December 15 th Blog Entry:
I hate to fly when the temperature is below freezing. I don’t care what the reason really—if they have to de-ice the plane before takeoff, the trip isn’t worth taking. And to add to my traveling disdain, I’m surrounded by my family.
You’ve heard me bitch about them before, bloggers. My parents are unkind, arrogant, judgmental assholes and my siblings fair no better. And then there’s me, “Sweet ‘lil Kate who was born with a soft spot in her heart for the less fortunate,” as my mother has always described me. Being open, accepting, and genuine are flaws in my parents’ opinions, and because I can’t for the life of me adapt to their cold-hearted, pompous ways, I will forever be fifteen years old and in need of their constant involvement in my life.
My childhood consisted of gifts, awards, status, and attention, but not the attention I was so desperately seeking. Buying me a car at thirteen because my parents were vacationing in Europe over my summer birthday didn’t mean a thing to me at the time. In fact, my blogging friends, I never even drove that car.
And to add a little insult to my familial injury, I married a younger, snobbier version of my father. Money, position, prestige—none of that matters to me. It never has. In fact, I’d give up anything and everything to be happy, to have love, passion, and hot sex every day without having to ask or compensate for it. And a day doesn’t go by that I don’t ask myself the same three questions; Why did I agree to this kind of a married life? Am I becoming my mother? Should I sneak into the bathroom and fuck myself with the end of my hairbrush?
So, here I sit—in between my parents—listening to my mother go on and on about how hard it’s been on her to have a farmer for a brother. She rambles about the damage his occupation has caused her reputation and I glance at my cell phone and count down the minutes until we land.
Owner of one of the largest dairy farms in Minnesota, my Uncle Henry’s family is by far my favorite group of relatives. In fact, I like them more than my own immediate family. They married as high school sweethearts, and my mother’s older brother Henry and my sweet Aunt Rose had two sons, my cousins Willard and Hank. All four of them have always treated me like I was a member of their loving family, and secretly I had asked for such a wish on every shooting star I had ever seen.
Before I was a foot inside the barn, my cousin Hank—two months older than me and practically my twin in looks—ran to me. “Kate!” he yelled, grabbing me around the waist and spinning me around.
“Hank,” I sighed. I looked him over from head to toe. His long, soft dark hair curled around his collar and ears, and matched perfectly three days of dark facial hair. His bright blue eyes and equally brilliant smile reminded me of my reflection, and I giggled when he scratched his gruff beard with dirty fingers.
“How are you?” he asked.
“Fine,” I said, glancing around inside the massive, open building. Four rows of metal stalls ran from one end of the building to the other, and I could see puddles of water along freshly sprayed concrete. “You just finished milking them?”
“Yes. I’m done for the night.” He wiped down the front of his dirty shirt and said, “I smell like cow shit. I probably need to shower before I do anything else.”
I’d love to watch you shower, I said to myself. “You don’t smell bad to me.”
“That’s because your sniffer’s broken.”
“Yeah,” I quietly said. I had to look away. Hank and I had always been very close. We had spent countless summers together at the farm and we talked on the phone or texted every day. Hank had even taken me to one of my high school dances when no one else had asked me. That night, I pretended that Hank wasn’t my cousin but my boyfriend, and it was then that my sexual attraction for him was born.
That attraction seemed to get stronger each time I saw him. I mumbled, “Yeah, you’re right.”
He pointed at the back of the building. “I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.”
I nodded and smiled, and couldn’t help but to visually follow the pockets of his baggy, dirty blue jeans until he turned the corner. I sat down on a lawn chair just outside of an electrical room and heavily sighed. I glanced at the door, noticing the night sky bullying the sunlight, and a memory from my past that had taken place in the same doorway engulfed me.
In my mind, my husband Jake’s deep voice said, “This place smells like fucking hell.”
“It’s not that bad,” I had replied, disappointed that Jake had started complaining the minute the jet touched down in Minnesota.
Standing just outside the milking building, he had acted as if he was going to throw up. “Not that bad? Are you serious, Kate? I’m never going to be able to eat another steak again.”
“Just breathe through your mouth.”
“Don’t tell me what to do. And if you think we’re sleeping out her in B.F.E., you’re out of your mind.”
“But, we have to stay here,” I said. My tone was one of pleading.
