Naughty Niece Visits Uncle

badgirl17

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ooc: Sample PM please

Samantha Smith walked up on the porch as her parents drove off. She walked up the stairs to her uncle's house.

Samantha was in big trouble. Even though she was only eighteen she had a good way with guys. By good, meaning she fucked every guy she could get her hands on. She was petite, with a round ass and big tits. She was every man's dream.

Sammy had been caught fucking the neighbor by his wife. Erika's parents thought that she should spend some time out in the country with her uncle. She knew this was going to suck big time since there would be no cocks out here for her to fuck and suck. She would be pleasing herself the next couple of days. She sighed as she knocked on the white door, waiting for a response. She wore a jean skirt, flip flops and a buttoned down blouse that showed some of her cleavage along with a black lace bra.

But if she had her way, she would seduce her uncle and show him how fun this little visit could be.
 
Uncle Brad

ooc: Sample PM please

Samantha Smith walked up on the porch as her parents drove off. She walked up the stairs to her uncle's house.

Samantha was in big trouble. Even though she was only eighteen she had a good way with guys. By good, meaning she fucked every guy she could get her hands on. She was petite, with a round ass and big tits. She was every man's dream.

Sammy had been caught fucking the neighbor by his wife. Erika's parents thought that she should spend some time out in the country with her uncle. She knew this was going to suck big time since there would be no cocks out here for her to fuck and suck. She would be pleasing herself the next couple of days. She sighed as she knocked on the white door, waiting for a response. She wore a jean skirt, flip flops and a buttoned down blouse that showed some of her cleavage along with a black lace bra.

But if she had her way, she would seduce her uncle and show him how fun this little visit could be.

The screen door whined open. Sammy's uncle Brad sauntered out onto the broad farmer's porch. He held his calloused hand above his eyes and watched a rooster tail of dust follow his brother's car back to the paved road, nearly a mile from the rustic cabin. Somewhere, a dog bayed.

He turned back to the young woman near the rain barrel. "You're... little Samantha?" he asked, incredulous. She was certainly no longer little. Brad's phantom blue eyes wandered over the girl. A deep breath of appraisal unfurled the man to his full height of 6'2". He pushed splayed fingers back through a thick head of hair, where a battle waged between blond and silver. "Well you musta done something really naughty if that brother of mine wouldn't even stay for sweet tea."

The sun's low angle textured his rugged face, his trimmed beard, ridges and wrinkles in his faded jeans, as the man stepped closer to her. He positioned himself beside her, slung a muscular arm around her petite shoulders, ushering her toward the door. "Well... you're family... and that's enough. C'mon, let's get you settled."
 
"Yeah yeah, your brother was in a rush to drop me off." She rolled her eyes as she entered the place. She knew this was going to be a long few weeks. This was the country; and there was absolutely nothing to do around here. There were no cute boys she could have her way with. She walked into the house wearing her jean skirt that was fairly short, a tank top that was somewhat tight on her but hugged her nice rack. And underneath she wore a pink thong that stuck out a little from her skirt.

She plopped herself down on the couch. Her legs were a little opened so if her uncle accidentally looked, he'd see her pink thong.

"So...is it really this dead out here? Do you not have neighbors anything?" She asked. This was going to be so damned boring.
 
Not the girl he remembered

"I wouldn't call it dead, exactly..." but Brad offered no alternative definition. He lowered his muscular frame into a well-worn leather armchair near the stone hearth. The girl's neon crotch winked at him from beneath her skirt, daring him to ogle her. While his gaze was disciplined enough to avoid long stares, his awareness of her grew.

"And I do have neighbors." He pointed east. "The Mills family's only about a mile and a half that way. Their property's right at the county line. Six kids. Or maybe it's seven now. Catholics. A lot of Catholics around here. You probably passed the church on your way in." A vague wave to the west. "About two miles that way. In Bixby. Across from that bait and tackle shop."

