My Cousin’s Friend

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32


This is a fun, light piece; it’s pretty improbable, but it’s the only thing I’ve written so far that is based, even a little bit, on reality.


* * *

She really shouldn’t have been touching me there.

“Cool. So, like, that’s your clan crest or symbol or something?” Her finger was poking at my belt buckle now, prodding it, but the problem was her other fingers: tracing lightly down the front of my kilt just below the belt buckle, they’d be resting right on top of my pubes. She was looking up at my eyes from where she sat, just drunk enough to be daring.

And my wife was standing right there, beaming at all the attention I was getting.

“Yeah,” said my cousin Aimee, also drunk. Aimee was obsessed by our family’s fairly negligible Scottish heritage, and on this occasion, a wake in Denver to commemorate my uncle’s death, she’d insisted I wear my kilt. Of course I’d obliged, but I’d been getting attention all night because of it.

And now Aimee’s old college friend Rachael was letting her fingers play over the front of my kilt, a devious expression on her face. I glanced sideways at my wife, but she didn’t seem to notice; indeed, she was already talking to one of the other guests, and now Rachael saw where I was glancing. I saw her mouth take on a saucy little grin as her fingers pressed harder.

“He’s my favorite cousin!” Aimee said, quite unnecessarily. I’d heard that a number of times already, and now I smiled back as I gave her another one-armed hug. Poor thing had just lost her father, after all.

Rachael now moved her hands downward, resting them on the top edge of the leather sporran where I kept my wallet and phone. The sporran hung just in front of my penis. “And a purse, too,” she said quietly. “Awesome.” She looked up at me craftily. “Do you wear it in the traditional way?”

“Well, a gentleman never tells!” It was my stock response whenever anyone asked me whether I wore anything under the kilt. Rachael just arched her eyebrow.

“I think you met Rachael before,” Aimee yelled in my ear. The bar was loud. “Didn’t you come down to our house for Easter, like, in college?”

And then, suddenly, I remembered where I’d seen that same devious grin. I’d gone to college a couple of towns away from where Aimee and Rachael had been sorority sisters. It had seemed natural to go to my aunt and uncle’s house for Easter, and it had also been natural for Aimee to invite her friend Rachael. What hadn’t been natural was the intense flirting I’d undergone from bold Rachael. I’d been aware she was hitting on me, but at the time I’d had a girlfriend back at school and I’d just tried to ignore her.

Not that Rachael was easy to ignore. At five feet nine or so, she was just a little shorter than I was, an Amazon with a fantastically proportioned body, blonde hair, and blue eyes. She looked like a Viking princess, and carried herself like one too: bold, daring, resolute, and willful. I’d seen all this just during the course of Easter dinner. And later, as I’d gone to sleep in my uncle’s basement while Rachael joined Aimee upstairs for a slumber party, she’d looked frankly into my eyes, leaned in, and kissed me coolly on the lips. That wasn’t the kind of thing that ever happened to me.

And now here she was, lightly grabbing onto a leather sack that, in turn, rested just on top of my junk. Her hand tightened on the sporran, pulling it slightly toward her with a crafty gleam in her eyes. “I think I remember you,” she said calmly. “I remember all of Aimee’s better-looking relatives.” The fingers grasping the top of my sporran now flicked back toward the kilt, tickling my shaft, and I flinched away. My wife was standing two feet away!

With a dimpled grin, Rachael released me. She kept staring up at me from the barstool, though. “When are you guys flying out?” She addressed the question to my wife, still with that cool smile as Aimee leaned her head against me.

“Couple days,” said my wife; we’d made a long weekend of it, without our kids, and despite the occasion it was actually a nice time to unwind. Until now. “Aimee, is Todd going to run the other kilt over tomorrow?” Aimee’s husband was wearing my other kilt now.

“Oh, well, we’ll get it over to your parents’ house somehow,” Aimee said, suddenly looking like she was about to cry; she was dealing with a high-strung mother, now a widow after thirty years of marriage, and it had been a tough week.

“Oh, Aimee,” Rachael exclaimed. “Don’t even think about running it over there yourself. I’ll take care of it.”

“Oh! Would you?” Aimee was visibly relieved.

“Of course,” Rachael said, but her eyes were on me. “I’ll put it right into Andy’s own two hands.” She winked at me now. “Just give me your phone and I’ll put my contact info in. That way, you can let me know when it’s a good time to come over.” She held out her hand, and of course I couldn’t say no. Her eyes flickered downward as my hand opened the ataşehir escort bayan sporran to pull my phone out. She smiled.

