I had a lot of getting adjusted to do, and same getting acquainted too. It was the first time I'd ever been cast among strangers, you might say, but still, it felt like something I could handle. Really, I don't think there's very much I can't handle, if I put my mind to it. I'm eighteen, but I seem to have the makings of a survivor. Anyway, there was the kick of fresh surroundings, being in the country, with all that fresh air and green grass and a wooded mountain lifting behind the house. I had an aunt and an uncle I didn't know at all but might as well get to know, since I'd be staying with them for the next nine or ten months. I'm a city girl, not from Slumsville by any means, but already I could feel the tug of nature in my bones. It wouldn't be bad, I told myself. As long as my hosts didn't try to put me in some kind of harness.
Aunt Cheryl and Uncle Bill. They didn't seem old enough to be called "aunt" and "uncle". I hoped they wouldn't mind if I dispensed with the formalities once we got better acquainted. Anyway, they were darlings to take me in while Daddy was in Saudi Arabia. Sure, I wanted to go with him, but he pointed out the obvious things – it wasn't the place for a man to take his daughter, not in these days of instant wars and terrorist kidnappings and PLOs and Israeli commandos and all that shit. I guess he was right, but I was going to miss him every day he was gone, no matter how nice Uncle Bill and Aunt Cheryl treated me.
And they'd been pretty nice so far. Well, they seemed pretty mellow. Uncle Bill is Daddy's younger brother, about twelve years younger, in fact. Daddy's forty and Uncle Bill is only twenty-eight. I hardly knew Uncle Bill. The last time I'd seen him was at my mother's funeral four years ago, and the last time before that at my grandmother's funeral a year or so earlier. I'd never met Aunt Cheryl before the two of them greeted me at the airport and hustled me and my things into their Volkswagen bus and drove me out winding country roads to their place. I didn't feel unwelcome. They were both friendly and seemed glad to have me around. I figured, what the hell, it may be a nice nine months at that. I just hoped the schools here weren't fucked up and that my 3.8 average would transfer over to the local college once classes started in September.
They had a nice place, a big old house they'd fixed up. It was so quiet you could hear birds singing in the gathering darkness, a whip-poor-will call over and over again in the distance, the occasional hoot of an owl, and the chirp of crickets. I could smell grass and pine trees. It was a far cry from Cleveland Heights to Colorado, but I was here, and I could hack it.
"You must be worn out, Elizabeth," Aunt Cheryl suggested. We'd been sitting in the big old, high-ceilinged living roam, sipping mellow Burgundy from a jug, and eating cheese and crackers, a little after-dinner snack. All that was lacking, in my opinion, was a fat heady joint to get us all really mellow, but I didn't know if they'd appreciate me bringing out my stash and offering it around. Since they didn't offer me any, I wasn't sure how they felt about the stuff. Later, I thought, I'll have a joint to settle me down for bedtime.
Bedtime had arrived. "I have to be up pretty early myself," Aunt Cheryl continued, "so maybe we should all think about turning in."
I wasn't tired at all, but I nodded. I was a guest, after all, and just because I felt like raving on till morning I shouldn't expect that everyone else felt the same way. "Guess that makes two of us," I agreed, standing up. I finished my glass of wine, smacked my lips, and helped Cheryl pick up the leftovers.
She was a pretty lady, this aunt of mine. She smiled a lot, and she had longish hair, so straight it looked as if she ironed it every night. Straight hair isn't in nowadays, but on her, it looked good. She wore jeans and a loose sweater this evening, and sometimes when she leaned forward, I could see the little punch of her half-hardened nipples or the free wiggly sting of her tits. Body wise, she rated at least an A-minus. The jeans fit tightly over her ass, tightening into her crack, and I could see the outlined shape of her small bikini pants under the denim. Her legs were long and strong, with firm thighs. She had light brown hair and her skin was tanned but not so it looked like leather. She wasn't wearing any makeup, and she didn't really need to.
Uncle Bill? Well, he was nearly as much a stranger to me as Aunt Cheryl. At least I could remember him very vaguely from when I was a kid, and I'd seen him a couple of times in recent years. Nothing like funerals to bring families together. He'd gone off to school at Berkeley when I was very young, and he'd never come back to Ohio, not that you could blame him. He and Cheryl had gotten married in California I don't know why they bothered with getting married; (like, who does, these days?) and come out to the mountains. Only major traumas seemed likely to stir them from their stronghold in the foothills of the Rockies.
