Message-ID: <55017asstr$1166296201@assm.asstr.org>
DomainKey-Signature: a=rsa-sha1; q=dns; c=nofws;
  s=s1024; d=yahoo.com;
  h=X-YMail-OSG:Received:Date:From:Subject:To:MIME-Version:Content-Type:Content-Transfer-Encoding:Message-ID;
  b=hZvSaY3vOvJDc/S7T0JWy8ZjpctI+7q194nxskmiwIC37veWklAf2ms58Qh0eyByWEIHiPZFwlSi/emPDGR5hnUG7ytD7w/k2EIPMz5Ud6BVr/TORwwa3BngAxShQ8JUjIJhzryZto/CPMwxoRL0iiQ6TWByyLPwETOgZ2TrwDc=;
From: J <autoeroticrobot@yahoo.com>
Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit
Subject: {ASSM} Wow Thanks Chp. 6
Lines: 352
Date: Sat, 16 Dec 2006 14:10:01 -0500
Path: assm.asstr.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d


 
 

__________________________________________________
Do You Yahoo!?
Tired of spam?  Yahoo! Mail has the best spam protection around 
http://mail.yahoo.com 

<1st attachment, "thanks06.txt" begin>

Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by the author unless explicitly waived.  Non-commercial re-posts
to ASSM or similar venues are allowed provided copyright information
remains on the re-posted story.  As a courtesy to the author please do not
delete the copyright information.  No commercial reprints are authorized.

   The author enjoys feedback and comments:
autoeroticrobot[at]yahoo[dot]com.  ...  Or look me up in Second Life:
avatar Fnugus Abismo.

   WARNING: This story depicts consensual sexual activity between men and
women, or women and women.  Some of the fictional participants in the story
may be under the age of 18.

   Wow Thanks (MFf, exhib, voy, inc, cons) by autoeroticrobot

   Chapter 6.  Thanksgiving Morning.

   I rang the door bell and I heard Lissa excitedly call to her mom "It's
uncle Jason." She opened the door, and I beheld my gorgeous, exotic,
spritelike 14 year old niece.  She leaped out and hugged me, and although
it was cozy, it was tentative and completely chaste.  Then my sister came
out and gave me a warmer hug, and I knew right then that at least she
hadn't been making everything up, as I could plainly see the shape of the
cones and peaks of her nipples through her lovely emerald blouse.  Though
the cloth was dark enough and thick enough to conceal the coloration, it
was still evident she wasn't wearing a bra.  She had her hair in an
unexpected "corn-rows" style I'd never seen on her before, and she looked
very sexy and exotic.

   For the first time it occurred to me that I was, in a way, setting
myself up for a profoundly frustrating weekend, if these two women carried
through with even half of what I'd outlined for them.  For that matter, it
occurred to me that they could do absolutely nothing, and solely driven by
my own imagination, I was going to be spending an amazingly stimulating
Thanksgiving, as I searched for any minutiae of evidence that would suggest
that the strange fantasy that had developed over the last several months
had any elements of truth to it.  Such as my sister's bralessness I was
noticing upon the moments of my entrance.  And was that a musk of female
horniness I smelled in the air?  Or rather, just something cooking or
having been cooked in the kitchen?

   We chatted for a while, and I told Denise how well they both seemed to
be doing.  She said, nonchalantly, "I've been in a really good state of
mind the last month or two...  can't really say why." Let him read that as
innocently as he wants, I imagined her thinking.

   Both she and I had inherited a strong tendency to "double-entendre"
humor and irony from our parents (clearly an argument in favor of nurture
of nature, given her status as an adoptee).  Not to mention a preference
for sarcasm.  But we'd always been a bit shy about deploying such
double-entendre directly at one another - it was more something that would
come out with our respective spouses, for example, but in each other's
presence.

   As mother and daughter sat next to one another on the couch, I observed
to them that they indeed seemed very happy.  Lissa piped in, "Me and mom
are getting along really well, too - no fights for like a couple weeks
now." We all laughed.

   Finally, we wound down the "haven't seen you in so long" small talk, and
comments on work, work, school (respectively), and I said I was exhausted
from the flight (which was true) and should be heading for bed.  They
agreed it had been a long day, and without further incident I was ensconced
in the guest room (actually the small den off the living room), and,
despite how horny the whole situation had me, in the spirit of solidarity I
felt with the two of them and what I was asking of them, I only edged
myself very briefly before allowing myself to drift off to sleep.

