5 comments/ 53351 views/ 21 favorites Uncle Oscar By: arthor Disclaimer: This is a story about sexual attraction between old & young. Betrayal & humiliation is involved too. If this turns you off - it's probably best to read another story. Chapter 1 This happened back in the nineties. Christina and I had experienced the first exotic holiday of our young lives. We had been visiting a faraway country that Christina had a particular interest in. Her best friend Yasmine was of Turkish descent. We had even paid Yasmine's grandparents a visit. But in spite of the exoticism our holiday had been a huge disappointment. In fact the last day of our trip had been awful. Christina and I had hardly talked. I had just finished my Master's in economics, Christina was a serious law student. Once she had been a wild child. That was hard to believe but I knew it was true. Her parents were both prominent lawyers and she had rebelled against their bourgeois lifestyle. Christina had lit her first cigarette in her family's living-room when she was 13 and was a smoker until she was 19. She had been driving her parents to desperation, hanging around with bad boys, doing petty crime, beating up other girls. When she was 18 her boyfriend was a 50 year old bodybuilder thug. I knew all that. She never hid anything for me. At 18 Christina also shocked her family by showing her bits in a men's magazine. The pictures were fabulous. It made me so proud that men admired her and desired her. In real life I felt safe. Men seemed intimidated by Christina's classic beauty and aloof manner. Come-ons or pick up attempts, I had hardly noticed any. And she never was a flirt. In my presence, she was always perfectly loyal. So, the only thing that really bothered me in that pictorial was the Q & A's. Q: "Dream man?» Christina: «Dominant men. They smell better." I once confronted her about that one. She laughed out loud. "Yes? You have a problem with that?" Christina never excused herself. No regrets. Never look back. At 19 she decided to change her life. And did she ever. Christina was so confident, so intelligent, even outgoing when she wanted to. It didn't take her long to make new friends and improve her grades dramatically. Now, in her third year at law school, she was excelling. Christina vowed that with me as her man, her wild years would forever be history. I had no reason to doubt her. She had decided to put her energy into something positive. Christina was a born sensation-seeker. Diving from cliffs and bridges, mountaineering, parachuting, she did all that. And inspired by her I tried those things too. OK I know, my Uncle Oscar had been doing the same things all his life and I had called his lifestyle phony macho shit. But I was wrong. Daring to do these things made me a stronger, more confident person. And she loved me for doing them with her. I had never known anyone so honest as Christina, so outspoken. She detested people who didn't speak their minds. She was the bravest, the least politically correct individual I had ever known. For instance, I had never met a girl who would admit to enjoying porn. Christina did. And she argued that anyone who claimed they were left cold when watching a hot couple enjoy good sex, were asexual or liars. My view on porn was the politically correct one, that porn degraded women. I had never admitted to enjoying it. But she "forced" me to acknowledge that I did, even to disclose that I had a favourite category. So, I admitted to her I had a thing for interracial. Christina liked to watch hung and strong older men doing young girls. I admired her enormously for her independence and strength. Christina was a horny girl and she was a demanding partner in bed. She liked to be roughed up, loved sex to be dirty, and to last forever. That was OK with me, my sex drive was healthy and I felt that I managed to treat Christina to the naughty sex she liked. Luckily I also had the kind of body that Christina loved, muscular, quite hairy, a good-sized cock. I never knew women could be turned on by men's bodies like she was. Then, out of the blue, a couple of months before we went to Turkey, something scary happened to me. I started to lose my erections. I have no idea why, I guess something in my head. We had a huge fight our last night in Turkey. For the umpteenth time I had gone limp inside her. Every time this had happened before she had been patient with me. She had gently argued that I should see a doctor. I didn't want to see a doctor. The whole thing bothered me too much. So, her reaction that previous night had shocked me. She had yelled at me and scorned me, she used the nastiest words. It was like a levee had broken, all her bent up sexual frustration suddenly being taken out. On me. She said that if I didn't seek help so I could fuck her like a man, she would dump me like a shit-covered potato. She needed much cock and good cock, she told me, she deserved that. I made some perplexed attempt to defend myself. She screamed I was "childish and selfish", and she slapped me. Twice. The force of her blows were shocking. I grabbed her shoulders to keep her at bay. Before I knew it she had my arms pinned to the