“Do you remember me?”
Peter Dovzhenko turned from his seat in the sand, where he’d spent the last hour watching the waves rolling onto the beach, when he heard the smoky, Slavic-accented voice of a young woman behind him. He found her standing 5’3″, with dirty blonde, shoulder-length hair, her body lithe and fit like a gymnast’s, her tiny, turquoise bikini covering pert little A-cup breasts just big enough to hold.
She was 18, and while her body looked younger her blue eyes held a depth of experience far exceeding her age. She smiled, but just barely; in his 21 years, Peter had never known the Russian side of his family to indulge in excess displays of emotion.
“Do I get a hint?” Peter asked, standing in his swim trunks to face his young interrogator.
“No,” she replied. “If you do not know I will be very sad,” she added. Peter read a sense of playfulness seeping through her halting monotone.
All day Peter found himself staring at beautiful women he didn’t know, only to keep reminding himself that this was a family reunion, and just because he’d never seen these women didn’t mean he should be having the thoughts he was having. Peter’s parents immigrated to the United States just before giving birth to him, and in their zeal to make sure they had an “American child” they overcompensated, not even teaching him their mother tongue. It was a decision all three quickly came to regret, as it left Peter isolated from the rest of his extended family, who remained back in Russia.
Not that Peter ever had a lot of interaction with his extended family to begin with. There wasn’t anyone on his father’s side, his father having been an orphan, but the large roster of relatives on his mother’s end more than made up the difference. They had never come to the States before now, and the only time Peter and his parents visited Russia was that one summer when he was eight. Peter felt alone, with his parents and all the adults speaking in a language he couldn’t comprehend. The only saving grace of that trip was his first cousin, Katya Ivanovna, his mother’s brother’s daughter. Like the adults, she couldn’t speak English either, but with her it didn’t matter; they became fast friends in spite of the language barrier, and over the three months Peter stayed there they grew inseparable. Despite Peter’s being older it was almost like Katya took guardianship over him, realizing he was in an unfamiliar place and wanting to be a good host and protect him. She was three years younger than him, short and thin then, too, with blonde hair and blue eyes.
“Katya,” Peter answered, smiling.
“It is good to see you, cousin,” Katya beamed, her smile growing almost American in its size and lack of guardedness. She leapt into his arms and he spun her around; she was so light as to be almost weightless, her tiny feet sailing through the air with abandon. When Peter finally set his cousin back down on the sand she was grinning.
“I wondered if you would be here,” Peter told his cousin. He paused, considering whether to continue, before adding, “To be honest, you were the only person I was hoping to see turn up.”
“I hoped to see you too, cousin,” Katya replied. She spoke the English she knew quite well, Peter thought, and her lack of all the extraneous words English harbored made her answers less florid and more direct. Peter wasn’t sure what to say next. He never felt right about the last time they saw each other, but in his shame he also didn’t want to be the one to bring it up.
“You are not talking to anyone,” Katya observed.
“Well, I wouldn’t really know what to say to them, would I?” Peter joked.
“Da,” Katya laughed. “You would not.”
“You’re not talking to them either,” Peter countered.
“I see them all time,” Katya said. “This whole thing is for your parents. They are ones who miss family, and have money to bring family to them.” Peter couldn’t argue with that summation.
“I have something we could not do when children,” Katya offered, retrieving an unopened 1.75L bottle of vodka from the sand that Peter hadn’t previously seen lying there. “At risk of being forward, I have missed my friend. I want to know him again.” Peter looked his young cousin over; the sincerity in her eyes was killing him, and it made him feel both guiltier about the way things had ended and nostalgic for the three idyllic months—three of the best of his life—leading up to that unfortunate moment.
“I’ve missed you too,” Peter confessed.
“We were best friends once,” Katya said, “but that was long time ago. By end of bottle, we will be again.” She unscrewed the top of the bottle and took a swig before holding it out for Peter.
“I’ll drink to that,” Peter said as he accepted the bottle and took a swig of his own.
“Back home we played in woods, with no one around,” Katya said. “There are no woods here.” That was true enough—the beaches stretched as far as the eye could see. Farther inland the beaches were lined with palm trees but, if one ventured beyond that, it was all urban development. “But farther that way,” Katya pointed, “beach is empty, of tourists and family. We should head that way.”
“Lead on,” Peter offered. Peter knew the isolated spot Katya spoke of, though he wondered how she knew it. Nevertheless, Katya always led them on their hikes and adventures when they were kids, a preternatural navigator, and even though they were adults now and in his country, he saw no reason to change that dynamic. Besides, he thought, anything to keep from bringing up the last day they saw each other.