Her disinterest (or was it disdain?) was heavy in the room. He went quiet. Dust motes floated in bars of sunlight. A clock ticked on the rough-hewn mantel. A thoughtful man, used to living alone, he was as comfortable in silence as in conversation.

She was not his niece. Not the one he remembered, anyway. The Sammy of his memory was a reckless child. Not a tomboy, exactly, but a girl who leapt from soaring swings on a dare, who shimmied effortlessly up tree trunks, not caring when bark scuffed her knees. Throughout her childhood, the girl's signature cry had been "hey, watch me!"

And now he was watching her. The flat-chested daredevil, that girl running through fields with sparklers in her fists, had become a risk-taker of a different sort. And her behavior had landed her here, among fields of corn and soybeans.

And now he was watching her. A bachelor farmer in his 40s, virile -- even good-looking -- he was watching her. Like a babysitter watches. But she was no baby. She had blossomed into curves, feminine textures, womanly aromas. He cleared his throat and stood. "C'mon. Lemme take that suitcase of yours up to the guest room."

Brad lifted her bag easily. His polite nod -- a vestige of rural manners -- indicated she should precede him up the stairs. The movement of slender hips before him was hypnotic. "Wish I had a swing like that in the backyard," he thought. Each step confirmed how different she was from the girl he had known. By the time they reached the spartan bedroom next to his, Brad's body was beginning to respond to her in ways that were not entirely appropriate given their kinship. A ridge of interest started to lengthen in the left leg of his trousers...
 
Sammy headed up the stairs, her wide hips and round ass swaying as she made the movements upstairs. She had a full figure, causing her breasts to jiggle just a little bit as she headed up the stairs. She knew this was going to be terrible; there were not hot guys, young or old, for her to suck and fuck. She was a horny girl and this was going be damned frustrated for her.

Once they entered the spare room, she plopped herself down onto the bed, her breasts jiggling once again. Her jean skirt started to ride up her thighs a little, showing a glimpse of her pink panties.

"All Catholic kids? Really? What is this Amish country? Dear god..this is going to be a boring couple of weeks." She rolled her eyes a little. She didn't consider herself a slut, she liked to please guys, to suck and fuck them. Maybe she was just a little cock hungry.

Okay, she was very cock hungry.
 
The Guest Room

"Nothing wrong with being far enough from people to hear your own thoughts," he said, lowering her bag to the floor.

Sitting on the bed put Sammy at eye level with the crotch of her uncle's jeans. The pants weren't so tight that an observer could guess Brad wasn't Jewish, but his endowment was, in fact, beginning to show. At the moment, his was a lazy manhood, hardening sluggishly down his leg. But the man seemed eventually destined to reach his own left knee.

"Got phone service for the room while you're here." He pointed to a small desk. "Found some writing paper for you to use, if you want it." The man had tried -- albeit in a quaint way -- to ready the house for her visit. He was apparently unaware that his acts of hospitality were from a previous century.

"You... uh... you always dress like that?" He asked her, his mouth going a little dry. "I think maybe I know where this trouble of yours started." There was no reason not to speak frankly. At least it had worked for them when she was younger. "Might be able to find you an old shirt of mine to wear around the house or in out in the barn when we get to work. Hell, there's even a consignment shop up in Grandville. Maybe on grocery day, we could look for a dress or something. I bet there's a lot you'd look good in."

I bet there's even more you'd look good out of, he thought, so loudly he feared she might hear his own internal monologue.

"Bath's here between the two bedroom's. Probably want to wait about half an our between showers for the hot water to come back. I got a deal on some goat's milk soap at the farmer's market. It's in a dish there near the tap. Works a wonder on rough skin."

Wonder what it would do to soft skin. Creamy skin like hers. Smooth curves. Young hips... Brad's eyes glazed with increasingly wicked ideas.
 
"Thanks Uncle Brad." She said as he told her how he set up the phone for her and got pretty much everything else in order for her. She appreciated it but that didn't change that staying with her uncle was going to be a complete drag. Her Uncle was nice and all but he lived in the country, no neighbors for miles and the neighbors he had were boring as fuck. None of them hot and available like back at home. At least living in the city with her parents, she had options of who she could fuck and suck.

