Spaencest(teen, incest, voyeurism, reluctance, oral, assplay, impregnation, feet)
Note: all Biblically-involved characters in this story are above the age of 18. Merry Christmas. -- Juliette de Lorsange* * *
I ruined her to save her.
Fear controlled my cousin's life. She was lost inside that fear—abjectly and completely lost. Caged within the steel oubliette of her own mind. She had to look up just to see hell. She thought she was about to die. I can't imagine how much she suffered.
One small lie, and I lifted the fear from her shoulders, pulled her from the depths of a black hole. My deceit gave Cailee Spaeny her life back. You would do the same for someone you loved.
What follows is a true account of my actions from 2018 and 2019.
It is not, however, an apology for them.
* * *
My name is Kyle Valance. You're about to hate me for fifty reasons. Here's the first one.
My mom's name was Nora Valance-Spaeny. She has a brother. The brother's name is Mark Spaeny. Mark has a daughter. That daughter's name is Cailee Spaeny.
She is my first cousin. 12.5% genetic consanguinity, on the dot. Or so I thought.
In 2016, mom's marriage collapsed. She divorced my dad, scrubbed Valance off her surname like it was dirt, and moved us from Chicago to my uncle's house in Springfield, MO. He had eight children, and was struggling to raise them. My mom got a change of scenery. My uncle got a free babysitter. And I got flung into a snake pit of eight new cousins, some of whom I'd only seen on holidays, and one I'd never met at all.
I still recall that first meeting with Cailee Spaeny. It's a memory clouded by the messy, heart-rending shit that happened afterward. "Thus Spoke Zarathustra" seems to thunders over the scene in my head.
I wish I could remember our meeting the same way it happened—pure, beautiful, uncomplicated—and not think of the dark places it was a doorway into, but I can't.
After all, the dark stuff happened because of that day.
Mark and my mom arranged a playdate between our new families at Nathanael Greene Memorial Park. Grudgingly, I went along to it.
It was the middle of summer; and the sun scoured the park with a dry, pallid brightness—the ground seemed to dissolve up into the sky like metal flaking into acid. I stood under a sycamore, watching what seemed like an army of kids playing soccer, and wondering where I'd fit in among my new family.
And through rippling veils of heat, I saw my cousin.
Beautiful. Sylphlike. Burning, lithogenic patterns of light leaped and curved across her elegant figure, as she moved through the sun pouring in luminous rivers between the sycamores.
I stared at her, and was lost. Not even lost for words. Just lost.
"Hi! I'm Cailee, spelled cee-ayy-eye-el-double-ee."
My cousin rattled that off like she said it twenty times a day (which she did). She wore a vintage-style miniskirt that puffed outward, exposing a good deal of thigh. A sweetheart neckline plunged down sharply into a fitted bodice and tight-cinched corset, pulling her figure into an hourglass. Under a retro Jackie Onassis pillbox hat, her hair was twisted into a sleek black knob.
She wore a thick diamond choker necklace around her neck. The diamonds were paste—she wouldn't become a movie star until years after this, and Mark Spaeny wasn't rich—but she wore that choker like it held the Golden Jubilee diamond.
"Um...hi..." I said. "...My name's Kyle."
"Oh, wow, really? We practically have the same name!" Cailee leaned forward, hands clasped excitedly. "Do you find that odd? Do you think it means something, astrologically speaking? Like we share a cosmic bond? Or we knew each other in a past life?"
"Er, I don't know..." My tongue anti-worked. It felt like all the muscles had been severed, crossed, and reconnected back-to-front.
She smiled, steepled her hands under her chin, and leaned forward with big goo-goo eyes. She was transcendently, lusciously beautiful. Simply radiant with health and youth.
"Well, I wanna figure it out," Cailee said. "I was born in 1998. My Sun is in Leo, my Moon is in Leo, and my Ascendant is in Scorpio. What about you?"
Cailee is very superstitious.
She believes in UFOs, astral projection, and telekenesis. She has a lucky number: 22. Says it's her life path number (and no, I don't know what a life path number is either).
When she orders food at a restaurant, she selects items so that 22 appears in some fashion on her bill. When she's exercising, she tries to keep the heartbeat indicator on her Fitbit to a number divisible by 22.
To Cailee, everything happens for a reason. The pattern of cracks on a footpath tile is a gematria to be decoded; a chipped nail a missive from the astral plane. At times, this shades into neurosis. Obsession. I wonder what a therapist would make of her, if she ever went to one.
Cailee is the same as her name. Mostly normal. Slightly weird. Weird enough to be compelling, weird enough to lodge in the mind like a thorn.
Weird enough to be worth saving.
* * *
Cailee and I chatted for several hours at the park, in the shade of the lepidopterarium.
Her brothers and sisters kicked a ball around on the field; and my mom discussed her living arrangement with Mark and Vanessa Spaeny.
We were left on our own.
I found everything about this girl deliriously attractive. The staccato lilting rhythm of her voice. Her fey, star-constellated insanity. As I talked to her, my face glowed with heat. My innermost thoughts and secrets were melting through my skin.
Cailee knew—didn't hope but knew—that she was destined for big things. An aspiring actress in the Springfield Little Theater group, she certainly had star power. Enough to captivate me, anyway.
But she also believed—equally firmly—that it was her destiny to die before this could happen. She would not live much longer. She didn't know yet how she'd die, but sensed that the reaper had already marked a notch on his scythe for her.
"I'm already a dead girl."
Cailee said this casually, offhandedly. And despite the summer heat, a cold wind blew through me.
"Yep. Dead Cailee. That's me."
A soccer ball blurred toward her face. She caught it—her reflexes were blindingly fast—and drop-kicked the ball back to her older brother. The loud, reverberant thud still echoes inside me.
Pow!
...That flash of white teenage thigh kicking out under her miniskirt filled me with sudden, dizzy desire. Made sweat crawl through my armpits.
How would those legs feel wrapped around my neck?
Alarm bells rang inside me. No. Stop. You're not allowed to perv on this girl. She's your cousin. Halfway to your sister!
My mind understood that Cailee Spaeny was off-limits.
The problem was my penis.
It didn't didn't care about halfway-to-sister. It cared about short hoop skirt. It cared about knee-high socks. It cared about thick diamond choker necklace. It cared about bra strap showing through shirt.
It cared about hot girl.
* * *
"I'm bored," Cailee said, leaning against a tree. "Wanna go back to my dad's place? We can watch a movie."
Cailee is a film nerd. I heard movie and assumed we'd be watching Jurassic World or Infinity War. Instead, she put on The 400 Blows by François Truffaut.
We flopped on the couch together. She sprawled supine in front of me, curling up like a cat. Her legs swung and kicked, angled toward my face. I stared from behind...but not at the movie.
Her jeans stretched low around her wide teenage rump, giving me a good look at her panties and the chubby mounds of buttmeat pouring out of the tops. The A/C was broken, and it was 95 degrees indoors. Dripping-hot.
She yawned and scratched herself, making her shirt ride up her body. Perspiration glistening like dew upon the curves and dimples of her hips and ass and stomach. A shallow runway of pubic hair wisped from above her belt buckle.
"It's so hot," she huffed, blowing a lock of hair from her face. "I'm sweating like a pig."
She kicked off her sneakers and socks. Then she planted her legs back on the couch, and stuck her bare feet out just a dozen inches from my face. She wriggled her dirty toes in front of my face. My nostrils flared at their smell.
...I wasn't thinking. That's my only excuse for what I did next.
No thoughts.
Head empty.
My hands moved behind Cailee's body, seemingly acting on their own. They found a blanket, drew it over my crotch (like I was cold, in the hottest part of summer), and slooowwly unzipped my jeans.
As Cailee stared ahead, absorbed in the movie, my fat cock plopped out behind her, jutting like a compass needle seeking north.
As quietly as I could, I began jerking off to the smorgasbord of teen butt, legs, and feet sprawled on the couch.
I could have been caught. Hell, I probably should have been caught.
But I wasn't .
Eyes focused on the Truffaut film, chattering brightly about something she called "the method", Cailee never noticed that I was masturbating under the blanket.
"...This shot's really important," Cailee pointed at the screen, as my testicles drew up and the slippery jerking of my hand hit a crescendo. "Antoine has spent the whole movie trying to become a man. And when he sees the ocean, he symbolically becomes one."
I stifled a grunt.
My breath hitched; my body tensed. My cock began blasting out disgusting amounts of cum. Thick bursts of sperm went flup-flup-flup as they smacked against the blanket, which I draped in front of her body like a shield.
Once the cum-strands stopped flying, I wadded up the blanket and speed-shuffled back out of the room, my cock hanging out of my pants. A final blob of ejaculate pulsed from my shriveled glans, going splat on the floor, but there was no time to wipe it up. I prayed she wouldn't turn around, and see my cum glistening on the floorboards like an oyster.
