Breaking The Seal 1

"Do you remember me?"

Peter Dovzhenko turned from his seat in the sand, where he'd spent the last hour watching the waves rolling onto the beach, when he heard the smoky, Slavic-accented voice of a young woman behind him. He found her standing 5'3", with dirty blonde, shoulder-length hair, her body lithe and fit like a gymnast's, her tiny, turquoise bikini covering pert little A-cup breasts just big enough to hold. She was 18, and while her body looked younger her blue eyes held a depth of experience far exceeding her age. She smiled, but just barely; in his 21 years, Peter had never known the Russian side of his family to indulge in excess displays of emotion.

"Do I get a hint?" Peter asked, standing in his swim trunks to face his young interrogator.

"No," she replied. "If you do not know I will be very sad," she added. Peter read a sense of playfulness seeping through her halting monotone.

All day Peter found himself staring at beautiful women he didn't know, only to keep reminding himself that this was a family reunion, and just because he'd never seen these women didn't mean he should be having the thoughts he was having. Peter's parents immigrated to the United States just before giving birth to him, and in their zeal to make sure they had an "American child" they overcompensated, not even teaching him their mother tongue. It was a decision all three quickly came to regret, as it left Peter isolated from the rest of his extended family, who remained back in Russia.

Not that Peter ever had a lot of interaction with his extended family to begin with. There wasn't anyone on his father's side, his father having been an orphan, but the large roster of relatives on his mother's end more than made up the difference. They had never come to the States before now, and the only time Peter and his parents visited Russia was that one summer when he was eight. Peter felt alone, with his parents and all the adults speaking in a language he couldn't comprehend. The only saving grace of that trip was his first cousin, Katya Ivanovna, his mother's brother's daughter. Like the adults, she couldn't speak English either, but with her it didn't matter; they became fast friends in spite of the language barrier, and over the three months Peter stayed there they grew inseparable. Despite Peter's being older it was almost like Katya took guardianship over him, realizing he was in an unfamiliar place and wanting to be a good host and protect him. She was three years younger than him, short and thin then, too, with blonde hair and blue eyes.

"Katya," Peter answered, smiling.

"It is good to see you, cousin," Katya beamed, her smile growing almost American in its size and lack of guardedness. She leapt into his arms and he spun her around; she was so light as to be almost weightless, her tiny feet sailing through the air with abandon. When Peter finally set his cousin back down on the sand she was grinning.

"I wondered if you would be here," Peter told his cousin. He paused, considering whether to continue, before adding, "To be honest, you were the only person I was hoping to see turn up."

"I hoped to see you too, cousin," Katya replied. She spoke the English she knew quite well, Peter thought, and her lack of all the extraneous words English harbored made her answers less florid and more direct. Peter wasn't sure what to say next. He never felt right about the last time they saw each other, but in his shame he also didn't want to be the one to bring it up.

"You are not talking to anyone," Katya observed.

"Well, I wouldn't really know what to say to them, would I?" Peter joked.

"Da," Katya laughed. "You would not."

"You're not talking to them either," Peter countered.

"I see them all time," Katya said. "This whole thing is for your parents. They are ones who miss family, and have money to bring family to them." Peter couldn't argue with that summation.

"I have something we could not do when children," Katya offered, retrieving an unopened 1.75L bottle of vodka from the sand that Peter hadn't previously seen lying there. "At risk of being forward, I have missed my friend. I want to know him again." Peter looked his young cousin over; the sincerity in her eyes was killing him, and it made him feel both guiltier about the way things had ended and nostalgic for the three idyllic months—three of the best of his life—leading up to that unfortunate moment.

"I've missed you too," Peter confessed.

"We were best friends once," Katya said, "but that was long time ago. By end of bottle, we will be again." She unscrewed the top of the bottle and took a swig before holding it out for Peter.

"I'll drink to that," Peter said as he accepted the bottle and took a swig of his own.

"Back home we played in woods, with no one around," Katya said. "There are no woods here." That was true enough—the beaches stretched as far as the eye could see. Farther inland the beaches were lined with palm trees but, if one ventured beyond that, it was all urban development. "But farther that way," Katya pointed, "beach is empty, of tourists and family. We should head that way."