Peter followed his cousin along the gently rolling waves until the crowds were a distant echo. They filled each other in on their lives over the intervening years between generous swigs of the vodka they shared. Peter told Katya about how he skipped several grades in school growing up and how, at the unprecedented age of 21, he was about to become the youngest teacher in the history of one of the country’s oldest, most prestigious private schools, Heatherton Academy.
“I’m not sure what sounds worse,” Peter confessed, “just telling the story and sounding arrogant, or the fact that I honestly don’t even feel like I’m that smart, but if I say that, people interpret it as fake humility and I still come out sounding like an arrogant prick.”
“Is funny thing about Americans,” Katya observed, ” you are most optimistic people, but at same time most ready to invent reasons to be sad where there are none.” She took a drink from their bottle. “So many bad things in world; no need to invent more. You accomplish something special. Be proud of accomplishment.”
“You’re right,” Peter finally admitted.
“Well, I am very smart too,” Katya grinned. She wrapped her arm around his and leaned into him as they walked, and she took another swig from the bottle. “Is why I will be going to Heatherton.”
“You’re moving here?” Peter was taken aback. “I didn’t know that.”
“Well, you do not talk to family,” Katya answered. “Besides, parents did not want me getting in by favor from you. I study hard, pass exams, and am admitted on my own.” She handed Peter the bottle and he took a swig from it. “And unlike you, I am not ashamed to be proud of what I’ve done,” she teased. She took the bottle back and took another drink.
“Who knows,” Peter quipped, “maybe you’ll be one of my first students.”
“I hope so,” Katya replied, looking up into her taller cousin’s eyes as they walked. “I want you to teach me things.”
“I hope to,” Peter answered earnestly.
The cousins passed a narrow portion of the beach and reached the secluded area few travelers ever went to. They couldn’t hear any other people now; it was just Peter, Katya, and the waves on the beach.
“We are alone?” Katya took a drink as she looked up to her cousin for confirmation.
“Nobody ever comes out here,” Peter confirmed.
“Good,” Katya said, handing Peter the bottle. He took a long chug from it as Katya walked a few steps to the edge of where the water rolled up onto the shore before turning to face him. “There is something I must do.”
Without warning, Katya hooked her fingers around the straps of her bikini bottoms and let them slide down her slender legs onto the sand, revealing her small, shaven pussy like it was the most natural thing in the word. Peter froze, unblinking, as his childhood memory replayed before his eyes in adulthood. He remembered back to that last day with his cousin in the woods in Russia all those years ago, when they were hiking and all of a sudden Katya just stopped where she stood and dropped her pants before him. Objectively it was a moment of childhood innocence, but for Peter it was also the Fall in the Garden of Eden—the first time he experienced sexuality and felt ashamed. Without a word he turned and ran all the way back to the house and hid under his bed until his mom found him there. It was the day they were heading back home to the States—that walk was to be Peter’s and Katya’s last playtime together while his parents packed. The bags were ready and the taxi was waiting—the last time Peter saw his cousin, his best friend with whom their friendship transcended the barriers of language, was when he left her standing naked in the woods because he felt afraid.
“You look nervous, cousin,” Katya stated matter-of-factly. “Are you going to run away again?”
“No,” Peter asserted, trying to convince himself as much as her, taking an extra long swig of vodka to steel his nerves.
“There is nothing to be ashamed of, cousin,” Katya reassured him. “This is just me.” And as she stood there, without even squatting down, she let herself go. Peter watched in fascination as his cousin stood and smiled, her petite pussy lips quivering ever so slightly as she let a trickle and then a torrent of gold wash down her legs. Her piss streamed down her thighs and calves and splattered the tops of her feet, soaking herself until she had nothing left. She stood proudly before her cousin, not a care in the world.
“Now is your turn,” Katya said.
“My turn?” Peter asked skeptically. “I can’t.”
“No?” Katya protested. “You have seen me. I want to see you.” Katya stepped forward, the warmth in her smile matched only by the warm rivulets of piss still running down her legs. She snatched the bottle of vodka from Peter’s hand, taking a long, hard drink.
“No, I mean I can’t,” Peter tried to explain, sheepishly. “I just don’t have to go. When I’m out with friends, I’m always the last to break the seal.” This was only half true—Peter could hold it for a long time, but he didn’t exactly have friends to go out with where this would ever come up.
“Break seal?” Katya looked horrified. “Why would drinking cause you and friends to be cruel to animal?” Peter couldn’t help but laugh at the failure in translation—at least he was no longer thinking about having just watched his cousin piss herself, or about the fact that he felt turned on watching it.
