tagIncest/TabooCousins with Benefits

Cousins with Benefits

byJBEdwards©

Mark discovers his wife's cousins have benefits. It's a complicated Eastern Kentucky story.

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This story is a hybrid of exhibitionism/voyeur and incest, with some group sex thrown in. I hope you like it. Comments are welcome.

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My wife was a wonderful woman. She worked as an ER nurse in a hospital as I went to medical school. We were as poor as church mice, as the saying goes, but we were in love and it was okay. Sally had understood that med school was only the beginning. After med school was finished there would be being an intern and residency but she had the patience of Job. Our love for each other just grew stronger.

By the time I was done and earning some decent money, I was 30 and Sally was 27. Sally may have been 27, but she had the hard, tight body of a 17-year-old and the sophistication of a 37-year-old. I don't know how she did it. Sure, she went to the gym and all that, but I think basically it's just good genes. Sally swam in the deep end of the gene pool.

If people have two poles, a positive and a negative, in their emotional centers, Sally was a monopole. She was always positive. She gave new meaning to the phrase 'salt of the earth.'

Sally's body was to die for, or at least it was for my taste. Her pretty face coupled with her body were what attracted me of course in the first place, when I was a senior in college and she was a cute little freshman, wide eyed and bushy tailed, just waiting to be ravished by a senior such as myself. It wasn't her body or her talent in bed that kept me fascinated and loyal, however. It was her wondrous way of being. I fell hard for that woman.

I don't know what Sally saw in me. That's for her to say. I was just glad she saw whatever it is she saw that keeps her in love with me. Our love has now lasted nine great years.

As for sex, Sally was a natural. She seemed to know exactly how to please a man and most importantly how to please me. Since she was barely 18 when we met, I had always assumed I was her first, or maybe her second if she had a boyfriend in high school or something. I assumed she had natural talent and knew exactly what to do to get me turned on through some sort of feminine instinct.

Since I assumed I was her first lover or at least her first serious lover, it also made me her only. I was a bit worried that at some point she would get restless, wondering what she was missing by restricting her carnal knowledge just to me, but luckily there was never even the slightest indication that was the case.

There are aspects of Sally I found contradictory. She was a shy, proper woman. She kept her body covered and never showed any more skin than was necessary. Her blouses had high necks. She typically wore them accompanied by a choker string of pearls.

Her skirts were always the proper length, falling to her knees or just slightly above. She had ramrod straight posture and stuck out her boobs, but with her it was just a natural way of being and not at all provocative. She did not dress to attract men. Sure, she attracted me, but that was mostly due to her pretty face.

Alone with me, however, and in the bedroom with the blinds down, her modesty disappeared. After the first time we ever made love, she no longer had any problem with prancing around nude with me in the apartment, her boobs jiggling just a little, as long as the blinds were down. The blinds had to be down.

She was also an enthusiastic, no holds barred lover. She was up for anything and everything. She loved trying new positions, she actually enjoyed anal, and she learned to deep throat and to give the best blowjobs east of the Mississippi. She even enjoyed letting me tie her up and 'punish' her in the usual pretend, sex game sort of way. I knew I would never get bored with her.

Sally was a feminist and a liberal, but not in the customary ways. For example, she believed in a woman's right to choose, but she thought abortion was murder. "Do you think it is okay for a woman to commit murder if she chooses to have an abortion?" I asked her once.

"Yes, yes I do. It's a spiritual murder, not a civil murder. A fetus does not get a tax deduction. A fetus does not have the right to bear arms, or even to have bare arms. If the woman has a miscarriage, the fetus is not given last rites, nor is it buried, nor even named. It's not death until the baby is born. Therefore it is not murder until the baby is born. Spiritually however, for me at least, it's still murder. The woman will have to live with that black mark on her soul," she replied.

I disagreed with Sally. For me, it was simple. A woman has the right to choose, period. It's her body, after all. We also disagreed about politics, often strongly, and yet we always seemed to vote the same way. I was fascinated with Sally's mind. She always had surprises in store for me.