"Lead on," Peter offered. Peter knew the isolated spot Katya spoke of, though he wondered how she knew it. Nevertheless, Katya always led them on their hikes and adventures when they were kids, a preternatural navigator, and even though they were adults now and in his country, he saw no reason to change that dynamic. Besides, he thought, anything to keep from bringing up the last day they saw each other.

Peter followed his cousin along the gently rolling waves until the crowds were a distant echo. They filled each other in on their lives over the intervening years between generous swigs of the vodka they shared. Peter told Katya about how he skipped several grades in school growing up and how, at the unprecedented age of 21, he was about to become the youngest teacher in the history of one of the country's oldest, most prestigious private schools, Heatherton Academy.

"I'm not sure what sounds worse," Peter confessed, "just telling the story and sounding arrogant, or the fact that I honestly don't even feel like I'm that smart, but if I say that, people interpret it as fake humility and I still come out sounding like an arrogant prick."

"Is funny thing about Americans," Katya observed, " you are most optimistic people, but at same time most ready to invent reasons to be sad where there are none." She took a drink from their bottle. "So many bad things in world; no need to invent more. You accomplish something special. Be proud of accomplishment."

"You're right," Peter finally admitted.

"Well, I am very smart too," Katya grinned. She wrapped her arm around his and leaned into him as they walked, and she took another swig from the bottle. "Is why I will be going to Heatherton."

"You're moving here?" Peter was taken aback. "I didn't know that."

"Well, you do not talk to family," Katya answered. "Besides, parents did not want me getting in by favor from you. I study hard, pass exams, and am admitted on my own." She handed Peter the bottle and he took a swig from it. "And unlike you, I am not ashamed to be proud of what I've done," she teased. She took the bottle back and took another drink.

"Who knows," Peter quipped, "maybe you'll be one of my first students."

"I hope so," Katya replied, looking up into her taller cousin's eyes as they walked. "I want you to teach me things."

"I hope to," Peter answered earnestly.

The cousins passed a narrow portion of the beach and reached the secluded area few travelers ever went to. They couldn't hear any other people now; it was just Peter, Katya, and the waves on the beach.

"We are alone?" Katya took a drink as she looked up to her cousin for confirmation.

"Nobody ever comes out here," Peter confirmed.

"Good," Katya said, handing Peter the bottle. He took a long chug from it as Katya walked a few steps to the edge of where the water rolled up onto the shore before turning to face him. "There is something I must do."

Without warning, Katya hooked her fingers around the straps of her bikini bottoms and let them slide down her slender legs onto the sand, revealing her small, shaven pussy like it was the most natural thing in the word. Peter froze, unblinking, as his childhood memory replayed before his eyes in adulthood. He remembered back to that last day with his cousin in the woods in Russia all those years ago, when they were hiking and all of a sudden Katya just stopped where she stood and dropped her pants before him. Objectively it was a moment of childhood innocence, but for Peter it was also the Fall in the Garden of Eden—the first time he experienced sexuality and felt ashamed. Without a word he turned and ran all the way back to the house and hid under his bed until his mom found him there. It was the day they were heading back home to the States—that walk was to be Peter's and Katya's last playtime together while his parents packed. The bags were ready and the taxi was waiting—the last time Peter saw his cousin, his best friend with whom their friendship transcended the barriers of language, was when he left her standing naked in the woods because he felt afraid.

"You look nervous, cousin," Katya stated matter-of-factly. "Are you going to run away again?"

"No," Peter asserted, trying to convince himself as much as her, taking an extra long swig of vodka to steel his nerves.

"There is nothing to be ashamed of, cousin," Katya reassured him. "This is just me." And as she stood there, without even squatting down, she let herself go. Peter watched in fascination as his cousin stood and smiled, her petite pussy lips quivering ever so slightly as she let a trickle and then a torrent of gold wash down her legs. Her piss streamed down her thighs and calves and splattered the tops of her feet, soaking herself until she had nothing left. She stood proudly before her cousin, not a care in the world.

"Now is your turn," Katya said.

"My turn?" Peter asked skeptically. "I can't."

