Chapter 10

To my continuing delight, Uncle Joe proved to be even more of a liar than he had suggested. It turned out to be the busiest night of my seventeen summers, as we fucked each other right around the clock. Thanks to the revelation that this marvelous man was my uncle, all my feelings of guilt vanished and I was filled with delight that I had let him pick me up. Still, between our delicious bouts, there were a couple of things I asked him to explain.

The first was the matter of the mix-up in his name. I said, "Darling Uncle, why didn't you tell me your name was Joe ... then I'd have guessed who you were."

He smiled that marvelous smile and poked his big curved saber inside me until I spasmed wildly, thrashing all over the bed with him. Then he said, as if nothing had intervened, "Well, Robin, apart from Harry and poor Edna, nobody's called me Joe in years. I find my middle name more useful in my work."

"Les ... Lester?" I asked. "What's so impressive about that?"

"Well ..." he let his jizzum spurt once more and then we lay still though still wondrously united where it matters the most "... it looks far better in print. J. Lester--it's spelled L-e-i-c-e-s-t-e-r, by the way--wins me a far more distinguished entree than Joseph L. Martin."

"I see," I said. I was about to ask him just what his work was ... the family had always been a bit vague on that score ... but his prick began thickening and lengthening again in my hole and there was another busy period, at the end of which I found myself riding him backwards, gripping his legs stretched out beneath me for dear life. And it was never dearer than it was just then.

Before I could regather my scattered thoughts, he said, "Speaking of mixed-up names, how about yours? I thought your first name was Roberta, not Robin."

"I always hated that name," I told him. "When Aunt Roberta died and didn't leave us anything, I changed it."

"I like Robin far better, darling." He slid his hands down over my lower back, shaping and then gripping my buttocks and then, lifting my cunt clear of his sopping cock, pulling it up over his magnificent lean muscular torso so that he could put his lips and tongue and teeth to work in my frantic fucking piece.

Never a girl to accept pleasure without returning it, I found myself in perfect position to lick his prick clean of our body fluids, and I bent to this sweet task with a will that matched my uncle's oral attack on my own organ of delight. Thanks to the almost continuous fucking and sucking in which we had been engaged for so long, it took us a long time to bring each other on; but, as they say in the travel ads, getting there is half the fun. We finally made it together and, after receiving another delicious draught of his sperm in my throat, we lay side by side, our hands on each other's genitalia, fondling them fondly and letting drowsiness slowly claim us.

I must have dozed off, but I awoke in short order with another question in mind. Uncle Joe's eyes were closed, but when I squeezed his prick gently, those marvelous light blue eyes opened, less than two inches from mine, and he smiled at me and wiggled a naughty finger in my cunt and said, "What is it, darling Robin?"

"Why weren't you seen deplaning with the rest of the Kernstown passengers?" I asked.

White teeth flashed in front of me as his smile became a laugh. He said, "Well, it was a little embarrassing. You see, I was fucking the redheaded stewardess you saw me with."

"On the plane?" I couldn't believe it.

But he nodded and said, "That's one of the compensations for traveling on a small airline: you haven't a chance with one of the big companies, everything is much too businesslike."

"But where?" I asked, curiosity overcoming my mounting desire to be fucked again.

"In the John," he said. "Where else." A pause, then, "Have you ever been screwed in a broom closet?"

"No ... but I made it once with a boy in the luggage compartment of his father's Cadillac ... with the top down."

"Enjoy it much? His eyes twinkled at me delightfully.

"No," I confessed. "It was a little too crowded ... and the spare tire kept getting in our way."

"Then you'll understand our problem with that damn toilet seat taking up most of the available space. On top of that, the door stuck and we couldn't get out until the co-pilot heard my little friend banging on the door and yelling after we landed. Under the circumstances, they sort of snuck us out."

I thought that over and, before I could stop myself, I said, "She's an awfully pretty redhead."

"But nowhere near as pretty as you, my darling little niece." He stifled my uprush of jealousy before it could rise to trouble our perfect union, then buried it by adding, "At least, darling, you're a real redhead." He ran his long strong fingers through my curls. "She was very dark at the roots ... and the hair on her cunt was black."

