My cousin Jane is six years younger than me and in my early life was nothing more than one of my young cousins. She was a normal and cheerful child, but things began to change about the time she was twelve when her breasts began to develop, and then continued to do so at a staggering rate.
It seems she became more and more embarrassed by her expanding bust line as she progressed through thirteen, fourteen and fifteen. She retreated within herself, eschewing the usual social entertainments of her peer group: parties, discos, hanging around with boys – that sort of thing. She never wore makeup or experimented with fashionable clothing like other girls would; rather she dressed and behaved like a spinster librarian.
Though I saw her from time to time, she would always shyly avoid my company, reddening a little if I said anything to her. ‘Shy’ is the word to describe her in those days – shy with enormous tits! You couldn’t see what the rest of her body looked like as she usually wore baggy trousers and baggy jumpers after school, and on any more formal occasions her skirt would be down well over her knees. Even so, her one departure from drabness would be her shoes – if wearing a skirt she would always sport a fashionable pair of high heels which displayed her fine ankles, and, on those occasions, always made me wonder about the rest of her body.
Now, we’ve all seen women with large breasts, but Jane’s were exceptional. Try as she may, she couldn’t hide them, and no matter what she did the first thing any guy saw when confronted with her were her enormous tits. And I was no different.
In her eighteenth year, she went to university, where she found herself communicating more with the opposite sex in tutorials and the like, but it didn’t seem to do a lot to boost her self-confidence.
Then her eldest sister got married and she was one of the bridesmaids. The reception venue was held in a comfortable country hotel about fifty miles from my home, so I booked a room to enable myself to have a few drinks and not have to drink and drive.
When I saw Jane in her bridesmaid’s dress, coiffed and made-up, I had to look again! Her dress, while not being short or low cut around the bosom, sheathed her form tightly and let us all see just how shapely her figure was. There wasn’t a sign of an ounce of spare fat on her; her legs were lithe and shapely, and her hair was fashionably styled. She looked stunning.
I was amazed, and when I mentioned to another female cousin how well she was handling the occasion – she whispered, ‘Yes, but it’s taken quite a few vodkas to get her this far.’ Even so, I was impressed and felt that I must congratulate her later. I couldn’t have a chat with her, as she was at the top table, but I could see that she was becoming more relaxed and jovial as she joined in the various toasts to the bride and groom.
After the meal, I was coming out of the gents’ toilets when I almost bumped into her leaving the ladies’. I saw a moment of alarm in her eyes as she realised it was me.
‘Jane, great to see you!’ I said, grabbing her by the elbow, ‘I must say that you are looking fantastic today.’
For a moment she looked like a rabbit in the headlights, but then recovered, blushing slightly.
‘Thank you, it’s very nice of you to say so.’ Embarrassed, she fanned her hand in front of her face. ‘Is it just me or is it very warm in here?’
I took advantage of her remark and said, ‘Well, let’s take a walk outside – it’s a beautiful day…’ With my hand still on her elbow, I guided her out through the French doors, onto the large paved patio, down the stone steps, and onto one of the paths that meandered through the extensive gardens.
As we strolled, I tried to set her more at her ease with small talk and slowly she became more relaxed. For the first time since she was a child, she began laughing along with me.
We were some distance from the hotel now, down by the ornamental lake, when she turned to me and said, ‘You know, I used to think you were a bit standoffish when we were younger.’ She laughed, stopped, and turned to me. She looked me in the eye for the first time in years. ‘But you’re not, are you – you’re all right!’
‘It was just the difference in our ages,’ I said, ‘When you were twelve, eighteen was quite old – but now you’re nineteen, well, twenty-five isn’t exactly ancient.’
She nodded in agreement while we strolled along side by side. I pointed ahead and grabbed her hand, saying, ‘There’s a garden seat over there. Shall we sit down for a minute?’
Without waiting for an answer, I drew her over to a secluded arbour with a view of the lake. I slipped off my jacket and placed it on the bench seat to protect her bridesmaid dress.
‘How gallant of you,’ she said, sitting down beside me. ‘You really aren’t what I thought you’d be.’
With my arm resting around her shoulders, along the back of the bench, I found myself unable to take my eyes off the swell of her bosom straining at the restraints of the dress. From her amateurish attempts at flirting, I was sure she was attracted to me. I took my chance and cupped the back of her head in my hand and drew her mouth to mine. Without hesitation, she kissed me hungrily, and I pulled her to me, the feel of the firm mass of her breasts crushing against my chest exciting me further. Writhing passionately against each other, I slipped my hand around to fondle her, only to have it swept away. It reminded me of being fifteen again, so I persisted.