“It’s an expression,” Peter laughed. “It means the first time you go to the bathroom during a night of drinking. Like, you can hold it for a while at first, but after you’ve pissed the first time, you’re gonna piss a lot more frequently after that, you know?”
“Ah,” Katya said, still looking confused. “I do not understand expression, but I understand meaning.”
“Well, that’s the important thing,” Peter answered.
“At least you can take shorts off,” Katya said, looking down at Peter’s swim trunks.
“I don’t know if I’m comfortable enough to do that yet,” Peter confessed.
“Very well,” Katya took a long hit off the bottle and continued walking down the beach. Peter watched her walking away, her tight, tiny ass swaying naked as the day it was born, her short, slender back still bound by the straps from the top half of her bikini.
“You’re just going to walk around with the top half on and the bottom half off?” Peter asked as he sped to catch up with her.
“Oh,” Katya spun around, “now who questions what we are wearing?” Peter didn’t say anything. “You are not willing to disrobe, but have no problem protesting when I do not?” The corners of her mouth curled up almost imperceptibly, like she’d baited a trap and Peter stumbled right into it.
“You’re right,” Peter admitted. He slid his swim trunks down his legs and stood naked before his cousin. Her eyes drifted downward, studying him—there was nothing imperceptible about her smile now—and he couldn’t help the feeling of his cock starting to grow, curving upward to face her as if willed into being by the hunger in her eyes.
“My beautiful cousin,” Katya purred. She set the bottle down in the sand before standing back up to face him. She reached behind her back and untied her bikini, letting it fall to the sand, her small, spherical breasts at attention in the open air, her tiny nipples taut in the breeze. She stood there, so small, looking up into Peter’s eyes as if awaiting his approval.
“My beautiful cousin,” Peter observed in equal awe. They stood motionless for almost a minute, hungry for each other but also nervous, like this was all a dream and the slightest wrong step could eradicate it entirely. Finally Katya took slow, tentative steps towards her cousin, and Peter began an equally measured march towards her, neither of them breaking their shared gaze or even daring to blink until they stood, toes touching, in the sand. In silent telepathy they continued towards each other, her rising on her tiptoes to reach him and him shrinking down to accommodate her. They let their eyes close as their lips finally found each other after a long, long decade.
For several minutes Peter and Katya did nothing but explore one another’s mouths: the softness of their lips, the dexterity of their tongues. Eventually their hands joined the fun as each began to slowly, carefully map the topography of the other’s body, committing every curve and contour to memory. Peter took careful time letting his hands survey the symmetrical hills of his cousin’s breasts, while Katya savored the sturdiness of her cousin’s chest. Peter caressed her breasts gently at first, gradually growing bolder and squeezing more firmly, gauging Katya’s reactions by the fingernails in his chest and the increasingly high-pitched mewls she let escape into his mouth. By the time he was pinching her little nipples and rubbing their sensitive caps furiously with his thumbs she was singing a chorus down his throat, one where she had no control over the notes. With one hand she clawed her way down his chest and wrapped her tiny fingers around his thick, tumescent prick, and with the other she grabbed one of his wrists and pulled his hand down between her legs. She tried to guide his digits up into her famished cunt, but he reached out and caressed her inner thigh instead. He felt the piss coating her smooth skin and massaged her flesh, marinating his fingers in her still-warm urine, before he reached up and plunged two fingers deep inside her.
“OOOAAHH!” Katya let out a moan deep from inside her, a moan so tonally deep Peter couldn’t believe it emanated from such a diminutive creature. As Peter’s fingers fished around inside his cousin he worried that she might be so small he wouldn’t fit inside her. He realized he would find out soon enough as she pulled him down on top of her on the sand. Her upper back hit the beach first and before she could lay flat Peter reached out with one long arm to support himself and with the other he grabbed his cousin’s tight ass and held it just above the sand. She was so small Peter held her whole behind in the palm of his hand, her small crack slick with either her piss, her cum, or both. Katya looked up into Peter’s eyes with feral anticipation as he suspended her in the air; she spread her legs as wide as they would go and planted her piss-stained feet in the sand. Peter pressed his thick cockhead against her tight, wet opening and pushed in slowly. Katya’s mouth grew wide and she drew short, sharp breaths with every inch Peter pushed deeper down into her slick, tight passage until finally his tip docked at her protruding cervical ring.
