Ron Taylor: The hot niece

"Come up here," I told him, wiping my moist lips. "I want to lick your mouth and then I want to lick your cock."

We kissed, and I tasted me all over him. I have a nice-tasting pussy. At least, the juices it leaves on other people's faces taste nice. Maybe I'm too self-centered, but it's a fun way to be, especially if you get your own way as often as I do. And I'd gotten my own way this morning, gotten it in a big way. Uncle Bill slid closer, and I was licking all around his mouth, and my hand just made automatically for the bone of his rigid prick. It slithered into my fist, thrusting where I held him, and our tongues dueled a few moments longer, back and forth from mouth to mouth. Then he stood up tall and flushed, holding his shirttail out of the way while I used my hands on his rampant cock.

"It looks good enough to eat," I said, staring down at the fat swollen head of him, red and bubbling out one tiny little ooze of creamy white cum. I squeezed, the bubble grew bigger, and I scooped it up with my finger. As he watched, I brought it to my mouth, licked it like a gourmet testing the 1959 Chablis at some swank restaurant.

"It is good enough to eat," I told him. "And I think I'm going to – oh, shit!"

From where I sat, I could see out the window, down toward the county road. And there, at the foot of Uncle Bill's driveway, coming up the dirt track, was a girl on a slow-walking horse. Behind her trailed another horse, saddled; she guided it with the bridle. I couldn't see her dearly, for the window was a little dirty, but I knew it was the neighbor Aunt Cheryl and Uncle Bill had asked to befriend me. Of all the fucking times for her to show up!

Uncle Bill turned around too, and he made a groaning sound as he said, "It's Kim," but by then I'd eased off the table and was on my knees before him. I fed his cock into my mouth, and I sucked that Goddamned thing, sucked it like a wolf gobbling up fresh-killed venison. No one, but no one, makes Elizabeth Jo stop when she's in the mood and, God, was I in the mood! I ate his pecker, ate it fast and eager as he told me, "Hurry, Elizabeth! Hurry!"

The distance from house to county road was at least five hundred yards, uphill. How fast could a horse walk uphill? Two horses? I had to have time. I'd make time. I sucked up and down Uncle Bill, and I grabbed his nuts, gave them a wringing squeeze that made him wail in a high, crooning voice. He came, his jism flooding into my mouth in a torrent, and I sucked it up, ate it all, swallowed and gulped and felt the sticky cum oozing from my lips even though I was doing the best I could. I sucked until his cock went soft in my mouth. I let him go then. A sticky trail of cum connected him to me as his cock left my mouth. I broke the spidery web with my fingers, licked them dry, and eased back.

"Well, it gets better," I said, reaching for my shirt and gauchos. Uncle Bill pulled up his pants and buttoned and zipped, and I was busy getting dressed too.

Just as I finished buttoning my shirt I heard a voice outside calling, "Anyone home?"

We went out the door, me and Uncle Bill. The girl was sitting on her horse. "Hello," she said, smiling. "You must be Elizabeth."

"Uh," Uncle Bill said, a little hoarse, "Elizabeth, this is Kim Barton. I see you brought Duke for Elizabeth to ride. That's a good idea. He's a gentle horse," he added, to me, his hand on my shoulder. "Good for a beginner."

"Hi, there, Duke. And hi, Kim."

She was beautiful. I mean, when did you ever see an ugly Oriental girl, for one thing? Her hair was long and dark; her skin was the color of faded ivory and her eyes were black and almond-shaped. She had a small nose and a small chin. It was hard to tell her size, but she looked about five feet tall or a little more, maybe ninety-five pounds or so. She was wearing a shirt that clung nicely around her very small but very round tits, and a pair of jeans that molded the slim curves of her hips and legs. There was an air of fragility to her, as if she were some delicate piece of porcelain, but at the same time she looked healthy and fresh and interesting. I'd never met a Vietnamese person before. My only hope was that she didn't want to talk about the war. Like everyone else, I'm sick of the war and talking about it.

"I'd better get my boots." I said, pointing down at my bare toes. "And for your information, Uncle Bill, I'm not quite a beginner. I've done a lot of riding in my time. And my time hasn't passed yet." I winked, quickly, privately, and left him and Kim gossiping about neighborhood matters while I ran inside to get my boots and give myself a quick scrub with a washcloth.

Uncle Bill came around to help me up into the saddle, he said, but I knew that his real intention was to grab a quick, cheap feel. "I don't need any help," I said, swinging into the stirrup and up. "See you later, Uncle Bill," I added, taking the bridle. I squeezed my legs on Duke's sides and a little thrill passed through me. My pussy was taut against the saddle. Polyester gauchos and nylon panties did little to muffle me against the feelings. And there really is a sexy kick to being astride a horse. You don't know that, maybe, but if you have a teenaged daughter, ask her. She might tell you. Or she might not. We young ladies have to keep a few secrets, after all.

"Let's go riding," I told Kim.

"Well, okay," she said. "From up there…" she pointed to the pine-covered mountainside, "…you can see for miles. Think you're up to the trip?"

"I'm up to anything," I answered with a smile that was mostly directed at Uncle Bill. "Hang in there," I told him, "and print all kinds of good stuff while we're gone. Come on, Duke. It feels good to be on a horse again, Kim. I hope we don't turn out to not like each other, because this is fun already. Let's go."

And Uncle Bill stood in the backyard watching as Kim and I guided our horses up the rising slope of the land, making for the edge of the pines, a half mile or more ahead of us. Duke moved slowly, a little too slowly for my taste, but the feel of him between my legs was enriching and I found myself squatting tighter onto the saddle, rubbing myself around on the smooth leather.

"Show me the way," I told Kim. "I'm a stranger here and I don't know the lay of the land."

"You'll probably learn it," she said, looking over her shoulder at me. "You might even become it."

I blinked. She was giving me a bright, white-toothed smile, and there was a glittering in her dark Oriental eyes.

Nmmm, I thought, something tells me Kim and I may share a few wave-lengths.

It's hard to carry on a conversation when you're horseback riding, but if you try, you can. On our way up the ridge, I learned a number of things about my new friend. She was seventeen. She'd been raised in a Catholic orphanage in Saigon and airlifted out at the fall of the South Vietnamese government. Her name wasn't really Kim, but Khiemh Bao Thung. I couldn't even pronounce it, not the way she did, so I settled for Kim. She'd come to Colorado at thirteen, adopted by a family who wanted a daughter. There was a lithe, catlike gracefulness to her. She was so small and delicate-looking, but I watched her from behind as she rode up the mountain and I knew that she was no frail flower. The fragility was only on the surface. Hmmm, I thought, I'll bet this chick knows her way around. With her background, how could she help it? And she didn't seem interested in talking about the war, which was good all around.

We entered the piney woods. The smell of fir was incredible. There were aspens and pine trees and a few sturdy white oaks and hemlocks, all the way to the top of the mountain. And when we got to the top, we sat on our horses at the very summit of the ridge and looked out across miles and miles of Colorado. Hills and valleys spread out before us. I thought, Christ! Maybe John Denver knows what he's talking about after all! "Do you like it?" Kim asked, turning in the saddle.