Uncle Bill is younger than Daddy, and he's a few inches taller, I guess, but not built like a big huggy bear, the way my father is. Daddy's an engineer; he can handle anything from a t-square to a jackhammer. Uncle Bill is taller and leaner, his clothes fit him loosely and he walks in a slow, lazy western fashion. His hair is curly and long, where Daddy's is not so curly and not so long, but facially there's a resemblance, especially the eyes – blue, like mine.
Aunt Cheryl was a licensed paramedic. She worked in town, at a women's clinic. Uncle Bill had learned the printer's trade; he had a shop in an outbuilding where he turned out collector's edition reprints of old time pulp detective and science fiction stories, as well as occasional books of poetry or short stories. He turned out the weekly newspaper too, which was probably what paid the bills. They had it nice, I thought. Their farm, 300 or 400 acres of land, their careers, and they could do it all without the world peeking over their shoulders to see what was going on. Yeah, I thought, I might enjoy spending some time here. Maybe I wouldn't want to go back to Ohio again either. I thought of Daddy and sighed softly. Yes, I'd go back, but in the meantime, it should be nice living a while with my aunt and uncle.
Uncle Bill shut off the stereo. We'd been listening to progressive country mast of the evening; it seemed to be all they had in their collection. I'd never cared much for country. Disco was more my style. After a few LP sides of Townes Van Zandt and Michael Murphy and Tony Rice, it was hard to stay impassive, and I was thinking about Cherokee fiddles and a horse named Wildfire and California autumns and White Freightliners. I followed Aunt Cheryl up the stairs, to the bedroom they'd fixed for me. She's taller than I am, two or three inches, and I stood in the doorway looking up at her as we said goodnight. For no real reason, I tiptoed up and put one hand on her shoulder and kissed her soft pale lips. I felt them tremble warm against mine. My chest touched hers too, and her tits jiggled inside her sweater.
She stepped back, brushing at her hair, and said, "Goodnight, Elizabeth." It was like she wanted to get out of my reach or something, and it made me feel funny. I'd only kissed her goodnight, for Chrissake! "I'll see you in the morning," she added, turning, going down the hall.
"Thanks again for taking me in," I said, in a soft voice. She probably didn't hear. Uncle Bill was coming up the stairs as she went into their room and I waved to him. "Night! See you on the sunny side."
"Goodnight, Elizabeth," he said. He didn't smile the way Daddy did. For a moment, he hesitated at the door, then he opened it and went inside. I retreated into my room, closed the door too. There seemed to be a lot of doors shutting all of a sudden.
It was a warm night, maybe a trace of mountain cool in the air, and the bedroom window was open, curtains flitting in the breeze. I went to the window, stood there, feeling the slight chill come in with the wind. It felt good, and I stood looking out the window at the moon floating in the sky. Soon, I thought, I'd explore the mountain.
There were some neighbors, if you could call them neighbors – they lived two or three miles away – who had some kids my age. Aunt Cheryl had said that they had a boy and a girl. The girl was adopted, a Vietnamese orphan, Aunt Cheryl had told me, and she was certain the two of us would hit it off splendidly. In fact, tomorrow the girl, Kim, was supposed to come by and take, me horseback riding. I'd done a little riding, and I'd gone through a bit of the horse-crazy stage that some girls get infected with, but I hadn't been on a horse in years. It might be fun. Maybe Kim could alert me to the local scene. I wasn't exactly counting on living the life of a nun. There had to be boys somewhere, and if Kim was as pretty as Aunt Cheryl told me, Kim would know where to find them. "Sounds okay," I said, unbuttoning my shirt and dropping it to the floor.
I stripped out of my bra and jeans and stood a long time bathing in the moonlight that came through the window. "Mmmm," I said, running my hands over my tits. The nipples stiffened against my fingers and little excited tingles shot through me.
