My Cousin Gail

[neerathemall]

My Cousin Gail

[neerathemall]

My grandfather was an engineer. A very proud engineer. He took a dim view of others messing with things of which they had only limited knowledge. 'Every man to his trade and the cows will be well kept,' he used to say.

My grandfather lived in an era when you moved from apprentice to journeyman to master. All within the same trade. I don't think he would have approved of my journey. I read English during my first year at university. Then I spent a year reading urban geography, and a further three years reading economics. And then, with my university days behind me, I set up a business buying, restoring, and on-selling classic motorcars. (I left looking after the cows to my cousin Tom.)

My friend Amelia (who is a bit of a greenie) worries about what will happen to me post fossil fuel, 'when the latter-day Mr Toads can no longer terrorize the countryside with their poison-belching twelve-cylinder monsters'.

'That day is still a long way off,' I tell her. 'It is now almost one hundred years since anyone built a coal-fired steam locomotive. And yet, in every corner of this fair land, there are still steam locomotives being lovingly rebuilt, maintained, and driven.'

It is in search of a relatively modest twelve-cylinder monster, a red Ferrari Testarossa, that I am towing my low loader down the M4 to Newport, Wales. In our email exchanges, the current owner has informed me that the car is 'in excellent condition'. It turns out to be rather tired. But that's OK. Providing we can reach a sensible understanding on the price, I can return it to rude good health and turn a profit.

I like to think that my years studying economics were not wasted. If nothing else, they taught me that favourable outcomes are often the result of timing. Precisely the same action, taken a little earlier or a little later, can often produce very different outcomes.

The Ferrari's owner gives me his bottom line. 'That's it,' he tells me. 'That's as low as I'm prepared to go.'

I nod. 'The thing about Testarossas,' I tell him, 'is that they are popular. There were lots of them built. About ten thousand, I believe. And there are still lots of them around. So, someone wanting to buy a Testarossa has a fair bit of choice.' I walk around the car. Slowly. I'm not in any hurry. I open the driver's door and close it again, noting the slightly-out-of-alignment clunk.

'If I pay too much,' I tell him, 'I can't afford to spend what I probably should do on restoration. And so the car immediately becomes just another Testarossa. And there aren't too many collectors out there looking for "just another Testarossa".'

There are some kids playing just along the street. I put the car out of my mind and listen to the kids for a couple of minutes.

'I suppose I could come down a little bit,' the fellow says. 'You know ... just a little bit.'

'Have you thought about getting it restored yourself?' I ask. 'Get it into tip top condition, and then put it on the market.'

'I don't really have the time,' the chap says.

I nod again. 'No. Even with everything lined up, it's not a quick process. And if you're trying to do it yourself ... in your spare time ...'

I walk around the car again. Slowly. When I reach the right rear wheel, I pause and check the tread depth on the 280/45 VR Michelin tyre. The owner waits for me to say something. But I don't. I continue my circumnavigation.

'Good name, Testarossa,' I say. 'The Americans go for butch names. Mustang. And Stingray. And Viper. But the Italians go for Testarossa. Redhead. Sex on wheels. Especially if you like redheads.'

'OK, why don't you make me an offer,' the chap says.

I walk slowly around the car for a third time. 'OK,' I say. 'Here's what I can go to. But not a penny more.' And I hit him with a number.

He doesn't look happy. But he nods. 'OK,' he says.

We shake hands and I load the car onto my trailer.

Since Newport is only ten or so miles from Cardiff - and it is getting close to lunchtime - I phone my aunt, Bethan, to see if she feels like a visitor. Happily, she does. Fortunately she lives on the outskirts of Cardiff, so I am able to find a space to park my rig.

'What brings you to Wales?' she asks as I follow her into her kitchen.

'A redhead.'

She turns, half smiles and half frowns.

'An Italian redhead,' I say. 'A Ferrari Testarossa. A chap in Newport decided to take the money and run.'

Aunt Bethan is my late mother's younger sister. They were 'the girls' in a family with four brothers.

'Did Gail phone you?' Beth asks.

'No. Was she going to?' Gail is my cousin. My younger cousin. Quite a bit younger. I think I was probably about 15 by the time that Gail was born.

'She has to go up to London for some course or other. She was going to phone you. See if you wanted to catch up for a drink or something.'

'I'd love to. When is she coming?'

'She's getting the train this afternoon.'

'She can come back with me. Does she have somewhere to stay.'

'I think she's planning to sleep on the couch at an old school friend's place.'

'No need for that,' I say. 'There's spare bed at my place.'

'I said that she should phone you,' Beth says. 'But she said she didn't want to be a bother.'

'No bother,' I tell Beth.

And then Gail arrives. 'Oh, hello,' she says. 'I was going to phone you.'

'Yes. Beth just said. She says that you need to come up to London. I'm going back this afternoon. You can come with me if you like. I also have a spare bed.'

'Oh ... well ... I ...'

'More comfortable that dossing down on someone's couch,' I say.

Gail has always been a bit of a looker. And she seems to be getting better as she gets older.

'Well ... umm ... if you're sure,' she says.

'Positive.'

In the time that it has taken me to drive from Newport to Cardiff, and find a parking space, Beth has whipped up a batch of cheese scones. They are delicious. Doughy yet light. Tangy. Cheesy. With just a hint of cayenne. Yes, delicious.

With the right car, the journey from Cardiff to London is probably just a smidgen over two hours. But, towing the low loader with the Ferrari on board, it will probably take us two and a half hours. Maybe a little more.

'So ... tell me about the course,' I say to Gail. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see that she is frowning slightly.

'It's, umm, basically about how to sell property,' she says.

'Property? You mean houses? I thought that was what you already did.'

She nods. 'Yes. I do. But this is not just ordinary houses. Not your everyday terrace houses. Not neo-Georgian new builds. This is big houses. Smart houses. You know ... twelve bedrooms and stabling for half a dozen horses.'

'Ah. A-lister houses. Football stars. Captains of industry.'

[neerathemall]

I guess so,' she says. 'According to Bryn, that's where the money is.'

'For some reason, I thought that people handling those sort of sales would tend to be older,' I say.

'They mainly are. But Bryn - my boss - thinks that some of the older buyers and sellers might go for a younger agent. I'm not sure why he thinks that.'

'Make them feel that they are in charge?' I suggest. I can also see that Bryn might be looking at Gail as ground bait. A good-looking young woman. Legs that go all the way up to the top floor. Just a thought.

'Yeah. Maybe.'

'Are you enjoying being an estate agent?' I ask. 'Because you studied law, didn't you?'

'I did. But I found it was too stressful.'

'And being an estate agent isn't stressful?' I say. 'You surprise me.'

Gail thinks for a moment or two, and then she say: 'Well ... it is. It can be. But in a different kind of way. The buyers are usually quite nice. The sellers can be a bit difficult. From time to time. But the real bitches are the other agents.'

Yes. I had known one or two. The ones I had known certainly weren't the type to take prisoners.

The traffic heading into London on the M4 is surprisingly light and, despite my earlier concerns, we are pulling up outside the workshop even before the boys and girls have had a chance to sneak off for the afternoon.

'What we got?' Franco asks. Franco is my chief technician. He has a soft spot for Ferraris. In his younger days, he worked at Maranello.

'I think it's OK,' I tell him. 'Tired. But OK. I shall be interested to hear what you think. Oh ... and this is Gail. Gail is my cousin.'

Franco smiles at Gail and nods. 'I give it the ...' And he mimes drawing a circle and then making a three-column list: What we must do; what we should do; what we could do.

'You're the expert, Franco,' I tell him. 'I leave it in your capable hands. But now, unless there is anything urgent, I should take my cousin home and let her get organised.'

Franco smiles again. I can almost hear his brain saying: 'Cousin? Yeah, yeah. Pull the other one.'

I think about taking the little X1/9 we have just finished restoring. But then I remember that I have an E-type in the garage and I don't really want to leave the X1/9 on the street overnight. 'We'll take the Tube,' I tell Gail. 'It's only three stops.' I take her bag, and we head off to the White City Tube station.

