It had been several months since Carly first discovered how to give herself the release she needed, and learned to accept and even enjoy her body for what it was. Things were going okay enough and life was good – though she suspected a large part of that was the mental and emotional relief that self-pleasure gave her, not just the physical. School was going fine, health wise there was nothing to worry about, and she found she was less stressed out, less frustrated, and slowly starting to enjoy life a little more.
Carly was now masturbating frequently, and enjoying it more and more each time she did it. It no longer bothered her or made her feel gross or guilty or anything like that. Even the thought that she could possibly be addicted to it did not bother her much, she realized. And again, her body was fairly unique – what was normal for a creature like her, anyway? She knew what felt normal to her was surely not normal for most people.
She would usually wake up right around 6, sometimes earlier, and immediately masturbate, sometimes even while half asleep. Sometimes she would cum in bed. Sometimes she'd wake up, holding her enormous throbbing erection against her belly, and scurry into the bathroom. There she would masturbate vigorously in the shower, painting the shower stall glass white with her milky orgasm without a hint of shame. She would spend up to two hours masturbating in the morning. Sometimes she would deliberately wake up earlier so she'd have more time to play with her cock.
She noticed that her semen was thickest and stickiest in the mornings, almost like syrup. Strangely, orgasming in the morning only freshened and woke her up, rather than made her drowsy. It was the best way to start her day.
She'd then rush off to school. Sometimes she'd use her skateboard. A bicycle would be perfect, but with something that huge between her legs, and testicles the size of grapefruits, a bicycle seat might not be optimal. Once at her high school she'd do the whole 'normal teenage girl' routine: schoolwork, rushing to classes, getting hit on by boys, giggling and gossiping with girlfriends, the whole act. She still had to tape her giant cock down to one thigh, but she had figured out how to do it without hurting herself, getting it just tight enough, sitting just right so as to hide it, practiced to perfection. Strangely even with her self-pleasuring, it still took enormous amounts of thought control to keep from popping a boner in class and such. Oh well. Things like swimming and gym and changing in the locker room were all cleverly circumvented by notes from her guardian and her doctor, feigning allergies and whatnot. No one suspected a thing.
She'd come home in the late afternoon, and her brother would be out somewhere – he went out a lot – and if Spencer was hungry she'd cook him something and they'd hang out together before she'd go and get homework done. It was getting harder to stay focused, because invariably her mind would wander and she'd start to daydream and run wonderfully filthy sexual fantasies in her vivid imagination. Her cock would stiffen and throb and drive her wild under her desk.
As evening set in she'd maybe help Spencer with his sculptures or watch some TV with him. More often than not, though, Spencer would be sculpting some stupid sculpture, and Carly would have more homework to get done. Not much of a social life.
But as the hours passed towards night, her anticipation and lust grew unbearable. She learned to turn it into a game; she'd go through her household chores and homework and dinner with her brother being all normal, all the while with the most fun, vile, wonderful, beautiful perverted fantasies playing in her head non-stop, her cock throbbing and aching and harder than steel.
And then finally when it was time for bed (which she always set up as ridiculously early, as early as 7 or 8 p.m.), she'd lock her door, dim her bedroom lights and sit at her desk, either watching internet porn or reading erotica, trying to ignore the enormous, pulsating missile of pure sex and unbearable pleasure throbbing in her lap, standing up like a tree, usually slipping under her loose night-shirt, the frothy, shiny head of the cock often nestling between her big milky breasts. The game was to ignore it as much as possible until she couldn't bear it anymore.
At that point she'd either take a long, luxurious, soapy shower or she'd make love to herself in her large bed. The shower would often just be teasing her cock more and more, loving it, toying with it, but not really giving it what it wants. Once in bed, however, she'd caress herself everywhere but her cock, if possible. Sometimes she'd caress her creamy breasts and pinch her pink, tender nipples and drive herself wild, until she'd snap. That's when she'd finally begin.
Her head propped up with pillows such that she was half-sitting up in bed, her hands would finally seal themselves around her throbbing, aching sex and pump away furiously. Most nights, she'd watch her cock explode into a savage orgasm in a matter of seconds, painting her naked body with long ribbons of thick, gooey white love-juice, covering her from chin to hips.
