[PART 1](https://www.reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/k07gxe/me_my_brother_and_his_girlfriend_threesome/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf)
[PART 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/sexstories/comments/k43e2v/me_my_brother_and_his_girlfriend_part_2_mfm/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf)
PART 3
…The next morning, I woke just after dawn and realised she’d been sleeping on my chest. I slipped out from under her, thinking I could get up and leave before they woke, but by the time I’d scrambled to get dressed and pick up my keys from the living room, she was at my side. When I turned to face her, she pressed against me and asked me about Sunday.
To explain: my brother had recently accepted a new schedule working weekends as a trade-off for a four day working week. Because Sunday would be Father’s Day, he wouldn’t be able to make it to visit our parents this year. But ever since she’d been with my brother she’d always come to our Father’s Day lunch too – I guess since her father had passed and she didn’t get on great with her stepfather, so she’d naturally become more linked into our side of the family. Anyway, she wanted to know if it was still cool for her to come, which of course it was. I was kind of expecting she’d be there anyway, and they’d probably be upset if she didn’t come.
I texted my brother later that next day – like: *Yo, how are you doing?* and he replied *Sweet, man. We all good?* And I was like: *All good.* And he was like: *Sweet.* And that was all we need to say. At least at that point.
On Sunday when I pulled up to my parent’s house, she was already there, just getting out of her car. There wasn’t really enough time to be awkward with each other. She’d volunteered to do dessert, so she had a couple of bags of ingredients she’d bought which I helped her carry up to the house. She did ask me how I was, and I said was strangely good but feeling a bit weird, and she said, yeah me too, but by then we were already at the door where Mum was waiting.
I should maybe point out that my brother and I aren’t especially close to our parents. This might sound bad, but I’d guess she probably talks to them more than we do. They were quite old by the time they had us, and they pretty much left us to our own devices. They’ve always explained away their distance by saying it was us, not them: we are like peas in a pod – thick as thieves – we speak our own language. That sort of thing. But it’s them too. Our father sometimes seems to love gadgets more than people, and our mother sometimes cares less about other people than about what they think of her. Okay, maybe that’s a bit harsh. They certainly care about us in their own way. Ask them trivia – like our birth weight. They could name it to the ounce. Ask them what our first bank account numbers were, and they could recite all 16 digits. But ask them about the real stuff – our interests, dreams and aspirations, they’d draw a blank.
Anyway, you can imagine what having lunch with them was like. She tried her best to hold the conversation together, but we often ran our own conversation between theirs. Like, they began talking about a particular political issue, and we were rolling our eyes at each other, or clearing our throats to avoid laughing. There were a couple of points at which one of them had something particularly stupid, and I’d nudged her under the table with my knee. She decided to take her spoon and flick me on the thigh with it.
When nobody noticed my reaction, she began jokingly running her spoon up and down my leg. Well – half–jokingly: she got bolder too and curved it over my thigh to touch it on my zipper bulge. I looked at her sideways and nudged her again with my knee, but I didn’t push it away, so she began running it up and down there while we finished lunch. I thought of what my brother would make of this briefly at one point – but I guess he’d find her teasing me like that kinda funny. Not that she knew for sure whether it was having any effect. For all she knew I was just ignoring it. But when she got up to prepare the dessert and asked me to come help, I could only say that I’d be there in a minute then sit staring blankly into space waiting for my hard-on to subside.
In the kitchen, we started joking around again – preparing the fruit as suggestively as we could, while holding completely straight faces. I placed the two rock melons on the chopping board, nipples up, and caressed them suggestively. She slowly split a peach in her hand and inserted her finger into the slit. I stuck a raspberry onto the end of my finger and held it up. She ran her finger up and down the centre of a halved orange, and made it squirt juice as she applied pressure. Then she got out the can of whipped cream, and things got a bit silly, and when she shot some onto my face she beckoned me close so she could wipe it off with her hand, which she did slowly and suggestively, licking it off her fingers. That was when we heard Mum come in and we jumped apart.
We were just in time. She was like: What are you two were conspiring about? But she didn’t wait for an answer – just placed the lunch plates at the sink and told us that Dad wanted us to bring dessert into the lounge so he could show us a slide show.
Dad had paid one of those digital restoration companies to scan a bunch of old photos Mum had taken of us during childhood, and he’d got them ready to play from his laptop onto the TV projector. We sat on the couch eating our dessert while Mum closed the curtains and cut the lights.