I slunk to the laundry. Face flushed, heart racing like I'd run a marathon, I threw the sperm-soaked blanket into the hamper, rezipped my pants, wiped the demon's harvest of sweat fermenting on my brow, and dashed back to the TV room.
I returned to find my cousin sitting upright on the couch. Her eyes flicked from the screen over to me. Her stare was cold.
"...you totally beat it," she said tonelessly.
Terror tore my mind apart like an arctic gale.
Then Cailee giggled. "Wow, did that come out weird! I mean you left really suddenly. Was wondering where you'd gone. Anyway, what did you think of the movie? It's my favorite."
I laughed, she laughed, we both laughed, and then we had a one-sided conversation about Truffaut.
* * *
I went to my room, alone with my racing thoughts and pounding heartbeat.
Okay, I thought with clenched teeth. You masturbated to your BIOLOGICAL COUSIN while she lay next to you. Yes, very dirty and taboo. Now that's out of your system, you'll NEVER HAVE SEXUAL THOUGHTS ABOUT HER AGAIN, right?
...Right?
As if in reply, I began to get another erection.
I moaned helplessly, balling my fists as my cock made my pants tight. No. Not my cousin. God help me! ...GOD HELP ME!
I felt like I was sinking into shit. And the worst part? I loved it. I sank into shit with my mouth wide open.
More, more, more.
* * *
When a horny teenage boy swears an eternal vow of sexual purity, eternity usually lasts a very short time.
Within days, I was fully under her spell. Wherever she went, I was close by, watching. My eyes stealing little flashes of flesh—the insides of her pretty legs as she kicked a soccer ball, the white slip of her pantyline as she bent down to tie her shoelaces—and adding them to the Cailee Spainy Skinemax porn reel playing on endless loop my head. I saved every photo she put on the 'Gram if it had so much as her thumb in it.
I began losing my mind, caught in an endless spiral of frantic self-abuse. I almost started to hate Cailee, for how much she was in my head, in my fantasies, my wet dreams. Her laugh. Her sweat. Her Omnia perfume. Each sense, each memory meant I had to run to my bedroom to wring more poison out of my body.
Cailee was a disease. And I was infected.
I wonder if the Spaeny family noticed the boxfuls of tissues I was flushing down the toilet, the bedsheets I was scrubbing stains from several times a week. If they did, they never commented on it.
Once, Cailee loudly complained to the whole house that her panties and bras were disappearing from the laundry hamper. I just played Black Ops 4 with her youngest brother Jonathan (the only member of the Spaeny clan I liked much, apart from her) and tried to look dumb.
I knew where her panties were.
I also knew that if she learned what I was doing with them, she would not want them back.
When I heard Cailee use the toilet, I'd wait until the flush and the sound of her footsteps receding down the hall...then I'd rush to the bathroom myself, and shove my face against the toilet seat, relishing in the fast-fading warmth of my cousin's butt cheeks.
When she left the house, I let myself into her bedroom. I sniffed her pillows and sheets, wallowing in Cailee's scent. I jerked off into her bathtowels. Over her toothbrush. Over the seat of her bike in the garage. Wherever her ass had been, my rock-hard cock soon followed.
I felt no shame, no sense of self-disgust. When you're at the lowest place in the world, it doesn't feel like you're low. It's just the place you're at. You're normal. It's the world that's sick. My actions, excessive and depraved after I'd nutted, never seemed like enough when I was in the moment. Little drops of water, for a man dying of thirst. It was only after I'd ejaculated that I felt horror at who I was becoming.
Dude, you are fucked up. Abnormal. Get help.
And then five minutes later I'd be sniffing her shoes. Or or rifling through her drawers, her bedside dresser.
Always, always, always seeking more fuel for fantasy.
Under Cailee's mattress, I found a hidden diary, and read it over several days—consuming little sips of words when she was showering or out in the garden, and deep, thirst-quenching gulps when she was away at drama club or theater rehearsals.
The diary was a mandela of her fascinations, her fixations. But I didn't care about astrological tables or horoscopes. I wanted to know about her.
There was one revelation that I never would have seen coming.
TMI, but dear diary: why can't I orgasm??
Maybe it's my Leo coming out, but I've literally never had one. The other day, I tried rubbing myself for three hours. It didn't even feel that good. I just got sore, and now my hand is cramping up lol 
I really want to climax! Other girls can do it. Why can't I?
I'm allowed at least one "I'm not like other girls!" entry, right? RIGHT?? haha
The idea of demure Cailee fingering herself—hunched over on a chair, trying to wrest an orgasm out of her cunt for hours like a thief trying to pick a broken lock—was inconceivable. Undreamable. Like imagining your teacher doing something that isn't teaching.
This pudibund, fashion-obsessed pixie seemed like she should be above such mundane bodily concerns as pissing, shitting, and masturbating.
But then, would she believe that her quiet, shy cousin had feelings for her? No. Of course not.
We have secrets. Hidden depths. Literal hidden depths, in Cailee's case.
I thumbed through the diary, looking for me. A marginal reference to the totally cute cousin staying at her house, haha.
C'mon, I thought, sweat gathering as I turned pages. I need to know I exist in her world.
But she hadn't written one word about me.
That's the best yet worst part of a crush. No matter how brilliantly you think you're glowing with ardour...you're not. You're a fused lightbulb, dead and cold, casting no light and no heat outside your own mind. To the girl or boy you love, you're invisible. Just a sad nobody, fantasizing into a brick wall.
Things might have gone no further between Cailee and I.
But God had plans for us.
* * *
Remember the Kotokovirus-1 panic of 2019?
No? Strange. Nobody does. Some days, I wonder if it ever happened.
If you were a teenage girl through that period—or the longsuffering relative of one—Kotokovirus-1 hysteria was inescapable. It was the air you breathed.
The story goes like this: a mystery supervirus called Kotokovirus-1—endemic to African ground pangolins—had leaped the species barrier into humans, and then had breached containment in a Libyan biolab. Well-meaning pangolin activists had accidentally infected themselves, and had brought the disease back to America, where it was now silently spreading through the water supply.
For some reason, only women could catch Kotokovirus-1. Soon, millions of teen girls—never the most discerning and levelheaded of demographics—were freaking out, convinced they were about to die from a lab-engineered superplague.
Nobody knew how Kotokovirus-1 worked, or even what the symptoms were. Any unexpected cough, headache, or period cramp could be interpreted as early-onset Kotokovirus-1 symptoms. Anything at all.
Kotokovirus-1 is fake, by the way. It does not exist. No such disease has ever been recognized by WHO.
But that raises an interesting question: what makes a thing fake?
Money is fake. We could all stop believing in it, and it would cease to exist. Yet it rules our lives. National borders are fake. But try walking north over the Korean DMZ with a South Korean flag.
A thing can be fake, yet persist because of our collective belief.
KTK-1 existed in the form of a social media hysteria. No superplague, however virulent, could have infected so many people so quickly as the idea of a superplague, spreading unchecked over Tiktok.
And Cailee caught that disease worse than anyone.
* * *
In 2019, I noticed my cousin becoming obsessed with KTK-1. Almost as obsessed as I was with her.
She constantly had her phone out, doomscrolling Tiktok tags like #KTK1Outbreak and #KTK1Pandemic and #OMGWeAreSoFucked, frantically absorbing everything she could about this mysterious illness.
"It's a fake disease," I told her over and over, wishing she'd glance away from her phone just once, and over to me. "You know that, right?"
"It's real." Cailee's voice was ice cold as she thumbed her phone. She couldn't be snapped out of it. Couldn't be reasoned with.
"It's all bullcrap. Pangolins aren't even native to Libya."
"You don't understand, Kyle. And stop distracting me."
And she buried her nose deeper in her phone, falling deeper into her algorithmic fear-world.
It was sort of funny at first. Until I looked into her eyes, and saw the terror of the grave.
To Cailee, this wasn't a joke. Wasn't a game. This is how I'll die her terrorstruck face said. All along, it was waiting for me in a Libyan biolab, and its name is Kotokovirus-1.
A horde of unscrupulous people took advantage of the hysteria to launch social media brands. They presented themselves as doctors, gurus, truth-tellers, concerned citizens. You might remember some of their names. PangolinAssassin69. KayTeaKayFacts. KTKTruthWarrior22.
Most contented themselves with spreading misinformation over social media. A few crossed the line, selling quack remedies to gullible teenagers. PangolinAssassin69 went to jail after getting busted for selling "KTK-1 cleanser" pills that (as per lab analysis) were sachets of dishwasher detergent. He put multiple young girls in intensive care before he was arrested. Really fucked up stuff.
Cailee Spaeny fell under the influence of one of the gurus I mentioned. Not PangolinAssassin69—thank God—but KTKTruthWarrior22, who was almost as bad. Every morning, she listened to his podcast.
Why did she choose him? I wish there was a smarter reason than him having "22" in his name—her life path number—but truthfully, there probably wasn't.
I exploited KTK-1 too, in my own way.
I wasn't one of the truly bad guys...but yeah, when it comes to taking advantage of a fake disease, I'm not innocent.
