The Cottage – Chapters 1-3 by lookin2please

A literotic sexstories: The Cottage – Chapters 1-3 by lookin2please ,
Based on a true story. Everyone is 18+.
Chapter 1 – Forbidden FruitCam shivered as the hot water stop flowing. Quickly, he shot his arm out past the shower curtain and reached for the first grubby-looking, brown towel he could find, pulling it towards him. The towel felt crusty and hard as he rubbed it against his skin, almost as if it had never been washed. He smiled regardless – he had the cottage to himself this afternoon.

Exhausted after helping his father build a deck for the past three days, Cam convinced everyone to leave him behind on their shopping trip into town, claiming a rest was in order. He jumped into the shower moments before they left, eagerly fantasizing about how he would spend the rest of the afternoon reading under the hot sun.

Having tolerated the towel scratching him for long enough, Cam snapped back the shower curtain.

Panic struck him violently – his eyes never felt so wide in his skull.

Standing just beyond the shower curtain was Emily.

In an instant he tried to cover his damp, naked body with the embarrassment of a towel he was furiously clutching in his hand – but succeeded only in slipping on the wet shower floor, sending his towel flying whimsically in front of him, and both his hands shooting down in a clumsy effort to conceal his crotch.

Emily’s cute, tiny, oval face turned red as she blushed. Her crystal green eyes fixated on what lay behind his hands. Cam could tell by her thin, rose-coloured lips slipping into a sly grin that she caught a peek.

Getting ahold of himself, slightly, Cam managed to keep one hand in front of his manhood as he lunged forward to grab the towel. Promptly, wrapping it around himself, he stepped out of the shower onto the old, moist rug in front of him.

Just a foot from the shower opening, Emily didn’t budge.

The cottage had just one bathroom. It was not much larger than a closet, but there was enough room for a toilet, sink and shower. There was even a window tucked inside of the shower stall, just high enough that you would only be able to see someone’s head from the outside looking in. Normally, Cam felt cramped in there, right now he felt near claustrophobic.

“What are you doing in here?!” Cam asked anxiously.

Emily, rooted to the floor where she stood, just looked up at him.

Despite looking like one of the oldest, Emily was his youngest cousin, having just graduated high school. She was a gorgeous young woman – tall, athletic yet slender build, with a high hip-flare that accentuated her slight curves through the thighs and bum, bronzed skin, those crystal green eyes, sun kissed light-brown hair and the most attentive c-cup breasts – all contained within a red two-piece polkadot bikini.

“Emily – you can’t be in here.” Cam’s tone was matter-of-fact. If anyone else was there, he was in big trouble.

After a few more moments of silence, Emily spoke softly, nervously, “I… I wanted to see it.”

He wasn’t sure why, but in his mind he knew exactly what she was talking about. A new wave of anxiety rushed over him. He felt it in his loins.

“Emily, you can’t just come wandering into the bathroom and try to see someone’s penis – you’re old enough to know that isn’t how it works.” He sounded like a father scolding a young child.

She looked down to the floor, redness growing on her cheeks, disappointment obvious on her face.

“Look,” Cam continued, “someone is going to notice you’re in here, and I will get in tons of trouble if they do and I don’t kick you out. So can you please step out? We can talk more once I’m dressed.”

He flashed Emily a nervous, yet reassuring smile. He had been where she was before, overcome with sexual urges and finding yourself doing irrational things. A quick memory, of him watching his own Aunt in an outdoor shower while on vacation in Italy, flashed across his mind.

“Ok.” Emily sounded despondent.

In a single motion, head still facing the floor, she spun around and drearily strode out the door.

Relieved, Cam closed the door and leaned up against it, taking stock of himself. In all the commotion he didn’t notice that his cock had become hard.

After finishing his post-shower routine, Cam emerged from the bathroom, towel firmly secure around his waist. Before entering his bedroom he did a quick survey of the cottage. It didn’t seem like anyone else was there – no cars in the driveway, no one out back, no one on the deck. Emily must’ve found an excuse for staying back, he concluded, perhaps she pretended to be sick.