wall. She was furious and told me if I didn't stop feeling sorry for myself she would slap me around like a fucking birthday piñata. Was she being clear? I told her she was. I was in shock. I was totally unprepared for this transformation, it was terrifying. Christina had always been good to me, always fun to be with. Strong-willed and confident, sure, but pleasant, and fair. Her display of strength had caught me completely off guard. We were the same height, both fit, but I had a lot more weight. I had no idea she could pin me like that and I couldn't believe it. She ordered me to get my fat ass moving and change our plane tickets. She wanted to go home the next day. We slept in the nude that night, like always. When she came out of the shower the next morning I was just getting out of bed. I could tell she was still mad. And still cruel. She looked disapprovingly at my lack of morning wood, cringed her nose and said, slowly, distinctly, with a threatening whisper. "I am horny. I really should find myself a Man." At the airport Christina was still fuming. It made her look hotter than ever, that clean sandy blonde hair cascading around her beautiful, angered face and her shoulder. She looked like a sexpot on the prowl. I got my first good hard-on for a long time and I stayed hard all the time we were waiting for the plane. She was 22 then, I was three years her senior, I had been infatuated with her since I first saw her. I never stopped admiring her amazing body, particularly her tits, so big and beautiful, only slightly sagging, and always jiggling as she walked. Her best asset though was that warm, radiant smile when she was comfortable with someone. But that extremely hot summer morning, nearly fifteen years ago, at the istanbul airport, she didn't talk to me. She wanted to let me know that a beautiful horny girl deserved better, more - and perhaps bigger -- than I was able to give her. The atmosphere was unbearable. Chapter 2 My parents were university professors. Oscar was my father's younger brother, a self made investor. No formal education. But with this ceaseless drive to succeed and win. I didn't know a lot about his business activities. But rumours named porn investments among them. Uncle Oscar never married. Yet he always had young beautiful women accompanying, even living with him. To me he was a callous, self-obsessed man, ludicrously boasting of his sexual appetite. Dad and Oscar were not brothers by blood, they were both adopted. My grandparents were unable to have children and had the opportunity to adopt twice when they were still young. There was only a year between dad and his brother. And they always despised each other. Two men could not be more different. Dad was sensitiv, caring, Oscar was egotistical, bullying. Dad - tall, slim, handsome, Oscar short, plain, but so exceptionally strong! Mainly due to some rare hormonal disorder, I had been told. My dad never was one to talk about his childhood, but I knew Uncle Oscar had been a pain in his ass since they were little. My grandma once told me a story I found very disturbing. When they were 11 and 12 Oscar had grown tired of dad telling on him. He decided to teach dad a lesson. So, he beat his much bigger brother mercilessly in front of a growing crowd. Dad spent the next days in bed, a couple of ribs broken, his face a mess. Oscar had mashed it into the ground. That hiding became a recurring nightmare in my childhood. When grandma narrated this story she was far less judgemental than a grandson would expect. Almost apologetic («You see, your dad was quite the busybody when he was a boy»). Years later I had a man-to-man-talk with my old grandpa. In old age he seemed almost proud of his youngest son's vigour. I can still recall his loud, inappropiate laughter, when reliving the memory of 18 year old Oscar being caught red-handed doing the big nasty with his best friend's hot mom. Her husband had come home unexpectedly. From their bedroom he could hear his wife's pleasure screams. In their marriage bed he found Oscar, fucking the shit out of the husband's trophy wife. The sight must have been devastating. The couple split up soon after and the husband took to the booze. I don't think my grandparents ever punished Uncle Ocsar, I guess he was just too forceful, too arrogant. In their old days they both talked fondly of him, particularly after he bought them a new bungalow the year they turned 70. Late in life my working class grandparents seemed more proud of their millionaire son with his unyielding Don Juanism, than of my scholarly, nice dad. My grandpa's personality change in old age was unnerving. Grandpa's life had been boring. Infertile, probably sexually inadequate - and betrayed. We all knew about Fred, grandma's long-time lover. After turning 80 grandpa got more and more intrigued by Oscar's alleged phallic power. And in the nursing home his meek personality had changed completely. He had become verbally abusive, and aggressive. Female members of the staff were sexually harrassed, he was masturbating in front of them whenever he had the chance. He was diagnosed with «Hypersexuality in dementia». Grandpa refused all medication. This