"No?" Katya protested. "You have seen me. I want to see you." Katya stepped forward, the warmth in her smile matched only by the warm rivulets of piss still running down her legs. She snatched the bottle of vodka from Peter's hand, taking a long, hard drink.

"No, I mean I can't," Peter tried to explain, sheepishly. "I just don't have to go. When I'm out with friends, I'm always the last to break the seal." This was only half true—Peter could hold it for a long time, but he didn't exactly have friends to go out with where this would ever come up.

"Break seal?" Katya looked horrified. "Why would drinking cause you and friends to be cruel to animal?" Peter couldn't help but laugh at the failure in translation—at least he was no longer thinking about having just watched his cousin piss herself, or about the fact that he felt turned on watching it.

"It's an expression," Peter laughed. "It means the first time you go to the bathroom during a night of drinking. Like, you can hold it for a while at first, but after you've pissed the first time, you're gonna piss a lot more frequently after that, you know?"

"Ah," Katya said, still looking confused. "I do not understand expression, but I understand meaning."

"Well, that's the important thing," Peter answered.

"At least you can take shorts off," Katya said, looking down at Peter's swim trunks.

"I don't know if I'm comfortable enough to do that yet," Peter confessed.

"Very well," Katya took a long hit off the bottle and continued walking down the beach. Peter watched her walking away, her tight, tiny ass swaying naked as the day it was born, her short, slender back still bound by the straps from the top half of her bikini.

"You're just going to walk around with the top half on and the bottom half off?" Peter asked as he sped to catch up with her.

"Oh," Katya spun around, "now who questions what we are wearing?" Peter didn't say anything. "You are not willing to disrobe, but have no problem protesting when I do not?" The corners of her mouth curled up almost imperceptibly, like she'd baited a trap and Peter stumbled right into it.

"You're right," Peter admitted. He slid his swim trunks down his legs and stood naked before his cousin. Her eyes drifted downward, studying him—there was nothing imperceptible about her smile now—and he couldn't help the feeling of his cock starting to grow, curving upward to face her as if willed into being by the hunger in her eyes.

"My beautiful cousin," Katya purred. She set the bottle down in the sand before standing back up to face him. She reached behind her back and untied her bikini, letting it fall to the sand, her small, spherical breasts at attention in the open air, her tiny nipples taut in the breeze. She stood there, so small, looking up into Peter's eyes as if awaiting his approval.

"My beautiful cousin," Peter observed in equal awe. They stood motionless for almost a minute, hungry for each other but also nervous, like this was all a dream and the slightest wrong step could eradicate it entirely. Finally Katya took slow, tentative steps towards her cousin, and Peter began an equally measured march towards her, neither of them breaking their shared gaze or even daring to blink until they stood, toes touching, in the sand. In silent telepathy they continued towards each other, her rising on her tiptoes to reach him and him shrinking down to accommodate her. They let their eyes close as their lips finally found each other after a long, long decade.

For several minutes Peter and Katya did nothing but explore one another's mouths: the softness of their lips, the dexterity of their tongues. Eventually their hands joined the fun as each began to slowly, carefully map the topography of the other's body, committing every curve and contour to memory. Peter took careful time letting his hands survey the symmetrical hills of his cousin's breasts, while Katya savored the sturdiness of her cousin's chest. Peter caressed her breasts gently at first, gradually growing bolder and squeezing more firmly, gauging Katya's reactions by the fingernails in his chest and the increasingly high-pitched mewls she let escape into his mouth. By the time he was pinching her little nipples and rubbing their sensitive caps furiously with his thumbs she was singing a chorus down his throat, one where she had no control over the notes. With one hand she clawed her way down his chest and wrapped her tiny fingers around his thick, tumescent prick, and with the other she grabbed one of his wrists and pulled his hand down between her legs. She tried to guide his digits up into her famished cunt, but he reached out and caressed her inner thigh instead. He felt the piss coating her smooth skin and massaged her flesh, marinating his fingers in her still-warm urine, before he reached up and plunged two fingers deep inside her.