With no sign of anyone else, or Emily, he strode confidently into his bedroom and closed the door. The room was small, just big enough for a queen bed to fit in the middle with two tiny end tables on either side, nearly touching the walls. There was a big window on the right-hand side, some pictures of seascapes on the walls and a small closet in the left corner. Despite the glorious sunlight shining in through the thin curtains, it smelt musty – the humid air doing its work to the linens. Cam threw himself onto the bed – it made a rather loud squeaking noise as he landed – and threw away his towel.

He couldn’t shake the image of Emily, standing there half-naked, from his mind. He had always found his cousin attractive, and definitely noticed her staring at him as she grew older. She had caught him, more than a few times, returning the favour during this recent cottage trip. He couldn’t help himself, she kept walking around in that bikini – showing off her firm, bronzed body – he was only a man after all.

He knew it was wrong, but he kept thinking to himself that in that moment, he could’ve done anything he wanted to that girl – touch her, kiss her, strip her, even fuck her. His cock grew hard as these thoughts danced through his head. Maybe it was the fact that he and his wife were in a tiff, and haven’t had sex in weeks, but he couldn’t contain himself; Cam quickly checked to make sure the door was closed and wrapped a hand around his cock.

He couldn’t have been stroking himself for more than a minute or two when he felt someone else climb onto the bed. Cam didn’t have to open his eyes to know it was Emily. But he did anyways, and was greeted by the same young woman from the bathroom, this time completely naked. Her hard nipples caressed his skin as she pulled herself up his chest, stopping as she came to gaze directly into his eyes. He could feel her heat against the head of his cock.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, perhaps trying to hold back tears, “I can’t help myself.”

Cam was paralyzed – he couldn’t figure out his next move. He was horny, he wanted to fuck this girl; but he was married, this was his cousin – and his wife, along with everyone else, could be home any second.

But Christ, he thought as he shot a glance down, she was beautiful. Her perky breasts showed the tan lines from their bikini top, her hips and crotch the tan lines from her bottoms. Her pussy, barely in view, appeared to be sparsely covered with light-brown pubic hair.

With a trembling hand she reached down and touched his thigh, passing her hand up to the base of his cock. It was the most careful and delicate of touches, like a gentle whisper against his skin. Her fingers met his, still firmly gripping his cock. Reluctantly, he pulled his hand away. The bed groaned as he shifted his weight.

She wrapped her fingers around his penis, feeling its warmth against her palm, a quick smile flashing across her face – she had never touched one before. Cam responded by flexing his hips upward, instinctively. Her delicate touch drove him wild. Emily began to stroke his cock with her hand, then, with slightly more confidence, brought her other hand to join in.

Cam was lost in ecstasy. He placed his hand on her soft, smooth skin and pulled at her shoulder, motioning her to turn over so her bum was in line with his face. Without words she obliged, still stroking his cock. Once in front of him, Cam parted her legs slightly and pushed his fingers into her pussy.

It was the tightest pussy he had ever felt. Luckily, it was dripping wet, otherwise he was certain that he would’ve been unable to fit more than the tip of his finger into her – but he managed to throw two in.

Emily couldn’t take it. She threw her head back, squinted, and began to moan – loudly, her mouth open wide – her body squeezing down hard on his fingers, her hips thrusting forward involuntarily.

Unable to focus, she released his cock.

“It… it tickles…” she panted.

With a force that surprised even him, Cam used his free hand to grab Emily by the back of the neck and pushed her open mouth down onto his cock. He was possessed by lust – he didn’t care who could come walking through that door – he was taking this girl right here, right now.

She gagged on his dick. He pulled her back up. She spat out saliva, her face and eyes now red. He just looked at her. She nodded feverishly, not bothering to look back at him – she knew what he wanted, what she wanted. He pushed her back down on his dock. Her throat gave way momentarily, but she began to cough violently once again. He pulled her off of his cock and, hand still gripping her hair, pulled her head towards his.

She came eagerly. He threw her, gently, onto her back and climbed on top of her. Looking into her eyes, he lined his cock up to her pussy, feeling the tingling sensation of her pubic hairs touching his tip.

She was heaving. Her small breasts moving up and down with each breath. Her eyes looked directly into his. She spread her legs wider for him and nodded definitively – she wanted this.

Cam pushed himself into Emily.