was really bothering us. Month of May that year, mom, dad, Christina and I paid grandpa a visit. It was an eerie experience. He had injured his hip and was bed-ridden. But his eyes never once left Christina. Mom told him that she had run into Oscar the other day. Grandpa lit up, still ogling Christina. «Oscar! Oh yeah! Pretty as they come you are! Yeah! Oscar's the man! He'd nail you real good with his big one. Ho ho! You sexy little bitch!" Christina's infectious laughter saved the situation. Sort of. But grandpa just continued ogling her, shamelessly beating his meat below the duvet. Chapter 3 I refused to believe my eyes. The man who approached us at the airport in Istanbul with a grin wider than his face... It was my Uncle Oscar. In Istanbul. It was totally surreal. I hadn't seen him since I was 13. And I wouldn't have minded waiting another 12 years. Last time I had seen him was dad's 50th birthday party. Uncle Oscar had caused a scandal. He blatantly, and not without success I'm afraid, made a pass on mom's young niece. My cousin. Mom and dad cut all contact with him after that party. I always thought he was an ugly man. He balded early and he had a funny nose, like a pug's. Sixty now, the old man at the Istanbul airport looked plain ridiculous. He had grown a huge walrus moustache. It reminded me of a run over stout. Who would want to look like that? A hermit who lived in some shack in the woods? Maybe. But a man who was wealthy and «succesful?» Christina had heard a lot about Uncle Oscar. Particularly my older brother was keen on passing on juicy gossip. I was forced to introduce them. And I couldn't help noticing that she beamed at him, even blushed, when she realized who he was. Uncle Oscar shook my hand and kissed Christina's cheek. To my consternation I noticed that Oscar immediately started to ogle Christina. Behind almost closed eyelids. Reportedly he had said of himself that he had eyes like a dead pig. And that women for some reason found eyes like his sexy. I observed him peeking down the cleavage of Christina's top, admiring her bare stomach, hips, her long, luscious well-toned legs, her perfect toes in open sandals. Christina liked to flaunt what she had. Fear took hold when I realized that she was eying him too. Uncle Oscar too was dressed for the heat wave, shorts, open sleeveless shirt. He had become old and grey, for sure. But he still looked extremely powerful, tanned, his chest huge with lots of white hair showing. His legs very muscular, and hairy too. And my uncle's shorts did not conceal that he was packed between his legs. The old man's bulge didn't escape my attention, nor Christina's. He started talking to her, only to her. And uncle was -- unlike me - an excellent conversationalist. He was like a bird of prey circling to attack, looking into her eyes, laughing, suddenly close to her. This didn't really shock me, I had heard too much about my Uncle Oscar around beautiful women. What shocked me was Christina's reaction. She didn't dismiss him, didn't brush him away, even with me being around she totally opened up. Laughing with him, meeting his gaze, nibbling her lip, spreading her knees, letting him come very close. She was tossing her long hair, preening it with slow, luxurious motions. It was as if she had been bewitched, nostrils flaring, lips wet and shiny. For a moment he just stood there, his shameless, magnetic bad boy charisma on show, staring into her eyes. That moment was so incredibly tense, so nerve-rackingly filled with unrest. Then, abruptly he laughed his vicious laughter and took a few steps back. He made a disarming comment and left for the toilet. Wild with jealousy I looked at Christina. She had picked up her magazine again but it was easy to tell she wasn't reading. When we had arrived some twenty minutes earlier she had been fuming, horny, out of balance. Now, she was visibly shaken, had gone somewhere else, somewhere deep inside herself. Somewhere I couldn't reach her. What had taken place? My Christina, so blonde, so beautiful, so playful, always with a marveling question - often a surprisingly naive one - on her lips, what had she changed into? I knew I had seen something I had never detected before. Something dark, deep, even violent that she had inside. It was like she had been invaded, and I was nobody to her. What had Uncle Oscar done to her? What feelings had this mean, abusive man evoked? What was it about this old man? Was it his physical appearance? His cockiness? His smoothness? That hoarse bass voice? His eyes? His... size? I couldn't tell. I only knew I was frozen by him. Completely frozen. Uncle Oscar hadn't asked one single question about my family. Chapter 4 We were in for a five hours flight back to Scandinavia. Since we had just changed our flight, Christina and I were not seated together. Oscar soon returned and damn damn DAMN! Fate was raising it's ugly head even higher. My uncle's ticket was proof he was seated next to my girl. They shared a double seat two rows in front of - and to the right - of me. I was seated by the aisle. I could hear them talking, and her giggling. Christina's comfortableness around my nasty old