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Category: Incest
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It began with a pair of panties, left in the wash by my wife, belonging to my niece, and the unmistakable fragrance of sweet, tender young pussy and fruits forbidden.

She had “blossomed” that summer, her breasts growing full and round like honeydew melons, her cheeks rose petal pink, her lips strawberry red, her cute navel peaking out from beneath her half shirts like the inner part of a morning glory, her ass…

those wonderful globes of firm, perfectly heart-shaped, bouncing young flesh, two squeezable handfuls that always seemed to be wiggling or jiggling in one way or another.

My wife and her would bike on Saturdays, all squeezed into their spandex shorts and shirts, radiating a healthy glow of sunshine and fresh air and Summer, endless Summer.

She’d begun to get a clue about the effect she had on the male population. A slew of boys were continuously sniffing after her. Indeed, when I got within smelling distance I felt my hormone level rise like sap in a Spring tree. I’d have had to be dead or gay not to have reacted to her newly blossomed sexuality. She had become, overnight, a startling combination of sweet-thing girlish naivete wrapped up in a fuckably nasty set of outrageous curves.

Well, I played it cool. Hell, I knew my brother would have killed me if I’d done anything. Well, if I’d done anything and he’d found out, that is. In the end, though, I did and he didn’t.

It happened when I found the panties in the wash. My wife was gone visiting family down south and I was doing the laundry and I came across’em – lacy flower-print cotton and redolent of the pure essence of feminine sweetness. You see, that bike seat, with it’s tapered front end, wedges its way up between her slender, shapely legs, nudges the cotton crotch of her panties up inside her puffy labials, massaging her precious little nubbin of joy all the while. Soaked with secretions, the smell of secret lust and wet dreams wafted up to my nostrils.

There I am standing at the washer, panties to nose, and the doorbell rings. When I opened the door there she is in her spandex, looking like the budding flower she is, covered with a lovely sheen of bike-sweat. She’s returning a pump. I invite her in for a drink. She shows me an oozing red road rash on elbow and thigh. Ouch. Just happened down the road. I lead her to the bathroom, down the hall, passed the washer with her panties still draped over the bin.

I’m blunt but tender: this is going to hurt. She whimpers a little. I do the elbow first then have her sit to do the thigh. Her leg muscles shudder to the wet touch of the washcloth. She smells like a garden in heaven must smell, exactly like her panties. She comments how gentle I am, thanks me. Her voice, high and sweet, is strained. She’s self-conscious. And me, I’m dying there. The scent of her makes my head reel. I can see the outline of her pussy lips through the tight material of her bike shorts. We’re jammed in that bathroom, the proximity is intense, intimate, the tension is like electricity arcing in the space between us, fizz, fizz, pop, pop. Her nipples are pushing out against her sports bra. My cock aches it’s so hard. I can’t stand up without revealing its full engorged state.

I stand up. It’s at eye level with where she sits, and she gapes at the straining fabric of my gym shorts, her mouth open, barely breathing. For several moments we hover at the verge, at the edge of possibility, each heartbeat an eternity, the silence ringing in my ears – or is it blood?

A hand, soft and tentative, reaches out and pulls down the band of my shorts. The great bulbous head surges out from its confine, triumphant and free and glorious in its undeniable lust. We freeze there, the two of us, me with washcloth in hand, shirtless, gym shorts pulled down slightly, cock pointing right at her face, she sitting, trembling visibly, chest beginning to heave, eyes locked on the pulsing object of desire.

As though not of her own volition, as though drawn like a baby to nipple, she brings her lips to the cockhead and sucks it oh so gently into the wet warmth of her mouth, swirling her tongue along the underside. Oh god. I groan from somewhere deep inside and run a hand through her hair. She engulfs more, her lips stretched now around its girth, sucking down its length. She doesn’t know what she’s doing, but she’s doing it anyway. I want to plunge my fullness deep down her throat, but I am captivated by her sweet willing naivete. How could this be happening?

Suddenly, as though some higher-functioning part of her brain suddenly engaged, she pulls back, turns away, catches her breath. I pull up my pants. Thank you, I say and we leave the bathroom. At the washer I see her panties, pick them up and hand them to her. She looks at them, then at me. She is shivering like a leaf in a breeze and her fragrance fills my nostrils. I lift her up in one easy motion, carry her to the bedroom.

Is this your first time? She nods, meekly, eyes the size of two big blue ponds.

It should be special. I’ll make it special.

My niece is lying propped on her elbows on my marriage bed, her legs slightly askew, a wet spot spreading across her biking shorts’ crotch.

Take off your shirt and bra. She does, nipples distended a full inch, throbbing. She blushes from face to chest.

From my wife’s bureau I take two pair of pantyhose, and a couple of t-shirts from mine. I wrap her wrists in the t-shirts and secure her arms to the bedposts with the hose. Best she shouldn’t have to think about what she’s doing. I’m in control now.

