cave! It resists at first, but then seems to be gripping me tighter as I slide further in, tighter against the broad part of my contours, then relaxing a little at the thinner sections.

It is a strange environment I am now in - warmer than outside the cave, but wetter and softer with the walls pressing against me and I'm still a bit worried over whether there is some wild animal in there because I suspect that whatever has pushed me in there will not let me escape out anytime soon.

I am now being pushed to and fro, at first a little deeper into the cave, but then I can't go any further and wish that maybe I had been made a couple of inches longer because, animal or not, I would really like to explore further.

The cave seems to be rocking more, and I'm being pushed backwards and forwards faster and faster, and Whoa!, I'm getting dizzy here, folks!

Suddenly I am thrust violently upwards and the walls are pushing and contracting against me, ten, maybe twelve times, and I'm being jerked around before it all stops and I'm allowed to rest there, panting a little and feeling strangely satisfied.

For a few minutes I rest, nearly dropping off to sleep, but of course, that's silly because Hairbrushes never sleep, we are on duty 24 hours, seven days a week and ready to fulfil any little service that is required of us.

For some strange reason, I sense that this has not been exactly a little service, rather the opposite, and I confess to you that I'm a little reluctant to leave that lovely cave as I am slowly pulled back towards the entrance and into the fresh air.

All I know is that I want to go back inside where it is so safe and warm, and I wonder whether there are other caves like this and whether they would be harder or easier to get into ...


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