When we get to my place, I show Gail to the spare room and tell her to make herself at home. 'I shall return,' I tell her. And I head off in search of something simple for supper. What do I feel like? What does Gail eat? I should have asked.

I take a risk with a thick slice of bone-in ribeye steak. I also buy some green beans and some fresh thyme and rosemary. I know that I have polenta in the pantry and parmesan in the fridge. I will make my take on Bistecca alla Fiorentina with polenta sticks and Tuscan-style green beans.

'I hope that you're not a vegetarian,' I say when I get home again.

Gail smiles and shakes her head.

I pour us each a glass of Italian red and then Gail watches as I make my polenta and parmesan 'porridge' and then spread it on a tray to cool. 'Is that it?' she asks.

'Pretty much,' I tell her. 'When it's cool, we cut it into sticks and then lightly fry them.'

Supper works out pretty well. And I'm pleased to catch up with cousin Gail. In fact, I'm even more pleased to catch up with Gail than I was to get my hands on the Testarossa. Although I am just a little surprised that such a bright (and attractive) girl has chosen selling houses for a career. But then who am I to question such things? I trained to be an economist and now I'm a sort of car dealer.

Gail's course is being held at Lancaster Gate so, in the morning, I suggest that she gets a cab. 'Once you get your bearings,' I say, 'it's probably just as easy to take the Tube. But for today ... Don't want to be late.'

By mid-morning, Franco and I have agreed on a plan for the Testarossa. The mechanicals are all sound. The driver's door needs a bit of adjustment. The bodywork needs a couple of cosmetic touches. And we decide to get the seats reupholstered. After that, and a full tune, it should be ready to go to a new home.

I leave Franco and his team to get on with their work, and I go and get the keys to a 1961 Jaguar XK150 Drophead Coupé that I think we may have sold to a collector in Chalfont St Giles. As I head north, I can't help but reflect on the fact that the day is precisely the kind of day for which the ragtop was designed. Yes, it would be nice if the roads weren't quite so clogged with lorries and the like, but it is still a very pleasant drive.

Gilbert, the collector, came to see the XK150 when we were still in the process of restoring it, and he is delighted with the finished product. 'Yes,' he tells me (not for the first time), 'I've been looking for one of these for a few years now.' He already owns a 1972 E-type Series 3 roadster and a 1981 XJ-S H E. 'I don't suppose you'd consider a '74 911 - in need of some TLC - in part exchange,' he says.

'I might do,' I tell him. 'Does it come with all four wheels?'

He laughs. 'And a couple to spare,' he says. 'I think I'm going to go all British. If I clear some space in the garage, perhaps I can get myself a McLaren next.'

When I get back to the flat that evening, Gail is already there. 'Ah. How was it?' I ask. 'How was the course?'

Gail frowns slightly. 'Umm ... I'm not sure,' she says. 'Not sure.'

'Oh? Perhaps a glass of wine might help you to decide,' I say. 'Red or white?'

But even that seems to be a difficult decision, so I grab a bottle of New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc from the fridge and pour a glass for each of us. 'Here's to wealthy car collectors,' I say.

'Oh? Have you sold that Ferrari already?'

'No, no. But I sold a fully-restored Jaguar. An XK150. And I acquired a '74 Porsche at a knockdown price. Well ... it was in part exchange for the Jag. But it will turn a good profit. There always seems to be a market for pre-loved Porsches.'

Gail nodded. But she still seemed to be worried about something.

As we neared the lower reaches of our wine glasses, I suggested that we might stroll along to Chutney Charlie's. 'Street food,' I tell Gail. 'South Asian. A bit of this and a bit or that. Tasty. What do you think?'

'Sounds good,' she says.

It's still relatively early and we have no trouble in getting a table. We order some food, and I suggest that we switch to one of Chutney Charlie's Asian-inspired craft beers. 'A chilled white wine is OK,' I tell Gail. 'A Viognier. Dry Riesling. But a light beer just seems to work better.'

'OK,' she says.

I can't remember how we get back to the subject of cars. But, as we nibble and sip, I find myself trying to explain to Gail the differences between the various Porsche 911s (which Gail thinks all look the same) from their introduction in the mid-60s, through to the switch from air-cooled to water-cooled in 1999, and on to the present day 911s, designated the 992 series.

'They're not nice,' Gail suddenly blurts out.

'Oh? You don't like Porches?'

'The people on the course,' she says. 'They're horrible. They're all bullies.'

I wait for her to say something else. But she doesn't. 'Horrible to you?' I ask.

'Horrible to me. Horrible to each other. Just horrible. And Justin, the guy who's running the course, just keeps winding them up. Getting them to be even more aggressive. Even meaner. "Screw the buyers, screw the sellers," he says. "Nice guys come last. Smile if you must, but keep your eyes on the prize. Focus on the commission."'

'Sounds a real charmer,' I say.

'And then he asked me why I think Bryn has spent money sending me on the course. I told him that perhaps Bryn thinks that I have potential. He says: "No. Silly girl. It's because you are sex on a stick. You're ground bait. Just remember that."'

I try not to laugh. It was one of the thoughts that briefly crossed my mind as we were driving up from Cardiff. 'So ... what's your plan?' I ask.

'I don't know.'

And it seems that Gail really doesn't know. And, having got it out onto the table, she doesn't even seem to want to talk about it.

When we leave the restaurant, I suggest that we stroll home 'the long way'. When I have things on my mind, I find a walk can sometimes be very helpful. Perhaps a walk will work for Gail too.

The following morning, Gail still seems worried.

'How did we sleep?' I ask.

[neerathemall]

'Not well. I think they may find me a bit crotchety today.' And she finally forces a smile. 'They may find me as mean towards them as they are towards me.'

That's when I, too, smile. 'I look forward to hearing all about it this evening,' I say.

I spend the first part of my morning searching various websites for new stock - or at least for new old stock. We've been selling quite a few cars lately. We need to fill a few gaps in the inventory.

I know from experience that few people ever post their lowest price. But I'm still surprised by what some people are asking. Among the new listings, I spot a BMW 635CSi. The 'sharknose' 635 is a nice car. But unless it has been well cared for, it can be expensive to restore. I fire off an email and, half an hour later, I get a reply. It turns out that the car is only just down in Wimbledon. The owner offers to bring it up for me to look at. 'Sometime around mid-afternoon?' he suggests.

I fire back a reply: 'Look forward to it.'

Aside from the BMW, I see that there is a 1960 MGA 1600 Mark II being offered for far too much money. I bookmark the site. If it's still there in another week or so - and I suspect that it will be - I might open negotiations.

Lawrence, the chap with the BMW 635, turns up just before three. We have a bit of a chat, and then I get him to drive the car into the workshop where I put it up on the hoist and take a look at the underside with an inspection lamp. 'These are nice cars, but they're a bit famous for their rust,' I say.

Lawrence smiles. Somewhat sheepishly. I get the impression that I'm not telling him anything that he doesn't already know.

'Repaired, it will be better than new,' I tell him. 'But there's a fair bit of cost before we get to that stage.'

Franco studies the logbook and then gives the motor the once over. 'It's going to need a partial rebuild,' Franco says. 'Nothing too major. But a lot of small things. Quite a few parts are coming to the end of their life.'

Lawrence nods. Once again, I get the feeling that Franco is not telling him anything he doesn't already know.

'It will need a complete respray,' I say. 'The driver's seat needs reupholstering. And it'll need new rubber all round. But it can definitely be rescued.' I offer him a little over half what he has it advertised for and watch as his face slumps.

'You couldn't do a little more?' he says.

'They're not cheap cars to restore,' I tell him. 'It is an elegant car. And, restored, it will be a joy to drive. I can go another seven-fifty,' I say. 'But that's the absolute tops.'

'A thousand?'

I shake my head. 'Seven-fifty.'

'OK,' he says, eventually. 'I've probably had my money's worth out of it.' And we shake hands.

