His Cousin Proposed Something Forbidden on an August Afternoon

Diego was twenty years old and had the experience of a teenager who had spent his entire life trying not to attract attention. Timid to the bone, unable to hold any girl’s gaze for more than three seconds without a blush creeping up to his ears, he arrived at his aunt’s estate at the beginning of July with a small suitcase and even smaller expectations. It would be a quiet summer: books, heat, long silences. A break. What he hadn’t accounted for was that Valeria would still be Valeria.

His cousin was the same age as him but lived in a completely different universe. Her dark hair fell to her shoulders, always a little tousled by the heat, and there was something in the way she moved—direct, without asking permission, as if the space belonged to her by right—that left Diego frozen. Between them there was that easy familiarity built by years of shared summers: the same kitchen, the same old dog, the same lazy afternoons doing nothing. But while Diego’s trust was that of a silent accomplice, Valeria’s was expansive and unfiltered. She took up space and filled everything.

He had spent years looking at her without quite knowing how to look at her. He looked at her tits when she bent down to get something from the fridge, at her ass when she went up the stairs ahead of him, at her thighs when she sat on the terrace in those tiny shorts she wore in summer. And then he hated himself a little for it, because she was his cousin, damn it, and because the nighttime handjobs thinking about her were starting to happen with a frequency that embarrassed him to admit to himself.

***

It happened on a July afternoon so hot that the living room fan could barely move the air. They were on the old sofa, watching a movie whose title neither of them would remember. The scene came on without warning: an actress on the seashore, her swimsuit slowly being pulled down, two seconds of footage that were enough. Two seconds of dark nipples and a чужd hand sliding up her belly. Diego felt the heat rise from his gut—a different heat from the summer, more concrete, more urgent—and before he could do anything, his cock was already hard as a rock inside his shorts, outlining a bulge there was no way to hide. He turned toward the back of the sofa, tried to cross his legs, awkwardly placed a cushion. Too late.

—What are you hiding there, cousin? —Valeria asked. There was no mockery in her voice, only genuine curiosity and a very controlled edge of amusement.

—Nothing. It’s the heat —he muttered, not taking his eyes off the screen.

—Doesn’t look like nothing.

She moved closer. There was a clumsy tussle, more theatrical than dramatic, and the elastic of his shorts gave way. Diego’s cock sprang out, hard, throbbing, the tip already shining with a thread of pre-cum wetting his glans. Diego went rigid, unable to move or say anything useful, while Valeria studied him with an expression that was not exactly mocking, but something more like appraisal.

—Well —she said, in the same tone she might have used to comment on the weather—. Not bad at all. Not bad at all, cousin.

He managed no response. Not a syllable. He only stared at her wide-eyed and dry-throated while Valeria discreetly licked her lips without taking her eyes off his dick.

—You’ve always been a good cousin, Diego. Quiet, polite, never a bother. —She paused briefly, gauging him—. I think you deserve something.

What she did next was so unexpected that it took him several seconds to understand it was really happening. Valeria’s hand took him confidently, her fingers closing around the base of his cock with a firmness that tore a rough groan from him. She started moving slowly, up to the glans and back down to his balls, studying every reaction on his face. Diego clutched the sofa cushion until his knuckles went white. His mind emptied. Only that hand moving, the warmth of her skin, the bored hum of the fan in the background, and the wet, obscene sound made by his cousin’s fist sliding up and down his swollen cock.

—Look how hard he is —Valeria murmured, almost to herself, her gaze fixed on his dick—. All hard for your cousin. Do you like it, Diego? Do you like it when I do it for you?

—Yes —he gasped, unable to look her in the face—. Yes, fuck…

She spat on the glans, a thick thread that slid over the tip and down the inflamed vein, and with that extra lubricant her hand began to move faster. The sound changed, becoming wetter, dirtier. Diego felt his scrotum tighten, his legs start to tremble, an unbearable tingling climbing up from his balls.

—That’s it, cousin, that’s it —Valeria kept going, now with her head tilted toward his ear, whispering with her mouth almost against his lobe—. Come. Come for me. Let it all go, come on.

The pace picked up. She pumped hard, her thumb stroking his frenulum on every upward stroke, twisting her wrist just under the glans in a way that made him see stars. At some point Diego lost control of his own breathing: mouth parted, a long moan he couldn’t hold back no matter how hard he tried, fingers buried in the cushion, hips pushing upward in search of more of that hand. When the end came, it was like falling from a great height and landing unharmed. His cock jerked violently between Valeria’s fingers and began shooting thick ropes of semen that splattered onto his belly, onto her T-shirt, onto her wrist, a few strands even reaching her chin. Valeria didn’t let go. She kept squeezing and massaging calmly, milking every last drop out of him, tearing broken moans from him until Diego could barely breathe properly.