"Oh, Les ..." I flung my arms around him in an excess of love and desire. "I want to be the best you ever had. I know it's a large order, but I'm going to make it."

"You're delicious, darling ..." Once again, he set me athwart his loins. Under my manual proddings, his prong had regained sufficient length and strength to poke its big pink crown past my nymphae and labia and about halfway up my reflooding hole. I began a cuntal roll by tightening the muscles, first of one buttock, then of the other, and was rewarded by feeling that curving spire thrust its way rapidly inward and upward until, once more, it filled me to the very top of my womb.

I was frantic to be Number One with my just-discovered uncle, and I used every ounce of expertise my years of fucking Harry and brother Bill had enabled me to acquire. I did not pump my rump up and down on it like a girl concerned only with getting a load of jizzum in her guts. I planted my cuntal lips flat against his scrotum and kept them there, using slower, more subtle methods to bring us both to the inevitable boil.

His marvelous mouth curved in that insidious half-smile that had proved so irresistible as he realized what I was trying to do. He lay there beneath me, his hands once more locked behind his head, letting me have my way with his thrillingly warped dong. I must have held it in there all the way for a full fifteen minutes, moving my crotch gently in every conceivable direction, all the while with those ceaseless waves of pure delight his avuncular cock inspired making my whole body sing once more.

With anyone else, I'd have been fucked out long since. But with Uncle Joe I didn't feel that was possible. I had long since lost count of how many times we had come together, as I am sure had he. But so great was my continuing desire for this marvelous man, so overwhelming my relief in discovering that, fucking him, I was not fucking out of the family, so overwhelming my ambition to fuck him better than any other woman in his life, that all trace of fatigue vanished.

Like a well-conditioned athlete, I seemed to have gained a second wind, and I poured everything I had into this most important fucking of that memorable night of same. With his marvelous intuitive understanding of what a woman is feeling, he seemed to sense from the start that this was something really special and that it was important to let me have my head.

Once or twice, he brought his hands from the nape of his neck and, gripping my waist tightly, halted my slow cuntal grind on his dong, saying, "Easy, honey, just relax a minute. We don't want to end this one too soon, do we?"

I could only shake my head and obey, though holding my cunt still at such a moment took every bit of willpower I possessed. But I made it until his hands left my waist and returned to their places behind his head and only then resumed the infinitely subtle fucking I was giving him, moving it deftly a half inch to either side and all but passing out from the added pressure such movement gave, via his curving cock inside me, to the right flank of my tunnel of love.

But nothing is forever, and the next time he put his hands on my steaming, creaming flesh, it was not to hold me still ... instead, he gripped my buttocks and, ever so slowly, hoisted me upward until, once again, only the round head of his big thick prong remained in my cunt. I gasped out a protest, but he shook his head and said, "Old Will needs a breath of fresh air."

Then, just as I was ready to scream, he pulled me down on his dong so vehemently that our pubes actually squished as they thocked together ... and, once again, the beautiful balloon went up!

I don't have any memory of the minutes of wild wonder that followed. All I do recall is both of us ramming our fucking pieces at each other as hard and fast as we could--and then finding myself spiked atop his pulsing prick as it flooded my uterus with a final delicious libation, my whole pelvis straining for release from the iron grip with which he held me affixed to his spouting whang. In between, things must have been real crazy. At least, when I emerged from the whirlpool my whole body felt rosy and happy and aglow with a sweet and sweaty satisfaction it had never known before.

My uncle let me down slowly, managing as always to keep it interesting even then. And once I was down, so was he. That proud jock with the twist in the middle simply lay down on its scrotum-pad like a hound dog's ear. And even though my body still tingled delectably, I knew that, in about thirty seconds, I was going to be sound asleep.

With his left arm snugging me, I curled up against my uncle's beautiful body like a kitten, with my rump nestled into what would have been the angle of his lap had we been sitting upright instead of lying down. I don't think it was thirty seconds before, with a contented little purr, I lost track of the world and slumber rolled over me like a swift silent fog.

How long I slept I had no idea, since I had no idea of what time it was when I dropped off to dreamland. But it could not have been long, because we had been fucking until long past midnight, and the early summer sun was shining brightly through the east window of the motel bedroom when I awoke to the feeling that I had better get to the John in a hurry. But then I discovered, upon moving to clear myself, that the hole which felt full was not my arsehole at all. And the results of my move told me ever so clearly the nature of the object that had poked its way deep into my cunt.