It was the tightest pussy he had ever fucked. It felt like a vice grip was around his cock, gripping it fiercely as he began to motion in and out. He looked down to see her opening stretched to it’s capacity – her clit spread across the girth of his penis. This drove him wild – forcing his intensity to grow. Emily bit a nearby pillow and arched her back.

Cam steadily built speed, feeling her pussy slowly adjusting to accommodate his cock. In no time, he felt her cervix. Shortly thereafter, he lost her – she was a squirming mess of moans, groans and long limbs wrapping themselves around him. He began to fuck her furiously.

Cam pounded her, lifting her off of the bed with his powerful thrusts into her. The sound of slapping flesh grew to its apex. The smell of sweat and sex filling the room.

Then, he felt it building inside of him. For a brief moment he thought about pulling out, about doing the right thing, but he was lost to this moment, to his carnal desires. He already crossed the line, why stop there.

With a final thrust, he pushed himself as far into Emily as he could. Her eyes burst open. Her arms and legs wrapped around him – locking him into place.

Looking flush, her expression turned to a confused look as he came inside her, it was clearly the first time anyone had done that to her. She could feel his cock spurting sperm into her previously virgin womb.

As the two unlikely lovers fell back onto the itchy bedsheets behind them, both smiling stupidly, Cam heard the unmistakable sound of a door closing downstairs.

“Emily?!?! Are you feeling better dear?”

Cherie, his aunt – Emily’s mother – was coming up the stairs.

Chatper 2 – The Voyeur

Her pussy itched.

Cherie’s slender index finger slid down the damp crotch of her skin-tight, acid-wash denim shorts into the heat of her groin. Her hard, french-manicured nail pushed against the taught fabric of her shorts, only just catching the fold of her labia.

Her slim lips – adorned with Cherie’s trademark hotrod-red lipstick – pulled into a joyful smile as she felt the summer afternoon’s wind pushing itself through her wavy, long blonde hair.

With a rush of pleasure, and a hearty flex of her finger, the itch was scratched.

Replacing her hand on the leather-wrapped steering wheel of her sleek red convertible, Cherie returned her focus to the empty, pothole-laden road unravelling before her.

Maggie’s gonna be so surprised! She thought, nearly snorting with laughter, as she imagined the look on her old friend’s face when she unexpectedly showed up at her door.

The old college friends – and mutual maids-of-honour – hadn’t spoken outside of email in years. But, with Cherie’s family staying at her sister’s nearby cottage for the first time, the mother of three couldn’t help but abandon an afternoon shopping trip – and a suddenly sick eldest daughter – and make an effort to see her former roommate.

The car gave a sharp squeal as Cherie jerked it to the left – a rush of a adrenaline pushing through her chest as she felt it fighting to grip the concrete below – her legs squeezing together in a whole-hearted effort to steady the curvy woman in her seat as she navigated a new, tree-lined side road.

Blood rushed into her loins.

After a few winding turns, a sprawling cottage – adorned with floor-to-ceiling tinted windows on all sides – roared into view.

Cherie’s jaw dropped.

The cottage’s cobblestone driveway came to a looping end several metres in front of the main entrance: a pair of tall oak doors sporting a single, circular brass handle roughly waist-high off the ground.

The car jerked to a stop in front of them, finding itself suspiciously alone at the end of the expansive, secluded property.

Worry fluttered in Cherie’s chest at the prospect of her hour-long drive having been an utter waste. With a nervous gulp she threw one of her curvy legs out the car door and pushed herself out of the vehicle.

She came to an unintentionally seductive, crossed-legged pose beside the car – the mid-summer sun attacking her exposed skin with its unfiltered, radiant heat. Hot, sticky sweat began to seep from her every pore – sliding between her breasts, down the crevices of her back, and building inside the folds of her bunched labia.

Every muscle in her body pulled as she pushed her arms to the clear blue sky, alleviating any residual stiffness from the drive. Her natural, D-sized breasts struggled against the soft yellow athletic top hugging her skin.

With a quick bend at the hips she plunged back into the car for her iPhone – a fleeting breeze tickling her groin – a quick glance at which made her skin boil.