In case you're wondering. I'm built pretty nicely. My tits are really a little bigger than they ought to be for a girl with my slender frame, but that only means they get a lot of envious stars. I'm a 36-C on top, and the stiffening nipple I was caressing are coral red, really fetching next to my pale skin. I'm blonde, very blonde, and I even have a puff of golden hair around my pussy so you can be assured I don't rely on Lady Clairol. My skin is delicate, so I just try to get a thin coat of tan, enough to keep from burning. I looked down at my nips. They were so red in the triangular patches of white where my bikini top had kept the ends of my tits from getting tanned. The tips of the red bubbles were sticking out further and further every time my fingers slid across them. I sighed and pinched them between my fingers, and it felt even better. Sidling toward the bed, I flopped down hard. How better to break in a new bed than with a passionate hand-job, I asked myself?
Well, I thought in silent response, I can think of two or three much better ways. Those means weren't at hand, but the hands were there, if you follow my reasoning. I rolled onto the bed, onto my back, and I lifted my knees. My hands began to slide slowly down my tummy, into the waistband of my pants. My ass lifted from the bed as I got nearer and nearer. Then, my fingers were inside the panties, stroking lower and lower across the puffy, golden-swirled mound of my cunt. I could feel the tight little pussy, and I didn't have to look at it to know it was pink and delectable. My finger traced it up and down and I felt the slow ooze of moisture from inside me.
I loved to play with myself. There are better things to do with a pussy than stick your finger in it, but when you don't have anything but a finger, a finger feels Goddamned good. Working inside my panties, I opened my cunt and slipped my fingertip in, let it rub my vulva from erecting clitty nub to the sticky-mouthed hole of my cunt.
My pussy was hungry. I felt the lips try to close around the fingertip and pull it inside me, but no, I told myself, don't be so fucking greedy, you little snatch! We have all night. I was fresh as a daisy, in spite of the long flight from Cleveland, and I was horny, too. I hadn't been fucked in forty-seven hours, which had to be a record for Elizabeth Ashcraft. Again, my finger pushed at the sticky mouth of my hole, and again I felt the sucking gulp of my pussy trying to eat the finger. This time I said what the fuck? I let my nimble and well-trained digit slip inside.
"Ooohhh, that's it," I panted, feeling go deep and wiggly, right up my sticky tube. I was juicing heavily. When hadn't I been juicing heavily, lately? My tits began to ache and throb, and my head felt chilly-cold. The rest of me was hot, red hot, and got hotter with each plunge of that finger up my tube. I'm tight, and even a finger felt nice and comfortingly big inside me. There's no reason I should be tight, in view of what my snatch had been eating since I entered woman's estate with a vengeance, but my cuntal walls closed, and I had to stab harder and harder. I couldn't go Goddamn near as deeply as I wanted, but I could go plenty deep enough to make my armpits fill up with sweat and the skin crawl around the coral nips of my titties.
Slow down, Elizabeth, I told myself. There's no hurry. You can make it last all night. You dig it when it goes on all night, remember? Jesus, God, I remembered! My knees lifted higher and touched. There was this pressing tightness in my pussy. My finger felt as if a vise were closing in around it, but my cunt was so sticky and lubed up that there was no pain, just this fantastic sweet tight sensation. It made my belly growl in delight.
I got my finger loose, somehow, and I sat up. My stash was in my purse. I reached in, got the pipe and baggie, and filled the pipe. You have to be careful when you buy Mexican dope nowadays, what with that paraquat poison or whatever they call it; I hear the stuff can kill you. I grow my own, on my windowsill back home in Cleveland Heights, so I know it's good stuff. I'd brought a couple of pounds with me, just in case local supplies were slack – something else I'd have to check out with this Kim. I lit the pipe, took a deep toke, and felt the smoke flow through my body. It was mellow. As I smoked, I put my hand on the crotch of my panties and fondled my cunt from the outside. I wanted to let my puss know that it was still beloved, and the juicy little thing responded by wetting the flower-spotted fabric of my panties. I blew smoke out the window, just in case Aunt Cheryl and Uncle Bill were awake, but even above the smell of burning week I could smell the arousal of my body, the pungent muskiness of my cunt, the sex-sweat in my armpits and behind my knees.
My fist closed over my crotch and I squeezed, finishing the pipe as I did, and then lying back sighing and purring like a kitten. I'd hardly begun to tickle my snatch. There was so much more to do and, with a little grass filtered into my body, I was in an even better mood to do it.