* * *

I woke the next day to a shattering headache, my wife comatose next to me as my phone vibrated on the bedside table. I picked up the phone, saw that it was an ungodly 6:00 am, and was just about to roll over when I saw who was texting me: a new contact called EasterRach. Glancing over at my wife, I opened the text and took a look.


Gulping, I thought about it. My mom and dad never did much of anything most days, and Dad was grieving anyway. Anytime should be fine. Her text came back right away.

I’M WEARING YOUR KILT RIGHT NOW. A winky-face emoji followed, then a pause. IN THE TRADITIONAL WAY. IT’S A LITTLE BIG ON ME… A picture followed, and I gasped. The pic showed tight, pale abs leading down to the waistband of my kilt; one of her hands was obviously taking the picture, but the other one was holding the waistband out about four inches. In the shadowed area between kilt and abs sat smooth, goosebumped skin, leading down to her just barely visible slit. Jesus! This girl was texting me pussy shots!

I was still colleting my thoughts when another text came through. I WANT TO COME OVER THERE IN A FEW MINUTES AND SEE YOU. IS YOUR WIFE STILL ASLEEP?

I texted back SURE. That was it, no flirting. This was the kind of thing that could get out of hand. So I took one more long look at Rachael’s half-visible genitals in the pic she’d sent, then deleted it. I laid my phone back down and stumbled up the basement stairs. The entire house was still asleep this early, and I went to the kitchen sink to wash the night’s foulness out of my mouth. I downed a couple of ibuprofen and collapsed into a couch in the living room to wait.

Rachael must have lived near my parents, for she showed up not five minutes later. She was driving a Jeep convertible, and as she pulled up I watched her strong arm work the stick shift. She looked fresh and clean, as though she hadn’t spent the night before getting wasted, and as she caught sight of me through my parents’ window I saw that devious smile again. She hopped down out of her jeep, my kilt swinging as she strode toward my parents’ door, her braless tits bobbing, and I went ahead and opened up.

“Hi!” she said, taking off her shades and leaning in for a hug. I felt like I was getting swallowed up in her sinewy arms, and I was very conscious of her large breasts, barely contained by a ribbed white tanktop, squashing against my chest. “Nice to see you again.” She scanned me up and down, taking in my boxers and t-shirt. “I thought you’d have your kilt on. We could have been kilt buddies.” She sauntered in, finding her way to the living room where I’d been waiting. In a shopping bag were my sporran, the various belts and pins, and the long stockings Todd had worn with my kilt the night before; Rachael herself was barefoot.

“I can see why you like wearing these,” she burbled on as we passed into the dining room. “It’s very comfortable. I mean, I wear skirts, but I don’t usually go commando when I do!” She laughed then, her hands going down to the leather straps that held the kilt on. “I’ll just take this off for you.” She watched me, her eyes glowing with excitement, as she let the kilt flop down to the floor. And then she stood there, half-naked, her legs slightly spread to show off her strong quads. I looked from her feet up her legs to her shaven mound, clean and hairless, with nothing at all obscuring her tight pink slit. Her impressive abs shot up from there to disappear beneath the tanktop.

I gasped.

“What?” she asked, posing boldly. “Aimee tells me you’ve got two kids, so obviously you’ve seen a snatch before.” She scratched absently at herself. “Well,” she went on, nudging the kilt at her feet, “there’s my job done. Umm, can you do me a quick favor?”

I was in no position to refuse; a gorgeous woman was standing nearly naked in my parents’ dining room. I’d do nearly anything to get her out. I was also painfully conscious of my penis, which was responding to her nudity by stiffening up. “Sure, Rachael. What is it?”

“Well, I stupidly forgot to bring something to change into.” She was watching me closely, her eyes glinting, her nipples growing in the tanktop. “You should go get me something to put on.”

“Say what?”

“Yeah. You know, like if your wife has any extra shorts or anything. Although,” she laughed, her hand once again rubbing at her pussy, “I wouldn’t think any of her clothes would fit me.” As she’d intended, I ran my eyes up and down her body; she was right. My wife’s clothes would be much too big. There was a pause while she eyed my growing penis. “Why don’t you just give me your boxers?”

“My… my boxers?”

“Yeah. They’ll fit. Go on, strip ’em off. I showed you mine, now you show me yours.” I cringed, for Rachael was making escort kadıöy no effort to be quiet. Anyone could wake up at any time. I glared at her, pleading, only to get that same devious smile, those same glinting eyes. Her nipples now pointed like fingers at me. “Come on. I won’t bite. Besides, I’ve seen dicks before.”

