My sleeping cousin

Watching my cousin sleep, I get some kinky ideas.

Patrons can access downloadable PDFs of most stories, 4K versions of many images, and content that I chose not to publish publicly here.

Please consider donating to my Patreon in order to receive access. Click here to find out more.

My sleeping cousin

I look at my cousin sleeping atop the covers of his bed. It’s a hot summer’s night, past midnight, and he’s laying on his back, arms and legs askew in four different directions almost like a swastika. We learned about an artist called Keith Harring in class a couple of years ago and Jacob looks like he’s modelling for one of Harring’s spastic figure drawings. The kid moves a lot as he’s falling asleep, like a monkey spasming as it dreams of jungle treetops. But now, he’s past that stage. He’s deeply asleep. I can’t tell if he’s in REM sleep yet. His eyes beneath his thin lids don’t appear to be moving, but he’s breathing slow and deep.
I never knew a person whose body commits so completely to sleep as Jacob. When he first started sleeping in my room, I’d tiptoe around, afraid of disturbing him, but it quickly became apparent that no amount of noise or light could rouse him once he was off.
I look down at him sleeping in his stiff cotton boxers. The shorts leg is gaping. I glance inside, more curious than sexually interested; I’m straight after all. Inside is a long pale sausage flopping down between his legs. I smile to myself, amused by its thinness.
An idea pops into my head. A dark idea. I push it away hard but it comes back again insistently. I turn away from him disturbed and disgusted with myself and return to my desk to continue watching youtube videos quietly. But what I have seen keeps coming back to my mind. I glance at the closed bedroom door, then at the curtains to make sure they are drawn tightly. I’m still pretending that this is part of my normal nightly routine, but inside I know that I am making sure that nobody can see what I am considering doing.

Jacob has been staying at our farm for weeks now. His house is being completely remodelled over the summer. His folks are living in a borrowed camper van but it’s too small for him and his brother and sister so it was easier for them to stay with us. It’s no real bother. We get on great even though he’s a couple of years younger than me, and it’s been nice to spend time with him. The only problem is, he’s sharing my room. I don’t mind the company, and he’s easy to get along with, but I’m a guy – I need my space – sometimes several times a day!
At first, I adapted by jacking off in the shower instead of in my room, but that got old within a few days – yeah, it’s cleaner and you don’t get all sweaty, but nothing compares to a nice relaxing porn and jack off session in your own bed.
So, tentatively at first, I’d wait for Jacob to fall asleep then watch porn on my Ipad then jack off quietly. I always kept the volume turned down unless it was amateur porn. I always find the people sound really fake and it’s off-putting.
I have wondered several times what he does about his own needs. He’s more than old enough to have them. I assume that he saves it for the shower.

I’m not at the porn stage of my evening yet, but seeing his soft cock flopping down inside his shorts has got me thinking.
I walk up to his bed and kneel to the side.
“Hey Jake,” I whisper, ready with an excuse in case he wakes.
He doesn’t move.
“Hey Jake,” I say directly into his ear.
Still nothing. I lift his nearest eyelid and his eye is rolled up into his head. I can see just the barest sliver of his iris. I shake his shoulder softly, then a bit more firmly but he’s dead to the world.
I move down the bed, still kneeling, on the 120-year-old wooden floor beside it. A throw rug protects my knees from splinters. I check the curtains one more time then I look up inside his shorts directly without touching him. His cock is a good length for his age but on the skinny side. Long enough to droop between his legs rather than back against his belly. It comes to a puckered foreskin that completely covers the tip. At its root is a small dark bush. The hair is thick but orderly, covering half the area of my clenched fist. I lift the leg of his shorts to get a better look, watching his face all the time in case he rouses, but there is no sign that he’s at all aware of the world around him.
I reach up inside and gently nudge the head of his penis to the side with the tip of my index finger. It gives a serpentine wobble before returning to its former position. It seems that it’s not just my side of the family that got to keep our foreskins. I’m glad. I can’t imagine my dick without the sensitive skin. I gently rub my finger across the short snout of loosely pinched skin. It’s soft as a baby’s eyelid. I stand and go to my desk returning a moment later with a short length of plastic. I press it against the top of his pubis and lift his soft cock so that it is parallel. Four and a half inches; nearly 12 centimetres if I used the metric system like the rest of the planet.

I put down the ruler and look at his ballbag. Two orbs; a long way from man-sized yet, each the size of a grape, drooping low in the heat. His ballbag is creased at the top where his balls are dragging it down. It’s as soft and thin as the skin covering his glans.
I reach the side of my finger beneath his stones and lift, feeling their weight. I grip first one then the other, squeezing them lightly to feel their substance. They are softer than I would have imagined. It’s difficult to judge the firmness of your own nuts because of the counter pressure in your finger-tips. Also, the pain response in your nuts kicks in quickly, stopping you from getting an accurate judgement.
As lightly as I squeeze, I wonder if it would be enough to hurt if he was awake. He moves slightly with a quiet grunt, and I stop squeezing. There’s something strangely intoxicating about holding another male’s testicles in your fingers. You know that you could cripple him with pain or even end his future family and his future sexual pleasure with one sudden firm squeeze. Not that I would ever dream of hurting Jacob. He was such a cute kid – all boy; boisterous, brave, playful and thoroughly likeable. I look up at his freckled sleeping face. He’s so innocent and vulnerable. I can’t resist giving his full lips a quick kiss.