How Sally dressed was conservative. Certainly, she was always completely correct in her dress for work, and she never tried to look sexy. That's probably smart behavior for a nurse who works in a hospital, especially if she is married and not on the make to land a doctor. When we would step out for a fun evening, for example dinner and dancing, she would also dress conservatively. She would inevitably be the dowdiest woman at the club. I did not mind because I knew once we got home she would be a sexual tigress in bed.

Indeed, once we were home Sally always lost her shy ways. Alone with her husband she would strip naked and let me do to her whatever I wanted. She would blow me and swallow and as I mentioned earlier she even liked anal. She let me take sexy pictures of her too, as long as they were strictly for my own use. I had no complaints about Sally. She was my dream wife.

Like all people, including me of course, Sally had her own little quirks. One of them was closet space. When we moved to New York where I had my residency we rented a studio apartment with the world's smallest closet. Sally, who likes both shoes and clothes, complained constantly. We bought an armoire, but that took up both scarce wall space and floor space. Basically, we just did not have enough room.

I wish it had not happened by tragedy, but it did. My parents happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, and a drunken driver ended up killing them both. This knocked me for a huge, major loop and I came close to a nervous breakdown. Luckily, I was married to an angel, who was also a nurse, and Sally nursed me through the trauma of the sudden loss of both parents. Losing your parents prematurely is a blow for anyone but to lose them in such a gratuitous, violent manner makes it all the more difficult to cope.

When the dust cleared our marriage was stronger than ever, and I had inherited two million dollars after taxes from my parents, most of it coming from the sale of their home and their vacation home, and some from their retirement savings. A large chunk came from the insurance of the drunken driver.

This meant we were able to buy an apartment in New York. We had fun looking for one and we found one in Manhattan on the west side behind Columbus Circle amongst a cluster of high rise buildings.

We put ourselves on a budget and bought only the furniture that was absolutely necessary. We decided we preferred to wait to buy things we really loved, when we would eventually have the money. One of the items we postponed buying was blinds and curtains. Sally said she loved the sunlight, and I too thought maximizing the sunlight we got would help the mild depression I was still enduring related to the death of my parents.

The one exception was our bedroom. There we felt we needed some blinds for privacy for when we were dressing or making love. Sally was shy about her body except for me. For just me, and only in our bedroom, she had no qualms about being naked. She would then throw on a nightshirt over her beautiful naked body to leave the bedroom, for example to go to the kitchen in the morning to make coffee.

I began to notice a new side of Sally I had never even suspected was there. Nine years with her, six of marriage, and this was a big surprise. How often does that happen? It was when the nightshirt she slept in became old and it began to tear a bit at the seam.

Sally would wear the nightshirt around the apartment, nude underneath it, until she was dressed for the day. She also wore it around the apartment at night after she got ready for bed but was still hanging out with me. I had always enjoyed the nightshirt on Sally because it hugged her boobs a little, and her nipples would poke at the fabric, as if to say 'good morning' to me.

The rip in the seam began to grow as seam rips will do if one does not make a stitch in time. By now Sally needed way more than nine stitches and the need was growing almost on a daily basis. The rip now went up her leg exposing quite a bit of her thigh. I thought it looked sexy, and I told Sally that. Her reply was to blush and to giggle, saying she was waiting to replace it until she had the time to go negligee shopping. She was tired of nightshirts.

The rip progressed, but Sally sat in a way where her leg was not too exposed, and her privates were always covered. At least she sat that way most of the time. As the evenings wore on however and we were both getting sleepy Sally would become careless.

Sally would let the nightshirt fall away according to the rip, revealing her right leg from ankle to hip. This surprised me because with no blinds or curtains, after dark with the lights on, our apartment was like a fishbowl for the neighbors to view from the other high-rise buildings. The only private rooms were the bathroom and our bedroom.

When she got up to walk, if her right side faced the windows as it often did, she would reveal to the window an expanse of her luscious female flesh from ankle to the top of her hip. The nightshirt would come tantalizingly close to flashing a bit of her pussy too, but it never did.

