Caught Me Stuffing My Ass With Toys

I still remember that first time with the little plug, the one Salma gave me. God, it was months ago, back when we'd sneak into her garage workshop after her shifts at the auto shop. She'd laugh that husky laugh, grease still on her fingers, and say, "Bahia, you wanna train that tight ass? Start small, baby. Push it in slow while I watch." I'd bend over her workbench, skirt hiked up, feeling the cool silicone nudge against me, that burning stretch as it popped past the ring. She'd lube it up extra, whisper how good I was taking it for her. Past and present blur when I'm buzzed like this—feels like yesterday, feels like it's happening right now.

Anyway, that's how it started. Salma's my sister-in-law, married to my brother Yash for three years now. She's older, 32 to my 24, all curves and that no-bullshit attitude from fixing engines all day. Me? I'm the quiet one, Bahia, the graphic designer who crashes at their place in this old converted mill loft downtown whenever Yash is away on sales trips. The loft's got these massive exposed brick walls, creaky wooden beams from the 1800s, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the river at night. It's got that industrial vibe, smells like oil and coffee, perfect for hiding secrets.

Tonight, Yash is gone again—some conference in Seattle. Salma texted me earlier, "Drinks at the loft? Bring your thirst." I showed up with a bottle of tequila, already half-lit from happy hour with friends. We pounded shots in the kitchen, laughing about dumb shit, her in those tight jeans and tank top, me in yoga pants and a crop top. Four shots in, I'm sloppy, giggling at nothing, heat pooling low in my belly. She's tipsy too, eyes glassy, but still in control, like always. That's when she pulls out the box from under the couch—the toy box. Our secret. "Remember your training, Bahia? Show me how far you've gone."

I'm desperate already, that forbidden itch scratching inside. She's my brother's wife. We shouldn't. But fuck, the guilt just makes it hotter. I nod, slurring, "Yeah, let's do it." She grins, wicked, grabs my hand, leads me to the guest room—my room—past the living room windows that glow with city lights. Door clicks shut, but not locked. Whatever.

She dumps the box on the bed. Plugs, beads, vibrators, all sized up for anal training. My heart hammers. I'm drunk, horny, needy. "Start with the medium one," she says, voice low and commanding. "Strip those pants off. Ass up." I peel them down, no panties underneath—hadn't planned it, but there I am, bare. Bend over the bed, knees on the quilt, ass in the air. The room spins a bit from the booze, but that desperate ache wins. She squirts lube on the plug—purple silicone, thicker than last time, maybe two inches wide at the base. "Push it in yourself. Show me you're my good little anal slut."

I reach back, fingers slick, circle my hole. It's puckered, tight from nerves. Press the tip in—ow, that initial resistance, then it yields, swallowing the narrow end. Breathe deep, tequila burning my throat as I swig from the shot glass she hands me. "Deeper," she urges, kneeling behind me, spreading my cheeks. I rock back, feeling it stretch me open, that full, dirty pressure building. Halfway in, I whimper, "Salma, it's big... feels so wrong." She chuckles, slaps my ass lightly. "Wrong's why you love it. Brother's out of town, and you're stuffing your ass for his wife. Keep going."

I do. Grit teeth, tequila courage, shove till the flare seats inside, locking it. Fullness hits like a punch—intestines aware, every shift rubbing nerves I didn't know I had. I clench around it, moaning soft. She's not done. "Now the beads. Train for more." Hands me the string—five silicone beads, graduated, biggest like a fat thumb. Lube drips down my crack. I work the first in easy, popping past the ring with a wet schlick. Second follows, stretching wider. I'm panting, sweat beading on my back, the plug still seated deep. "Fuck, Bahia, your hole's greedy tonight," she murmurs, finger tracing where beads disappear. "Pull the plug out slow. Feel it fight."

