The Cousin

A trip OS to meet the family becomes deliciously incestuous.

I first met my cousin Gwyn when I traveled through The Republic of Ireland after finishing university in 2002. When I say cousin, I don’t mean first cousin, but some more distant connection – we shared a great grandparent, or perhaps great great. In any case, it was my grandfather who emigrated from Galway to Australia in the 1920s. His brother visited in the 1970s, keeping the connection between the families intact, so that when the first antipodean, me, was looking for adventure, the distant extended family welcomed me with open arms. They lived in a quiet village a few km out of town, a wonderful place to stay and enjoy being away from big cities.

In 2002, Gwyn was pregnant with her second child, taking leave from her senior role in an accounting practice. Her diplomat husband Iain was climbing the career ladder in Whitechapel with the British Government, and with their eldest son just 3, they had the classic nuclear family underway. We became very close friends over the course of my gap year travelling around the regions, and kept in touch by regular email upon my return.

Fast forward 8 years when I visited again and things seemed much the same, except that Iain was frequently away on the continent attending meetings in Brussels, regularly leaving Gwyn alone with the kids on Sunday night, returning late Friday night. They were then a very family tight unit over the weekend, with football and ballet lessons in between dinner parties.

Gwyn had always been very sexually active as a young single, and the absence of her husband during the week had gradually led to to a nasty habit of picking up randoms on nights out with the girls – generally targeting traveling businessmen with a hotel room available. It was an open secret amongst her close friends that she led an active, if promiscuous, sex life, and her husband, probably fucking a string of pretty interns while away on the continent, had no idea his wife was banging strangers just as often. I had no idea of course that my much loved cousin was the village slut.

---

---

The pride in her looks that she still picked up well into her 30s enhanced her self-esteem and she became more physically active. Regular exercise, watching her diet and grooming herself well paid off. By the time I returned to visit in 2010 she was a different woman. She had become a confident dresser in slightly revealing blouses just that one size too small to accentuate her bust, dark-brown hair with burgundy highlights and high heels to show off her now shapely legs. She was petite and shapely and desirable. If she weren’t my cousin I’d have been panting every time I saw her, but she was, and I didn’t.

Ellen, one her friends bumped into me at the local market one afternoon and insisted I join her for a coffee. She was quite a plain woman, not pretty but not unattractive, and she struck me as somebody who was a closet nympho and might welcome the attention of a horny traveler for a fling for a few months, so expecting this was the beginning of an invitation into her pants I readily agreed.

What she said stunned me. Instead of telling me she needed me to come around and fix some fictitious problem with the plumbing, she told me all about Gwyn and that I shouldn’t be ashamed of her, her husband has neglected her and she is just compensating for his perpetual absence, not just from the home but also from emotional engagement to the marriage. So, that caught me by surprise. I wasn’t going to find Ellen going down on me my while I had my head under the sink, and I was going to be babysitting while the kid’s mother was blowing some blow-in.

Her story soon checked out – every Wednesday night Gwyn would ask me to look after the kids, saving her the expense of the baby-sitter while she went out with the girls, and she’d return home about 2am. I know the time, because I heard the door bang and her taking a long shower, washing away the residue of her slutty infidelity. I must admit to being a bit judgemental about her behaviour, our family was not one from the wild side, there were no skeletons in the closet and this was building one. After a few weeks of witnessing this I felt compelled to say something, though I didn’t know what. I waited up for her to return, and on this occasion she came home quite early.

I didn’t mean to sound like my own mother, but ‘where have you been’ blurted out. She came and sat next to me and started sobbing. I put my arm around her and she said “I just got rejected”. I said “What do you mean?” She replied “Don’t act like you don’t know – I know big mouth Ellen told you everything”. Ouch – that made me feel uncomfortable. I’d been pretending not to know and I was caught out. “I just want you and the kids to be OK” I said. “I’m not sure you’re not digging a hole for yourself – this isn’t such a big village”. “You’re right” she said. “I need to be much more discrete”.

“That’s not what I’m saying” I replied. “You shouldn’t be sucking every guy’s cock to put it bluntly”. “Well, I didn’t get any cock tonight, he got an attack of the guilts about cheating on his wife and asked me leave”. “I’m so fucking lonely and horny all the time and I just need to feel a man”. She was becoming more emotional so I held her again and she put her head on my shoulder and as she went to put her arm around my waist her hand brushed a hard-on I hadn’t noticed coming on. ‘You bastard” she said suddenly. “You’re pretending to be understanding and you are secretly getting off on this you little shit”. Gawd. This was getting ugly – I’d no idea that subconsciously this was a turn-on, and now she was calling me on it.

“Let me guess” she started snarling at me. “You’ve been wanking yourself off in the shower thinking about me, fantasising that I’m some lowlife whore who would blow you while you’re a guest in my house. Isn’t that right”. She couldn’t have been further from the truth, but there was no point arguing with her in this state, she was getting irrational and was clearly hurt and probably frustrated that she wouldn’t be getting the sexual relief she’d planned for the night.

