Uncle Bob

Chapter 16. The Gift That Keeps Giving

© Bad Hobbit 2021

The last couple of weeks before the girls went to college were a little weird, to say the least. But, as you'll know if you've followed my story this far, me and Weird have been in a long-term and intensely sexual relationship -- by which I mean that it was all now 'fucking Weird'.

Firstly, when Stacey got back from Chicago, it seemed that she'd made her peace with her mom, and felt obliged to move back 'home', which was a pain in the ass for both of us. She was able to have Hannah stay over with her, so at least

her

sexual drive was being satisfied, even if mine wasn't. But I still had her and Hannah come over to mine as often as I could. In fact, I even had Hannah to myself for a whole weekend, as Dolores had bought (just) Stacey a ticket to a show, down in Miami, and wanted to visit South Beach while they were there for a weekend. I'd kinda guessed that Josh would be with them, but Stacey said no.

So it was a little weird, having cute, previously-shy Hannah in my bed without Stacey. And even though we'd already done just about everything possible without resorting to pain or 'yukkiness', she seemed to behave a little as though it was our first time. With my slut-princess driving things, I guess Hannah had had to behave as sluttily as her BFF. With just the two of us, she seemed a little more reserved. We became gentler, softer. Sure, she wore some hot outfits for me, including the slutty schoolgirl stuff and the strap-harness that Stacey had worn, which looked even hotter with Hannah's bigger titties poking through and worn with sexy stockings. We played with vibrators, and I double-penetrated her with my cock in her ass and a large-ish rabbit vibrator in her pussy, and yeah, she again showed me she'd learned to deep-throat like a pro.

But mostly, we made love. We kissed a lot. I spent maybe half of our 'sex time' together on gentle foreplay, stroking and licking her skin, sucking her lovely nipples and squeezing her delectable titties, rimming her peachy ass and eating her pussy. She oiled up her gorgeous, gently curvy body and rubbed it all over me, taking my cock between her tits and getting me off in that warm valley, with occasional sucks on my cock head. Oh, and I tied her to the bed with the restraints Stacey had bought and then played with her tits, pussy and ass until she came four times and actually squirted twice. I should have bought a ball-gag, because she screamed and yelled even more than the slut-in-chief.

But it wasn't all about sex. As I was starting to prepare dinner on the Friday evening, she'd asked if she could play my acoustic, which she'd noticed hanging on one of the wall hooks where I keep my selection of guitars. I'm very precious about most of my instruments, particularly the Martin, but I got it down, tuned it and handed it to her. She smiled, and then started playing and singing a delightful version of Janis Ian's 'At Seventeen'. OK, the song was written maybe 25 years before the girl was born, and is about someone who doesn't have the looks of someone like Hannah, but I could tell by the wistful way she performed it that she felt some resonance. Sure, she was pretty, and I was certain that I wasn't the first guy to notice this, but from what Stacey had said, Hannah hadn't had the best of times at school.

One verse in, dinner preparation was on hold and I was lifting my Telecaster from the wall and plugging it in. By the end of the middle-eight, I was able to enjoy the huge smile on Hannah's face when I started to improvise some licks for the guitar solo, and then sing some harmonies on the last verse. Now Stacey can shred on guitar -- she likes my Strat, in particular, finding the Les Paul a little heavy -- and Hannah isn't anywhere near as good, but she was playing some tricky chords pretty competently. She also had a sweet singing voice, which just needed some PA to give it a little more volume.

When she'd finished, I told her how lovely it sounded, and asked if she knew anything else. I was surprised by the variety of things she named. Some songs by Avril Lavigne, Ellie Goulding, Carly Rae Jepsen, Pink, Lana Del Ray, but also another couple of really old -- but great -- songs that I knew quite well. When she mentioned 'Left of Center' by Suzanne Vega, I insisted we play it. Throwing in occasional harmonies and laying down a subtle electric line over Hannah's sweet vocals and strummed chords was sublime. It seemed odd that this lovely girl seemed to focus on songs about outsiders, as if they reflected her own situation. I was eager to remedy that.

With dinner now fully postponed, I set out some chips and dips, poured us some drinks, and we played a couple of other things Hannah knew, including Extreme's 'More Than Words'. I was having one of my crazy ideas.

"Hey, Hannah. How about we go down to Rocky's tomorrow night and see if we can get two or three songs together? This would blow the audience away."

