Storiesonline.net ------- Posing Uncle Bob by Lubrican Copyright© 2012 by Lubrican ------- Description: Heather is a promising artist and wants to apply to a prestigious art school. But she needs another body study in her portfolio, one of a man. Of course she asks Uncle Bob to pose for her. That leads to a little exploration. And, as everyone knows, exploration leads to education. Codes: MF Mf cons reluc het inc 1st oral mastrb pett ------- ------- Foreword A while back I read an unfinished work by an author who went by the pen name "Carnal Quill." As sometimes happens, that work led me to reflect on how I would tell that story. And this is how I'd do it. Bob ------- Chapter 1 Brother-in-law. Uncle. Both are titles that don't mean all that much when they are first awarded to you. In both cases, you have no experience at being one, so you usually have few, if any preconceptions of what is expected. I suppose becoming a brother-in-law is the easier of the two, in the sense that you understand romantic relationships, and you can be happy for your brother when he finds a nice girl. Unless you wish you had the nice girl and he had a wart on his nose. But if he met her at college, while you were going to a trade school to become a computer guru, then you never had the chance to lust after her while he was dating her as, I am told, sometimes happens. Now the uncle thing, if you have kids of your own, is probably no big deal either. But if you don't have a wife and kids, and have been a confirmed bachelor all your life, then being an uncle can be a wild and crazy ride. Of course, if your brother found himself a genuine 'keeper, ' and she bore him a daughter who was cute as a button, and who wrapped her uncle around her little finger by the time she was five or six, all those questions you had way back when it all first happened seem far away and inconsequential. But they're not. When my brother Kit died, it was hard on all of us. I suppose, as his brother, the fact that he died serving his country made it a little easier for me to deal with. By that I mean it was better than some random, senseless thing like a drunk driver, or a tree falling on him, or lightning striking. Of course it wasn't that way for Beth, who had lost her partner, lover, and life mate. They say there are five stages of grief, and she did them all with a vengeance. Actually, her grief made mine a little easier, because my motto was "Anything to help" and I was sort of distracted a little bit by taking care of things while she fell apart. One of those things was Heather, my niece. We lived next door to each other, and I'm self employed. So, when we first got the word, it was relatively easy for me to just sort of stay there for the first two weeks. Heather was six at the time, and knew something bad had happened, but not what. I didn't feel like it was my place to tell her, but I did feel like I should give Beth time to get through what she was going through, so I just concentrated on that. Heather was scared, because her mom wasn't acting right. So that first night, when she fell asleep on me where we sat on the couch, that's where we both slept that night. As it turned out, I did end up explaining to her why Daddy wasn't coming home, when Beth asked me to. She didn't want to bawl in front of her little girl. "Anything to help," I said. So I cooked, and ran errands, and they eventually got through it. I tagged along for that part, and sort of just stayed there. Well, I was next door, but sometimes it was hard to tell who lived where. At least when it came to Heather and me. A few years went by, and Heather and I became buddies in a different sense. She saw me so much that she got to know me inside and out. It was the same for me. I knew Beth pretty well too, but it was different, somehow, with her. Beth was gorgeous, and blond, and built and sexy, even when she was trying not to be. She called it her curse, because men who didn't know about her past were always very interested in her, even though she still wore her wedding ring. She worked, because she said she'd go stark raving mad if she didn't. Kit's insurance would have let her stay home. She wouldn't have lived like a queen or anything, but they could have gotten by. By the time Heather was eleven, I was her buddy, co-conspirator and partner in crime whenever she wanted to spring a surprise, or play a prank or whatever. She knew my motto, and she freely said "I need your help with something." But I was also the peer pressure that kept her on the straight and narrow. We could - and did - talk about anything, which included how much she hated having her first period and the pads she had to wear. I learned a lot about the problems women have that night. When she turned fourteen, I got her an artist set, with a couple of hundred colored pencils in it, along with charcoal and who knows what else. It was a fancy set, but I had seen her pencil sketches, which were really doodles, and they showed significant promise. She kissed me on the lips. It was the first time that had happened, and it rocked my world. It was the first time I realized she was more than a child now ... not quite a young woman ... but distinctly desirable as a female of the species ... instead of just my buddy. Her art got better and better. She went to the art institute in town and took classes on weekends and the next thing I knew her pieces were being included in shows. It was amazing, and yet, no more than I expected. I'm not an art critic, though, and to me, her pictures of apples in a bowl, or flowers in a vase, just looked like ... well ... apples in a bowl or flowers in a vase. It was a bit like being best friends with somebody who would later win the Nobel prize. To you, she was just your pal, while everybody else was in awe of her. Of course it wasn't that simple. Beth was a realtor, and often worked late, so the general routine was for Heather to come to my house after school. She would do her homework, or text her friends, or fix herself a snack in my kitchen. If I was working in my computer room, she never bothered me. But if I wasn't working, she'd tell me how her day went, or ask me about something she'd heard in the news. She was very comfortable and casual at my house. She'd even brought clothes over and stashed them in the spare bedroom so she could change after school. And if school wasn't in session, she was usually in my back yard, where I had an in-ground pool, either swimming or sunning herself in bikinis that got increasingly smaller, while her girly parts got increasingly bigger. In fact, it was one day last summer, when I stood staring at her lithe, young ... and very sexy body, that I realized she spent almost all her free time with me. "How come you don't have a boyfriend?" I asked her. She took off the sunglasses she was wearing and looked at me with her wolf eyes. Did I tell you about her wolf eyes? She had her mother's eyes, which were blue, except they were weird blue. The outsides of the irises were blue, with yellow centers, in the middle of which were her black pupils. When she was mad at you, those eyes looked like she was thinking seriously about taking a bite out of you. They reminded me of some of the wolves I'd seen on the Discovery channel. "Who says I don't?" she asked, staring at me. She was lying on a chaise lounge, soaking in the sun, but somehow she also looked dangerous. "I do," I said, confidently. "If you had a boyfriend I'd know about it. You tell me everything." Her gaze didn't waver. "Do I?" Now this was interesting. This was a side of Heather I didn't think I'd seen before, and it was fascinating. She sounded like this threatened her, but very few things threatened this girl. Or her mother, for that matter. The world had already thrown the worst it could at them, and they'd survived. "Of course you do," I said. "We have no secrets." "Everybody has secrets," she said, quite seriously. This was no little