Climbing on the bed, I reach under her ass and grab her shorts and panties, pull them down to her ankles, remove the shorts but not the panties. She whimpers. Holding the panties, I lift her legs up and back toward her head, virtually bending her in half. She looks at me through her legs, pupils dilated full black. I kiss her thighs, so white and tender and supple and surprisingly strong, twirling little circles with my tongue. I can feel her taut muscle fiber just below the skin. The slit of her virgin cunt is seeping sticky wetness, the lips red and swollen. The scent of her is heady, I feel myself being pulled into her, drawn into the vortex of her. I swipe the flat of my tongue along the length of her crack, from anus to clit, she bucks her hips up at my face. She is staring down at me, but her eyes are glazed over. I revel in the sweetness, slightly tangy, with a little trace of salt but still as sweet as Summer honey.

With her legs held up, she is completely exposed to me and I use my free hand to probe gently around the crack of her ass, tickling her anus. I can dip my tongue deep inside her, run my lips up to kiss and suckle the hardening flesh of her clit. I work a rhythm with her panting – probe, lick, kiss, suck. She is writhing against the bonds, beginning to thrash now, head rolling to and fro on the pillow. She cries out each time I capture her little bud, and when I send an exploratory finger inside her burbling pussy, she gasps.

There. Right there. She has a g-spot. Right there. I hold my finger in place, latch onto the fountain of her sweetness and she erupts, humping hard against my tongue, the juice of her gushes thick and warm out her cunt and down the crack of her ass, soaking the bedding. From her throat a constricted and protracted whine.

Afterward, just lying there, she has a series of convulsive mini-orgasms, without my even touching her. She is too sensitive to touch. I stand, get a couple of rubbers from my drawer and put one on. Her eyes are barely open and watching me but not focussed.

The oil is on the window sill, hot in the sun. I dribble some on her breasts. Nestled in now between her outstretched legs, I run my hands up her belly, massage and sculpt the perfection of her tits, so white and smooth, flick the nipples and squeeze them. They have inverted tips, and I discover she likes it hard, so I pinch harder. Her back arches off the bed to shove those luscious mounds into my rough, strong hands.

I hoist her lower half and stuff a pillow under her. My cock slides along the crack of her cunt. She is ready, wraps her legs around my ass, wiggles against me. Looming over her supine, bound, and spreadeagled form, I am a large dark presence to her lightness, hardness to her soft, male to her female, god to her goddess.

This will hurt. She nods, knowing.

With one hand I open the puffy lips of her pussy and slowly force the bluntness of my pulsating erection into the cavity of her cunt. She is very wet but very tight, and I am careful, slow in my advance.

You are sweetest fuck I’ve ever had. You are beyond beautiful. I am going to take you where you’ve never been before. And you me.

Slowly, exquisitely, centimeter by squeezing centimeter I enter the center of her. A few short in-out strokes to grease the rod and I push forward to the maidenhead, the last vestige of the girl she was once.

One hand holding her ass, the other holding me above her, I lock her eyes on mine.

Look into my eyes. Look. This is the moment. Hold on.

One thrust of my pelvis and the thin veil of her girlhood rips apart, shredded and pushed aside by a spike of manflesh.

She cries out at the shock of it, breathing hard. I hold myself still inside her.

You’re a woman. Being fucked. Fucking me.

Slowly I withdraw my rude invasion of her depths, only to re-ply those tender folds with a new assault. Slicked with her lubricant, the red rampant steed plunges effortlessly now. I rotate my hips to grind my pelvis against her swollen clitoris. Pull back till just the helmeted head is inside her gasping maw, then dive back into her depths to grind and churn against her rolling thighs.

Her orgasms come in waves. I can feel them as well as hear them. She shudders, holds her breath, then releases a groan and a gush of fluid that spurts out around my cock on the in-stroke, an obscene squishing sound.

I am thrusting with abandon, rocking her whole frame with the impact of my body against hers. She is gone, arms above her head held slack against the restraints, eyes closed or staring empty into space, body erupting and flowing and pausing only long enough to gather itself and erupt and flow, flex and release, cum and cum again. And again. She is in another place altogether, one only a woman can know, fucked entirely in body, mind and soul, given over to the white hot moment of pure sensuality.

I’m going to cum. You’re hot nasty body is going to make me spew my hot sperm. You are so fucking sweet, so fuckably sweet, you’re a damned hot woman. Here it comes.

At the last moment I withdraw, pull the condom off and rub the length of my cock along her slit. She looks down in time to see the jism launch all over her belly, tits and one great spurt fly all the way to her chin. I am bellowing. The world is imploding on us.

What have I done? Untied, she lies like an old ragdoll, limp and used. I daub a wet washcloth over her body, with love and care. My guilt wrestles with the exquisite pleasure I have just partaken. I curl in behind her and we spoon. Later, when we awake, she assuages my troubled heart when she grabs another condom, backs herself onto my hard cock and fucks me slowly and oh so sweetly.

I am to be her teacher. And she mine.

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