The screen was filled with angry messages from her husband – Steven, a middle-aged deadbeat who was spending increasingly larger amounts of time travelling for work, and increasingly less time with her and the girls – informing her that she should enjoy her last weekend of freedom before he returned from his latest business trip. At which point he promised to take away her credit cards, the convertible, and essentially lock her in the house.

“Fucking asshole,” she whispered with seething vitriol as the phone was forcefully lobbed onto the caramel-coloured leather seat.

Shaking herself back to the present moment, Cherie used the massive window beside the front door to check her hair, and then reached for the doorbell.

Which she couldn’t find.

With a puzzled expression she scanned the immaculately simple doorway – not a button in sight.

With a huff she coiled her arms before her supple breasts – the nipples of which had become hard from her nervous excitement, and dug into her forearms ever-so-gently – thinking about her next move.

She tried the doorknob, but it wouldn’t budge.

As the frustrating thought of turning back slipped into her mind, she had another idea.

Turning on a dime – nearly tripping in her highlighter-pink sneakers – Cherie marched to the right and headed for the back of the house.

The journey was relatively easy, as a path made of beautiful grey stones – lined with exotic shrubs and flowers of every colour imaginable, and exuding the most succulent of scents – showed the way around the house; leading past two sharp corners, and spitting her out into a small, secluded courtyard area shaped like a “U”.

The minimalist courtyard had a small reading bench, a few slim trees pushing up from the stone slabs which lined the ground, and was anchored by a large, black door which seemed to push out from the tinted-window wall to her left.

Then she heard it.

The sound of muffled pounding danced around Cherie’s confused face like rain dribbling from eavestrough.

Her legs turned to rubber as she spun around to face the door – her ears straining to find the source of the intermittent noise.

For a moment she stood still, her body awash in nerves.

THUD-THUD-THUD.

It called again from the other side of the door – sounding as if someone’s skull was being unceremoniously slammed into a concrete slab.

Heat pushed itself throughout her frame as she felt her feet robotically moving towards the doorway.

What if Maggie is in trouble? She asked herself.

The noise grew louder as she approached from directly behind the door – but it wasn’t alone.

Urgent, muffled grunting seeped through the black windows and into the hot air.

Cherie’s heart skipped in her well-endowed chest.

With a trembling hand she reached for the silver, circular doorknob.

It didn’t budge.

More groans pushed into the courtyard – this time louder, more panicked.

And notably pleasureful.

Cherie’s pulse started racing. Her pussy started thStevenbing. She pressed her face against the glass.

More desperate groans filled the air.

Barely able to see through the tint, Cherie cupped her trembling hands around her face.

A horrified gasp escaped her gaping lips – her breath fogging the window beneath her gaze – as the woman’s shocked eyes fell into a small, modernly furnished bedroom decorated in shades of grey.

There, on the opposite wall, was a beautiful woman getting mercilessly pounded from behind by a slender man.

Cherie’s blood drained from her skull – rushing directly to her loins – as she watched the woman struggle to stand against the relentless thrusting of her lover’s small buttocks.

He lay into her like a jackhammer – each powerful thrust sending the woman’s skin rippling across her body – a smattering of incoherent groans falling from her pouted lips.

Cherie – having not felt a man’s touch in nearly 2 years – had to collect herself. With a purposeful sigh her lungs filled with thick, humid air. Feeling focus return to her on the ragged exhale, it didn’t take her long to recognize Maggie.

Despite having not seen her taller, fuller, and darker-skinned friend in nearly a decade, Cherie could spot Maggie’s shoulder tattoo anywhere. The Asian calligraphy translating to “Fertile” – a marking chosen after birthing a 6th child from her ex-husband – was unmistakable.

The woman’s bronzed, sweat-soaked body showed every one of those children:

Sun-kissed stretch marks shivered as her skin sagged slightly from her quivering frame – her lover’s fingers hungrily digging themselves into the excess flesh of Maggie’s hips, seemingly ripping her skin from the evident muscle hiding beneath as he lustfully forced himself deeper into her.

Another savage grunt left her lips as her lover – with his back to Cherie – grabbed a fistful of Maggie’s dirty blonde hair and plunged himself deeper into the chubby woman’s engorged sex.