girl I was talking to. Suddenly she was philosophical and wise beyond her years. I realized, suddenly, that my question had struck something ... maybe something painful. "Let me start that over again," I said. "As your friend, I'm worried about you. You don't spend all that much time with girls your age. You don't appear to have a boyfriend, or a romantic life of any sort. Now the vast majority of girls your age do both of those things. It's part of growing up, and I want you to be as happy and healthy as possible." I was proud of myself for presenting my concerns in such a succinct and caring manner. "You're such a sweetie," she said, the serious side of her all gone. I thought I was going to get some information from her, and that we'd have a dialogue and growing and learning would happen. It turned out I was wrong. "So, how come you don't have a girlfriend?" she asked, instead of answering my question. I thought I'd answer the question in a way that would encourage her to share in a similar fashion. "Well, there are several reasons. For one thing, when I fall for a woman I fall hard. That means I'm ready to commit pretty quickly, and a lot of women need more time than my psyche wants to give them. That makes it a relationship with sand in it, rather than grease, if you get my meaning. For another thing, because I'm committed in a very serious sense, I like to have dangerous sex." I stopped, horrified that I'd let my mouth run on without thinking about what I was saying first. I thought frantically, trying to think of a way to minimize the damage. "Having sex just for fun is great." I stopped again and stared at her. "When you're an adult and understand the consequences." Having brought up the C word, I was stuck. I had to go on. "You see, part of sex is for the making of babies, and a lot of women don't want to think about it that way. I just don't get very turned on when I'm with a woman who knows she doesn't want children and takes all the steps necessary not to have them. It's like lighting a firecracker and seeing it fizzle instead of popping." "I get it," she said, before I could go on. "The kind of women you like are few and far between." "Exactly. So... ?" Wolf eyes stared into mine. She took a breath. I wondered when in hell her breasts had gotten that big. And those nipples, poking through the top of her bikini. When had those gotten so prominent? "Boys - whether they're my age or a few years older - are only interested in the recreational sex thing. All they want to do is play with my tits and try to get into my panties. And while I haven't had any ... um ... relationships, to speak of, I suspect I'm more interested in something that goes beyond the sex too." I wondered how she'd picked up on the fact that I wanted much more than sex from a woman. I hadn't said it. She'd cut me off, in fact, as I'd been about to say it. "And I do have girlfriends," she said. "We talk at school." "How come you don't hang out with them after school?" I asked. "What's with you?" she asked, sitting up. "Where is all this 'I care about you, Heather' crap coming from? I like my life. I'm happy. I'm well adjusted. What's your problem?" "I just worry about you," I said, surprised at her vehemence. "That's my mother's job," she said. "Your job is to be Uncle Bob." "What the hell does that mean?" I asked. "This is where I come to get away from the world, not confront it," she said. "This is my safe haven. This is where I feel relaxed. This is the only place in the world where when a man puts suntan lotion on me, I don't have to worry about what he'll try to get away with." I was stunned. I had never seen her like this. It suddenly popped into my mind that she was a teenager, and that her body was probably flooded with hormones that were wreaking havoc with her system. So what would her friend do in a situation like that? I decided to tease her. "I've never put suntan lotion on you," I pointed out, like I'd won an argument. "Well it's about time you did!" she snapped. Then she sat up, turned the chaise into a bed, and lay down on it on her stomach. She crossed her forearms under her head and lay her cheek on them. When I didn't immediately do anything, she lifted her head, reached for the suntan lotion that was sitting on the cement, and like she'd practiced it a hundred times, expertly flipped the tube backwards, without looking ... right at me. ------- I still remember how soft her skin felt under my hands. It was smooth and tight, with almost no fat under it. I could feel her muscles and bones. In that impossible way that women have, and a man couldn't do if his life depended on it, she reached behind her and undid her bikini top, letting the straps drop to her sides. My hands slid all over her back. She didn't move as I got to her bottoms and skipped over them to do the back of her thighs and calves. Then I went back up. I had to do something to put myself back in control. We were buddies, but she had just run roughshod over me. So I slid my hands down her sides and pressed on the sides of her breasts, going much farther than I should have. I mean my fingers were pressing her breast flesh inward. I leaned down and whispered in her ear. "And they're breasts, not tits. Don't demean your breasts. They're going to be very important to you some day." What I noticed while I did this was that she did not tense up. She did not complain or berate me. All she did was say "Who says they're not already important to me." ------- That had been when she was sixteen. Now she was a junior, and even more mature. Now, the bikini she wore in my pool was a thong. I spoke to Beth about it. She told me girls will be girls. And she still didn't have a boyfriend. Let me restate that. If she had a boyfriend, I was sure glad I wasn't him, because she never talked about him, or spent any time with him, or let him wine and dine her. Of course kids these days seem to do the romance thing completely differently than we did when I was a kid. There were other things different these days too. When I was in high school, you took a look at colleges in the second semester of your senior year. Then, when you graduated, you applied to the one you wanted. They sent out acceptance letters in July, and in August you got ready to go. Somehow, over the years, that got all fucked up. Now you have to apply when you're a junior, before anybody knows what your grades will be like. And now you have to jump through all these hoops, and beg and plead and have this and that on your transcript, because colleges have "become more selective." And that's great, except that what you end up graduating from colleges is somebody who knows how to play the game ... knows how to jump through hoops ... knows how to make themselves look great. It does not mean they're motivated to make the world a better place. It creates a group of people without personal initiative, or adaptability to changing situations. In fact, they demand that you provide for them an environment in which they can clearly see the hoops they need to jump through, and then fawn all over them for doing it. All that is to say that it was time for Heather to apply to colleges, and, of course, she wanted my help. "Of course," I said. "You know I'll do anything to help." "I'm applying to the Virginia Institute of Art Studies," she said. "I have to send them my portfolio." "I've seen your portfolio," I said. "It's impressive." "Thanks," she said. "But it's not complete. I don't have enough figure studies. Three are required and all I have are two." "Okay. So what's a figure study?" I asked. "Its human body stuff that you do with a model. I have one that I did of my own hand." She opened a big folder she'd brought with her and showed me a pen and ink drawing of a hand, resting on a tabletop. It was incredibly detailed, with fine lines representing all the creases that skin has in it, and which most people don't notice. You could almost see the