—So much —she commented, looking at the white mess with something close to approval—. You could tell it was needed.

Valeria wiped her hand with a rag she pulled from somewhere, licked a bit that had stuck to her wrist with the tip of her tongue—a quick, curious gesture, like someone testing what something tastes like—, gave him a quick, dry kiss on the cheek—no ceremony, like closing a parenthesis—and went to the bathroom. Diego stayed sunk into the sofa, panting, T-shirt stained and the world spinning faintly.

That night he couldn’t sleep. He stared at the bedroom ceiling and his head kept replaying the same loop: Valeria’s hand pumping his cock, her calm expression, the practical tone with which she’d said “not bad at all” as if she were talking about a piece of furniture, the tongue she’d stuck out to taste his cum. He didn’t understand anything. He didn’t care not to understand anything. He jerked off twice more before dawn, silently, thinking of every detail.

***

Several days passed. The dynamic between them wasn’t the same, though neither of them put the change into words. Diego looked at her differently. She looked at him the same as always, but with something new at the corner of her mouth, a calm, possessive satisfaction he didn’t know how to interpret.

It was a week later when Valeria showed up with a proposal while they were having breakfast in the kitchen.

—My friends want to see you —she said, without preamble.

—See me how? —Diego asked, though he thought he knew the answer.

She looked at him patiently.

—You know how. I told them what you’ve got down there. They want to check it out.

Diego felt the color rise to the roots of his hair. Valeria bit into a toast with insulting calm.

***

The barn was at the back of the property, behind the vegetable garden, and smelled of old wood and dry straw and that specific dust of places that have spent years storing nameless things. Diego went in first, barefoot on the packed dirt floor, and found the two girls waiting, seated on some wooden crates. Camila was slim, dark-skinned, with an easy smile she used without thinking; Nadia was more serious, arms crossed and an expression that could have been skepticism or simply shyness. Both looked him up and down without the slightest attempt at discretion, lingering shamelessly at the level of his crotch.

The arrangement was simple. They would show him their tits. He would jerk off in front of the three of them.

Diego nodded because he couldn’t think of any other answer.

Camila went first. She lifted her shirt in a lazy motion, no bra underneath, and two small, firm tits with dark, already erect nipples were revealed under the striped light in the barn. Nadia hesitated more, bit her lip, but in the end she pulled down her neckline and pulled out two larger breasts, white, with pink nipples that hardened as soon as the cool barn air touched them. Valeria, leaning against a beam with her arms crossed, simply watched the scene like a silent director.

—Come on, cousin —Valeria said—. Your turn now.

Diego pulled down his pants and underwear with clumsy fingers to his ankles. He gripped his cock—half-hard, trembling—and started moving his hand.

But when the moment came—with three pairs of eyes fixed on him beneath the light filtering in stripes through the cracks in the roof—his body didn’t cooperate. The erection faded like sugar in warm water. He froze, pants around his ankles and his cock shriveled and small in his hand, his mind full of noise, not knowing where to look or what to do with his hands.

—Come on, nobody’s going to eat you —Camila said, laughing.

It didn’t help much.

That was when Camila got distracted, stood up, and walked to the back of the barn, where rusty tools hung on the wall. She unhooked something that looked like a large, heavy pair of tongs, dark iron, and came back holding it as if it were a perfectly ordinary object.

—Do you know what this is for? —she asked, with a sweet voice that didn’t fit at all with the tool she was holding.

Diego shook his head.

—For young calves —she explained, completely serenely—. When you have to take off some things they won’t need anymore. —She made the gesture with two fingers. Click.

The silence that followed was a different kind. Diego felt a cold that had nothing to do with the barn’s temperature. What remained of his cock shrank back until it nearly disappeared between his thighs.

—Camila, stop already! —Valeria exclaimed, scandalized and trying not to laugh—. Look what you’ve done!

Camila put the tool on the floor with a long laugh. Nadia bit her lip to keep from laughing.

No one expected what Camila did next. Without anyone asking her to, she shrugged, pulled her shirt over her head, unclasped her bra in one expert motion, took off her jeans along with her underwear, and lay down on the pile of clean straw in the corner. All in less than twenty seconds. She spread her legs and looked at him without the slightest shame.

—Well. For you. Let’s see if this works better.

The air in the barn seemed to change density. Camila had a shaved pussy, with pink lips already slightly parted, a wet sheen between them that made it clear the situation hadn’t left her as indifferent as she pretended. She ran two fingers over her clit slowly, brought them to her mouth, sucked them slowly, and brought them back down, this time sliding them into herself up to the second knuckle. A wet sound came out that echoed in the barn’s silence. Diego stopped thinking in words.

—Look at that, look how your cousin is getting worked up —Camila said, her voice a little rougher now—. Keep going, keep looking.