I had little choice; my dad was normally awake by now. So, trying to ignore my embarrassment, I dropped my drawers and bent to pick them up. Rachael gazed with great interest at my bobbing cock. “Cool,” she said in a low voice, taking my boxers from my trembling hand. “Is it getting hard for little old me?” She laughed self-deprecatingly. “Your wife must not be taking care of business.”

Well she wasn’t, and hadn’t for years. But that was none of Rachael’s concern. “Uh, thanks,” I said. I wondered whether I should cover myself with my hands, but clearly there was no point. I dragged my eyes from her pussy to her face. “I don’t want to keep you,” I said pointedly.

But Rachael gave no sign of wanting to dress, still less of wanting to leave. “You sure? I could stay awhile; you and me could catch up…” She was tweaking her nipples now, leaving no doubt what she meant, and my dick moved higher.

But I gulped then, and walked past her toward the front door, praying she’d follow. My cock led the way, and I could feel her eyes on my bare ass. I opened the door and turned to face her across the room. “Thanks, Rachael.”

She smiled, then with leisurely grace she lifted her legs and put my boxers on. She adjusted them once they reached the top, rolling down the waistband; I’d never seen a waist so perfect. She calmly walked over to me by the door, looked down once more at my rigid dick, and then smiled at me. “Bye Andy,” she said quietly, reaching around to pat my naked ass. “I’ll miss you.” She leaned quickly in, just as she had at Easter so many years ago, and gave me a dry, cool kiss on the lips. “Nice penis, by the way.” And then she was gone, sashaying in my boxers toward her jeep, the sunglasses going right back on.

While I went to the bathroom and jerked myself to a thunderous orgasm.

* * *

We left after that, heading back to our real lives, planning on our usual summer trip back to my folks’ house. I sort of forgot about my experience with Rachael, tied up as I was with the demands of daily life: work, daycare, school, it all fit together into a puzzle that my wife and I were by the time good at putting together. But soon enough summer vacation came, my family loading up to drive across to Gramma’s house in Denver.

Stuck now with a bereaved “favorite cousin” who wasn’t actually my favorite, I felt I should link up with Aimee while we were out there, maybe buy her some lunch. She was pathetically glad to get my call. “I’m out doing some retail therapy tomorrow,” she told me after we’d arrived, sweaty and drawn from driving across ten states. “You and your wife should come meet us at the mall. My favorite restaurant is there.”

“Aw, great!” I said, trying to sound enthusiastic. “It’ll be great to catch up and see how you’re doing.” We exchanged times and locations, I told my parents we’d be giving them the kids for a couple hours the next day (they were fine with it), and we lurched off to bed.

When we got to the mall the following day, Aimee wasn’t at our rendezvous. I was not all that disappointed; she’d been born late and had never gotten any better, her punctuality as brittle as her mood swings. I texted her to find out where she was, only to have her direct me to the Secret Whispers lingerie chain on the second floor. Seemed she and her friend were underwear shopping. I had no wish to go find her there, but my wife swatted my ass. “Come on,” she taunted. “It’s just underwear.” I followed her uncertainly in.

They were having a sale, meaning the store was awash in piled bras and thongs scattered everywhere, the frenzied staff working hard to try to limit the damage. We moved to the back, scanning for Aimee, and I was shocked when I saw what was outside the dressing room: half a dozen women of all shapes and sizes, systematically strolling into and out of the changing stalls as they got helpful advice from their friends waiting outside. None of them paid any attention at all to me or the other guy, some hipsterish boyfriend, standing sheepishly around and pretending not to look at the bodies on display.

“I’ll go check over at clearance; as long as I’m here, I might as well see if I can find anything. Keep an eye out for Aimee.” She patted me on the shoulder, her eyes laughing. “Be brave, honey. Remember: she just lost her father a few months ago.” I was cringing at the thought of my cousin stepping out of one of those changing rooms, clad in something sexy; Aimee was a great-looking woman, but I didn’t need to be seeing my own cousin that way.

I was not at all ready when the last door on the left slammed open to reveal a tall, blond goddess, maltepe escort her supremely fit body sheathed in a strapless emerald green bustier and garter belt. She sauntered out like a high-class whore displaying herself at the most expensive brothel in Amsterdam, knifing through the lesser women. Her makeup was impeccably done, and she ignored everyone in the place as she strode to the full-length mirror and began to pose. Her breasts were massive and perfect, squeezing out of the cups, jiggling lusciously.

