Bree the Boyless Wonder: The Babysitters, Part 8
As Bree bares it all, Brenda is finally, fully exposed. As her world tilts upside-down, Brenda literally sends her insides out.
It didn't take long in the shower. The detachable shower head had a pulse function that could bring Brenda off in less than thirty seconds, easy. Just point and shoot.
Her huge clit could barely stand a normal shower, anyway. It was usually a game of twist-and-tuck, shoving her hips and ass all around to keep her crotch out of the direct line of fire – that is, unless she wanted some breathless thrills fifty times a shower, being careless with where that wicked water might hit. Thankfully, the shower head also had a very gentle function as well, so she could at least rinse off down there without losing all muscle control and dropping to her knees every time.
But, oh, when she wanted it to... that shower head was very nearly the best lover she ever had!
Serenaded by Alicia's drunken snores from the bed, Brenda toweled off slowly, lost in thought.
Bree had figured her out. She knew Brenda was faking it, playing at being Ben – Ben the man, Ben the boyfriend, Ben the stud with the muscles and the hot red Italian motorcycle. She knew the odor of Brenda's wet, hungry cunt. Not the smell of a Ben's musky cock. She'd put her mouth on Brenda's nipple, for God's sake! She knew. She knew, and she wasn't afraid to tell Brenda that she knew.
Brenda found herself on the toilet, sitting on the closed lid, naked, half-dried, caught, confused.
The kid was only ten. She didn't have the guile to blackmail her, did she? And if she didn't, what then? What if she was really an innocent, naïve, and she let the secret out just because? Just for giggles?
Brenda thought the girl was somewhere between. Not a schemer, not an angel, certainly not a fool. She'd made sure Brenda knew what she'd discovered. And then she'd taken her shirt off and given it to her. And run off to bed.
Shivering, Brenda rubbed her goose-pimpled arms and replayed the scene carefully. Still seeping from her rapid, massive orgasm in the shower only a few minutes before, her pussy began to build fluids again, leaking heavier the longer she thought about it all. Her aroma filled the bathroom. Brenda found herself dipping in fingers, licking, sniffing, tasting herself and thinking thinking thinking about that little girl.
Had Bree really invited Brenda back to her bedroom? Had she really half-stripped for her and made a perfectly clear offer?
"Why is your name Ben?" she'd whispered....
It shook Brenda to remember it, sent her wobbling off the toilet lid and over to their extra-long garden tub, where she fumbled distractedly to fill it. She climbed in right away, thankful for the cold shock on her ass and back, hungry to feel the water slowly warm, rising over her anus, her cunt, her thighs, until she simmered and sank away. She ignored her already-wrinkled fingertips and toes, her fresh-orgasm blush, her wet dripping hair.
She was eager to soak and explore the memory she'd stumbled across. She wanted to fully recall it, see it clearly – the first time that question had come to her, spoken almost exactly the same way, the only other time anyone ever asked. It had been her first lover, Samantha, that summer she was eleven and visiting all the doctors. They'd had her first, in a way, but that rodeo gal – God – she'd certainly had her the best....
It was a long time before Brenda noticed anything beyond the bath tub. Then came a small, high sound.
"Ben? Ben? Are you in there?" It was Bree's voice, so close and so quiet on the other side of the bathroom door.
Brenda surged up out of the full tub, shaking herself free from remembrance, instantly terrified. Why was the kid in their bedroom?
"Ben?" The girl was whispering. Alicia must still be asleep. Alicia! Had Brenda even covered her up before coming into the bathroom? Was her lover still lying there, totally exposed, with a vibrator hanging halfway out of her cunt and a plug up her ass?
Brenda went dripping to her side of the bathroom door, cracking it only just. She fumbled with her free hand to yank a towel off the nearby rack and wrap it around her waist.
"What's wrong, Bree? What?"
Bree took a few steps back, smiling sweetly. Brenda could see past Bree enough to tell that Alicia still sprawled, passed out in the exact same position on the bed, fully exposed, absolutely, whorishly wide open and used.
