My Cousing Angie, Part 3

I spent many nights immersed in fantasies featuring my cousin Angie.  In one scenario, our parents die in a car crash, and we share a bedroom in our grandmother’s small apartment. My sisters, of course, are sent elsewhere. At bedtime, Angie wears a baby doll negligee, her jutting boobs on display behind thin gauze. I’m not surprised when she crawls into my bed for comfort. After all, she’d lost her mother and was alone in the world. I hold Angie tenderly, stroke her luxurious hair, touch her smooth thighs, and fuck the shit out of her.    On the night Grandma leaves us to play bingo, Angie and I bathe together, and she rubs soap along the length of my hard cock while I lather her tits. Then I climb out of the tub and finger her in the sloshing bath water. Over time, I concocted increasingly elaborate fantasies.  What if we attended summer camp together where nobody knew we were cousins?  What if we were the lone survivors of WWIII?  Then I figured out a realistic plan for us to be alone.  We could meet in the library!  I overheard my mom say Angie studied there while waiting for her mother to get off work.  In that ancient building, with its study nooks, librarians who never left the front desk, research stacks, and stair wells, we could find the privacy I fantasized about. Best of all, our parents wouldn’t have to die for us to be alone. Angie was easy to find in the library.  She sat at a corner table, her books neatly arranged in front of her.  She wore her school uniform of short wool skirt and white blouse. Her color coded assignment notebook sat open.  Seeing Angie in the flesh was different from imagining her.  She looked so cool and self-contained, as unapproachable as she appeared in school. Suddenly, I felt nervous and might have fled if she hadn’t seen me.  “Danny, what are you doing here?” she asked. “Research,” I answered as casually as if I studied more often than never.  I invented an assignment—the mating habits of Kodiak bears—and describing it gave me time to calm down. I confessed I needed a tour of the facilities to orientate myself for serious work. “I’ll bet you do,” she said and frowned, but after a few minutes of my blithering about Kodiak bears’ need for foreplay, she offered to provide the tour.  Angie and I climbed three flights of stairs to the seldom-visited local history room where old newspapers were folded on shelves and musty books filled the area around them.  “This is a prime research spot,” she said and took both of my hands in hers. My hands might have been cold and clammy, but Angie’s were smooth and warm. We wrangled them together and compared their similar size. We kissed in a more exploratory kiss than our first time when everyone was looking for us in our grandmother’s basement.   I wanted to fill my hands with Angie’s naked flesh, but when I pulled at her panties, she struggled against it. The tug of war ended when I pulled too hard and the fabric ripped. At first she looked shocked.  I was surprised, too.  Aggressive actions were foreign to my slacker personality. Then, without thought, I ripped her panties the rest of the way from her body. Angie looked at me with large eyes that seemed on the edge of tears.  Then she was angry. The bottom half of her body was naked under a short skirt, and I was holding her torn underwear in my hand.  Angie’s face reddened from her cheeks all the way down her neck.  I know it’s perverse, but it turned me on.  My cousin stood in front of me as perfect in her immaculate school clothes as ever—her big tits harnessed beneath her white blouse, her naked legs smooth under her pleated skirt—but for the first time I had reached her in a personal way.  She had let me feel her up in the darkness of my grandmother’s basement where we grinded together and came in a black void. When she used my hand to masturbate in the car, her eyes were closed tight.  Both times I was nothing but a prop to her masturbation. I’d never felt desire as strong as the lust that rose from the primordial soup of my 13 year old hormones. I wanted Angie so bad, it was painful, but I didn’t really know what the end of desire could be.  I imagined lifting her skirt and bending her over a table. But what would I do?  Spank her? Hump her bare ass?  Whisper dirty words? Just as I’d seen in movies, I buried my hands in Angie’s thick hair, tilted her head back, and kissed her with all the passion I could muster.  Angie closed her eyes and kissed me back. I wanted Angie to look at me while I devoured her, but I accepted what she allowed and didn’t say a word that might break the spell of her desire. I knew from experience, Angie would retreat into her own fantasies when she was aroused. Angie broke our kiss and looked down when she unsnapped my jeans.   “Danny,” she said, but it sounded like Daddy, and I wasn’t sure what I’d heard. “I want to do it,” she whispered in a one-sided argument.   Angie helped me tug my jeans and boxers down to my feet. She hunched her naked pussy against my leg and pressed her big tits against my chest. She wrapped her arms around me and squeezed my body as tight as she could. My cock was throbbing hard, and it seemed to grow endlessly bigger across Angie’s thigh—until I came against her skin in pulsing release.  Angie continued for seconds longer, clutching me tight, rubbing her wet pussy against my leg until she came, too. I was in love with my cousin, and I wiped up our liquids with her torn panties.