Dump Jackson - Uncle_s awful urge

Now, he had to achieve the same positive results mentally.

"Where is she, sweetheart?" he whispered.

Rachel opened her eyes and took a deep breath, shaking against him as he lifted the bulk of his weight off of her slim and sweaty young body. He held himself up, his palms outstretched once again, his abundant chest hairs matted down with perspiration.

"She told me you were a stud, now that I think of it. She mentioned you a couple of times, when we were on the trip, about what a great guy you were and all, how she really grooved on you. But… you know, I didn't think about it until… well, you know what I mean," she stammered, blushing once again as he stared at her with a questioning and inquisitive look on his face.

"Go on. I'm listening. I wonder what she'd say if she knew the two of us had made it together," he said, forcing out a laugh and hoping Rachel was on the verge of opening up to him and telling him the truth, telling him what she had made a point of withholding from the Mitchell's.

"If she knew, she'd probably kill me," Rachel giggled.

"Kill you?"

"Sure, she'd be jealous as hell. If you knew Amy the way I do… but I guess you do, at that. Anyway, she really thinks you're superbad, Livingston."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Superbad? Means you're the best, top drawer as my dad would say. Shit, she'd probably give her right arm to do what we just did," Rachel told him.

He tried to hide his look of amazement and delight, so turned on by her words that he couldn't believe she'd actually said what he'd always hoped to hear from Amy. "Well, it's a definite possibility, what can I say," he laughed good-naturedly as his cock began to ease down along the come-smeared and still fibrillating length of her juicy little muff.

And then, with a little more prodding, he got Rachel to tell him what she really knew. By the time the girl had finished, Drew's ears were ringing with the afternoon's revelations.

He decided that luck was in his favor, right from the start.

He'd seduced Rachel, Amy's friend, both physically as well as mentally, getting the girl to spill the beans and tell him what she had been holding back from Amy's parents, the real reasons surrounding Amy Mitchell's decision not to return home, but to stay on in Europe.

And furthermore, he found himself sitting right next to a girl cast out of the same mold as Amy. They'd boarded the plane together and Drew, who was used to first-class accommodations, had been forced to ride coach when he could not get the reservations he had requested.

He decided in retrospect that the airline had done him a great service. Otherwise, he might never have been able to enjoy the close-up company of young Janet Halston. He helped her stow her back-pack in the overhead rack and then, with a great show of friendliness, got her to accept his offer of a drink when the stewardess came around.

Despite the fact that Janet was not older than sixteen or so, the stew didn't hassle Drew about ordering an alcoholic beverage for the girl, wine in this case. "Gee, this is really nice of you, Mr. Livingston," she said as he clinked glasses with her, Janet sipping white wine while he had his requisite martini.

Introductions had come and gone and now he settled back in his seat, finding it next to impossible to keep his eyes off of the teenager. She was blonde and tawny the way his niece was, slim and lithe beneath her tight bellbottom jeans and baggy peasant blouse.

"I just hope the kids hanging around The Dam are going to be half as friendly," she went on.

"Amsterdam?" he said knowledgeably. "But the flight is landing in Paris."

"I know. I'm going to meet my ole man… my boy friend, that is, and then we're gonna hitch down to Amsterdam. Won't it be a gas, going off to Europe like this for the rest of the summer until September."

It was now the early part of May and Janet went on to explain that the private school she attended – Connecticut money, thought Drew with a pleasant smile… let out early, so she had nearly five months to bum around and see the continent.

Drew listened attentively. He had all the words and the moves that went along with them and he made sure to keep her wine glass constantly filled to the brim. The more she drank, the more effervescent she became, bubbly, cheerful and marvelously animated.

He turned slightly in the seat, glad that they were towards the back of the plane and out of the mainstream of chatter which echoed down the aisles. There were only two seats in a row, not three and this too pleased him to no end, for he knew he'd never be able to get to first base with the girl had there been another passenger on her other side or worse, right between the two of them.

[missing text] projection, hoping that it would intrigue Janet.

So he waited, forced to endure what seemed a non-stop hardon for the next two hours or so. His cock extended the front of his chino slacks, but he made no move to rearrange the bulky.

The wine went to her head and once they were on a closer footing, he brought up the subject of grass. She told him that she'd been warned not to try to smuggle any dope into France, but that she had one joint on her person, and would love to share it with him, though they'd have to do it separately. So right after they'd finished their dinner – Janet said it was a waste of good grass to smoke and they stuff your face – first she got up and went into the bathroom and then came back to palm him half of the remaining joint.

He had absolutely nothing against smoking it and hoped that it would turn the girl on sexually, as it usually did for him. He smoked it quickly in the lavatory, splashed some aftershave around the narrow cubicle to hide the smell and returned to his seat, already well on his way to being stoned.

Her eyes were aglow, red-rimmed and turning glassy when he sat down next to her, having made sure to turn off the light above his seat, that as well as procuring a blanket from the stewardess. He made no pretense about what he was doing, spreading the blanket, two of them actually, over their bodies as he snuggled down and sighed with contentment.

"Man, you're far-out, Drew," she said with admiration, now that they were on a first-name basis. "I mean, I bet you're as old as my dad and yet you like to get high. Shit, that's far out."

"Actually," he said, leaning over and kissing her playfully on the tip of her button nose, "I'm a dirty old man. I'm off to Paris to have an affair with a chick as young as you are. I'm," at which point he leaned closer and stared intently into her eyes, "her sugar daddy. And let me tell you, kiddo, she can't get enough of me. Know why?"

"No," Janet whispered with a stoned little giggle, amazed at what he was telling her, just as Drew had hoped.

"Because… I'm hung like a fucking horse." And as Janet's mouth dropped open and responded to his words, as she began to laugh with delight that he was so uninhibited the way she felt she was, Drew reached out with one hand under the blanket and took hold of her wrist, pulling her arm over and pressing her palm and five fingers down against the huge swollen and misshapen bulge which was still tenting up the front of his chino trousers.

He didn't expect her to pull back and sure enough, the grass and his company, his physical magnetism, had all combined to do the trick. To turn a number, as she told him she liked to call it, right there on the plane was something which appealed to her sense of mischievousness and sexual freedom.

So, it was ultimately no great coup or surprise that when he let go her fingers pressed down hotly against the bulky projection of his rampant boner. Drew smiled with contentment, glanced around and made sure that none of, the neighboring passengers knew what was going on.