Ron Taylor: The hot niece

Suddenly her eyes lifted and I was looking at her. She looked away, her cheeks flushing. "I, uh, I'd better get down and see about the coffee," she said. "I don't want it to boil over." And with the click of heels she was out the door. It sounded as if she were running down the stairs. Jesus, I thought, what's with her? It was like she was afraid to be here in the room with me! Am I that scary? Have I turned into Frankenstein overnight? There was a full moon. Christ, what if I'm Larry Talbot's younger sister and never knew it? I turned, saw myself in the mirror, and the only hair on my face was a wisp of gold that had fallen across my forehead. I brushed it back and tilted my head to one side. Nope, I thought, same old Elizabeth Jo Ashcraft, golden, glowing, bright as a new penny and prettier than a hundred dollar bill. I swept my hair back, let it fall onto my shoulders, down across the coral-red ends of my tits. It tickled, touching my nipples, and I felt that old familiar oozy tingle between my legs. I wished I had time to stretch out on the floor in the morning sunlight and give myself a handjob. There are a couple of better ways to begin a day but neither of them was available to me at the moment.

No, I thought, putting on the pink panties. I'd better just get dressed and eat a nice breakfast with Uncle Bill and Aunt Cheryl, and wave goodbye as she heads off for her job in town. Did anyone want to make book that fifteen minutes later I would not have Uncle Bill's prick in my hot, wet mouth? I smiled at the Elizabeth in the minor, slipped into a shirt, and found a pair of gaucho pants that went well with the shirt. That girl was supposed to come by with the horses this morning, and gauchos seemed appropriate for riding.

I went down to breakfast barefooted; my shirt was only buttoned up about half way. Anyone who wanted could take a peek into my cleavage, and if I moved this way or that, they might get a cheap thrill. I sat down at the table, across from Uncle Bill, and he looked away.

"Good morning," I said lightly. "Isn't this a lovely day? I don't believe I've ever awakened feeling so good." And as I spoke, I lifted my foot under the table and planted my bare wiggling toes directly in his crotch. He didn't look away when I did that. His head snapped around and he glared at me, but I just smiled. My toes pressed into his crotch, tracing the outline of his prick inside his pants. He stirred in his chair, tried to reach under the table and pussy my foot away, but I shoved harder and he gulped. His dick began to harden where I was touching it. I gave him that winning smile again, and Aunt Cheryl was just bringing coffee, ham, and eggs to the table. Uncle Bill made a coughing sound. He didn't look up at her when she put the plate down in front of him.

"Everything okay?" she asked.

I nodded, stirring sugar into my coffee. Everything was just dandy. Uncle Bill was almost stiff in his pants, and my toes danced across the bulging lump of his cock.

Aunt Cheryl sat down, but all she had was coffee and some toast with jelly. She ate fast, and when she was done, she stood up, saying, "I'm running late." First she came around, the table to me and kissed me lightly on the forehead, leaving the memory of her soft wet lips, warm and moist, on my skin. Then, she gave Uncle Bill the same kind of kiss, quick, perfunctory. Yes, I thought, maybe he was telling me the truth last night.

"I've gotta run," she added, going to the door. "See you all later. Be good, both of you." And she smiled, but the smile was directly at me.

My foot slid out of Uncle Bill's crotch and I went to the back door, waving as Aunt Cheryl climbed into her Cherokee and started the engine. The morning sun turned the pine-covered mountainside from green to a breathtaking shade of gold.

Smiling, I turned to Uncle Bill and said, "Well, she's gone. Want to take up where we left off last night?" and I jerked up my shirt, giving him one quick flash of my 36-C tit and its stiff, eager red nipple. I dropped my shirt into place and started toward him, but he was moving off his chair, around the table, walking in a crouch. His crotch was full of hard-on, the hard-on I'd tickled into life with my wiggly toes. Try as he could, he couldn't hide that bulge. I went around the table, headed him off, just oozed all over him, wrapping arms and a leg around his body, rubbing myself hard against him.

"Let's do it," I said. "Right here on the table. We'll just throw the dishes onto the floor and get it on. What do you say?" He didn't answer. I made my tits slide up and down, and the nipples were both erect now, as erect as his prick, punching out the clingy fabric of my shirt. He was dead from the neck down if he didn't feel my nips tickling his body.

"I'm a bitch if I don't get it first thing in the morning," I added, licking his neck and chin. I had one hand in his hair, massaging his scalp, the other stroking his cheek and eyelids. "Just a nasty little bitch the whole day. It's funny but…"

"It's not a Goddamned bit funny, Elizabeth!" he said, pushing me off him. He stood there, drawn back, defensive. He was panting hard as if he'd really been fucking me, not just getting the come-on. He'd panted that way last night, ramming his dick up my snatch. I tilted my head and started to rub my crotch suggestively. He coughed and brushed past me so fucking fast it almost turned me around. Then, he was gone, out the door. I followed, to the doorstep, saw him going into the small outbuilding where he kept his printing equipment. Well, I thought, it's a sad day when the pursuit of the almighty dollar takes precedence over a sweet, tight juicy piece of cunt!

I had another cup of coffee, listened to the radio. Some bubblegum rock music. The signal wasn't too clear and I turned it off, thinking instead of the sang I'd heard Uncle Bill playing on his guitar last night, the words I'd heard him singing. All about leaving a woman who'd grown cold and distant. "Sooner stand in Mother Nature's anger than sleep another lonely night with you." And the feeling he'd put into it. You don't fake that kind of emotion.

He'd let down his guard last night, taken me into the deeper realms of his consciousness. I'd done my best to comfort him, and I do a good job of comforting, but now he wanted to pretend that the whole thing had never happened. Why? I'd told him about me and Daddy, given him to understand that I was not only available, I was more than willing. But still he kept pushing me away.

"Men!" I said aloud. "Who can ever hope to understand the critters?"

He hadn't locked the door of his print shop. I turned the handle and the door opened. He didn't even hear me, for he was engrossed in some copy. I stood in the doorway, watching. Then, I pushed the door shut. He looked up and his eyes had a funny expression. He put down the papers he was holding and he started to say something, but by then I'd already unbuttoned my shirt and dropped it to the floor. I was unhooking my pants as I walked. They slid down my legs and I stepped out of them. All I had on were my pink panties and a beaming smile.

There was a long table, cluttered with sheets of proofs of whatever you call them, and a couple of stacks of paperbacked booklets, tied up with string. I leaned against the table and stared at him without saying a word. He sighed, moved around the printing press, and he came to me.

"Elizabeth," he said.

I just smiled again, and I dropped to my knees before him. One touch of my fingers and his pants were full of hard-on. "See?" I said. "It has sense, even if the rest of you doesn't."

I unzipped him and fought his prick out into the open. My fist closed around it, and he felt so big and firm and manly I couldn't help sighing. I felt the pulsation of his blood, flowing into that man-sized dong, making it stand up big and hard and lusty in my hand. I knew I had to taste it again. I leaned toward him and started licking, all round the knob of Uncle Bill's prick, tasting the sweet morning flavor of his flesh.