“Well, we’re not. I’ll stink for a year if I do.”
“But what will I tell my uncle Henry and—and Hank?”
“Tell them what you told me last night … that you’re on your period and your cramps are so bad, you’ll have to take a sleeping pill to get to sleep.” I had scowled at Jake, which didn’t keep him from adding, “I don’t give a fuck, Kate. I’m getting sick just standing this close to the shit.”
“Kate?”
I glanced up, shaking the awful memory from my head. “Sorry, what?”
“Will you hand me those tennis shoes?” he asked, nodding to my left.
I handed the tennis shoes to him and consciously made note not to stare at the small droplets of water that covered his smooth, muscular chest.
“What do you want to do tonight? Mom says you refuse to go to the pub,” he said, not looking at me but on his shoelaces.
I crossed my arms and kicked at the ground. “I get enough … drinking action at home.”
Hank stood up. “How are things at home?”
How are things at home? They’re the shits. There’s more bullshit at home then in all twelve hundred acres here. I’m up to my eyeballs in it and you would be too if you were married to the world’s biggest tool. Stink for a year … like he needs to be near shit to smell bad! Give me a break. If it looks like and ass and acts like an ass, it’s going to smell like an ass. He—
“Kate?”
“Things are fine. The same.” I frantically searched for a topic to change the subject. A lawn mower that had been gutted and it’s motor resting on the counter-top above it caught my eye. “You’re still taking things apart and putting them back together?”
“Yeah,” he said through a youthful grin.
“What have you built lately?”
His smile grew and he placed his hand in the small of my back, turning me and walking me to a small room in the corner of the building. I stepped inside the room as Hank turned on the bright fluorescent lights above. Once my eyes adjusted, I looked around the room. I was amazed. Tools, motor parts, and empty beer cans littered every square inch of the work space that wrapped around the walls. The smell of grease was overpowering and I laughed and pointed at an overflowing trash can. “This room has changed a bit. I think that’s the same pizza box from last year.”
Hank laughed. “Go ahead and mock me, but geniuses don’t have time to clean.” He retrieved a tall object resting against the far wall. On two large, black, rubber wheels sat a platform above a couple of small motors. Hank flipped the contraption on, held the handles, and stepped onto the platform.
“You built a moped.”
He zipped around me and said, “No, it’s a balancing scooter. I built it with two DC motors, the same they use in powered wheelchairs.”
“Wow.”
Hank rode the machine back to the wall, parked it, and returned with something much smaller. “I took the compressor and motor out of an air hammer and made an air-gun.”
I grabbed the long metal object and inspected it. It was oddly shaped, and I strained to see inside the compartment holding the motor. “What does it shoot?”
“Mini-marshmallows.”
I looked up at my cousin. “Mini … marshmallows?”
“It shoots ‘em hard. Wanna see?”
He gave me a demonstration of the gun just outside the room. Like we had done a hundred times as children, we roll-played Army Cadets, leaving a poster board with a hand-drawn target attached to the wall covered in splatters of white fluff. “If I shot you with this, that marshmallow would leave a welt.”
“And how do you know this?” I asked, grabbing a handful of the marshmallows from the bag and placing one in my mouth.
“I don’t. But Willard does.”
We both laughed as we reentered his workshop. Hank returned the gun to the rack where he kept it and my attention once again traveled around the room, landing on a large tarp-covered object. “What’s that?”
Hank glanced in the direction I was looking. He looked at me for a split second before glancing away. His mouth turned down. “It’s nothing.”
The change in him was painfully obvious. “What is it?”
“It’s nothing, Kate. Really. Wanna go get a pizza?”
Hank couldn’t look at me, a telltale sign that he was fighting an internal dilemma. “What’s wrong?”
He finally looked at me. “I don’t want you to see that.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s not for your eyes.”
“What, is it going to blind me?”
Hank quietly laughed. He shook his head and when I took a step toward the tarp, his smile disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. “Kate, don’t.”
“You just said it’s not going to blind me.” I grabbed the crinkled tarp and whipped it off the large item.
Sitting on the ground at my feet was a contraption I had seen before. Atop four wheels and with handles that mimicked those on a wheelbarrow sat an old-fashioned, freestanding, dairy cow milking machine. It had obviously been modified. The teat-cups, or “suckers” as Hank and I had always playfully called them, were different sizes and attached to the machine by the same long, rubber tubing used on the massive machines just outside the small room. On the back of the machine, in between the two handles, sat an old tractor seat that had the middle cut out of it.