Satisfied with my afternoon's work, I head home early. Gail is already there. And she has a half-empty wine glass in front of her.

'I stopped off at the off licence,' she says.

'Oh? Are we celebrating? And, if so, what are we celebrating?'

'The first day of the rest of my life,' she says. 'I walked out.'

'Oh? And how did that go down?' I ask.

'Not well,' Gail says. 'Bullies don't like it when you tell them that they're bullies.' And she almost smiles.

I nod. She does have a point.

'Actually, I think this wine is off,' she says.

I pick up her glass and hold it to my nose. Gail is not wrong. An unpleasant waft of musty wet wool assaults my nostrils. 'I think this bottle may have been sitting in the sun somewhere,' I say. 'Why don't we wander down to the pub? It sounds like you have had enough disappointment for one day.'

The Feathers has been recently 'rediscovered'. Which is both good and bad. It is good that, for the time being at least, it is now safe from joining the growing list of former pubs. But it is not so good (from my point of view) that, on a Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, it tends to be packed to gunwales. We find ourselves an empty square metre of floorspace and, leaving Gail to 'guard our territory', I push my way up to the bar to get some drinks.

'So,' I say, when I return, 'what pushed you over the edge?'

Gail frowns. 'I think it was just more of the same,' she says eventually. 'More bullying. More nastiness. More me, me, me - and fuck you.'

'Not exactly your style,' I say.

'I hope not.' And then she says: 'I think I need to find something else to do. I don't think I'm cut out for selling houses. Certainly not to the rich and famous. I'm not sure that I'm cut out for selling anything.'

'You're not tempted to have another shot at the law?' I say.

Gail shakes her head. 'All the interesting stuff happens in the big firms, and they're also full of bullies. How did you end up with your job?' she asks.

[neerathemall]

We... umm... probably shouldn't have done that,' I tell Gail as, the deed done, we lie in each other's arms.
'Oh? You didn't like it?'
I laugh. 'I think you know very well the answer to that. But I'm your cousin. You're my cousin. We're... well... cousins.'
Gail nods and smiles. 'Albert and Victoria were cousins,' she says. 'People sometimes forget that. And Mr and Mrs Charles Darwin. And a few others too.'
I laugh again. 'Yes. But, also, I'm old. Well... I'm older than you, that's for sure.'
'Age is just a number,' she says. 'And, anyway, you're only as old as the woman you feel.' And she rolls onto her back, and takes my hand and places it once more at her warm and wet entrance.
I know that I should take my hand away before things have a chance to develop any further. But I can't. And I don't. 'Someone seems to spilt something slippery,' I say.
Gail nods. 'Yes. My horse. My stallion. The one that I was riding. I'm guessing that it may have been a while since he had been taken for a good hard ride. Perhaps he had been saving it up. Of course, I could be wrong.'
'Umm... no. You're probably right. In fact, yes, I'm sure that you are,' I say. I use my index finger to spread the slippery cum across her butterfly-like labia and then turn my attention to her still swollen clitoris.
'Mmm... oh, yes. Right there,' she says.
I am pretty sure that one part of my brain has wandered off somewhere to quietly contemplate the rights and wrongs of what we are doing. But the other half is just getting on with it.
'I have cum dribbling down to my arsehole,' Gail says after a moment or two. And she giggles.
'Are you sure?'
'Oh, yes. Well... pretty sure,' she says. 'It certainly feels like it. But you could perhaps check. If you'd like to.'
I hadn't picked Gail for a backdoor girl. But it seemed that she was. And the part of my brain that had not wandered off to consider important questions did not need a second invitation. 'Perhaps I should,' I tell her. 'Just to be sure.'
I slide my finger off her plump clit and head south between her thighs. Just slowly. Enjoying her flappy cunt lips along the way. Pausing at the entrance to her hot hole. And then continuing on. And, yes, she was right: some of my slippery cum had dribbled down and pooled at the entrance to her arsehole. 'You are right,' I say. 'This stuff certainly gets around.'
I trace my finger around her arsehole and feel it opening up slightly to welcome me. And then Gail pushes down on my finger and its tip disappears inside her tight tunnel.
'Nice,' she says. Any lingering doubts that she is a backdoor girl are well and truly put to rest.
I withdraw my fingertip and then slip it back in. This time up to my first knuckle. And then some more.
'Mmm. That feels so good,' Gail says.
Then, keeping my fingertip in her arsehole, I reach up with my thumb and resume massaging Gail's clit.
Gail shudders and then giggles. 'Oh, yes!' she says.
I keep it up for a few minutes and then I feel Gail's hand on my hardening cock. 'I think it's time for you to fuck my arse,' she says. 'I think that you might like that.'
'You could be right,' I say. 'But would it be a good idea?'
'What do you think?' she asks.

[neerathemall]

I'm not sure that any of this is a good idea,' I tell her. 'But, to be honest, I'm rather past caring.'

Gail laughs and gets onto her hands and knees.

As most people know, penises -- cocks -- come in a wide variety of shapes and sizes. Mine is only of average dimensions -- which, as far as I'm concerned, is just fine. But I have been blessed in the shape department. The head of my cock is a bit like a blunt arrow; perfect for nosing its way into tight places.

I reacquaint the tip of my cock with some of the slippery cum that it recently ejaculated and line it up with Gail's rather attractive arsehole. And then, firmly but gently, I push. And Gail pushes back. Yes, Gail is definitely a backdoor girl.

When I awake the next morning, the part of my brain that went off to think about whether having sex with my sexy, younger cousin was a good idea or not, seems to have returned. The news is not good. On the whole, the part-brain tells me, it's probably not a good idea. In fact, not a good idea at all. Too many potential complications. However, what is done is done and cannot be undone. So... just make sure there is not a second time, it tells me.

Gail greets me with a soft kiss. 'Are you OK?' she asks.

'I think so,' I tell her. 'Although I might need to mend my ways. I think I may have strayed into forbidden territory last night.'

'Oh? Did you not have fun? You seemed to be having fun.'

'Lots of fun,' I tell her. 'But that doesn't mean that what I did was right.'

Gail laughs. And then she reaches for my cock.

'Uh-uh,' I say. 'I need to get over to the showroom. Saturdays are primetime for walk-ins.'

'It won't take long,' Gail says. 'You're growing already.'

And, no, it doesn't take long. So much for not getting tempted a second time.

'So... what are your plans for this morning?' I ask Gail.

For a moment or two, she just frowns. And then she says: 'I really should head back down to Cardiff. But, to be honest, I don't really feel like crawling back with my tail between my legs. I think I need to make a new plan first. Work out what I might do next.'

'And do you have something in mind?' I ask.

'Not really. I didn't realise that I was going to need a Plan B. I don't suppose that I could stay here for a couple of days. Just while I sort out my options.'

'Yeah. Of course,' I tell her. 'Stay as long as you want. As long as you need. But right now, I need to have a shower and get myself across to the showroom.'

'Can I come with you?' Gail asks.

'Umm... yeah. If you'd like to. Although I should warn you: some days it can be a bit boring. On the other hand: other days it can be a bit of fun. Well... interesting, anyway.'

And so Gail and I get ourselves sorted and head over to the showroom.

Daniel, my finance man, has arrived already and he has the coffee on. I introduce Gail and Daniel to each other and then I select three cars -- a Porsche 928, a Ferrari Dino 246GT, and Datsun 240Z -- to partially nudge out onto the small forecourt.

'The little car on the end is very pretty,' Gail says.

'A '72 Datsun 240Z. The first of the Nissan Z cars. And, yes, it is pretty, isn't it? And a lot of fun for the money. Of course, if I was looking for a track-day car, and I had a few more pennies to spend, I'd probably be tempted by a 300ZX Twin Turbo. But as a touch of classic class... yeah... a 240Z would be hard to ignore. I don't think that one will be hanging around for long.'

I have barely had a chance to swallow my first mouthful of coffee before a chap arrives and starts walking around the Dino. 'He just got out of that late model Audi across the road,' I mutter to Gail. 'So... my guess is that he likes cars, and this isn't just a casual visit.' I walk out and greet him.