pores. "It's beautiful," I said. "Thanks," she said in an offhand sort of way. It's like when a genius does something amazing and somebody points that out and he acts like anybody could do it, so it's no big deal. She pulled out another piece of paper, much larger and a rectangle, rather than a square, which is what the hand had been done on. It was a chalk drawing of a reclining nude woman. I looked closer. The model had Heather's face. But it was all wrong. Heather was built, but this model was voluptuous. The body was older than Heather's. It looked for all the world like I was looking at the future, the way Heather might look in fifteen years. And she was going to look good! "Mom posed for this one," she said. "But she said I couldn't include it in my portfolio because it has her face." I swallowed, staring at the drawing. The woman ... Beth ... was lying on her right side, propped up on pillows with her left hand extended toward the viewer, as if she were reaching for her lover. Her breasts were represented as being heavy, meaning they sagged a little bit. The nipples were done in incredible detail, and were rendered erect, looking half an inch long. I licked my lips, just looking at them. A drape covered all but a hint of pubic hair. I had appreciated Beth before this, but my imagination hadn't done her justice at all. "Wow," I said. "It's not that good," she said. "Even if she'd have let me use it, I'd still have to do another one to take with me to the interview. We didn't have enough time to do this one well." "I'll be happy to be there, to watch, and tell her to stay still." She looked at me. "You're a dirty old man, you know that?" "I am nothing of the sort," I replied, trying to sound much more wounded than I really was. "Besides, she'd never let me." "Right," said Heather, in a voice that was strangely neutral. "Anyway, I have to have both male and female studies, so I need a male model." I suddenly realized what she was actually talking about. Me. Naked. "I'll check around and see if I know anybody who'd be willing to do it," I said. "Don't be a dick. You know I want you," she said. "It's not a dick, it's a penis," I said. Don't ask me why I said it. I have no idea, other than the possible explanation that I was about to panic. "Then don't be a penis. You know I want you." "Why?" I asked. "Isn't it obvious?" "Explain it to me. I am old, and have trouble understanding things sometimes." "You're not old. But the reason I need you to be my model is that it won't be weird seeing you naked." "Weird for you," I said. "That's right." "What about me?" "I assume you've seen yourself naked lots of times," she said, with a perfectly straight face. I decided not to play any stupid games today. "Look, it would be decidedly uncomfortable for me to be naked in front of you." "Why?" she asked. "You're handsome, and have a good build and are in great shape. You're not ashamed to let women see you in a Speedo. This is only a little bit less, and it would only be me seeing you anyway. If you want, I can put a different face on you, and nobody who ever sees the study will have any idea it is your body." "I'm not ashamed of my body," I said tersely. "My reluctance has to do with not freaking you out." "Why would I get freaked out?" She was perfectly serious, and for the first time in a long time I realized I was talking to a teenager who had no idea what the real world could be like, or that she caused erections in men every day, just by being herself. "I need to talk to your mother about this," I said. "She already said it was a good idea," she argued. "Oh really?" "Of course. Well, to be exact, I said I should ask you to do it, and she said 'That's a good idea.'" "I still need to talk to her," I insisted. ------- "You can't seriously think it's a good idea for me to get naked in front of my niece," I said. Beth looked up from whatever she was working on. It was binder she was going through and making notations in. She took off her glasses and stared at me with her wolf eyes. "Why is that such a preposterous idea?" she asked, her face perfectly straight. "Because I'm a man?" I said. I admit I overdid the sarcasm a bit. "Which is the whole point," she said calmly. "She has to do a male figure. Who else do you think I should have get naked in front of my seventeen-year-old daughter?" "Don't you get it?" I said urgently. "It won't matter who you choose. The end result is going to be exactly the same!" She stared at me and sighed. "So you're worried about getting an erection." "Yes!" I shouted. "And who else's erection do you think I should approve of my seventeen-year-old daughter seeing, Bob?" she asked. "I don't know!" I moaned. "What makes you think that will happen?" she asked. I looked at her like she was crazy. "You are aware, of course that men look at you and undress you in their minds," I said. She nodded, like that was old news. "You are aware, of course, that men look at your daughter and do the same thing," I said. She nodded again and, for good measure, added "She knows that too." I lifted my chin and struck a pose. I said "What you may have lost sight of, is that I, too, am a man." Those wolf eyes suddenly looked me up and down, like I was a side of beef, hanging there, curing, so she could come back at any time she liked and take a bite. She finally spoke. "Look, Bob, she's going to have to confront this sooner or later. She feels safe with you. I can't think of anyone better to help expose her, no pun intended, to this part of life. Just be honest with her and she'll be fine. You will too." "I can't be honest with her!" I barked. "That's the whole point! How would you feel if I told you I'd lusted after you for years?" "Have you lusted after me for years?" she asked. "I'm sorry," I said, holding up both of my hands. "I didn't mean to say that." "So you haven't lusted after me for years," she said. "That's not the point," I said, miserably. "The point is that I can't tell her that. It would ruin her life!" "You seem to have an awfully inflated opinion on your effect on women," she said. "I just care about you guys!" I groaned. "And we know that," she said. "Just be yourself, Bob. She's getting to be a big girl. I trust you not to do anything she doesn't want, and the same thing goes for me. Just be yourself, and everything will be fine. Now go away. I have things to do, and she's behind the power curve on getting this project finished." Then her wolf eyes went back to the binder, and she ignored me. ------- Chapter 2 On the way back to my house, I kept trying to adjust to the fact that I had been given permission to appear naked in front of Heather. Of course merely having permission from her mother didn't solve the problem involved with doing that. Heather was waiting for me. Somehow she seemed to know what had transpired. "So, when can we start?" she asked. "When do you want to start?" I asked, instead of answering her. "What are you doing right now?" "Let's start tomorrow," I said, stalling. I was going to have to do some serious preparation to keep from exposing myself - literally - for the dirty old man I was. Of course she already claimed she knew that's what I was, but I was going to do my best to avoid presenting proof of it. ------- She had agreed to my request, and decided on six in the evening, at her house. That we would do this at her house actually made me feel a little bit better. There wasn't anyplace in my house where I had not reflected, shall we say, on the charms of both Heather and her mother, at one time or another. This is not to say I have no control, and will masturbate literally anywhere, like a chimp or something. It's just that when the mood strikes one, one doesn't want to lose that piquant nature of the fantasy by getting up and going somewhere else to address one's ... um ... needs. In any case, it would be much easier there. She had a studio set up at her house, and all her materials and such. I rang