There were numerous reasons why Drew Livingston was concerned, numerous reasons why he was willing to do his sister and brother-in-law a favor and head over to Europe to try to find their teenage daughter, seventeen-year-old Amy Mitchell.
For one, he was due for a three-week vacation anyway, and he'd planned to spend it either at Majorca or Corsica. Now, he'd have to spend much of his time running around from city to city, trying to track the girl down.
But he was far from unhappy about the prospect. For what Amy's parents didn't know was that her uncle was more than just fond of her. Ever since she was a little girl, Drew had pictured what she'd look like when she got older. And all of his dreams and expectations had blossomed into a vision of a lithe and nubile female girl-child, not yet a woman and no longer a mere child, but a combination of the two which made him fawn over her every time he saw her.
She had emerged from her cocoon to become a butterfly of his imagination, a succulent young vision of lusty sexuality. The girl was everything Drew had always wanted her to be, everything and more. And though he lusted after her, and had since she had reached puberty and had begun to sprout fur on her tender private parts, he had never been able to consummate his desires and sexual appetites.
How could he, when he rarely if ever saw Amy without the company of her parents. So he was relegated to the position of the doting bachelor uncle, the family eccentric who refused to get married and give up his independence, who led a playboy's life in New York City without the boring day-to-day responsibilities of supporting a wife and children.
But that, needless to say, didn't preclude the fact that Drew was so turned on to his teenage niece that she peopled his dreams, wet and dry, consuming him with the image of what it would be like to take her up in his arms and teach her all the things thirty-five years of virile and studly manhood had taught him.
No one, not his close friends nor his business associates, knew of Drew Livingston's secret needs, the constant letch he had for adolescent girls. Oh, he often went to bed with women his own age or women in their twenties. But it was a rare occurrence indeed when he found himself wrapped up around the lush and tender body of a teenager.
And of all the girls he had seen and known in his life, none could even begin to compare with his niece. Amy was possessed of a vitality and raw untarnished youthfulness that he found utterly and absolutely enchanting.
Many were the nights when he found himself lying awake in bed, thinking of her, picturing her in his mind, undressing her too and then planning all the countless and diverse sexual acts they would one day perform together. But seventeen years had passed, the last two or three being the most painful ones in particular for Drew.
For as she had approached sexual maturity, as she had evolved from an awkward and gangly child to a fetching teenager, he had become more and more turned on to her, barely able to control himself and keep his hands off of her whenever he went to visit her and her parents in their suburban home on the outskirts of the city.
Just before she'd gone off to Europe for Easter vacation, he had been able to arrange a little bon voyage party for the two of them. Actually, he had some of his friends, married couples as well as single men and women, over to his plush bachelor apartment for cocktails.
Amy was the guest of honor and when she had arrived he hadn't been able to believe his eyes. She wore seemingly nothing more than an ankle-length jersey sheath, a kind of polo shirt dress that clung and rustled to her body.
Her long tawny blonde hair hung down over her back and shoulders and when she walked when she laughed even, her ripe young breast jiggled back and forth and up and down beneath their flimsy and revealing jersey covering.
Even many of Drew's friends were visibly impressed by his niece's physical and sexual comeliness. But none more than her uncle, who could not keep his eyes off of her all that Sunday afternoon. When they were finally alone together, just before he took her to the train station to return home, he had the greatest of difficulty keeping his hands off of her.
And it was on that occasion, the last time in fact that he had seen his niece, that he almost felt she was on the verge of reciprocating his sexual attraction. She held onto his arm in the taxi and he felt like a kid again, out on his first date.
Her very close physical proximity to him was more than enough to get him going and just before he saw her off, as he kissed her good-bye at the train station, he was positive he had seen her glance down appreciatingly between his legs, able to see the state of bulging disarray which marked the front of his tweed trousers.
Now, she was gone. And it was up to him to find her.
What had happened was this: Amy had gone off to Europe with two of her girl friends for Easter vacation. She was a high school senior and although this was not the first time the youngster had been abroad, it marked the first occasion when she wasn't accompanied by an adult chaperone, either her parents or a tour guide, as had been the case in the past.
But somewhere along the way, Amy had disappeared.