"What? You don't like my outfit?" She asked softly. "You don't think it's hot, Uncle Brad?" She spun around, her round ass being hugged by that small jean skirt. And as she moved her tits jiggles in her bra and nearly fell out of her tank top.

Okay...this situation wasn't ideal. But her uncle wasn't exactly ugly looking. So maybe if she tried a little bit, she could get him hard and eventually suck and fuck him. That way this staying out in the country wouldn't be a complete drag after all.
 
A teachable moment

It was a cool October Friday, but the temperature of her room suddenly reminded Brad of July. His throat tightened -- which didn't make sense, given the open neck of shirt. He swallowed, catching his eyes a little further out of his head than was modest.

"Any man might like it. A bunch," he admitted. "But maybe that's part of why your parents sent you out here. I mean... a top on the way down... and a skirt on the way up... well that's dressing in ways that's liable to give a man ideas, ain't it?"

She'd have to be blind to miss a club of his dimensions. Brad turned away from her as if he were casually pacing the room, but his torso was still visible to her in a mirror above the dresser. Visible... and large. The reflections of their eyes met in the silvered glass.

"I'll just go ahead and say it." He was plain-spoken not to wound or excite, but because straightforwardness was treasured by farmers of the Midwest. "Missy, your rack's too big for a shirt that small. And that caboose of yours...," Brad's blue eyes glinted, punctuating his rhetorical question with interest and meaning "...don't you think you're flashing a little much cheek when you spin like that?"

Brad wiped his lower lip with his thumb. His body couldn't decide whether his mouth should be too wet (with lust) or too dry (with nervousness). He teetered on a moral fulcrum. Brad was trusted by his brother to rehabilitate this wayward girl. But that didn't make it any easier to share a house with a very fuckable niece.

"Do it again. Spin around. Try to watch yourself in the mirror. See if you mean to be showing off that much of yourself." He tried to make it sound like an experiment, like a "teachable moment." In truth, beneath the surface, in that part of his brain that fueled erections and wickedness, he wanted another look at as much of her behind as she would show him.
 
"Ugh, my parents." She rolled her eyes. "Please." She said in disgust. "They know nothing." She said, still very annoyed her parents sent her out into the country. The country was practically Amish Country for Christ Sake's. The family of some cute boys were Catholic so Sammy knew there was no point in trying to seduce one of the hot boys. She could already tell this was going to be a VERY boring trip. Boy, was she wrong! She was soon about to find out she was going to have much fun with her middle aged uncle.

"Maybe that's what I want, Uncle Brad. To give men ideas." She smiled a little, almost seductively. She wanted men to want her and as wrong it was; she wanted her uncle to find her to be the hottest piece of ass he had ever seen.

"You mean like this?" She asked as she spun around again. But when she spun around, her skirt lifted a little, giving her Uncle Brad a flash of her pink panties as she spun. And for the a split second, he could see a flash of her round ass cheeks. And as she spun around, her rather round and swollen breasts jiggled.
 
Out of the frying pan

"There. Right there." Almost without thinking, he stopped the girl mid-twirl, one hand on her shoulder and another on the hem of her skirt. "You see that? Look over your shoulder. In the mirror." He lifted her skirt nearly high enough to fully expose the lower half of her shapely bottom. "When you spin around like you just did, that's how much of yourself you're showing off. Did you know that?"

When Brad was in his teens, a cast iron frying pan fell from the stove. Without thinking, he instinctively reached to catch it. It broke one of his fingers and burned his hand. Only later -- on the way to the emergency room with his hand in a bucket of ice water -- did it occur to him that he should simply have let the pan fall.

Now he froze in a moment of similar realization. His grasp of the girl and her skirt was just as well-meaning, just as impetuous as the ill-fated attempt to save a skillet of his mom's sausage gravy. Except Sammy was hotter. And they were both about to be burned. He swallowed. And blushed. And slid the knuckle of his thumb upward against her right asscheek. His breath was shallow; his voice quiet.

