Ron Taylor - The hot niece

I closed the refrigerator and tiptoed to the kitchen door, listening. That song could send chills up your spine if you let it, and it seemed the saddest thing I'd ever heard in my life. Slowly, I pushed the door open and saw him, sitting in the chair by the fireplace. His beat up Guild guitar was on his lap, and he was looking at the cold hearth and whisper-singing his heart out.

"That's very nice," I said, coming into the room. I had a piece of cheese in one hand a glass of wine in the other. He turned suddenly, and there was a momentary startled look in his eyes. His fingers left off picking, and he set the guitar down, slowly.

"Oh, don't stop," I said. "I really enjoyed it."

He looked up at me, and it occurred to me that maybe he wasn't used to visiting nieces – let alone visiting nieces who ran around in bikini pants, unbuttoned shirts, and nothing else. I looked down at myself. The single button I'd fastened hadn't exactly been the best one. The shirt gaped open at the top. Even if he didn't mean to, he couldn't very well help getting a big flash at my cleavage. Oh, well, I thought, it's all in the family. And I giggled.

"Really," I said, coming closer. "You sounded awfully good." I sat down on the floor beside his chair. "I got hungry," I said, "so I thought I'd come down for a snack. Just didn't feel like sleeping. Same with you?"

He didn't say anything. I offered him some wine. He took a drink, but he kept looking down at me, and his eyes were really weird, you know? Glancing down, I saw why. My shirt had slipped when I sat down, and one of my tits was almost hanging out. If he couldn't see my nipple, still red and swollen from being fingered upstairs, well, he needed glasses. I started to pull the shirt back into place, but it suddenly seemed so hypocritical. After all, he'd seen it, hadn't he? I looked up with a shrug and a grin, and when I shrugged, my titty did pop out.

"Ooops," I said, tucking it back behind the flimsy shut. "Accidents will happen." I looked up, smiling. In the dim light from the table lamp he'd turned on, I saw how much he really did resemble Daddy in the face. Anyone who saw them together would have known they were brothers. My nipples began to ache, and I thought about Daddy, all those thousands of miles across the sea, and me here, in the foothills of the Rockies. I realized how lonely I was, how much I missed him. "Oh, God," I said, and my eyes filled with tears. I laid my head on Uncle Bill's knee and started to cry. He shivered when I touched him, but he put his hand on my head and started to stroke me. It was just the way Daddy used to pet me when I was feeling badly. I looked up, trying to smile.

Uncle Bill was saying, "It's all right, Elizabeth, there's nothing to cry about, nothing at all."

I rose from the floor and sat down on his lap. I put both arms around his neck and hugged him, thrusting my tits against him, and I held on tight. His hands moved on my back, tensely at first, but then they seemed to discover that there really was a body under my shirt and he pushed down, pressing me to him.

The next time we looked at one another's faces, it was eye to eye, and if I'd ever seen lust in a man's eyes before, I saw it in Uncle Bill's – the way he stared at me, the little glaze on his pupils, the twitch of his nostrils. God, I thought, he wants it! He really wants it! Me! Maybe I was his eighteen-year-old niece, but I was woman enough to read his eyes, thank God. Suddenly, it all seemed so right and proper. Maybe I was still a little woozy from the weed I'd smoked, or maybe it was the horny I'd stirred out of my cunt. All I really know is that I reached down, took his hand, and pulled it into the gape of my shirt. "Go ahead," I told him. "Touch me. Feel me. I know you want to. So do it."

He shook his head, but his hand went straight for my tit. His fingers trembled when they touched me, but I worked from the outside of my shirt, and I made his hand cup around my breast. The nipple was up. If he couldn't feel it, his hand was dead. His fingers pinched lightly on my nip and I sighed. It always feels different when it's someone else's hand doing things to you, and it usually feels good. I squirmed on Uncle Bill's lap, and there was movement inside his pants. Nobody had to tell me what that meant. I pressed the side of one hip down, moving in little jerks. He got harder and bigger, and it felt impressive as hell, even if I hadn't seen it yet. My arm tightened around his neck and somehow our mouths got together. We were kissing then, his tongue was in me, working around and around. Our mouths were wet and hot and crushed together. I got my tongue into him just as his long fingers curled tightly around my titty, and I did a little puffing chirp into Uncle Bill's mouth. If his cock could get any harder than it was right now, and it was time to be calling the Guinness Book of World Records.

We eased apart slowly, each of us looking warily at the other, as if we weren't sure what had taken place. "Well," I said. His face went red, but his cock didn't shrink. I eased off his lap, onto my knees on the floor. His pants were tented up with the thrust of his erection, and I touched the hidden tent pole with my fingertips. "Did I do that?" I asked.

He didn't reply, just a choked sound that might have been an aborted word. My shirt was half off me by then, so I unfastened the last button and let it slide away. I knelt there and gave him a good shot at my tits. The coral nipples were stiff and punchy, both of them, and I stroked them with my fingers, looking up at Uncle Bill. "You did that," I volunteered. "Some of it, anyway."

"Stop, Elizabeth," he said, but my hands were already on his pants. He had buttons instead of a zipper. I'd never undone buttons before, not on a man's pants. They were no problem, except that the faded denim of Uncle Bill's trousers was stretched out so tight with the hardness of his cock. I got him undone, and I reached inside while he kept saying, "No, Elizabeth." I pulled his rod out, and it was a beauty! He stopped saying "No" just about the time I got his dick into the lamplight.

I'd seen a few cocks in my time, and his was nice. Thick – the best ones are thick, so that they spraddle your labes and make you feel like you're being wedged open long enough to be of good service. His head was fat and bulging, coming to an arrowhead-like point. My thumb and finger circled him and moved quickly up his rigid shaft, to the cockhead, where I squeezed down tightly. I felt him throbbing in my grip, and I saw a little drop of liquid ooze into the crack that divided his bulging knob into two equal halves.

"God," I said, "it looks good enough to eat!"

"Elizabeth," he said, without a single discernible trace of conviction. I leaned in and started to lick the end of his prick. He squirmed in the chair, and it seemed that his legs opened a little giving me more room to get closer. I slid in, still on my knees, still holding his cock, my tongue still busy around the end of him. He put his hands on my head, and there was a hesitation. I thought he would shove me away, but the pressure of his fingers weakened, and then I had him in my mouth. I was sucking, and nobody, but nobody, ever tells me to stop once I've taken a click in my mouth and given it the suction tongue treatment. Nobody!

My head moved downward on him, and my throat opened. Almost before either of us knew it, my lips were pressing the fly of his pants and the tip of his rod was in my throat. That particular trick is like wiggling your ears. Some girls can do it, others try but can't. Still, others never even try. To me, it was just something natural, something I never had any trouble picking up. I'd swallowed the first cock that I ever had in my mouth, swallowed it right to the nuts. It was as easy as breathing.

That's how I sucked Uncle Bill's prick. I put my hand inside his pants and found his balk. They were big, in a loose wrinkly sac, and I jiggled them with my fingers. My other hand slid onto his belly, into his shirt, and up his chest. He had nipples too, and I've found that men like to have their nipples toyed with almost as much as girls do. His tits stiffened up as soon as I touched them, and I gave them little love squeezes with my fingers while I moved up and down on his cock in grand, swallowing passages. My tongue swirled around him, and my mouth was as wet now as it had been dry upstairs after a pipeful of homegrown weed.