Officially these trips are called ‘assignments’ by the branch of the military I work for. I finished doing real tours a few years back when I was selected to do more… well, specialized work.
As far as family & friends are concerned, All they need to know is that I’m still in the military, only they have me travelling all over the globe. The smart ones can put 2 and 2 together to realise it’s something covert, but they’re also smart enough to know not to ask, since I won’t tell them anything anyway.
Which is one of the many difficult aspects of my job – specifically that if I am to choose between providing details about my work, or death, with no alternative, then I am to choose the latter.
Intelligence, counter-intelligence, counter-terrorism, security details, even a little corporate espionage on one occasion. Interrogations. Sometimes torture. Sometimes me doing the torturing. A few times the other way.
My most recent assignment had me in the most popular hot-spot of most war related news stories these days – the Middle East. It was a nasty trip. I was slightly injured from a strenuous climb out of a canyon to get to safety. I was sleeping in 3hr shifts for 3 weeks. It was hot. Worst of all, I lost a colleague. I was used to this from my earlier days in the military, but with the world a little more ‘settled’ of late (at least, the parts I operate in), and withdrawals happening all over the place, I wasn’t quite expecting this one.
Needless to say, I had arrived back in my country, and was in need of some serious R&R. To begin with: no family, no friends. The reason for the former is long and convoluted, but the best way to sum it up is that I have no immediate family, and nothing in common with the rest of them. The reason for the latter is that I will be pretty grumpy for the next week, so best not to inflict that on friends.
No partying. No clubbing. Heck, I was even prepared to avoid bedding any random women for the fact that I just couldn’t be bothered going out and meeting them. This contradicted the fact that sex was on my mind after the incredibly cute air hostess giving me her phone number after our 14hr flight. A flight involving surreptitious flirting with said hostess; the occasional breast view as she’d lean over me; brushing the same breasts along my arm at least a dozen times in passing while I’d return from the A380 bar; and finally an uncomfortable-but-arousing awkward silence following the point I’d awoken from a brief nap in my reclined business class seat to find her standing over me staring at the enormous bulge in my pants from the erection I’d produced mid-sleep. I looked down, saw what she was staring at, and raised my eyebrows before she blushed uncontrollably and left hurriedly. Nice. Pity she was heading north once we were wheels down. I guess there’s the chance she’s on my next flight back over in 2 weeks. I’ve always wanted to try sex mid-air with a hostess.
Anyway, instead of heading to one of the many cities I can theoretically call home, or the one I call home since I was born there, or the one I call home since I spent my early adult life there and 90% of my family live there along with many ‘hometown’ friends, I decided to head to my late-grandparents house on the south-east coast. It’s the perfect setup – a beach house with an online calendar booking system for family members to use (also used for the many other holiday houses within our family). Find a week – block it off to all other participants, and the place is yours.
One week of doing nothing in this nice, big house set back from the beach in the bushes, with not another house in sight on an enormous private block, with 4 huge rooms to choose from in 2 wings, and a big sun deck overlooking a lower deck with pool, then bushland and a creek that meanders its way into the ocean. I needed this to forget many things of the past month. I needed the space before returning to family and/or friends.
So you can imagine my disappointment when I pull into what should’ve been an empty driveway and there is one dusty but semi-new looking Prius, with ‘L’ plates beaming out from the rear window.
Fuck.
I did a quick calculation: 3 of my relatives would be in the 16 – 18 year old age group where ‘L’ plates are required. The thought of any of them intruding on my space made me want to walk in there and shoot them – point blank (except I didn’t even have a service revolver, having left it at base after debriefing).
First option: my step-brother’s daughter Anna – 17. But she couldn’t afford a Prius on her waitressing salary, and besides which I saw she’d booked out an apartment of ours on the other side of the country. Second option: my gay-as-a-row-of-tents half-cousin Filip – 19. Even at 19 he could well still be on his ‘L’ plates since he’s a terrible driver and probably failed his test since I’d seen him last. But he too couldn’t afford a Prius that couldn’t be more than a year old, and he knows he isn’t welcome in this particular locale where homosexual men are unfortunately preyed upon by the somewhat redneck locals. And he’s as outwardly gay as they come. Good on him for not hiding it I say.
That left Kate. Cousin Kate who, it turns out, is a selfish little cunt of a girl I unfortunately have the honour of sharing the closest blood bond out of all my living relatives. The same living relatives I only found out existed after my 19th birthday, when they’d found me after 8 years of living in foster homes. Anyway – that’s a whole other story I’ll get into later. We’ll call that story “Foster sister Julia.”