Not by half.
* * *
Cailee was playing in Mark Spaeny's above-ground swimming pool with her brothers and sisters one day.
I knew this because I was watching unseen from the upstairs balcony, crouched behind a balustrade.
I had my hand in my pants, masturbating. I drooled at the sight of her pert teenage flesh, jiggling and bouncing inside a very tight swimsuit, which made her thighs and shoulders muffin-top out of the lycra stretchwear. Cailee was winning a wet T-shirt contest she didn't even know she was at.
My eyes narrowed as my cousin got out of the pool, shaking herself off like a dog.
"I'll be back in a few minutes," I heard her say. "I need to take a shower."
"A shower?" her youngest sister was nonplussed. "Why?"
"Um..." Cailee's body flushed guiltily under the swimsuit. "Nevermind."
I knew why. Because KTKTruthWarrior22 had just told his ten-plus-million female followers that extended exposure to chlorine weakened the immune system, unless it was washed off the skin.
She literally thinks she'll get sick and die if she spends too much time in the pool, I thought, stunned by the madness and absurdity of it. Like everything about this obsession of hers, it teetered between laughter and horror.
The front door swung open beneath me. I heard the patter of Cailee's bare feet running up the stairs toward the shower...the shower that was right next to the outside balcony, where I was sitting.
Oh fuck. Maybe I shouldn't be here.
I swiftly closed the balcony door, and tried to remain quiet. If she saw me out on the balcony, she'd have questions as to why I was there.
Or maybe not. The answers were obvious.
I stared through a crack in the door, watching Cailee bounce toward the bathroom. Her black two-piece bathing suit hugged her figure remorselessly. I writhed in misery, my soft cock surging back to full hardness.
Cailee stood in front of the shower door, stripped off her bathing top, and slung it on the ground. My heart almost exploded as her bare tits jiggled and swung. Small pink nipples stood out, erect with cold. Her tits were deliciously flat. Her skin, wet from the pool, gleamed like polished ivory in the downlights. Her hair flew and fascinatingly around her shoulders, with quicksilver's iridescence.
Then she pulled down her black bikini bottoms, exposing her tight, chubby ass. It jiggled rotundly, overfull with ripe teenage flesh. There was a mirror on in the hall. Naked, thinking herself unobserved, Cailee posed in front of it. She did ballet en pointe stances; hit risqué cheesecake poses. Mr DeMille, I'm ready for my close-up!
She twirled. Stuck out her butt. Pouted like an insta-thot with ten million followers, two buccal fat removals, and zero morals. As she spun and jiggled, I got an eyeful of her unshaven muff.
I watched my cousin shamelessly contort herself for mirror, flaunting her hot young body for an imaginary audience that was a little less imaginary than she knew. I'd never seen this side of Cailee. Maybe nobody had.
It was a lewd, wanton, sexual side.
My cock twitched needily, throbbing at maximum hardness. This is who she would be...if she wasn't afraid.
She twirled, twisted, and a soft fart whistled out of her ass. The unexpected toot made her giggle, blushing. For a nightmarish moment, I almost laughed too.
A shout echoed from the pool.
"Caiii-leeee!"
My cousin clapped a hand to her mouth in mortification.
She swung open the balcony door—I speedily shuffled to the side, so she wouldn't see me—and yelled down at her siblings. "Sorry! Coming!"
Leaving the balcony door open, she dived into the shower, pulling a gauze curtain around her lithe young body. She spun the faucets, and water gushed out.
Unseen, I crept from the balcony to the hallway, and stood outside the bathroom.
I gazed in fascination at Cailee's wet two-piece swimsuit. It was piled on the floor, lying in a puddle of swimming pool water. I stared at the black stretchware, admired each fold and crease, tried to imagine the way the wrinkles would have smoothed out as my cousin's unhealthily desirable flesh poured out into it.
That thing had been skin-tight on her body. I had seen the pudge of her labia through it.
I lifted my eyes to Cailee's silhouette behind the shower curtain, furiously scrubbing off the lethal chlorine.
I don't have long. Less than a minute. Maybe only seconds. Am I doing something?
My erection raged in my pants.
I'm doing something.
I kneeled down, and inhaled the stink of her swimsuit bottoms. I smelled chlorine. Smelled the deeper, musky odor of Cailee's pussy and ass. The Lycra had been wedged up into her asscrack for probably an hour, absorbing her tang.
Lust came boiling out of me like hot, wet vomit. I couldn't stop what happened next.
Tearing my cock out of my pants, I began rubbing it over the bottoms, grinding the glans against the Lycra stretchware. The heat of her body made me convulse and shudder with horniness. It's still warm from her cunt!
Cailee shut off the water, and a stab of panic hit my chest. Fuck!
I had run out of time, but was too close to cumming to stop.
Pounding my cock frantically, I fantasized about the smell of her pussy, holding her scent in my head until I exploded. I caught a grunt, suspended it in my throat, and then the floodgates burst apart.
My cock twitched, harder and harder. A numbing buzz raced through my groin, catching flame, becoming a firestorm of lust-fried agony.
My teeth clenched.
Cum surged up from my testes like gouts of hot molten metal.
Jizz blasted out of my cock out in thick, gooey ribbons, splattering across her lycra bottoms. So much that it actually shocked me. I hadn't emptied my balls for nearly an entire day, and had a massive load to get rid of. So much cum was spurting out that the ropes didn't even end, they just lost pressure a little, and then jetted out again at full force.
I gripped my spraying shaft at the base, angling the tip down, letting the sticky strands pile up on her swimsuit bottoms. White sludge gathered in heaps, like mounds of cake icing.
I heard Cailee toweling herself off in the bathroom, whistling to herself.
My heart kept skipping beats as my cock bucked and blasted. Cailee would be coming for her swimwear in seconds.
But I couldn't stop busting cum over them!
After seconds that felt like years, my ejaculations sputtered away. Hurriedly, I poked and squished white sperm into the folds of the black underwear, to try and disguise it. Hopefully the wetness and chlorine scent would save me from detection.
Then I ran back out to the balcony, not a zeptosecond too soon. Immediately after I'd left, Cailee strutted back out into the hall, loudly whistling.
From my hiding spot, I glimpsed her firm and coltish thighs swinging back and forth, glistening with water-droplets the towel had missed. She picked up her wet, dripping swimmer top, and tugged it over her bare breasts.
Then she reached down for her spermed-on bottoms. I didn't dare breathe.
Gripping the bottoms by the sides, she wriggled her feet through the holes. Thump! Thump! Both of her feet fell to the floor.
Then she pulled the bottoms up, sliding them up her thighs. The black elastic stretched out between her legs, catching the light and becoming transparent. A matrix of white cum-ribbons was plastered across the stretchware. About halfway up her soft thighs, the swimmers got stuck—like I said, they were a child's swimmers, too small for her adult body—and she grunted in frustration.
My breathe froze as she gripped her cum-splattered bottoms...
...and yanked them up hard into the fork of her crotch.
SPLORCH!
Rivers of thick, sticky white cum went streaming down her thighs as the stretchwear ploughed up into her pussy. Thighflesh and assflesh pudged out as she yanked the lycra up as high as it would go on her wobbling hips.
As I saw the crotch of the swimmers get sucked inside her vagina, forming a momentary cameltoe, I shuddered and almost fainted. Does the chlorine kill the sperm? Or can that get pregnant?
I didn't know if my thoughts were fantasies or nightmares.
Cailee pulled the stretchware taut, and let it go snap against her tight butt. The black bottoms were now wedged firmly up into her teenage crotch, along with a gigantic load of warm semen, fresh from my balls. Cailee paused. Wrinkled her nose. Sniffed the air. A frown crossed her dreamlike face.
Oh fuck, she knows something's up. I didn't dare draw breath as Cailee touched the front of her swimmers. Then she lifted the finger to her face, sniffed it...
And then her siblings hollered from the pool. "Caiiiii-leeeee!"
She sighed, and yelled back. "Sorr-rry! Coming now!"
She raced down the stairs, her feet shaking the house. Seconds later, I saw her run outside, emerging underneath the balcony, then she cannonballed back into the pool. Ker-splash!
And for the first time in nearly a minute, I breathed... I can't believe I got away with that.
A dirty thrill gusted through me like a poisonous wind.
Cailee was safe from Kotokovirus-1. Other biological organisms? Not so much.
* * *
Most girls soon snapped out of the KTK-1 panic, as it became increasingly obvious that the disease was an urban legend. But Cailee only seemed to fall deeper under its spell.
Everything in her life was rearranged to accomodate her KTK-1 phobia. She turned down acting opportunities, because she'd heard KTK-1 was spreading on filmsets. She put her schooling on hold, because her classmates might be riddled with KTK-1 pathogens.
KTK-1 was her personal dark matter; the unseen weight distorting everything with its absence.
Each morning, she would pull up KTKTruthWarrior22's "Morning Truth War" around the breakfast table, and play it at full blast. This was how she stayed current on the latest "research" about the disease. The latest rumors of its spread and virulence. The latest speculation of how to avoid it.