I return to his penis. So far, in my mind, this has been nothing but male curiosity; hardly more sinister than sneaking a peek at another guy’s junk in the school showers. But I want to see more. How big is he hard? Can I even make him hard?
I grip his penis behind the glans and pull towards the root. His foreskin slides back easily. I’m shocked at how red the skin is beneath; livid crimson, and the rear edge of the pink glans is a dark bruised purple. I wonder at the colour. Why is it like that? Is he injured? Then it occurs to me and I smile broadly. The little hose monkey has been jacking off too often or too hard or both! I imagine him bent over in the shower frantically beating his meat, his fist travelling all the way to the base on every stroke, tormenting his foreskin with the determination of his pounding. Or maybe he goes outside somewhere private; maybe he veers off after he gets off the school bus into the woods for 15 minutes of private time? My mind is flooded with possibilities and in each of them I imagine Jacob hunched and flogging his meat like a boy possessed.
I lightly stroke his glans, running my finger across its domed surface. It’s so smooth, so innocent. I wonder how hard he cums; what his best ever wank was; how far he squirted. The image of him cumming on his own face forms unbidden in my mind. His livid foreskin has painted him in a whole new light to me. I assumed that he must jack off at his age, but I never considered him as a sexual being particularly. Now I see him very differently.

I’m mildly disappointed that his dick does not respond to my stroking. I wonder if I would get hard in my sleep simply having my helmet stroked. I get hard at almost everything so I imagine I would. I spit on my fingers and grip his glans between my thumb and first two fingers, then start to tweak it as though I am sprinkling seasoning into a fine meal. My wet fingers slip and slide across its surface, yet it still remains resolutely soft. Maybe boys don’t respond to sexual stimulation unless they’re awake? Or maybe he’s all jacked out. I wonder when he last jacked off and for how long. He often disappears after dinner for a run and always returns red faced and sweaty. In future I’ll have to put the word “run” in inverted commas when he says it.

I decide to go for the nuclear option. The option that I have yet to experience.
I pull Jacob’s shorts down past his knees, then I pull his knees apart so that he looks like he’s swimming frog style. I realise it will be much harder for me to justify if he wakes up, but I am eager now to see if I can make him hard. I lean forwards and open my mouth. If I stopped for a moment to consider what I am doing, and what it means from a sexual and moral standpoint, I’d be mortified, but I’m in the grip of powerful forces now.
His flaccid prick looks soft and vulnerable. I lift it from the middle and it droops around my fingers forming a floppy U. I lean forwards and take his soft snake into my mouth, enfolding the glans in the hot, wet cavern within. I give a few experimental sucks, cautious in case it tastes of piss. I detect no such taste. Instead it is mostly tasteless, with the slightest hint of salt. I’m grateful that he is so naturally fastidious about showering. I suck harder now, rolling his glans around with my lips and tongue. His cock responds immediately. In less than 20 seconds it is stiff as wood in my mouth. I continue sucking, working him like a lollipop for a couple of minutes.
I can feel that his cock has grown longer as well but how much? I start to wonder if I can make him cum. I don’t want it to happen in my mouth. The thought of cum from his teen nuts is unexpectedly appealing. I imagine it would be sweet, like him. I’d love to work him over and suck his balls dry. I don’t know why. I like girls but for some reason the thought of drinking his juice is powerfully arousing but I want to see him squirt. I move my head back and look down. A stiff white pole stands up from his groin. I measure it again: 6.5 inches from root to tip. He would be proud to let any girl see that. Or any boy. The thought of another boy seeing his boner is a strange one. There’s nothing at all to suggest that Jacob is gay, but maybe he and a close friend or two might occasionally jack off together. Who knows, maybe even some mutual masturbation? The fantasy is appealing.
I take his prick in my fist. My own dick is not quite as long as his, but normal for my age and much thicker than his. It’s strange to hold such a hot thin rod in my fist. I jack it fast. My fingers bump lightly across the rear lip of his saliva-moistened glans with each pump. I notice that he has started breathing heavier, louder, and now he starts writhing. I pump faster still; fast as my hand can move. His groin starts thrusting in slow motion, hips arching off the bed, straining towards my hand with his knees still spread wide. I look up at his face, concerned that he’s wakening, but his eyes are twitching and flickering beneath his closed lids. His brain has incorporated the pleasure in his cock into an erotic dream. Suddenly I hear a series of husky boyish moans, and three massive gushers of cum erupt from his cock, travelling straight up, before landing back on my fist and his pubes. They are joined by several more lesser squirts dribbling down his cock and my fist. Then his grinding slows and stops.
His nuts have crawled up to the root of his cock and halfway around to the sides. I take my hand off his cock and it continues twitching, presumably in the aftermath of his epic orgasm. I watch it fascinated for a minute until the twitching slows and stops as though reluctant to stop seeding whatever hole it was fucking. I grip it again and slide my fist down it. It’s so hard but so thin in my hand. It’s the essence of his maleness. I wonder if it will grow thicker or if that’s just the way he’s built.
I release it give it a twang with my finger and it barely moves.
I lift my fist and look at his cum on the side. It’s thick but almost clear. I wonder if that is because his body is not yet making enough sperm to make it white. I decide it’s more likely because he’s already wanked away his day’s supply! I lick his jizz, uncertain what to expect. Like his cock, it’s almost tasteless but this time there is perhaps just the faintest hint of citrus.
I watch as his balls finally relax back into his sack, lower, lower, low. His cock loses its hardness, slowly wilting and drooping like an unwatered plant in a vase.