"OOOAAHH!" Katya let out a moan deep from inside her, a moan so tonally deep Peter couldn't believe it emanated from such a diminutive creature. As Peter's fingers fished around inside his cousin he worried that she might be so small he wouldn't fit inside her. He realized he would find out soon enough as she pulled him down on top of her on the sand. Her upper back hit the beach first and before she could lay flat Peter reached out with one long arm to support himself and with the other he grabbed his cousin's tight ass and held it just above the sand. She was so small Peter held her whole behind in the palm of his hand, her small crack slick with either her piss, her cum, or both. Katya looked up into Peter's eyes with feral anticipation as he suspended her in the air; she spread her legs as wide as they would go and planted her piss-stained feet in the sand. Peter pressed his thick cockhead against her tight, wet opening and pushed in slowly. Katya's mouth grew wide and she drew short, sharp breaths with every inch Peter pushed deeper down into her slick, tight passage until finally his tip docked at her protruding cervical ring.

Peter's first slow thrust into his cousin was enough to send her into her first wild orgasm. She dug her fingernails deep into his back, hanging from him as she slammed her pelvis up into his thick, penetrating prick. He continued to hold her tiny butt in the air, pressing her deeper into him, and she used his strength to lift her feet from the ground and wrap her legs tight around his waist to offer them both further support. In tandem they continued to slam her tiny cunt into his enormous prick, and with every thrust Peter felt his hand painted with more and more of Katya's cum and he had to grip her tighter and tighter to keep from letting her slip out of his grasp. By this point Katya's deep moans echoed across the beach and the fact that she could be so loud in the open doors without drawing unwanted attention only turned Peter on more and made him fuck his cousin harder.

They reached a point where Katya wasn't even thrusting up into her cousin anymore; now her pussy, still violently shaking along with the rest of her body from her second deep orgasm, gripped her cousin at his base and hung from him for dear life. She squeezed her pelvic muscles with ferocious intensity, doing her best to milk him, and Peter felt the familiar pressure building from down in his balls and up through his stem. Peter felt his cock pressing hard against his cousin's cervix, their two tiny holes practically kissing, and for the first time in all of this he worried about protection. Somehow Katya seemed to sense his concern, as she dug into his back more firmly with one hand so she could draw the other back and grab Peter's face, turning his head and forcing his gaze into hers.

"Cum into me, cousin," she demanded with the intensity of a dehydrated woman in the desert demanding water. Peter pressed his lips to hers and obliged, pouring his cum into the deepest depths of her, spraying so much of it inside that her tiny quim couldn't hold it all and it came seeping back out around the base of his cock and down the crack of her ass into his sturdy, supporting hand. Even with the added slickness making it harder to hold onto her he thrust harder and harder into her, having so much to give and wanting her to take all of it. He moaned now into her mouth the way she had moaned into his and she milked him harder and harder until he squeezed out every last ounce into her hungry insides. Still he held her above the beach, even as he began to grow flaccid inside her, not wanting to plant such wet skin in the sand. Both cousins panted heavily, recovering, as they looked in one another's eyes. The arm Peter had used all this time to hold them both in the air was starting to shake; with a last burst of effort and with his cousin's legs still firmly wrapped around him Peter thrust them both back and to the side so that Peter landed on his back in the sand and Katya, her legs unwrapping at just the right moment, landed straddling on top of him, her cum-coated ass and his equally sopping hand untouched by the sand that would have stuck unwanted to them. Katya collapsed into her cousin's firm, resting body and they both lay for several minutes catching their breath and relaxing. Katya took her cousin's wet hand and ran it, palm and back, lazily across the surface of her body—across her breasts and her belly and her back—as they rested.

Even once the cousins caught their breath and recuperated they didn't say anything for a long time, simply staring into each other's eyes and smiling. They hadn't needed language to communicate when they were children and now, so much older and more mature, they found that it still wasn't necessary. Millennia might have passed around Peter and Katya or time could have come to a complete standstill—either way they wouldn't have known. Peter had no idea how much time had passed before Katya mouthed, silently, five syllables to him in Russian: "Ya tebya lyublyu." In that moment Peter recognized that those unspoken words were the five most beautiful syllables in any language on Earth and mouthed them back to her, and she smiled and pressed her body closer onto his.