"Ayy, mates!" an Australian-accented voice brayed out. "This is ya boy, KTKTruthWarrior22, bringin' ya the latest high-explosive ordinance from the secret pangolin war the LAMESTREAM media ain't tellin' ya about..."
And then he'd babble for thirty minutes straight, with occasional breaks to shill a product, and Cailee would listen like her life depended on it.
I began to hate KTKTruthWarrior22 with a passion. Hated him for his influence over my cousin. It felt like I was being cockblocked by this smooth-talking Australian.
I began to research him. I've always been good at digging up dirt on people. Finding embarrassing old internet posts. Unmasking secret identities. In my own way, I'm as obsessive as she is.
In real life, KTKTruthWarrior22 was a 25 year old Australian called Brendan Kluwe, who now lived off Tiktok ad revenue in Austin, TX. In the shock of the century, he had zero medical expertise.
I found Brendan Kluwe on Facebook, and sent him a friend request. He accepted.
Friending him was probably not the worst decision of my life, but it might have a lock on 4th or 3rd.
* * *
As Cailee clung closer and closer to her obsession—which was making her sicker than any disease could—I became angry at her. And eventually, the anger exploded out.
"So, do you want to hang out at the park today?" I asked one day over a bowl of cornflakes.
She shook her head. "KTKTruthWarrior says that parks contain..."
"That guy's a scammer," I snarled suddenly, his name like a red flag. "And anyway, the disease is still fake."
"It's not fake and he's not a scammer," Cailee said firmly. "This is serious. All over Tiktok, girls are catching this fucking disease. I don't want to be next." She slammed the table with both hands, shuddering. "I don't want to be next!"
"Listen," I stupidly tried to reason with her. "I'm Facebook friends with KTKTruthWarrior. He's not a doctor. He doesn't know what the fuck he's talking about. He's an unemployed former lifeguard from Australia who never even graduated high school. His Facebook page lists his education as 'keepin' it real'. And you're believing his bullshit?"
"He's the bravest man I know," Cailee said solemnly, with such ludicrous seriousness that bile welled up in me. "Very few people are telling the truth about the disease. He's one of them."
"You sound like you want to fuck him," I spat contemptuously.
I had crossed a line. Cailee's eyes flashed, and she leaped off the couch so quickly I flinched.
"Wanna go there, Kyle? I know what you're doing. I know it all. I know about the underwear. About you jerking off over my things. About you going into my room when I'm away. I know exactly what you're up to...you fucking creep!"
I froze. I was so careful!
(Tip for guys: girls smell the cum. They always, always smell the cum. You're used to the odor, but they're not.)
"Um..." I spluttered. "I can explain."
Cailee was a pantheress, going for the throat. "And don't think I don't know what you did to my swimmers the other day, after I jumped in the pool and white stuff spread out from me like I was a ninja smoke bomb."
She began screaming. "Everyone saw that! I was so embarassed! Get your inner house in order, Kyle! I'm your goddamned cousin! NONE of what you're doing is okay!"
I shut my eyes and moaned, an admission leaving my lips before I could stop it.
"I'm sorry, Cailee...but I think I love you."
"I don't love you back," Cailee said with vindictive gleefulness. A twist of the knife. "And it would be illegal if I did. I hate that you're my cousin. I hate that you have my name. I don't want you to die, Kyle, but I wish you didn't exist."
Cailee picked up her phone, stamped the floor in rage, and walked out of the room.
"Leave me alone, you creep, or I'll tell mom and dad."
* * *
I wandered around the house in a sulk. My uncle Mark asked if I was alright. I forget what I told him. My head had room for one person's voice, one person's words.
I don't want you to die, Kyle, but I wish you didn't exist.
I was scum, and deserved to be told these things, but it still ruined me to hear them.
Cailee hated me. I'd blown something that had never existed to be blown in the first place. Somehow, that was even worse.
Once she had left the house for acting lessons, I let myself into her bedroom. Oh yes, the creep was already back to creeping. Well, what else did I fucking have? Vicarious spying was the only connection I would ever have with my beautiful cousin.
I found her diary under the mattress, and began to read it.
Once, it had been packed with horoscopes and birth charts and sidereal astrology. Not anymore. As of 2019, Kotokovirus-1 filled her mind like a radio station that never went off the air, and played nothing but the hits. I'd lost my cousin to the disease, as surely as if it had actually killed her. She'd become a blank vessel filled with nothing but pure fear.
I felt so sick today. I was sure I had the disease. It was wonderful. I felt...relief. Finally, at least now I can die, and this stops. No more worrying about tomorrow.
And now I feel better. Ha. Don't sound better, do I? Yippee, another day of breathing. Around the hamster wheel once more.
I'm drowning. In a dark space, alone, and I can't breathe. No way forward. No way back. It has all just stopped. What can I do...the end of my life is here, right now, and none of it amounted to anything.
I've known for years that the end would be soon. But now that it's finally here, the endless gulf...the wall with teeth...seeing what lies ahead, seeing complete annihilation...I can't face it.
It's the difference between knowing you're about to die, and actually seeing the edge approach. And when I look over the side...
...It's black. Black. So black. Never thought anything could be so black. I don't understand. What did I do to deserve this?
Reading that broke something in my mind.
Broke it so badly that I decided, on the spot, to take drastic and unforgivable action. This is madness, and it has to be stopped, whatever it takes. Whatever line I have to cross.
Fuck right and wrong. A veil had been lifted from my eyes, and the world stood revealed as a sick sad game where nothing made sense and everything was broken and morality belonged in fairytales.
I wanted Cailee's torture to end, and I wanted my torture to end.
This is why I did it.
* * *
Nerves jagging, I logged onto Facebook and typed a message to Brandon Kluwe, explaining my unique situation, and asking him for help.
There's only one man she trusts, and it sure as fuck isn't me.
A reply came back, after five long minutes.
HAHAHA! OMG you're fucked in the head mate! I can't believe what I'm reading! This is the worst shit I've ever heard!!!
I'd expected this reaction.
I offered to pay him $5000—all the money I had saved from detailing cars and mowing lawns—if he'd help me.
...and whaddya know, he agreed.
We chatted for a few hours, then I wired him the money, and lay in bed. My plan could fail in thousands of ways, but I only imagined the universe where it succeeded...and where Cailee was saved.
Where both of us were saved.
* * *
One week later, Cailee and I sat around the breakfast table. She didn't talk to me. I didn't talk to her.
I had said sorry in the aftermath of the fight, and she'd accepted. It had fixed nothing. The mood between us was zero degrees Kelvin.
She had her phone on the table, and Brendan Kluwe's voice blared out through the tinny speakers, sounding like a 19th century carnie showman fused with a 21st century Web 2.0 thinkfluencer.
"HEYYY! This is KTKTruthWarrior22, comin' atcha with your morning viral contagion of TRUTH you won't get from the piss-stream media. We now have breaking - and I mean - BREAKING news about a possible cure for Kotokovirus-1..."
There was a sharp intake of breath from Cailee. A cure?
She thumbed up the volume.
Kotokovirus-1, Kluwe explained, was a multi-strand piece of RNA, designed to bind with human sex cells. All its exposed sites were functionally identical to some natural process of the human body—which explained why the immune system was helpless against the virus, and why no microscope had yet isolated it. The one way to defeat KTK-1 was to stop it binding in the first place. And that led him to the cure.
Quick question: why were women susceptible to KTK-1, and men immune? Because the virus could detect the host's sex chromosomes! If it found XX chromosomes at the cleavage sites of cells, it attacked. If it detected Y sex chromosomes with a certain genetic similarity to the non-sex cells, it remained inactive.
Women could immunize themselves against KTK-1 by injecting genetically similar Y chromosomes into their body. The most logical way to do this would be via an ejaculation of sperm...
...sperm from a man who was biologically related to her.
"It can't be just some random bloke's jizz," Kluwe said, with the confidence of a born bullshitter. "You gotta get it from someone who shares lots of your DNA. A brother. Or a cousin. Otherwise, KTK-1 knows the Y chromosome isn't yours."
Even I was in awe of Kluwe. He was a natural salesman. He was repeating stuff I'd written out for him a week before, but he put such force and conviction behind it that even I almost believed it.
I watched Cailee's face as she absorbed this. Her eyes were wide and stared dreamily ahead. Her cheeks flushed with color.
"Now, am I endorsing incest?" Kluwe said. "Absolutely not. But if it was a choice between catching KTK-1 and boinking my cousin once or twice on the down-low...well, it'd give ya pause for thought, wouldn't it?"
He laughed.
"So, here's my question to you ladies...how hot's your cousin?"
Cailee flicked her gaze toward me. On impulse, I believe. The same reason I'd jerked off to her behind a blanket. Some things just turn you into a meatpuppet.
I kept my eyes down on my phone. Didn't want to sully the moment by returning her stare.