Then Brenda saw something else. Bree was naked. Her hands worked lightly over her little pussy, pushing on her clit, rubbing her lips.
"When are you going to come fuck me, Ben?" the little girl whined. "I'm soooo tired of waiting. I mean, I'm like getting sleepy and everything. Can you please hurry up?"
Brenda's heart hammered in her chest. She felt so light-headed anyway, from jumping up out of the tub so fast, and now dizziness threatened to topple her right over. She flung her hands out for support, her towel dropping to the floor. Bree sucked in her breath, eyes wide. Then she grinned. The door had drifted open only about six more inches, but that was all the little girl needed.
Brenda could hide no more. Ben was history.
Bree giggled, covering her mouth, staring wickedly at Brenda's exposed crotch. There was a sick wrenching of time. Everything jerked to a stop. Brenda couldn't move, couldn't breathe. A fire burned out from the center of her brain, radiated through her flesh in one giant rage of pins-and-needles fury. Her skin hurt. She felt dipped in acid.
Her vision tunneled. She needed to vomit. Badly.
Shutting the door in a panic, Brenda leaned against it, panting, the room spinning. Her feet slipped out from under her. She fell hard onto the tiled bathroom floor, her ass slapping wetly, the back of her head thumping numbly against the wood of the door.
"Hey! Why'd you do that?" Bree protested. Over the roaring inside her jangled head, Brenda could hear Bree's little bare foot stomp the floor. "That's not fair!"
The fucking towel she'd fucking dropped on the fucking goddamn floor was under her hand, crumpled on the floor beside her. Brenda raised it to her face, covering her eyes and nose and mouth, and sobbed. Everything spun. It was all twirling and tipping. Rolling over. Rising fast.
Then she leaned forward and threw up all over her own crotch and legs. Beans and rice. Protein shake. Beer and something pink.
Brenda was stunned, unable to do anything but heave until her stomach fully emptied. Then she heaved a little more. She reached out a trembling finger and feebly traced it through the disgusting mess on the floor between her thighs. She pushed a wet lump back and forth, trying not to smell it all. Splatters extended a yard beyond her splayed feet. A mad scatter of pinkish, rice-infested spray climbed the side of the tub.
Her legs were coated in slime. Her cunt was drowning in it. There was so much mess pooling at her crotch, she couldn't even see the top of her slit. A thick gob of something dripped slowly from her nose. She wiped it away with the back of her hand, her eyes watering fiercely.
Brenda had to gulp for air before she found her voice. Her throat was raw and burning. Little chunks still floated around in her mouth, and her saliva was building heavily, dangerously. Brenda had to fight the urge to spew again as she spoke. "Bree, listen-"
"Omigod! Did you just puke?" Bree squealed. Brenda could hear her with frightening clarity, as if the little girl was leaned down against the door exactly opposite of her head. "Are you OK?"
Brenda cleared her throat, spit, did it again a few times. "No, Bree. I'm not."
There was a pause. "Aw jeez, Ben. I'm so sorry."
"I- It's OK. It's... OK." Brenda's head felt lighter than ever. Her voice wasn't even in her own head. It came from somewhere outside, and she listened to it like a fly on the wall. The floor felt like it was tilting.
Another pause. "Can I, like, help? Do you need some medicine or something?"
"No... Bree. No medicine. No... help." The floor was getting closer. Why was it getting closer? Brenda's torso jerked as she came back back from the brink of blacking out, her legs spasming, heels clattering briefly on the tiles. The puke splutted sickly as her thighs and ass jerked about in a random dance of nerves. Her head came back hard and cracked against the door again, and this time Brenda really felt it. Thin laser lights of pain arced across her vision. She was still tunneling. Tunneling.
Her tongue felt thick. She heard her own voice mumbling. "Just... go to your room. Please. Please...."
And that was it. Brenda slid into darkness. She never heard the sounds of a little fist knocking frantically on the hollow, hard wood of the bathroom door. She never heard the keening cry, never felt the panicked child rattling the door knob, unable to push it open, Brenda's weight slumped against it, a heavy lump of muscle and bone tipped sideways on the floor.
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