Peter’s first slow thrust into his cousin was enough to send her into her first wild orgasm. She dug her fingernails deep into his back, hanging from him as she slammed her pelvis up into his thick, penetrating prick. He continued to hold her tiny butt in the air, pressing her deeper into him, and she used his strength to lift her feet from the ground and wrap her legs tight around his waist to offer them both further support. In tandem they continued to slam her tiny cunt into his enormous prick, and with every thrust Peter felt his hand painted with more and more of Katya’s cum and he had to grip her tighter and tighter to keep from letting her slip out of his grasp. By this point Katya’s deep moans echoed across the beach and the fact that she could be so loud in the open doors without drawing unwanted attention only turned Peter on more and made him fuck his cousin harder.
They reached a point where Katya wasn’t even thrusting up into her cousin anymore; now her pussy, still violently shaking along with the rest of her body from her second deep orgasm, gripped her cousin at his base and hung from him for dear life. She squeezed her pelvic muscles with ferocious intensity, doing her best to milk him, and Peter felt the familiar pressure building from down in his balls and up through his stem. Peter felt his cock pressing hard against his cousin’s cervix, their two tiny holes practically kissing, and for the first time in all of this he worried about protection. Somehow Katya seemed to sense his concern, as she dug into his back more firmly with one hand so she could draw the other back and grab Peter’s face, turning his head and forcing his gaze into hers.
“Cum into me, cousin,” she demanded with the intensity of a dehydrated woman in the desert demanding water. Peter pressed his lips to hers and obliged, pouring his cum into the deepest depths of her, spraying so much of it inside that her tiny quim couldn’t hold it all and it came seeping back out around the base of his cock and down the crack of her ass into his sturdy, supporting hand. Even with the added slickness making it harder to hold onto her he thrust harder and harder into her, having so much to give and wanting her to take all of it. He moaned now into her mouth the way she had moaned into his and she milked him harder and harder until he squeezed out every last ounce into her hungry insides. Still he held her above the beach, even as he began to grow flaccid inside her, not wanting to plant such wet skin in the sand. Both cousins panted heavily, recovering, as they looked in one another’s eyes. The arm Peter had used all this time to hold them both in the air was starting to shake; with a last burst of effort and with his cousin’s legs still firmly wrapped around him Peter thrust them both back and to the side so that Peter landed on his back in the sand and Katya, her legs unwrapping at just the right moment, landed straddling on top of him, her cum-coated ass and his equally sopping hand untouched by the sand that would have stuck unwanted to them. Katya collapsed into her cousin’s firm, resting body and they both lay for several minutes catching their breath and relaxing. Katya took her cousin’s wet hand and ran it, palm and back, lazily across the surface of her body—across her breasts and her belly and her back—as they rested.
Even once the cousins caught their breath and recuperated they didn’t say anything for a long time, simply staring into each other’s eyes and smiling. They hadn’t needed language to communicate when they were children and now, so much older and more mature, they found that it still wasn’t necessary. Millennia might have passed around Peter and Katya or time could have come to a complete standstill—either way they wouldn’t have known. Peter had no idea how much time had passed before Katya mouthed, silently, five syllables to him in Russian: “Ya tebya lyublyu.” In that moment Peter recognized that those unspoken words were the five most beautiful syllables in any language on Earth and mouthed them back to her, and she smiled and pressed her body closer onto his.
They fell asleep together on the sand before waking up again, hours later. It was still day but the sky was a deeper, greyer blue than before; it wouldn’t be long before the sun started setting. Peter and Katya took in their surroundings, smiling when they realized they were still with each other and that this hadn’t been some cruel, taunting dream. Peter reached up and caressed his cousin’s face.
“You are beautiful,” Peter marveled.
“You are beautiful,” Katya returned the compliment, running her fingers along his face in kind.
“I don’t know what we do next,” Peter admitted.
“We drink,” Katya answered, stretching over as far as she could without letting her legs leave Peter’s sides and grabbing the bottle of vodka, which was still two-thirds full. She brushed the sand from the bottom of the bottle off with her hand and rested it square on the center of Peter’s chest.
“To long overdue reunion,” Katya pronounced, lifting the bottle from Peter’s chest and taking a long swig. She handed the bottle to Peter. He took it and sat up; Katya scooted back, still straddling him, his sleeping prick resting snugly between his pelvis and her still warm and wet slit.
Peter held the bottle and thought hard about what to toast to. Finally it came to him and he held the bottle up with confidence.
“To nostalghia,” Peter proclaimed, taking a long swig. He stopped feeling so proud of himself when he noticed Katya just staring at him blankly.
“What?” Peter asked.
“I don’t know,” Katya answered, equally confused.