Uncle Joe was back with a vengeance. Within no more than three seconds of opening my eyes, I was spasming around that perforating pillar of joy as if my hole had been empty for a month of Sundays. It had risen from its resting place in his crotch and, like a homing pigeon, gone directly to its proper housing.

My stirring aroused my uncle from his sleep and, hardly a man to let such an opportunity go by, he gripped me around the middle from behind, drawing my cunt down and backward into his crotch, at the same time thrusting his pelvis upward and forward until that beautiful bent meat of his was embedded to the roots in my churning hole. It's probably a good thing the reactions of both of us were half-numbed by slumber, or we'd never have made Riverville that day. Maybe not at all. We might still be lying on that Kernstown motel bed, fucking our tails off.

Even so, waking up like that beat any other sort of alarm clock I ever heard of. I remember the first night we three kids started fucking, Joanie and brother Bill and I, six years ago, almost to the week, when Bill had waked me up by rolling me over on my back in his bed and thrusting his little-boy prick right into my cunt. But this was far, far better, if only because of the relative improvement in the size of the dong that was impaling me.

Also, where Bill had deliberately set me up for a fucking and used his hands to get his little ramrod within my cuntal gates, what had happened to my uncle and myself was far more natural ... since our fucking pieces had sought and found one another while the rest of our bodies were asleep. Then, too, there was the absolute love and trust and faith and confidence I had in this beautiful stranger who had, so happily, turned out to be none other than my long-unseen Uncle Joe.

Numb of nerves or otherwise, that matinal fucking was delicious and I'm sure we would both have been perfectly happy to keep right on fucking all day, right where we were. But there remained the big problem of Edna and how to get her out of her mess in Running Water.

So we got up and showered together and tore off one quick one, standing up, with the water pouring over us. Then we got dressed and got out of that blessed motel and I drove my uncle back in the Jeep. He asked me to tell him exactly what was going on with Mom, and I gave him all I knew, which wasn't a great deal since things had happened so suddenly and I'd been away from the family overnight.

But, apart from a few shrewd questions, my new lover seemed content to hear me out. When I had finished, he was silent a long time. Then he sighed and shook his magnificent grey-tipped head and said, "Poor Edna ... she never could get away with anything in her life and not be caught with her pants down."

"You mean there've been other times?" I found this hard to believe of my moral, careful, self-righteous mother, always so concerned over her status in the community. I said as much to my uncle, who sighed again.

"Honey," he said, giving my thigh a squeeze that all but caused me to run the Jeep up a large oak tree alongside the winding road between Kernstown and Riverville, "why do you think she's been so worried about the proprieties?"

"I wouldn't know..."

"Just remember, Robin, that your mother and I came from the same seed. And you know how my appetites run by now."

"No ... let me guess!"

"Stop the car."

"I shouldn't... we shouldn't." That's what I said, but even as I spoke my foot was on the brake and my free hand moved toward the ignition key to turn it off. But not before I had run the Jeep well off the road into an overgrown lane that led to one of the private winter camps a lot of Kernstown people maintain. A wall of foliage seemed to seal off the passage behind us after we entered, concealing us completely from the eyes of any passersby on the road behind it. I found a mossy little clearing at the foot of another big tree and brought the Jeep to a halt.

"Will this do?" I asked.

He got out, moving like a youthful athlete, and tested the moss underfoot, then said, "Probably better than that damned motel bed."

I slid out from behind the wheel of the Jeep and joined him, I'd never been in this spot before, though I had noted the almost invisible entry trail scores of times while riding the Riverville-Kernstown road and had filed it away in my memory for a possible trysting place. If we hadn't been right on top of it when my uncle told me to stop the car, I might not have done it. There isn't another place half as good between the two towns anywhere, unless you want to try a crummy motel near Riverville even the local whores won't use.

But, as always, his timing was almost frighteningly perfect. It was as if I'd been thinking of this place as we approached it in the Jeep and my uncle had read my mind and made the very suggestion I had not yet put into words. For a moment, I could only look up at him and feel something close to terror. But then his hands were on my lithe young body, and the sudden fierce seizure of feelings that overwhelmed me had nothing to do with terror.