It took a minute for the concept to register. I slowly turned to my cousin. “Is this … well, what have you done to this milker?”
Hank blushed, the embarrassment he felt obvious. He quickly crossed the room and worked to cover his contraption. “It’s what you think it is. I wanted to show Shelly, but now that we’ve split—”
“Hank,” I said, grabbing him and forcing him to turn to me.
He dropped the tarp and without blinking, caught my gaze in a stare. “I made a sex machine, but I’ll never be able to use it with her.”
“You still miss her.”
Hank’s chin dropped to his chest. His mouth turned down and he angrily said, “As much as a guy could miss the woman that cheated on him.”
Ouch. That wound’s still fresh, I thought, reminding myself to be as kind and supportive as possible.
Hank retrieved the tarp. He mumbled under his breath. “And now you think I’m a freak.”
“No I don’t,” I practically yelled. Hank whipped up and the moment our eyes met, I smirked. “I don’t.”
We smiled simultaneously, the mutual respect and concern for each other evident in the way our minds worked together. We knew what the other was thinking. I wanted him to explain the contraption as much as he wanted to explain it.
Hank grabbed a set of four teat-cups. “I modified every one of these suckers.”
“Wow,” I said. I pointed at the largest one. “That’s huge.”
Hank chuckled haughtily. “That sucker … that’s for me,” he boasted.
“Oh, for your … middle finger?” I teased.
Hank held his hand up, exposing his long, thin fingers, and playfully shook his head. “You know what digit it’s for.”
My face flushed. “You think it’s big enough?”
Hank’s chuckle grew into laughter and I instantly felt better. I pointed at a sucker that wasn’t shaped like a regular teat-cup, but that of a cucumber. “What does that one do?”
“You can guess what it does,” Hank teased. I nodded and he said, “It vibrates … hard. Don’t know if you’d be able to handle it.”
“I bet I could,” I boosted, the playful competition that we always seemed to share surfacing quickly.
“I know Jake could … up his ass.”
“Yeah,” I huffed. I hated it when my cousins teased me about my husband. Even as much as I agreed with them, I felt guilt-ridden each time they badmouthed him in front of me.
Hank rambled. “I ask myself the same questions every single day. … Why is she with him? Why did she marry him?”
I looked down, the logic behind his angered statement undeniable. “And what do you think the answers are?”
Hank exhaled loudly and said, “I think you were stupid to marry him back then and you’re stupid to stay married to him now.” The volume of his voice increased. “Hell, you’d be better off with me, your blood relative, than that mother fucker.”
“That’s a little harsh,” I said, unable to look at him.
Hank didn’t respond and a familiar feeling of fight-or-flight consumed me. Habitually, I turned and sprinted toward the exit at a panicked pace. I was too focused on my retreat to notice him following closely behind me.
He grabbed me by the arm and whipped me around to face him. “Stop running, Kate!”
“No!” I snapped, thrashing back and forth to release his hold.
“No, you stop running and hiding from your problems … and from me!”
Tears rolled down my cheeks, painful, shameful tears that cooled quickly against my red-hot cheeks. “I don’t want …”
“I know what you don’t want,” he said as he pulled on my waist and pinned my body against his. “Tell me what you do want.”
I looked up at him, looked deep into the eyes of my cousin, and shivered. The look in them was familiar but still new, and I could feel my heavy eyelids blink hard once. “I want … I want …” I stammered. I had to divert. “Well, what do you want?”
Hank moved in close to me. “I want you to be happy.”
I could smell him, the soap that had cleaned his skin just minutes before and the wetness to his hair. “I’m happy right now.”
Hank looked at his arms, left to right, and asked, “Right now? In my arms?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know why.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Look at me, Kate,” he said, slightly pushing me away. “What kind of sick fuck thinks about family the way I think about you? What kind of sicko wants his cousin?”
“You’re not a sick, Hank.”
Hank turned. He glared at me with a look I had never seen from him before and for a second, I thought he was going to explode like Jake did with a similar look. Instead, Hank startled me when he reached out for me again, grabbing me and slamming his body and his lips against mine.