“Nostalghia,” Peter repeated himself. “That’s Russian, right?” She still looked at him blankly.
“I mean, in English, nostalgia just means a longing for or reminiscence of the past. But doesn’t nostalghia, in Russian, specifically mean homesickness for Russia?”
Katya still looked at him blankly.
“Like, it’s a metaphor, and I’m trying to say you’re Russia, and I’ve been homesick for you, and now I’m home.”
Katya still looked at him blankly.
“Oh, come on!” Peter grew frustrated. “Like in the Tarkovsky movie? I’m not imagining the definition of this word, am I?”
Katya continued to stare at her cousin until finally she burst out into uncontrollable laughter. She collapsed onto her cousin, laughing into the chest she had been clawing into only minutes earlier.
“What?” Peter complained.
“I am sorry, cousin,” Katya tried to spit out between long bursts of laughter.
“What?” Peter insisted.
“I appreciate sentiment,” Katya, still barreling over with laughter, tried to pick herself up again so she could look her cousin in the eye, “but what is word in English?” She still laughed in spite of herself and in spite of her stone-faced cousin lying beneath her. “Cheesy!” she finally exclaimed. “What you say is very cheesy!”
“Well I love you too,” Peter shrugged.
“Ooohhhhh,” Katya fell forward and kissed her cousin several times indiscriminately on the cheeks and lips, simultaneously playfully and sincerely. “I love you, cousin. Does not make what you say any less cheesy,” she laughed and took a swig of vodka before holding the bottle forward and offering it to Peter. Peter took another large swig to assuage his bruised ego. Katya could detect his discomfort.
“Hey,” Katya asserted. “I am just teasing you, like cousins do, yes?” Peter listened. “I want you to be open with me. Always free to be open with me, da? I want you always to be honest with me, no matter how cheesy,” Katya gave her older cousin a reassuring smile. It reminded Peter of their time as children, when she acted like his guardian even though he was older than her. He leaned forward and kissed her and she welcomed his kiss. The taste of the alcohol on both their lips made Peter realize he was starting to feel buzzed, and he wondered if Katya felt the same.
“Yes,” Katya said, practically reading his mind, “but we must finish bottle before night is through, come Hell or gold water.” Katya laughed to herself. “That is American expression, yes? But I change it slightly, to fit current situation. Is how you make joke, yes?” Katya laughed, proud of herself, and Peter laughed too, feeling better knowing that, yes, his cousin was getting drunk at roughly the same rate as him.
“Do you have to go yet, cousin?” Katya asked hopefully.
“Nope,” Peter replied. He felt the barest hint that, yes, his bladder was starting to fill, but he was nowhere near the point where he’d have to relieve himself.
“Well, it will come,” Katya assured him, holding up the bottle that still had entirely too much vodka in it. “We will make sure of that.” She took another long swig and handed it to Peter, who matched her.
“Have you had many girlfriends?” Katya asked. Peter seemed surprised for a moment by the question and stopped mid-swig.
“Answer honestly, cousin,” Katya admonished. “I will not be jealous about women in your past, just as you should not be jealous about boys in my past.”
“Have you had many boys in your past?” Peter deflected the question.
“I have had couple,” Katya answered, “and ‘boys’ is right word. They were enjoyable. I had good times with them, but they could not do what you do,” Katya smiled conspiratorially, looking back on the amazing experience they just shared, and took the bottle from Peter and took another swig.
“And what about you?” Katya pressed on. “Tell me about your girlfriends. I won’t believe you haven’t had any.”
“I had one,” Peter admitted, “for a few years.” Peter thought back to Kate, his girlfriend he met his first year of college, who didn’t care that he was so much younger than all the other students, who wasn’t intimidated by his intelligence and who found his innocence to be her biggest turn-on. “I don’t really want to talk about her,” Peter finally confessed.
“Fine,” Katya answered. “But we have so much bottle left,” she held it up as evidence, “you will spill eventually.” She slid her slippery sex along her cousin’s resting cock. “In more ways than one,” she added. Her mischievous grin was arguably the sexiest weapon in her arsenal.
“You’re English is very good,” Peter remarked, taking another drink.
“Thank you, cousin,” Katya replied. “I am guessing your Russian is still…”
“Non-existent,” Peter finished her sentence. “Yes. Language was never one of the areas of study I took to as quickly as others, and I started too late.”
“Nonsense,” Katya took the bottle and took a drink. “Never too late. I teach you.”
“You’re going to teach me?”
“Yes. Perfect opportunity. We are Russian. We are Russian and drinking, and you know what else we should be doing when we are Russian and drinking?”