uncle was heart-rending. Exactly what was going on? My mind was a roller coaster of emotions. Was I being paranoid? Uncle Oscar ordered wine. Karen, I could tell, was getting tipsy, she wasn't much of a drinker. He was the one who talked, obviously telling some hilarious, probably naughty stories. Christina's laughing got raucous. She sounded like a love struck bimbo, I thought. Most unbecoming. After a while their voices got lower, softer, like they were having a heart-to-heart talk. How could this old sod make her feel so good? They were really flirting now, weren't they? My jealousy was eating at me. I imagined her touching his arm, she always did with people she liked to be with. I was visualizing her beautiful fingers resting on this old brute's hairy forearm. Sickening! After their meal it looked like she was picking some crunches from his moustache, he said something funny, she was leaning on his shoulder, laughing, probably touching him. They had almost stopped talking. Christina looked jumpy, glancing around a little, like someone trying to hide what she was up to. What the hell was happening, she wasn't feeling the old buck up, was she? I saw the lady two seats in front of me sending the two of them disapproving looks, whispering something to her husband. Most of the time I could see the back of Christina's head, my shorter uncle Oscar was mostly invisible. From time to time both heads were out of my view. I got this crazy feeling that Christina and my old uncle were making out. No. No! My girl would never betray me like that, right in my face, she couldn't? I must have been white with fear. Not once did Christina look back to where I was sitting. She left for the toilet two or three times but she avoided my gaze. She seemed light-headed, her mind elsewhere. Oscar left his seat once. He locked eyes with me when he walked down the aisle, scornful little smile on his lips. His masculinity was jutting out from his crotch, obvious and very very rude. Was Karen so bedazzled over this old creep's manliness, his crude charm, his persistence, that she was letting herself be seduced in a plane seat? In the pit of my stomach I felt a gnawing pain. Christina's gaze didn't once meet mine before she stood up to get her luggage. She gave me a defiant look. Christina and Uncle Oscar left the cabin together, she nearly a head taller than him, me some 10 meters behind. They walked very close, arms touching, towards the baggage reclaim area. Her lovely ass cheeks rolled back and forth inside her shorts. He was doing the talking now, her drunken giggling had stopped, he spoke to her with authority, exerting his natural dominance. She was casting sideways glances, smiling her dazzling smile, fawning over him like some love-sick pup, it seemed. I couldn't think straight. I was terrified. I had learnt I had shortcomings as a man. And maybe she was putting on a show, teaching me a lesson, but clearly that arrogant old geezer had done something to her. How? Christina was the picture of a take-no-nonsense, self-actualized young woman. Yes, I could comprehend her being attracted to a man more confident than me, a man with a take-charge attitude, with a longing to explore, challenge, take risks, to live a life of adventure, a man with an abundance of masculine energy... Yes. I would have been able to understand that, intellectually. But what if the man was a hardcore bully, an alpha male parody, an arrogant macho, a greedy businessman, a selfish jerk who probably hated woman? And on top of that her boyfriend's old uncle? ' Could I ever comprehend how my gorgeous Christina could be attracted to a man like him? No. Never. Chapter 5 Awaiting me in the baggage area was an open confrontation. Christina was still all smiles, her sharp blue eyes sparkling with intensity. She calmly told me that my Uncle Oscar had been wonderful company, incredibly sweet. Uncle (who was semi-retired) had signed up for a class in portrait photography, she told me. You know, I have already wanted to learn portrait photography, she explained, matter-of-factly. Students signed up as couples and modeled for each other. Oscar had signed up but he had just broken with his girlfriend, so he had offered her to join him for free, wasn't that nice of him? The class would start that same evening. Uncle Oscar The little old bastard was standing very close to my girl. Unbelieving, I watched as he confidently caressed her fragrant hair, then moved his hand down her back. I could tell by his movements that he was shamelessly kneading her buttocks. She looked at him, a little flushed, still smiling, mouthing "not here." But she made no attempt to take his hand away from her ass. Uncle Oscar continued to knead her. I could see she was perspiring, her breathing had become heavy. It was like a slow motion crash, she turned lazily around until she faced the old man, his eyelids almost closed now, her face slowly dipping down, like a moth drawn to a candle, she paused a moment to give his huge moustache a little pinch, and their lips met. Have you ever watched a tall beautiful young girl's face as she dips down to kiss a short bald old man equipped with the biggest