the doorbell five minutes late. She had told me she would have everything I needed. I had no idea what that was, but she'd said something about trying to provide for any modesty needs I might have. That was in a long string of instructions, like she'd done this a hundred times. As the bell rang I heard a teenager galloping down the steps with a shout of, "I got it." Heather opened the door dressed in that thrice cursed thong bikini. While I stared at all that cleavage, I said "I thought we were painting, not swimming." Wolf eyes looked back at me. "I always work this way. You've seen this suit before anyway. Come on up." She turned from the door and bellowed, "Mom! Uncle Bob's here," and galloped back up the stairs. Her naked ass cheeks jiggled, and I got a shot of the all-too-nearly-insubstantial cloth that cradled her pussy lips, and the camel toe they made. Beth walked from the back of the house, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. "Hi. I'm glad you decided to help. Remember. Just be yourself. She likes who you are, including your warts." "This is not a good idea," I whispered. "That damn suit you let her wear already gave me a hardon." "I told her to wear it," said Beth, smiling thinly. "That way you have an excuse that will be easy for her to understand. After all, that's why she got that suit. She not only expects men to react that way ... she hopes they do." I was busy wondering whether that meant Heather had gotten that suit to tease me with, or to be a general tease to all men. I didn't think about it until much later that the only place she ever wore it was to my house. Her mother shoved me toward the stairs. "I have complete faith that you will do what's right for Heather." Now what the hell did that mean? Her studio was actually an extra bedroom that was cluttered with everything imaginable an artist might need. In the middle of one wall was a raised platform with a luxuriously upholstered chaise lounge on it. I had seen that before, but not in the studio. She'd bought it at a garage sale two or three months before, and told them she'd be back to get it. I helped her bring it home and move it inside. But the last time I'd seen it, it was sitting in the middle of the living room. She'd said something about needing to vacuum it, or something like that. She and Beth must have gotten it up the stairs and into the studio. As if things weren't bad enough already, I stared at that chaise lounge and realized that was what Beth had laid on ... naked. My cock got even harder. Her easel was set up six feet away from the base of the platform at an obtuse angle. A tilted table beside a stool held what looked like hundreds of tubes of paint and nearly as many brushes. There were also pieces of charcoal neatly lined up, and colored pencils in a rack that was screwed to the edge of the table, and which kept things from rolling off of it. A number of finished or nearly finished canvases were scattered about the room in stacks. She stepped around the easel and said, "You can get undressed over there" waving at a screen made of two-by-twos and cardboard. "There's a sheet in there that you can wrap around your waist and hide the good parts with." I shot her a look, but she wasn't grinning at me like she'd just teased me. Instead, she seemed to be absorbed in choosing which pieces of charcoal she was going to use. I stripped down and wrapped the sheet around me, covering my boner. There wasn't anything else I could do, so I moved from behind the cardboard. She was waiting for me. Heather appraised me with a critical eye. Evidently satisfied that I still had model potential, she pointed to the chaise and arranged me there the way she wanted me. She spent several long minutes making minute adjustments to my position. When she stepped away I was reclining on the sofa facing her. My right leg was bent, with the heel in front of my left knee, and my right wrist draped casually across the upraised knee. My left leg was extended and I was resting on my left elbow. The drape was covering my genitals and hip. When her fingers moved that material around, getting the folds and creases where she wanted them, I held my breath. She didn't touch my manhood, though, and find out it was stiff. She backed up and stood, studying me for a few minutes, and then picked up a charcoal stick and started sketching. She worked silently for a few minutes, and then asked me a question about a project I was working on. That led to another topic, and pretty soon we were talking just like usual. We had been working about an hour when Beth stuck her head in the door. "How's it going?" she asked. "So far so good," Heather replied, never looking up. She was brushing at a line she had made, softening it by spreading the charcoal with a fingertip. "Don't you look handsome," said Beth, staring at my nearly nude body. "Have any of the ... issues ... you were worried about come up?" "What issues?" asked Heather. "Everything is fine," I said. "Don't pay any attention to your mother, Heather. She's just trying to cause trouble." Beth ignored me. "I brought up some lemonade and cookies if you guys are ready for a break." "A cookie sounds good," Heather replied. I sat up and swiveled around, resting my feet on the floor. I took a glass of lemonade gratefully and drank deeply. I had not realized what a contorted position I had been in. My shoulder and arm were stiff and sore. "What did you mean, Mom?" asked Heather, taking a cookie and biting into it. "Your uncle was worried that you'd react badly to his manhood." "I haven't seen his manhood," said Heather. "He's too shy. It would be nice if I could see his manhood, but he's too shy." I spewed lemonade all over the floor between me and the easel. Both women stared at me. I pulled some of the material closer to my dick. "What's wrong with you?" asked Heather. "He thought you were saying you wanted to see his penis," said her mother. "I do want to see it," said Heather. "How can I draw it if I can't look at it?" "He's worried that you'll think badly of him if you see it," said Beth.' Heather looked at me. "Why? Is it tiny or something? Guys seem to be all worked up over how big they are. I hear them talking all the time about how big they are. Sounds like Texans bragging to me." "No," I said, weakly. "That's not the problem." "Well, the sooner you can share with me what the problem is, the sooner we can come up with a solution." Heather still didn't get it. Beth glanced at me and said "Well, I have things to do. Keep working on him, dear. He's being silly, but I'm sure you can get through to him. You have a need, and Bob always likes to help. I'm sure Bob will help out if need be dear," Beth said as she left the room. I was left to stare at the artist, after her mother abandoned me. "So?" she asked, hands on hips. Bare hips, I might remind you. She obviously wasn't going to give up. So I figured to just get it over with. "You're what guys refer to as a Stone Fox," I said. "That's good ... right?" she said. "It means you're beautiful." Her cheeks got pink. "Oh. Okay. That's good. Thank you." "And men respond to that," I said. She stared at me. I connected the dots. "Physically," I added. Her eyes dropped to the drape. "You mean you... ?" "Yeah," I said. "I'm a guy. I'm normal. You're a babe and I responded. That bikini didn't help, but even if you'd have been fully clothed, being naked with you ... well ... you're a Stone Fox and I'm a guy. Sorry." "So you have a boner," she said. "I believe the politically correct word is erection, especially considering your age." "What does my age have to do with anything?" she asked. "I know guys get boners." "Great!" I said. "Problem solved. So now you know why I don't want to let you draw me au naturel." "I've never seen a real one," she said. "That's as it should be," I suggested. "But I can't draw it, unless I can see it," she said, with forced patience. Obviously, she wasn't going