“I have a feeling I know,” Peter dreaded the answer.
“Singing!” Katya announced proudly, slapping Peter’s chest as she took another swig. She handed Peter the bottle and he took a longer swig himself, to steel himself for all the inevitable folk songs he didn’t mind missing out on when his parents kept their culture to a minimum around him. For the next hour and a half the cousins polished off another third of the bottle as Katya ran him through every Russian drinking song she could think of. They were rapidly getting drunk at this point, their sloppy singing echoing across their empty stretch of beach and out into the ocean beyond. The sun started to set and the sky and the waters beneath it took on a golden hue.
Peter felt the familiar pressure building in his bladder, felt it starting to balloon, but it wasn’t yet at the point of being unbearable and he still felt he could hold it.
“Do you have to go yet, cousin?” Katya asked, seeming to read his mind again. She still straddled him while he lay on his back—they hadn’t moved from their comfortable positions in hours.
“No,” Peter replied. “Do you?” He had felt her fidgeting, gently grinding her pelvis against him for some time now, like she might be trying to hold it in.
“Yes,” Katya smiled.
“So go,” Peter looked around the beach, indicating she had all of it to use to relieve herself.
“I will,” Katya’s smile grew bigger. She wasn’t getting up. She stopped rocking back and forth and settled herself down just above the tip of Peter’s flaccid cock and his belly. He felt her warmth begin to emanate from her, quickly followed by the actual stream. Any lingering concerns Peter might have had about this new development in their sexual relationship were quickly washed away by his cousin’s golden stream. Her hot piss felt good on his skin in the cool breeze; she poured herself out on top of his cock and down his belly, and Peter lifted his hips up off the sand, lifting his pissing cousin up with him, so her stream would flow farther down his chest. Peter felt his cock twitching to life under his cousin’s continuous shower as it only grew in intensity, spraying torrent after torrent down his body and bathing his torso completely to the neck. A few stray volleys even shot higher through the air and towards Peter’s face, and without thinking about it he opened his mouth wide and tried to catch them. Most of them splattered against Peter’s face, forcing him to close his eyes, with only one round landing squarely on his tongue and letting him taste his cousin’s salty secretions. It made him thirsty for more.
Katya’s flow wound down in intensity as Peter’s cock rose to its full length. Katya pressed her fingers to her folds, shaking out any remaining excess, and once it was clear she had nothing left, Peter slid himself up and inside his already wet and waiting cousin with ease. She moaned excitedly and pressed down, burying his hard prick down to the hilt inside her. As he began thrusting up inside her tightness, Katya leaned forward and pressed her dry flesh against her cousin’s soaking hard body. She slid her body along his, painting her breasts and belly with the same warm juices she had used to paint him. She kissed his chest hungrily and licked and sucked every last drop of herself from him while it was still warm, and as Peter pounded himself more furiously into her, she stretched up and kissed his lips, snaking her tongue into his mouth, sharing her taste with him. The taste of his cousin’s piss in both their mouths sent Peter into a frenzy; he held his cousin tightly to him and began bucking uncontrollably into her. The cousins moaned loudly and shamelessly into each other’s mouths, Katya’s piss still swirling between their tongues, as Peter stabbed deeper and harder into his cousin’s piss-drenched cunt. Peter grabbed Katya’s ass firmly and held her tight to him as he pounded her pussy with abandon.
Katya began to shake uncontrollably in Peter’s grip and she forced her lips away from his and howled in ecstasy. Peter lost control in tandem with her and let out a guttural cry in kind as he fired jet after jet after jet of his hot cum up into her tiny twat. Just minutes before they had serenaded their private beach with Russian folk songs; now they sang a chorus of an entirely different nature.
The cousins lay still in the sand for some time, recovering, their bodies glorious, glistening messes of sweat, piss, and cum. The beach was getting darker now, the sun setting on the horizon and the last vestiges of gold reflected on the water giving way to deeper blues and blacks and the faint white glow of the moon and the stars. Silently, Katya stood up and extended her hand to Peter. He took her hand and she lifted him up, leading him to the waters rolling in on the shore, where they took their time washing each other clean.
They walked back to the beach and sat down on the sand, cooler now under the night sky, with the bottle of vodka between them. They shared another drink silently, simply appreciating each other’s company and the beauty of the view before them, the beach giving way to the ocean and the sky that seemed to stretch out into infinity.
“Why you have no friends?” Katya finally asked her cousin, looking concerned.
“What?” Peter was taken aback and tried to play it off like the question didn’t bother him.
