Watching TV with Uncle Gary 3

🔞🔞🔞🔞 . 'It's lovely. You should try it,' said my Uncle.

I didn't respond. But I suddenly wondered what on earth it would be like having someone's lips … down there … between my legs. I pressed my thighs together tight at the thought – and suddenly understood what Barry, a brief acquaintance from school, had been trying to do with his head between my legs at the Varty's barbecue last Halloween. My uncle's hand had flattened on my thigh. I suddenly wondered if they used their tongue down there as well as their lips? I tried to see. But the girl had clamped her legs tight around the older man's head so I couldn't see what his tongue was doing. The other man was kissing her ear, stroking her neck, fondling her breast.

'Wow,' was all I could say.

My uncle wanted to kiss me again. To keep him quiet, I let him. Then he wanted to kiss me again. So I let him do that, too, even though the first kiss had seemed about five minutes long. And had me panting hard! Although our kisses were long and drawn out, and in their way surprisingly hungry and heated, and quite exhausting too, each time I got my breath back and looked at the screen I found the man's head was still locked between the girl's legs, she bucking and writhing and curling in response, with a look on her face suggesting pain, but not the sort of pain that hurt, (I knew).

Uncle Gary's hand was back on my breast. He'd sneaked it into my wrap as we kissed. I'd cautioned him (briefly) with a warning hand, but he said he would only stroke my skin, which in fairness is all he was doing. Very gently, in fact. A soft caress all over both breasts. I wanted to ask if the man used his tongue when they did this culin-whatever thingie, but wasn't sure how to ask it. My wrap had come open. One side had slipped off my legs. All I had underneath was my teddy's matching briefs. Which weren't much. I glanced at my uncle's hands on my breasts. My breasts looked huge. They felt enlarged. Did they become as large as they felt, when people touched them like my uncle was doing? Is that what made them swell? Is that what made them sensitive? I glanced back at the screen, then groaned and arched my back and eased my breasts into his touch, trying to disguise what I was doing so. It would hardly do if he knew, after all. Then I wondered, What would it feel like having a tongue … down there?

They had changed position. The girl had her lips around a penis, and seemed to be sucking it like a lollipop. I hadn't done that yet. Uncle Gary kissed me again. We seemed to be kissing as much as watching the film. He was less becoming content to merely stroke the skin of my breasts. Now he was squeezing them too. And exciting the nipples as well. Two times he'd kissed my ear. Lingering kisses, the tip of his tongue probing deep. The suggestions he whispered were naughty, and sexual. Over and over again, about his tongue, and where he'd like to put it, stuff like that. I tried to ignore what he said. But the feel and sound of his breath and tongue in my ear was creating a theatre of arousal all of its own. It seemed so bad, so forbidden, an uncle doing this, saying these things, in the ear of his teenage niece!

I had never seen intercourse done before. And when it came on the TV screen, I paid a lot of attention. I had never been sure how it worked. I knew the various pieces involved, I just didn't know the mechanics. When the tip of the erect penis, belonging to the smaller of the two men, but still looking huge, finally eased its way into the glistening crimson lips between the girl's legs, I had my eyes about as wide as they could go. And my mouth hanging open as well. How could something that large ever fit, down there. The tiny access, deep in the mouth of her labia, no more than a pulsing crimson, looked much too small to take the tip, never mind the rest of it! But as I watched, the girl's hips rose, and she parted her thighs, and the bulbous, glistening, purple-coloured tip eased slowly into her.

Uncle Gary had his lips on my neck, a hand around a breast, the other on my leg, far up, and moving between them, parting my thighs as it went. As the bulbous tip disappeared, my own pelvis rose and my legs seemed to part as if I were feeling what the girl on the screen was feeling, as if it were happening to me. I was clearly aware of my uncle's hand slipping between my legs, aware of the edge of his finger as it came into contact with the brief slip of cotton that ran between my legs and covered my pudenda. But I didn't do anything to stop him. It didn't seem part of what was happening.

What was happening HERE … was this … this … huge thing … easing into my friend. I felt she was my friend, she could have been a classmate. What was happening here was all about her, the girl on the screen, not me. It was all about what was happening to her, here, now, late at night, when she should be sleeping, getting her strength for classes tomorrow. Me, I hardly seemed to matter anymore. Deeper and deeper it went as I watched this huge thing sink inside her. I eased my pelvis forward and up, as if it were happening to me. Easing my mound into the heal of my uncle's hand. Feeling his fingers spread the lips inside my briefs. Feeling my briefs moved aside and then, 'Shwaaah!' I gasped, as my clitoris felt the presence of a finger brushing over it. 'Ngaaar!' I groaned, as he did it again. I squirmed my torso round, clasped my mouth to my uncle's, wanting his fingers to do it again, and again, and again. To make me feel like the girl on the screen. What must it feel like, I wondered. First the fingers, then the tongue, then …

THAT!

INSIDE!

'Urnnnng,' I groaned, into my uncle's mouth, pushing my tongue against his, jerking my pudenda in his hand, pushing my pussy at his fingers. Everything down there so moist, like honey, hot chocolate sauce. Fingers slurping and sliding in the heat between my legs. God, it felt good! I clamped my legs around his hand, my lips around his tongue, and forced my own deep, as if it were an entity, just like that great purple thing, forcing itself into an aperture belonging to another – in this case my uncle, in this case his mouth.

