The day my girlfriend, Anne, moved into my apartment, was pretty chaotic. The house was a mess, there were boxes everywhere and we hadn't had time to set up a bed for both of us. Instead we camped out in the main room, setting up a pair of sleeping bags in a small clearing between the boxes. I was watching TV while she was slowly unpacking boxes. She gave a slight laugh and I turned to look at her. She was unboxing a carton labeled "Toiletries." I asked what was funny and she showed me what she had unpacked.

It was a gorgeous antique silver hairbrush. It had ornate floral art nouveau decorations on the back. It had a long handle that tapered to a thin middle and widened again near the rounded base. She handled it very lovingly. I asked what it was.

It was an heirloom. It was more than a hundred years old and had been bought long ago in Paris. It had been handed down through the women of her family and Anne had been given it by her aunt. I asked why that made her laugh and she sort of paused, looking at me. Then she said

"Give me a minute and I'll tell you." She rummaged through the boxes a bit more and then went to the bathroom. She was in the washroom a long time. Enough that I pretty much forgot anything strange was happening and went back to watching TV. I looked up when she came back, and I was stunned. She was wearing a sexy blue silk nightgown. It was very short, just brushing the tops of her thighs, and it was trimmed in black lace. She was holding a few things in one hand. I got up to kiss her, but she pushed me away a little.

"Just watch" she said. She lay down on the sleeping bags, her elegant look out of place in the jumbled chaos of the move. She patted the sleeping bag beside her, and I sat down. She looked at me awkwardly for a minute, then told me to back up. I moved as far as I could, giving her some space.

She started to caress herself sensuously, running her hands over the silk of her nightgown, caressing from her breasts to the tops of her thighs. When she moved her hands between her legs, I could see that was wearing a pair of blue silk panties that matched her nightgown. She stroked her pussy from over top the fabric, then went back to caressing her body. She moved between actions, getting herself worked up, until she was panting and her hips where thrusting slightly towards her hand every time she moved between her legs.

When she was ready, she looked up shyly at me, then pulled her panties to one side. She picked up the hairbrush and slowly slid the handle deep inside her. She signed in contentment as it entered her. Her face slowly shifted from a shy, demur look to a satisfied smile. She started to slowly move the brush in and out of her pussy, using the fingers of her other hand to lightly stroke her clit.

"It's perfect." She gasped. "It fits every curve and contour inside me." She fell silent to enjoy the feeling of the silver sliding in and out of her wet pussy. The pace, both of the hairbrush and her fingers around her clit, slowly picked up, getting faster and faster. Her hips raised to meet her thrusts and she moaned in time to her actions. It seemed like she was close to climaxing. I leaned in close, watching her, hearing her, smelling the delightful faint scent of her pussy.

Suddenly, unexpectedly, she stopped. For a moment I thought she was cumming. But instead, she slowly settled back against the sleeping bag. She pulled the handle of the brush out and reached for a bottle of lube that she'd discreetly placed beside herself. She liberally coated the handle with lube, then reached between her legs. She used a lot of lube. Far more than normal. She shifted her hips, pulled her panties even further to the side and spread her legs very wide.

Slowly, very, very slowly, she started to slide the handle into her ass.

I was shocked. Anne didn't really enjoy anal. Her first experience had been rough, and she was never very eager to try again.

She looked over at me, knowing what she'd see. She smiled at my bewilderment. Then closed her eyes and pushed the brush deeper.

"It fits me perfectly." She whispered. "It's the only thing that does."

She pulled her hands away, leaving the brush handle buried deep in her ass. She picked up a tiny little vibratory that she'd lay down beside the lube bottle. It was her smallest one. We'd bought it together. She slid it inside her, turned in on the lowest setting.

She touched her clit. Softly. Gently. Then faster. It didn't take her long to get back where she'd been. Then surpassed it. Every muscle in her body was tense. Her hips raised off the sleeping bags. She started to pant, then to whisper obscenities. Then she stopped whispering. She started to shout, before remembering herself and biting her tongue. Her hips almost slammed back against the floor, but she seemed to remember just in time. Instead, she rolled over, on to her belly. She raised her ass into the air and the silk nightgown slid away. For the first time I could see the brush buried in her ass, raised high. It quivered and vibrated along with her body.

Her fingers were wild against her clit. Her body tensed and she bit the pillow to keep from screaming. I'd never seen her like this. Her whole body quivered, and she slammed against the floor, her legs spasming. She was gorgeous.

She lay there quivering for a moment. Then softly asked me to turn off the vibrator and, gently, take out the handle. I laid them on a little face cloth she'd brought from the bathroom.

Slowly, she rolled over and smiled at me.

"And that's the story of the hairbrush." She concluded.

The Chronology of Anne