A few weeks later Sally's nightshirt ripped dramatically once again and now it was open on her right side all the way to her armpits. I kind of enjoyed it. She still wore it around the apartment in the early morning and late at night, and I could get nice glimpses of the sides of her boobs from time to time, and even the rare glimpse of her nipple on her right boob. Her nightshirt revealed a vast expanse of flesh on the right side of her body from her ankles to her hips to the top of her luscious torso.

I always thought Sally's boobs were things of beauty. They were perfection themselves if you will, being neither small nor big, but pert with perfect nipples framed in a lovely way by her bright pink areolas. Getting glimpses of them turned me on. Knowing the neighbors could see glimpses too also - I'm ashamed to admit - turned me on. It turned me on something fierce.

There were also the flashes of her pussy and not just to me but also to the neighbors across the way, had they been looking at the right moments. It was so hot. I loved it.

It was strange. I did not need these sexy glimpses of my wife's body. I was her husband and lover, and I could get a full frontal whenever I wanted. Somehow though being given unexpected nice, healthy peeks seemed special. Around the apartment Sally made no efforts to be modest since there were only Sally herself and me in the apartment. For some reason the hordes of neighbors in the neighboring buildings who could see into our little fishbowl when the sun was down and the lights were on did not factor into our thinking.

Perhaps I should have said 'did not factor into Sally's thinking.' In actuality, I thought about how Sally was potentially (and probably) exposing herself a little bit to our neighbors across the way. It was on a somewhat constant basis when she walked around in her torn nightshirt and the idea turned me on. I thought of it as victimless exhibitionism. It seemed to me it was harmless and I was content just to enjoy it.

One of the perks of living in New York is that you can get the New York Times delivered to your door in the morning. The Times people drop off the papers in the building lobby, and the staff of the building distribute them to people's doors. Every day either Sally or I would step outside our apartment into the hallway to pick up the paper. It arrived between 7AM and 8AM. We would have to bend over to pick it up off the floor of course.

On those days when Sally picked up the paper, which were most days, she would still be wearing her torn nightshirt, naked underneath, and anyone who happened to be in the hallway would be treated to a lovely up close and personal view of the entire side of her body. When she would bend over the torn nightshirt would billow out and reveal her adorable but primarily sexy naked breasts. It would be a fleeting but rather spectacular show. I think it was at best only rarely enjoyed, since the potential lucky voyeur would have to be in the hallway, looking in the right direction, at just the right time, around 7:30AM.

One time I was up early and saw Sally going outside into the hallway for the paper and heard her talking. I looked through the peephole and saw her chatting away happily with one of our immediate neighbors, a man of around forty years of age. He was good looking, I knew. I was fairly sure he was getting one hell of a view, too, since Sally's right side, open for viewing, was the side facing his roving eyes.

Our bedroom shares a wall with his apartment and it's possible he can hear some noises we make if we are loud enough. After the discussion with the neighbor Sally came back to bed and we made love. Sally was already wet and ready to go and attacked me like an animal in heat. She was significantly noisier than she normally is, screaming out her orgasm at a record decibel level. I loved it, but I knew Sally was supplementing her show with audio to aid our neighbor's fantasy of ravishing her.

I had the creepy feeling she might have been imagining it was our neighbor instead of myself who was fucking her for all he was worth. You never know what goes in another person's mind, but that's what I suspected just then. What I got out of it was a great and passionate fuck.

It was sometime after my wife's 'inadvertent' exhibitionist displays began that I noticed a tiny Bluetooth enabled small camera someone had placed on the ceiling of the hallway. It was aimed directly at our front door. I pretended not to notice it while silently wondering who had placed it there? My leading suspect was our neighbor, the one who Sally flashed via her torn nightshirt. I knew he was good with computers; I had even asked for his help when I was setting up our WIFI for the first time. I idly wondered if he had been posting his little videos of my wife on the Internet somewhere?

My wife finally gave up on her nightshirt. She threw it away, but still had not found the time to choose a replacement. Instead she wore a white gauze T shirt to bed. This meant there were no more inadvertent glimpses of her wonderful boobs. As if to compensate the T shirt clung sexily to her boobs and one could make out the shape of her boobs as well as her nipples and even her areolas through the thin gauzy cotton of her T shirt. So I was a happy camper.