Oh, that ass! As she faced the mirror, her strong butt framed by the lacy garter belt and the thong beneath, it stared at me, predicting an impending erection. She preened, pouting her lips as she modeled for herself; beside me, Hipster Boyfriend whimpered, “Holy Jesus.” The woman in the mirror stood, legs slightly spread, arms at her sides, and then she caught sight of me in the mirror behind her. A naughty grin crossed her perfect lips as her reflection fixed me in her gaze and blew me a kiss. Then she spun, raising her arms gracefully to toss her heavy curls back, like a girl in a shampoo commercial.

She came to me, catlike with a mischievous grin, for she was Rachael. Hipster Boyfriend gawked openly as she stepped to me, a hip thrust out as she ran her finger under my neckline. “Hi, cutie. Aimee mentioned you might be coming here.” Then she leaned in for another mocking kiss, her hands gently clasping my head. Hipster Boyfriend groaned. She finished with me and backed off, stroking my hair. “She also mentioned a lunch date.”

“Hi, Rachael,” I stammered. My arms had gone instinctively around her body, the crusted green silk and lace now rippling underneath my hands as she moved. Never had I been so close to a body so perfect. “You, uhh, you look good!”

She smiled and twisted out of my arms, pirouetting. “I know I’m a little more fully dressed here than the last time you saw me, but in fairness I think I probably look a little better than ‘good.’ Should I buy this?” Beside me, Hipster Boyfriend gawked openly at her nipples, showing clearly through the lace bustier. “Hi!” Rachael said brightly, holding out her hand. “Are you a friend of Andy’s?”

“Uh, no. Who’s Andy?” When he shook her hand, he looked like he was afraid she would evaporate into a mist.

Rachael laughed. “Guess not. Should I buy this? Would you like it on your girlfriend?” She posed again, tormenting the poor boy while I drank in her curves. Hipster Boyfriend glanced quickly around to make sure his girlfriend wasn’t nearby. “Does it make you want to fuck me?” She was grinning now, and he was losing control.

“Shit yes,” he said, his voice thick with lust. If his girlfriend had been lying naked and bound right next to Mila Kunis and Meghan Fox, he would have ditched them in that moment for Rachael in green lingerie.

“Woo hoo!” Rachael turned to me. “I guess that’s it then; if I can make two faithful, taken men want to do me, then this is just the outfit I’m looking for. Aimee’s over in clearance. I’ll just whip this off and go check out, then we can eat.” She blew the hipster a kiss, then headed back toward her dressing room; she was already removing her thong as she went, the door closing just as her naked ass came into view. For a moment, there was a pounding silence. Then Hipster Boyfriend looked over at me.

“You hitting that?” he blurted, adjusting himself beneath his pants.

“Well, no,” I admitted. “I’m married.”

“Ah. Well, then you’re a fucking idiot.” He shrugged, then pasted on a fake smile and went forward to greet a short, skinny girl with tattoos.

* * *

Lunch was salad and bread rolls at La Luna, a high-end restaurant attached to the mall. It was Aimee’s favorite place, and as soon as I walked in I regretted that I was paying. She at least kept it sensible, ordering a $14 house salad; Rachael opted for a grilled smoked salmon salad on heirloom arugula. Cost? $25.

She’d emerged from the checkout line at Secret Whispers looking sharp, a short skirt swishing above her well-turned legs with every confident stride. A blue blouse set off her eye makeup, just transparent enough to make out the white tanktop underneath. Her ponytail wagged as she walked. She greeted my wife with joy, then gave us both warm hugs; she waited until Aimee was talking to my wife before reaching down to pat my ass. “Should I have left the other outfit on?” she asked blandly as we walked to the restaurant. Aimee and my wife were up ahead.

“What? My boxers and that tanktop from April?” I said pointedly.

“Ah! You remembered!” She casually thrust her arm through mine, patting my hand. “I love flirting with cute boys. And you, sir, are a very cute boy.” She simpered as, once again, she spanked me lightly.

“Stop that!” I adjusted my sunglasses and tried to move away from her.

“Oh, come on,” Rachael scoffed. “You love it. And you’ve got a cute ass; you should take it as a compliment.” She peered over at me. “You could always return the favor, you know. I don’t mind a little spanking. And I know you like my ass.” She smiled. “I saw you today in the mirror, lusting after me.”

“I wasn’t lusting after you. I was just admiring you. There’s a difference.”

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Yer işareti koy Kalıcı Bağlantı.

Bir cevap yazın

E-posta hesabınız yayımlanmayacak.