We were having sweets and tea at the picnic-style table in the kitchen. I’d just bathed and had on my nightie. Cousin Julie also had on her flimsy nightie and sat so she nudged me so our arms were as though stuck together, the little hairs standing at attention, warmth kindling higher the longer Cousin Julie sat so insistently close to me. Even when I politely scooted down the bench to make extra space, she followed suit and again our legs and arms pressed together and her hand settled on my thigh, fingers drawing slow circles and curves. I then had to see that if this kept up, I would have no place to scoot to, due to the wall, leaving no escape from Cousin Julie’s fingers and pressing warmth.

It was later that she informed me of how it almost made her jump out of her skin when one scoot to keep close to me brought her to sit where I had sat and she could not ignore—no bottom could ignore, especially without panties as we were—the patch of dampness that could’ve been left by none but me; created by none but her fingers drawing and dancing on my leg. Knowing the truth of my wetness emboldened her to embrace the certainty that we would be nude and together, close together, in either my bed or her bed. She knew she would feel my tongue touch her and lick her. She knew by then I would be most willing. She also knew that in my unconscious layers, we were already writhing together and we were feeling each others fingers exploring our most intimate depths; my conscious, surface, denial she savored the most because she knew it would have to be short-lived.

I tried to keep calm in the feelings of discomfort, though it was not exactly discomfort, but the inkling of a feeling I either believed I ought to not have or wasn’t aware I should have, the inkling really a nice way to say wetness in my pussy, but of course more than the wetness, as in the fluttery sensation that stirred in the pits of my belly while trying to chat with Auntie Annie, at the way Cousin Julie boldly touched my thigh, so gently meandering her hand, with an above-table pretense of reaching for a cake, while Auntie Annie tried to keep the conversation moving onward. Maybe she noticed my halted response which I say was authored by cousin Julie’s fingertips that had reached the part of my nightie hem that barely draped over my pussy; on the surface it might seem absentminded, totally innocent. But she would have to know of the goose bumps that spread from those fingers of hers, which had somehow managed to creep a tad closer and then a tad closer.

“Julie, are you flirting with your cousin?”

“Yeah. I am. I can’t wait to--”

“Is Julie fondling you? Or trying to fondle you?”

“Y-y-yes. I guess… I...”
My trembling fingers dropped the forkful of cake, making crumbs scatter on the tablecloth. I was nervous but also melting against my cousin, as well as into the smooth bench surface that was now quite damp due to the tingles my cousin's persistent touches aroused.

Unsure what to hope for from Auntie Annie, she taught me in no uncertain terms the place I had entered and the role I would play—as Cousin Julie ever more boldly played with me.

“I might as well tell you, dear one: whatever world you came from, I mean in regards to behaviors, specifically the intimate, I—we, I mean your cousin and I—not only condone free exploration, but strongly encourage it. Now if it really bothers you that your cousin sits so near—and I can only guess or rather I need not guess, where her hidden hand is—it if really bothers you… merely say so and…”

My cousin’s interpretation of Auntie’s words coupled with my awkwardly breathless pause was a signal for her to press me against the wall and for her hand to take an inward turn so the edge of her palm could brush my little hairs. Now with her scrunched so close to me, she swung her leg over the bench so she could straddle it and have me at her complete mercy. She left me with practically no breathing room and certainly no wiggle room.

Cousin Julie’s fingers quickly swept to my slit and as though to help cement my position, took my hair and held my face against hers, so she could get me accustomed to kissing her, as her tongue pierced my lips while one finger slid inside. I couldn’t just let my hands remain idle so I had to place them on Cousin Julie, whose nightie fell away or made access easy for me. She was the dominant one with her tongue, so I had to submit, and that was okay, to submit to Julie’s advances.

Cousin Julie’s facial focal point pushed Auntie Annie’s presence to the background. It was like her physical form had been greatly blurred. But her attentive gaze was as palpable as if she too kissed me. Though the kisses between Julie and me—not to mention the slight slurp my wetness created from her finger sliding in and out of me—acted as the primary sound waves, a clink and a gulp came faint from where Auntie Annie sat across the table. I could hazily read this as her casual observance of us, content to sit and sip her tea and set her spoon on the table.

I was close to cumming on Cousin Julie’s finger which had now sped its fucking of me and had begun to lust for the touch of her nipple under my palm and if nothing else, her mere tongue-work could’ve been enough just then to take me into her web and keep me there as her willing beggar. Julie did break her lips from me to give a glance to Auntie and mention that my response could be interpreted to mean that I was okay and open to their philosophy and I dimly heard Auntie answer that it seemed to be so.

“You two are so pretty together. I do believe I could sit and watch you two all the night long.”