Making love with my cousin brother

2nd part of story: Making love with my cousin brother. cousins Our Forbidden Bliss

Weeks turned into months, and our secret life as cousins-turned-lovers only grew more intense. Bilal and I were inseparable in the shadows, our days filled with stolen glances and our nights with raw, unbridled passion. I felt so proud and loved by him—my own cousin, who treated me like the sexiest girl on earth. He worshipped my body, his eyes devouring my chubby curves, my 34C breasts, and every inch of my skin as if I were a goddess. It wasn't just lust; it was adoration that made my heart swell. And the way he got aroused, his thick dick hardening at the mere scent of me, sniffing his fingers after fingering my wet pussy—it made me feel special, cherished, like I was the only one who could drive him wild.

At 19, I was still navigating this world, but with Bilal, I felt empowered, desired beyond measure. He was 24, lean and muscled from his work as an auto electrician, and our taboo connection only fueled the fire. We weren't just cousins anymore; we were horny sex couples, exploring each other like lovers in their prime, hungry for every taste, smell, and touch. No one else mattered. My past boyfriends paled in comparison—he was everything, and I craved him constantly.

It started innocently enough after that unforgettable Friday night. The next morning, after our parents returned from the wedding, we had to play it cool. But the tension was electric. During the day, when the house was quiet, Bilal would brush past me in the hallway, his hand grazing my ass or waist, sending shivers through me. At night, as soon as our parents' door clicked shut, he'd slip into my bed, his body pressing against mine. We'd cuddle naked under the covers, his erection poking insistently against my thigh, and I'd whisper how much I loved him worshipping me.

One evening, about a week later, I came home from college feeling exhausted but horny. I'd worn a tight salwar kameez all day, and by the time I got back, my body was sweaty, my pussy damp from the heat and my thoughts of him. Bilal was already home, lounging in the living room. Our aunt and uncle were out visiting neighbors, so we had a rare moment alone. He pulled me onto his lap, his hands immediately sliding under my kameez to fondle my boobs. "You're so fucking sexy," he murmured, his voice thick with arousal. His fingers kneaded my soft flesh, pinching my nipples through my bra until they hardened into peaks. I moaned softly, arching into his touch. He loved my boobs—how they spilled over his palms, full and inviting. He'd kiss them reverently, trailing his lips over the swell, sucking my nipples until I was dripping wet.

That day, he unhooked my bra right there on the couch, exposing me. His mouth latched onto one nipple, sucking hard while his tongue flicked the sensitive bud. I gasped, my hands tangling in his hair. "Bilal... oh god, that feels so good." He switched to the other, his teeth grazing lightly, sending jolts of pleasure straight to my core. I loved how he aroused my nipples—his touch made them throb, aching for more. It wasn't just physical; it made me feel adored, like he couldn't get enough of me. His dick was rock hard beneath me, straining against his pants, and I ground against it, teasing him.

But what really drove him wild was my scent. He slid his hand down, pushing aside my panties to finger my pussy. I was hairy down there, unshaven from the day's rush, and the mix of my natural musk, sweat, and a hint of piss from earlier made him groan. "You smell so fucking good," he whispered, his fingers plunging in and out, curling to hit that spot that made me squirm. When he pulled them out, slick with my juices, he brought them to his nose and inhaled deeply, his eyes fluttering shut in ecstasy. His erection twitched violently, and I could see the precum beading at the tip through his shorts. It made me feel so special—proud even—that my body, my smell, could arouse him like that. No matter if it was fresh out of the shower or end-of-day ripe, he worshipped it all.

I reached down, freeing his thick dick. It sprang out, veiny and throbbing, the head glistening. I loved sucking him, tasting every part—his sweat, precum, even the faint piss drops if he'd just peed. It didn't gross me out; it made me feel wet and sexy, like I was claiming all of him. I dropped to my knees between his legs, taking his balls in my mouth first. They were heavy, sweaty from his day at work, and I sucked gently, inhaling his musky scent. "Fuck, you're amazing," he hissed, his hand guiding my head.

I opened my mouth wide, taking his dick in, swirling my tongue around the head. It was salty from precum, and I savored it, not caring that this was the same penis he used to pee. It turned me on, making my pussy clench with need. I bobbed my head, gagging slightly as he hit the back of my throat, tears pricking my eyes but loving the fullness. He thrust gently, fucking my mouth, and soon he exploded, thick ropes of cum filling me. I swallowed it all, the salty taste lingering as I licked him clean.

That night, after our parents slept, he came to my bed as usual. We were naked in seconds, his body covering mine. He kissed me deeply, his tongue exploring, while his hands roamed. "I love your body," he said, fondling my boobs again, sucking my nipples until they were swollen and sensitive. I writhed beneath him, my pussy aching. He trailed kisses down my stomach, burying his face between my legs. He loved my pussy smell—end-of-day or fresh—and he'd sniff and lick like it was nectar. His tongue delved in, lapping at my folds, and I came hard, squirting a little onto his face. He swallowed it greedily, then crawled up to kiss me, letting me taste myself on him.

We 69'd often, our favorite position. I'd suck his dick while he ate me out, our moans muffled. One night, he fingered my asshole again, and though I blushed, I let him. He sniffed his finger afterward, grinning. "You smell incredible everywhere." It made me feel loved, like he accepted all of me.

Our relationship deepened romantically too. Bilal wasn't just a fuck buddy; he was my confidant, my lover. He'd whisper sweet nothings during sex, telling me how proud he was of me, how I made him feel alive. I felt the same—proud to be his, loved in a way no one else could understand. We'd cuddle after, his arms around me, and I'd sniff his fingers or his dick, inhaling the mix of our scents. It was intimate, erotic, and ours.

A few weeks later, we got another chance for alone time. Our aunt and uncle went to a family gathering in Lahore for the weekend, leaving us the house. Bilal came home early from work, sweaty and greasy, his shirt clinging to his abs. I greeted him at the door in a thin nightie, no bra, my nipples already hard from anticipation. He hugged me, kissing me passionately, his hands grabbing my boobs. "I've been thinking about you all day," he said, fondling them roughly, pinching my nipples until I moaned.

We stripped quickly, and I led him to the shower. He was messy, but I didn't care—I loved his sweat, his smell. Under the water, he soaped me up, his hands sliding over my curves, fingering my pussy until I was begging. I dropped to my knees, sucking his dick, tasting the grease and sweat on his skin. It was filthy, but it made me wetter. He came in my mouth, and I swallowed, then we washed each other, laughing and kissing.

In bed, he worshipped me. He laid me down, kissing my boobs, sucking my nipples for what felt like hours. "Your tits are perfect," he murmured, his tongue circling the areolas. I loved it—my nipples aroused by his touch, sending sparks to my clit. He fingered me while sucking, and I came, squirting onto his hand. He sniffed his fingers, erect again, and I sucked him, not minding the faint piss taste from earlier. It made me feel sexy, powerful.

We fucked all weekend—missionary, doggy, cowgirl. He'd smack my ass, pull my hair, but always with love. "You're mine," he'd say, and I'd agree, proud to be his. One afternoon, we ate lunch naked, him feeding me while fingering me. I rode his face, squirting again, and he loved it.

By Sunday, we were spent but closer. Our taboo love was our secret, and it made everything hotter. I didn't need anyone else—he was my everything, worshipping my body, loving my smells, making me feel special. And I returned it, sucking him, tasting him, loving every bit.