Cherie felt dizzy as she watched a droplet of fluid trickle down from Maggie’s stretched, well manicured opening, fall down across the back of her bronzed thigh, and settle into the back of her knee.

As the man’s head pulled backwards in a brief moment of rapture, Cherie felt one of her hands travelling down the front of her firm stomach, and slip beneath the band of her floral-patterned, white lace briefs.

She trembled at the feeling of her own wetness dampening the untrimmed brown hair decorating her pussy.

Maggie’s eyes were closed. Her hands pressed firmly above either side of the fireplace. Her hair was strewn across her face as it pressed into the light grey wall with tremendous force – her lips crunched together on the right hand side, lipstick rubbing off on the wall.

Cherie’s fingers were rubbing her clit.

Maggie’s emerald blue eyes exploded open as the man drew his hand to her neck and clamped down. Cherie gasped as the muscles in his arm torqued – her friend’s face turning a deep shade of purple as spit drizzled down her rounded chin. Just as Maggie started to squirm – and Cherie’s pussy started to quiver – the man released his grip.

Maggie crumpled to the floor – gasping for air against the fireplace’s glass covering.

Cherie was knuckle-deep in her twat, her sharp nail doing wondrous things to the spongey walnut just inside her vagina – pulses of blissful electricity shooting through her abdomen.

As if they had done it a hundred times before, Maggie rolled onto her back – shooting her lover an intensely sultry, longing gaze – and spread her legs as wide as they would reach.

Cherie couldn’t help but marvel at Maggie’s beautifully slim, sagging, E-sized breasts – complete with ferocious blue veins around the areola, and silver, circular piercings through each of the nipples.

The voyeur’s mouth found itself watering.

Maggie’s lover must’ve felt the same, as he shot down onto all fours, and aggressively sucked each of her friend’s tits for several seconds – his stubby fingers finding their way deep into her sex.

For a quick second he slipped his entire hand into her soaked hole – to which Maggie squealed in joyous reply.

The woman’s face shifted quickly as her lover hastily repositioned himself, aligned their hips, and pushed his pelvis to hers – effortlessly sliding back into her depths.

Maggie’s expression spoke volumes – mouth open, head back – her eyes rolling into her skull with such relief it was as if a missing piece of her had been returned; her hands dug into his olive-toned flesh, the long, purple nails of her fingers carving deep etches into his skin; her small, dainty mouth parted to allow her teeth to sink into the flexing muscle of his shoulder.

Cherie’s knees fell weak. Her breaths grew shallow. The back of her hand burned against the waist of her shorts. She fell hard to the ground – bumping loudly against the glass – her fingers not skipping a beat as they pumped in and out of her soaked fuck hole.

Maggie’s eyes darted to the window, doubling in size.

Cherie stopped breathing – embarrassment burning into her as the woman realized she had been found – her fingers slowing to a gentle series of strokes.

The voyeur shook as an exaggerated breath tumbled from her throat.

Her friend’s mouth slowly twisted into a devious smile.

She reached into her lover’s hair with a stretch of her elegant hand, squeezed his damp, dark-brown mop, and pressed his panting face towards hers. Roughly pushing her lips to his ear Maggie whispered something – her eyes unmoved from the glass – as her long legs wrapped themselves around the man’s waist.

He nodded slowly – hesitantly.

She pulled her eyes from Cherie’s, and looked directly into his – nodding quickly, reassuringly.

The man reached between his legs.

Cherie’s fingers resumed their torrid pace at the sight of a severely used condom being strewn to the floor.

The woman outside release a guttural groan as an orgasm – the first she had had in years – gripped her sweating body.

The man fell back into Maggie with the utmost of ease, performed three probing thrusts into the trembling woman, and then held his shaking pelvis against her for a few tense, silent moments.

Cherie was covered in sweat, pins-and-needles on the inside, and glued to the hot glass.

The man pulled himself from Maggie with a laborious grunt and fell to the floor beside her, rolling out of their voyeur’s view.

Only Maggie’s swollen, gaping pussy – oozing with a thick, white substance – greeted Cherie’s tearful eyes.

