I mademyself cum, and it was even better than before. Those were the first of many sessions with tools, instruments, anything thatI could get hold of ...nd that I thought would do as an instrument of torture.I even pressed a thumbtack into my arm, making it bleed. This was exciting stuff, but I knew that what was missing was the torturer.I could not really be cruel to myself, and needed a second person, or maybemore, to add that element of fear to the pain that I thought might give mean orgasm. 'You cant talk Mariel', he replied to my exclamation, 'you touch yourself every night' he retorted in a triumphant glee.The realization my masturbatory exploits were being enjoyed by my younger sibling, silenced me, and by the time I had recovered, he was gone, but would be back, my shocked silence replaced by a sexual awakening, so I lay in wait ready to explore.He came back into the room, disappointingly, flaccid.'Where's your hard-on', I queried, my hand already between my own legs touching. " What?" I asked her, again nearly incoherent. Her talk about sharing clothes, again like girlfriends or sisters, filled my heart with joy. But her reference to passing frightened me. Did she mean for me to go out on the street? To be seen?"Darling, to do womanly things one should feel womanly, and move with a woman's self-assurance. So right now just put on a bra and panties and a short slip, and these slacks -- no one will notice there's no fly, and this over-shirt -- it's loose enough to. She wondered if his back was as strong and hard as it looked, and dreamed of running her hands through his spiky hair as she kissed him hard, pressing herself against him."Hello, sweetheart. All alone?"She jumped, startled out of her reverie. God, even his voice sent shivers through her."Oh, hi. Umm Yeah, I guess." Up close he looked even better. A scattering of freckles dotted his nose and cheeks. His eyes were an amazing shade of green and his mouth just screamed to be kissed."That's great..