"Hey Jason," I shouted. "Jason!"
There was no reply from the house. I sighed and stretched, enjoying the electric tingle in my muscles, the hot feeling that faded as I relaxed again. I trailed my hand once through the pool slowly, then brushed it across my forehead. Cool drops of water ran ticklish down my face, dripped off my chin to plant icy kisses on the soft skin between my breasts. I stood up, hooking a finger around the Lycra fabric of my bikini bottoms and pulling them out and over my left buttock, which the material had shifted to expose.
I slid the patio door open and walked through the living room into the kitchen. I could feel my skin get goosebumps as I moved from the hot summer day into the air conditioned house. I opened the fridge and cold air gusted over my body. Hunting around, I finally found a cupboard with glasses, took one and poured out some chilled orange juice. Faintly, through the wall, I heard the low tones of Jason's voice and decided to go looking for him. I'd finished the book he'd loaned me -- a slender Murakami novel -- and wanted something else.
I wandered through the corridors of the house, feeling oddly out of place. I've never learned how to feel comfortable in other people's homes. I heard Jason again, his voice urgent, and I wondered who he was talking too. The house was miles from anywhere, and I'd have heard a car coming up the long drive. I considered going to my room and getting my dressing gown or grabbing a bath towel to wrap around my body. He's on the phone, I thought, or at worst talking to people online.
He was in his room, so I raised my arm and lightly wrapped on the lintel. "Come," I heard him grunt, so I raised an eyebrow and walked in.
He was lying on his bed, his eyes screwed shut, his mouth gaping in a distended O-shape. Spread over his nose and cheeks were a used pair of my panties. They were my skimpy pink ones, little more than a thong at the back with a front panel about one inch square. I wore them when I was hoping to get lucky; it was the only time I could use them because unless I shaved my bush completely it ended up looking like a guy with a beard blowing bubble gum. I'd worn them two or three nights ago when I'd borrowed Jason's car and went to a club in town. That night I'd struck out.
Jason seemed to be enjoying them, though. One hand held them clasped to his face, where he inhaled their scent with considerable stertor. The other was wrapped fiercely around his cock. "Oh, I'm gonna come," he moaned. "Your pussy tastes so good, Karen. Do you like being fucked by your cousin." His tongue lapped out and left a trail of glistening saliva over the crotch of my panties.
He had a nice cock, about average in length and width, with a big purple head around which his foreskin was stretched tight. His hand was moving fast enough that it seemed to blur, slamming up to the tip of his cock then running all the way down to his balls. Jason clearly didn't like to man-scape, as his smallish balls were swaddled in a thick nest of curly brown hair. As I watched, his back arched slightly off the bed, the hand holding my panties over his face clamped down on his balls and began to massage them furiously. Unsupported, my panties tumbled down to drape over his chin just as he groaned and shot a thin stream of milky cum into the sparse hairs on his slightly chubby belly.
I backed away, stifling a small giggle that I felt building uncontrollably in my throat. I wasn't sure whether to be absolutely disgusted or slightly flattered. When my cousin had told me I could come and stay at his house for a few weeks to get work out of my head, I hadn't thought he'd intended to replace it with the image of him straining to orgasm while sniffing my panties. On the other hand, I hadn't had sex in six months, so it felt good to know that at least someone found me attractive.