Maggie winked at her old friend as, just before her now standing lover broke the two woman’s gaze, she spun onto the floor, clenched her legs together and whipped them into the air -coming to a rest in a near headstand, pointed upwards overtop of the fireplace.

Cherie’s own, still fertile ovaries lurched with understanding.

Then her bewildered eyes landed on the man’s legs.

They quickly moved up his thighs, past his limp cock – which dripped with white ooze, his spunk, and tiny bits of blood – and all the way to his face.

Cherie tumbled backwards as her husband’s astonished eyes stared back at her.

Chatper 3 – Family Ties

In all the fuss, she hadn’t noticed her shorts around her ankles or the fluids dripping off her trembling knuckles and down her thigh.

Instead, Cherie’s eyes—horrified and gaping—bore through the window and into her husband’s. His—at first a reflection of her horror, but then ever slowly filling with sinister satisfaction—crawled over her from top to bottom like she was a rabid animal.

The sun pressed its sharp heat into the tops of her pale shoulders, down the exposed portion of her arched back, and onto whatever pastel-white buttocks hung free from her floral-patterned panties askew around her crotch. But the wind, a small gust no more than a whisper on her loins, brought her to straighten, rearrange her panties, and pull up her acid wash shorts. Her ears began to ring as she struggled with the button at her beltline, and the only meaningful response she could muster to discovering her husband trying to breed her best friend was to stammer incoherently into the lush grass of Maggie’s backyard. Shorts secure and mind swirling, Cherie looked back to the glass and, for some reason, at her husband’s spent cock. It hung indifferently, half-hard and gooey with cum and fluids. Her mind flashed to the first time she took its bulbous head in her mouth, struggling with it but wanting it inside her, and how it hurt ever wonderfully when they made love for the first months of their relationship. But she hadn’t seen that cock—the same one that, only moments ago, filled her best friend’s fertile womb with the seed that bore Cherie’s two daughters—in years. She had come to think of it as a friend who had long passed, a ghost of colourful days past, a reflection of times that were. Seeing it now was like seeing the brother of someone she once knew—similar but different. Now, as a gob of cum bead off the tip and to the grey carpet below, she saw the cock for what it was: a piece of meat. Cherie wiped her hand against her shorts, straightened, and looked wildly from her husband to Maggie and back again. “So, this is it,” she said curtly, knowing they probably couldn’t hear her through the glass. “This is how it is.”

Her husband, face distorted from withholding a smirk, reached for his left hand, pulled off his white gold wedding band, and lobbed it to the floor with disdain. When it had rolled against the window and flopped to its side, he turned to Maggie, who had pressed herself against his side, her mammoth breasts swallowing his arm. He reached between her legs and slid three fingers effortlessly into her sex. She drew a sharp breath, lifting her heels and smiling in surprise. He rummaged roughly inside her for a moment, pulling his fingers free as if cupping something. He brought these cupped fingers above Maggie’s mouth—high enough that she had to point her chin to the ceiling—and let his cum ooze onto her eager tongue.

Cherie—sweating from the heat and her rage—swallowed hard. Despite the urge to smash through the glass and strangle them, she felt her sex moisten. She took it all in, trying to decide how to feel, until her anger forced her teeth together, and she found her hands fisting at her sides. Her eyes lashed from one lover to the other. She mouthed, ‘The kids are mine,’ turned on her heels and marched with ragged steps around the side of the mirrored house and to the red convertible sunning itself in the driveway. The cream leather seat seared her skin as she threw herself into it. The engine gave its throaty roar as she throttled up, jerked the shifter, and swung the car backwards over the immaculate shrubs and flowers lining the driveway and onto the pristine lawn beyond them. She smiled wickedly as she hammered the brake and pressed the gas, forcing the tires to chew through the lawn before she released the brake and squealed onto the country road and toward her sister’s cottage. It took several minutes for her to cry, several more for her to stop, and longer than she would have liked to decide she was done with that man and Maggie and the rest of their friends; for all she knew, they were all in on this affair, and she was the only one sitting it out—damn them, damn herself, damn it all. With that decision settled in her mind and the road around her growing smaller, rougher, and more wooded along its edges, thoughts of revenge came to her. Her hands gripped the wheel, thinking about how she would screw her way through the next days and weeks and months until she felt she had scratched each itch within her loins that had gone unattended these past years. Yes, she grinned in the wind sweeping across her face; there would be many lovers, precious little discrimination, and much self-serving pleasure. No, she came to think, as the convertible slowed and climbed up a gravel driveway lined with young pines, there would be little protection—every sensation must be felt, every dormant urge indulged, consequences be damned. The convertible jolted to a stop. She looked at the modest, two-story log cabin before her while wiping the drying tears from her cheeks. Cherie felt the mask of motherhood coming on, the cottage reminder that Emily, her youngest daughter, had skipped their shopping trip with an upset stomach. Pulling herself together, Cherie went from the car to the cottage, pressing through the creaking front door with a searching gaze.

