The Uncle

On a Friday, I rode in the back seat, my legs stretched forward between the front seats, resting next to his arms. My long legs in suntan pantyhose, with painted toe nails, high heeled sandals. When I climbed in and out of the car, I let my short skirt rise as short as it wanted. I wasn't wearing panties.

But I didn't know if he'd even noticed, if he even wanted to notice.

But the next morning, I woke up early and got out of bed, in my pink pajamas, and nothing under them. In the living room, unplanned, he met me, and we stood close, face to face, I could feel his warmth, his breath. My hair caught in the stubble of new beard, as my forehead nuzzled toward his chin, not quite touching. Our breathing was deep, muscles tense. There was flame rising in me, my heart pounded. In one room, slept his spouse. In the other slept mine. I looked down to see the bulge straining at his pants.

He said to me, in the deep rich voice, just above a whisper.

"Yesterday, my dick was hard as a rock all day and there was nothing I could say or do. You asked if I hate you... I don't hate your. All I know is you gave me one hell of a hand-job. If there was anything more than a hand-job, don't say it. You hold that close to you. "

"I just regret, not putting my face in that fountain, not tasting it" I breathed back. 
So close, every fiber alive, wanting.

"You want to watch?"

He pulled it out, showed it to me, and my eyes grew wide, overcome again with the sheer size, as he stroked it. He indicated to follow him into the bathroom, leaving the door open. I was dizzy, excited, moisture accumulating between my legs. He was letting me see him, again.

I glanced toward the slightly open door, anyone could wake up and come in. This took some adrenaline, definitely took some balls to go for a chance this risky. But the power to resist was not in me, I didn't want to.

He stood outside the shower, and began to masturbate. I watched his hands, his hard cock, his expression. That look of sheer need on his face, a mixture of pleasure and lust and anticipation, that look that says

"Don't look away, I'm about to cum."

But then, he walked toward me, facing me.

"Here, hurry, kneel down". He directed.

I was thinking "Oh my, he's going to let me catch some of this in my mouth, feel it on me as it shoots through the air.

But instead, he stepped even closer, and in astonishment, I opened my mouth, and he slipped his penis in, deeper and deeper, past pink lips, teeth, tingling tongue, all the way to the back of my throat. His hand on the back of my head buried in my hair, my mouth working him, his thrusting. My whole mouth was filled with him, lips stretched wide, my throat making room for the head of his cock as it went down farther with each thrust. I couldn't believe I was doing this, all the pleasure of serving him, of having him penetrate at least this part of me. It was firm, but soft on the end, that flawless combination of form, force and smoothness, overcoming the dimensions of my mouth, stretching me from the outside in. The taste was rich, velvety, the taste of a manly strength. His scent seeped into my mind, the scent of his skin, his sweat, his essence, an aroma so incredibly arousing and powerful, amazing. Every nerve and the impulses that run from the nerves in my mouth to other parts of my body were struck with the electricity of sensation.

He was as far down as his dick would reach, past the back of my mouth, into my throat. My throat muscles tried to contract, as he grew even firmer, that burst of fierceness the proceeds release. I swallowed, one hand pressed into his pubic hair at the base, the other reaching around him to help press him in into me. I don't know what my expression was, but maybe it was a look of wonder, loyalty, adoration, arousal, pleasure, a hint of the :question of is this enough for you?" I looked up at him, dark eyes to dark eyes, as he exploded into my throat, the bubbling rush of thick liquid, gushing. I swallowed with every pulse, took it inside of me, striving past the little choking sounds, as I overcame my body's natural response in order to be able to experience this completely. I wanted it, wanted him, wanted every cell he would give me. Even as I gulped every drop I could, some spread into my mouth across the back of my tongue, as I swallowed, and I tasted it, salty musky, sacred. Him. Filling my mouth, my throat, Filling me.

I was shaking, with desire and pleasure, and something I can't name. The realization that he would let me do this, that this was really happening, was completely overwhelming. I felt beautiful, worthy somehow, but so small, fragile but powerful. Giving and receiving, because my reward at this moment was in the giving. He was all that mattered, his pleasure and satisfaction were, in that point in time and space, the sole purpose of my existence. And I loved it, loved seeing it, being a part of his extasy.

He pulled out, slipped that magnificent piece of machinery out from between my lips, and when he did, some remaining cum dripped out of him, and splashed onto my pajama pants. I knew I would never want to wash them again. I didn't want to drink, didn't want to brush my teeth, didn't want to eat, not really. Because I wanted to savor the taste of him as long as I could, capture the memory of the feel of that very long, firm part of him filling my pink, young mouth.

I carried the knowledge of it with me, a secret, heavy but wonderful, knowing that I'd never forget a single second, never forget the indescribable way he felt, tasted, smelled, the sense of him. My body would always remember. And maybe, it wasn't supposed to matter. Maybe the only "real" aspect was supposed to be the physical significance, the way I met his needs in a way no girl precisely had before, and the way being able to serve him like that ignited me to a higher level of sexuality. But the truth is, it meant something. To me at least, it meant everything.