My belly growled again, and I felt another kind of hunger in me. I knew that once again I was falling victim to the munchies. Grass does it to most people, to me more than others. As much as I smoked, it was a wonder I hadn't put 300 pounds on my five-six frame instead of the 105 I clocked in at. I put the pipe down on the nightstand and slid off the bed. There was cheese left – some wine, too. My throat was a bit dry after smoking. Maybe, I'd just tiptoe down the stairs like a little mouse and scoop up the leftovers of our evening brunch. Maybe I'd put a piece of cheese up my cunt, work it round and round till it was saturated with my juice, and then eat it. No, that was old hat. I should really try to think of something unusual.
Still holding my pussy, I slid off the bed, and stretched in the cool breeze that was coming through the window. I found my shirt where I'd dropped it, slipped into it, but only hooked one button. I tiptoed out the door, down the stairs, and into the kitchen. The fridge was full of goodies. I began to explore, snacking here and there, and drinking cold red Burgundy. While I was filling my mouth with cheese and snippets, left over from dinner, I heard… sounds in the living room, and I stopped short, as if I'd been caught doing something naughty.
When I heard the guitar strumming, I thought at first that it was a record, because it was so sharp and well-done, but then I realized that it was live music, not recorded. I heard Uncle Bill's husky, slightly lowered voice, begin to sing along with the rippling strings – something about snow and Bossier City, wherever Bossier City was, and rather stand in Mother Nature's anger than spend another lonely night with you. I remembered hearing the song sometime earlier this evening, done by a guy with a deep, growly outlaw voice, but the way Uncle Bill was saying the words, they seemed to be so much more filled with feeling, you know? As if he was living them while he sang?
I closed the refrigerator and tiptoed to the kitchen door, listening. That song could send chills up your spine if you let it, and it seemed the saddest thing I'd ever heard in my life. Slowly, I pushed the door open and saw him, sitting in the chair by the fireplace. His beat up Guild guitar was on his lap, and he was looking at the cold hearth and whisper-singing his heart out.
"That's very nice," I said, coming into the room. I had a piece of cheese in one hand a glass of wine in the other. He turned suddenly, and there was a momentary startled look in his eyes. His fingers left off picking, and he set the guitar down, slowly.
"Oh, don't stop," I said. "I really enjoyed it."
He looked up at me, and it occurred to me that maybe he wasn't used to visiting nieces – let alone visiting nieces who ran around in bikini pants, unbuttoned shirts, and nothing else. I looked down at myself. The single button I'd fastened hadn't exactly been the best one. The shirt gaped open at the top. Even if he didn't mean to, he couldn't very well help getting a big flash at my cleavage. Oh, well, I thought, it's all in the family. And I giggled.
"Really," I said, coming closer. "You sounded awfully good." I sat down on the floor beside his chair. "I got hungry," I said, "so I thought I'd come down for a snack. Just didn't feel like sleeping. Same with you?"
He didn't say anything. I offered him some wine. He took a drink, but he kept looking down at me, and his eyes were really weird, you know? Glancing down, I saw why. My shirt had slipped when I sat down, and one of my tits was almost hanging out. If he couldn't see my nipple, still red and swollen from being fingered upstairs, well, he needed glasses. I started to pull the shirt back into place, but it suddenly seemed so hypocritical. After all, he'd seen it, hadn't he? I looked up with a shrug and a grin, and when I shrugged, my titty did pop out.
"Ooops," I said, tucking it back behind the flimsy shut. "Accidents will happen." I looked up, smiling. In the dim light from the table lamp he'd turned on, I saw how much he really did resemble Daddy in the face. Anyone who saw them together would have known they were brothers. My nipples began to ache, and I thought about Daddy, all those thousands of miles across the sea, and me here, in the foothills of the Rockies. I realized how lonely I was, how much I missed him. "Oh, God," I said, and my eyes filled with tears. I laid my head on Uncle Bill's knee and started to cry. He shivered when I touched him, but he put his hand on my head and started to stroke me. It was just the way Daddy used to pet me when I was feeling badly. I looked up, trying to smile.
Uncle Bill was saying, "It's all right, Elizabeth, there's nothing to cry about, nothing at all."