The cabin’s main floor had a small window in the kitchen and a larger one facing the driveway. The muddled light managed to hit all the partially used beach towels, swim gear, and duffle bags strewn about the quaint sitting area that doubled as a dining room, as well as the faded pictures of various heights and frames clinging to the walls.

“Emily?! Are you feeling better, dear?” Cherie called, kicking her sandals aside and looking around the empty main floor again. “Honey?” Cherie tried again, climbing the short flight of overly creaky stairs to the musty second floor. “Can’t hear a damn thing climbing these,” Cherie muttered. “Emily?” she called again. When no reply came, Cherie stopped at the top of the stairs and looked at each bedroom door awaiting her. Two were shut—the room she and her sister were sharing and the one her daughters slept in; Cal’s door was ajar a couple of inches, letting the afternoon sun streak sharply across the floor and over her feet. “She must be asleep,” Cherie whispered. Intending to wash herself before tending to Emily, Cherie made for the bathroom door across from Cal’s room. She tiptoed a couple of steps, then froze.

Cherie wasn’t sure how she caught sight of it—maybe it was the sunlight casting it in a heavenly glow or how she had just seen her husband’s—but out of the corner of her unblinking eye, she saw Cal’s cock. Still as a statue, with one leg lunged before the other, Cherie turned to look. Fuck, she thought, I forgot Cal stayed behind too! And fuck, she continued in her mind, that thing is enormous. She brought her heels to the floor but still hadn’t taken a breath. Instead, her eyes passed through the open door and over Cal’s sleeping, naked body. She sipped a breath and made carefully for the door. Just before crossing the threshold, Cherie looked at Emily’s room. And while thoughts of doing the right thing came to her, she pressed ahead. It wasn’t until she slipped soundlessly through the door and to the end of Cal’s bed that Cherie noticed Cal’s cock and pubic region were moist. She leaned closer. The floor creaked.

Cherie’s eyes grew, and she gasped softly, but Cal remained unstirred. Cherie lingered in the unnerving silence until she felt enough time had passed to resume her shameful exploration. With a knot building in her stomach, she brought her face near Cal’s loins and sniffed. Cum, she mused. He must have jacked off, did a poor cleanup, and fallen asleep. Cherie stood up quickly. What the fuck, she scolded herself, this is my nephew, my flesh and blood! But her eyes kept flittering to the cock. They passed over each vein lurking along the uncut shaft; they lingered on the shiny puddles of spent seed hiding in the folds of his athletic groin; they measured the amount of space she had to work with beside his hips.

Without further thought or sound, Cherie undressed from the waist down. On queue, she felt something warm dribble from her sex and down her inner thigh. She spread the fluid over her labia with eager, churning fingers that never left, tip-toed forward, planted her feet, and brought her mouth to Cal’s cock. With only her lips and tongue, she scooped it up and began to gently lap at his plump, round head inside her mouth. He stiffened immediately, and she couldn’t help but smile, remembering how quickly a young man’s cock could come out to play. In time, Cherie summoned the courage to slide Cal deeper into her mouth and toward her throat. She surprised herself pleasantly when her jaw opened, and his head touched her tonsils.

He groaned softly. Her eyes lurched upward. His remained closed.

