|My niece, my lover
|Synopsis: we had flirted before. Now, it
was time to go that one step further.
|Story codes: m/g, intercourse
||Length: 1,700 words
|We had flirted all night, she a young
girl, I her uncle who should have known better, and probably did, but
forgot. I was intoxicated with her, she of the auburn hair and the deep
blue eyes and a smile filled to the very brim with mischief and lust.
At least her secret smile for me was; I don’t imagine everyone received
that smile. It began almost as soon as we were alone, her parents
dispatched with a wave and a smile, gone for the weekend.
We had history. History of flirting, of almost becoming involved, of flashed panties and poorly concealed erections, of giggles and of knowing looks. I was her favourite uncle, and her favour for me was barely concealed. It was a bit of a running joke behind her back, shared between her parents and I, but they did not comprehend the truth of the matter, that the lust was very much returned.
I had pined for her for three years, since the little eight year old bottom, clad in a microscopically thin bathing suit, had sat down in my lap by the pool behind our hired Italian villa. The heat radiating from her vagina could be felt through her suit and mine, and I sat in wonder, desperately trying to remain calm, with it slowly warming me from its position above my pubis. Had clothing and company not restrained me, my shaft would have risen to lie in the narrow gap between the tops of her thighs, along the length of her cleft, and my pubic hair would have gently tickled her lips. But that could not occur.
Since then we had flirted outrageously with one another, without me ever having the courage to take advantage. Oh no, it wasn’t the moral considerations which held me back. No, it was fear of what would happen if I was to be found out. Each time I was left alone with her, and she gave me glimpse after glimpse of her panty-covered crotch. Oh, how I delighted in the short skirts she wore, the clumsy way she showed off for me, the delicious view. But I held back.
Until this fateful night, I held back. Until her temptation became an active desire to seduce, until her hormones gave her the bravery that mine did not. Thank God she had the guts to go through with it, to break the cycle. She had lain upon the sofa, apparently absorbed in the television, but giving me an unrestricted view of her nether regions, clad as they were in thin, light yellow panties, which looked well loved. A little small, too, as they gaped at the inner thigh, revealing a tempting glimpse of one smooth lip.
Then the show ended, abruptly. She wanted to read in her room, was bored of television. I sighed inwardly that the show was over, but smiled to her as she departed. There was a strange look in her eyes that I couldn’t quite place at the time. I know now it was determination – that she should not fail in her task.
The stairs behind me creaked as she began to ascend, then fell quiet as apparently she paused. Then, from over my shoulder came a missile. I flinched, but caught it, and heard her wicked laugh. Coming to my senses, I realised that resting in my cupped palms were her pants. Her soft, warm, light yellow pants. I did the only thing I could think of, I raised them to my nose and inhaled, smelling the slightly musky scent of her, the characteristic scent of young girl. I desperately looked behind me, but all I saw as she ascended the stairs was a naked foot.
I made a decision. I chose to follow.
She lay on her tummy upon her bed, a book open in front of her. She faced away from me, but turned toward me when she heard the hallway floorboards creaking beneath my feet. This left her on her side, her upper leg bent and its knee resting on the covers in front of her. With her head resting on her hand, she was the very image of a seductive young Lolita. The thoroughly dirty smile with which she greeted me did nothing to lessen my ardour.
I moved to the bed and she shifted backwards to give me room. We were crushed close together on her small single bed, but close was what I desired. She shook visibly, nervous, excited, the same as me. I mirrored her stance, and placed a hand on her hip as I leant in to kiss her.
Her lips were softer than I could have imagined, and tasted of the strawberry lip gloss she always wore when I was around. At first we kissed like children, lips closed, but soon her lips parted, and we kissed properly. With a gentle pressure on her hip, I rolled her onto her back.
Lips still locked together, I began to love my hand slightly, sliding it up her hip and then onto her tummy, on top of her t-shirt to start with. As I moved it around, I lifted the soft cotton fabric and revealed her taut little stomach, her inny belly button stretched into an oval. My fingers danced across the soft skin, feeling the heat radiating from within. She was a hot girl in all sorts of ways.
She mewed like a kitten as my hand travelled back and forth across her skin, her cries muted by my mouth. I lifted my lips free of hers and moved to kiss her neck, in that glorious place where it met her shoulder, and the little moans became more and more vocal.
Her tummy, lovely though it was, was not my goal that day. I wanted more, I wanted everything from her. My hand drifted lower, onto her thigh, pushing up the fabric of her denim skirt. I could have teased her, I could have taken my time, but lust had overtaken, and I went straight for her sex, sliding my hand up the inside of her thigh until my index finger pushed into her folds.
She gasped, crushing my hand between her upper thighs, and then releasing it, her legs falling apart, granting me permission. Her sex was rubbery, not like the flabby, squishy sex of an adult. My fingers roved up and down her slit, feeling the hardening lump of her clitoris at the top and the soft entrance of her vagina at the lower extent. She was hot, but not yet wet, but as I probed her there and her cries grew louder, I could feel the beginnings of lubrication on my fingertips. Her mound may have been as bare as the day she was born, but inside she was on her way to becoming a woman.
When I was sure she was ready, I extended my middle finger and slowly inserted it up to the second knuckle in the hot tight pocket of her vagina. I expected it to be harder than it was, but she was worked up and clearly used her own fingers on herself, and so she accepted me easily. So much so that I pushed the remainder into her, feeling only a little resistance as the fat joint pushed into her.
I kissed her lips again, feeling her moan into my mouth as my finger pumped in and out of her repeatedly. I gave her long enough to loosen up, and then managed to squeeze in a second finger, though this time much more slowly than the first as her body resisted me more. When she was so loose that my fingers were squelching in and out of her with ease, I decided that I wanted to try to fuck her.
Thanking my lucky stars that I had worn tracksuit pants that day, I pulled my fingers free of her, eliciting a loud groan, and, pausing only briefly to savour the scent which coated my fingers, I pushed trousers and boxers quickly down past my knees and off.
She was out of it, lying back with her eyes closed, knees parted and reddened sex gratuitously displayed beneath the hem of her raised skirt. She made no move to object as I moved to kneel between her legs, lowering myself down over her. Grabbing my dick in one hand, I placed it at the glistening, puffy lips of her vagina, the entrance of which peeked out at me between the spread folds of her peach.
She accepted me more easily than I thought possible of an eleven year old girl. Though my foreskin was peeled back hard along my shaft, I made my way into her until three of my best six were buried in her. Her head rolled from side to side, eyes closed, and she bit her bottom lips as I began to push in and pull out, each stroke longer than the last, until I was wondrously buried as far into her as I could go. She had accepted everything I had. Her lips were stretched thin around the fattest part of my shaft.
I was so worked up that I lasted practically no time at all. During those too brief minutes she held her eyes tight shut and rolled her head back and forth, moaning with pleasure or pain, or both, as I pounded the slick tunnel within her. When I came, pushing hard into her and holding it in place, flooding her with more fluid than I had ever before produced, her eyes flew open and she looked at me straight in the eye, her expression unreadable.
As I was squeezed from her being, my cum flooding out after my retreating, flaccid manhood, she rolled onto her side and curled up. I left the room, racked with guilt. But half an hour later, freshly showered, she descended the stairs, and greeted me with a warm, seductive smile. She remained nude and straddled my thighs as I sat upon the sofa, leaning down to kiss me from her commanding position. My niece, my lover.
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