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Incestuous Harem by mypenname She shook her head, her braid of sandy-blonde hair dancing across her shoulders. I snorted, nodding my head. In the seventh grade. That was ages ago. I wanted to reach out and take her hand, holding it. But we were in public.
It was one thing to be best friends with your nineteen-year-old, tomboyish cousin, it was another thing to hold her hand like she was your girlfriend. She had a natural beauty even when she wore loose t-shirts and comfortable jeans.. It was why we had been best friends for as long as either of us could remember.
We were both nineteen, though I was younger by a month, and we had grown up living next door. She liked climbing trees, playing soldiers, riding bikes, and playing video games. She truly was my best friend. And then a year ago, things changed. We were in my room hanging out on my bed, talking, doing homework, fucking around and…we kissed. It was almost accidental. She had turned to me as I leaned in to tickle her, and our lips bumped. Now we were kissing cousins. We made out every chance we had.
I wanted to do so much more with her, but we were first cousins. Our mothers were sisters. We both felt it. But we both enjoyed the kissing, the touching, the intimacy. I felt like she was even more of my best friend after a year of sneaking around. And when my dad died six months back, she was the only one in the family who helped me deal with it.
Mom was lost to her boxes of wine, my older sister was just a cunt, and my younger sister retreated even farther into her books. But Melody was someone I could talk to, share things with. Hell, I could even cry a bit around her without her thinking I was a pussy. It was our way of holding hands. It was a deliberate, slow lick. My heart beat faster. It was her way of kissing me in public. Why did we have to be first cousins? If she was just the girl next door, we would have fucked already.
We could have been fucking for months. You loved it in those panties I bought. My grin spread large, hungrily. Recently, she was stripping down to her underwear for our make out sessions. We were flirting closer and closer with going all the way. With crossing that line into real incest. My dad was Clinton. But…if you want me to do my best, I need incentives. Her lips were so kissable. I wondered what flavor of lip gloss she wore today. I hoped it was apricot. I liked that flavor on her lips.
We reached our houses, the shade of the giant chestnut tree in my front yard falling over us. My house was gray with mauve trim—my mother chose the scheme and Dad painted it—and rose three stories, my room in the attic.
I took her hand for a brief moment, giving her a squeeze. It was my way of kissing her in public—she would only laugh when I licked my lips slowly. It was sexy on a girl, but not on a guy apparently. She licked her lips slowly. My dick ached in my jeans. And then my cousin broke away for her house, and I headed to mine. She should be at work for another two hours. She would get fired if she kept doing that. Everything was falling apart, and I was the only one that seemed to care.
I entered the house and ran almost smack into Lee, my eighteen-year-old cousin. She and Melody were a year and a few months apart in age.
Aunt Vicky had popped them out with the deadbeat asshole she used to date before he took off with another woman. She ripped the toast from her mouth and stuck her tongue out at me. She may be eighteen, but she acted like she was five. Her black hair was cut in a pixyish bob which only enhanced her bratty, youthful figure. She was slim and had more energy than a crackhead on speed.
But she played soccer, and she knew how to dance around a defender. She walked down the stairs wearing a tight pair of jean shorts and a halter top that enhanced her already impressive breasts, the mounds jiggling as she came down the stairs, so big and pillowy.
Brassy hair fell about her sultry face, her lips dark-red and looked so plump and kissable. Zoey had the biggest tits in the family. I know I loved Melody, but, damn, my sister had a body that would not quit. She had just turned twenty and loved to flaunt her stuff. She sauntered by me, her hips rolling, her exposed midriff tan and sleek. Ayers give you a ton of homework? I scowled as I patted my dark hair back into place. I hated when she ruffled it.
And when she called me squirt. She treated me like I was a fucking kid. I followed her into the kitchen and groaned at the disaster Lee left behind. How did she create such a mess making a piece of toast? Those jean shorts molded to her ass. She bent over more, and I could see a prominent cameltoe, the jean shorts hugging her pussy.
I wrenched my gaze away before she caught me staring, my dick so damned hard, and grabbed the still-open jar of Nutella. I screwed on the lid. I grit my teeth. Everything was going to shit. And he never would have put up with Lee making a mess and not cleaning it up either. He would have bent his niece over his knee and spanked her ass. Zoey pulled out her iPhone with her other hand, texting while sipping at her grape juice.
I grabbed a cloth and wiped the counter down. Things should be tidy. Dad always said a house is a reflection of its master. A clean house meant a man who was in charge, a man who kept his family working smoothly, made sure his children did their chores. The roots of her hair were dark-black.
She dyed her hair and kept it long because Dad liked it, and she still half-heartily kept it up. I tried not to stare at her skirt pulled tight over her ass. She rose, clutching a box of wine in one hand. She used to cook dinner every night save Fridays and Sundays. Dad liked home-cooked meals. Ordering pizza or Chinese or subs got old fast. I scowled at her.
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