white moustache you can imagine? Good for you. Christina managed to find both of uncle's lips under his facial hairs and she kissed him with a slow, sensuous passion, his moustache covering most of her cheek. I couldn't see any tongue action inside that bush, but yes, I could hear them -- swirling tongues, smacking sounds, soft whimpering. I tried to look away from the nightmarish scene. I looked around. Some people looked embarrassed, some dumb-founded, several threw glances at the young beauty and the old sod who were making out like there was no tomorrow. I took a few steps back. I wasn't with them. This young beauty was not French-kissing her boyfriend's old uncle right under her boyfriend's nose. After long minutes the two kissers separated, as slowly as they had been drawn to each other. I watched her beautiful hands as they let go of his back and slowly slid up his side, to rest on his shoulder. Christina traced her forefingers along his neck and looked into his eyes. Uncle Oscar's next move didn't really shock me. Of course the old exhibitionist wanted me to know what I was up against now. Still, when my old uncle turned to give me a hint of what he had just been grinding into my girl... ... I was not prepared at all. The sight of the beastly erection that was straining Uncle Oscar's shorts made my throat go dry. The size of the tent that now pointed towards me - and the ceiling - was bigger than I could have ever imagined. He wanted me to learn that here was a man who needed to have my girl's pussy. And that he was going to have it. My gaze left Uncle Oscar's crotch and met my girlfriend's. She too, I could tell, was shaken. Her breath came in heaves, her eyes were glazed. She too tried to keep her eyes away from his crotch. Oscar noticed that his suitcase was arriving. He nonchalantly pulled his shirttail out to cover his erection. Christina's luggage was arriving too. They picked up their belongings. Christina gave me a quick glance, said "see you" and left with Oscar. When I came to the exit five minutes later, I saw them leaving in a taxi. Chapter 6 It was mid-summer and holiday time. That very week Christina and I had been together for a full year. Since a few months we had been sharing a tiny downtown flat, not far from my Uncle Oscar's place. Just one combined living room/bed room. We didn't have mobile phones then and I didn't hear a word from Christina until the following Friday. Friday morning she phoned me that she would be arriving with a removal van around noon. In the course of an hour or so her stuff was gone. We only exchanged a few sentences all the time she was there. She faced me when she was on her way out. "I am sorry. Sort of. Just couldn't resist him. Didn't want to. There's not a lot more to say. He's just too awesome. She paused. "Much too much... Man." She pronounced the last word like she was speaking of a delicacy. I believe she licked her lips, I think she purred like a content cat. No regrets. Never look back. She handed over her keys and gave me a quick peck on the cheek. Then she was gone. Christina had left her bag behind in the living-room, I looked inside it. Her gym clothes. On top of them an envelope. I picked it up. It had "Christina & Oscar" written on it. The envelope was dated the previous Saturday, the day they met. My heart froze. She was not an absent-minded person. Had she deliberately left it behind? I quickly opened the envelope, anxious that she would soon return. There were some forty, maybe fifty, 5 X 7 pictures inside. In some sort of masochistic discipline, I gathered them on our living room table, face down in a pile, and went through them in sequence. I turned the first picture. It gasped for breath. My lungs felt like they were full of needles. I clearly remembered the bearskin rug on Uncle Oscar's living room floor. It scared me when I was little but I loved to play with it when I was a bit older. He had shot the bear himself when he lived in Canada as a young man. It was obvious that my uncle was fresh out of the shower, his body hairs were still wet. Had she been in the shower with him? Of course. Soaping his old body? I shuddered. I didn't know about the classic Burt Reynolds 1972 bear rug pose at the time. I do now. Uncle Oscar must have decided to make a perfect imitation. He was on the rug, completely nude, on his right side, his head in the palm of his right hand. He had a crude smile, playfully making his huge bicep swell. His elbow was on the bear's snout. An ashtray was on the floor beside the bear's head. In Uncle Oscar's mouth was -- not a small cigarillo like Bert's - but a monster Churchill style cigar. The sight of his torso made my jaw drop. His skin belied his years. He was amazingly muscled, deltoids enormous, dense white hairs covering the upper part of his body, his legs massive and hairy, his feet huge. His upper body and arms were almost completely covered by tattoos. I knew Christina found them sexy, she had a couple of small ones herself. She had wanted me to get one. I refused. Uncle Oscar's naked body was a shocking contrast to his plain face. From neck to toe the old man was masculine perfection. He had a speedo