to yield to the wisdom of an elder. So I figured I'd just scare her and get it over with. So I simply dropped the sheet. I didn't have to look down to know that my rod was pointing at her like a heat seeking missile just begging to be fired at her 98.6 degree sexual core. I felt my balls jump in expectation as her eyes fastened on my manhood. She didn't scream. Instead, she stepped to one side, to get a profile view. "So are you, like, normal size?" Curiosity. That's all she was displaying. I felt like an idiot. Her mother was right. I did have an inflated sense of my self worth. "Pretty much," I said. "Is it really for me?" she asked, stepping closer. It bobbed, in response to her question, which could be interpreted more than one way. "It's because of you," I said, "not for you." "I don't understand," she said, taking another step closer. "Think of it as a Cadillac," I said. "You get to look at it, but you can't have it. It's out of your price range." "Hmmm," she said. "Get back on the lounge." She had posed me again, and was standing there, just staring at me, when her mother came back into the room. She had a bunch of what looked like rags, that had been laundered and folded. She set them on a table and turned to look at me. "Oh my," sighed Beth. "I had no idea." "What?" asked Heather. "Your uncle is what we women call well hung." "I cannot believe you said that," I gasped. "Well you are!" said Beth. "He told me he was about normal," said Heather. "He was being modest," said her mother. "Why?" "He's trying to downplay all this. He is just protecting you from himself. He knows his limits and tries to manage them so that he won't do something that scares you." "He said I caused it," said Heather. "And I know what that means, but I could never be scared of Uncle Bob!" said Heather. "The other side of it, darling, is that he has the experience to realize he may need to protect you from yourself too. "That's silly," said Heather. "No, it's not," said her mother. "There will come a time when you decide you want to become fully a woman, and it would be really nice if it was with the right man. You only lose your virginity once, and that memory will be with you your entire life. Bob knows that." "We're not talking about having sex!" complained Heather. "I just want to draw him, and I want to get it all right." "So seeing his erection ... and knowing you caused it ... that doesn't make you feel anything?" "Of course I feel something. I'm all warm inside. He paid me a very nice compliment. Any girl would want a handsome, wonderful man like Uncle Bob to be interested in her. But that doesn't mean anything is going to happen." "Famous last words," said Beth. "How about if you stay here," I suggested. Both women looked at me. Beth said "I'd enjoy that very much." "Why?" asked Heather. "Because I like looking at him like this," said Beth. "I'm all warm inside too." "Mom!" said Heather, sounding shocked. "You should be ashamed of yourself!" "Why? I'm at least a grown up. And I love him as much as you do." "This is all fine, and makes me feel good, but it's not helping the ... situation," I said. "It would be nice if we got this finished, so I could go..." I stopped. I'd been about to say "do something about this boner," but I realized things were already bad enough. "Just go," I said. Beth wasn't stupid. She laughed. Heather frowned. She wasn't stupid either, but all she knew was that something had happened that she didn't understand. She went to her easel, picked up chalk, and began making marks on the paper. Beth just looked at me with those wolf eyes. I noticed that her nipples were poking through her shirt. "So he's bigger than most," said Heather casually. "Yes, he is," sighed her mother. "Knock it off, you two," I growled. "It's not working," said Heather. "Why not?" asked her mother. "Well, I don't know how much art you've looked at, but I'm willing to bet none of it portrayed a man with a boner," said Heather, dryly. "Hmmmm," said her mother. "You're right. They always show them soft." "Make it get soft," said Heather, looking right at me. "You do not want me to go there!" I said, as her mother laughed. "Who says I don't want you to go there?" she shot back. Her mother stepped between us. "Let me take care of this little problem," she said. "How?" asked Heather. She really wasn't stupid. "Why don't you wait outside," suggested her mother. "Why don't I stay here so I can see what you do?" countered Heather. "Do you really want to see your mother ... with a man?" I expected Heather to blow sky high and talk about her father. But that's not what happened. Instead she got all curious again. "You'd do that? With Uncle Bob?" One set of wolf eyes looked at the other. "Not what you're talking about," said Beth. She glanced at me. "Though it's tempting. There are other ways to make it soft, though." "Ways ... perhaps I should know about?" suggested Heather. "You have got to be kidding me!" I gasped. If anything I got even harder. I could feel precum beginning to seep into my shaft. "Do you really want your mother to teach you how to masturbate a man?" asked Beth. "Somebody get me a paper bag," I panted. "I'm gonna pass out here!" "No you're not," said Beth, looking at me. "Lie down on your back." "You're serious!" I croaked. She stared at me. "Bob, honey, if you want to go home at all tonight, then just lie there and take it like a man. You told me how you've lusted after us for years. Okay, so now you get to live out one of your tawdry little fantasies." "He's lusted after us for years?" Heather sounded intensely interested. "Both of us?" "He's a man, darling," said her mother. "He's a dirty old man," said Heather. "Not so old," said Beth, and then she reached for my prick. ------- It might have been humorous if I hadn't been so freaked out. In fact, some day, I'm quite sure I'll laugh my ass off about it. But at that particular moment, while Beth described how to hold the penis just so, not too tight and not too loose, and grip it so the foreskin slid off and then back on the head without having to change grips, I just lay there paralyzed. That precum made its appearance and Beth told her daughter what that was. "Can I try it?" asked Heather. "Maybe later, Darling," said her mother. "Right now, let's just get Old Faithful to spurt so you can get back to work." "Gaaaaaa," I groaned. "Now if he's a gentleman, he'll tell you when it's going to happen," said Beth, "so you don't get in the way and get it all over yourself. Of course it doesn't really hurt anything, but you have to change clothes. The best way to do it is with no clothes on, so then it doesn't matter. If it gets on you, you can just rub it in. They say it's good for the skin." "Who says?" asked Heather, leaning in to watch her mother flog my log. "It isn't important," said Beth. "If you're worried about him not being a gentleman, and warning you, you can mitigate the danger by having a towel ready to cover it when it goes off." She sped up a little more and told her daughter she was doing that. "Since we don't have a towel, I'll just use method B." And with that, she leaned down and closed her lips around the head of my prick. She sucked and laved the tip with her tongue. I went off like my semen was an ICBM, coming out of the silo that was my penis. "Mom!" Heather sounded scandalized. Beth swallowed, pulled off, and milked me, capturing the dregs in a puddle contained in her curved finger and thumb. She pinched off the tip and raised her hand to suck at that puddle. "Mom!" Heather squealed. "That is so gross!" "You have no idea what you're talking about," said Beth, who was flushed now. "All right. He's soft. Now you two can get back to work. I have things to do downstairs." She raised both hands to pinch her nipples, and my balls heaved one last time. She went to the door, looked over her shoulder, and said "Behave yourselves." With that she left the room and closed the door. I