Cousin Gareth Ruins Me on Every Surface

The knock came at eight, and I was already wet. I was twenty-two, barefoot in my apartment, and the man on the other side of the door was Gareth — twenty-four, my step-cousin, and the one body I had been starving for since the wedding that made us family on paper and nothing else.

His father had married my mother's sister two years ago. We were both grown. No shared childhood, no blood, no excuse except the way his eyes stuck to me every time we ended up in the same room. Months of it. Months of me going home and fucking my own fingers to the thought of his mouth. Tonight I had stopped waiting for courage and just put the lingerie on.

I opened the door in a silky black robe, the sash tight at my waist. Gareth filled the doorway in a dark henley and jeans, keys in his fist, smelling like cold air and the soap I already knew too well.

"Ingrid." His voice dropped. "You said come over. You didn't say you were going to look like that."

"I didn't say much." I stepped back. The lock clicked behind him. The apartment was dim, one lamp, one candle, the dining table cleared because I had pictured him putting me on it. "Lock it. Then look at me."

He did. I untied the sash and let the robe fall. Silk hit the floor in a soft heap around my ankles. Under it I wore a sheer black set and nothing else — a bra that showed the dark points of my nipples through the mesh, and a bottom with a little clasp riding the soaked line of my pussy. I stood there and let him have all of it. My tits. My waist. The tremble in my thighs I couldn't hide.

"Fuck," he said. He didn't blink. "You've been hiding that under clothes every time I saw you."

"Not hiding it tonight." My mouth was dry. "I want you. I've wanted you for months, since I was old enough to know exactly what I was asking for and still too proud to say it out loud. I'm saying it. If you don't want this, walk out. If you do, don't make me polite about it."

He set the keys down without looking away from my body. "You want your step-cousin to be the first man who fucks you."

"I want you to be the one," I said. "All of it. I want you to ruin me."

His eyes went black with it. He crossed the room like he had already decided where I was going to end up.

Gareth didn't kiss me first. He stalked, and I backed up until the edge of the dining table bit the backs of my thighs. His hands found my waist, hot and sure, and he lifted me like I weighed nothing. My ass hit the wood. The robe was a black puddle by the door. I was spread in sheer mesh under a lamp, and he stood between my knees and looked at the wet spot already darkening the crotch of the lingerie.

"Look at that," he said. "Soaked through before I even touched you. Months of wanting, and you still opened the door dripping."

"Gareth—"

"Shh." His thumbs stroked the insides of my thighs, slow, mean. "You showed me. Now you sit there and take what I give you until I decide you've earned more."

He hooked a finger under the clasp at the bottom of the lingerie. The little snap gave with a soft click. Cool air hit my bare pussy, and I gasped. He didn't shove the fabric aside so much as unclip it and let it fall open, the sheer panel hanging useless between my spread legs. I was pink and shining. I could feel how open I already was.

"Pretty," he murmured. Two fingers dragged through my slit, not pushing in, just painting me with my own slick. "And so fucking ready. This what you wanted me to find?"

"Yes."

"Say it better."

"I wanted you to see how wet I am for you."

He pushed one finger in, slow, to the knuckle, and my head tipped back. The stretch was nothing and everything. I had used toys. I had never had a man's hand there, never had Gareth's hand there, thick and deliberate, curling until he found the spot that made my hips jerk off the table.

"There she is." He added a second finger and fucked them into me in a steady, filthy rhythm, the wet sound loud in the quiet apartment. His other hand pinned my hip so I couldn't chase it. "Tight little cunt. First time anybody's been in here, and you're already trying to suck my fingers deeper. Greedy."

"Please."

"Please what." He twisted his wrist. His thumb found my clit and circled, light enough to make me whine. "You don't get vague, Ingrid. You beg, or I stop."

I grabbed his wrist. He didn't let me pull him closer. He just kept that slow, devastating pump, knuckles shining, watching my face like he wanted to memorize every time I broke.

"Please finger me. Please don't stop. I need—fuck—I need more."

"More isn't a cock." He leaned in until his mouth was at my ear, fingers still working me open, the heel of his hand grinding my clit on every thrust. "You want my dick, you earn it. You sit on this table and you beg like the desperate little thing you are. You tell me whose pussy this is about to be."

"Yours." The word tore out of me. My thighs shook. "It's yours. Please, Gareth, I've wanted your cock for months. I'll do whatever you want. Just—please—put it in me."

He laughed, low and wrecked, and curled his fingers hard. Pleasure snapped up my spine. I came with a broken cry, clenching around his hand, soaking his palm, the table under me suddenly slick. He didn't stop. He fucked me through it, slower, crueler, until I was sobbing his name and still empty where I needed him most.

"That's one," he said. He pulled his fingers out and held them up, glistening, then pushed them into my mouth. I sucked without being told. The taste of myself on his skin made me moan around his knuckles. "Good girl. Now say it again. Out loud. Earn it."