Our mouths meshed together, our lips, and our tongues, and the wetness and warmth of the kiss caused me to spin. I was lost. Risky, forbidden passion took my mind to a euphoric place. Just when I was sure to mentally collapse, his voice rescued me.
“Kate.”
I leaned back and slowly opened my eyes. Hank was staring at me, his eyes red and watery, and I could feel the turmoil within him. “I shouldn’t have kissed you,” he whispered.
“Yeah, that was—” I stopped myself, unable to describe the lustful desires of my heart or the lack of reasonable surety of my mind.
Neither of us said anything for a minute. Then, at the same time, we spoke.
“Can’t we just—”
“I don’t think it’s—”
Hank paused and pointed at me. “What?”
“You first,” I stammered.
“Can’t we … just once, pretend that we’re not related? Just for tonight, I’m a man and you’re a woman and we want each other. Nothing more than that.” He leaned into me. “Please Kate? Pretend with me, just this once.”
My bottom lip quivered and I bit it to keep it still. I didn’t recognize myself. I couldn’t. I wanted Hank. I wanted his arms around me, his lips kissing mine, his body against me and his dick inside me. Suddenly, with a little coaxing from the churning desire deep within my core, my mind relinquished the fact that he was my cousin, and I looked at him for the first time in my life as just as man.
“Yes,” I whispered with a swallow.
“Yes?” Hank repeated.
I gave a quick nod. “Yes,” I replied, not a second before he kissed me again. He wrapped his arms around me and picked me off the floor, carrying me into his work room and setting me down in just enough time to lock the door and strip me.
“I wanna show you this,” Hank said, pulling the machine to the center of the room. After, he worked to frantically remove his jeans. Once he was naked, he quickly reached for my hand.
I yanked free from his grasp. “Wait. What’s the rush?”
Hank cupped his balls with his hand and said, “I don’t want you to change your mind.”
“I won’t but I don’t want to rush either.”
“Oh.” He stared at me and I watched his eyes travel from my face to my toes and back. “Oh God, Kate. You’re perfect.”
I took a turn admiring him. His body was awe-inspiring; not too thin, healthy, and covered in perfect, creamy skin. His long cock was thick and ready, and I watched my trembling finger reach out and gently flick it. It bounced up and down, the weight of his girth exaggerated by my touch.
I couldn’t help but to giggle. “All this time … I thought you were stuffing the front of your Wrangler’s with a sock.”
“There’s no room in my jeans for a sock,” he said through a cocky grin.
“I guess not,” I whispered. Before I could say another word, he pulled me to the milker.
“I’ve wanted to show you this for a very long time.” From atop the bulky metal box that held the motors and mechanics to the milker, he grabbed a clear tube attached to two small, open ended cylinders. He inspected them as he talked. “These little suckers came off a sheep milker.”
“You washed them, right?”
Hank’s gaze was affixed on my left nipple and my mind quickly put two and two together. “You’re not … that’s not—”
“No more talking,” he said. He sat the suckers down and pulled on my waist. Our fronts touched, the zing from my naked body connecting with his strong. When his erect member jabbed me the zing instantly transformed into a full blown shock-wave.
Hank kissed me with a passion I had never experienced before. It was raw and animalistic. My need for him, to have him completely, was intense. As our mouths enmeshed into one, our hands moved around each other’s yearning bodies.
Hank’s lips replaced his hand on my breast. The tip of his tongue traced my perked nipple round and round, tickling it and giving me just enough time to gasp before he pulled my swollen pink nub into his mouth. He sucked my nipples, one then the other, hard and long.
My head fell back and I closed my eyes. The tug on my nipples in his mouth and the forbidden pleasure of Hank’s lips on my skin was intoxicating. I didn’t notice him suddenly drop to his knees. He pushed me against the milking machine and lifted my right leg, throwing it over his shoulder a split second before his tongue swiped my swollen womanhood.
“Oh,” I moaned. His tongue slipped in between my pussy lips and entered my wet hole. It wiggled and jabbed my pussy before it swiped my clit, full and hard. Rhythmically, his wet tongue penetrated me then wiped my clit, over and over, and a hot burning desire deep within me spun hard. I groaned, prompting Hank to look up.
He stood and we shared an intense stare. Finally, after my mind sent him a hundred silent pleas, he touched his lips to mine. I could taste myself on his mouth. He kissed me, his tongue filling my mouth while his hands kneaded my breasts.