My own cock is painfully hard in my boxers. I push them down and allow it to spring free. I look up at Jacob’s dark freckles. I see him as both innocent and lustful now; a Norman Rockwell urchin with a boner!
I’m drawn to his lips. They are soft and pink. I can’t help it. I brush my helmet across his lips, then, pushing his chin down to open his mouth, I slide my rigid cock inside. It seems only fair that he returns the favour. I kneel on the pillow to either side of his head, then push my cock all the way in until I feel the warmth of his tongue. For a few minutes I slowly slide my cock in and out, languidly fucking his sleeping face.
I look down at his groin and his genitals have returned completely to their flaccid state. I don’t know what motivates me but I want to feel his genitals against mine. I take my cock from his mouth and move back down the bed. I lift his wide-spread knees, and kneel between them then I slide my cock between his thighs. For a moment, I consider fucking him, but that would be a step too far, and it could leave signs. Instead, I slide my cock along his bag until my own bag is touching his. I grind against him, feeling his stones against my teen hardness. I feel powerful, mature. I start to fuck the V of his groin slowly. His pubes are sticky and matted with his own jizz. In no time, I feel as though I am going to blow my load. I momentarily consider unloading onto his stomach, then wiping my cum onto his genitals as a sign of my greater maturity, but I have a better idea.
I stand up, tugging my cock in my hand until I am moments from ejaculating, then I lean forwards and place the head of my cock against the lips of his partially open mouth. I cum hard, and I see jet after jet of hot cum entering his unconscious mouth. I keep going, enjoying the best orgasm of my life, then reluctantly, I move my cock away, deliberately sliding the head across his soft lips, leaving sticky jizz snail trails across them, marking him as mine.
I tilt his chin so that I can look into his mouth. His mouth is awash with my adolescent jizz; his pink tongue almost entirely hidden beneath the vast pool. I grin, proud of my gargantuan load, then I lift his chin, closing his mouth. I stroke his throat a few times to induce a swallowing reaction. It’s a trick our school nurse taught me in response to a question about coma patients. Jacob swallows once. I keep stroking until he swallows four, five more times.
I check inside his mouth again. There’s still a creamy coating on his tongue but the bulk of my vast cum delivery is gone, seeding his sleeping stomach. It’s weird to think that my jizz is now part of him: that it will be used to make his very cells. What’s left will dissolve in his saliva over the next few hours, leaving him with nothing but a strange aftertaste when he awakens in the morning.

I look down at his genitals again with a mixture of affection and residual lust. I walk to the end of the bed. I am suddenly overwhelmed by an unexpected compulsion. I lean forwards and give his scrotum a long tender kiss. I can feel his balls slip-sliding beneath my lips.
Reluctantly, I pull his boxers back up, not bothering to clean his jizz from his pubes. I catch sight of myself in the mirror. I thought that I would feel wretched after such a series of acts, but in actual fact, I feel nothing but deepest satisfaction, as though I have finally accepted a part of me that was buried. I smile at myself, guilt free and pull my own boxers up.
I look down at him. Over the coming days, I’m going to have to be more obvious about my own masturbation in front of him. Then we can start to talk about sex stuff. Maybe by the end of the summer we can be jacking each other. Or more.
I turn off my computer and go to bed imagining the spunk still drying on his pubes. I wonder if my sperm are still alive, swimming in his stomach and his mouth. I sleep deeply and happily filled with vivid dreams.

The next morning, Jacob awakes before me. I hear him moving about and open my eyes.
“Morning Jake. Good night’s sleep?”
“Yeah good sleep thanks. Hey John, can I ask you something?”
He seems apprehensive.
“Yeah, sure, course you can.
He hesitates for a moment, clearly embarrassed to speak.
“John, have you ever had a wet dream?”

+14

-25