"You see there? Boys see that... that pretty little ass of yours..." The air went so still, Brad could hear his own pulse. Each throb of blood made him longer, stiffer. His nostrils flared, but his lungs just wouldn't fill. His whole hand crept open, fingers spreading like the ribs of an umbrella. It was a large, rough hand, calloused by honest work as few hands are any more. The tips of his fingers easily reached the seam between her cheeks. "They see a bottom like that... pretty much... offered to 'em by that showy spin of yours... maybe they think... you want what's comin' to you. Of course, they're just boys." Brad moved closer. His voice dropped a third of an octave. "Now a man..." his fingers flexed possessively, "a man might have different designs on you altogether."
 
"Listen Uncle Brad, you're starting to sound like my Dad. I've heard all this from my Dad. I don't know what his issue is..maybe because my Mom isn't young anymore but whatever the reason, he sent me here." She said with the roll of her eyes. Sammy was hot piece of ass and the truth of the matter was that she liked to suck and fuck. She had fucked almost the entire neighborhood back home, both married guys and non married guys. And some of them had been old enough to be her father.

She felt her uncle's fingers touch her round, shapely ass. She giggled a little. She loved when men touched her, especially older and experienced men. Sure, she had fucked college boys too but they usually were so drunk that they had no idea what they were doing. But the thing with older men, they were very experienced.

"Now tell me, what designs would a real man have?" She asked softy and seductively.
 
It felt like a hypothetical question. The sort of question a curious girl might ask a trusted adult as she strategized to keep herself safe, to present herself as a young lady. Maybe... maybe she honestly didn't know. Sometimes, girls flirted out of ignorance. Women could be quite clueless about the sorts of fires they stoked with the wrong outfit or careless turn of phrase.

His fingers splayed across her right asscheek. "Like this, for example." Maybe he could scare her into chastity with fetishes a high school girl had never considered. "I guess you think you know all about sex. But that's just tab-A-in-slot-B stuff, little niece. Some men... maybe those with a little more experience than schoolboys... some men are liable to like it..." his middle finger drifted south, perilously close to the asterisk of her backdoor "...some men are liable to like it... here."
 
Sammy decided this was her shot to seduce her uncle. She figured that if she was able to seduce him then they would have a fun time while she was visiting. She felt her uncle's hand on her ass. She slowly lifted her skirt, exposing her pink lace panties. She bent over the bed a little.

"You mean, an experienced man like you might want to check out my sexy, round ass." She smirked. "Well, as it so happens....you can check it out all you want.." She smiled. She hoped this would get her uncle hot enough so that by the end of the day they would be fucking like wild rabbits.
 
Inward

A sheen of cool sweat appeared on Brad's forehead. His tortured conscience screamed. But he was thinking with his cock and his hands made a decision of their own. Farm-worn hands eased over thin pink fabric. Experienced fingers tested elastic and lace. His first moves were tentative, giving her ample opportunity to protest, to run, to cry foul... but she did none of these things. He inched her panties downward, over the perfect globes of her ass. The iron of his manhood flexed at the sight of his niece's tempting backside. Her undergarment slid down Sammy's thighs, clinging half-heartedly, lopsided from her knees.

His hands moved with more confidence over her flesh, thumbs crawling into the vertical smile of her asscrack. He moaned lightly, voice cracking in a dry throat. He peeled her halves apart. The exposed starfish of her hole winked at him. Surely it was daring him to greater boldness.

He touched her, his right thumb eclipsing the girl's pink pucker. "There," he exhaled. "Right there..." His jaw tightened with resolve and Brad wriggled the digit against her. "That's the dark place some real men are liable to take an interest in, little girl..." The pressure of his thumb increased. By millimeters, he forced the digit forward. His attention shifted between her face and the disappearing thumb, now buried in his niece nearly to its nail bed.
 
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