"Please fuck me." My voice was wrecked. "Please give me your cock. I'll earn every inch. I'll beg. I'll be such a slut for you. Just don't make me wait anymore."

"You'll wait until I say." He kissed me then, finally, filthy and deep, licking the taste of my pussy off my tongue. "But you begged pretty. So now I get business."

His hands fisted in the lingerie. The sheer fabric screamed and gave. He ripped the bra off my shoulders, straps snapping, cups tearing away from my tits. The bottom went next, yanked down my legs and thrown. I was naked on the table, flushed, dripping, shaking, and he shoved his jeans down just far enough to free his cock.

Thick. Hard. Flushed dark at the head, already wet at the tip. Bigger than anything I had practiced on. I stared, and my pussy clenched on nothing.

"Eyes on me," he said, and lined himself up. The head nudged my entrance, hot and blunt. "You want this?"

"Yes. Yes, fuck, yes."

He pushed in.

The stretch burned in the best way, a slow, relentless split that made my mouth fall open. He didn't slam. He fed me inch after inch, one hand braced beside my head, the other gripping my thigh and holding me open, watching my face the whole time. When he bottomed out I made a sound I didn't recognize. Full. Stuffed. His cock pulsed inside me, and I could feel every ridge.

"Fuck, Ingrid." His forehead dropped to mine. "Tight. So tight I'm going to ruin you for anyone else."

He pulled back and drove in again, harder. The table creaked. My tits bounced. He set a pace that was all claim — deep, grinding thrusts that knocked the air out of me, his hips snapping, his balls slapping my ass. I wrapped my legs around him and held on.

"I'll ruin you," he growled against my mouth. "I'll ruin you for anyone else. This cunt's going to know my shape. You're going to come on my cock and forget you ever touched yourself thinking about anybody but me."

"Gareth—oh my God—"

"Say it."

"Ruin me. Please ruin me."

He fucked me like he meant it. The angle shifted and every stroke dragged over that spot his fingers had found, and I came again, sudden and violent, squeezing him so hard he swore and fucked me through it, wet sounds turning obscene. My nails scored his shoulders through the henley. He didn't slow down until I was limp and gasping, still impaled, still twitching.

Then he pulled out. I whimpered at the loss. He hauled me off the table, spun me, and walked me three steps to the desk by the window, bending me over it with a hand between my shoulder blades. Papers scattered. My cheek hit the wood. My ass went up.

"Stay." He kicked my feet wider. His cock slid along my slit, coating himself, then pushed back in from behind in one long stroke that punched a cry out of me. "There. That's better. Look at this ass. Look at you taking it."

He grabbed a fistful of my hair and pulled. My back arched. The new angle was brutal and perfect, his cock driving deep, his hips slamming my ass, the desk rattling under us.

"Such a slut for me," he said, voice rough, tugging my hair harder every time I clenched. "Bent over your own desk, dripping down your thighs, begging your step-cousin to fuck you harder. Say it."

"I'm such a slut for you." The words felt filthy and right. "Harder. Pull my hair. Fuck me from the back. I want it. I want all of it."

He gave it to me. Rough backshots, relentless, one hand fisted in my hair, the other smacking my ass until the skin stung and I pushed back for more. Every thrust shoved a broken sound out of my throat. I came again with my forehead against the desk, sobbing, my pussy fluttering around him while he kept pounding, calling me his slut, telling me nobody else was ever going to fuck me like this.

He pulled out before he finished. I was shaking, legs useless. He turned me, kissed me messy, then dropped to his knees on the hardwood and threw one of my thighs over his shoulder.

"Floor," he said, like he was checking a list. "Hold the desk. Don't you dare close your legs."

His mouth sealed over my pussy and I screamed.

He ate me like he was furious about how good I tasted. Tongue flat and broad, then pointed, fucking into me, then up to my clit where he sucked until my knee buckled. Two fingers slid back in and curled, pumping while he licked, the wet sounds filthy, his stubble scraping my thighs. I gripped the desk and rode his face because I couldn't not. He groaned into me like my cum was the only thing he wanted.

"Gareth—I'm gonna—fuck, I'm coming—"

He didn't pull off. He sucked my clit and fucked me with his fingers until I shattered, gushing against his mouth, thighs clamping his head, a raw scream tearing out of me that the neighbors definitely heard. He licked me through every pulse, greedy, messy, chin shining when he finally came up for air.

"Nobody can ever give you this," he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes wild. "Nobody. You hear me? You can beg some other man for the rest of your life and he will never eat this pussy like I just did. Get on your knees."

I slid down the desk onto the floor. The hardwood was cool under my knees. His cock stood in front of my face, slick with me, thick enough that my jaw already ached looking at it.

"Earn the rest," he said. "Open."

I opened. He fed me the head, salty and hot, and I moaned around it. He let me set the pace for three strokes — tongue under the ridge, lips tight, hand stroking what I couldn't reach — and then his fingers slid into my hair and he took over.

"Deeper. That's it. Such a good slut. Take it."