“Our parents’ still talk, da?” Katya explained. “I hear things.” When Peter looked away from his cousin and down at his feet in the sand Katya quickly followed up, “I do not mean to pry. We can talk about other things.”
“No,” Peter finally answered, firmly. He and his cousin had shared so much over the last several hours, had made up for so much lost time, that he didn’t want to ruin it with dishonesty now. “You’re right. I don’t really have any friends.”
“But you did?” Katya asked.
“Yes.” Peter felt the pressure in his bladder building. It wasn’t just the full-but-bearable feeling now; he felt the first stabbing pangs puncturing his abdomen, the feeling he was about to burst.
“When you still had girlfriend?” Katya finally pressed.
“Yes,” Peter answered, grimacing through another sharp stab. Rather than continue Peter took another drink, even though he knew it would only add to his inner torment.
“What happened?” Katya asked, taking another drink in solidarity.
“We broke up,” Peter replied. “We didn’t even break up, really,” he corrected himself. “We just grew apart. I don’t even know why, neither of us did anything to hurt the other.” Peter grabbed the bottle back from Katya and took a long chug, trying to dull the pain but only adding to the immense buildup inside.
“I am listening,” Katya reassured him.
“Afterwards I just didn’t feel like being around people,” Peter continued. “All my friends wanted to be there for me, of course, but it didn’t help. Being with other people just felt perfunctory and I saw no point in not just being alone.” Peter looked at the bottle while considering the rest of his statement. “You make enough excuses when people ask to hang out and eventually they stop asking, you know?” He took another long swig and cringed at the stabbing in his bladder.
“When did you break up?” Katya asked. Peter drank again.
“Two years ago,” he admitted, shamefully.
“That is long time, cousin,” Katya said compassionately.
“I know,” Peter acknowledged.
“You can move on,” Katya offered, taking the bottle from him and taking another swig.
“I don’t know if I can,” Peter confessed.
“Why?” Katya probed.
“It wasn’t just a relationship, it was,” Peter searched for the right words. “I’ve never believed in destiny or soul mates or there being one specific person out there for everyone or any of that crap, but Kate, Kate made me question that.” Peter took another long drink. “I couldn’t picture anyone else equaling that, so why bother being with anyone?”
“Is funny, her name being Kate,” Katya smiled, taking a drink.
“To be honest, it hadn’t even occurred to me,” Peter laughed.
“You say you don’t see point of being with people, but you are being with me,” Katya observed.
“That’s different,” Peter argued feebly. The pain in his pelvis was piercing now; he scrunched his body forward to contain it.
“Why?” Katya asked.
“I don’t know,” Peter said. “You’re from my childhood.” They both knew that wasn’t an answer.
“If we had been friends together, all these years,” Katya asked, “would you have shut me out, too?” Peter couldn’t help but cry, knowing the answer might well have been yes.
“Why can’t you let her go?” Katya pressed on, knowing her cousin was nearing a breakthrough.
“Because I don’t want to forget,” he confessed. “I don’t want to forget the feeling of what we had.”
“Because you don’t think you will have it again?” Katya asked. Peter nodded yes and took another drink. “When I had first boyfriend,” Katya began, taking another drink for herself, “I thought, ‘I love this boy. No one else will make me feel like this.’ That lasted for couple weeks. Next boyfriend, feeling was even stronger. I thought, ‘I was foolish, thinking that was love with last boy. Clearly this is what love really is like.’ That lasted for several months, but eventually it ended too. Had I not tried with second boy, I would have gone on thinking what I felt with first boy was all love could be. Second boy not work out either, but he leaves me with hope; maybe third boy will be even better,” Katya looked pointedly into her cousin’s eyes.
“There’s no guarantee of that,” Peter demurred.
“Of course not,” Katya retorted. “Such American thing, to expect guarantees. Not guarantees on anything. But no point in anything if everything guaranteed.”
Peter groaned audibly now. His bladder felt like it was about to burst; he felt like he was being skewered inside by a thousand tiny needles, all about to puncture his balloon.
“You do not want to forget girlfriend,” Katya continued. “Letting go is not forgetting. She is part of you, will always be part of you.” Katya stood up and helped Peter stand up to face her. He was older than her and towered almost a foot over her as he looked down into her eyes, but just as in childhood, he looked at her as though she was his guardian.
“She is part of you,” Katya reassured him, “but as time passes, there are things that are part of us that we no longer need.” Peter struggled to stand upright as the pain seared through his pelvis. Katya knelt down, her face directly in line with the organ that gave Peter so much pain. She reached up and, with her tiny fingers, gently lifted his trembling member up towards her face. “Is no shame in letting such things go. Is natural.”