"I'm not sure. See, I've never really played in public before. I mean, like, once to my school in Ann Arbor but, like, never to a room full of strangers."

"It's easy, I promise you. And it's far harder to play to people you know than people you'll never see again. How about we choose a couple of things where I sing lead and you harmonize. Then maybe something where you sing lead. Once you've done the first one or two, you'll see how simple it is."

We had a lighter dinner than I'd planned, over an hour late, and then we went to bed. We made love slowly and gently. I appreciated, and exploited, her skin sensitivity, the way she reacted when I stroked her silky thighs or ran my tongue up her spine. I brought her to the brink of orgasm twice with my tongue and fingers before she lifted my head from between her thighs and just whispered "Now?"

As I slid up and over her body, she spread her legs wide for me, and in one smooth movement, my cock-head found her entrance and tunneled in. I savored the expression on her sweet face; watched her eyes close, her mouth fall open, her head go back, as I slid deeper and deeper. Then her arms and legs wrapped around me, her gorgeous tits pressed tightly against my chest, and I began a slow, sensuous rocking action of long, lazy thrusts. Her little gasps and moans were as musical to me as the songs we'd sung together earlier. I wiggled around in that snug, wet saddle, moving into a position where I could rub her extra-large clit with the upper surface of my cock as I slid in and out of her silky cunt. And after not too many minutes -- I didn't try to keep count, because it was all so glorious -- she came. It wasn't the legs-thrashing, writhing about, squirting kind of climax I'd sometimes given her; just a delicious, warm and deep orgasm that went on for some time. About halfway through, I let go and filled her with my cum, finishing with our bodies pressed tightly together, and kissing. Kissing as though we were in love.

"That was so beautiful, Uncle Bob," she sighed, smiling up at me, before she pulled my head back down and kissed me again. We lay there for quite a while, just kissing and holding each other until I felt my softened cock slide out, and I pulled the wad of tissues from under the pillow and reached down to plug the leakage.

After a quick clean-up, we returned to bed and she fell asleep in my arms. I lay awake for some time, a little conflicted. In my heart I just wanted to marry Stacey, so we could be together forever. But that wasn't going to happen, and we both knew we'd have to find someone else, sooner or later. Now this weird thing was happening between Hannah and me; I was in serious danger of falling in love with this shy, beautiful creature, and it somehow felt wrong. It was like I was being disloyal to my princess -- even if she was mostly a slut-princess these days. She was away with her mom in Miami, while I was fucking her best friend in the bed we'd so often shared. Sure, she knew about it, and would probably have encouraged me, but this was becoming about more than sex. My mind went through future possibilities where Stacey, married or not, would join Hannah and me in some multi-way sex on a regular basis. Maybe she'd find a guy that we all liked, and we could have some wonderful foursomes together, somewhere exotic.

My last thoughts, before drifting off to sleep, were whether, if we became Mormons, I'd be allowed to marry both my niece and her best friend. Now that would be paradise.

On Saturday, I took Hannah to the mall. We did the inevitable clothes shopping. Seeing Hannah in some outrageous outfits (that she said she considered 'so cool') reminded me of the many times I'd waited outside the changing rooms to see my slut-angel parading similarly outrageous outfits. This did nothing to help the increasing tightness in my underpants

While I was waiting, I made a phone call. "Hey Bob, how're you doing? I saw your heroics on the news a few weeks back. Way to go man! That asshole was built like a buffalo!"

"Thanks, Steve. I'd like to come down and jam with you guys tomorrow night. Do you have some space?"

"Shouldn't be a problem -- especially now you're a local hero."

"Shit, man, please don't tell anyone. I just want to play it cool. And anyway, I'll be bringing someone you'll like."

"Hey, is Stacey gonna jam with you? If so, you need to fuck off and leave her with us. She rocks, man, and she's way better than you on guitar."

"Sure, and One Direction are musical geniuses. But no, this is even better. Stacey's best friend Hannah is staying with me, and she's awesome. She doesn't play guitar as well as Stacey, but she has a great voice and a superb repertoire." I listed around a half-dozen songs that we'd either sung together at my place or she'd sung along with in the car. "Could you guys jam along with any of those?"

"Shit, man. If she can sing all that, we'll play them all. Let me tell the guys and we'll maybe have a quick run-through beforehand. Are they all in the original keys?"