Suddenly, it was me who wasn’t thinking straight. I started thinking with my dick and the opportunity that a sexy horny woman might bring. It was so fucking wrong on so many levels but my animal male lust took over and I blurted out “Suck me off”. “What did you say you pathetic creature?” she replied? “I said, suck my cock”. I had no control, the air was supercharged with sexual tension and I just unbuttoned my pyjama trousers and released my now rock hard cock. “Suck that, then show me your tits”. I moved forward and put it up against her lips, basically making it harder to say no than to say yes and make it even more embarrassing. She compliantly opened her mouth and cupped my balls in her hand.

Looking back on it now, it was a moment that had fucking disaster written all over it, but in the moment, all wisdom deserted both of us. I removed my cock from her eager mouth and unbuttoned her blouse. “Tell me what you wanted in that hotel room tonight” I said. “Tell me what you were there for”. She pulled her blouse open, revealing her very nice firm B size breasts poking over a lace bra. “I am perpetually sexually frustrated” she said. “If I got just one good fuck I’d probably not need another”. Her logic was twisted by my standards; every time I get a good fuck it makes me want it even more, but women are different, and orgasms are not so readily achieved. “Come with me” I said, putting my pants back on and buttoning up her modesty a little lest the noise had woken the kids and they came upstairs to see the commotion. I led her to her bedroom.

We lay down together and I touched her gently, slowly recovering the mood, but letting her anxiousness and hurt be replaced with calm and sensuousness. I’m no Valentino, but I knew enough to know that she’d been putting out to all these guys without any of them ever focusing on her. I caressed, stroked, gave her a cat bath and all the things that erotic masseuses have done for me over the years. I caressed her breasts, teasing the nipples but not touching them until I sensed she desperately needed them looked after, so very gentle licked them before taking a mouthful of her firm breasts. I rolled her over, stroking her bum, teasing the inside leg while she discretely moved them further apart, willing me to touch her more intimately. Despite desperately wanting to fuck her brains out, I knew I had a job to do before my cock got in on the act.

I continued to touch her ass, around her anus, then parting her legs myself I could see her pussy dripping and heaving – she was getting ready for probably her first orgasm in a long time. I slipped my finger along the middle of her lips, the moisture easing the path and they readily parted revealing her inner lips, now quivering with anticipation. Putting a pillow under her belly, it revealed her vagina more fully, giving me the access to slip a finger inside her, then gently another, and then a third finger, stretching her and making her gasp. My thumb performed little circles around her clitoris while my three fingers rhythmically kept the beat, fingering her the way I’d fingered high school girlfriends who wouldn’t go all the way. Only this time I kinda knew what I was doing, and her breathing and rocking hips confirmed I was on the right track. “Tell me what you need” I said. “Fuck Me” she replied, but that’s not what she needed. She needed my full attention. After all this I was unlikely to last more than a few strokes!

“Roll over for me” I instructed, and she was so blissed-out I had to help her, and she instinctively parted her legs in the ‘fuck me’ spread, but not yet. While trying to keep my cock away from her mouth, I put myself in a semi-69 position, kneeling over her so I could lick her pussy. With the first touch of my tongue she nearly lifted off the bed – she told me later she’d not had oral performed on her for years. I used both hands to pull her lips to the side so I could alternatively lick her clit, then go all the way forward, sticking my tongue up her vagina as far as I could. She naturally leant for my cock and tried to suck it, but I deliberately kept my hips far enough away so she couldn’t get it in her mouth. I knew if I blew it would be like kryptonite to my libido. I kept up the oral stimulation, sensing her building, her moans getting faster, her hips bucking and with her more frantically trying to put my cock in her mouth. I knew it was getting close for both of us, so I put arm around her leg so I could finger-fuck her again while still licking her clit. This did it, as I built up the pace and depth, nearly fisting her writhing cunt while I licked and nibbled on her clit, her back lifted off the bed, her pussy contracted, pulsing on my three fingers buried inside her. She was  suddenly deadly silent, her pussy still vibrating as I let my fingers slip out, soaked in a gush of nectar that I couldn’t resist slurping up, then like a dog at a bowl of water I eagerly lapped at her dripping and quivering snatch.

Now it was my turn. I so desperately needed to flood her box with a load of cum and I spun around expecting to see her eyes like saucers. They weren’t. She was asleep!

Well, not asleep.  More like out cold. The French call the female orgasm ‘la petite mort’, the little death. Her first blow job, her first orgasm in far too long was simply too overwhelming for her and she’d passed out.

When she came too I was snuggled in beside her. The duvet was pulled over us to stay warm and I’d washed her up a bit with a warm cloth. It was THEN that her eyes were like saucers.

“Thank you” she mouthed. I smiled and she smiled and as we got closer she felt my cock hardening against her leg, the sticky pre-cum an indication that I’d either already cum and she missed it, or hadn’t cum and she had it to look forward to. She reached down to stroke me and I said it wasn’t necessary. She laughed and said “I’m not having you wanking yourself off in the shower fantasising about me”.