had a fleeting thought about mothers who leave young daughters alone with a naked and still horny older man. Heather stood looking at me - at my prick, actually - for a minute, and then rearranged me on the lounge. Then, like it had just been a routine tea break or something, she went back to the easel and went back to work. Time passed. Heather was basically hidden behind the easel, and my prick behaved. My mind wandered. Actually I got a little sleepy. Then suddenly Heather was standing beside me. "Make it get big again," she said. "Not a good idea. Besides, I can't just will it to do my bidding. It takes stimuli and time for it to erect." "What kind of stimuli ... like this?" With that she reached out and lightly grasped my dick, giving it a nice, warm squeeze. Bent over like that, I could see clear through her cleavage, and those nipples were advertising themselves again. My little friend rose to the challenge and "got big again." With an intense look of concentration she leaned forward and began stroking my cock with considerable expertise. That she'd been paying attention when she watched her mother do this, became obvious. I was shocked in one sense, but not in another. This young woman had already displayed too many signs that she was plenty old enough to be engaged in this behavior. I was just being an old fuddy duddy about it. I did not, however, make her stop. The sight of her young hand caressing my traitorous prick robbed me of prudence and common sense. She had wanted an erection ... and she got a doozy. And, like the one her mother had banished, it was one of the most intense skin splitting chunks of wood I had ever experienced. Staring down into her bikini cleavage, watching her hand move along my shaft, seeing the tip of her tongue gripped gently between pearly white teeth, and knowing that my relationship with both of them had changed forever, was more than I could stand. Normally, I have pretty good staying ability, but today was not a normal circumstance. The situation, and the view, were conspiring to make my time here short. It couldn't have been more than sixty seconds after she began stroking the whole thing, when I felt the building of semen at the base of my cock. To make matters worse, Heather began exploring my scrotum with feather light twisting strokes as she began to beat my meat furiously. "Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!" I called out, "Stop dear. I'm gonna cum all over everywhere if you don't stop." Her mother had told her a gentleman would warn, and I did. But I'm not sure she heard that part, because She kept her gaze on the swollen head of my cock as the first long stream of white sallied forth to do battle with, as it turned out, that cleavage I had just been looking at. I honestly don't know if she kept stroking me on purpose, or if it was just instinct. In any case, she got two more shots just above the cups of her bikini top before she let go. Her hands went behind her in that limber way only women can do, and the top of her bikini came loose. She flipped the cups away, ducking her head at the same time, and I realized she was just trying to keep my spooge from getting on the cloth as it dripped down her skin. Then, proving she had listened to what her mother had said, her hands came to smear my essence all over her breasts. I watched, spellbound as her hands slid over swells that looked like they belonged on a Playboy model, rather than my innocent niece, with nipples that were so extended that her hands bent them as she massaged her breasts. But that wasn't the worst of it. I had screwed up. A perfectly innocent relationship, one that had existed successfully between artist and model tens of thousands of times in the past, had turned into a debacle of older man lust. There was no way we were going to explain this away as art. We had crossed the line from art to sex - and I was responsible. I waited to see her reaction. I expected revulsion, rejection and recriminations. As the rest of the day had gone, I didn't get what I expected. "Fuck that feels good," she moaned. "What a potty mouth." It was out of my own mouth before I could stop it. I think maybe I was in shock. Her response wasn't quite what I had expected. "That was awesome," she said with wonder, "I knew, watching Mom, that it would feel good in my hand, but I had no idea it would be that cool. And it was so hot on my skin!" Her hands were still moving slowly over her breasts. "Listen, Heather," I began, "I'm sorry..." She interrupted, "How long before you can do it again?" I needed time to think. I got up and, remembering the folded paint rags Beth had brought in, went to the stack and picked two up. I used one to wipe the tip of my still drooling penis. "Let me clean you up a bit," I said. She stood as I wiped her chest with the bit of cloth. I watched her close her eyes and sigh as I slid the cloth over her straining nipples. I really wanted to suck on them, but I controlled myself. She'd run one hand over her belly, so I cleaned that too. As I did so she bent her knees, squatting an inch or two. Her right hand came to the thin panel that covered her pussy lips and she touched it with two fingers. "I'm wet under there too." I looked up at her and saw her eyes were still closed. She was smiling dreamily. "I don't think so, sweet thing," I answered. I left it at that, rather than end up giving her a lecture about having gone too far already and all that. But she interpreted my comment completely differently than I intended it. Before I could react in any way, she reached to her waist and undid something that made the belt come loose. Moving her left foot about ten inches to the side, she let the bottom of her bikini fall to the floor. It actually stuck to her pussy lips for a second before it pulled away, as if reluctant to leave, and dropped. "I am wet down there," she insisted. She reached for my hand, which was still holding the cloth, and pulled it toward her pussy. I should have had the strength to restrict my movements to just wiping her dry. But of course, I didn't. Instead, I turned my hand, and when she pushed it against her pussy, I could feel her heat and slipperiness on the back of my hand. I was mesmerized. I dropped the towel and turned my hand over, cupping her slick, nearly hairless mons. Her back arched, her head lolled back and she sighed, as I slid my two middle fingers up and bracketed her clitoris. While one half of my brain reminded me I had plenty of things to sort out about how these weird relationships had changed today, the other half of my brain told me there would be time for philosophical musings later, and that I had important work to do now. This girl needed an orgasm. She deserved an orgasm. And I wasn't about to tell her to go get it from somebody else. I didn't feel a hymen as I slid a fat finger into her. She squatted to help and then her knees got weak and she fell towards me. We ended up on the couch together, with one of her legs sticking straight up in the air as I finger-fucked her for all I was worth. Her hand went back to my prick and her panting lips got closer and closer to mine. Just as I sealed her mouth with my lips, she came hard and what would have been a scream was muffled by my lips. She went nuts, jerking her body and my cock, until I thought she was going to rip it off. Then she just melted, and would have rolled off the couch except that I caught her. "Oh shit," she panted, gasping for air. "That was so awesome!" "That was a no no," I said. "Nu uh," she panted. "That was a yes yes. It was better than awesome." "It was wrong," I insisted. "If that was wrong, I don't want to be right," she said, unknowingly copying the lyrics of a song that suddenly sang in my head. If loving her was wrong, I really didn't want to be right. "I can't wait until next time," she sighed. "There isn't going to be a next time, Missy," I said. She found energy from somewhere and rolled