The slideshow was ordered chronologically. It started when we were infants –playing, sleeping, bathing – then went through our childhood – parks, holidays, family events. There were even some photos of her and her family with us back then, and my mother had to prewarn her about the pictures of her father, but she loved seeing them and asked for copies. But there we were – at a football match, playing video games, playing mini–golf. It wasn’t until our later teen years that they became really interesting though. There was one set in particular at the end. My brother was 17; she was 16, I was 15. We were at the beach, and it was clear Mum had taken the photos because she wasn’t in any of them. We were wearing nothing but swimwear, and it was impossible not to notice the development of our young adult bodies. In one shot we were in the ocean, splashing each other, a curtain of water frozen in time, arching from my hand toward them. In another the three of us were walking up the beach, drenched in water, our swimwear clinging to our skin and announcing the contours of our bodies. In another we were lying face down on towels, covered in dry sea–salt, sunbathing, and you could see the goose–bumps on our skin from the wind – running down her thighs, along the backs of our shoulders, in among the downy hair just above her tailbone.
As I sat there in the dark looking at our lithe young bodies, I felt my desire for her return. I know she felt the same because– she crossed her arms, careful to keep her hand hidden – uncurled her fingers to sneakily reach out and touch my ribs. I started a little, then crossed my arms too.
Our fingertips met.
As we continued to look at the beach images, our fingers caressed each other, interlinked, separated, touched each other’s ribs, higher to the edges of our chests, lower to our hips. At one point I had rested a knuckle under her breast, and she responded by covering her hand and hooking two fingers into the waistband of my boxer shorts. When her fingers became numb she eventually pulled them out again, and I was suddenly worried that everyone heard the pop of the elastic.
Nobody noticed.
Still, we’d teased each other into a state of mild arousal by the time the slide show was over, so as Mum stood to open the curtains again, I began reaching for an excuse to get her alone. She was one step ahead of me. She told them she’d left a box of summer casual clothes in the sleepout with my brother’s stuff a couple of years ago and she was hoping I wouldn’t mind helping her to dig it out and carry it to her car before we left.
So, a few minutes later, after we’d said our goodbyes at the front door and my parents had gone back inside, we went around to the sleep–out.
The back garden is very quiet, tree–lined and secluded, and the sleepout is a single room with just one large window looking west towards the valley.
When we went in, she gestured at a box on top of the storage cupboard. I was slightly confused and a little disappointed because I thought the box was a fiction – just a ruse to get us alone. But there it was. I went over and pulled it down, and she opened it on the bed. Inside were summer dresses and skirts from a couple of seasons back. She said she needed to try them on, but there was no mirror in the sleepout, so she needed my opinion about which she should donate, and which were worth keeping.
Before I could respond, she’d kicked off her sandals, and began lifting her blouse over her head and dropping her jeans to her ankles. The shock of her undressing so quickly seemed to make my lungs suddenly inflate. The image of here there was immediately etched into my mind – the dark grey cotton of her bra and panties, and the hazy light on her skin coming in from the old netted curtains covering the window.
I sat down on the edge of the bed as she rummaged through the box, pulled out a simple grey dress and began to step into it, standing side–on to me. As she expected, the dress was a little tight, and it picked up her ass a little as she pulled it up and eased her bottom half into it. She looked at me momentarily. I was staring at her body, exhaling long and slow. She leant forward, slipped her arms into the sleeves and turned her back to me so I could do up the zipper. My were a little unsteady, and they gave her goose-bumps as they lightly ran up the length of her back with the zip.
As she turned to face me, I complimented the dress on its cut, but said I thought it was more suited to summer workwear than to casualwear. She smiled and told me she knew I’d be honest. I took that at face value and told her what I thought she should try on. It was a little summer–dress that was hanging over the edge of the box.
She stripped again, enjoying my eyes on her, then slipped into it. It was vanilla–white, and translucent, and as she stood by the window for my appraisal, she realised the light was shining right through it and that I was enjoying the chance to look at her body with full permission.
When she turned and asked me how the dress looked from the back, I began describing how perfect it was, but we both knew I was talking more about the shape of her ass than the cut of the fabric. She turned back again and moved close to me – just a few inches from my face, levelling her breasts at my eyes. Was it too revealing? she asked.
I don’t think she even heard my response. Just the feeling alone of my eyes on the shape of her breasts seemed to make her a little lightheaded – weak at the knees – and I could see her nipples were beginning to harden. I asked her if she remembered how when we were kids, because I was a year younger than her, she often asked me to play dress–ups and other games like doctor and nurse, or teacher and student, or mother and father? She said she did remember. Then she told me she had an urge to play an exploratory game like that again – for us to inspect each other.
She put her hands at the back of my head and held me to her breast. My hands slowly rose up the back of her thighs, bunching her dress up, but before they could reach her ass, she broke away, took my hand and dragged me outside into the garden.