‘No, no! Someone might come along,’ she whispered.
I knew the bridesmaids were sharing rooms in another wing of the hotel from where I was lodged.
‘Come to my room,’ I said, ‘we can slip up the back way and no-one will see us.’
I didn’t wait for an argument, just stood up, gripped her hand, and we both hurried back.
Once in my room I could sense hesitation and confusion - obviously things were moving a little fast for her, but I was determined to press my advantage. I pulled her onto the bed and redoubled the passionate kissing, which was undoubtedly arousing her. After only perfunctory protestations from her, which I ignored, I cupped and squeezed her breasts through the heavy dress material, then pulled down the long zip at the back, all the way down to her ass. Wordlessly, I pulled her shoulders and arms free, bunching the top down around her waist. Her heavy black bra was like an armoured cuirass, protecting her from assault. I slipped my hand beneath her, unclipped the clasps, and pushed the harness up allowing her enormous pink globes to bounce free. I groped and massaged them, marvelling at their firmness. I pulled away from kissing her and began to suck her hard pink nipples. It drove her into a frenzy, so, taking advantage of her distraction, I stood up and peeled the dress totally from her.
The sight before me was astounding – the bra had been virtually unnecessary – as she lay on her back her breasts pointed solidly towards the ceiling with little sign of sagging to the sides.
Without saying a word, I stripped her tights, and her unfashionably large black knickers from her. Her pubic bush was untrimmed and black – darker than her hair; her face was flushed, her eyes wide. I ripped my own clothes off and fell beside her naked body, kissing and fondling. I slipped a hand down between her legs. She pulled her lips free and I heard her whisper ‘No… no… please.’ But her cunt was soaking and I knew I had to maintain the momentum.
I slipped a finger into her hot hairy wetness, and she started to cry out and jolt her hips against my hand. I inserted another finger and her writhing and crying increased. I ran my fingers up to her clitoris and, encouraged by its rigidity, began to rhythmically massage it. Immediately, my hand was trapped, gripped between her legs, as she began paroxysms of orgasm. Screaming through clenched teeth, head sweeping from side to side on the pillows, she came and came. Each time her climax eased I continued my clitoral massage and experimented by topping up on all her sensitive erogenous zones – sucking and biting her nipples, kissing her deeply – and each time she climaxed long and hard again. Boy, I thought, she is quite some sex bomb of a discovery!
It was time to take the pressure off my achingly hard cock. At the trough of her next climax I rolled on top of her spreading her thighs to ease my hips between them – then she began to fight! Only grunts and screams of ecstasy were coming from her, but she was trying to push me off! I grabbed my cock, determined to locate it properly between those soaking cunt lips, and plunged it in.
It was as if she had shifted up a gear; she became a maddened bucking bronco, gripping me, ripping my back with her nails, and screaming even louder. Bloody hell – she was climaxing again! And again – and again!
The sensation in my cock and balls was ecstatic. But suddenly, in the midst of this madness, I had a thought, and croaked, ‘Jane, are you on the pill?’
Without losing her rhythm or intensity she just grunted and shook her head – no, she wasn’t. She was now gripping me between tightly between her legs and dragging me deeper inside her. For a brief moment she jerked a little as if in momentary pain, then continued in her fucking. I was desperate to avoid ejaculating inside her without protection, so I decided I would pull out, slip one on, and reposition her on top of me where I could get a front-row view of those big titties bouncing inches from my face as I filled her.
‘Get on top of me,’ I whispered, as I began to swivel myself below her.
The moment I saw my cock it was obvious there was something wrong – my shaft was slicked with crimson and there were red streaks everywhere on the sheets.
‘Jane, I think your period’s just started’
She said nothing, just shook her head from side to side.
Then it struck me. ‘You’re a virgin!’
‘Not any more,’ she whispered.
The news electrified me with a surge of power and control – an extra aphrodisiac injection that I really didn’t need – and I knew I mustn’t come inside her. So I threw her backwards onto the bed again. I saw the surprise in her eyes as I straddled her torso, slipped my slippery bloody cock between her gigantic tits, pushing them up around my shaft with my knees, and grabbed her head. Her mouth opened with reflexive surprise as I stuck the protruding top of my cock into it.
‘Suck me!’ I yelled, as I pumped into her face, holding her head in position as I emptied my balls into her mouth.