'I used to have one of these,' the chap tells me. 'Sort of wish I'd hung on to it now.' And he laughs.

'I know the feeling,' I tell him. 'Are you a collector?'

He shakes his head. 'Just looking for a birthday present for my wife.'

'Lucky woman,' I say.

'She's had a rough couple of years. I though a new toy might help.'

I nod. 'This one has been completely rebuilt,' I tell him. 'My chief technician did his apprenticeship at Ferrari. He has a bit of a soft spot for the prancing horse.' I open the driver's door so that the potential buyer can see that the interior has also had the full treatment. 'I'm Jeremy, by the way,' I tell him.

'Howard,' he says. 'Howard Springbrook. I guess the question I have to ask myself is how practical will this little lady be just puttering around Chalfont St Giles?'

'Chalfont St Giles? I was up there just a few days ago,' I tell him. 'My guess is that it will certainly turn a few heads.'

And then Howard turns and looks at the Datsun.

'240Z,' I say. 'The first of Nissan's Z cars. Again it's had a total rebuild.'

He walks, slowly, around the car and, when he arrives at the driver's door, I open it. He doesn't need a second invitation and, moments later, he is sitting in the driver's seat, looking around the interior, nodding and smiling. And then, still sitting in the Datsun, he looks back at the Dino. 'I remember when the first Zs came out,' he tells me. 'I think everyone was a bit surprised at how good they were. You know. Japanese cars didn't have a great reputation back then.'

'That's fifty years ago,' I tell him. A bit before my time. But, yes, I gather the quality and the performance were both a bit of a surprise.'

'Hmm. Decisions, decisions,' he says. 'In my mind I was thinking Ferrari. But now I'm having second thoughts.'

Well, he's going to buy one of them, I tell myself. And if it's going to be his wife's puttering car, the Datsun might be the better choice. 'Switch it on and pop the bonnet,' I suggest.

Again, he doesn't hesitate.

[neerathemall]

The little Datsun's six-cylinder 2.4 litre engine breaks into a purr.

'Take it around the block,' I tell Howard. 'Probably a bit more traffic than Chalfont St Giles, but it'll give you an idea.'

'Yeah. Thank you,' he says. 'Oh... that's my Audi across the road. Am I likely to run foul of the parking wardens?'

'You should be OK,' I tell him. 'But leave me your keys. We'll keep an eye on it for you.'

'Thanks,' he says.

'Sale, Miss Jones,' I say to Gail as Howard nudges the Datsun out into the Saturday morning traffic.

'Has he bought it?' she says. 'Just like that?'

'Not quite. But he will.'

Howard returns about 20 minutes later.

'How was it?' I ask.

'Nice,' he says. 'But I think that Miranda is going to want a rather more up-to-date entertainment system. I'm not sure that she still has too many of her old cassette tapes.'

'We can sort something,' I tell him.

'In that case, we just need to talk about the price,' he says.

'Aww. And just when I was getting to like you,' I tell him. 'Let's go and find the paperwork.'

At least he has the good grace to laugh.

As it turns out, we have a pretty good Saturday. In addition to selling the 240Z to Howard, we also sell a Mini Cooper S to a chap who wants to recapture his youth, and we buy a BMW E36 series M3 Cabriolet that the owner has long since fallen out of love with.

'Well... it's going to need some work,' I tell him.

'Yeah. I know. But I'm ready to move on.'

Actually, the car just needs a bit of a tidy up. But, if he's ready to move on, who am I to stand in his way?

'Selling cars looks a lot more fun that selling houses,' Gail says, as we head back to my place at the end of the day.

'Does it?' I say. 'Yes. I suppose it's fun on a day like today. When everyone comes away feeling that they've had a win.'

'Are there days when people don't feel that they've had a win?'

'Mmm... possibly a few,' I tell her. 'Not many. In fact, not many at all.'

When we get home, Gail and I get out of our suits and into something a little more casual, and I find a chilled bottle of Pinot Grigio.

'Just as a matter of interest,' Gail says, 'did you make money on both of those cars today?'

'Oh, yes. Probably not as much as you would have made from selling a couple of moderately expensive houses. But how often do you sell a couple of decent-priced houses in less than three hours? And we still have the M3. That should turn a handy margin.'

I have some langoustines in the freezer. I take them out; prep a loaf of garlic bread; and then prep a Greek(ish) salad (tomatoes, cucumbers, capsicum, red onions, feta, plump black olives, oregano, a slosh of red wine vinegar and some olive oil, salt and pepper). And then it is time to fire up the barbeque.

'Perhaps I should sell cars,' Gail says, as we sip our wine and wait for the grill to come up to temperature.

'Do you like cars?'

'Would I need to?'

'I think it helps,' I tell her. 'Do you like houses?'

'Not especially. Well... not the sort of houses that I normally get to sell, anyway.'

'Maybe that's the problem,' I say.

Gail frowns. But then she says: 'No. I think it's just the system. The attitude. The way you're supposed to see both the sellers and buyers as know-nothing mugs. The way you are supposed to mislead one or the other. Sometimes both. Sacrifice anything and everything in pursuit of the commission.'

'Perhaps you just picked the wrong agency,' I say.

'I think they're all, to a greater or lesser extent, a bit like that,' Gail says. 'It just seems to be the way that it works.'

It has finally reached the time of the year when the sun has moved around far enough -- and for long enough -- to warm the little patio, and so that is where we eat. The langoustines are succulent and the salad complements them perfectly.

'This is nice,' Gail says, gesturing with her hand to include both of us and the small garden.

'It is,' I say. And my brain starts having another argument with itself. One half is telling me that I'm just having a pleasant little supper with my younger cousin. Move along, folks. Nothing to see here. The other half is telling me that I'm having a hot date with a very sexy woman, a hot date that can only end in one way. I will need to be careful. I will need to be very careful.

'After spending a few days with you, I'm starting to wonder why everybody rushes to buy new cars,' Gail says. 'Whey don't we all just buy classic cars?'

I laugh. 'I think it depends on what you want from a car,' I say. 'Modern cars tend offer a lot more by way of creature comforts. And, on the whole, they are probably more reliable. But, that said, most of them lack soul. Well... I think so, anyway. I suppose it's a bit like buying a Georgian terrace house versus buying a new-build with all mod cons.'

Gail nods.

For the next hour or so, we sip our wine and talk about everything and nothing. And then we decide it is time to head inside. We gather up the dishes, take them inside, and load them into the dishwasher. And then Gail kisses me. 'You liked that,' my brain tells me. 'You liked it a lot.' My good intentions are melting faster than a block of ice on a hot griddle pan.

Gail smiles, as if she too has heard my brain. 'It's umm... a bit warm, isn't it,' she says. And, keeping her eyes firmly on mine, she crosses her arms and slowly removes her sweatshirt. 'There. Better.' I'm not sure whether 'better' is a question -- 'Is that better?' -- or a statement -- 'Yes, that's better'. And then she begins to unbutton her jeans. And, as she steps out of both her jeans and her knickers, she announces that it is now my turn. 'Perhaps I could give you a hand,' she suggests.

I am pleased that she makes no attempt to remove her bra. There is something -- I'm not sure what -- particularly sexy about a woman wearing just a bra. And then, almost before I know it, I am wearing just my polo shirt. We kiss again, and then Gail looks around the kitchen. 'Perhaps the table,' she says. 'I think that's about the right height.' And she perches herself on the edge and spreads her thighs. She is not wrong. The sturdy farmhouse table is exactly the right height. But first, I crouch down and go to work with my tongue.

'Oh, god, yes,' Gail says. 'That is one educated tongue you have.'

And then it is time for the main event. My cock has long since given up listening to the cautious part of my brain. I run my eager cockhead along the length of Gail's now-slick cuntal valley and then place it at the entrance to her wet and warm opening. 'Ready?' I say.

'Ready.'

'Are you sure?'