I rose from the floor and sat down on his lap. I put both arms around his neck and hugged him, thrusting my tits against him, and I held on tight. His hands moved on my back, tensely at first, but then they seemed to discover that there really was a body under my shirt and he pushed down, pressing me to him.
The next time we looked at one another's faces, it was eye to eye, and if I'd ever seen lust in a man's eyes before, I saw it in Uncle Bill's – the way he stared at me, the little glaze on his pupils, the twitch of his nostrils. God, I thought, he wants it! He really wants it! Me! Maybe I was his eighteen-year-old niece, but I was woman enough to read his eyes, thank God. Suddenly, it all seemed so right and proper. Maybe I was still a little woozy from the weed I'd smoked, or maybe it was the horny I'd stirred out of my cunt. All I really know is that I reached down, took his hand, and pulled it into the gape of my shirt. "Go ahead," I told him. "Touch me. Feel me. I know you want to. So do it."
He shook his head, but his hand went straight for my tit. His fingers trembled when they touched me, but I worked from the outside of my shirt, and I made his hand cup around my breast. The nipple was up. If he couldn't feel it, his hand was dead. His fingers pinched lightly on my nip and I sighed. It always feels different when it's someone else's hand doing things to you, and it usually feels good. I squirmed on Uncle Bill's lap, and there was movement inside his pants. Nobody had to tell me what that meant. I pressed the side of one hip down, moving in little jerks. He got harder and bigger, and it felt impressive as hell, even if I hadn't seen it yet. My arm tightened around his neck and somehow our mouths got together. We were kissing then, his tongue was in me, working around and around. Our mouths were wet and hot and crushed together. I got my tongue into him just as his long fingers curled tightly around my titty, and I did a little puffing chirp into Uncle Bill's mouth. If his cock could get any harder than it was right now, and it was time to be calling the Guinness Book of World Records.
We eased apart slowly, each of us looking warily at the other, as if we weren't sure what had taken place. "Well," I said. His face went red, but his cock didn't shrink. I eased off his lap, onto my knees on the floor. His pants were tented up with the thrust of his erection, and I touched the hidden tent pole with my fingertips. "Did I do that?" I asked.
He didn't reply, just a choked sound that might have been an aborted word. My shirt was half off me by then, so I unfastened the last button and let it slide away. I knelt there and gave him a good shot at my tits. The coral nipples were stiff and punchy, both of them, and I stroked them with my fingers, looking up at Uncle Bill. "You did that," I volunteered. "Some of it, anyway."
"Stop, Elizabeth," he said, but my hands were already on his pants. He had buttons instead of a zipper. I'd never undone buttons before, not on a man's pants. They were no problem, except that the faded denim of Uncle Bill's trousers was stretched out so tight with the hardness of his cock. I got him undone, and I reached inside while he kept saying, "No, Elizabeth." I pulled his rod out, and it was a beauty! He stopped saying "No" just about the time I got his dick into the lamplight.
I'd seen a few cocks in my time, and his was nice. Thick – the best ones are thick, so that they spraddle your labes and make you feel like you're being wedged open long enough to be of good service. His head was fat and bulging, coming to an arrowhead-like point. My thumb and finger circled him and moved quickly up his rigid shaft, to the cockhead, where I squeezed down tightly. I felt him throbbing in my grip, and I saw a little drop of liquid ooze into the crack that divided his bulging knob into two equal halves.
"God," I said, "it looks good enough to eat!"
"Elizabeth," he said, without a single discernible trace of conviction. I leaned in and started to lick the end of his prick. He squirmed in the chair, and it seemed that his legs opened a little giving me more room to get closer. I slid in, still on my knees, still holding his cock, my tongue still busy around the end of him. He put his hands on my head, and there was a hesitation. I thought he would shove me away, but the pressure of his fingers weakened, and then I had him in my mouth. I was sucking, and nobody, but nobody, ever tells me to stop once I've taken a click in my mouth and given it the suction tongue treatment. Nobody!
My head moved downward on him, and my throat opened. Almost before either of us knew it, my lips were pressing the fly of his pants and the tip of his rod was in my throat. That particular trick is like wiggling your ears. Some girls can do it, others try but can't. Still, others never even try. To me, it was just something natural, something I never had any trouble picking up. I'd swallowed the first cock that I ever had in my mouth, swallowed it right to the nuts. It was as easy as breathing.