Within days I discovered my seduction had been a mistake. She texted and phoned me ceaselessly – and, of course, I was feeling guilty. Not only that, as the days after the wedding passed, the image of her trim faultless body with those enormous boobs – like a Playboy cartoon – began to fill my fantasies. So, inevitably, I invited her to my flat where I screwed her while revelling in her breasts and her body. Thus began a six month clandestine affair entailing only fucking. We very rarely went out in public – and on those occasions never close to home. I simply didn’t want my family to find out that I was fucking my young cousin.
At first she understood, but as the months went by she began to want more – more public recognition, specifically family recognition.
But it wasn’t that simple, she just didn’t do it for me on so many levels. Years of sexual self-repression couldn’t be swept away that easily. Sure, I managed to get her to sharpen up her attire, shorten her skirts, and not conceal her best assets under tent-like blouses or jumpers. But she would only go so far, and I could sense that she was never comfortable, as she saw it, ‘flaunting her sexuality’. In bed, as well, though sexually responsive and explosively orgasmic, she was totally unadventurous. She believed that any divergence from the missionary position was at best deviant or at worst dirty and sinful. Even to get her to wank my cock between her breasts always entailed some coercion – though from time to time I did manage to get a reluctant blow-job, but she always pulled it out of her mouth when she sensed I was about to orgasm, covering the ejaculation with a Kleenex. To make matters more difficult and dangerous, her prudishness meant she couldn’t even bring herself to go to the doctor for the pill.
The day came when I had to spell it out to her: our affair had to end. Explaining it to her as diplomatically as I could, I told her that we could never become a real couple and our relationship would never transcend the merely physical – in short we had no future, so it had to end now.
She was distraught, tears and recriminations flowed, but I remained firm. She even got as far as begging, saying she would be happy just to continue as we were, just to fuck regularly. I refused, saying that it was time she moved on, got herself a real boyfriend and forgot about me. In the weeks that followed I simply deleted all texts from her, and cancelled all calls. Eventually, they petered out.
Months later, I was told she now had a boyfriend, which eased my guilt a little, allowing me to file the whole episode in the back of my mind.
Then, at Christmas I was invited to a festive party at the home of the cousin whose wedding it had been. I was apprehensive about encountering Jane again, but knew I couldn’t live the rest of my life avoiding her.
I arrived halfway through the evening, and the place was so full it took me some time to find the host and hostess to thank them. Music was blaring, and the drink was flowing. I mingled, chatting to people here and there, nursing a beer for the first thirty minutes. I moved to the kitchen to grab myself another drink and there, standing directly in front of me was Jane.
What a transformation! She was dressed in a micro-skirt with the stocking tops just peeping below the hem, supplemented by super-high heels – when I last saw her, about a year previously, she had always point blank refused to wear stockings, never mind a skirt so short. Above this, she sported a low scooped black top that exposed an enormous amount of cleavage and left nothing to the imagination – even her nipple profile protruded through the material. If she was wearing a bra at all, it was a long way from the armoured version that I had removed at the wedding. Not only that, her breasts looked even larger – probably as a result of her now taking the contraceptive pill. Her make-up was vampish, supplementing her flashing dark eyes and scarlet lipstick. Lucky her mother wasn’t here to see this, I thought – she’d have apoplexy!
As she walked towards me I noticed she was hand in hand with a tall guy who looked a lot older than her, at least in his late-thirties, I reckoned. This was the boyfriend, Julian, one of her lecturers at university, and she introduced us. He seemed pleasant enough, though he exuded a sophistication beyond her years. Still, I thought, at base he was a man with all the concomitant drives and needs, and what she lacked in intellectual sophistication she more than made up in physical maturity. Plus, he’d obviously been good for her inhibitions, judging from what I saw in front of me!
We chatted together and sipped our drinks in the kitchen, and then Julian went off to the loo. Suddenly, in a small snapshot of quiet in the kitchen, we were alone. I stood back and took a long appraising look at her, bent forward, and whispered in her ear, ‘You look totally fucking amazing!’ while at the same time slipping my right hand up onto her breast and giving it a squeeze.
While still in mid squeeze, she delivered a stinging slap to my cheek, hissing, ‘Who the fuck do you think you are? You have no rights to grope me! I’ve just been being polite introducing you! I never want to see you again –you fucking… Rapist!’ She pushed past me to rejoin the throng.
I was stung – both literally and figuratively. I felt my face and wondered if I’d been cut. I couldn’t believe it; she had attacked me while I was simply being flirtatiously attentive to her – and she’d called me a rapist! Is that what she really thought happened at the wedding? Sure, I’d kept the pressure up to make sure she didn’t go off the sexual boil – but it had been consensual.
Well, fuck her, I thought, if I never see her again it’ll be soon enough! Angry, I decided to slip away and go back to my apartment and have a few real drinks – and check for any swelling.