'Don't tease,' she says.

'I just wanted to make sure that you were sure,' I tell her.

But she isn't listening. She thrusts forward -- just an inch or so -- but it is all it takes to engulf my hovering cockhead. 'Oh, fuck, yes!' she says. She says it softly. But it is quite loud enough to drown out the censorious voice from the disapproving part of my brain. Thank goodness.

[neerathemall]

[neerathemall]

02

[neerathemall]

'We... umm... probably shouldn't have done that,' I tell Gail as, the deed done, we lie in each other's arms.

'Oh? You didn't like it?'

I laugh. 'I think you know very well the answer to that. But I'm your cousin. You're my cousin. We're... well... cousins.'

Gail nods and smiles. 'Albert and Victoria were cousins,' she says. 'People sometimes forget that. And Mr and Mrs Charles Darwin. And a few others too.'

I laugh again. 'Yes. But, also, I'm old. Well... I'm older than you, that's for sure.'

'Age is just a number,' she says. 'And, anyway, you're only as old as the woman you feel.' And she rolls onto her back, and takes my hand and places it once more at her warm and wet entrance.

I know that I should take my hand away before things have a chance to develop any further. But I can't. And I don't. 'Someone seems to spilt something slippery,' I say.

Gail nods. 'Yes. My horse. My stallion. The one that I was riding. I'm guessing that it may have been a while since he had been taken for a good hard ride. Perhaps he had been saving it up. Of course, I could be wrong.'

'Umm... no. You're probably right. In fact, yes, I'm sure that you are,' I say. I use my index finger to spread the slippery cum across her butterfly-like labia and then turn my attention to her still swollen clitoris.

'Mmm... oh, yes. Right there,' she says.

I am pretty sure that one part of my brain has wandered off somewhere to quietly contemplate the rights and wrongs of what we are doing. But the other half is just getting on with it.

'I have cum dribbling down to my arsehole,' Gail says after a moment or two. And she giggles.

'Are you sure?'

'Oh, yes. Well... pretty sure,' she says. 'It certainly feels like it. But you could perhaps check. If you'd like to.'

I hadn't picked Gail for a backdoor girl. But it seemed that she was. And the part of my brain that had not wandered off to consider important questions did not need a second invitation. 'Perhaps I should,' I tell her. 'Just to be sure.'

I slide my finger off her plump clit and head south between her thighs. Just slowly. Enjoying her flappy cunt lips along the way. Pausing at the entrance to her hot hole. And then continuing on. And, yes, she was right: some of my slippery cum had dribbled down and pooled at the entrance to her arsehole. 'You are right,' I say. 'This stuff certainly gets around.'

I trace my finger around her arsehole and feel it opening up slightly to welcome me. And then Gail pushes down on my finger and its tip disappears inside her tight tunnel.

'Nice,' she says. Any lingering doubts that she is a backdoor girl are well and truly put to rest.

I withdraw my fingertip and then slip it back in. This time up to my first knuckle. And then some more.

'Mmm. That feels so good,' Gail says.

Then, keeping my fingertip in her arsehole, I reach up with my thumb and resume massaging Gail's clit.

Gail shudders and then giggles. 'Oh, yes!' she says.

I keep it up for a few minutes and then I feel Gail's hand on my hardening cock. 'I think it's time for you to fuck my arse,' she says. 'I think that you might like that.'

'You could be right,' I say. 'But would it be a good idea?'

'What do you think?' she asks.

'I'm not sure that any of this is a good idea,' I tell her. 'But, to be honest, I'm rather past caring.'

Gail laughs and gets onto her hands and knees.

As most people know, penises -- cocks -- come in a wide variety of shapes and sizes. Mine is only of average dimensions -- which, as far as I'm concerned, is just fine. But I have been blessed in the shape department. The head of my cock is a bit like a blunt arrow; perfect for nosing its way into tight places.

I reacquaint the tip of my cock with some of the slippery cum that it recently ejaculated and line it up with Gail's rather attractive arsehole. And then, firmly but gently, I push. And Gail pushes back. Yes, Gail is definitely a backdoor girl.

When I awake the next morning, the part of my brain that went off to think about whether having sex with my sexy, younger cousin was a good idea or not, seems to have returned. The news is not good. On the whole, the part-brain tells me, it's probably not a good idea. In fact, not a good idea at all. Too many potential complications. However, what is done is done and cannot be undone. So... just make sure there is not a second time, it tells me.

Gail greets me with a soft kiss. 'Are you OK?' she asks.

'I think so,' I tell her. 'Although I might need to mend my ways. I think I may have strayed into forbidden territory last night.'

[neerathemall]

'Oh? Did you not have fun? You seemed to be having fun.'

'Lots of fun,' I tell her. 'But that doesn't mean that what I did was right.'

Gail laughs. And then she reaches for my cock.

'Uh-uh,' I say. 'I need to get over to the showroom. Saturdays are primetime for walk-ins.'

'It won't take long,' Gail says. 'You're growing already.'

And, no, it doesn't take long. So much for not getting tempted a second time.

'So... what are your plans for this morning?' I ask Gail.

For a moment or two, she just frowns. And then she says: 'I really should head back down to Cardiff. But, to be honest, I don't really feel like crawling back with my tail between my legs. I think I need to make a new plan first. Work out what I might do next.'

'And do you have something in mind?' I ask.

'Not really. I didn't realise that I was going to need a Plan B. I don't suppose that I could stay here for a couple of days. Just while I sort out my options.'

'Yeah. Of course,' I tell her. 'Stay as long as you want. As long as you need. But right now, I need to have a shower and get myself across to the showroom.'

'Can I come with you?' Gail asks.

'Umm... yeah. If you'd like to. Although I should warn you: some days it can be a bit boring. On the other hand: other days it can be a bit of fun. Well... interesting, anyway.'

And so Gail and I get ourselves sorted and head over to the showroom.

Daniel, my finance man, has arrived already and he has the coffee on. I introduce Gail and Daniel to each other and then I select three cars -- a Porsche 928, a Ferrari Dino 246GT, and Datsun 240Z -- to partially nudge out onto the small forecourt.

'The little car on the end is very pretty,' Gail says.

'A '72 Datsun 240Z. The first of the Nissan Z cars. And, yes, it is pretty, isn't it? And a lot of fun for the money. Of course, if I was looking for a track-day car, and I had a few more pennies to spend, I'd probably be tempted by a 300ZX Twin Turbo. But as a touch of classic class... yeah... a 240Z would be hard to ignore. I don't think that one will be hanging around for long.'

I have barely had a chance to swallow my first mouthful of coffee before a chap arrives and starts walking around the Dino. 'He just got out of that late model Audi across the road,' I mutter to Gail. 'So... my guess is that he likes cars, and this isn't just a casual visit.' I walk out and greet him.

'I used to have one of these,' the chap tells me. 'Sort of wish I'd hung on to it now.' And he laughs.

'I know the feeling,' I tell him. 'Are you a collector?'

He shakes his head. 'Just looking for a birthday present for my wife.'

'Lucky woman,' I say.

'She's had a rough couple of years. I though a new toy might help.'

I nod. 'This one has been completely rebuilt,' I tell him. 'My chief technician did his apprenticeship at Ferrari. He has a bit of a soft spot for the prancing horse.' I open the driver's door so that the potential buyer can see that the interior has also had the full treatment. 'I'm Jeremy, by the way,' I tell him.

'Howard,' he says. 'Howard Springbrook. I guess the question I have to ask myself is how practical will this little lady be just puttering around Chalfont St Giles?'

'Chalfont St Giles? I was up there just a few days ago,' I tell him. 'My guess is that it will certainly turn a few heads.'

And then Howard turns and looks at the Datsun.

'240Z,' I say. 'The first of Nissan's Z cars. Again it's had a total rebuild.'