Frantic, I wanted to touch him. I found his member and my hand struggled to wrap around it. It was long and thick and as hard as a rock. It was so hard, I could feel a vein running the length of it. I knelt down in front of him and visually took it in. I was fascinated. It was the largest cock I had ever seen and it was attached to the body of my favorite cousin.
Without hesitation, I slowly ran my tongue from the base of his dick up to the tip of it. My tongue traced the head and Hank twitched. I sucked the top of him into my mouth and formed a nice tight suction. Before my hand had worked his rock hard shaft three times, Hank was begging for me to stop.
“Wait!” he sighed. He took a deep breath and lifted me from my knees. “Wait.”
Hank kissed me again, and I felt him quiver. I felt his dick against my stomach. He leaned back. “Are you sure about this?”
I quickly nodded and whispered, “Yes.”
He lifted my leg again and slightly squatted. I leaned against the machine. Our gazes were locked in a stare and didn’t break as he pressed the girth of his massive erection into my dripping wet pussy. I gasped and pulled a huge, quick pocket of air into my body and held it as he worked his cock inside me.
“Ahhh,” he groaned, pushing himself deep into my taught hole. He slowly withdrew it a few inches, and like neither of us could believe what was happening, we both glanced down.
My scorching, stretched pussy was bright red against his glistening cock. I felt like I was tearing but before I could say anything, Hank penetrated me again.
I clung to my cousin. I closed my eyes and buried my face in his shoulder, unaware that my fingernails were digging into his back as his cock slowly entered and exited my pussy.
Once I was comfortably stretched and the grip I had on him eased, Hank quickened the pace. In and out he plunged and pulled, causing the churning ball of passion forming in my lower tummy to quicken.
Hank stopped. We were both breathing hard, and when he pulled back I watched his chest rise and fall. Without pulling his cock from my slit, he reached around me and grabbed the two small, clear suckers attached to the same hose. He placed one of the suckers against my left nipple. With his free hand he flicked a switch, and the old-fashioned dairy milking machine came to life. The hum was loud but smooth, and I found the constant buzz soothing.
Hank grinned. “Are you ready?”
“For what?” I asked, my question attached to a gasp
“For this,” he replied. He gently touched the open end of the sucker to my nipple.
The vacuum pulled on my nipple, not hard, but enough that the small teat-cup became attached to me without assistance. He worked quickly to attach the second sucker, and once both my nipples were being gently drawn into the clear plastic tubes, Hank slid his cock deep into my pussy.
“Oh God!” I cried. The sensation of the constant tug on my nipples and stretched cunt was indescribable, a mixture of pain and pleasure that no words could adequately explicate.
Hank leaned into me and cupped my cheeks with his hands. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” I moaned, relishing in the soft, calming kiss on my forehead. I caught my breath just in time for Hank’s dick to resume fucking my cunt.
The climax within me grew with each plunge. I was panting. My eyes were closed, and I buried my forehead in his shoulder to steady myself.
“Ahhh,” Hank groaned before roughly pulling his prick from my dripping wet hole.
He took a few deep breaths and wiped down his chin. I noticed his hand tremble as he gently removed the suction cups from my perked nipples.
My aching slit needed a break. I turned around and reached for the largest teat-cup, the one he had made for his own pleasure, and I knelt down beside him. His cock was red and standing erect, and as I slid the silver sucker onto it, Hank groaned.
“Turn it on,” I whispered.
I heard him swallow hard just before he flicked a couple of switches. The new hum of the large sucker added a second pitch.
I watched Hank’s eyes slowly close, his thighs jerk from the pull on his dick, his breathing increase. I stared at his tight, round ass for a minute before I sucked my middle finger, found his ass hole, and slid my finger inside it.
“Shit!” he growled through clenched teeth.
I worked my finger in and out of his ass hole at the same time the hand-made contraption milked his cock.
Hank’s body moved with my finger, which matched the rhythmic pull of the suction cup giving him mechanical head. Suddenly, Hank leaned forward and flicked a switch. He removed the sucker and motioned for me to stand up. He grabbed my hand and pulled me around the machine to the handles, grabbing the only solid probe from its resting place on the way.
