Kissing Cousins 2 (Patreon)

Up in the attic, Lara was as out of breath as if she’d come herself. She was in a daze—the excitement of watching two people fuck directly before her eyes, even if one of them was her cousin, had been almost too much to bear.

Or maybe it had been because one of them was her cousin. Any pornographic movie could offer a view of the action far closer than Lara had just gotten, with multiple participants as good-looking or better than Kevin or Chloe. The only X-factor was that it was Kevin himself fucking… her own cousin, no matter how distant… a Croft just like her… the two of them a matching set.

Before Lara could shake off the thought, or continue following it to whatever puzzling conclusion it led to, Kevin was up and getting dressed. He didn’t look like anything of the wan, waspish Crofts that Lara was used to in her family tree. He was a burly, brawny, hairy man with a shock of unruly black hair covering his scalp from his forehead to the back of his neck. More dark, coarse hair emerged from the neck of the ragged flannel shirt he pulled on.

His eyebrows would’ve formed a solid black bar except for the slot over his nose that reminded Lara of the nose-guard on a nasal helmet; she was convinced he shaved that while putting on such a show of being a barbarian. One of his ears was notched where plastic surgery—on her dime—had repaired a cauliflower ear. Kevin had said he’d gotten it in a street fight to begin with, but Lara felt sure he’d simply fallen down and banged his head, probably while drunk.

The fact was, as much as Kevin wanted to play at being a hard man, he had a swimmer’s build. His medium-length hair was lush and shiny. He had more tattoos than scars. No matter how much he thrifted, he looked more like a hipster than a lumberjack. It annoyed Lara—something to do with how she managed to be able to handle herself without looking like some butch Amazon. Made her feel like Kevin was compensating for something. Albeit not, clearly, anything that Chloe might complain about.

Even as Kevin left, she lay back on the bed, idly fingering her cunt like she might either give herself a repeat performance or be holding out hope for Kevin to come back and give her a second round. Lara felt her own sex throbbing with the same slow, steady rhythm as Chloe was strumming herself with. Her eyes fixed on Chloe—she didn’t know if she wanted to fuck the bint herself or possess that satisfied insatiability writ large on Chloe’s face. The look of a woman who’d had her brains soundly fucked out but was still up for more. The lucky little bimbo.

It was in that state of mind that Lara, when she finally emerged, found the peephole in her bathroom.

***

Lara sat on the loo, her legs spread wide. Her back laid against the water tank, holding her steady as she caressed her toned thighs, running her hands up and down her clear, creamy skin. Her skirt was already bunched around her slender waist, while her sizable breasts strained her blouse. Tight to begin with, it simply wasn’t built for how hard she was breathing, even with the top buttons open, showing the supple roundness of her cleavage all but overflowing the confines of her bra.

She was in the bathroom that adjoined her bedroom, carefully avoiding looking at the peephole in the wall. She knew Kevin was on the other side.

She’d noticed the peephole immediately—at least she hoped she had—and at first she’d been peeved, but not as much as she would’ve thought. It was fun, exciting in a way to know that despite her age, a healthy young man like Kevin had an interest in her, in her body.

She didn’t have to let him know she’d caught on. There was something exhilarating about showing what she wanted him to see, with Kevin having no idea she was doing it on purpose—Lara able to play absolutely innocent no matter what she did right before his eyes.

So far, all she’d shown him was her legs and panties. When she went to the bathroom, she made sure her skirt was over her knees. But Lara was quite sure he’d seen more than that. The peephole showed him the bathtub as much as the loo. And Lara bathed often, leaving rushed showers for when she was on safari.

Now she wondered whether she should come in her panties—letting Kevin see her pleasure, but be unable to claim it, getting no more out of it than mounting sexual frustration, she was sure. It was wrong and perverse, which was perhaps why Lara so far had been unable to do it.

She usually took care of her sensual needs not by anything so crude as masturbation, but by a form of Tibetan mental self-stimulation: envisioning for herself a fantasy so real she could outright feel it, at least enough to bring her cunt to a boil. And then, to orgasm.