Time would stand still as she would lie there, gasping for air, destroyed, her body dripping all over with thick splattered semen, hands still gripping her cock tight. And then moaning softly, she'd start slowly stroking it all over again, now taking her own sweet time, having intense, deeply intimate sex with herself. She wouldn't even bother cleaning up just yet, because the semen looked so beautiful gleaming on her burning soft pink skin, so thick and milky and potent with love, so hot.
Some nights she would masturbate for hours, her body and mind rocked by a train of fun, powerful climaxes; other nights, she would masturbate in a state of wonderful sexual agony for long hours, building up slowly to one epic, mindbending, earth-shattering explosion. Either way, she would make love to herself every night for at least three hours at a time, sometimes much more.
She noticed that when she came at night, she would gush more, but it would be thinner, just a little more watery than what it was like when she would come in the mornings. She wondered more and more what it must taste like, and what it would be like to receive a blowjob. Her cock practically screamed for it.
At least once a week, she would have a solo orgy of sorts, indulging shamelessly in depraved, unquenchable self-pleasure until the sun came up, when in a panic she would finally explode, cumming so hard she would sometimes pass out; she learned to plan ahead for such an event because it was so easy for her to be too tired to go to school after all that, having not slept a wink the entire night and starting the day utterly exhausted – happy, but way too exhausted. She tried to restrict this to weekend nights only.
Everything was going great, for once. Figures that one morning, everything got screwed up in an instant.
Spencer was starting to wonder if it was normal for a thirty-year-old to masturbate as much as he did now.
The great thing about Carly's horny little adventures was that Carly was so busy trying to make sure Spencer didn't know what he was up to, that he didn't notice that Spencer was also up to little adventures of his own in his room each night.
Spencer's bedroom was utterly dark except for moonlight from the windows. He was on his back on top of her rumpled sheets, writhing in agony, squirming about, his body glistening with sweat. He was wearing only a T-shirt pulled way up and around his chest, and nothing else. His bony, lithe legs were splayed wide open, wide apart on either side of his such that they almost formed a straight line from one side of the bed to the other. Spencer whimpered softly, squirming, his little hips thrusting rhythmically into the air as both his hands worked as a blur down there.
Oh please, oh please, oh please, Spencer thought, don't go over the edge just yet. Just a little more. I just need a little more time thinking about how beautiful Carly is. Imagining her beautiful body, naked. Imagining her big giant huge boy-pee-pee standing up and squirting sperm juice everywhere.
Ever since Spencer saw Carly masturbate that night, he had been obsessed. He went online, read up everything there was to read up on Carly's particular situation with her being a boy and a girl at the same time; then he grew too desperate to pretend. He unlocked the porn-blocking software Carly installed on his laptop easily, and started watching porn to satiate his curiosity.
But he was quickly disappointed. All those pee-pees were so tiny compared to Carly's majestic thing. The more he hunted, the worse it got. So he just lay in bed every night, replaying the memory of what he saw in his mind.
Carly's beautiful, gigantic, humongous, impossible sized pee-pee. Penis, it was called. He remembered her in that chair, mas-tur-ba-ting, was the word, right? Wow. As though Carly wasn't already the most beautiful girl in the whole world already. Her wonderful, sweet, smart, pretty little sister. Spencer's heart swelled with love and affection. H bit his lip, and rubbed himself harder and faster and firmer down there between his spread legs, making her own little pee-pee feel so good it was going to burst.
Oh, Carly.
Spencer's entire being blossomed into another beautiful, senseless orgasm. He thrashed about hysterically, as though having a fit. He kept rubbing herself down there. It took every ounce of effort not to scream out Carly's name.
Spencer slowly came to, realizing he was completely out of breath, sticky all over with sweat, and the room was spinning. The first thing he thought of was that he wanted to cum once again. But he was busy tomorrow, and it was already past midnight.
He hugged a big pillow, wishing it was Carly, and drifted off to sleep, so very happy that he had such a wonderful, beautiful sister like her, feeling like the luckiest boy in the world.