Not exactly disappeared. She wasn't abducted, kidnapped or anything like that. But she hung out with a pretty wild crowd and it had been no hassle to get her two friends to lie for her. She'd stayed on in Paris while they'd boarded a plane to return home to the States.
This much Drew had been able to get out of Amy's parents, his distraught sister and her husband. They had received a single card, a view of the Eiffel Tower with the hastily scrawled words, "I'm fine. Have to be on my own for awhile. Love you, Amy."
That was all they had received from her in the past three weeks. Now, they weren't about to sit tight and let her come home when she was good and ready. "She has no money, nothing," Drew's sister told him when he went to her house to get all the details he could amass. "How is she going to survive, my little baby girl, the spoiled brat!"
Paris was supposedly the last city she'd been to, the place where her two friends had told her parents they had left her. Drew made all the necessary flight and hotel bookings, but before he left he had a hunch that Amy's friends had not told her parents everything they really knew about the situation.
He didn't tell the Mitchell's his suspicions, but casually mentioned that he wanted to get in touch with Amy's two girl friends, just to see about a couple of things. He left it vague, but his sister was more than eager to help him in his amateur detective hunt. The only reason they hadn't resorted to hiring a professional detective was that Drew's brother-in-law felt the expense was prohibitive. And, on top of that, he didn't feel it was warranted, either.
"She'll come back when she's good and ready, and not before. Amy's a spoiled brat, but she's not a stupid kid. If she didn't want to come home, I guess we either have to sit tight and eat our hearts out or else hope she'll open up to you, Drew… that is, if you ever find her," her father had said.
But underneath the blase phrasing, Drew was able to hear his brother-in-law's note of pain and anguish. He knew too that he would not return to the States unless Amy was in tow, even if it meant handcuffing her to his wrist. Which wasn't such a bad idea at that, he thought later, thinking of what it would be like to have her linked to him forever, eternally coupled, eternally joined and united through the best of all possible means, namely… sex to sex.
Yet there was work to be done for sure and so a few days before he had arranged to leave the country, he paid an unexpected visit to the house of Rachel Strauss, none of the two girls Amy had gone to Europe with.
He'd expected to find the door opened by the teenager's mother, for it was just about three-thirty, the middle of the afternoon. Instead, without as much as asking who was there, the doorknob turned and he presently found himself staring at the slim and fetching figure of a dark-haired youngster.
"Yes?" she asked with a quivering note in her voice. Her long black hair was fashionably frizzed, vaguely Afro-styled. She wore glad rags and antique clothes, clunky thirties wedgies. All in all, he was quite in approval of the teenager's appearance.
"Can I help you?"
"You might," he said with a good-natured laugh, wishing she'd invite him inside. "I'm Drew Livingston… your friend Amy's uncle. Her mother's my sister."
"Oh, I see," and her plucked eyebrows were drawn up in a surprised gesture. "Well, come on in, Mr. Livingston."
"Drew," he corrected with a laugh, having already decided what had to be done, the best way to handle the girl. She had a smart and inquisitive air about her. But even more than that, she was also far from unappealing, far from being a turn-off, especially sexually.
As she led him into the house he had a chance to look her over. Her jugs were larger than his niece's, firm and rounded beneath her loose-fitting blouse. But it was her ass which delighted him, a round apple which jutted out prominently and swished from side to, side as she locked the door behind her and led him into the living room.
"Uh… would you like your mother to be here when I talk to you?" he asked, using that as a ploy to find out if she was alone in the house.
Rachel fell for it, not in the least bit suspicious. "She works. Anyway, it's none of her business really, is it?"
"No, I guess not," he replied and seated himself on the couch. She kept her distance, at least in the beginning, and sat across from him, folding her hands in her lap. "You see, Amy's parents told me all they knew about what happened. But I'm leaving for Paris in two days and I wanted to know if there was anything else you… you might have forgotten to mention, that you might have remembered since you last spoke to them about Amy."
Certain that a look had come over her eyes which told him that the teenager was holding something back, Drew was now more determined than ever to get to the heart and the truth of his niece's disappearance. But he had no idea what Rachel was afraid to mention, what she had not told the Mitchell's.