Suddenly Cailee shuddered, and clapped a hand over her mouth.
"I have to go," she gasped, jerking up from the table. "I'm going to vomit."
Was my imagination playing tricks on me...or were her nipples poking out under her shirt?
* * *
In the days that followed, things were different.
Not good. Certainly not healthy. Different, though.
After our fight, she'd shrouded herself in clothes, wearing three or four layers regardless of the heat, denying me the slightest bit of jerkoff fodder. A nun at the north pole would have shown more skin. Whenever I entered the same room as her, she made a show of sighing and scowling. She treated me like vermin.
And so, when she spent that afternoon lying on the couch in front of me while I did my geosyncline homework, letting knee-length jorts ride up her pale legs...I noticed.
And when I played videogames with her brother in the romper room, and she followed me, and she read a book on the floor, with her curvy butt propped up just beyond the TV...I noticed that too.
She wanted me to see her. Wanted my eyes on her body.
And when I raised my arms to gloat after I nuked my nephew's punk ass in BO4—he couldn't play Hacienda to save his life—I caught her staring at me too, while kicking her legs, in that distracted girl-lost-in-thought way.
This time, I returned the eye contact. Brazen. Defiant. See something you like, babe?
She gave a shy little wave, a flirty smile, and then returned her attention to her book, her cheeks red.
Every sign was there; every light was go. But I pussied out.
In the end, she had to make the first move.
* * *
I had a nightmare in the early hours of the morning. A sixteen-eyed Bodhisvatta with serpents for teeth had cut deep bloody trenches into my flesh, implanted dazzling lights into my bones, sewed me up, and now my skeleton was blinking like a Christmas tree beneath my skin. You know, one of those really common nightmares that everyone has.
When I woke from it, I couldn't move. Couldn't shift my bedsheets. It felt like my dream had left me stranded me on the shores of some alien world where gravity was ten times G.
Terror detonated through me. Sleep paralysis. I'll be here for hours or years or centuries, unable even to blink. It took a long time before my heartbeat settled, and I realized why my limbs felt trapped. Someone is in bed with me.
Then I smelled Omnia perfume, and my heart sped right back up.
Cailee...? What are you doing here...?
...climbing on top of me...?
She crawled over my body, hot and heavy. Those curvy, pretty legs I'd fantasized about countless times were now pressed against mine, propelling her torso up against mine.
And her hands—those fantastic bisque porcelain doll hands—were exploring my bedsheets, looking for something. When they found my crotch, they stopped moving.
Okay then.
As my penis swelled to hardness under her fingers, I feigned sleep. Her movements were uncertain and shaky. From desire? I wish I could believe so, but no. Fear is more likely. She was terrified of waking me, and didn't know that she already had.
Holy shit. What do I do? I was still about sixty-percent asleep, and felt like I was being called to run a marathon while solving AIME comp math problems. I'm not ready for this. My cock throbbed to full length under her stroking hand. It was just full of ideas. Do I just grab her and start fucking her? Would she let me? Or do I just lie here, and see what she does?
As I was handjobbed, I felt a sneeze build up in my nose. I tried to suppress it. Failed.
Ah-choo! My body whiplashed under the sheets.
Cailee reared back, shrilling a muted shriek. She pressed both hands against her mouth, slid off my body, and ran for the door.
She lunged out into the hall. Through the wall, I heard hard, shuddering sobs. She was crying.
* * *
I confronted Cailee in the living room that morning.
She was reading a theater book by Uta Hagen. Her eyes were exhausted and red-limned. She must have been up all night, girding herself up to try what she'd tried. Sucks that I sneezed.
"Hey," I said casually.
She looked up at me, her face expressionless. Her glance washed across me like water.
I stood over her. "So...I had a weird dream last night It involved you. You were lying on top of me."
She sighed, and rolled her eyes beneath her scissored bangs. "I don't want to hear any disgusting pervert shit, Kyle."
I sat down beside her. "You used to believe dreams held mystical significance. What do you think that one means? Interpret it for me."
Cailee gulped, and broke eye contact.
I smiled. "Or maybe it wasn't a dream at all."
She was silent for a long time, and then spoke so quietly that I almost had to lip-read her words.
"Kyle, there's no good way to say this, but..."
Her inflection was toneless. Her words flat.
"...I need some of your sperm."
Then she turned green, and lowered her gaze at the ground.
She was an actress. Good at disguising feelings. Her voice had a tremor of disgust running across it, but only a tremor. That hint of fear made her even prettier. Like Japanese Kintsugi, where a crack is repaired with powdered gold.
"You want my sperm?" I acted shocked. How dare you?
She clenched her fists, and gulped.
"If it's inside my body, I'll be immune to Kotokovirus-1. Will you help me?"
Oh my God. Her perfect lips are saying these words. It felt absolutely surreal.
"Wow, Cailee..." I said. "That's kind of...a big request, you know?"
She grunted in anguish, and twisted her hands into fists. "Kyle, I'm not attracted to you. I do not want to do this. But you're my cousin. And I don't want to catch KTK-1. If you...masturbate into a condom, and give it to me, I'll swallow it. I don't know how often I need to re-dose with Y chromosomes. Maybe a few times a week."
"That would work," I said. "But then we've got condoms to dispose of. If your mom and dad find them, they'll think you're fucking someone."
(Condoms can be easily flushed, of course, but I was counting on her being too sleep-deprived to twig to that)
Cailee sighed and smacked her face with her palm. "Oh my God, is my Saturn Return happening already? Why is everything so fucking hard?"
"There's an easier way," I said casually. "I could just...ejaculate into your mouth."
She looked at me, and I wondered if the whole plan was about to come apart right then. Yeah, you'd like that, wouldn't you, Kyle? Didn't you say you're friends with KTKTruthWarrior22 on Facebook? I bet you bribed him to say that incest-cum would protect me.
She was a good actress, after all. Good enough to recognize a bad one.
But then she said something that I wasn't prepared for.
"Can I have some cum right now?" She wrinkled up her face with distaste. "Can I, er, swallow one of your loads?"
Wow. I set all this in motion and somehow I'm not ready at all.
"Uhh...er..." I stumbled over words. "Okay. I guess."
Cailee moved forward, with the urgency of the mad and the dying. Kneeling, miniskirt hems swishing around her kaolin-white knees, she unzipped my jeans.
My cock flopped out, hardening rapidly to its seven and three-quarter inches.
As my boner bounced up and down in front of her face, inflating in time with my heartbeat, Cailee shuddered. "It smells gross."
Leaning forward, she circled her fingers around my cock's base, and planted her lips around my penis.
"Ahhh..." I sighed as her sucking lips smeared pink lipstick across my throbbing cock head.
Sllrrrp. Skllrch. Sqlllk.
"I've never done this before," Cailee whispered around soft licks and slurps.
She twisted her tongue around my shaft, extending it like a proboscis, gliding over veins, exploring the crevices and folds of my genitals. She looked revolted. I was revolted. I'd never noticed how ugly a penis is until now.
As she blew me, pre-cum bubbled out of my thickening shaft. Froth churned and gathered in the interplay of her velvet lips and tongue. Soon, it looked like my dick was slathered in ice cream, and she was feasting on it.
Then, she slooowly slid her face down into my hairy crotch, pressing her soft pink lips against my prick, working with her tongue downward from my glans to my shaft. I gasped as Cailee submerged her face into the wrinkled skin of my balls. She grabbed my prick to steady it, lashing and tormenting it with hard, percussive flicks and jabs of her tongue.
"Oooh, Cailee..."
Spasms ran through me as she fellated my cock. They danced up my spine like chain lightning.
"Your cock tastes disgusting," she hissed, eyes slitting inside tunnels of eyeshadow.
Her gaze held dislike, and repugnance for me and what was between my legs...but the divine pleasure didn't stop.
Sllrrrp. Skllrch. Sqlllk.
The blowjob unfolded with hallucinatory slowness. My cock twitched, flicked, and jerked as it approached orgasm. Precum smeared her makeup. Once, my cock jerked, plopping out of her sucking mouth and slapping the side of her cheek.
Whap!
Without missing a beat, Cailee gripped the shaft, gave a quick, punitive nip of her teeth, then plunged it back into her throat.
Was she imitating things she'd seen done in porn? I knew that she masturbated. Or tried to. The idea of my desperately pretty but ice-cold cousin jilling off to porn abruptly made me cum.
My breath hissed in. My hips rocked forward.
And another inch of my saliva-glistening shaft squelched into her mouth, as the throbbing began.
My eyes seemed to suck back into my skull as I burst. A rhythmic pounding began in my crotch, gaining force and fury, finally exploding like a bomb.
"Cumming!" I grunted, ejaculating hard.
My cock firing a huge wad of cum into the back of her throat.
"BLURGHH!" Cailee coughed and spluttered on my load, and my jerking penis popped from her lips, shiny with saliva. Twin strands of cum dribbled out of the the corners of her mouth.
My cock swung in front of her face, and belched again. Another white strand tore free of my slit.