He walks, slowly, around the car and, when he arrives at the driver's door, I open it. He doesn't need a second invitation and, moments later, he is sitting in the driver's seat, looking around the interior, nodding and smiling. And then, still sitting in the Datsun, he looks back at the Dino. 'I remember when the first Zs came out,' he tells me. 'I think everyone was a bit surprised at how good they were. You know. Japanese cars didn't have a great reputation back then.'

'That's fifty years ago,' I tell him. A bit before my time. But, yes, I gather the quality and the performance were both a bit of a surprise.'

'Hmm. Decisions, decisions,' he says. 'In my mind I was thinking Ferrari. But now I'm having second thoughts.'

Well, he's going to buy one of them, I tell myself. And if it's going to be his wife's puttering car, the Datsun might be the better choice. 'Switch it on and pop the bonnet,' I suggest.

Again, he doesn't hesitate.

The little Datsun's six-cylinder 2.4 litre engine breaks into a purr.

'Take it around the block,' I tell Howard. 'Probably a bit more traffic than Chalfont St Giles, but it'll give you an idea.'

'Yeah. Thank you,' he says. 'Oh... that's my Audi across the road. Am I likely to run foul of the parking wardens?'

'You should be OK,' I tell him. 'But leave me your keys. We'll keep an eye on it for you.'

'Thanks,' he says.

'Sale, Miss Jones,' I say to Gail as Howard nudges the Datsun out into the Saturday morning traffic.

'Has he bought it?' she says. 'Just like that?'

'Not quite. But he will.'

Howard returns about 20 minutes later.

'How was it?' I ask.

'Nice,' he says. 'But I think that Miranda is going to want a rather more up-to-date entertainment system. I'm not sure that she still has too many of her old cassette tapes.'

'We can sort something,' I tell him.

'In that case, we just need to talk about the price,' he says.

'Aww. And just when I was getting to like you,' I tell him. 'Let's go and find the paperwork.'

At least he has the good grace to laugh.

As it turns out, we have a pretty good Saturday. In addition to selling the 240Z to Howard, we also sell a Mini Cooper S to a chap who wants to recapture his youth, and we buy a BMW E36 series M3 Cabriolet that the owner has long since fallen out of love with.

'Well... it's going to need some work,' I tell him.

'Yeah. I know. But I'm ready to move on.'

Actually, the car just needs a bit of a tidy up. But, if he's ready to move on, who am I to stand in his way?

'Selling cars looks a lot more fun that selling houses,' Gail says, as we head back to my place at the end of the day.

'Does it?' I say. 'Yes. I suppose it's fun on a day like today. When everyone comes away feeling that they've had a win.'

'Are there days when people don't feel that they've had a win?'

'Mmm... possibly a few,' I tell her. 'Not many. In fact, not many at all.'

When we get home, Gail and I get out of our suits and into something a little more casual, and I find a chilled bottle of Pinot Grigio.

'Just as a matter of interest,' Gail says, 'did you make money on both of those cars today?'

'Oh, yes. Probably not as much as you would have made from selling a couple of moderately expensive houses. But how often do you sell a couple of decent-priced houses in less than three hours? And we still have the M3. That should turn a handy margin.'

I have some langoustines in the freezer. I take them out; prep a loaf of garlic bread; and then prep a Greek(ish) salad (tomatoes, cucumbers, capsicum, red onions, feta, plump black olives, oregano, a slosh of red wine vinegar and some olive oil, salt and pepper). And then it is time to fire up the barbeque.

'Perhaps I should sell cars,' Gail says, as we sip our wine and wait for the grill to come up to temperature.

'Do you like cars?'

'Would I need to?'

'I think it helps,' I tell her. 'Do you like houses?'

'Not especially. Well... not the sort of houses that I normally get to sell, anyway.'

'Maybe that's the problem,' I say.

Gail frowns. But then she says: 'No. I think it's just the system. The attitude. The way you're supposed to see both the sellers and buyers as know-nothing mugs. The way you are supposed to mislead one or the other. Sometimes both. Sacrifice anything and everything in pursuit of the commission.'

'Perhaps you just picked the wrong agency,' I say.

'I think they're all, to a greater or lesser extent, a bit like that,' Gail says. 'It just seems to be the way that it works.'

It has finally reached the time of the year when the sun has moved around far enough -- and for long enough -- to warm the little patio, and so that is where we eat. The langoustines are succulent and the salad complements them perfectly.

'This is nice,' Gail says, gesturing with her hand to include both of us and the small garden.

'It is,' I say. And my brain starts having another argument with itself. One half is telling me that I'm just having a pleasant little supper with my younger cousin. Move along, folks. Nothing to see here. The other half is telling me that I'm having a hot date with a very sexy woman, a hot date that can only end in one way. I will need to be careful. I will need to be very careful.

'After spending a few days with you, I'm starting to wonder why everybody rushes to buy new cars,' Gail says. 'Whey don't we all just buy classic cars?'

I laugh. 'I think it depends on what you want from a car,' I say. 'Modern cars tend offer a lot more by way of creature comforts. And, on the whole, they are probably more reliable. But, that said, most of them lack soul. Well... I think so, anyway. I suppose it's a bit like buying a Georgian terrace house versus buying a new-build with all mod cons.'

Gail nods.

[neerathemall]

For the next hour or so, we sip our wine and talk about everything and nothing. And then we decide it is time to head inside. We gather up the dishes, take them inside, and load them into the dishwasher. And then Gail kisses me. 'You liked that,' my brain tells me. 'You liked it a lot.' My good intentions are melting faster than a block of ice on a hot griddle pan.

Gail smiles, as if she too has heard my brain. 'It's umm... a bit warm, isn't it,' she says. And, keeping her eyes firmly on mine, she crosses her arms and slowly removes her sweatshirt. 'There. Better.' I'm not sure whether 'better' is a question -- 'Is that better?' -- or a statement -- 'Yes, that's better'. And then she begins to unbutton her jeans. And, as she steps out of both her jeans and her knickers, she announces that it is now my turn. 'Perhaps I could give you a hand,' she suggests.

I am pleased that she makes no attempt to remove her bra. There is something -- I'm not sure what -- particularly sexy about a woman wearing just a bra. And then, almost before I know it, I am wearing just my polo shirt. We kiss again, and then Gail looks around the kitchen. 'Perhaps the table,' she says. 'I think that's about the right height.' And she perches herself on the edge and spreads her thighs. She is not wrong. The sturdy farmhouse table is exactly the right height. But first, I crouch down and go to work with my tongue.

'Oh, god, yes,' Gail says. 'That is one educated tongue you have.'

And then it is time for the main event. My cock has long since given up listening to the cautious part of my brain. I run my eager cockhead along the length of Gail's now-slick cuntal valley and then place it at the entrance to her wet and warm opening. 'Ready?' I say.

'Ready.'

'Are you sure?'

'Don't tease,' she says.

'I just wanted to make sure that you were sure,' I tell her.

But she isn't listening. She thrusts forward -- just an inch or so -- but it is all it takes to engulf my hovering cockhead. 'Oh, fuck, yes!' she says. She says it softly. But it is quite loud enough to drown out the censorious voice from the disapproving part of my brain. Thank goodness.

[neerathemall]

I am pleased that she makes no attempt to remove her bra. There is something -- I'm not sure what -- particularly sexy about a woman wearing just a bra. And then, almost before I know it, I am wearing just my polo shirt. We kiss again, and then Gail looks around the kitchen. 'Perhaps the table,' she says. 'I think that's about the right height.' And she perches herself on the edge and spreads her thighs. She is not wrong. The sturdy farmhouse table is exactly the right height. But first, I crouch down and go to work with my tongue.

'Oh, god, yes,' Gail says. 'That is one educated tongue you have.'

And then it is time for the main event. My cock has long since given up listening to the cautious part of my brain. I run my eager cockhead along the length of Gail's now-slick cuntal valley and then place it at the entrance to her wet and warm opening. 'Ready?' I say.

'Ready.'

'Are you sure?'

'Don't tease,' she says.

'I just wanted to make sure that you were sure,' I tell her.