"No," she said with a telltale nervous stammer in her voice. "I don't… don't think I forgot to mention anything. Amy just wanted to split before we went home, that's all. She didn't say why and I didn't ask her, man. I mean, what she wants to do with her body… I mean herself, that is, is her own business, dig it."
"I dig it," he murmured, the word "body" reverberating in his head with the sound of crashing cymbals. What she wants to do with her own body is her own business, he thought to himself. He could only think of one possibility and he didn't even like to consider it.
"That's about it, I guess," Rachel said, looking a little more relieved.
"I see," Drew replied thoughtfully. There has to be something, something else, he thought, I just know she's holding back on me.
"Come now," he told her in a soft and appealing voice. "You and I both know that I'm not stupid, Rachel. If my niece didn't want to come home, it wasn't because she missed her independence. Her folks are the last people in the world to hassle her. They let her go off to Europe with you and your other friend, didn't they?"
"Well, I guess so," Rachel murmured, turning her eyes down as he edged even closer so that now his thigh was up against her nearest leg.
Drew trembled involuntarily, able to feel the heat of her flesh permeating her skirt and the material of his trousers. Slowly as possible he slid his leg back and forth, frictioning and rubbing up against her thigh. It was all he could do to contain himself, feeling the need to reach out and embrace her, to pull her towards him and press his body hotly against her slim and nubile young figure.
But he held himself back, enjoying her covert glances, the way he was positive he kept seeing her eyes dart down to gaze with flickering pleasure at the sight of his bloated and swollen crotch. Behind the fly of his tweed trousers his cock seemed to be on fire. His crotch felt hot and clammy and already, thick pearly dribbles of pre-seminal fluid were leaking out of his piss-hole and trickling down along the trapped and imprisoned length of his boner.
"So where is she then? Jeez, if she's having a ball, if she met some stud, I'd be the last person in the world to drag her home," he announced, choosing his words carefully.
At the mention of "stud" her eyes betrayed her.
She glanced up into his eyes with another telltale expression. Drew felt he had latched onto something and he was already trying to put the pieces together in his mind.
"Sure," he continued, "I wouldn't think twice about leaving her, if she's having fun, that is. But if she's decided he's a drag, well, then she might as well come on home. Right, Rachel?"
And saying this, even as he continued to rub his leg up and down along her thigh, he slid his hand down from where it was resting possessively over her shoulders, draped there like a boa, or an ornament of flesh, bone and muscle.
He inched his fingers towards the jutting shelf that was her jugs, his fingers tingling as he felt her breath coming in sweet hot surges. Her breasts rose and fell and she held her breath, not saying a word to him as his hand moved slowly down, trying to cup the nearest of her twin rounded knockers.
"Come on, tell me," he insisted in a more forceful and demanding tone of voice. "I can keep a secret, for God sakes."
She said nothing.
"Come on," he prodded.
"I… I promised," she stammered, blushing with confusion.
And it was then, even as she hung her head down, red-cheeked and not knowing what to say or do, that his fingers made contact. The instant he touched her nearest tit, cupping it firmly in the palm of one large and hairy paw, the girl trembled almost convulsively. But what delighted Drew more than anything else was that the youngster made no move to pull away.
Girls these days were a different lot than when he was a teenager. Now, sex was as prevalent and open as the use of drugs and confident that this was just the beginning of what might very well turn into an hour or two of both revelation as well as revelry, he began to rotate the palm of his hand around in circles, pressing his fingers down against her lush succulent young boob.
Rachel stiffened, but still she made no move to pull away. Drew grew even more confident of his powers of seductive persuasion. The best way to the truth was through her twat, he quipped with an unseen grin, knowing too that he would not be satisfied until he had gained rights to both of these concepts, learning what had happened to his niece as well as learning what lay beneath the girl's loose-fitting clothes.
So he continued to palm her jug, squeezing it delicately and able to feel the way her nipple was swelling in heated response. She whimpered softly, as if she was a trapped animal in less pain than otherwise might have been the case.
But Drew Livingston had certain things going for him, and one of those – aside from his big meat – was the fact that he was the kind of man many girls, teenagers in particular, fell for, hook, line and sinker.