He grabbed me and held me, kissing my cheek, my neck, my ear. He kissed my lips, and like an alarm clock’s buzz, the kiss awoke the waiting the orgasm inside me. Our lips didn’t part as Hank lifted me up and sat me on the tractor seat.
We kissed like it was to be our last. I pulled on him. I wanted him as close to me as possible, and when he pulled away, I let out a little whimper.
Hank looked at my body, my face, neck, breasts, stomach, before they became affixed on my wet, swollen womanhood. He placed the probe in his hand against my pussy. He finally looked at me, his right eyebrow cocked in question.
“I can handle it,” I replied.
“Here,” he said, pressing the probe barely between my pussy lips.
“Yes,” I exhaled.
He moved the probe and gently poked my ass. “What about here?”
I couldn’t answer. Instead, I stared at him with nervous but yearning eyes. He lifted the probe to his face and spit on it before he replaced it against my pink star.
I closed my eyes. He mumbled something about trying to relax but all I could hear was the hum of the milking machine behind me. I took a deep breath and as I exhaled, Hank tenderly inserted the probe into my ass.
The cold probe quickly warmed inside me. It expanded my taught hole and I was stricken with the burning sensation that I was going to split. Hank leaned over and kissed my mouth as he flicked a switch on the machine at my back. The probe in my ass came to life, and I was instantly gyrating from the small earthquake it made at the base of my body.
“Oh! Holy hell!” I cried. I pinched my eyes closed and tried to catch my breath. The tremor from the probe was so strong, I felt it in my throat.
He flipped a switch and the vibration stopped. I loudly sighed, part in relief, part in discontent that the warm tremble had ceased.
Hank smiled at me. He slowly neared my face and whispered, “I told you it vibrates hard.” He reached for the probe and asked, “Do you want me to take it out?”
“No,” I said in a questioning tone. Hank playfully bounced his eyebrows and I offered a second, more convincing, “No”.
“Here,” he said, slipping the base of the probe into a makeshift holder beneath the seat. I worked to get comfortable with the depth of the vibrator and once I felt the burn inside my asshole subside, I lifted and spread my legs wide. I grabbed at Hank, my fingers pinching the soft skin near his ribs, and pulled him into me. I could tell that Hank’s firm cock was as worked up as he was.
His eyes had a new look to them; one of deep, animalistic desires, a look I had never seen before on my cousin. His chest rose and fell hard once before he grabbed the base of his cock, rubbed the tip of it up my clit then placed it at the entrance of my pleading pussy.
Hank exhaled loudly. With his hand wrapped around the base of his swollen, blood-filled prick, he urged himself into my soaked slit.
With the metal dildo in my ass and Hank’s large cock packing my pussy, the lack of space created a heaviness within me I had never felt before. The skin between my cunt and ass hole stretched thin and felt like it was about to tear.
I held my breath and used Hank’s balls as my beacon of relief. Once I felt them against me, I knew he had fully penetrated me. I let the air trapped in my lungs go. Hank gazed into my eyes for a tender moment, both of us breathing hard and in rhythm. Slowly, he withdrew his rock-hard prick and then returned it deep inside my pussy.
Our bodies moved together and as the speed of our thrusts picked up, I closed my eyes. I envisioned Hank at happier times from our past—him dressed up at the school dance, his amazing body dripping with lake water after a midsummer day swim, his happy face as he raised his glass to toast a holiday meal—and the memories fed the spinning orgasm growing in my soul.
I felt Hank tremble and then he stopped. “Are you all right?” I asked.
“Yeah, but—” he paused, “but can I cum inside you?”
I nodded quickly, not spending an extra second on the question that I had known the answer to since the first naughty thoughts of Hank made me soak my panties. I rolled my hips and squeezed my inner thigh muscles, signs I hoped would urge Hank to continue.
Hank eye’s pierced mine, and as he pushed his member deep inside my wet pussy, they filled with tears. Strong emotions escalated within me as well, emotions that stemmed from the trust, the risk, and the close intimate, physical act we were sharing. Hank’s body was a magnet to mine, pulling and pushing until we once again created a friction that took the heat between us to a euphoric level.
My head fell back and I closed my eyes, completely focused on the orgasm building in the pit of my stomach. Without warning, Hank powered on the vibrator hidden in my ass, and the strong quiver from the metal cock shook me to my core.