Kate, who should be 17 or 18 by my reckoning, could possibly afford a Prius as a first car since her parents are reasonably well-off and she would likely be sponging off them for the rest of her self-absorbed, probably drug-fuelled, unaccomplished life of misadventures.
Kate, who I believe took up smoking at age 10, and drinking not long after. Kate, who is unhealthily overweight thanks to a diet of nothing but McDonalds & KFC, yet dresses as if she were a size 6, with layers of fat rolls poking out of every seam. Kate, who similarly dressed inappropriately at every family wedding I’d been to in the past 5 or so years, as well as a couple of funeral. Even though she had one heck of a rack for a young girl, she would always choose to display it in the most disastrous manner. Kate, whose string of boyfriends – there seems to be a new one every time I saw her – were all losers who just wanted to get into her pants. I’ve no idea whether she let them. And Kate – dear cousin Kate – who I argued with at great length in some manner at every one of these occasions we were together. Usually started by me, I’ll admit, for telling her to get her freaking act together and stop being such a fucking loser. The last argument, over a year ago at a wedding, was particularly brutal as I’d had to stop her boyfriend from beating her up after he caught her blowing the married best man. After putting said boyfriend to sleep and tying him up in a broom closet, I’d torn her a new arsehole (metaphorically, of course) for being such a fuck-up. I truthfully told her how disappointed I was, since when she was younger she was such a beautiful little girl with such potential.
So here I was, at the beach house, behind this Prius, wondering if it was the same girl a year or so later. Wondering what kind of a clusterfuck I was about to find myself in, in order to get some peace and quiet for the next week or so.
I walked past the car; nothing inside indicated anything about its owner. Pretty clean interior – therefore perhaps not Kate since her life would most likely be a mess, just like any personal space I remember her being located within. I started running through options in the chance we had a case of squatters. Environmentally-friendly, reasonably well-off, hybrid-electric car-driving squatters.
I could hear music coming from inside, faintly. Feminine voice, slow beat. Sensual. I walked toward the house, avoiding the front door to make my way round to the deck, under which the key was strategically hidden. The music got louder and I realised it was coming from inside the main living room facing the deck area, which meant the sliding doors were open. The house had two wings, with two fully contained rooms in each wing above each other. The lower room in the wing I’d walked past was deserted. So still no clue as to who was in the house. I inched round the side of the house to peer onto the deck.
Nothing could quite prepare me for the many surprises I was about to encounter over the next 10 minutes.
Firstly: lesbians. Making out. On a sunbed. Right there on the deck. Right there in front of me. I got a brief glimpse of one of their faces and had never seen it before in my life. She was tiny. Like, really tiny – almost sickly skinny but with decent sized breasts for her size – probably B cups. All the fingers on her right hand other than her thumb were buried in the pussy of the other girl – much larger, but probably average sized by comparison, and thin in all the right places with a truly spectacular arse writhing around with that skinny arm buried between her legs. I couldn’t see much of her as she was more on top of the skinny one. She seemed to be enjoying the finger blasting she was getting as she was dripping wet, and moaning in a nice, not too deep but obviously teenaged voice. She had some nice ink work too. In fact it looked pretty fresh, some of it. IF I had to guess it was Bald-man Dave’s work from in town – one of the aforementioned rednecks but a premium tattoo artist. He’d done a few of my own pieces while I sat through his vile diatribe about how immigrants were ruining ‘our’ country. Fucking stupid bigoted arse-hat. But he did good tattoos.
I inched further around the side of the house to get a better view of the second girl, kind of forgetting the fact that these two people were trespassing. When I realised this implication, a small, somewhat sadistic part of me imagined capturing and punishing them both. However I began to feel the hype of intruders being replaced by the arousal of what was taking place before me, as I moved a good metre into the open, hoping to not be seen behind the surrounding bushes or the other furniture on the deck.
Then came the second surprise. The second girl – the one moaning as her lesbian friend slowly moved her hand around inside her. This second girl was cousin Kate. Well, it was Kate’s cute face, minus a whole lot of excess weight, transposed onto an absolutely goddess like body. Slim waisted, taut, with the same truly enormous breasts she’d already possessed, but firmer and … well … hotter now that they were attached to such an amazing body.
The next surprise was one of self-realisation: For starters, I was getting aroused looking at the naked form of my teenage cousin getting finger-fucked from her lesbian girlfriend. Also, I wasn’t turning away.
Confused though, I did turn away. I turned, and walked back around the side of the house, without a sound, and without turning back to look. I leaned against the house, and noticed my heart was beating fast enough for me to notice. Which for me is not normal. Not even when I’m about to get laid does it beat like this.