We went to the southern side behind the sleepout, to a hidden grove of fruit trees where we used to play. In the middle of the grove, was a rope swing under an overgrown pear tree. She wiped away the cobwebs and sat on the hardwood seat. The branch creaked above her as it adjusted to her weight, but we weren’t worried at all – it was such a solid old tree it could easily take the weight of ten people.
I sat against the tree as she swung a little. The seat was lower than either of us remembered, and she couldn’t swing without dragging her toes along the mossy ground. After a while she stopped, twirled around on the swing and told me she had something to confess. I was curious. Then she reached down and lifted her skirt to show me how the gentle eroticism of the afternoon had made her knickers a little damp. I didn’t know what to say, so I took her hand and held it to my chest so she could feel the thumping of my heart.
I wondered briefly what it would mean if something sexual was about to happen. I thought about my brother, and about how he’d encouraged it. Would it be cheating? Maybe to her, I was just an extension of him. And for me she was a part of him. If we touched each other, could it be something innocent – like childish masturbation?
Still, it gave me a frisson of the forbidden, when she stood up and asked me to sit on the swing. As I sat, she turned around, her back to me, hitched up her skirt and lowered herself onto my lap. We swung back and forth for a while, and she leaned back so my chin was resting in the crook of her neck. We looked up at the summer leaves filtering the light. Then I took one hand from the swing and wrapped it around her waist, but the swing began to wobble so I had to let go of her again. She enjoyed that I was powerless to touch her for that moment. She began shifting her weight in my lap, grinding herself against my jeans. Then I guess she felt how hard I was getting and realised how uncomfortable it was with her full weight crushing my fly buttons into my cock, so she reached down to open my jeans, and at the same time she told me that she wanted us to play a childish games now. She wanted us take off all our clothes and to explore each other’s bodies.
I put my feet down, bringing the swing to a stop. We both knew it was risky. Maybe my parents would notice our cars were still there and come looking for us? When she began to speak, I put my finger over her lips and said: When have they ever came looking for us?
She stared straight at me and nodded a little. Of course, it didn’t mean we were safe. We were aware of the possibility of being caught. But fuck it – our bodies were already so aroused, and our hearts were beating hard. We slipped off the swing, lay down on the mossy earth and began to undress each other.
She stripped off my shirt and I lifted off her dress. It was incredibly intimate, being in broad daylight with only the dappled shadows of the trees to cover us, and we removed those outer layers like we were unwrapping gifts – as though we were about to see another nude body for the very first time.
We were very alert at that point. If a branch creaked above us in the wind, or a bird twittered through the leaves, we started, twitched. But we carried on undressing anyway, nerves and senses heightened.
Once we were in our underwear, she spread her legs, took my hand and put it on her panties. It was like the fabric formed a cotton membrane over her damp entrance, and as I began circling it with my finger, I gently and evenly spread the sensations all around the nerve endings of her pussy lips.
She saw the outline of my cock resting in my boxer shorts and placed her palm against it and began rubbing up and down, caressing it with the fabric and curling her fingers over the bulge at the top. We kissed too, teasing each other with our fingers and tongues until we couldn’t bear it anymore. She soon said wanted to be completely naked, and for us to show each other every part of our bodies. She said she wanted to imprint herself onto me, and for me to be imprinted onto her – for our most intimate details to be permanently stamped into each other’s minds.
She dragged down my boxer shorts then sat up to unclasp her bra and slide her knickers down. I sat up too – and we were face to face, nude, legs entwined. She asked me again if I would explore her and told me she would describe for me each area of her body that I was touching.
She spread her legs wide, took my cock in her hand and whispered to me as I ran two fingers around her mound. *That’s my outer labia,* she told me, as if she was my teacher. I nodded, exhaled, and grew a little stiffer in her hand. Then I slowly probed a little further, sliding my middle finger up and down her inner labia, parting them a little further with each glide, like I was running my finger gently across sand and opening a little valley in it. Again she described what I was doing, and whispered what she was feeling into my ear, and she watched my eyes follow my finger, taking in every detail, bump and ridge of her as I parted her pussy lips and discovered the wetness inside. As she described how my finger had gently touched her urethra, my cock again got harder in her hand, and she began to rub it up and down, exploring me too: the way my skin bunched up and unfolded as she drew it up over my glans, the way little goose–bumps appeared on my testicles as they shifted with her touch against the mossy ground, the way the little slit at the top of my cock opened and closed a little when she gently squeezed it.
By this point we were immune to the little sounds the trees and birds were making. If anyone was to come looking for us, there was no doubt we’d be caught. We knew it, but we also knew we were too aroused to care.