up against me, her lips right next to mine. "Oh yes there is," she said firmly. "There's going to be lots of next times. But right now I need to draw." She bounded up as if nothing had happened and got behind the easel. "That's interesting," she said, as I got back into position. "It's never looked quite like that before." I looked to see I was almost half hard. Doing her had made me try to get hard too soon after I had cum, so it didn't quite work. But it wasn't completely limp either. "It was trying to get hard again while I was giving you that orgasm. It wanted to fuck you." I had decided to just be bluntly honest with her. Maybe it would shock her into having some common sense. "Really!" She sounded more curious than scared, of course. I shouldn't have been surprised. Nothing had been going like it was supposed to with these two. ------- Chapter 3 I had been given a clue about how close mother and daughter were. What Beth had done, right in front of her daughter should have told me that Heather would have no trouble talking to her mother about what happened later. Just the fact that Beth had left us alone should have told me something. Of course there was another clue in there too, about how they felt about me. They now knew I had lusted after them for a long time, but I was still blind as a bat when it came to how they might feel about me. So much had happened that I think I was a little shell shocked. So I wasn't prepared for what came next. When Heather decided her work for the day was done, and we had gotten dressed again, I was invited to dinner. It was at this point that I learned there wasn't anything they couldn't talk about together. Heather gushed about how great the painting was going to be. Then I almost choked as she described how she'd gotten my penis hard again, only to be squirted with it. I expected Beth to throw something at me and call the cops. She didn't. She looked at me and said "Two orgasms in one day. Aren't you the lucky man." "I'm really sorry," I moaned, begging for mercy. "I didn't expect it. It just kind of happened." "You're a man," she said. "I'd have been surprised if anything else happened. You don't know how relieved I was when I found out you weren't gay." "Gay?" "You never go out on dates, Bob. What were we supposed to think?" "I didn't know you thought about it at all!" I objected. "Of course we do," she said, putting more noodles on my plate. "Just like you're a man, we're women. Women think about sex too, you know." "Oh." I blinked. "I guess I didn't think of it like that." I blinked again. "I am not gay!" "Something for which, as I said, I am quite relieved. I suspect Heather is too," she said, smiling. "You're not mad?" "Of course not," she said. "I trust you, and I trust her." "You can't trust me," I said firmly. "Bob, she's going to learn about it somewhere. At least I know you love her." She looked at me oddly. "If anything I'm a bit jealous." "You're shitting me," I gasped. "Language!" she warned. "Sorry," I said, blushing. "I said that word when I came on his finger," said Heather, as if she was simply talking about how I'd touched her. "Sorry," she said, looking sheepish. "Oh?" Beth's voice rose an octave. "I told you," I moaned. "Things got carried away!" "Is my daughter still a virgin?" she asked, her voice odd. "Of course!" I yelped. "Well, then at least you behaved yourself that much." ------- The rest of dinner was quieter. I'd like to think it was because the food was delicious and we were intent on eating. Eventually everyone was finished, and Heather started taking things off the table and putting dishes in the dishwasher. "We need to do a little more," said Heather conversationally. "I didn't quite get finished." I was thinking about all the ways one could interpret "do a little more." I looked at Beth, who may have been thinking the same thing. "Would you feel better if I was there?" she asked. "Yes!" I nodded. Of course, as I was arranged naked on the couch again, and my imagination kicked in again, my cock decided to stand up and be counted again. "I'll take care of it this time, dear," Beth said as she pushed her daughter toward the easel. "You just keep painting." She went behind me, and reached over, so that Heather's view of my body wasn't obstructed. Her hand slid gently up and down and she whispered in my ear. "It's amazing how you don't know what you've missed," she whispered softly, "until you find it again." I groaned, and her hand squeezed me. She spoke again, barely above a whisper. "So ... what am I going to have to do to protect my poor, defenseless daughter from the big bad wolf who lives next door?" I just closed my eyes. "I'll be good. I promise." "Oh, I hope so," she purred in my ear. That did it. I spurted. She didn't even try to catch it. She just directed my penis toward the floor and said she'd clean that up later. Twenty minutes later Heather announced she was finished. Both of us adults were amazed at how good the image was. I stood there, naked, my cock hard as steel again, and felt Beth's hand brush my thigh. "I'd better get going," I said weakly. "Yes, that's a good idea," said Beth, staring at the painting. ------- I didn't see Heather for almost a week. I didn't know whether that was because her mother was keeping her away from me or not. There had been other weeks when she was busy doing teenager things, and she did have to spend a lot of time at night school. I saw Beth once, while I was carrying in groceries. She sang out a hello like nothing was wrong. Then, Friday night, Heather showed up at my door again, walking in like she owned the place. "How'd it go?" I asked. "Oh, fine," she said. "I got in. They said I'm an excellent candidate." "Great!" I said effusively. "Actually, I wondered if you'd consent to model for me again." "Not such a good idea, Pumpkin," I said with as much care and concern in my voice as I could put there. "You're so silly," she giggled. "You think things might get carried away again, don't you." There was no question mark at the end of her comment. She was accusing me of being a dirty old man again. "Well, the whole point to paying attention to history is so you don't make the same mistakes again," I said. "Point taken," she said. "But I don't think you have that much to worry about. This time Mom will be there for the whole thing." "Oh," I said. "Well I suppose that's different, then." "You'll do it?" she asked excitedly. "If your Mom is going to be there, then OK," I said. "When?" "You doing anything tonight?" I wasn't. I rarely was. I got invited to supper again. ------- The thing she didn't tell me was that this time it was going to be an oil painting ... of two people ... a man and a woman ... nude. The reason Beth was going to be there the whole time was because she was the female model. I was caught unaware. I mean, my guard was down, because I expected a chaperone. Instead, I got a partner in crime, so to speak. And, by the time I got there, it was too late to object. Beth didn't seem to be concerned in the slightest. She had on a robe and, when Heather told me what to do, Beth just dropped it and said "Hurry up Bob, it's kind of cold. I'm hoping that being up against you will keep me warm." Of course, by the time I got naked, I was hard as stone. Neither woman seemed to notice. The next thing I knew Beth's naked back was pressed against my naked front. She reached around like it was no big deal and moved my erection between her legs. Suddenly my prick was encased in warm thighs. Then Heather was there, putting my right hand on Beth's big, soft right breast, and moving her mother's head back and up, with one hand behind my head, so that it looked like the woman was seeking a kiss from her lover. Then she pushed my head down until our lips were almost touching. "Oh shit," I breathed. "Language, Bob," whispered Beth. "Sorry." "I understand," she said. Heather went to work with her pencil, roughing in the image