Why teens don't clean the WC?
A filthy teen playbook
Delia Rogers and Ted McDonald, like any new step-parents juggling full-time work, a new relationship and a newly built home and trying to keep it teenage tidy — kept persisting that the young college step offspring under their roof pull their weight with the basics and occasionally glove up and clean the WC.
Mrs Rogers thought how hard it could be for her daughter J'Arnie or her stepson Hamish to drop a scented disc into the water tank, squirt some toilet duck under the rim, give the brush a swirl around the porcelain and flush the frickin crapper.
The usual too hard, it seemed.
Delia, like any mum of college teenagers, was left perplexed; What the hell was sidetracking this seemingly anally retentive pair of youngsters from a quick important, rostered household task?
Hamish was new to the task.
Both cleaning the toilet and having a hopeful, expectant anal encounter with his brunette stepsister.
He wouldn't waste time before ramming into her butthole if he got another chance after their interrupted kitchen escapade; a couple of days ago.
J'Arnie wasn't new to toilet sex or a stiff anal dogging.
However, it had been a while. Meaning — a youthful five days ago, in the college gym changerooms. She didn't waste her first day at a new school.
It was currently Saturday morning. Delia had gone to the fish market, and Ted had a work call out. Our brunette five-foot-fiver had time to hunt through the house for Hamish.
Mmm; Where could Hamish be?
And she was fully naked and looking. J'Arnie knew how to spice up a sexual encounter.
Hamish was committing himself to the job at hand. He was about to clean the loo. He had never done it before. His dad, Ted, and he, when alone, had a cleaning service.
He seriously wanted today to create the right impression with stepmom Delia; she was probably starting to think he was lazy after the botched washing up and untidy bedroom incidents.
Hamish was flexing into the unsexy, long pink feminine rubber gloves and looking under the vanity cupboard for the cleaning fluid. The liquid gel was easy to find. However, the tank tablet packet had been knocked over and was in the far corner.
He had to get on his hands and knees and reach deep. It was tricky to reach—so tight.
"Oh, Fuck Me," was all Hamish managed as he nearly hit his head inside the cupboard.
A finger had shot straight up his loose shorts, under his boxers and into his arsehole.
"Yeah, fuck my arse, you prick...you owe my booty hole big time...get your cock out of the cupboard, now, and stick it somewhere useful."
"Oh My God," came from a stunned Hamish as he turned around out of the cupboard; his stepsister was already butt naked; all he had was the full upward male stare vista of J'Arnie's gaped cunny and flexed starfish.
What a view; what a private contoured landscape of flesh. All waiting to be filled.
Immediately, his skull was buried in J'Arnie's adjacent fem-holes.
His face was where a male's face dreams of being submerged — in two female slots of desire.
J'Arnie, the tartlet, was grinding into his tongue and nose. Letting him taste and sniff.
Geez, she smelt musky, as in a sexy, hungry odour, thought Hamish.
The six-foot basketball star was then lost in the intoxication of fem-scent and the rush of his tongue wanting to probe and sweep over every crevice, nook and slit in her cute young body.
He was getting his stepsister's arse; right here and right now.
No delays.
Hell, he wasn't missing out today.
Fuck, the toilet.
Well, you can't literally fuck it anyway.
J'Arnie was true, purposefully grinding her pussy and arse into Hamish's overbusy tongue. She rotated her pelvis faster than an overworked basketball bench in tight overtime.
She was cranking up the frictional energy to unsustainable heights.
Fuck, she needed a backdoor workout, and that, after all, was why; she was in the bathroom with Hamish.
She got her stepbrother up off the floor.
The guy would have spent the next hour, the next day or even his whole life if he could between her legs, it seemed.
Christ, she only wanted her arse dogged.
Didn't the guy get enough butt face elsewhere?
Fuck he was six foot, and the frickin College point guard and blonde and well hung!
Surely, he got regular butt in his face?
Truthfully, Hamish had been getting more than his fair college share of chicks and making out. He was getting to a range of standard bases and occasionally poking piquant pussy, and fingering arse. But hadn't yet cracked a crinkled cornhole.
However, he had become almost fatally addicted to his stepsister's potty mouth within days of sharing their new home.
"No buggerising around...you bastard ...be a bugger and bugger me...understand," said J'Arnie, propping one leg up on the toilet seat and giving Hamish a clear, unambiguous gaped back alley to penetrate.
