("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._ `6_ 6 ) `-. ( ).`-.__.`) (_Y_.)' ._ ) `._ `. ``-..-' _..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,' (((' (((-((('' (((( K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N _________________________________________ WARNING! This text file contains sexually explicit material. If you do not wish to read this type of literature, or you are under age Eighteen, PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!! _________________________________________ Scroll down to view text Archive name: K-story2.txt (mf, inc) Authors name: BillyG Story Title : MY COUSIN KRISTEN ------------------------------------------------------ This work is copyrighted to the author (c) 1997. Please do not remove the author information or make any changes to this story. You may post freely to non- commercial "free" sites, or in the "free" area of commercial sites. Thank you for your consideration. ------------------------------------------------------ My parents were both well educated, upper-middle- class professionals who had, for the most part, suc- ceeded at much in life. Still, they remained human beings and were troubled with their own relationship issues from time to time. I was vaguely aware that they were having one of their "spats" and that my visit- ing my aunt's place in the country was perhaps less for my enjoyment than it was for their convenience. That was all right with me, for as a fifteen-year-old boy, I was looking forward to the vacation and the greater freedom I knew I'd have on my aunt's farm. My aunt Mary, my mother's younger sister, had lived a completely different life than Mom. As attrac- tive and intelligent, she'd not been driven by any per- sonal gadfly to "do well at life." She had stayed on her parent's farm, married young and had a large family. Her near-do-well husband had suffered the fatal con- sequences of chronic alcoholism and died young from a massive gastrointestinal bleed. The household ran well, governed by a curious set of firm, even rigid guide lines that operated hand-in-hand with a certain relaxed, laissez-faire attitude. My aunt's family had nearly equal boys and girls, but several of the girls were clustered together in age, right around my own. My time on the farm is better described as a "working vacation," for there were lots of routine chores to be finished each day which, when coupled to the seasonal planting-harvesting cycle, were time- consuming. We kids were expected to do our part and were often thrown into close working proximity by these agricultural demands. Consequently, I enjoyed an accelerated intimacy with the cousins who were my age. Girls, as it turned out. Over the years, I had some sexual contact or another with each of my cousins, but I'd like to tell you of one that I hold as particularly poignant and erotic. Her name was Kristen. She was sweet, fair and even tempered. Just a few years or so before, she'd been a stick of a little girl who was permitted to wear only her little-girl white underpants when we went to the swimming hole. I retain an image of her, blond hair streaming as she emerged from the water, no breasts, and wet, translucent panties. The darker out- line of her female slit was so prominent that even then, I felt a sexual lurch. Suddenly, Kristen was no longer a little girl. Seemingly overnight, her hips had broadened and her breasts were mature. Her older sisters all wore bras but she rebelled. Hyper aware as I was of those things, I constantly maneuvered to watch her breasts sway beneath her T-shirt or to delight in the tumescence of her nipples. Her nipples were remarkable. Stimulated by mood, temperature or contact, they'd spring out, prominent and hard, visible often through relatively concealing clothes. I was taken with Kristen and taken with her breasts. It may have been her innocence or perhaps her demure personality, but it was not apparent to me that she even noted my interest. She remained open and free around me, never turning away or holding her shirt to her chest. When we'd work together, I'd frequently have the opportunity to look down the front of her shirt, or, if a button-front shirt, to see the under swell of her breasts as the shirt gaped open. Because she was only thirteen at the time and certainly an innocent, I restricted my licentious actions. I looked but I didn't touch . . . at least then. It makes sense to me now that she was a sexual time-bomb and my attention had added fuel to the embers, but at the time, things seemed to develop explosively out of nowhere. Late one Sunday evening, the house was uncharacteristically quiet. Most of the family was away and we three, Kristen, me and her little brother Tommy were fooling around on the living room couch. Secure in the knowledge of our unaccustomed privacy, we were "cutting up" . . . wrestling and shrieking, as they were against me, trying to pin me and win my submission. Remember, I was a sexually aware kid who left little to chance. To the contrary, it had become my mission to contrive those situations where I might be rewarded with a peek or a touch. So it was the more remarkable that without my scheming, I suddenly found myself in an intense sexual situation not of my making. In our couch wrestling, I was truly trying to fend them off. I've no recall of just how it came to be, but I suddenly became aware that the toes of my bare foot were in Kristen's crotch. She was wearing jeans as I recall and they may have been hand-me-downs, for they were sufficiently baggy, that I found my foot sliding around in the loose crotch. Tommy was sitting on my chest and shouting to Kristen to help him, for he'd become aware that she had stopped fighting. I was aware of the same thing, but unlike Tommy, I thought I knew why she'd stopped. My toes were sinking into the crotch of her jeans and pushing the fabric into her pussy. Craning my neck, I looked around Tommy's small body to see what Kristen's reaction was to this blatant toe caress. I'll never forget her face. Her eyes were hooded and her mouth was half open, almost slack, as she stared back at me. Her blond hair had fallen across her face in disarray. She wet her lips - I remember that well- and looked at me, leaning back on her haunches, her feet tucked under thighs, her legs open and my foot crammed into her crotch. There was no pretense. At that moment I knew that she knew. For the next several minutes, without speaking, we continued the charade. Pretending to wrestle, but con- triving