But she isn't listening. She thrusts forward -- just an inch or so -- but it is all it takes to engulf my hovering cockhead. 'Oh, fuck, yes!' she says. She says it softly. But it is quite loud enough to drown out the censorious voice from the disapproving part of my brain. Thank goodness.

[neerathemall]

My Cousin Gail....

[neerathemall]

https://www.gutenberg.org/

[neerathemall]

c&p
........

[neerathemall]

An anniversary to remember



15 years ago

! It was his anniversary with his conspicuous by her absence. Guess who eventually compensated for the excitement lost ? Let me have your impressions about this story at [email protected]

Anniversaries are not worth celebrating if you are alone. Mukesh sighed helplessly as he felt immensely aloof on his very first anniversary. Suchi, his wife had gone for her first delivery and the small flat in the suburbs of New Bombay had begun looking like a haunted house in her absence. He even cursed himself for hurrying the first child, which had left him high and dry on what could have been a wonderful day. It was mid December and the winter was setting in nicely. He could see the mild fog, which remained intact outside the window. He recollected how Suchi struggled to cope up with last winter immediately after their marriage. Those were wonderful memories; Suchi always remained in his hug looking for the much-needed warmth.

A bit of despondency crept into his mind, knowing that he might be held up late in his office tonight. The few pending projects could perhaps serve as some diversion from the sudden state of depression he was going through. He shook his head in despair realizing that he will not be having the time to visit Aruna, his younger sister who was just an hour’s drive from his house.

Suchi was the first to call to wish him a happy anniversary. He felt a vacuum filling up his throat as he spoke to his wife who was almost a thousand kilometers away from him. Suchi’s voice broke down in the middle of the conversation and it was not easy consoling her. After the brief conversation, Mukesh began feeling more isolated and dejected than before. Just as he was about to enter the bathroom, the telephone rang once again. He felt elated to hear the familiar voice at the other end. It was Aruna.

“Happy anniversary,” Aruna nearly howled at the other end.

“Thank you,” Mukesh acknowledged her greetings with a broad smile. “What a coincidence! I was just thinking about you minutes before you called.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Her voice was soaked in her typical enthusiasm. “It’s not a day when you should remember your sister.”

“Funny,” Mukesh felt somewhat light as he giggled. “Actually, I thought of calling you. I am afraid I won’t be able to join the dinner.”

“I sort of expected that,” Aruna said mockingly. “I know your job is your second wife. But, don’t you think you must make a visit at least once a month? We are too near yet too far.”

“Agreed,” Mukesh conceded with a sense of guilt. “I haven’t seen you for a while now.”

“That’s why I am here,” Aruna began laughing at the other end. “Turn around and look out.”

Mukesh rushed to the window again and spotted Aruna walking through the gate holding her cellular phone. Their eyes meet at once and they exchanged a warm smile from a distance. Mukesh switched off his handset and rushed towards the door to let his sister get in. Her right hand stretched forward even before the door opened. They shook hands gently before getting in.

“What a pleasant surprise!” Mukesh smiled without revealing his true emotions. He was moved by his sister’s courteous gesture. The house suddenly became vibrant with the vivacious presence of Aruna and soon the siblings got engrossed in some funny discussions punctuated by loud laughing every now and then.

“What have you planned for your breakfast?” Aruna queried mockingly. She knew that her brother never had the patience to stand in the kitchen.

“Continental,” Mukesh laughed aloud. “Bread with butter.” “I thought so,” Aruna joined the laughter. Once again her brother had vindicated her presumption that men hate getting inside the kitchen. She pulled out a neat packet from her vanity bag, which was nicely wrapped in a glowing foil. Mukesh knew at once that it had something better than the bread he was planning to have for the breakfast.

“That’s very nice of you,” Mukesh genuinely admired his sister.

They began another round of non-stop gossiping with childish enthusiasm. Mukesh kept watching the swift change of expressions on his sister’s face as she spoke. Aruna looked a bit taller than him although she was two years younger. She always took great care of her long, dense and dark hair, which swayed below her waists as she walked. She had wrapped a light maroon shawl around her to get respite from the early morning winter breeze. She always looked great while smiling due to the cute dimple on her left cheek. Her breasts remained well in shape even after six years of married life. She always had been the center of attraction in the family being such a sublime beauty.

“The house was looking so empty,” Mukesh said as he sensed that she had caught him watching her.

“You will have a new little member during your next anniversary,” Aruna said while her right hand landed on his lap. It was a strange feeling for Mukesh as they had stopped touching each other ever since Aruna attained puberty.

“Yes,” Mukesh spoke nodding his head. “I can’t wait.”

“I bet you can’t,” Aruna said laughingly. “You have always been a man in a hurry. That’s why Suchi is pregnant so quick.”

It wasn’t a pleasant comment by any means although Aruna has begun talking like this for quite a while. Mukesh was aware of some of her little disappointments in her married life although Hiten, her husband was a gem of a person. Hiten was more into his business than being a mere normal man at home and he seldom realized that Aruna was expecting a bit too much from him. She easily got a job as a receptionist in some MNC and soon got out of the shell to become a typical enterprising woman.

“I want you to care for Suchi even after the baby,” Aruna winked at him. “Don’t dump her after becoming a proud father.”

Mukesh knew that she was deliberately trying to sound funny hiding her disappointments behind the curtains of humor. He thought he was obliged to tell a few words of consolation.

“Don’t feel bad about Hiten,” Mukesh tried to reason with her. “After all he is struggling hard for your family.”

“Struggling?” Aruna made a quick interruption. “He simply loves his business more than anything else. I am somewhat that he doesn’t have a bedroom in his office.”

“Ok, cool it,” Mukesh spoke softly as he feared that she could break down if not stopped.

“I am sorry about this,” Aruna’s voice sounded shallow. “I forgot why I came here.”

“Don’t be so formal,” Mukesh stood up as he spoke. “Let me get you a hot cup of coffee.”

“Now, is it your turn to be formal?” Aruna grabbed his arms and pulled him back on the sofa.

“Aren’t you feeling cold?” Mukesh questioned. “I think a hot coffee would be wonderful.”

“I haven’t come here from so long just for a cup of coffee,” Aruna smiled mischievously. “I came to serve a nice breakfast on your anniversary.”

“It’s too early for breakfast,” Mukesh replied thinking that his sister was mentioning about the packet she had carried for him.

“You are as ignorant as Hiten,” Aruna murmured getting closer to him. “Can’t you see the wonderful breakfast before you? A very lively breakfast.”

Mukesh was taken aback at once. Surely he wasn’t shocked to realize what she meant exactly. He had been ogling at her for a while now and some of those early dreams about her before he married Suchi still remained fresh at the bottom of his heart.

“I will better open the parcel,” Aruna said with a strange looking smile and pulled off the shawl from her shoulders. She was presenting an excellent view of her well-covered cushy globes to Mukesh who sat still without emoting. She was wearing an olive green churidar with a very low cut neck studded with artificial stones all around the ‘V’ portion. She looked stunningly beautiful with those wonderful silk embroidery works done on the shoulders and the sleeves. The top two buttons of her churidar were already open which revealed a little bit of her cleavage. Her wonderfully shaped breasts with sharp edges almost stuck to the outer fabric suggesting that she was perhaps wearing a perfect bra. After wavering in the air for a while, his eyes gathered the courage to settle on her breasts. The unusual moment was exciting both of them.

Just as he kept gazing her body, she suddenly tilted her head towards him and let her lips plant a gentle kiss on his left cheek. Mukesh froze at once and looked perplexed while she was grinning. Much to his amazement, he got a hard-on from nowhere.

“I want to make your anniversary memorable,” Aruna smiled looking straight into his eyes. Mukesh watched breathlessly as she pulled off her churidar in a flash, exposing her dark silk bra. Both of her hands were resting on his lap.

Mukesh was sitting motionless unlike his sister. Her legs crossed with him as she began leaning on his chest more and more. “I want you to treat me as Suchi for the day.”