My cousin? Really? Was that her?
After another few minutes, I realise two things. Firstly, I don’t want to be busted watching them. Secondly, I don’t want to be standing here for as long as it takes them to finish, and then get dressed, so that I can arrive without it seeming like I knew what was happening. But … wait. Fuck it. They shouldn’t be here! This is my fucking week down here so I’m perfectly justified in just walking up to them and say “WTF?” Fucking Kate and her fuck-up of a life has caused me nothing but strife for years. Not this time!
I turned and angrily walked towards the deck area again, with the intention of stomping up behind them loud enough that they can hear and I can start yelling – my natural mode of communication with her. I again make it two steps round the corner when I realise the situation has changed. Now Kate’s back is to me, and beyond her I can just see the tiny girl’s form on her hands and knees bent over in front of her. And Kate is thrusting. It’s at this point I notice Kate has a belt going around her waist, with another strap going down her crack between her amazing arse, and between her legs.
Which brings us to surprise number four: My cousin is fucking her girlfriend with a strap-on.
Fuck! Can this get any worse? Or can it get any better? No … fuck, that’s wrong. Isn’t it? Fuck!!
For about 10 seconds I was standing there in a combination of anger and arousal. Standing there watching my cousin’s arse move back and forth, very slowly, occasionally leaning down to whisper into the other girl’s ear, occasionally turning her head to the side – obviously watching their reflection in the massive windows. I found the fact that she was doing this equally arousing as I’ve always been a bit of a self-voyeur during sex, looking for mirrors or simply videotaping the whole event.
In any case, each time she turned her head to watch herself, I was at risk of being seen out of the corner of her eye. So I decided to retreat back around the corner to try and figure out how to resolve this. I was indeed quite aroused and had a decent erection forming. Part of me wanted to just bust my nut out right there and then. But that would be wrong? Wouldn’t it?
OK. New plan. You can’t go elsewhere – you are set to stay here for a week. You booked this house to relax in, you’ve had a rough trip, you wanted this, you are the adult, you’re in charge. Right. At the same time, you can’t deny you’re finding this pretty arousing. The bulge in my shorts flexed involuntarily in response.
Fuck it – if she’s going to wreck my plans and invade my privacy with her little lesbo-friend, I can sure as well enjoy watching it until they’re finished, before busting in on them and telling them to get the fuck outta here. I sneak a look around the corner to be sure they’re still going – which to no surprise they are.
I quickly move back around to the front of the house, round to the opposite wing, and look for an open window. Check – ground floor. Nice and easy. I effortlessly scale the sub-floor and remove the flyscreen and silently make my way into the interior, putting the screen back in place as if nothing has happened.
Obviously, the girls have adopted this room. But to my surprise, it’s not messy. On the contrary, everything is neat, clothes hung up, candles semi-melted, erotic novels beside the bed … it’s like a typical couples room. Not teenagers.
Before my filthy mind begins to look for vibrators, I remember why I’m here. Put simply, despite the fact that it could be considered some form of incest, I want a better view of what’s happening on the deck. They will never know. I will feel a bit weird about it, but it sure is arousing me more than I could possibly imagine.
Within less than a minute I’m upstairs in the second room of this wing, silently watching the scene play out before me below in a much better, side-on view. It’s bright outside, dark inside. I’m back from the window a foot or two, the blinds are half drawn. Nobody outside would even know I’m here if they tried. Standard surveillance tactics.
The moisturiser I’ve found in the bathroom attached to this room is one of those aromatherapy ones that smell quite nice to most folk, but somewhat pungent to me. I don’t really care since the scene below me requires masturbation – pronto. Kate was still pumping her friend from behind, occasionally pulling out and licking her pussy and tounging her anus before slipping the strap-on back inside her now slightly gaping cunt-hole. I sat back and eased the straining mass of my rather oversized cock out of my shorts and began stroking it to its full 9.5inch ‘should-have-worked-in-porn’ length and just over 2inch girth.
My armed forces buddies called me ‘Bull’ for 2 reasons. First, it’s short for ‘Bullseye’, as my shot with a .50 Cal Barrett was accurate enough to get me into the Olympics should they ever include this weapon and range as a qualified sport. I could even shoot it accurately standing up, which took quite a lot of practice. Secondly, they called me ‘Bull’ because I was hung like one, and in the tight-knit environment of an armed forces unit, everyone sees everyone else’s cock sooner or later. Fact of life. I let the nickname and the legend persist, but stopped short of taking place in ‘Cock-offs’ where a team would each put forward their best hung soldier after a heavy night of drinking, to see which unit was the more masculine. The irony was not lost on me that a bunch of guys looking at cocks is as far from masculine as you can get, but that’s how I differed from my military brethren. Suffice to say, other than a few African American examples who had truly ridiculously large cocks, I could’ve won nearly every contest if I had chosen to take part.