Saturday night, I made us some

pasta puttanesca

and a little side salad, while listening to Hannah play a few more things, and adding a few harmonies of my own. We drank wine together as we ate, and then I showed her some of our homemade porn.

"Uncle Bob, I had no idea you were recording this. That's really not nice. I mean, if, like, anyone got hold of these -- oh my God! They'd think I was such a slut."

"Hannah, baby, on that weekend you

were

such a slut, and we all loved it. But don't worry. All the recordings are on encrypted disks in my fire-safe. They're purely for you, me and the slut-princess to enjoy. And talking of enjoying..."

Hannah came, quite dramatically, bent over the table, my cock up her sweet, tight ass -- after I'd spent a lot of time preparing that particular cavity -- and with a small vibrator on her clit, watching a video of me fucking her up the ass. I couldn't hold on either. I could feel myself coming before Hannah's ass started squeezing me. The video was hot, and fucking Hannah up the ass for real was even hotter.

On the Sunday, we went to the beach. Hannah looked gorgeous in her bikini, and we just chilled. Later, I dropped in at Rocky's to check out a couple of things, then we went home and ran through the songs I'd told her about again. She seemed nervous, but I kept reassuring her it'd all be fine. I cooked us up a simple chicken meal, and then, around eight, we went down to Rocky's. I put a few things on in the car for us to sing along with, letting Hannah warm up her voice and try to dispel some of her nerves.

When Steve and the guys saw Hannah, they started grinning in the way that all horny guys do when they see a hot babe. Hannah was in a tight t-shirt and little shorts and looked gorgeous and highly fuckable. This was most definitely not lost on the guys in the band. The place was pretty quiet until around nine, and then the band played a few things and I sat in on one or two. Around nine-thirty, I signaled to Hannah. Kris, who did most of the singing, introduced her, and she stepped shyly up onto the low stage.

We kicked off with 'More Than Words' -- me on the Martin, Kris on lead vocals and Hannah and me harmonizing. It went well, although she was rather quiet and her voice a little thin. There was some enthusiastic applause when Kris credited Hannah for her part, and then said "And now she's going to sing a couple of things for you, so please give a big, Rocky's welcome to Hannah!"

We started up the intro to 'Left of Center' -- the version with Joe Jackson on piano -- with me on Strat doing the Knopfler-style guitar licks. Hannah had obviously heard the original, but she was more familiar with the two-guitar version she and I had played over this weekend. When she realized that she had the whole band backing her, her eyes lit up. What I've always loved about the song is the understated, almost minimal guitar and piano on it, and I was a little worried that she wouldn't recognize her cue, but I needn't have worried; she clearly knew the song well.

I'd told her that, if she was nervous, to just close her eyes and imagine she was singing it at home with her headphones on, and this was what she did, giving the whole thing an intimate feel. I watched the audience, and we had their full attention. Often, people talk while you're playing, which can be annoying. Not with this song. Every eye was on Hannah, and there was barely a murmur. When we finished -- she glanced at me and I nodded to tell her to step back from the mic, so we could play an ending that isn't on the record (it fades out) -- the audience went nuts. Almost everyone stood up and applauded. Hannah's face was a picture. I saw a tear trickle down her cheek.

So I went across and hung the Martin around her neck. I could see just how excited she was, to be doing something that she loved and giving pleasure to so many people. (She and I had already spent some time doing something we both loved and giving pleasure to each other, but we couldn't really do that in public). When she started up 'At Seventeen', all on her own, there was a collective whoop of approval around the room. I was again impressed by how much feeling she put into her singing, as if this was about her. When the band joined in, after the first verse, she glanced at me and smiled. Her voice, which had been a little hesitant at first, was now going at full power, and again, she had the audience in the palm of her hand. When she'd finished, everyone was on their feet, and Hannah was almost bouncing off the stage in excitement. There were loud cries of 'more!' I put down the Strat and retrieved the Martin from around Hannah's neck.

"I -- I'm sorry. Er, we don't know any more," she said into the mic, a little nervously.

I leaned into my own mic. "Actually, we do," I said. Troy on drums started up, and a moment later we were into the intro of 'Love is a Battlefield'. Hannah had sung it enthusiastically with me in the car, so I knew this was something she could do. She looked at me open-mouthed. I smiled back at her and nodded. She turned back to the microphone and did the spoken introduction. There was none of her earlier nervousness -- this was a full-on Pat Benetar impression, and the audience were bouncing around and singing along.