tan line, the white contrasting his brown tan. Like on Burt's picture, his huge left forearm was resting across his crotch. A huge mass of white hairs sprouted out from his loins. His forearm covered almost all of his penis. But down by his wrist, way below his bush, the head of his limp cock peeked out. It was the size of a child's fist. Could I now comprehend how a beautiful young woman could be attracted to a man like him? Yes. I could. Chapter 7 They must have set up the camera on a tripod, and set some kind of repeat timer mode, because the rest of the pictures in the pile were from the same distance and angle. The next shot showed Christina, also nude, kneeling. Her kneecaps against his ribs, facing the camera. Uncle Oscar was leaning on his elbows. The fingers on Christina's right hand were sliding through the exceptional mass of white hair on Oscar's chest, the ones on her left hand fruitlessly tried to encircle his gargantuan cock. It was already at full mast and slick with his pre-cum. Uncle Oscar's erection was monumental. He wasn't only bigger than any stud I had seen in porn, there was an aesthetic quality to his monster that begged a lingering look. It's skin was bewilderingly dark, the stem looked like the thick branch of a Sequoia tree, contrasting his pale waist. My uncle's cock, veins bulging, curving upwards, was ending in a perfect golf ball sized half-dome. His balls were giant too, hanging low in his hairy scrotum. The skin of his scrotum also displayed prominent blue veins. OK, I'll say it, Uncle Oscar's long, fat, hard, juicy cock was the most awe-inspiring sight I had ever seen. In that second, all I thought I knew, all I thought I understood about men and women was crushed. And from the ashes came a sensation that was completely new to me. Utter and complete humiliation. I'd had some embarrassing things happen in my life but they were things from which I was able to move on. The sight of Uncle Oscar's erect penis was profoundly mortifying, I knew right then and there that I would be forever changed. I hurried through the pile. Most of the pictures were of Christina and Uncle Oscar on his living-room floor. They were engaged in acts of heated oral worship. Oscar was feasting on my girl like a gorilla in rut. And Christina... She was falling in love with old Oscar's cock, wasn't she? With his body. I couldn't believe my eyes. How could she do this to him? And that! How could she do these things to any man? Voluntarily and loving it? My stomach was churning in disgust, in helpless jealousy. Suddenly my body was racked with a strong urge to cry. I let my tears flow freely. There were some twenty more pictures. When my tears had finally dried I was vaguely able to learn that Christina's pussy was able to accommodate my old uncle's enormous cock. His humungous fuck meat had stayed steel hard during their extensive foreplay, now he was plunging it in and out of her body. Her foamy white pussy cream quickly covered it. The remainder of the pictures showed Uncle Oscar pounding Christina, pounding her, pounding her in every position. In some pictures he was standing and I could only see his strong legs and Christina's dangling feet. All the time Christina was matching his sexual energy, enjoying the hot, raucous, nasty fantasy sex she had always longed for. Their faces were twisted in lust, mouths open. I knew what sounds they made. Words of praise. Obscenities. Shrieks revealing unearthly pleasure. The film had expired before my old uncle had finished with Christina. In the last picture Uncle Oscar had pulled his cock out. They were both on the rug. He was behind her, his face buried deep between her ass cheeks. I could only observe a bit of his moustache, tickling her right buttock. Christina was on all fours, her long beautiful neck and head thrown back. There was a smaller envelope inside the large one. I decided to open it. Inside was a picture of Christina, alone on the rug now, attempting to rest against the uncomfortable bear head. Her dominant old stallion had fucked her to total exhaustion. To submission and to dependence. She had craved to be fucked by a Man. Her craving had clearly been over-complied. Christina was ravishingly beautiful on the rug. She was in a sweaty, post-orgasmic glow, her lovely hair all tangy. Her lips looked swollen, there were hickeys, bruises, scratches. On her neck, on her voluptuous tits, on her shapely thighs, on her instep, all over. In her right hand she was holding Uncle Oscar's lit monster cigar. She had just blown a perfect smoke ring his way and smoke was still coming out of her nose. She looked like she was about to doze off and she was giving him a blissful, goofy smile. Between her legs, on the bearskin rug, was the ashtray. Astounding amounts of her lover's thick male seed had already oozed into it. She was spreading her battered pussy with her left hand so that her Man - and portrait photographer - could see that copious amounts of his spunk was still leaking from her hairy cunt. The doorbell rang. I hastily put the photographs back in the envelope. I opened the door for Christina so she could bring her last belongings to her new home.