Possessed of raw and burly good looks, the picture of a middle-aged man in his athletic and virile prime, he had a rugged movie star quality about him, that and a general openness to new ideas. He was the kind of man who liked Bach and the Beatles, who could just as easily get stoned and wiped out on martinis as well as marijuana, the kind of well-hung stud who at the age of thirty-five was just reaching his virile peak.
So it was actually no great triumph or surprise to him that the dark-haired teenybopper was being so receptive. Despite her passivity, she wasn't stopping him and he had all the moves at his disposal, knowing exactly how to turn her on and keep her aroused until he was up there with her, the two of them enjoying the fruits of each other's physical presences.
His other hand went into action then and ever so gently and carefully, almost as if she was a china or porcelain figurine that could be easily damaged, he eased her back against the love seat and swung around, resting precariously on the edge of the cushion and using both hands to work on her tits.
Her eyes were half-closed, but that didn't matter to him at the moment. If the girl's parents were due to arrive, he was certain she would have said something to that effect. But since she had remained silent, he gathered that privacy was not something he had to worry about for the time being, at least.
With growing confidence he plied his craft, the seduction of hot-blooded adolescent girls being his stock in trade. This was his metier, his element and he knew exactly what to do and how to do it. Both hands swiveled delicately yet stimulatingly around her jugs, palming them and tweaking each stiff and turgid young nipple.
He could feel them swelling beneath her blouse and as he held onto one of her tits, he used his other hand to rapidly unbutton Rachel's blouse. Her silence was a bit unnerving, but perhaps she was more nervous than he realized.
But whatever she was thinking, whatever was going through her mind, he knew for sure that she was getting increasingly aroused, turned on by his sexual pyrotechnics. Almost without her being aware of it he had her blouse undone and at the moment he pulled it out of confinement from her skirt, peeling it open like parting the layers of a blossom, she jerked against the back of the love seat and gasped with a sound of surprise.
"Wait," she muttered half-convincingly.
"It's all right," he whispered. "If Amy can do it, why can't you?" With these words of what he hoped would be a kind of rationalization and small comfort, he opened her blouse up slowly. Her cheeks were splotched with a blush of confusion. But at the sight of her gloriously naked boobs, Drew knew that he couldn't hold back or stop himself any longer.
Her ripe tender jugs were buoyed up by their own firm resiliency, rising and falling gently in time to her labored breaths. The aureoles looked prickled with goose bumps around the perimeter and capping each of her cone-shaped beauties were stiff and ruby-red nipples, their tips rounded and smoothed off.
He plucked them between his thumb and index finger, then spit into the palm of his hand and rubbed his slobber over one nipple and then the other, lubricating them so that his hand glided over her jugs, fondling and arousing her even more.
Her whimpers grew more insistent and demanding and the moment he caught her glancing down again at his bloated crotch, the moment she seemed to instinctively and involuntarily thrust her hips forward in a demanding coital love-gesture, he knew she was his, that it was time to give her the full treatment and not hold anything back.
Hopefully, success would result in additional knowledge about Amy's whereabouts, as if he would gain her confidence through giving her physical pleasure and thus learn what had really happened to his seductive niece.
With this aim first and foremost in his mind, aside from his own sexual release that is, he kept at it, growing more confident of himself and more certain that Rachel was willing and able to do whatever he would propose.
He said nothing to her, rubbing his hands over her melons before sliding off the love seat. He knelt right between her legs, pleased when she opened her thighs so that he could edge right up against her. And then, with lowered head, he started doing a job on her knockers the likes of which he hoped she'd never enjoyed before.
An expert at tit-sucking, he worked with maddened fervor, teasing each nipple until it responded and grew even stiffer and more swollen from his oral caresses. His lips glued themselves to her jugs, one hand working on one tit while he mouthed the other hot and surging mammary.
"Oh, oh shit, oh no, shit," she kept mumbling in confusion. Yet she still made no attempt to stop him as he slobbered more aggressively, supping on her ripe tender knockers.
His lips were fastened tightly around one nipple and then the other. He frictioned down with the edges of his front teeth, using his tongue at the same time to lick and slurp across every inch of her hot young boobs. He could have gone on like this for hours, but he knew that time was of the essence, not wanting to be caught red-handed should one of Rachel's parents arrive home unexpectedly.