When we finally got off stage -- with Kris promising 'more later' -- Hannah gave me a huge hug and a kiss. The other guys in the band insisted that she thank them in the same way, and she didn't seem to mind. They certainly didn't. I could see several younger members of the audience lining up, hoping to be similarly appreciated, so I steered Hannah towards a table and ordered a Virgin Mojito for her and a Monk in the Trunk for me. The other band members settled around us.

"Awesome performance, Hannah," Troy enthused. "Bob says it's the first time you've sung in public."

The look on her face was priceless. I remember the first time I'd played in public with a band. We were good, but a little nervous. We hit on a great crowd -- mostly bikers who always seem to appreciate good music, well played -- and we felt ten feet tall when we came off stage. Hannah looked like she could float off to the ceiling any moment. I got the impression that she wasn't used to this level of adulation -- people kept coming up to us and saying how great we'd been, and could we please play some more. Kris just said "We're working on it. Stick around."

Our drinks arrived. "Rocky says they're on the house," Pammie, our waitress, said as she set them down. "We've had people cramming in through the doors since you started playing 'Left of Center'. Awesome set, sweetie." She smiled at Hannah.

"Thanks, Pammie. That's the first time you've ever called me sweetie," I replied, and got flicked with a napkin.

Kris, Troy, Steve the keyboard player and Arnie, our bassist, were all competing for Hannah's attention. Fortunately, Steve and I got the conversation on track, checking that Hannah would be happy to sing a few more songs she knew if we were to provide the backing. Thirty minutes later, we went back on, and the whole place was echoing with 'Call Me Maybe'. Steve did some amazing things with the keyboard on that clever, syncopated, orchestral-style backing, and just about everyone was singing along. Rocky gave us another round of free drinks -- and another. When we finally packed up, nearly an hour later, I'd had so many beers that I got Hannah to drive us home.

I'd tried to fend off the guys that were swarming around, but several times during the evening, Hannah was surrounded by young, good-looking male admirers -- and even a couple of female ones. I thought back to my musings the night before and realized that I was deluded. Here was a beautiful, talented, brilliant young lady. Tonight I'd done what I needed to do -- boost her confidence -- and I'd enjoyed doing it. But it looked like I'd pay the price for mentoring her. Now she realized that she was no longer the 'ugly duckling girl' she'd sung about (and clearly identified with) in 'At Seventeen', she would stretch her wings and fly. And yes, she deserved to do that, but I would be the sad, older guy, left behind on the ground.

Back home, I returned my guitars to their places on the wall and then asked Hannah to fix us some coffees while I had a shower; it had been hot up there under the lights. Ten minutes later, as I stepped out of the shower, there was Hannah, naked and beautiful. She smiled at me -- her face seemed lit up from inside -- and just said "Thank you so, so much Uncle Bob." And then she was on her knees, sucking my cock.

Ladies, if you're ever stuck for what to give a guy as a present -- for his birthday, for Christmas or just to say thanks -- then remember that a blowjob is always high on most guys' lists of well-received gifts. It's even more appreciated if you can deep-throat, so Hannah's offering was, I felt, more than adequate for what I'd done for her. And the night's singing had clearly loosened up her throat, because, about a minute before I launched a thick stream of cum inside her, she was happily skull-fucking herself, hands-free, forehead slapping gently against my abs.

Shortly afterward, she did a little more singing -- though the lyrics were rather more limited -- as I ate her pussy and feasted on that nice, big clit, for about a half-hour. By then, I was ready to fuck, so I got her to ride me, reverse-cowgirl and facing the mirror, me rubbing her clit, until we'd both come again.

On Monday morning, I awoke as a beautifully-naked Hannah bounced onto the bed, Stacey-style.

"Hey, Uncle Bob, breakfast! I've brought you some juice, but you'll have to lick it up. And can I please have a nice protein shake?"

Like I've said before, sixty-nine has its advantages and disadvantages. If the girl's on top, the guy can get his face into the pussy and can probe both holes nice and easy, but the girl's tongue is the wrong side of his dick, and it's hard for her to lick the sensitive parts underneath the cock-head. However, with girls like Stacey and Hannah, this is less important, because most of the stimulation the guy gets is from the girl's throat -- tight and wet like a cunt. When girls like these just swallow you down, everything is cool. You don't even have to worry about who comes first. You can keep licking and fingering long after you've squirted your man-cream into her stomach. I promise you, guys -- she won't object.