That's how I sucked Uncle Bill's prick. I put my hand inside his pants and found his balk. They were big, in a loose wrinkly sac, and I jiggled them with my fingers. My other hand slid onto his belly, into his shirt, and up his chest. He had nipples too, and I've found that men like to have their nipples toyed with almost as much as girls do. His tits stiffened up as soon as I touched them, and I gave them little love squeezes with my fingers while I moved up and down on his cock in grand, swallowing passages. My tongue swirled around him, and my mouth was as wet now as it had been dry upstairs after a pipeful of homegrown weed.
I was sucking when he began to squirt. Oh, shit! I thought. Not so soon! My head jerked back, and I held the tip of his dong prisoner in my mouth while he ejaculated. My mouth filled with his thick creamy jizz, gallons of it, or so it seemed. I had to swallow just so there'd be room for more. It tasted good, and it brought back old memories. I dosed my eyes, sighing, sucking. When I let his cum slide down my throat in an oozy, hot mass, it was warm all the way to the pit of my belly. Smacking my lips, I released his wilting dong. I rocked back and trust my hand down into my panties. While he watched, I began to masturbate myself, frigging my clit and my crack in passionate strokes, little moans seeping from my lips.
"Aunt Cheryl!" I said suddenly, going even further back. "Are we – am I making too much noise?" The morality of the act itself no longer bothered me. I just didn't know if my aunt would appreciate what had happened, what was still happening as far as I was concerned. For my body had turned on all over again, and now I had to have mine, too.
"Cheryl?" Uncle Bill said, like he'd been hit over the head with a mallet. His pecker was drooping now, lying half-soft, half-hard, on his pants. He moved in the chair, and I saw his dick twitch. My finger was in my pussy right then, going in my sticky tight hole, but I had a free hand and I used it the way God meant. I grabbed his dick and began to shuck him in counterpoint with the finger strokes in and out of my twat. I could feel hardness beginning to creep back into his rod.
"I don't think I care," I said, sighing. My clit was erect and almost painful in its erection. I kept my finger rubbing along the pink nub, rubbing till I moaned, till I shivered, till my fist became a clamp on Uncle Bill's cock. He went hard again, almost like magic in my hand, tooting up to his full seven or eight inches of erect gristle. Holding him, I stood up, and with one hand I pulled down my panties. "There," I said, indicating my blonde fur and the red slice amid the golden curls. "That's where I need it. Right now."
"For God's sake, Elizabeth," he said, trying to shake me loose. I hopped onto the chair, astride him, and I lifted high. I smeared my wet pussy all over his face, smothering him in my hair and my juices.
"For God's sake," I repeated. "Or at least for mine." I threw one leg over the back of the chair and now I had him. His face was in my crotch and I wouldn't release him on any account. I felt his tongue graze my wet, sensitive flesh, and then he had one hand, and another, on my ass. He was holding me, and his tongue moved into my pussy. I scissored my legs around his head. It was a pretty good eating, but I needed oh so much more than just being eaten. His dick was up, and I would have that dick in me, came hell, high water, or even Aunt Cheryl.
"Lick it," I said. "Make me scream. Make me cream."
He pushed me back. "I don't know why I'm doing this," he said, but the edges of his fingers were in the crack of my ass and goose bumps formed all over my body.
"Because it tastes good?" I asked.
"No – yes – I mean…"
Slowly, I uncurled my leg. I eased off the chair and sat on his lap once again. His stiff pecker was trapped between my thighs, the fat juicy head sticking up so I could play with it. "You don't have to feel guilty," I said. "Not a bit. I mean, I was gonna go back up and finish playing with myself. God, there's something about that hillbilly music that hits you right in the guts, isn't there? It's so real. Or did you just make it real? Where you were hiking about lonely nights? Am I prying? We should be able to talk. Shouldn't we?"
He cleared his throat, and he groaned when I pinched the end of his dick. "It's hard to talk with you doing tat," he complained. "Jesus, Elizabeth! It's hard to think with you sitting there, so close, so warm, so naked. You smell like talcum powder. Cannabis-flavored talcum powder, maybe?"
I laughed and grinned. So did he. It was a good sign.
"Cheryl," he said, sighing. "Cheryl."
"Tell me about it," I suggested, laying my head on his shoulder.