God, her patootie fissure was a hole to die for and, in many ways — way beyond his tender age — a divine hole to fill; stuff, and seriously arse alley-oop!
And J'Arnie added: "Get those frickin' stupid pink gloves off."
Our athletic blonde's rigid schlong was one primed hot sausage. It was sizzling hot for action. He had wanked off the other night dreaming of this when he was left with blue balls from the kitchen.
However, her actual hole was so goddam real, so inviting, shaped like the florets of a chrysanthemum.
"Oh Fuck Me... you are one tight bitch...fuck, that's good," he managed to say as he eased into her puckered flesh.
"Mmm...I hadn't taken you for an anal virgin, but I'll get you there; stuff the stiff meat in; don't worry, I'll flex it in."
Hamish had been encouraged and piled his meat in deeper. Using the slam-dunk technique.
"Wow; yeah, that's amazing; oh yeah! Ah, Ah, Ah," from J'Arnie.
She knew how to prep herself for arse ram raids from teenage guys.
Fuck, what a tight fit.
Hamish eased his stiffy in and out. So pleasurable.
Her filthy response surprised him: "Oh shit...yeah, that's it.... fuckin poke it; slide it in, slide it out; poke, poke, poke!" insisted J'Arnie.
"Ooh yeah, in and out...Oh God...you have one big dick...keep it moving...oh yeah...fuck me... that's good...fuckin good...oh...ooh...ooh!"
She was in the ribald moment of a very pleasant dicking in her arse.
"Fuck...yeah...man...sweet...what an arse...orrrhh...orrrhh...orrrhh;" and Hamish was lost for words in the overwhelming constriction of his stepsister's striking sphincter stimulation.
She was a whore at heart, complete with a harlot's skills.
They had the shared pleasurable minutes of total individual body bliss. They were saturated in wanton hedonism. In short, it was over-the-top, awesome anal sex for two.
Well, that's how it started. Then Hamish got right into it and got his cock pumping. Total concentration in her crack like a full-court press.
J'Arnie had to hold the shaking cistern to steady herself because her stepbrother was thrusting so frickin hard.
That was until Hamish burst out: "Oh fuck, I can't control it any longer. I'm gunna cum."
Like a true Salome, our slutette J'Arnie wanted a gob full of man juice. She spun and had her face near his cock quicker than Hamish could complete a spin move on the court.
Hamish tried to direct his bursting wad but lost control and fired everywhere. He aimed for the brunette's anxious mouth. Still, his cum spurted and sprayed all over the place because it was an extra big excited splash of trouser gravy.
Jizz was in her hair; some got in her mouth, and the rest was jettisoned around the toilet base.
After her tongue licked her lips and she did the naughty girl swallow, J'Arnie said: "Pretty good; you'll get more arse and pussy; when you least expect it."
Then, the brunette's alluring rump left the bathroom with a swanky, skanky strut.
J'Arnie had a new girlfriend to catch up with. One of Hamish's mates had a stepsister who needed an introduction to the sapphic arts.
She had a busy sex schedule, our brunette trollop.
Fuck me, was all a dazed Hamish could think as he watched his stepsister's stunning arse, the arse he had been in, disappear out the bathroom door.
Hamish was in complete male fog satisfaction; till he realised: 'Oh damn, I promised Jonesy and Nick I'd shoot a few hoops; oh, screw cleaning the loo,' and he left the job unfinished.
After all, he had completed a way more satisfying job on his stepsister's arse.
And wow, was he in the zone with his mates later when shooting hoops. He was deadly and so relaxed.
Coming back from the market to an empty house, Mrs Rogers went to the toilet and noticed someone had half-heartedly; half started the cleaning job — but stopped.
She pondered: why bother to find out why it wasn't finished?
She just gloved up herself to clean the loo; a frickin two-minute job maximum.
The woman in Delia told her to wipe around the base of the porcelain throne.
Men, including her beloved Ted, think they can aim.
What the !...yes, it was fresh semen...the places young men relieve themselves!
Then: Still, Hamish was a virgin, according to Ted. He was a lovely boy and a good influence on J'Arnie.
She felt sure in herself of that.
Still, as she dropped the tablet in the cistern, it crossed her busy mind: Why can't teens clean the 'john' occasionally?
Well, if Delia knew the answer…