My eyes fluttered open in time to see Hank’s eyes roll. The tremor encased his cock. Hank plunged his prick into my hot wet cunt, hard and deep, the thrust telling the orgasm brewing inside me that it was time. As it ripped through me—curling my toes, shaking my thighs, tightening and retracting the muscles in and around my privates, flushing my cheeks, taking my breath away—I screamed out, “Oh God! Yes Hank, yes!”
Hank grunted and moaned. “Ahhh!” he called. Hearing the sounds of pure pleasure ringing from me voided all control he had to contain his own cries of passion. “Fuck! Oh God, Kate. Fuck me! Fuck me!” He jerked forward, grabbing onto my hip and breast as he spat his load of hot jizz against my cervix.
The fullness I felt, the stretch, the vibration, Hank … all of it combined made for the biggest, most intense orgasm I have ever felt. My entirety twitched with pleasure-filled ticks, matching those of my partner, my cousin, the man that I had loved and secretly desired all my life.
Eventually the vibration in my bottom stopped and I was finally able to catch my breath. I opened my eyes, just in time to see Hank’s cream-covered prick fall from my pussy.
I stared at Hank. I grabbed his dripping cock with my fingers, mopped up as much of us as my touch could hold, and lifted my milky wet fingers to my mouth. I sucked us off my fingers one by one, never letting Hank’s gaze move from mine, until my fingers were clean.
Hank gently eased the metal dildo from my ass, and lifted me off the tractor seat. Like I was his bride, he carried me to a loveseat on the fall wall of the room and gently placed me on my back. “Rest for a minute.”
I had to look away from Hank. Shame, not from what I had done with my cousin, but because I was completely emotionally and physically spent, consumed me.
After resting for quite some time, I finally worked up the energy to open my eyes. I sat up and my gaze became affixed on the machine Hank had built for us and the ecstasy it had helped us create. I slowly dressed and shuffled from the room, turning the light in Hank’s work room off just after looking at the milking machine one last time.
I rounded the corner and noticed Hank standing in the doorway. He waved at me at the same time my cheeks flushed hot.
“Hey. Ready to go?”
“Where are we going?” I asked, my throat dry and hoarse.
“For pizza, remember? Don’t tell me you filled up on that handful of marshmallows, Kate.”
Hank turned to exit the building and I reached out for him. “Wait, Hank. We need to talk.”
“About what?”
“About what happened earlier.”
Hank looked surprised and I pinched my eyebrows in confusion. “The milking machine? The one I sat on while you—”
“You sat on a milking machine?” he teased. “Hope you checked for sticky milk before you sat down in those six-hundred dollar jeans.”
“Hank—”
“What?” he playfully snapped.
“What happened tonight?”
“Hey you two, come on!” my Uncle Henry shouted from the house across the gravel path just outside the building. Both Hank and I responded with a quick reply before Hank turned back to me. “We played with some toys.” He leaned into me and added, “We had fun pretending to be something that we aren’t.”
“And what’s that … the something we pretended to be?”
“Army Cadets, of course.” Hank grabbed my hand. “Come on,” he said before pulling me through the exit to join the rest of our family for dinner.
The time spent in Hank’s workshop has replayed in my mind a thousand times since I left Minnesota and returned home. I’ve mentally relived it so often, I’m not sure if my mind can tell what parts of the memory are real or fictitious. Sadly, I don’t know if any or even parts of the steamy, taboo encounter actually happened. But to imagine that it didn’t happen, that I didn’t fulfill a fantasy by fucking my favorite cousin and his milking machine, proves too hard to comprehend.
I’ve thought about confronting Hank, calling him and demanding that he admit to filling my pussy with his cum so I could finally let it go and enjoy the memory of our time together. I’ve dialed his number a hundred times, but I haven’t worked up the courage to place the call.
And the most disheartening thought, the one that keeps me up at night, is that I haven’t orgasmed like I did with Hank since. Not even close. And this isn’t a surprise to me, my blogging friends. I’m sure it’s no surprise to you either. Until I work up the nerve to call my cousin and get the truth from him, the hot memory of what did to each other and to that milking machine will have to do.
Happy milking everyone,
Kate
This is journal entry based on an actual untrue story of events that did not not take place. It’s a factual fiction that’s entirely not false.
Via: https://www.lushstories.com/stories/incest-fantasy/these-fucked-up-days-just-keep-coming-pt-3