only to maintain our sexual contact, Kristen and I, unplanned, carried out a salient deception to mask our activities from Tommy. As if to hold my legs down, she lifted up a moment and then sat on my foot as she leaned over, her hand "holding" my knees. Her jeans were sodden. She was so wet. No stranger to the musk of a girl's excited pussy, I recognized the scent of her arousal. Cripes, the room was rank with pussy juice and my toe sank further into her pussy. I wanted Tommy to go away, to disappear. I wished him exile on Mars, or worse, to the cow shed! But of course, he was there to stay. This was his fight and he wasn't leaving, so I was limited. Yet, I wanted to cup Kristen's breasts. Oh, I didn't want to cop a feel, to brush up against them "accidentally." I wanted the extra thrill of her awareness if not her permission. Heaving Tommy easily off my chest, I rearranged our bodies. Tommy was easy, for his tactic was unre- lenting frontal assault. I had only to steer him. Gesturing to Kristen to pile on, I made room for her to attack my flank. Holding Tommy with my left arm, I looked Kristen in the eye as I reached out and caressed her braless breast through her T-shirt. That stratagem last only moments. The arrival of my aunt in the kitchen from somewhere signaled the abrupt end of our "interaction." I went to bed in a state of heightened arousal. My teenage hard-on was almost painful and my concern for mythical blue-balls necessitated my jacking off twice. Once before going to sleep and again in the early morning. (Ah, those were the days!) It was never my custom to sleep in, even on those Sunday mornings when it was permitted. Lying under the covers in my small attic bed, I was slowly stroking my half-hard dick, remembering with acuteness the images of the previous night, wondering how I might precipitate that scene again. I heard someone open the attic door and come up the steps. The girls' room was adjacent to mine so I was only half aware of someone approaching my door. It opened and Kristen stuck her head in to announce, "Billy, time to get up." It would not have been unusual for her to wake me on a week day, particularly if we had a job to do to- gether, but this was Sunday. Her wake up call was a thinly veiled ploy, I decided. I feigned sleeping. (Tough to do with an erection.) She came into the room and walked over to my bed. I was surprised, for the girls were not allowed in our room, more for our assumed privacy than propriety I suspect. Kristen was a blond, but she was no air head. If she were coming into my room, I was certain she knew it was safe, that the rest of the family was occupied in some way. Stopping at the foot of my bed near the attic window, she reached down and shook my foot under the covers, "Billy, time to get up." Guilty of overacting, I feigned a slow awakening, bending one knee and pulling the covers off my left foot as I lifted my head and rubbed my eyes. "It's Sunday. Why do I have to wake up? I want to wallow for a while. What're you doing anyway?" Not answering right away, Kristen sat on the end of the bed, well away from my hands, with her left knee bend and on the bed and her right foot on the floor. Sitting on the bed was not usual behavior . . . part of the rigid code of behaviors and strange, given the close contact we experienced while working together on the farm. So I recognized some tacit sign that it was okay to proceed with last night's play. Sitting up, I reached for her and she jumped up and out of reach. "Oh, no," was all she said. I fell back in bed, surrendering to her conditions. Patting the covers, I invited her to sit again. Still, no conversation. She assumed the identical posture, sitting with one leg on the floor and the other on the bed, legs apart and near my left foot. Now my mom didn't raise no dummy. I got the nonverbal message right away. Raising my left knee and allowing the covers to slide back on my thigh, I rested my foot between her thighs and made some inconsequential comment that escapes me now. Attempting to carry on some inane, one-sided conversation, I began to trace small circles on the inside of her thigh close to her pant leg. I felt like a snake hypnotizing a bird. We fell silent. I became aware of the total absence of the usual household sounds. Perhaps they'd all gone to church. I didn't know and at that moment I didn't care. I continued to run my toe up and down her leg for several minutes, watching her face. Again, I saw the transformation from an innocent farm girl to a sexually- aroused woman. Her eyes remained open and focused on some middle distance beyond me. Her eyelids drooped and her lips parted in that slack-mouthed state of disconnected arousal. There was a yellow-jackets' mud nest outside my window. The only sound I heard aside from our breath- ing, was the hum of their flight. Emboldened by her passivity, I ran my toe up under her pants leg and tried to insert it into her crotch, but it was too tight and she wasn't going to help me, I was sure of that. Falling back on a repeat of last night's per- formance, I rested my foot right on her open crotch and slowly rubbed her. Kristen was a secretor. In short time her crotch was visibly wet. After a few minutes, Kristen closed her eyes and screwed up her face as if she were in pain, and gasping, let out a long, muffled moan. She was cuming, I was certain, although I'd never actually seen a girl cum before. She wasn't alone. In the natural order of things, we stopped and a few moments later, still without talking, she got up and left. That identical behavior was to repeat itself over the weeks, without change. She'd never let me touch her crotch with my hands nor change the dance in any manner. When we were working and I'd try to cop a feel, she'd shy away and whisper, "Billy! Stop that! This instant!" Without ever speaking of the rules of engagement, we'd come to this extraordinarily erotic and frus- tratingly limited mode of masturbation which was never to change. Now, years later, I occasionally think of her and wonder how she was, what her married and sex life had become. The memory remains green and terribly sensual to me. END * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * It’s okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with strangers. But it isn’t okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with strangers!! You only have one body per lifetime, so take good care of it. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Kristen's collection - Directory 5