So once he had done justice to her girlish and succulent mounds, his tongue began to traverse her body, licking down along her chest, even as his fingers continued to pull and toy with her boobs. He tasted a thin layer of salty sweat along her skin and he could feel her heart beating rapidly, prime indicator of her rising excitement and youthful desire.
He intended to give her everything she wanted, even if she didn't know she wanted it, not yet at least. Accordingly, kneeling there between her thighs, he tongued down to the slit of her navel, probed its puckered folds and pulled her lower until she was slouching down and her skirt had risen up towards her bare and dimpled knee caps.
His hands slid down and then began to move up along her calves, inching higher, caressing her bony flat knees and then gliding up along the warm resilient flesh of her shapely thighs. Rachel panted more loudly and openly and made no move to prevent him from continuing his torrid sexual advances.
The silence was almost an additional stimulant, turning Drew on even more than ever. He rubbed his hands up her thighs and used his tongue to slide along the waistband of her skirt, actually dipping right underneath it. He couldn't feel the elastic ringing the waist of her panties, but he knew she had them on and tried sliding his tongue down even farther.
She shivered against him and he edged her skirt up, baring more and more of her olive-hued thighs. And then with a sudden savage gesture which left her relatively breathless, he hoisted her skirt like a billowing sail, pulling it up around her waist and thighs.
He didn't care that she had failed to respond, to lift her butt off the couch so that he could push her skirt completely up around her waist. For he was still able to see what he had waited for. Now, it was all he could do to contain himself.
He wasn't anxious now, unless of course Rachel Strauss was a teenage tease, a cockteaser who would put a stop to his advances just when he was ready to consummate his lusts. He hoped that wouldn't be the case for as in the past, he'd discovered that in those kind of situations he reverted to more animalistic and demanding behavior, getting his way even if his teenage sex mate was no longer interested in finishing what he had started, namely, allowing him to ball her.
Hopefully, Rachel was not of that odious adolescent breed.
Praying that things would go his way, he now stared with open-eyed delight. He had a perfect bird's-eye view of the tightly stretched slip that was her pink nylon panties, able to see the dark and arousing shadow of her tender young muff, visible behind the front of her undies.
And even more than that allusive and revealing shadow, he could see the V-shaped depression of her muff, that and the way her twin outer cunt lips seemed puffy and rounded as two tiny sausages bordering her split.
Certain as well that the crotch of her bikini briefs appeared to be damp with what he knew was cunt juice and not urine, he bent his head down and started using his tongue to lick across the front of her undies.
Her body trembled against him and he detected a slight forward motion, the way her hips trembled and the horns of her pubic mound shuddered as she pushed her pussy towards his lowered face. Delighted by the way he was succeeding in arousing her, he grew even more confident of his seductive endeavors.
His tongue was wide, raspy-edged as a fine file. He licked up and down right between the puffy sausage-shaped outlines of her labia majorum, tasting in increasing concentration the juices of her succulent young honey pot.
Her crotch was emanating an absorbing musky odor, an aroma of spice, pungent with the smell of her oily and murky vaginal secretions. It was his favorite perfume, and he inhaled deeply, sliding his tongue along the scratchy surface of her nylon undies. He could feel her pubic hairs rustling on the other side, the sound growing louder the more forcefully he plied his tongue.
Rachel was whimpering loudly then, losing her shy reserve the more he worked on her box. He pushed the tip of his probing tongue right between the outline of her puffy smooth edged cunt lips, actually digging it right inside her muff, stuffing the nylon along with his tongue, since he hadn't yet taken off her panties.
That seemed to do the trick, all right.
She let out a tremulous gasp and immediately, Drew reached up with both hands. He had been tickling the tender flesh along the insides of her thighs as he slobbered over the crotch of her briefs. But now he knew she was right there with him, just as turned on, just as eager for him to keep at it and in every way he knew how, as well.
As a result, he didn't think twice or hesitate to grab hold of the elastic waistband of her panties. And as she groaned and shuddered against him, thrusting her slim nubile hips back and forth on the love seat, he wrenched her panties down with a sudden forceful motion of his hand.