Ron Taylor - The hot niece

Later, still, Uncle Bill got out his guitar and played some songs. I leaned back listening, and, God, it was the saddest song I'd ever heard in my life! It was about a girl from a coal mining family who has to go away from home and look for work to help support her family. After she spends the winter tending bar in some little hick town, she finds out that her father's died during the winter, and she doesn't have anything left to go home to. She winds up as a whore on the streets and is found dead under a set of stairs one day holding a note that says, "Fare you well, Tecumseh Valley." I thought about me, out here, and Daddy, so far away, and I started to cry. I couldn't stop, not even when Aunt Cheryl hurried to my side and put her arms around me and said, "Elizabeth," over and over, "please, baby, it's only a song."

She hugged me and rocked me and I couldn't help feeling her tits, loose and free under the thin muslin shirt she wore. My face was pressed against them and her nipples were beginning to stiffen. Her tits heaved and her fingers flexed where she held me. I could feel it, the lust and the desire, pulsing through her, and I could feel, too, the force she was exerting on herself. I stopped crying. It was only a song, after all, and I was enfolded in warm, loving arms that ached to do more than just enfold me. She leaned down, brushed back my hair, kissed my forehead and then my eyelids, and she said, "Are you okay now?" and I looked up, nodding, and her eyes were brown and really lovely, misty, as if she'd been getting a little teary along with me. Aunt Cheryl smiled and kissed my forehead again, and she turned to Uncle Bill, "I guess that was the wrong song, Bill."

He sat there cradling his guitar, looking at us, and I think I saw in his eyes just the faintest possible glimmer of enlightenment, but it faded as fast as it appeared. I knew he still didn't understand why his wife was so cold in bed. I knew why, or at least the surface reason. There was certainly something deeper and I intended to get in deeper, as soon as possible.

"Maybe," I said, "some more wine would help. And is it okay if I light up the pipe again?"

Uncle Bill started playing something fast and bouncy on his guitar, something instrumental this time. He played it with a few bad notes, but my toes started tapping again and I felt better. I touched Aunt Cheryl's hand as I passed her the pipe and for a long moment our fingers were interlaced. Then, she pulled away, the way she always pulled back. Not much longer on that, I promised myself. Her nipples had felt very interesting, inside her muslin shirt, and I had learned that interesting nipples could be more fun than cock teasing boys at a drive-in movie.

I was in bed, still later, smoking my own grass in my pipe. The knock on my door was quick and furtive, and the door opened quickly. Uncle Bill hurried in, wearing just his jeans. It must have been a little after twelve. He looked at me, smoking on the bed, and he could obviously smell the sweet pungency of my grass. I wasn't wearing anything except hair, most of it on my head, the rest curled around a rosy pink gash.

I spread my legs, a little and said, "Hi, I wondered how long it would take you to get here. Want some really dynamite stuff? Homegrown?"

And I offered him the pipe in one hand, cupping my tit with the other. My nipple was up, red and ready. He dropped his pants beside the bed and crawled onto the mattress alongside me.

His hand made fox my pussy. "Unh-uh," I teased, pushing the pipe into his mouth. "Smoke this first and tell me what you think. Better than your stuff? I have some seeds. I'll grow us a crop of Elizabeth Gold, okay?"

He nodded, and put his hand on my belly.

"I think I know what you came in here for," I added, laying down the pipe.

"I feel like an animal doing this to you," he said, "but I can't make myself stop. I can't make myself want to stop."

"It's cool. I already told you that." I had him by the cock now, skinning his loose outer shell of flesh, stroking him up nice and stiff for my pleasure.

"The way you cried over that song," he said. "And, Christ, what is it, Sunday? Your birthday?"

I nodded. "Sunday. Sweet eighteen. My first birthday away from home." His cock was filling up in my fist. I squeezed and felt the pressure surge through him. I slid down the bed and began to rub the end of him against my tits. It certainly didn't make him decrease in size, and it made my titties and especially my nipples feel pretty good too.

"Maybe we can have a party for you," he said. "I know Cheryl would like that. A cake, and presents, and we could invite Kim and her stepbrother if you want…"

"The only present I need," I said, "is tickling my titty. It's big and hard and all it needs is a cute red ribbon tied around it here and here and a little tag reading, From Bill, to Elizabeth. Happy Birthday and Sweet Fucking." I slid him into my cleavage and squeezed my boobs together around his prick.

He groaned. His hands were on my head, combing through my hair. I liked that. Hair can be very sensuous if you just give it a chance. Anyway, was thinking about my birthday party. What if I changed the plans around on everyone and turned it into a birthday orgy? Wouldn't that be dynamite? Like, I'd already made it with Uncle Bill, Kim, and Roy Lee. Aunt Cheryl was the only holdout in the crowd, the only one I hadn't sampled. Something told me very strongly that this situation would change for the better, soon.

Sliding down a little hither, I was in position for his cock to tickle my lips, the way it had already tickled my titties. I started to move back and forth, still holding his cock between my boobs. The end of him eased into my mouth, not far, but enough for me to taste him and enough to make sure he wouldn't be going soft until he'd done the job he had come in to my bedroom to do. I like that in a man.

I let go of him, slid back, and said, "You know, Uncle Bill, I really do like the idea of a birthday party. It might be a lot of fun. Can I count on it, for sure?"

"For sure," he said huskily, taking me by the tits. His hands were strong and knowing, and they held me in a sweet loving grip. I wasn't sure why Aunt Cheryl had turned off on this. I mean, I knew what she'd turned on to, but did it have to be either/or? I snuggled against Uncle Bill, took his pecker, and rubbed it on my belly.

"You know what," I said lazily, petting his stiffness, "I think I could really get behind you getting behind me, mmmmm?"

He didn't seem to understand. I took his hand, slid it down my belly, into my mat of golden fur. He sighed as he felt my juicy pink labes. Then, I pulled him further back, where the hair thinned out and it was just tight smooth pink girl. I pushed his fingertip against my asshole.

"Right here," I said. "I'll roll over and play doggie, and you just climb on and bury your bone."

"In your asshole?" he asked.

"Where else? Don't worry! I've done it before. Boy, have I done it before! And I dig it, too, really dig it. I could dig it right now. If you think you can handle it…?"

There was some hand lotion on my nightstand, not the best thing in the world to use for lubricant, but it would have to do unless one of us wanted to traipse off to the bathroom and look for Vaseline. Anyway, the Jergen's was creamy and cool and oozed all over my skin as Uncle Bill's trembling fingers worked it into me. I was on my belly, butt sticking up, legs parted, and my hands reached back to keep my crack split open. He had a ticklish way of applying lotion, and I giggled from time to time, so loudly that I was afraid Aunt Cheryl might snap out of her valium-sleep and come in to investigate. But I was only afraid for a moment, and the touch of his rubbing fingers was so delicious – especially when he pushed bud and his finger went into me. It had its sweet, vague resemblance to the real thing, but only a resemblance. There's nothing like a cock, a real cock, digging into that tight, slippery hole, pushing hard and deep. Ooohhhh! I'm starting to get it just remembering it!