She wanted more – she wanted me to look inside her and see every part of her – so she released me and rolled over onto her hands and knees, spread her legs, bent forward, and flattened her cheek against the mossy ground to stick her ass right up into the air.
I moved in behind her and began touching her again, only this was far, far more intimate than anything I’d ever done before. It was broad daylight – the afternoon sun filtering through the trees – and her body was completely open to me. Every part of it: her breasts hanging down, nipples floating just above the earth, her pussy open so I could see her bare clit and right into the dark red space of her vagina. Even her ass cheeks were spread taut, so her little ass–entrance was open to my gaze.
She looked back over her shoulder to watch my eyes taking her all in. I was breathing heavily that every time I exhaled, she felt my warm breath on her pussy and little rosebud.
She had nowhere to hide as I began to explore every inch of her. I began by reaching right underneath her, so my shoulder was against her ass and the muscles of my arm were wedged against her pussy. She felt my hands caressing her sternum, sliding between her breasts, then cupping each of her breasts in turn, my fingers gently kneading her nipples. Then my hand slid down her belly and I began exploring her pussy again, teasing all around her wet entrance.
I opened it with my fingers, gently spread it, then stuck my tongue out, ran my lips lightly up and down her, then lapped at her pussy hole slipping just the tip of the tip of my tongue just inside her. She pushed back on my face, and I slid further in. Then she pushed back again. The deeper I got, the more I could taste of her, and the more she could feel the pressure of mouth over her whole pussy, and my nose between her ass–cheeks.
If we were doing something wrong it was way too late to change our minds now. Our bodies had completely taken over our decision-making.
She soon reached down under the bridge of her body, between her legs, and took my hard, silky cock in her hand. She needed me inside her. I got up on my knees, leaning my hard cock against her. As she brought her hips down, closer, the head slipped up and spread her pussy a little, but it rose up too high onto the shore of her ass. She reached around and pushed it back down, and as I moved against her again, she leaned back. I nudged further into her folds and as she opened up, the base of her vagina caught the head of my cock and redirected it down so I could ease myself into her inner passage.
We began moving against each other. I was sliding in and out of her, slow and hard, my fingertips grasping her hipbones, and her feet curled back and around the insides of my knees. As I got deeper and deeper, she completely surrendered to my occupation of her body. We felt the most dirty and beautiful and naked we’d ever felt.
My hips were soon thudding into her ass, shaking her whole body, and she kept leaning back into me, wanting it even harder. It was like she needed me to pound her into the earth, to burn her elbows on the ground, to stain her breasts green with the moss.
She started touching her clit and pushing myself back into me as hard as she could until my balls were swinging against her fingers with each thrust, and the head of cock was reaching as far as it could inside her, just nudging her cervix. She began moaning quietly – stifling herself at first because there was the risk of being caught, but after a while she didn’t care and she began to let her voice softly express her ecstasy. Our tempo slowly escalated, and we both felt the rise towards orgasm. Soon we were breathing together, as one, pounding our bodies together, and the moment was getting closer and closer, until we were right there.
As she started to cum, she had to put a hand over her mouth to mute her own cry. I heard her, felt her body begin to spasm, and suddenly I was lurching against her too. My orgasm came on so intensely that it was verging on painful. I doubled over as the first burst of my warm cum shot into her. The sensations I felt inside her were too intense for me because I pulled out again, and the second load of my warm sperm shot directly between her ass cheeks. But she wanted me to feel the orgasm as intensely as she was feeling it, even if it hurt me a little, so she reached back, grabbed my cock and leaned back onto it, pushing me inside again. I didn’t resist – I just fell forward onto her, slipping it back in, and letting a sound of excruciating pleasure leak from my mouth. She smashed her body back into me again and again, so we could feel her pussy spasming and my cock pulsating as I wrapped my arms around her and pumped load after load of sperm into the deepest recesses of her body.
As she hit the final plateau of her orgasm, she looked down underneath her legs. My cum was dribbling down over her pussy lips, and hanging from her mound like a silk thread. She let herself collapse to the ground, and I lay on top of her, my head resting in the small of her back, both of us wondering if we’d made too much noise, panting for breath, drawing in the smell of the soil, of the mossy ground, the late summer air, the smell of our bodies.
A moment later, I rolled off her and we sat, inspecting the imprints from the moss, grass and leaves on each other’s bodies.
There was the niggling thought at the back of our minds that we might be discovered, so we dressed again pretty quickly, gave each other a long, messy kiss, and left…
[SPOKEN AUDIO HERE ](https://www.reddit.com/user/TheTowerOfSong/comments/j7mkpq/audio_index_about_me/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf)
Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/k7zvu9/me_my_stepbrother_and_his_girlfriend_mfm_parts_13