I gazed down at what was happening on the deck. The music had shifted to a new track, I’m sure I recognised it but it didn’t matter as its soothing beat matched what I was watching perfectly. Kate was caressing her friend’s breasts while laying flat against her back. Kate’s own breasts were squashed up and flattened out to the sides and looked amazing in their voluptuous glory.
I came after about 5 minutes – it had been a bit of a drought so it didn’t take much – and after a few weeks of in-action there was enough to fill what seemed like half a roll of toilet paper. During the following minutes I had the small internal battle trying to figure out which girl most drove me to the climax I just experienced, and if it was my cousin, would that be even worse than what I was doing? Kate had meanwhile pulled the long, wet strap-on out and rolled her girlfriend over and got her to start sucking the piece, which was pretty big when you saw it sliding into this tiny girl. Watching this gorgeous cute little thing try and deep throat the huge tool that had just been working her pussy, licking her very own juices from it, made my erection begin to stir once more. It didn’t take much before I was jerking off again. So as they fucked, I imagined all sorts of things. Mostly I wanted to try fucking this little trooper of a lesbian who was Kate’s bitch. She fucked like a champion, and I think that strap-on was about 7in and she took the lot. So assuming she could handle the extra girth of my own unit, plus a bit more length, I was thinking it would be a pretty awesome challenge to somehow orchestrate future events such that I’d be able to fuck my cousin’s tiny girlfriend’s brains out.
Having just ejaculated, I was lasting a lot longer with this second load. However before long I started noticing something about the situation before me. Something completely aside from the obviously arousing nature of watching two women fuck each other.
As well as looking pretty fucking amazing with her newly svelte body, my cousin looked like she was in control. Not only of the situation, as she lovingly, and sometimes brutally fucked her little friend. But also in control of her life. Here she was, with someone she trusted, in a secluded place, privately pleasuring this person. Nothing boisterous or outwardly attention-seeking. Private … well, except for me.
From what I could hear of her voice over the music, she seemed more … I dunno. Grown up? She was moving this girl into numerable positions, each time caressing her lovingly before getting quite rough with her enthusiastic fucking. She was dominant. She wasn’t getting walked over. For the first time in her life that I knew of, she seemed in control of at least one part of her life. Maybe she had changed. Maybe more than I knew.
“Nice work cuz” I quietly said to myself.
After about 15 minutes and numerous orgasms from the little one, the strap on switched places and was resized to fit the tiny waist of Kate’s friend. They kissed passionately as they played with each other’s pussies, then Kate whispered into her friend’s ear, and then lay down on her back with her gorgeous legs spread wide, and shuffled her waist toward her friend, rotating her hips upward to show her fully spread bush.
Good lord she was exquisite. Like, unnaturally, astoundingly hot, sexy and beautiful. Those breasts .. my god! I realised my erection, which had softened a little bit while I was reflecting on my cousins new life, now started to harden. A lot. I was going to watch her get fucked.
Shit…. this is wrong.
I stopped stroking, but couldn’t turn away. She was just too awesome to look at.
She’d been playing with her clit while her friend ate her pussy – which looked pretty damn awesome too, as far as unshaven pussies go. Now she was nodding gently, and guiding the strap-on down towards her neatly trimmed pubic area. She helped rub it all around her pussy, getting it all wet, and right when I thought it was about to go in, Kate squeezed some extra lube on it from a tube I hadn’t seen lying next to them, and then guided it further down, and I realised why this all looked like a much bigger deal than when they were in opposite positions. Kate was getting her friend to fuck her ass. This was getting more interesting by the second.
I watched, intently, as the dildo pushed ever so slowly in. Her little friend was trembling; I’m sure, worried she was hurting her lover. Kate’s eyes were closed and her mouth open, her breathing heavy but steady. She opened her eyes, still a look of caution on her face, and nodded gently again, mouthing what looked like “That’s it. That’s it. Keep going.” Inch by inch the neat, smooth, reasonably beefy pink dildo was buried into my cousin’s arse. Then just as slowly it was pulled all the way out, then the last few inches quite quickly as her muscles contracted as they naturally would in this scenario. In again, out again, and her face began to erupt into the most wonderful smile I’ve ever seen.