Which is when the 'slide' commenced.

The slide. The slithery slope. The deep dark dank descent. The slide that had my uncle doing things to me that uncles are not supposed to do to eighteen year old nieces. The slide that brought on things, from him, that even his wife, my Auntie Elsie, might well not approve of – even if done to her, (never mind her niece!).

A slide that started when various things fell into place. The purple thing, in her. My uncle's tongue, in me. My uncle's finger, also into me. My uncle's touch against my clit. My aching breasts, against his touch. My gasping lips against his hair, and chest. The hair I found on his chest when his shirt's was roughly opened. Me, the panther, tearing shirts! From the slippery start to the slide, hands and lips and tongues and mouths taking licence to roam where they shouldn't, the slide then gathered pace. Then helter skelter, rocketed out of control!

It turned on itself into a headless, hopeless, thoughtless, tumbling descent. Driven by urge, fuelled by need, fanned by the flames of arousal and lust! And what was surprising, at least to me, was that I was as much in its thrall as my Uncle Gary. He may have lit the fuse, but the explosion was as much mine as his. Both of us, respondents to animal drives.

Not as it should have been, surely?

My clarion call to defend myself against the movement of older hands, and fingers, tongue and lips, all over my body. In places where none had wandered before. Except, now and then, my own. But never like this. And never with the hunger that another can impart in such mind blowing ways!

The call to defend myself went unanswered. Over-powered, down-trodden, out-gunned, by the siren call of arousal itself. Sensuality, lust. Base primeval drives. That breathtaking slide … Down … down … down …. into the white-hot, rabid coals of abandonment, sensuality, erotic aggression, and glorious Technicolor release! All thoughts of propriety, self-control, and 'saving it for hubby,' ploughed into the soil of restraint by the shear of earthy need, as it shreds decorum and drives the senses into a realm where riotous erotic sensuality hold sway.

Hubby's fucking interests can fucking stand in line!

I felt what it was like to have a man's mouth and tongue play with me. DOWN THERE! What it was like when a tongue and then teeth nibbled my nipples. What it feels like, as a niece, when an uncle's finger eases into you. As if he were looking for something. And possibly not finding it. (My hymen broke when I was twelve, riding a bike.) Easing the finger farther in, to curl, to find – my uncle said, when I bit into my knuckle, biting off the cry I nearly made – the G-spot, as he called it as I bucked and cried again. He tried a second finger with the first, to see if it would fit. (It did.) I bucked and yelped and squirmed some more, but could have told him it would fit. The handle of my hairbrush is thicker than that.

Then he entered me, properly. With his penis, is what I mean. He did it at about the same speed as the guy on the film had done – though the film had long since finished. He had seemed, the small guy in the film, to be trying not to cause the girl any pain. That I liked. And then my uncle tried to do the same, with me, as he asked breathless questions about virginity, and others before him, and had there been any, and stuff like that. I replied, as best I could, with moans, and groans, and little cries, and yelps, and mental entreaties to get a fucking move on – so to speak.

In the end I was the one who thrust the more manfully of the two. It had to be done. And as I did, I said a quiet prayer of apology to my hubby to be, whoever he might be, for what someone else was about to receive on his behalf. Ahead of him, if you will. But the way I looked at it (at the time) was, practice makes perfect. He would thank me in the end. Or something.

After my spirited thrusts, like a piston in the engine room of a very large ocean liner, my uncle got the message. Either take your niece with authority and power, or get of the fucking pot. He stayed on the pot. From there it was all downhill. In fact, it was on the carpet: me, my back, my Uncle's back – I didn't know you could do it like that. It felt pretty powerful. Sweating like a pig, squealing like a rabbit, spread like a frog, bucking like a bronco, hands on the hairs on his chest, knees clutched tight either side of him with that … huge … thing … waaaay … upppppp … Inside …

ME!

My Uncle did well all things considered, and allowing for the fact that he shouldn't have done it in the first place. He couldn't have been more gentle, except when I wanted him to be rough, when he was. Well, roughish. When I wanted him to squeeze me, and bite me, then he squeezed me. Though he never did bite.

He made me come three times which, when we'd finished, he said was pretty good. I didn't argue. I hadn't the energy. But to describe what I had been through as 'good' was like describing the speed of like as 'quick'. Especially the third time. That was more like riding a rainbow through a violent thunderstorm with my pussy force fed honey. Really hot honey.

He helped me clean up too, at the end. With a warm damp towel from the bathroom. His bathroom. The guest bathroom upstairs. He'd dampened it in warm water, dabbed me and cleaned me between the legs. Then he dampened it again, this time cold, and mopped my brow, my breasts, my neck and face. Then a third time, to get the sweat off my legs and back. Then a fourth, to clean my breasts again because he'd started to kiss them when meant to be drying them and got them all slobbery again.

It too me an age to get my breath back properly. And recover my sense of perspective. Which is when I started questioning his conduct. He shouldn't have done that, I don't really think. And I challenged him too, standing up. 'I don't think you should have done that, Uncle Gary,' I said. 'Maybe you're right,' he agreed. We tip-toed up to bed, him to the spare room, me to my own. As he entered the guest room I heard a sleepy Auntie Elsie ask him where he'd been.

'Had to do something important,' he said.

'His niece,' I thought, closing my door.