Cum slashed her pretty face in half with a thick white line. It rolled down her face like paint. "AHHH!" She cried as she was blasted again.
I released my load in sprays and spurts. It was the most intense, painfully sharp orgasm I could remember having. I fell to my knees, and a plume of sperm erupted from my penis, sailed in a large arc, and bombed against Cailee's face with enough force to etch glass. She recoiled, thrashing her head like a snake, as thick splooge splashed across her face, hair, and cleavage.
I gasped and moaned, my reproductive tract lurching with rubbery sensations, blasting out goo until I ran out, then dryly spasming for about twenty seconds afterward. Long creamy ropes of spunk splatted over her face, shoulders, and cleavage. One stray bolt of sperm shot into her carefully-styled updo, ruining it.
I stared down at my bukkake'd younger cousin.
"Um...sorry?" My cock softened, dribbling thick white gunk on the carpet.
"Kyle, you asshole!" She cried, flapping her hands in shock and outrage. "Warn me next time!"
"I did," I murmured timidly.
"There's so much of this shit! You got it in my eye! It fucking stings!"
Then Cailee stood up, shrieking at full volume as my load dribbled down her face.
"OH MY GOD!" she roared. "I FUCKING HATE MEN! You're disgusting sex-obsessed pigs, and your penises are gross, and your cum is gross, and...UGH! I'm going lesbian! Fuck that, I'm going asexual! I'M NEVER TOUCHING A DICK AGAIN EVER! NOT FOR AS LONG AS I LIVE!"
She wiped handfuls of splooge from her beautiful face, and stormed out of the room. I heard her voice shake the walls.
"...Next time you cum, I WANT IT IN MY MOUTH! OKAY?"
I smiled sheepishly. Roger Wilco.
* * *
It took Cailee half an hour to fix her makeup and hair, and another half to stop being pissed as fuck.
Then we discussed terms in her room, with the TV on to mask our voices (her mom and dad were home by that point.)
"Once again, I don't enjoy this," Cailee repeated angrily, her makeup jagged and uneven and cracked. She'd applied it quickly, with shaking hands. "I'm putting your sperm in my body to protect myself. That's the only reason, so don't get any funny ideas."
"Yeah, I don't enjoy it either," I lied.
"As you shouldn't. This is fucking gross. I'm your cousin. Anyway, I need it once a day."
"How about twice?" I offered generously. "Just to be on the safe side."
She rolled her eyes. "Twice, then."
Then she pushed forward into me. I felt her hot breath on my skin.
"Give me another dose right now," she snarled, baring white teeth.
"What? Already?"
"You made me spit most of it out, you dumbass. I have to swallow. And don't cum in my hair or eyes this time, or I'll beat the shit out of you."
Okay, I thought as she pushed me flat on my back, pulled my knees apart, and lunged for my genitals.
I heard my pants get unzipped, felt them get pulled down around my ankles, and then I looked down, to see Cailee's pretty hand-scissored bangs bumping and jostling inside my crotch. I felt liquid gooey pleasure explode out from my groin as her lips slurped and polished my cock.
I gazed up at the ceiling, smiling. My thighs sweated. My sore cock began to swell in her mouth.
slurp...slurp.....SLOORPP!
Life at the Spaeny house has an interesting flavor to it. I thought as my pretty cousin sucked me off like an industrial vacuum cleaner for the second time in an hour.
* * *
Things gained a rhythm after that.
A twice-a-day rhythm of Cailee's head bobbing between my legs.
She blew me morning and afternoon, like clockwork. Before school. Then after, before she went to acting classes.
In the morning, she would gobble my prick while naked and dripping from the shower, her neatly-pressed schoolgirl uniform laid across the bed beside us, waiting for her hot, celadonite-precious flesh to pour into it.
Cailee soon learned to blow me before she got dressed for school. Never afterward. The first load of the day is a big one for me, and jizz tended to spray over her hair, blazer, tie, slacks, and stockings.
Our afternoon suck-and-swallow was an exact repeat of the morning, except now I smelled whatever she had for lunch on her breath as she blew me—tuna, garlic, aoili—and she undressed from her school uniform after I busted a nut.
For the first twenty or thirty suckjobs, she took my load in her mouth, then walked to the bathroom, and swallowed. I didn't know why. Maybe she wanted to deny me the pleasure of seeing her chug my cum. Then, she stopped bothering. Faster just to swallow my load there and then.
She was rough at first. A lot of teeth. Then she started figuring things out: no girl can suck at blowjobs forever, particularly not when they think their life depends on it. And although she complained about how gross and disgusting I was, I soon sensed a certain enjoyment from her. An eagerness to begin.
My dick broke the spell fear had over her.
How we kept our oral sex sessions a secret for so long from the dozen or so people living at the Spaeny house was a mystery. But they did notice Cailee's new mood.
Vivacious and light and happy.
"Well, someone's full of the joys of spring," Mark, my uncle said, laughing at the bouquet of flowers she'd picked and thrust into his coffee mug—which he'd unfortunately just tried to drink. "What the hell has gotten into you lately?"
"I don't know!" Cailee was skipping around the kitchen, delighted and happy. "I don't know!"*
She burped, close to my face. I smelled my cum on her breath.
She grinned. I grinned. The old Cailee was back.
* * *
Soon, I decided to take things to the next level.
Cailee was listening to KTKTruthWarrior22's podcast while she sucked my dick one morning.
"...oh, and hey, remember that sibling-semen-protects theory we talked about a while back? There's been a follow-up study."
SCHLURP! Cailee yanked her head off my penis. Moist saliva connected her mouth to my cock, the strand lengthening and then snapping beneath gravity.
She tensed, readied herself for the guillotine to fall. Readied to hear herself the study didn't replicate.
I was calm. I knew what Kluwe would say. I'd made his bank account two thousand dollars richer to ensure he'd say it.
"Yes, the protective effect of consanguinous sperm exists. But there's an important caveat: the Y chromosome cannot enter through the mouth. Got that? Only Y chromosomes received by vaginal penetration offer immunity from KTK-1."
Cailee's breath stopped.
She looked at me, and I looked back.
"Did you hear that?" I murmured. "Apparently you sucking my dick isn't gonna help. I need to actually fuck you. Crazy world, huh?"
"I'm not going to do it," she sulked and fumed. "I'm not going to do it. I can't have sex with my fucking cousin! There has to be another way."
"It's fine," I said. "I'm not pushing you into anything."
She just kept talking, like I hadn't spoken.
"I won't do it, Kyle! It's sick! It's wrong! It's immoral!" her voice was rising, becoming dangerously loud. Soon, our parents would hear. They were inside the house somewhere.
She kept talking and talking, telling me how horrible it was, and how depraved it would be, and how much of a sicko I was for even considering it...
...I couldn't miss the fact that her nipples were hard.
She seemed to be angling her body toward me, so I could see them.
"KYLE, I SWEAR, I AM NOT GOING TO DO IT!" she said vehemently, acting like I was trying to slam my cock into her pussy there and then, when I hadn't said a word. "NO MATTER HOW MUCH YOU ARGUE WITH ME!"
I was starting to understand something about Cailee.
About women in general.
They love to fuck. But they don't love to be a girl who fucks, if you understand. Such girls are called sluts, and no girl wants to be a slut.
Cailee was incredibly horny and sexual. But clearly, she would only ever have sex if a layer of ego-protecting theater existed, where the sex wasn't her responsiblity.
Was I expected to force her to have sex? No. I don't think so. She wasn't a rape fetishist. But she would clearly be more comfortable if I took the decision out of her hands, at least partially.
I smiled winningly. "Cailee...let's think this through. Maybe it won't be as bad as you think."
"I WON'T DO IT!" she howled. "I WON'T!"
...And her mouth was curling in an eager smile, glad that I'd gotten on the same page as her. Make me do it, Kyle. Make me.
In the end, we argued for ten minutes, before she agreed to be fucked by my cock with frantic and barely-disguised joy.
"But I'm not fucking you because I want to do it," Cailee hissed, almost panting with desire.
"Of course," I said. "So...are we doing it right now?"
"No," she whispered, and the sharp, pointed smile was dancing around her features again. "I'm not on birth control, dork. Let me figure shit out. Then we'll do it."
The bad news? She never finished the blowjob.
She tucked my penis back into my pants, and told me to save my sperm until our big day.
* * *
A few hours later, Cailee and her mom went out shopping.
I was almost out of my mind with excitement as the car pulled out of the driveway.
Cailee was making an extra stop-off that her mom didn't know about. A stop-off at a pharmacy.
Just then, I heard a man's voice roar through the house.
"KYYYLE! Come down here now!"
It was Mark Spaeny, my uncle.
He and I had a relationship that was a little odd. Mark was a gruff, disciplinarian veteren who had never actually laid down the law with me—I wasn't his son—yet who clearly wanted to.
For a long time, I'd been afraid of getting on his bad side.
Also afraid that I'd now managed to do exactly that.