Cherie continued. She slid her lips up his shaft and down and around the base of his cock, sure to taste all the salty residue he had unknowingly left for his aunt. With each cycle of indulgence, separated by stuffing him down her throat, she felt the heat and moisture and yearning build between her legs. Cherie felt like her body was calling her in a way she had never felt before, in a way that felt exciting and wrong and thrilling and horrifying all at the same time. And then she thought about her husband breeding her best friend, lurched upright, straddled Cal on the bed, grabbed his girthy cock, and sat down until she felt his head split her opening in painful bliss, filling her completely and coming to rest against her cervix.

His eyes flung open. Hers narrowed. She smiled down at him, pressed a hand to his chest, put the other in her hair and ground herself against him. He opened his mouth to speak, thought better of it, and sank his strong hands into her hips to push deeper into her. They couldn’t deny it now; they were in a forbidden dance of passion—a dance reserved for lovers, for strangers in the night, for souls lost to the wind finding each other again, but not a dance one does with their kin, their family. They went along, silently panting at each other, their bodies arching and swaying with the rhythmic beating of their love until Cal’s hands moved up and under Cherie’s yellow top, feeling for her nipples, finding them, and beginning to stroke them gently, as he pressed his cock further and further into her. Wrapped in ecstasy, Cherie curled towards the ceiling, a grand orgasm building in her loins and thundering through her trunk and out her lips as a guttural, pleasureful groan. She careened toward him and kissed him the way one does a soldier going to war. He grabbed a fistful of her hair as she broke the embrace and held her so he could whisper into her ear, “I’m cuming, Aunty.”

She smiled, but it was short-lived. At that moment, as Cal’s thrust grew urgent and less controlled, Cherie heard a rustle from the closet on her left. Her grinding slowed, and Cherie looked over.

“Where do you want it?” gasped Cal, mesmerized by how Cherie’s labia hugged his cock. “On your face?”

Cherie studied the closet doorway. The folding doors had a slight crease, with the joint protruding an inch or two.

Cal’s hips bucked in shorter and shorter bursts, and his eyes clamped shut. “In you, Aunty?!”

Cherie gasped—along the floor, peeking out from under the closet door, were the bottoms of Emily’s red two-piece polka-dotted bikini.

Cherie froze as Cal emptied himself into her, and despite herself, she grinned slightly at the familiar feeling of young, virile sperm briskly exploring the depths of her womanhood. She looked at Cal, initially with carnal hunger and then with something more complicated. His eyes were open, full of dread, and hung on the closet door. He gulped and faced his aunt; his hands, assuming she wanted off, eased from her chest like she was a wild beast he had only momentarily tamed and fell to his sides. She remained on him—studying him, feeling him in her, mulling things over. Cherie looked down. Cal again had much wetness on his pubic area, but it was whiter and thicker than before, and its source was no mystery. She slid off him, laid on her back, pulled a mushy pillow under her pelvis, and lifted her feet into the air. He rolled onto his elbow, studying her with a furrowed brow and giving her a full view of his body. His cock held its size; even at half-mast, the foreskin stayed back, and she could see its battered head glistening in the sun. She felt the heat build in her again—especially when she spotted the streaks of blood hiding along the ridges of his foreskin.

“I-I can explain,” Cal started.

Their eyes found each other.

“How long ago?” Cherie asked softly. She didn’t turn when the closet door slid open with a harsh squeak.

“Not even fifteen minutes,” Cal said. “I was pretending to be asleep—”

“Emily, come here, honey,” Cherie cooed, again without looking. She smiled at Cal, but not like a lover, like his aunt.

Emily emerged from the shadows of the closet, naked and with Cal’s residue shimmering around her sex. She held herself like a nervous, embarrassed child—one hand across her chest and gripping her opposite elbow, shoulders forward, head down. When her mother patted the narrow strip of bed beside her, Emily slunk over. “On your back, dear,” Cherie instructed with care, “that’s it, yes. Grab that pillow—yep…” Cherie reached over and touched Emily’s knees, “let’s lift those long, beautiful legs toward the ceiling and sink into the pillow. That’s it, relax.”

Cal’s mouth fell open. He and Emily traded confused glances.

“You don’t want to waste a chance to let them swim up there and find their mates, right?” Cherie said, her voice cracking slightly. “We’re all in this together, now, and if I remember your last cycle…you’re ovulating.”

“What in the fuck is happening here?!”

The lovers threw shocked glances at the open doorway.