Lara’d quickly realized that she could self-stimulate anywhere. That she could even do it while fully dressed, having her juicy ejaculation right into her panties. And after Kevin had come into her life, her needs had been particularly fierce.

Yet despite the urge frequently coming over her, and Lara finding the idea appealing, she hadn’t been able to come in her panties. When the need struck, she’d rush to the bathroom, close her eyes, and try to turn her panties into a wetly sodden mess she would feel every step of the way back home.

Lara hadn’t succeeded yet, but she wanted to.

She didn’t know why, but she wanted to come in her panties so badly it was due to drive her up the wall. Yet something held her back. Maybe it was the way she’d been raised. Lara considered herself a fairly sexual person, but the fact remained that her parents had died while she was at a young age—an age where anything sexual had been forbidden to her. She’d never talked about it with her mother or father, with a sibling… certainly not with her butler.

Maybe that was why she’d had a hard time enjoying sex when she finally started trying out collegiate indulgences. Where she was bold and resourceful in everything else, in the bedroom she was embarrassed and shy, even reluctant to show off her body. And her someone who had worn the skimpiest bikinis, even modeled some of the most daring lingerie out there.

But when a man actually looked at her nakedness, Lara felt compelled to hide her flushed face, to burrow into a pillow. She had to concentrate on dispelling the shame burning from hair to heel instead of letting go and enjoying the explorations and experimenting. In the end, all she felt when a man was inside her was a fullness in her sex—not much compared to what she could do to herself.

And yet she still wanted to. It felt like a task undone, an obstacle she hadn’t been able to surmount, and that baited her competitive nature. She wanted to enjoy sex the way any bourgeois might; how embarrassing that the Lady Croft couldn’t. And no wonder that she was no longer Lord of the Manor when she had such an insufficiency on the books.

She fantasized, imagining herself doing audacious things to her partners—of either gender and varying number—as well as audacious things being done to her. Yet Lara could not actually do them.

And now, into this uneasy state of affairs, came her cousin. Her spying on him. His spying on her. The unexpected joy she’d taken in Kevin’s desire to see her naked. It almost turned her on. When it came right down to it, the most sexually daring thing she’d ever achieved was allowing Kevin to spy on her, and there she was still fundamentally passive, even if it felt like she was being provocative.

At first, she wouldn’t even lift her skirt—tried to keep her arms over her ample breasts while bathing, always conscious of the watcher that had turned her comfortable privacy into something fraught and altogether dangerous.

By slow stages, she’d gotten to the point where she now sat on the loo with her legs apart, showing the gusset of her panties to her admiring cousin. Letting him see what she should’ve denied to a stranger, let alone her own flesh and blood. But the incestuous tinge that made it so unacceptable somehow brought it back to win her enthusiasm.

Lara wondered if his prick was hard, if it was as big as it had been when he’d fucked Chloe in front of her, if he played with himself while his eyes sampled her inviolate body. It was exciting to think of him jacking off with his stare all on her. The mental image of him jerking on that big cock was one that she liked having occupy her thoughts. And wouldn’t Kevin just love to know that—if she would ever tell him.

Looking down her tautly muscled body, Lara saw the teasing curve of her mound inside her panties. Her trimmed but thick bush made a visible bulge beyond the sweep of her mons. But it was not enough to hide her slot—her tight panties outlined the opening and she had bought them, worn them, specifically to show that to Kevin.

Just in case he couldn’t see, she shifted her hips some, turning herself more to the peephole he’d constructed, the naughty boy. Her sex was fully alive, nice and wet and hot and pulsing, a very pleasant feeling made unpleasant by how it tempted her into wanting more.

Moving her hands up and down her thighs, Lara wondered what the big difference was between doing this with Kevin secreted away, pretending he wasn’t there, and doing it out in the open, freely acknowledging that Kevin could see her. Why was one such a taboo, while the other cried out to be done? How could she caress herself in this manner, knowing she was being watched, yet still feel a sense of shyness, even shame? It didn’t make sense, yet it held true.

The story of her life, perhaps. How many times had she, in her travels, come across things that were impossible yet indisputably real? Why should sex contain any less mysteries?