Swoon: A Brother's Best Friend Standalone

My confidence rebooted, I grip Amy’s neck gently and stare into her green eyes. “Go into my bathroom and take a long, hot shower. Use the handheld spout on the massage setting, directly on your clit.” Her lips part in surprise. “Pull it off before you come. If you reach orgasm on your own, we’ll need to do this another time. Don’t worry, if that happens, I’ll still eat you and fuck you. But we won’t do The Sure Thing today, if you come in the shower. Do you understand?”

Amy bites her lip and nods.

“When you’re feeling relaxed and turned on in the shower, get out and dry off, and make sure to pee. Even if you think you don’t need to go, try. It’s important you know for a fact you have an empty bladder when you leave that bathroom. Do you understand?”

She nods.

“Good girl. Go. Take your shower—and take your time. We’re not in any rush here.”

Amy salutes me, turns, and practically gallops into my bathroom . . . which thankfully gives me time to gather supplies and perfect my game plan.

I grab a couple things from my kitchen. And then a few items from a toy box in my walk-in closet. I grab some white, fluffy towels from a hallway closet and lay them down over my sheets. I close the shades on my bedroom windows and turn on some sensual music to low. And, finally, I strip off my clothes and sit on the edge of my bed, waiting for Amy like a big cat with a hard-on, awaiting his prey.

“Hi,” Amy says shyly. And I swear to God, when I look at her, I physically swoon a little bit. She’s gorgeous. Her wet hair is combed back, drawing focus to every curve and line of her blushing face. Her nipples are hard and her tits mouthwatering. But the best part? That little smile of anticipation. This girl is ready. Already on the brink of her first orgasm.

“Why the towels?” Amy asks, motioning to bed, but she’s no sooner asked the question than she notices the bottle of chocolate sauce on the nightstand. “Oooooh, fun. I don’t remember that being talked about in Ball Peen Hammer’s video!” She squeals. “I’m game, though.” She squeals again.

I chuckle softly at her exuberance. Not to mention, at how fucking amazing I am. I didn’t lay those towels down to protect my sheets from a little smear of chocolate sauce. I’m not going to douse the girl in the stuff, for fuck’s sake, only tease her with it enough to throw her a curve ball and make her feel a bit naughty.

No, I laid those towels over my sheets because, God willing, my little newbie puppet is about to experience her first squirting orgasm before I’m done pulling her strings. Of course, there’s nothing to gain by explaining that to her, however, since Keane didn’t talk about squirting in that particular video. So, why raise her expectations about what’s going to happen to her, even further? No, the best approach is to keep Amy soundly in the dark about that, and let it shock the hell out of her when it happens.

Breathing hard, though I’m trying not to, I grab a bottle of edible massage oil off my nightstand—spiced vanilla scent—and lead Amy to sit on the edge of my bed. When she’s seated, I douse my palms with oil and begin massaging her shoulders. “Clear your mind,” I whisper, before brushing my lips against her neck. “Think about nothing but my touch, baby. The fact that your clit is pulsing. Think about how wet you are for me.”

I kiss my way down her neck, and she moans softly at every touch, making my erection pulse with excitement. I can’t believe this live wire worried she’s not sexual, when in reality she’s the most sensitive and reactive woman I’ve ever been with.

“Inhale through your nose, sweetheart. Do you smell that?”

“Mmm. Vanilla. I love it.”

“It’s edible.”

“Ooooooooh.”

I try not to laugh. Even in the midst of sexual arousal, this girl is like an adorable cartoon character come to life.

“Inhale again,” I whisper, after I’ve gained control of my urge to laugh, and Amy follows instructions while I continue kneading her shoulders. When her muscles feel sufficiently supple under my palms, I guide my little puppet onto her back on top of the towels. “Do you trust me, puppet?” I ask.

“With my life,” she whispers back. And the thing about Amy O’Brien is I know she’s being literal. This girl would place her very life in my palms without the slightest hesitation, without realizing I’m not even close to worthy.

“Nothing should cause you any pain,” I whisper. “But you might feel uncomfortable and anxious, right before you feel fucking amazing. You’ll probably feel like you need to pee, right before you have the best orgasm of your life. But you need to trust me when I tell you to relax and push through it and let go. For this to work, you have to trust me and not resist what I’m telling you to do.”