Before I even realised, my hand was around my cock again, fresh with more moisturiser, and I was pumping furiously. At the same time, Kate’s friend was quickening her pace, fucking my cousin’s arse quite vigorously now, and Kate’s hand had moved to her clitoris, which she was rubbing quite hard now, her other hand fondling her partner’s breasts. Her face took on a pained expression, and her friend slowed down. The response was instant, and I didn’t need to lip read this time as I heard her scream “FUCK NO DON’T STOP!!!” Then more pained expression, then a smile began to form as her eyes closed and she was screaming “YES! YES! YES!” Then a jet-stream of clear fluid surged out of her pussy and straight up in the air between them, before a second gush came out and angled itself straight into her friend’s face & breasts unexpectedly, while Kate screamed and moaned and grunted in response.
I came violently … without even noticing the build up. On reflection it would’ve looked comically amateur, as my face would’ve shown absolute shock at the enormous stream of come pouring out of my cock, then onto the carpet since I didn’t even have time to aim it into some tissues. I think I even let out a few grunts in there, and quickly looked back out the window to make sure I wasn’t heard. At this point I noticed a thick rope of cum on the window too, slowly running down to the sill.
Fuck! What. The. Fuck. Just. Happened!?
Behind the trail of fluid on the window I could see my cousin and her lover were in a passionate embrace, both breathing heavily before Kate slumped back onto the bed, and her tiny friend fell on top of her. Girl juice was everywhere, and they slipped their bodies around with it between them offering lubrication, as they giggled and smiled and kissed after the performance Kate had just put on.
I took this as my cue for the beginning of post-coital embrace time – which between two people really into each other as these two were, would surely be longer than the 30-odd seconds I usually offered up when I was in the same situation.
I frantically, but quietly began cleaning up my semen from the carpet, the window, SHIT! The wall too! Christ! It was everywhere. Every 5 seconds of cleaning I’d quickly peer out the window to see if they were making any movements. By the time I’d finished there was a moist stain on the carpet that was still clearly visible, so I spent the next minute gently dragging a chair from the other side of the room to cover it. When I looked out the window, they were both standing, hugging, then moving towards the sliding door.
Fuck!!!
So much for 10+ minutes of post-coital hugging I was expecting. Instincts kicked in. Despite the hilarity and yet seriousness of the situation, I’d been in much, much worse places. I looked around, made sure that the room was as I left it other than the chair, and then mentally traced my path into the house to make sure I hadn’t left a clue of my existence up to this point. Check.
I heard the sliding door open then close. Right – that exit blocked, but I had already planned for that contingency the moment I decided to come up here.
Their voices indicated they were in the main living room, which the kitchen was adjoined to. Logically, they would either head to the shower and clean up all that squirt juice Kate had covered them in (along with plenty more vaginal residue I’d seen since first encountering them both), or move to the kitchen for drinks if they were the type who liked walking around naked with the evidence of their sex all over them. I had to push that thought out of my mind quickly though, because I liked that second option enough to wish I were down there with them now, just watching them walk around naked and sticky.
Focus soldier!!
I was out the (now clean) window within another 5 seconds, screen back in place. My path of travel would take me silently across the roof to the opposite wing, avoiding the cathedral windows above the room they were in, and then scale down the wall I first walked around to discover them, what felt like hours ago. Re-assess once there.
Time was of the essence, since at any point they might notice my car in the driveway, at which point I would have to appear from around the side of the house and begin searching for the key, to make it look like I’d just arrived. All good – I could make it past them and off the roof within 10 seconds and they’d be none the wiser thanks to the music still playing.
Almost precisely at this point, the music switched off.
FUCK!!
10 seconds turned to about 60 as I used every stealth skill I’d learned my entire career to make it along the roof above them, while still listening for their location, and down the other side. Thankfully with the music off and no wind, I could hear them chatting away casually quite easily.
I’d literally just landed with the most silent of thumps when I heard the muffled sound of a question that sounded like “Who’s car is that?” About 20 seconds later allowing for the walk from the car – I casually-as-ever walked along the front of the deck and reached under the precise point where the key was supposed to be, knowing it probably wouldn’t be there if Kate had used it to get in. All part of the show of course. The show I’m guessing was on display for two frantic girls in the main living room facing me, which I unfortunately couldn’t see into due to the reflective windows. I did hear some quick footsteps though and stifled a laugh.
I stared at the house, with a furrowed brow, and walked along the deck to the sliding doors, and pulled on them, then threw them open.
In hindsight, I really wasn’t proud of the next 10 minutes.
To be Continued in ‘All the wrong places – Part 2’
Via: https://www.lushstories.com/stories/incest-fantasy/all-the-wrong-places-part-1