she would then cover with paint. "Guys?" she said after a few minutes. "What?" asked Beth without moving an inch. "I don't know if it's better the way you are, or if your lips were actually touching. Kiss, please, so I can see." I was still thinking about the ramifications when Beth's hand pulled my head and her lips pressed to mine. "Hold it!" yelled Heather. Her lips were soft and warm. There was nothing about them that said this was distasteful to her. "Yeah, I think this is better," called out Heather. "Don't move!" Easy for her to say. ------- You can't hold a pose like that, with lips pressed together, and it not become a real kiss. At least not if you actually feel anything for each other. It just can't be done. Beth didn't help any. The tip of her tongue slipped past her lips and the next thing I knew we were swapping spit to beat the band. Her breast was right there in my hand, and my fingers kind of drifted to her nipple and squeezed. That got her hips moving, dry-fucking the hollow between her legs ... you know the one ... right below a woman's pussy? Yeah. Turns out that that hollow forces the top of the cock against her pussy lips. Her wet pussy lips. You know, those pussy lips that tell a man she's turned on, and likes what's happening? I always have a hair trigger the first time I'm with a woman. It's just the way it is. Here she was, turned half way around in a position that just had to be uncomfortable, but she wasn't complaining. Rather, her butt was pushing back at my groin as I pulled back and shoved forward, mashing against her soft butt. A little moan escaped her mouth and went into mine and her mouth opened wider and I spurted. Just like that, I made a mess between her thighs, right up against her pussy lips. She pulled back from my lips. "Heather, dear?" she called, staring into my eyes. "Yes?" "We need a little break, darling." "Oh, OK." What Beth meant by that was made clear when she rolled until she faced me and put my hand between her legs. She didn't raise one straight up like her daughter had. She just bent her knee, giving me plenty of room. I wasn't stupid. I was shocked, but not stupid. As I slid a finger through my own spermy mess and into her pussy, she welded her lips to mine again. I finger fucked her until she vibrated and squealed, and then went limp, just like her daughter had. "Oh fuck I needed that," she gasped. "Language," I said, stupidly. My eyes flitted to Heather, who was standing, watching interestedly. ------- Obviously, things can't just go back to what they once were after something like that. Beth wasn't the slightest bit embarrassed by what had happened, despite the fact that her seventeen year old daughter had stood and watched. Like she said, the girl would learn it somewhere. Where better than safely at home? Beth cleaned up between her legs and we posed again. When Heather said she was finished for the night Beth simply led me from the studio to her bedroom, and Heather found out what it looked like when a man and woman made love. My bulk covered her mother, except for her widespread legs, which alternated between flopping wider and then closing over my back as she had orgasm after orgasm. I only have a short fuse the first time. The second time I can go for a while. Heather bent over and peered at things and, like it was some kind of school at home, even asked questions after she watched me ease my erection into Beth's hot pussy. I bottomed out and gave her a little rub, which got a whine out of her. "What does that feel like, Mom?" she asked, leaning close to Beth's ear. "Fabulous, darling," moaned her mother. "Doesn't it hurt? He's so big!" "Noooooo, baby, it doesn't hurt." "Is he going to squirt in you?" "I ... don't ... know!" gasped the woman, having an orgasm as I dug deep in her snug pussy. "You could have a baby if he did, you know," pointed out her daughter. "She could?" I gasped. I thought she must be on the pill. Why would she had pulled me in here otherwise. "Eeeeeeeeee" squealed Beth. "Yup," said Heather, breathing a little more deeply herself. Her hand was busy between her legs. "She's not on the pill." "Oh fuck," I groaned. Suddenly I was ready to cum again. I went in deep again and gave her another clit massage, trying to hold off a little longer. "Yes!" Screamed Beth. "Fuck me, Bob!" Her pussy quivered all around my prick, and I knew she was cumming. "Oh Baby," I groaned, and pulled out, only to ram in again, already spurting. My balls had re-supplied, and I felt five or six strong streams of baby makers unleash into Beth's belly. I know I shouldn't have done it, but I just couldn't resist. "Oh Bob!" squealed Beth, jerking her loins up to take every drop. "Oh baby!" she gasped as her legs whipped to hold me there. "Yeah," sighed Heather. "Baby." ------- Heather got bored when Beth and I cuddled, catching our breath. "I'm sorry," I panted. "I couldn't help it." "I know," she panted back. "I couldn't help but want you to." "Seriously?" She just nodded. Then a while later she turned her head to me. "I know I shouldn't have let you. It wasn't fair to you, but I had to feel it." "Wasn't fair to me?" "I know you," she said softly. "You're a good man. If I let you knock me up, you'll want to do the right thing." "Well sure," I agreed. It didn't surprise me at all that I was so comfortable with the idea of abandoning my single lifestyle, such as that was. "See?" She breathed more deeply. "It's not my intention to rope you into something like that. It's not fair." "I've wanted to do this with you for years," I said. "Yes, but we never talked about anything like this," she responded. "I didn't want to intrude on your memory of Tom. I didn't think you were interested." "I wasn't. Not until I realized you weren't gay. Tom loved you, and because of that I did too. When I lost him, I still loved you. I have all along. As soon as I knew you wanted me, I turned into a slut." "I don't think so." "You're sweet." "No I'm not. I took advantage of you." "Other way around, Bob." So I showed her what I was talking about. I fucked her again. And I came in her again too. She was so loud Heather came back in. ------- Two days later Heather waltzed into my house again. She started taking her clothes off. "Whoa there, cupcake," I said. "You're not going to fuck me," she said seriously. "Mom says you can't do that unless she's there too." "You're shitting me." "Language, Bob," she cautioned, smiling. "But I want you to make me feel like that again. I've been masturbating for years, but it never felt like that." She got a lot more than that. I sucked on her precious teen titties until she screamed, and then I fingerfucked her to an orgasm. After that I went down on her and took her through two with my tongue, before fingerfucking her to a fourth one. She was as limp as a dishrag when I got done with her. When she got her strength back, she wanted to jerk me off. This time, when I warned her I was about to blow, she leaned over and sealed her lips over the crown. She swallowed every drop too. ------- The fact is, that when it became clear ... day after day ... that Beth wasn't going to do anything to stop my little swimmers from doing their job, I actually did propose to her. She accepted. It wasn't until the wedding that she actually told me she was already pregnant. Heather went on the honeymoon with us. In fact, she was my bride's wedding present to me. She popped out orgasms just like her mother did, having five in a row as I gently prodded her virgin sheath. Beth played dirty though. I was getting close, and by now Beth knew what that sounded like. I felt her hand on my ass, pressing it toward her daughter. Then she put her lips right by my ear whispered. "She's not on the pill either stud." I think they might have heard my howl clear down at the reception desk. ------- The End ------- Posted: 2012-11-26 Last Modified: 2013-02-28 / 12:00:45 am ------- http://storiesonline.net/ -------