Peter sighed in relief as he let himself go. He sprayed forth violently, his piss plastering his cousin’s face, and she closed her eyes and opened her mouth gladly to welcome it. She drank of him as much as she could until her mouth overflowed and she began to gag, at which point she directed his spray up into her scalp and hair where it poured down through her blonde locks and down her shoulders and her back while she let the excesses in her mouth spill down her chin and neck and down her tiny tits into her crouching lap. She baptized herself in his piss, guiding his prick helpfully with one hand while rubbing herself anxiously with the other. Peter’s hot shower insulated her from the beach’s cool breeze, and looking down on her, Peter could see the steam rising from his beautiful cousin’s submissive, nubile form. Katya directed Peter’s stream downwards, bathing the rest of her body more completely in him, before bringing him back up into her mouth and drinking down his remaining salty cascades.
When Peter had nothing left to let go Katya guided him gently down onto his knees on the beach before her. She wrapped her small fingers around his prick and worked him up into an erection faster than Peter or anyone had ever managed before—a matter of seconds—before standing up and placing her own winking vagina directly onto his anxious mouth. She let her dam break and streams of her poured straight down Peter’s hungry throat, and when he could swallow no more he directed her, like she had him, to shower the rest of his body, first the top of his head and then down the front of his body. She baptized him just as he baptized her, in their holy golden water, and when she was done he guided her body downward onto his waiting hard prick. They fucked each other sitting up, their bodies bathed in each other, their eyes locked unbreakably into one another’s, the steam from the hot piss coating their bodies in the cool air rising from both of them like a pair of phoenixes emerging from the ashes. They were one now, both in their bodies and in the knowledge that this was the best either had ever known, but that their union came with no guarantees. But guarantees were irrelevant in moments of such utter bliss.
* * *
The cousins awoke next to each other in the morning in a patch of soggy sand created by their many myriad juices. They washed themselves off in the ocean again, kissing and playing like kids splashing about in the water. When they got out they realized they hadn’t brought a towel, so they washed their trunks and bikinis in the water as well before getting dressed.
Peter asked Katya where she was staying and she said she and her parents were in a hotel for the reunion, though obviously she would be moving on campus at Heatherton as soon as the school year started in a couple weeks. Peter asked her if she needed a ride but Katya declined, saying she would rather walk on her own for a while. Peter worried at this sudden departure but Katya reassured him, telling him this wasn’t like the last time they saw one another. This wasn’t a goodbye, she said, because they would be together again very soon. Peter watched his cousin go, her tight little butt swaying back and forth in her wet, turquoise bikini, and for the first time in two years he felt a sense of hope about his future.
A week later Peter found himself in his office at Heatherton, preparing for the start of classes the following week, when he heard a knock at his door. He looked up to see the Dean, Cornelia Culpepper, standing at his door. She was 45 but exemplified the notion that 40 was the new 30, with close-cropped blonde hair and a naturally welcoming smile.
“How’s our star pupil doing?” Cornelia asked in her exquisite English accent.
“Good,” Peter replied. “Settling in. I have a lot of good ideas for my first semester here.”
“Good,” Cornelia answered. “I just wanted to drop in and see how you were doing, and to let you know that your housing request had been approved.”
“My housing request?” Peter asked, confused.
“Yes,” Cornelia replied. “You asked that your cousin be permitted to house with you, and while normally we wouldn’t allow a teacher and a student to share the same residence, in light of her being an exchange student and new to the country the board felt that in this case staying with her relative would be good for her.” Peter stood silent. “Maybe good for both of you,” she added.
Peter didn’t know what to say, first and foremost because he had never put in any such request to have Katya room with him. He opened his mouth to question things further when he stopped. He recognized the golden opportunity he was being showered with, and while he didn’t know how it came into being, he didn’t want to spoil it.
“Thank you,” Peter simply said to the Dean.
“Do us proud,” Cornelia smiled. “I know you will.” She backed out of Peter’s office, her heels clacking down the hall.
Peter had work he knew he should finish here in his office, but suddenly he didn’t care. Curiosity and anticipation got the best of him, and he quickly made his way out of the building and all the way to the outskirts of the campus to Faculty Row, where many of Heatherton’s teachers had small houses, almost like dorms on a college campus, supplied by the school. Peter reached his and walked inside, where he saw several unfamiliar suitcases piled up by the couch in the living room. He heard a noise from the bathroom inside and made his way down the hall to the door, which he pushed open to find Katya just about to sit down on the toilet. She looked up at him.
“Hello, cousin,” she smiled.