The T shirt stopped just above her belly button and she would pull on a pair of the world's skimpiest gym shorts to cover her privates when she would leave the bedroom. I loved those gym shorts because the legs were cut wide and one could see her panties underneath them if she were seated. Since she did not wear panties in the early morning and late at night, the view was improved mightily, you might say. I got in the habit of sitting where I could casually look up her gym shorts to see her pussy. Sally sat facing the windows, so in theory the neighbors could see her pussy too, if they had binoculars or something like that.

I became curious about the voyeurs across the way. Her new outfits after the torn nightshirt were plenty interesting, since they revealed a lot about her breasts. To slake my curiosity, I myself bought some powerful binoculars with a night vision option. One time while my wife was watching TV around 10PM, I quietly went to our bedroom, keeping the lights off in the bedroom. I took my binoculars and scanned the windows of the high-rise directly across from us. I saw a man looking at our apartment using his own binoculars, and another man who was using a telescope to view my wife. He must have gotten a great view right up her legs and under her shorts to her nicely trimmed bush!

Habits die hard, and when my wife would get the New York Times in the morning, she would still be wearing her bed clothes, but now she would be wearing the revealing see through top and her skimpy gym shorts. Her top half was not that modest, with her nipples and areolas showing through the thin cotton of her clingy T shirt. She thought nobody ever saw her, since the probability was small someone would both come into the hallway and look at my wife at the same time. She was only out of the apartment for around five seconds, after all. Even if it happened that someone got an eyeful, it would be a highly fleeting eyeful.

The exception was the owner of the Bluetooth enabled camera. This was a big exception in my opinion. I suspected our neighbor was spying on our door using the blue tooth camera. Perhaps that allowed him to time his exit from his apartment as my wife was bent over picking up the newspaper. One time he surprised Sally when he said good morning. It startled Sally. I could tell as I watched through the peephole.

Even though the man could clearly see every single detail of my wife's boobs through her T shirt, now that she was caught, she just stood there smiling and they discussed banalities while he drank in the view. As if to up the ante yet another neighbor emerged and came over to say good morning. The second neighbor joined the banal conversation. I'm sure he joined just to drink in the site of Sally's boobs.

Throughout Sally was smiling and enjoying herself. My wife had morphed into an exhibitionist tease! I was stunned. I raced back to bed and we had another super noisy hot time in the bedroom, as once again no doubt Sally was imagining something sexy. Maybe she was imagining the two neighbors were watching us fuck? Or maybe she was imagining I was one of the neighbors and the other one was watching or perhaps even waiting for his turn with her? She was at her noisiest, and my speculation was that she was hoping the neighbor was listening through the wall.

Finally, as regards the exhibitionism, I took pity on my wife. She had to know she was taking a flagrant risk with the newspaper, but perhaps she was unaware of the spying neighbors across the way? I decided to raise the subject. I knew it would kill my own voyeuristic fun, and also my vicarious fun fueled via my over-imaginative lust for my wife. I felt I had to do it, though, just because I loved her.

I explained to her what she was doing. "You know Sally," I said, "without curtains the neighbors can see into our apartment, especially when the sun is down and our lights are on."

"Of course I know that, Mark," she said. "We can see into their apartments, too. One guy across the way even watches us with binoculars! He has to get a life."

"Do you know why he watches our apartment?" I asked.

"Yes. He likes watching me expose myself a little. I threw away the torn nightshirt though, so now he'll probably stop. He gets off on watching. He's a voyeur," she said.

I was stunned. She knew. Of course she knew. Women always know.

"That does not bother you?" I asked.

"Why should it? I'm in my own apartment and I can dress, or not dress, as I like, right? I could take off my gym shorts right now, if I wanted to. I could even go stark naked if I wanted to. It's his problem if he wants to waste his time looking at me and waste his money on things like binoculars. I'd feel sorry for him, but frankly, Mark, he's a creep," Sally said.

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