Since the Jeep was hardly an ideal trysting place, we decided to fuck on the moss. My uncle undressed us both from the waist down ... no difficult task, since neither of us had troubled to wear underclothing and all he had to do was unzip a zipper apiece and then let gravity do the rest. As I felt my bare bottom sink into that patch of nature's own softness, the excitement of screwing out in the open on a sunny summer morning made this union seem like our first.

The air felt fresh and different, there was no ceiling above us, and the texture and fresh earthy aroma of the moss on which we lay sent thrills of new experience dancing through me even before my uncle's beautiful pink-and-purple crown parted my upthrust labia and nymphae and once again pushed its way into my flooding innermost recesses. Somehow, it had seemed wholly natural for me to lie underneath this magnificent man, and bridged upward with my crotch to make his penetration both easier and deeper.

I convulsed joyously, almost at once, and we began to drive at one another like a pair of rutting animals in heat. Somehow, the subtleties of infucking we had so enjoyed during the love-drenched night just finished seemed out of place in the bosky sylvan setting. I wished only to give him the most rapid and complete satisfaction possible, while receiving the same myself. My peaks rose higher and higher with each thrust and counterthrust of our fucking pieces until, within a mere few minutes of our alfresco mating, I knew full climax was about to claim me.

And then, suddenly, everything stopped. Although my uncle kept right on plowing into my cunt with his cock, I was unable to feel, unable to respond. There I lay, wide open for his priapic onslaughts, but getting and giving as much out of it as if, like a pair of baby's shoes, I had been cast in bronze.

My uncle quickly realized that something was wrong, for he slowed to a walk and then halted entirely, with his cock embedded deep in my no longer hot little hole. With his strangely bright, light-blue eyes boring down into mine, he said, his voice low, "What's happened, Robin?"

"I don't know." It was all I could do to get those few syllables out through my rigidly clenched teeth.

My uncle's eyes continued to spear mine, even as his magnificent whang speared my cunt. His face became set and angry and I felt the sudden fierceness that I had sensed, perhaps subconsciously, beneath the erotic playfulness he had revealed back at the Kernstown motel. But I sensed also that my uncle's sudden, furious, silent anger was not directed at me but at someone or something else. Someone or something had cast a spell over me and paralyzed me in mid-fuck.

I know it sounds crazy and I thought for a little while that I was losing my mind. It had become a battleground, a dueling field, and neither of the contestants was myself. One was my uncle, and the other ... Did I, in fact, recognize the other? It seemed to me that I did, though in distorted condition, like, a personality drawn all out of reasonable proportion by some distortion mirror of a spiritual funhouse.

How long it lasted, I do not know. But I seemed to feel the stasis gripping me begin to slip away, to hear a faint despairing voice that was not a voice yet perfectly audible to my mind's ear, cry, "You mustn't have her, too. Your cruelty is unbelievable ..."

Then it was gone, and suddenly, as if released from a straitjacket, my body snapped back into fucking rhythm and, once again, I rejoiced at holding that curved scimitar of an avuncular dong in my thrusting, gyrating hole. He moved with me, bringing us both on with a delicious and utterly unexpected lateral waggle of his prick that set it to pumping its thick, white nectar into the euphoric suffusion of my womb.

We had not fucked long enough to work up a sweat so getting back into our clothes was no trouble and, moments later, we were out of the leafy-arbored lane and winging back toward Riverville once more. But there was little conversation the rest of the way. Whatever it was that had occurred to interrupt our screwing on the moss there in the woods had shaken us both.

Glancing at the rigid set of his beautifully cut profile, at the flare of his one visible nostril, I could see that he was still furiously angry. Also, I was quite sure he knew what it was that had halted my fucking action like a paralytic stroke. Three times I opened my lips to ask; each time my nerve failed me, for whatever it was had been frighteningly out of my depth.

The fourth time, when I probably would have spoken, he forestalled me by turning his handsome face toward me and placing a firm but gentle hand on my thigh.

"Not yet," he told me, his eyes full of love. Now, more than ever, I knew that he could read my thoughts at will.

I didn't know whether to be angry or happy about it.