I relaxed my throat the way I had practiced on my fingers and let him push. The head bumped the back of my mouth, then slid deeper, and my eyes watered. He didn't choke me past what I could give. He held me there, groaning, then pulled back so I could breathe and pushed in again, fucking my throat in short, controlled strokes while I drooled down his cock and stared up at him.

"Fuck, look at you. On your knees in your own apartment, deepthroating me like you were made for it. Tap my thigh if you need air."

I didn't tap. I took him until my nose brushed his stomach and my throat fluttered, and the broken sound he made was worth every tear on my cheeks. He pulled out, strings of spit connecting my lips to his cock, and hauled me up.

"Bed. Now. I'm not done ruining you."

He walked me backward into the bedroom and threw me onto the mattress. I bounced, laughing, breathless, and he stripped the rest of the way — henley gone, jeans gone, all of him bare and hard and looking at me like a meal. He crawled over me and sank back in with one thrust that knocked the laugh right out of my chest.

Front again. Missionary that wasn't gentle. He pinned my wrists above my head and fucked me deep, grinding his pelvis against my clit on every stroke, mouth on my neck, my tits, biting just hard enough to make me arch.

"I'll ruin you," he said again, right against my ear. "I'll ruin you for anyone else. This is your first cock and it's going to be the only one that matters. Say whose slut you are."

"Yours. I'm your slut. Gareth—oh fuck—right there—"

He flipped me onto my side, hooked my leg over his arm, and pounded into me from a new angle that made me see white. Then onto my stomach, his weight on my back, cock driving down into me while he bit my shoulder and told me I was such a slut for him, such a perfect ruined thing, nobody can ever give you this. I came so hard I bit the pillow. He didn't stop. He pulled out, rolled me over, and sat back against the headboard.

"Ride it. Show me you earned it."

I climbed on. The stretch going down was almost too much after everything, and I took him anyway, inch by inch, until I was seated and shaking. His hands gripped my hips. I started to move, and he let me find it — rolling, grinding, then bouncing when the need got mean again. My tits swayed in his face. He sucked a nipple into his mouth and slapped my ass and growled praise that was half filth.

"That's it. Use me. Soak my cock. Look at you. First time and you're fucking yourself stupid on your step-cousin's dick. Nobody can ever give you this. Nobody's going to fill you like this. Come on it. Come on me."

I did. I came riding him, crying his name, and he grabbed my hips and fucked up into me through it, chasing his own edge, the wet slap of our bodies loud and endless. He flipped me onto my back again before he finished, folded me in half, and hammered into me with nothing left held back.

"Where do you want it?" he gritted.

"Inside. Please. I want to feel you. Ruin me. Fill me up."

He buried himself and came with a groan that vibrated through my whole body, pulsing, flooding me, hips jerking as he emptied everything he had into my pussy. I clenched around him and came one more time just from the feeling of it, weak and overwhelming, my nails in his back, both of us shaking.

He stayed inside me until the aftershocks faded, breathing hard against my throat. I was limp. Thoroughly used. Thoroughly his. Cum leaked out around his cock when he finally eased free, and he watched it with a look that made my spent pussy clench again.

He didn't let me lie there leaking. He scooped me up — arms under my knees and back, my head against his shoulder — and carried me into the bathroom like I weighed nothing. The shower hissed on hot. He stepped in with me and set me on my feet, one arm banded around my waist so I wouldn't fold.

Water poured over both of us. He soaped his hands and ran them over my tits, my ass, between my thighs, not sweet about it. He washed his cum out of me with two fingers and watched it swirl down the drain, then pushed those fingers back in like he was checking his work.

"Still swollen," he said against my wet hair. "Still fluttering. I fucked you on the table, the desk, the floor, the bed. I ate you until you screamed. You swallowed my cock like a slut who was born for it. And you're still gripping my fingers. Greedy little cunt."

"Gareth." I could barely stand. "I can't—I'm wrecked."

"Good." He bit my ear, possessive, filthy, not gentle. "That's the point. I ruined you. I'm going to keep ruining you. Next time I come over, you open the door in nothing, and I start on the kitchen counter. Then the couch. Then I bend you over the bathroom sink and make you watch yourself get fucked. You don't get a night off from being my slut."

He rinsed me, shut the water off, and toweled me rough enough to pink my skin. The bed had clean sheets because I had changed them like an optimist. He dropped me onto them and followed me down, one heavy thigh between mine, his softening cock already twitching against my hip like it had opinions about round two.

I was boneless. Claimed. My pussy ached in the best way, still leaking a little, still his.

He mouthed my jaw, voice low and mean. "Say it. Say what I did to you."

"You ruined me," I whispered. "On every surface. Nobody can ever give me this."

His hand slid down and cupped my sore, soaked pussy, two fingers pressing in just to feel how open he had left me. He laughed against my mouth, dark and satisfied.

"That's right. Next time I walk in, you drop whatever you're wearing and get on the floor, mouth open, because I'm going to fuck this used little cunt until you can't remember your own name — and you're going to beg me to ruin you all over again."