Mukesh was immediately taken over by animal instincts. As she began tilting her head towards him again, his hands grabbed her head by holding at the back and pulled it towards him. Their lips pressed hard against each other and his tongue invaded inside her mouth to explore inside. Mukesh stumbled and slipped on to the floor pulling his sister together. She was pressing hard against his chest and for once Mukesh’s bulge was brushing against her crotch. They began rolling on the floor hugging hard with their bodies sticking together.

Mukesh was amazed to see her animated curiosity as she impatiently snapped the robes of his pajama and pulled it off in real quick time. She climbed on him like a seasoned rider and began pushing her body hard against him. As she leaned forward her long hair covered his face and the scent of her indigenous hair perfume conquered him. She swung her head sideways letting his face free of the hair cover and landed her lips firmly against his mouth. Her right hand ran through his hair while her left hand stroked his stomach sending sensational waves all over his body. Her bra was getting mashed against his chest and he felt the tickle of her nipples protruding through the fabric. Her lips began an erotic journey licking his cheeks, chin and ears. The demon inside Mukesh broke the shackles at once as his arms eagerly went behind to grab her buttocks with fierce lust. He had lost all consideration for her sister as he rolled over, pushing her onto the floor again to regain his control by climbing on her body. She wasn’t lagging behind as she wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him harder against her. She was still dressed below the waist although she was thrusting her body upwards letting her crotch hump against his huge bulge.

“Aruna,” Mukesh spoke after he managed to break free for a moment. “You are going to feel better from today. You are going to have my tongue lashing at your pussy. When you leave my house your lips might be sore. I would have made your cunt a bit wider.”

“Yes,” Aruna yelled excitedly. “I love to hear someone talking to me like that. Go on.”

Mukesh was growing underneath. Excitement kept flowing like a wild stream feeling his sister right between his legs. His eyes gazed at those bulging breasts, which looked like snapping off the bra as they swelled in and out. The darling of the family, his sexy sister was at his disposal willing to be fucked in every way he would like.

Mukesh couldn’t resist the temptation to chew those tender lips of his sister. She immediately began stroking his tongue with hers as though she was waiting for his kiss. Her hands gripped his strong shoulders with amazing strength driven by passion.

“Let me eat the sweet with the wrapper on,” Mukesh dived on her bra and began sucking her breasts one after the other. He almost took the whole of her sharp breasts inside his mouth and as he began sucking, he tasted the mixed flavor of her breasts and her bra. The harder he sucked, the louder she moaned. After sucking one, he rested between the two before resuming on the other.

“Is this what you normally do to Suchi?” She spoke in a voice, which broke in pleasure. After having a satisfactory sucking session, Mukesh became restless and ripped off the bra hooks in utter hurry. He could see rays of expectations sparkling in her eyes as he was about to descend on her naked breasts. His hands went in between her body and the floor looking to grab her ass cheeks while his mouth settled down on her left breast. He deliberately let his fingernails make some impression on her soft ass cheeks while most of her bulging breast got arrested inside his eager mouth. He was quickly jumping from left to right and back and occasionally biting her perky nipples gently. He stopped every time when she squealed and lashed his tongue over the cones as if he was apologetic.

Mukesh was getting more animated now. He pulled off the rest of her clothes through her legs and didn’t waste much time in getting rid of her panties either. She had very little hair, which looked tender over her cunt. For one first time, he noticed that his sister blushed.

He wasn’t in any mood to enjoy the finer aspects of his sex with his sister as he pounced on her soft cunt letting his mouth have its own way. He went rapidly stroking his rough tongue over her wonderful hole. After a few seconds, his tongue barged out of his mouth and dove into her soggy pussy as deep as it could. Aruna convulsed frantically as her brother eagerly lapped up her oozing fluid with a thirst of a lifetime.

“Yessss!” Aruna screamed and her body arched like a bow in the air.

Mukesh flashed a sadistic grin and from nowhere he inserted two fingers inside her pussy in lightning speed. Aruna resumed screaming after a momentary pass as her brother began pumping the fingers deeper and faster. He remembered his wife who sometimes preferred a few fingering sessions before his dick took over. His fingers poked in frenzy and weren’t relenting until Aruna cried out of climax. A stream of fluid as hot as lava splashed out of her pussy sprinkling quite a few drops on his face.

“Ooh, Mukesh, That was lovely. I now realize what I have been missing all these days.” She readily offered her lips as he pushed himself up to get close to her face. Mukesh slanted his body and got rid off his brief while his sister watched his long meat standing tall and hard like a tower.

She seized the initiative by hugging him and kissing him from his forehead till his abdomen. Her right hand reached out to his shaft and she began stroking it gently to begin with. She looked up to her brother as if to verify if he was enjoying before her mouth eagerly kissed the tip of his dick. Mukesh felt like flying through the clouds feeling his sister’s soft lips licking every bit of his eight and a half inch dick. Her tongue came round about his entire shaft ensuring that not even a single spot of her brother’s dick was deprived of the oral treat. Mukesh’s head jerked back immediately after she took the entire length of his dick inside her mouth opening like a magical cave.

She felt incredible on his dick with her tongue unrelenting inside her mouth. The tip of his dick looked like hitting her throat as she went about sucking it methodically. Aruna’s head motioned in a nice rhythm while her eyes remained closed in concentration. Mukesh kept wishing that the session should last longer but inevitably the end approached quicker than he had expected. Surprisingly, Aruna seemed to have sensed his predicament as she began quickening up the whole thing. Huge loads of his semen were shooting inside her mouth, which disappeared into her throat with just a few drops spewed over her lips. Mukesh’s dick shrunk instantly and began falling down gradually much to the anxiety of his sister. Her hands caught hold of the tilting dick and began stroking it back to its furious best. Her magic worked after a while and the giant rose yet again to stand aright like a resurgent soldier.

She was in a hurry again as she stood up having her brother in between her well spread legs. Mahesh watched his naughty sister sitting down on his dick much to his delight. She moved back and forth a bit enabling the head of his dick position right against her enclosure. Biting her lower lips seductively, she settled down very slowly to have at least an inch of his dick probing inside her. Once she was convinced about their positions, she came down heavily on him letting almost half the length of his dick all the way inside her with a tremendous impact. The brother took the clue from his sister and started banging his body against her pussy with a nice momentum. Her pussy was soon getting a vise like grip on his dick feeling her inner cavity with a bit of friction. As he continued thrusting his dick upwards, she felt softer and softer as his pole was going further inside her.

Mukesh was naturally the stronger of the two and as such it was his turn to make some impact. His body moved up and down as if it was driven by some hydraulic force letting his sister pant frantically in joy. He went about thrusting faster and harder while her body jumped coping up with the momentum. Her breasts jumped in the air with every thrust giving her brother an awesome view. Aruna’s knees felt hard and sore against the floor although she never let the fun fizzle by slowing down. They looked at each other as their speed became incredible and beyond their control. Mukesh’s nerves began feeling a pleasant strain moving from his groin, travelling through the spine before it got into his brain so much so that he feared his head would explode.

“Cum with me, Mukesh! I am almost there!” She screamed in ecstasy.

Mukesh wished he could defy the natural course as he accelerated like hell all the while keeping an eye on those erotic expressions on Aruna’s face. She humped like a spring on him letting out loud screams enough to wake the neighbors up. They were soon at the pinnacle experiencing heavenly pleasure planting their fingernails on each other’s flesh. Mukesh exploded and began shooting loads of cum inside her to fill her womb. Her head swung either ways before she bowed down letting her long hair come from behind and covering her naked chest. Within moments, their naked bodies went still and chill. She slowly raised her head revealing a smile of fulfilment although her brother’s dick hadn’t finished yet. She hissed till the last drop of his cum was shot into her and once done her hands rested on his shoulders. She soon fell on him as though she had fainted. She remained in his hug for a while and they both went silent at once.

“Mukesh,” She whispered. “Did you like the breakfast?”

Mukesh preferred to kiss her on her lips in reply. “You bet I did.”

“I don’t mind serving lunch if you can skip work today.”

Categories: Incest



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