[F4A] Toothbrush

I stared down at the object in my hand. It had been weeks. All my toys were still to be delivered and unpacked. It’s been weeks, I convinced myself, curling my fingers around it. But… it wasn’t mine. My own one was dull, uninteresting and completely manual.

“I’m really going to do this, aren’t I?” I muttered beneath my breath, my own legs coming closer together as I tried to fight off the cringe. You were off doing whatever you did when I decided to clean up and head off to sleep. It’s been weeks… I opened my hand to take a glance again at the makeshift vibrator I was about to plunge into myself.

I gave a defeated sigh, arousal winning out over. As long as you didn’t find out it was no harm no foul, right? The water ran, burning hot in moments as I cleaned your toothbrush off, squirming a little as my body realised that temptation had finally won out over whatever strands of sense remained when I had not had anything but my own two rather unsatisfactory hands for weeks.

Weeks!

When you’re hot and bothered, things like that become foolproof excuses. I suppose that’s how Trump feels when gets himself off on stage to making America great again..

I sat down on the toilet seat, a death grip around the warmed neck of your device. I’m really going to fuck myself with a toothbrush… The buzzing began and was quickly muffled as I pressed it up against my engorged clit. “Fuck!” I whispered under my own breath, biting down on my lower lip as my toes curled. Whatever had gone into the brush, it was magical.

Weeks…

My face drew into the ‘O’ position almost immediately as my hands made circles around my greedy clit, tickling my lips with the residual energy given off by the vibrating motions. Fuck, fuck fuck! It should not be thi- my body drew taut as the first wave sent my head reeling with eyes rolling up against my skull. The barest of moans managed to escape my barricade of gritted teeth; to some outsider above I was chomping down on air as my mouth oscillated between closed and wide open. Too much! Too much! My body screamed before I pulled the powerful device lower into the now thoroughly dripping lips of my gushing pussy.

Why the fuck do they make these things so strong!? I screamed in my head, ashamed that it had been mere seconds before I was brought to an orgasm. Not even my favourite toy was that good…

I had recovered a little, beginning to fuck myself with the blunted end of the brush, hand grasping at the neck as the schlicking sounds rang out along the room. “Please don’t hear me, please don’t hear me,” I begged in a hushed and desperate tone as the wavelets of pleasure began to spill over into impending thunderous shocks that would soon pass through me as earthshattering quakes. The pace ramped up, a longing crescendo of scandalous pleasure until I was no longer thrusting so much as pounding myself. I kept ramming the rod, my hand uncaring of how much it hurt and how good it hurt, until I was beating the living daylights out of my g-spot, the touches of vibrations kicking off the ticking bomb of my loins. A moment passed. My feet balled and kicked out, hand becoming an indomitable force that would require a change in the laws of physics as time bent out of shape.

“Fuuuuuck!” I screamed silently, shame keeping my voice at bay. Barely. The world flashed, spots dotting my vision before the blackness blanketed what my eyes were swallowing. The seat below me shook, ceramic quivering as my body lost itself. There is only so many times you can say ‘fuck’ before it loses its meaning.

FUCK!*

A half-moan mixed with a whimper passed through my lips as I keeled over. I soon found the tiled coolness of the floor against my face and head ringing from the mix of the jolt and almighty orgasm, my thighs still seated with arms trapped beneath them and still clinging to the vibrating stick from heaven. Heavy panting and aftershocks of pleasure slowly turned to panic as I heard your footsteps, quickly pulling myself up and shutting off the device.

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

Your knocking made me jump a foot in the air, crashing back down to my knees as my trembling legs buckled beneath the sudden influx of my own gravity enhanced bodyweight. The rug was soaked in my whatever juices managed to stay within me.

“Are you okay, Rainbow?” You asked, voice concerned and leading me to believe - hope, rather - that you’d suspected nothing.

“Y-yeah. Just…” I trailed off, trying to come up with a conceivable excuse and drawing nothing but blanks. “There... was spider is-” I cut myself off, a beetroot from what the mirror told me as I realised that my voice was pitched high enough to break it. I cleared my throat, only then noticing the whitened knuckles along my hand.

“Just a spider, don’t worry!” I called out, voice deliberately deeper to the point where I sounded like some failed actress straight out of a boring comedy. My wish was that you saw it as me trying to appear manly as I fended off the terrifying imaginary spider.

Silence.

My heart lept to my chest as I assumed the worst. For some reason the logical conclusion that I reached in those seconds that was actually a single second was that you had figured it all out.

The bucket of relief hit like a bag of bricks, a welcome bag of bricks that had me clinging to the basin as the strained sigh of relief made my head woozy.

You gave out a small chuckle, “Okay, then.”

That was it, I was scotfree! Mental me did a leaping cheer while me me simply sat there listening to the echoing of your footsteps ringing off the corridor and coming through the locked door. My palm, the empty one, found itself plastered on my face as the wet slap rang out. “The door has a lock…” I muttered to incompetent self. The cleanup was easy and you hardly noticed the fact that I had taken upwards of an hour in the bathroom, carefully cleaning everything to prevent any suspicion from rising.

The next night was easier, it’s amazing how premeditated actions flow fluidly in comparison to the disaster that left my face with a laughable bruise (thankfully the spider story held up). Best. Shower. Ever. There was just something about it, perhaps just how hot and naughty it was, when I fucked myself on your toothbrush. You were my roommate which meant relationships were complicated but there was no doubt I’d be down to fuck you in an instant if the opportunity arose.

The night after was even better, and the one after that. And the morning after that. And the week after that…Until I slipped up.

Every night, as was now a scandalous ritual I would get off on your toothbrush. That thing had been so familiar to my cunt that the mornings did a 180 and became something that I would happily drag myself out of the bed for. I was practically a zombie but the days that I embodied the walking dead were long past. Almost.

I’d done my normal routine, getting out of bed twenty minutes before you, towelling up and heading to the bathroom to shower, fucking myself on your brush and cleaning it up before making breakfast. Except that today’s morning haze lingered a littler heavier than usual and I had omitted the most crucial step - cleaning up. I didn’t realise it at the time, munching on my bowl of cornflakes until I heard the door close and signal that you were in the bathroom. Ever been doused by a pail of ice-water?

I shot straight up, milk flying over my body and my shirt getting splashed from the flying spoon that rattled out a series of clanks as if my life had become some shitty romantic comedy with a soundtrack to boot.

FUCK!

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Roommate Status: Taken

The answer to most, perhaps all of your questions.

Look, it had been weeks… and… and it was is a really good brush...