Valeria, who had been watching the scene with her arms crossed, let out a long sigh, came up to him, and put something in his hand. He looked down: a pair of thin cotton panties, white, with a lace trim around the edge. Hers. Still warm.

—Help —Valeria said in a low voice, with something in her tone that wasn’t exactly a joke. She still had her skirt on, yes, but suddenly it was clear there was nothing underneath.

Diego squeezed them in his fist. He closed his eyes for a moment and inhaled slowly. Clean cotton, a trace of soft, warm perfume, and underneath that, almost imperceptibly, his cousin’s intimate, musky scent, concentrated in the little strip of fabric at the crotch. His cock went hard again in a flash, so fast it almost hurt. When he opened his eyes, he fixed them on Camila’s body—on the pink open pussy, on the fingers moving slowly inside her, on the dark nipples rippling every time she arched—and his hand started moving on his own, without him needing to decide it.

He used Valeria’s panties as a wrap, sliding them over the glans and then winding them around the shaft to jerk off through the fabric. The cotton warmed quickly, his cousin’s smell rising to his nose each time he sped up, mixing with the image of Camila opening her legs wider and wider for him.

—Put them in —Camila murmured from the straw, now with three fingers sinking in and out of her soaking cunt—. Put another one in deeper, imagine you’re inside me, cousin. That you’re fucking me right here, in the straw.

Nadia murmured something he couldn’t make out. She had discreetly unbuttoned her jeans and had her hand inside, her wrist moving in a rhythm that matched Diego’s. Valeria had sat down on a crate and was looking at him with that expression of hers, half analytical, half warm, with one hand under her skirt that made no pretense of hiding. Camila barely moved at all, just watched with narrowed eyes and a fixed half-smile, rubbing her wet fingers against her clit.

—Look at her properly —Valeria said softly, very close to him—. Look how my friend is opening up for you. Look how wet she is. Wouldn’t you lick her clean?

—Yes —Diego gasped—. Fuck, yes.

—Then come thinking about it. Come on my panties, cousin. Soak them.

It didn’t take two minutes. The orgasm hit without warning, abrupt and total, and he had to brace his free hand against the wooden wall to keep from losing his balance. His cock jerked against the fabric and shot one hot burst after another into Valeria’s panties, soaking the white cotton with lumpy stains that spread fast. A thread of semen escaped over the edge and slid between his fingers. Camila moaned too, arching over the straw, and Nadia bit her arm to stay quiet, her hips pushing against her own hand.

The three girls clapped, with that mix of celebration and mockery that, in another circumstance, would have buried him in shame, but that at that moment seemed, inexplicably, like the perfect reaction. Valeria snatched the panties from his hand, examined them with raised eyebrows, and tucked them brazenly into the back pocket of her skirt.

—A souvenir for later —she said, winking at him.

***

The barn door opened with a creak that froze his blood.

His aunt filled the doorway. Arms crossed, jaw clenched, a gaze that swept the whole scene with the coldness of an inspection. Camila naked in the straw. Nadia half-dressed with her hand still inside her pants. Valeria looking as if she’d never broken a plate in her life and with a suspicious bulge in her pocket. Diego with his pants at his knees, his cock still half-soft and dripping white residue onto the dirt floor.

The silence lasted four long seconds.

—What a disgrace —said his aunt. She didn’t shout. There was no need.

What followed was a controlled, methodical whirlwind. First, Camila and Nadia: they got dressed at record speed while receiving a very precise dose of words Diego didn’t even manage to hear because panic filled his ears with white noise. Then his aunt turned to Valeria.

—And you. My own daughter. —A long, deliberate pause—. We’ll talk later.

Finally she reached Diego.

He expected her to grab him by the ear, drag him outside, point at him with her finger. Instead, his aunt extended her hand with ferocious determination, took what she found nearest—which was, precisely, what was hanging between his legs—and pulled without mercy.

—Aunt! —Diego howled, doubling over—. That hurts!

—It hurts? Good. So you remember it.

From the patio came the unmistakable sound of someone trying not to laugh out loud and failing spectacularly.

***

That night, dinner was silent. The plates on the table, the sound of cutlery against china, his aunt seated at the head watching the two young people over the rim of her glass. Before getting up to clear the table, she set the cutlery down on the tablecloth and spoke with the calm of someone who doesn’t need to raise her voice to be heard.

—What happened this afternoon does not happen again under this roof. Understood?

Valeria and Diego nodded in unison, staring at their plates.

—Good. To bed.

Diego went up to his room with a dull, stubborn ache lodged in his groin that promised to last several days. He lay down on the bed, arms stretched out, staring at the chipped white ceiling, listening to the crickets outside and the periodic creak of the old house settling into the cool night.

Minutes passed.

And then, when the pain eased enough for him to breathe without tension, a smile settled on his face. Big. Involuntary. Absolutely impossible to contain.

The summer wasn’t over yet.