I tug—god, the drag, rim gripping the silicone as it inverts me on the way out. Empty for a second, then beads sliding in deeper. Third one stretches, burns good, that desperate need to be filled overriding everything. Fourth—I'm gasping, ass clenching involuntary. "Almost," she says, voice husky now. She's rubbing herself through her jeans, watching. Fifth bead—thickest, forces a real groan from me. It's in, string dangling between my cheeks. I rock on the bed, feeling them shift inside, pressing my g-spot indirectly, clit throbbing untouched.

Drunk haze makes it all fuzzy-intense. "More," I beg, desperate, taboo guilt twisting with lust. She's my sister-in-law—should be shopping with her, not this. But I can't stop. She grabs the vibe next—a long, curved anal one, ridged, with a flared base. "This'll train you wide. On your back first, legs up." I flip, knees to chest, ass exposed, beads still buried. She lubes the vibe heavy, teases my stuffed hole. "Beg for it."

"Please, Salma... fuck my ass with it. Train me." Words tumble out filthy, alcohol loosening my tongue. She eases the tip alongside the beads—no, wait, pulls the string slow first. Each bead pops out with a slick sound, my hole winking open, loose now, hungry. First pop—gasp. Second—moan. By the fifth, I'm humping air, desperate. Vibe goes in smooth, ridges catching my rim, filling the void. She twists it, angling for prostate-like spots in me, buzzing it low.

Vrrrrm. Holy shit. Vibrations ripple deep, making my toes curl. I'm writhing, hands on my tits, pinching nipples hard. "Look at you, Bahia—ass trained sloppy for me. Yash'd freak if he knew." Her dirty talk stings sweet, forbidden fuel. She fucks me slow with it, in-out, stretching wider each thrust. Room smells like lube and sweat, tequila bottle tipped on the nightstand. I'm close already, clit swollen, but she ignores it. "Not yet. Bigger toy next."

She rummages, pulls out the monster—a black inflatable plug, starts at egg-sized, pumps up huge. My eyes widen. "Salma, no... I'm drunk, it'll wreck me." But I'm lying—desperate want overrides fear. She deflates it partial, lubes, swaps for the vibe which slides out with a fart of air—embarrassing, human fumble. I laugh, hiccup from booze, she snorts too. "Sloppy ass talks back." Unexpected laugh breaks tension, makes it real, closer.

Tip nudges in—easier than expected, training paying off. Pumps once—swells inside, pressing walls. I yelp, clench. Twice—fuller, that desperate stretch bordering pain-pleasure. "Feel that? Training for cock soon. Maybe mine, with a strap-on." Pump three—I'm stuffed immobile, every breath shifting it. She leaves it, climbs on bed, straddles my face—not sitting full, just hovering. "Lick me while it sets. Earn more pumps."

Her jeans off now, panties yanked aside, pussy shaved smooth, lips puffy. I crane up, tongue flat on her clit. She grinds light, moaning my name. "Good girl... ass inflated like a whore." I'm tonguing desperate, nose in her scent—musky, aroused. She reaches back, pumps again—fourth time. I cry out into her folds, vibrations gone but pressure insane. Hole stretched to limit, training real now.

Minutes pass, me eating her sloppy, her juices on my chin. She cums first—shuddering, thighs quaking on my ears, "Fuck, Bahia!" Pulls off, eyes wild. "Your turn. Deflate slow." Air hisses out with each tug, rim fluttering, collapsing. Empty again, gaping a bit—she fingers it, two easy. "Trained perfect. Now the dildo—biggest yet."

It's a beast—eight inches, thick as my wrist, veined silicone for anal only. Lube glugs on. On hands-knees now, ass high. She works it in—tip breaches, then inch by inch. "Push back, slut. Take your training." I do, drunk desperation driving. Stretch burns deep, but good, fuller than anything. Bottoms out, balls-deep illusion. She fucks me then—steady rhythm, hand fisting my hair. "Hear that? Wet ass sounds. Brother's sister taking it up the shitter for me."