Feeling uneasy, I trooped downstairs, and found him sitting at the table.
Mark and my mom were both there.
And there was an empty chair between them, clearly meant for me. Uh oh.
"Sit," Mark gestured at the chair. "Son, you have some explaining to do."
* * *
I sat, feeling like I was at a military tribunal, wilting before my uncle's fierce glare.
"Kyle, do you know why I've called you down here?"
"No." I resisted the urge to say sir.
Mark Spaeny glowered beneath a military crew-cut. Twenty years post-discharge, he still kept it tight enough for sweat to visibly glisten on every inch of his scalp when he got angry.
My mom existed as a sullen presence in the background. My aunt and Cailee would not be back for hours. My other nieces and nephews had gone away on a school excursion.
We were alone.
"I've just heard something very disturbing about you and Cailee. Would you like to confess now, son? Save us all some trouble?"
"I have nothing to confess to." I held out my hands guilelessly. "Like, I'm sorry, but I don't know what this is about."
Mark's face tensed. He leaned forward until his nose almost touched mine. Short, hard words emerged from his mouth; bitten short by clenched teeth.
"Jon told me this morning that he saw you kissing my daughter Cailee on the living room floor."
Kissing. Oh God, sweet glorious relief. I wanted to weep. If that was the worst my dipshit younger cousin Jonathan had seen us do...
"Jon's a liar," I said, eyes to the floor. "He's just mad that he can't beat me in Halo, so he's making up stories. Why would I kiss Cailee? I mean, ew. She's my cousin, for God's sake."
"Don't take the Lord's name in vain," Mark rumbled. "I've already asked Cailee. She says it didn't happen."
"Well, there you go," I sounded more flip than I'd intended, and his glare hardened.
"I'm going to let this go, but understand something, Kyle. There are ethical codes set by God, nature, and the state of Missouri that you will not cross. Not when it's my roof you're living under."
He rapped his hard knuckles on my arm. My skin prickled, and I resisted the urge to flinch.
"I'll be watching," he snarled, face in shadow. "And If I discover you're doing anything inappropriate or unnatural with my daughter, you're gone. Out the door. Consider it a mercy. I could have you arrested for violation of statutory incest laws."
"Yes," I nodded fervently. "I understand. Sir."
I hadn't meant to say that—it slipped out—but Mark seemed to enjoy the appellation. His expression warmed. "Good," he said, and flashed a grudging smile. "Just so we have that understanding, boy. You're a good kid, on the whole, and I trust you more than Jon."
He waved a dismissive hand. "That will be all."
But then my mom stepped forward.
"Wait, Kyle," she raised a pallid hand. "...there's something else you should know."
Mark winced. "Are you gonna tell him what I think you're gonna tell him?"
"I think we have to."
My mom was a thin, hard-boned woman with a prominent jaw and blonde shoulder-length hair.
"I'm about to tell you something about Cailee that not even she knows. She is not actually your cousin."
"Huh?" I asked. "Then what is she?"
Mom's ghostlike hand was on my shoulder. The fingers had steel inside them. "Mark and Vanessa have had a lot of children. But sometimes things go wrong. When they were trying for Cailee they...are you okay with me telling him this, Mark?"
My uncle shrugged, defeated. "It's too late to stop now, I guess."
Mom nodded. "...I will skip over some personal details, but essentially, Vanessa faced...barriers to conception. I offered to become a surrogate for their child, and they accepted. Cailee is my biological daughter, not Vanessa's."
Horrible thoughts were amalgamating in the mud at the bottom of my mind. Writhing and knotting together in skeins of nightmares.
My heart was pounding with horror. "But if she's your daughter, that means I'm..."
Mom smiled thinly. "Her brother."
Brother. Sister. Spawned inside the same womb. Thinking it made me sick.
Every memory of Cailee's her body and hips and ass and mouth was now darker, ranker, filthier. Hotter. The present was raking its rot over the past, poisoning my treasured memory, making it somehow grimier and filthier and...oh God, an erection? I was getting an erection?
I'd sunk so far into shit that I'd become shit myself.
Mom saw my discomfort, and leaned in close enough to envelope me in a cloud of antacid from her stomach.
"I hope with all my soul that you're telling the truth, Kyle. But if anything at all is happening between you and Cailee, it needs to stop right now. She was never the person you thought."
Mom's steel-peg fingers gripped my shoulder hard enough to mark the skin.
"She is your sister."
* * *
I walked out of the house, blinking in the sunlight, shellshocked and torn apart.
A damp Missouri wind blew. It seemed to whistle right through me, as if I was hollow.
A sister. In my head, the words twisted like conjoined mutants.
They became Assist-her.
My cousin had not sucked my dick twice a day for the past month. My cousin was not currently shopping for pills so I could firehose an ocean of genetic material into her bare, 18 year old pussy.
My sister was doing those things.
Did that matter? Does anything matter?
Out of the gloom, I saw Cailee approaching the house, back hours earlier than expected. She must have left her mom at the shops, and walked home.
Lovely as always. Legs kicking up her frilled skirt as she walked. I got hard at the sight of her. Hard for my biological sister.
She's planning on fucking you, I thought. What will you do about that?
I gulped, cobbling a speech together as I went to meet her.
Cailee, we have to stop this. Jon saw us, and tattled to our parents. I smoothed it over, but your dad will be watching, and if he catches us, he's kicking me out of the house. And that's the best-case scenario.
I meant to tell her this.
But she lifted a tab of pills up in front of me—synthetic progesterone—and all the words fell from my awe slack mind.
I lunged for Cailee, swept arms around her—first glancing back at the house, to make sure we weren't being watched. We kissed, our heads thrashing like siamese fish, then our lips came apart with loud gasps.
My head dove into her breasts, where her sweet-savory Omnia perfume corroded my nostrils. Then I plunged my face through her hair, driving my lips into the forbidden flesh of her shoulder, kissing her there. I wanted all of her.
And she shuddered, her skin growing hot and tight beneath my kisses.
I had no willpower to stop this. It was going to run over me like a truck.
Desire. Lust. A wordless language of shadows, rising from the coiling abysms of our genes. Genes that were 25% related, and as such, just had to be rammed together, forcefully and repeatedly. We were one. It all seemed so natural to us then. So healthy.
* * *
Three days later, we prepared to have intercourse for the first time.
No glances back. No fucks given. We shouldn't have done it. Oh fuck, we shouldn't have done it.
Easy to say that in hindsight, after both our lives fell apart, but HOLY SHIT...
...how were we so stupid?
That first night together was the moment we entered a death spiral. Yes, I had set these events in motion long before, but that was the first night it became impossible to walk away.
We couldn't stop. I keep telling you, because it keeps being true. Were bound together, staggering toward the precipice like two suicidal people in a three-legged race. Cailee had always known in her heart that death stalked her. But death comes for us all in the end.
What happens when you chase death? What happens when you see the darkness at the edge of the world, and start running for it as fast as your feet will carry you? That's what I was doing, and I was taking her with me.
And for the first time, I understood Cailee's fear fo death.
As it fell over me like a raven's outspread wing, it became mine too.
Inside her shadow-filled bedroom—it was late at night, and everyone else in the house was asleep—Cailee drew the curtains, and lit taper candles.
The glossy pale cylinders glowed with refulgent light, spitting out tongues of flame. Tongues that could have been speaking approving or condemnatory words over the act we were about to do. Words we would have been blind to, deaf to.
We were about to go all the way.
Not oral.
Full on penis-inside-cunt, brother-inside-sister fucking.
As my cock hardened, I smelled candlesmoke, cut and sweetened and perfumed with notes of jasmine, sage, clove, cedar, rosemary. And Cailee sat crosslegged in front of me, and repeated what was now a familiar sermon.
"This isn't about pleasure," she said sternly. "This isn't about sexual gratification. This is about duty."
She reached up to her shoulders, and unlaced the straps on her sundress.
"It's your duty to keep me safe."
Flop. The sundress spilled from her luscious body, its folds seeming to pour across her curves like a torrent of molten gold. It exposed was white flesh so pure and incorruptible that I could not imagine any disease even touching it.
I pounced on her, tongue kissing, hands feeling, and touched her instead.
* * *
Cailee and I sixty-nined on the floor.
My cock filled her mouth, her cunt wrapped over my face like a glove. Her fleshy petals squished out around my face. She had shaved, and was completely hairless down below.
We performed oral sex, humping and moaning and grunting into each others' engorged genitals.
Cailee slipped my penis out past her lips.
"You really think this is necessary?"
"Yeshhh..." I said, as her moist pubis flooded over my face like an explosion of warm sticky flesh. "Lubricay-sshion."
"Okay," she shrugged, and popped my dick back in.
I latched on to Cailee's clit, and began probing it with my tongue. Exploring it. Her clit was a mountain, and I was Edmund Hillary.
Choking noises erupted from Cailee's mouth as pleasure slammed out. ""UH! UH! UHHHOOAAHHH!" My cock fell free, pressing against her cheek and skidding a gooey path through her makeup.