Slap-slap of lube, my moans echoing off brick walls. I'm slamming back, desperate for more, guilt flashing—Yash's face in my mind, but hotter. "Salma, it's wrong... don't stop." She laughs, spanks harder. "Wrong makes you drip. Look—pussy soaked." True—juices trail thighs. Unexpected moment: the dildo slips out once, plop, air escaping loud. I giggle, ass clenching empty, she curses, "Fucking hold it!" Fumble makes us both crack up, human, before she slams it back—harder.

Pace builds. She's grinding against my thigh now, mutual. "Cum with ass full, Bahia. Train to squirt from backdoor." I'm there—pressure on nerves, booze amplifying. Orgasm hits brutal, no clit touch—ass clenching dildo rhythmic, pussy spasming empty, clear fluid squirting sheets. "Fuuuuck!" I wail, collapsing.

She keeps thrusting through it, then pulls out, flips me. Her turn? No—grabs strap-on from box, quick buckle. Black harness, same size dildo. "My ass now? No, fuck yours more." Wait—slams back in, pounding post-orgasm sensitive. I'm babbling, "Too much... yes..." Second wave builds fast. She's close too, clit-rubbing the base.

That's when it happens. Door flies open—no knock. Irving stands there, Salma's coworker from the shop, tall Black guy with a toolbox. He'd been downstairs in the mill's communal garage, fixing her truck—forgotten detail. Caught. Me ass-up, gaping from dildo, toys scattered, her mid-thrust in harness. Time freezes.

Irving's eyes bulge. "Salma? Shit—" But he doesn't bolt. Stares, bulge growing in his pants. Salma freezes too, then smirks. "Close the door, Irving. You caught us training her ass. Wanna watch? Or join?"

I'm mortified, drunk haze cracking—guilt floods, but pussy twitches. Forbidden times ten now—stranger seeing sister-in-law wreck me. He steps in, shuts door, drops toolbox. "Fuck... been wanting this since you hired me." Salma nods at him. "Pants off. She's trained—give her the real thing."

Heart pounds. He unzips—cock springs out, real meat, nine inches, thick, veined, cut. Dark skin, musky scent hits. I'm desperate still, taboo overload. "Irving, you can't... Salma?" She pulls strap out, my hole winking. "He caught you stuffing toys up your ass like a drunk slut. Take his dick as punishment. Train for men."

He lubes quick from the bottle, kneels behind. Tip hot, blunt—presses my rim. Stretches wider than toys—real give, burning live. "Fuck, tight even trained," he grunts, voice deep rumble. Inches in, halfway—I'm moaning loud, Salma kissing me sloppy, tongues tequila-sharp. "Good girl... brother's gonna smell cock on you later."

Full now—bottomed, his pubes on my cheeks. Balls heavy slap starting. Irving fucks deliberate, hands gripping hips bruising. "Ass like velvet grip... you love getting caught, huh?" Salma under me now, sucking my clit frantic. Double assault—his cock dragging guts, her mouth slurping. I'm lost, desperate thrusts back.

Pace ramps. He's sweating, grunting, "Gonna fill this married bro's sister's shithole." Dirty talk raw, specific. Salma hums on my clit, fingers her own ass with a toy. Unexpected—Irving fumbles, slips out again, cock slick shining. Laughs nervous, "Slippery fucker." I snort, push back to recapture—hilarious in heat, bonds us quick.

Back in, savage now. I cum again—ass milking him, squirting on Salma's face. She laps it, cums too, vibrator buzzing her. Irving last—thrusts erratic, "Here it comes..." Buries deep, hot spurts jetting inside, flooding rectum warm sticky. Pulses five, six times—feels endless, training validated.

He pulls out slow, cum bubbling out my ruined hole, dripping thighs. We collapse, panting, loft air thick with sex stink. Salma spoons me, Irving on other side. Guilt crashes post-high—Yash, the forbidden shattered open. But emotional shift hits: not shame alone, but ownership. This is us now, raw.

Salma whispers first, finger in my sloppy ass, stirring cum. "You want him back tomorrow? Train with two cocks?"