I remembered the line in her diary about how she'd never had an orgasm. Not like other girls.
"Gonna make you cum..." I gasped, and wormed deeper into her squirming depths. "Gonna make you cum for the first time."
"I don't want to cum," Cailee said. "This isn't about pleasure, remember? Just shoot your load in me."
You don't want to cum the same way you don't want to fuck, I thought inside her guts.
Which is to say, you do. Madly and deeply. You just don't want to admit it.
"Actually, wait..." Cailee sounded confused. "How do you know I've never had an orgasm?"
Whoops.
"...Have you been reading my diary, Kyle?"
I solved my little dilemma by plunging my face into her sopping hole, and making her squeal.
As we frantically sucked cock and pudenda, we swirled and spun around the floor, like the hands of an analog clock that had gotten stuck together, each dragging the other as it turned across the dial. We swept the floor clean with our sweaty, eager bodies, twisting in circles as our bodies knotted together.
We knocked over one of candles. It flamed out as it fell. Lucky us—I'm not sure if we could have stopped fucking even if the house was burning down around us.
"BUHHH!" Cailee wailed as her pussy made world-swallowing glucking and shlicking sounds around my face. Her fluids wept into my mouth like tears. "I don't want to cum. I DON'T WANT TO CUM!"
Challenge accepted.
Her hot, taut nethers were pulsing around my face. Every muscle was screamingly-tense. She was already getting close. And I still hadn't used my secret weapon.
I lubricated a finger with her foaming juices, reached behind her slamming asscheeks, and wormed it into her asshole.
I felt a sharp squeal start in her chest, travel up her throat, and almost burst out of her mouth before she caught it.
Her whole body thrashed and spasmed. Her hips flailed in wild jerks.
I opened her legs wider, and pushed myself deeper at both ends. Tongue in cunt. Finger in asshole. Riding the folds of her labia and the jiggling cheeks of her ass. I gripped a buttock with my spare hand, slapping it. Whap! She gasped, her little tits jiggling close to my dick.
The muscles and tendons in her neck strained as Cailee suppressed a deafening orgasmic scream. Her puckered bunghole contracted around my finger several times.
Her pussy convulsed. Fluid sprayed over my face. Drenching me, like a baptism. It changed me. I was a different man by the time her cum stopped gushing.
"Nawwhh,” Cailee cried, clenching her fists as she orgasmed. She was like a brainwashing victim. "I'M...NOT...ENJOYING THIS! DAMN IT!"
Sure. And there are pangolins in Libya.
And then I bodily threw her off me. She shuddered, her legs opening and closing like pivot folds, like origami.
I stood over her, cock bared and dripping. "Get ready. Now it's my turn."
I mounted her, swinging my hips over hers. She shuddered, as my hand gripped her porcelain-fleshed throat.
My cock sundered her apart. My huge, drooling length stretching apart her petals, filling her like the plague.
In. It's done. I felt her vaginal rugae fluttering in excited delight, massaging my thick penis.
With a brutal male lunge, I stuffed myself to the root in Cailee's box and held myself there. Her legs tensed as she accepted me, taking my length balls-deep.
Then we started to fuck.
Bellowing like a bull, I jammed my cock all the way inside her, blasting and ramming her moist hole. She began grunting rhythmically as she was ploughed by my big prick. The room filled with obscene lewd squelchy smacks of flesh on flesh. A kind of sex-noise we couldn't stifle.
I didn't—couldn't—last long inside her gripping pussy.
"Uhh, you sexy biiiiiiitch!" I gasped, the last word stretchiing out in space as I fell forward, plunging blindly into the starless void of an orgasm.
Inside her cunt, seven and three quarters of an inch deep, semen burst from the tip of my penis.
"Cumming! Cumming!" I muffled my voice until it was for her ears only. "OH CAILEE, I'M CUMMING!”
Thick cords of sperm hosed out of my penis, blasting the insides of her vagina, gushing through the narthex of her spasming cervix.
I unloaded into her with short, hard blasts, gripping her shoulders, shaking her until her hair flew. My vision spiralled dizzily, crazily. I threw my head back, and roared as I ejaculated illegally into her. Fuck you, Mark Spaeny. Fuck you, statutory incest laws. I filled my clutching fists with handfuls of Cailee's soft titflesh, tearing at her breasts until she gasped in pain.
I cummed and cummed in my sister's twat. It seemed the thick splattery discharge would never end. My balls hitched, jerked, and jumped, ejaculating torrents of fertile baby-goo into her tight fuck-channel. Cailee's eyes widened as the brother she didn't know was a brother seeded her.
From inside her hips came muffled spurting and splattering sounds as her womb was absolutely defiled.
My orgasm died down, and I collapsed into her sweaty shoulder.
"Woah, fuck."
I tried to pull myself out of her.
At first, there was resistance. My cock didn't want to leave this warm, soft, trench that it had just filled with cum. We were glued together at the hips, like our fucking had consummated in such white-hot intensity that we'd fused. Metal, flowing into metal. Brother, flowing into sister.
My dick will be inside her permanently. It was a comforting thought. *This is so pure and beautiful that I'm glad the world will know.
Then, I rocked my hips back, and we came apart.
SKLUURRCHH!
My flaccid penis pulled out between her legs with a sickening, visceral sound.
It unplugged from her hole, trailing a gooey mess of semen that puddled between her legs.
The white of my cum and the pink of her flesh slammed the truth home with the force of an atom bomb. I had just fucked a load into my sister.
No way back.
Perhaps no way forward, either.
Cailee's hand caressed my stubbled cheek.
"Well," she had an insouciant smirk on her face. "So much for not enjoying that."
Then she slapped me. Whap!
"Ow!" I yelled, rubbing my face. I felt the sting of her sharp little hand on my cheek, long after it had left. A tattoo, inked with pain. "What was that for?"
"For reading my fucking diary, you freak!" Cailee hissed.
Then she gripped my head, and pulled my face toward her.
"You — are — a — complete — DOUCHEBAG!"
The sentence had big, multi-second holes torn it it. Holes that she filled with her lips, Filled with frantic, desperate, incestuous kisses.
She was a girl overflowing with lust and need. KTK-1 wasn't the only fear I was helping her overcome.
Sometimes truth is the chains that bind. Sometimes it's the key that sets us free. I weighed all the truths about our strange and forbidden relationship as we swapped spit and wrestled tongues on her bedroom floor.
This girl is my sister. This is the truth.
She's fucking me based on a lie. This is the truth.
But she wants this. This is the truth.
We love each other. This is the only truth.
I fell into her arms, the world dissolving. A refulgent sexual heat seemed to melt the world in running streams of paint, stoked by warm breath that seemed to plume around us like fire. A heat to set the universe ablaze.
In her eyes...in Cailee's eyes...
...was happiness.
Happiness based on a lie? A lie that might come unravelled at any moment? Didn't matter. It was still happiness.
We drowsed and then slept in each other's arms.
* * *
But it was a dream. A fantasy. Never real. Three weeks later, it all came apart.
The worst day of my life began with Cailee crying and calling my name.
I ran to her room, and found her holding a gray plastic stick.
"Are you okay?" I asked.
"Something went wrong." she sobbed, tears running down her face. "The birth control...I don't know what happened! I swear I was taking it!"
She held up a pregnancy test.
A stark, terrifying line stood out, seeming to glare across the room at me. J'Accuse.
"You got me pregnant, Kyle," my sister whispered in shock. "I'm going to have your baby..."
I backed away, thinking no, no, no. Too much. Too much. I couldn't fit this into my world. I should have said something, should have comforted my sister—it wasn't my body that a baby was now growing inside—but I'm ashamed to say I fled.
With the sound of Cailee crying ringing in my ears, I ran to my room, and began frantically pulling up sites on my computer.
Abortion clinics. Adoption centers. Goddamn coathanger factories. Anything that would stop the crazied rat-race of my thoughts. Anything that would make me feel better, if only for a second.
I got my sister pregnant. And unless I fix this, I'm fucked.
As it turned out, I had no idea what fucked actually looks like.
Seconds later, an email popped up on my screen. I saw the subject line.
YOU HAVE A SECRET, KYLE... 
I clicked on it. It was from
kyle_valance_luvs_incest@protonmail.comA shocking and horrible coldness rushed through me.
Hello, Kyle. I hope you and C are well.
I am a concerned citizen who has taken an interest in certain matters happening at your residence. Matters that the state of Missouri would judge a class-E felony.
You have some questions, I'm sure. But I have one of my own.
How much is your secret worth? How much would you pay for my silence? Think about that, and make me an offer. 
PS: C's favorite number is 22...
I read the email in a daze, my mind crumbling. Splintering. Shattering.
Dante got it wrong. Hell doesn't have nine levels. Hell goes on forever. Ask me how I know.
In the hall outside, Cailee's cries became screams.
PART 2 TO COME...
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Topic: Spaencest (Cailee Spaeny) (Read 423 times)