   I woke in the morning with a raging erection.  Now, that's not unusual,
as anyone who is a male (or knows one) can attest.  But the circumstances
meant that I was a) more conscious of it than usual, b) I would have to
traverse their living room to get to the hall bathroom for my morning
shower, while c) they were both evidently already awake - I could hear
voices outside, probably from the kitchen or dining area.  Normally, I'm an
early riser, but, without the obligation of an alarm clock, I discovered
I'd slept almost to 8 am.

   Well, I stretched and yawned, it was a holiday.  I dug out my kimono,
and, daringly, removed my other clothing before slipping it on.  With hands
in pockets, it wasn't too obvious, I decided.

   Grabbing my bathroom kit, I opened the door to the guest room and saw
them both.  Lissa was at the table, reading the comics page from the
newspaper.  Denise was in the kitchen (the whole kitchen / dining room /
living room were open to one another), doing something with a casserole pan
on the kitchen island.  "Good morning, little brother of mine," she said
with a chipper, almost flirtatious voice I hadn't heard from my sister in
years.  She was clearly in an extremely good mood.  "Good morning," I said.
"Hi uncle Jason," said Lissa somewhat distractedly, not looking up from her
comics.

   Denise offered me coffee, and I said I'd get some as soon as I got out
of the shower.  And as I walked past I realized that both were still in
their sleepwear: Denise had on a matching set of silken, olive green real
old-fashioned pajamas, while Lissa was in one of those long t-shirts so
common with girls as sleepwear.  I wondered if both of them were truly
pantiless and braless beneath, but decided to defer closer inspection,
partly because my already raging woody was getting more aggressive under
the kimono.

   Holding the bathroom kit strategically to conceal the situation, I went
into the bathroom.  I took a very relaxing shower and, rather than stroking
myself, I tried to will myself to a more quiescent state, and cursed at my
not having brought in a pair of jockeys to put on after I was showered.

   Finally, after an extra few minutes thinking hard about some mysterious
database error messages from work, I felt under control enough to come back
out.  I was feeling a kind of weird, nervous, erotic arousal I hadn't
experienced since adolescence.

   I came back out and Lissa was missing from her seat at the table, but
Denise was there, and she patted a chair at the table and invited me to
have some coffee.  "You remember where the cups are, right?" she said, as I
strolled into the kitchen.

   I got my coffee and added some cream from the fridge.  With the cup, all
steaming hot, I sat cattycorner to my sister at the table and took in her
sheepish grin.  "You're really doing well," I commented.

   She just nodded, and suddenly we were in a very serious conversation
about David's suicide, the hard months after, her own depression.  I
completely forgot the games for a little while, and was relating to my
sister in the way we always had, emotionally close and devoid of sexual
baggage of any kind.  I felt some relief that the dynamic wasn't lost
between us, and felt a huge pang of guilt over the deception I was engaged
in.

   "But I'm really doing much, much better the last few months," she
concluded.

   "I can see," I smiled, and patted her arm.

   At that moment, Lissa emerged from her room, now wrapped in a large bath
towel.  Not part of a task I'd given them...  but who's to rule out
improvisation?  Or, in the event it's all fantasy, who's to rule out
coincidence, for that matter?

   She actually strolled over and stood at the corner of the table between
her mother and me.  "I'm going to take a shower now," she announced, a
little superfluously.

   The white, fluffy towel was wrapped, modestly enough, at her breast
line, and hung to what I judged to be 5 inches below her crotch.  Nothing
was uncovered that shouldn't be, but it'd been a very long time since I'd
been so close to a nubile teenager who was so close to nakedness.  Just
under there, I thought to myself.  And was that a muskiness I smelled?  If
things were as the emails had said...  she'd been masturbating on and off
all day yesterday, and she hadn't showered last night that I was aware.

   "Go ahead, dear," said Denise.

   "Are you done in there, uncle Jason?" she asked me, turning my
direction. I nodded, trying not to stare at the way the towel squished her
tiny breasts into two quarter-spheres above its bunched up edge, and the
long, never motionless, crinkly black hair that flowed freely around her
cheeks and shoulders and down her back.

   So Lissa ran off to the bathroom.  Denise grinned at me, "she's growing
up, isn't she?"

   I raised my eyebrows, inviting her to elaborate, pretending ignorance.

   "It's ok, Jason...  you're male, of course you'll notice such things."

   I smiled sheepishly, and cleared my throat.  "Sorry, was I staring so
obviously?"

   "Not too obvious.  Don't worry about it.  Do you want me to make more
coffee?" she changed the subject.  As she stood to go to kitchen, I studied
her pajamas carefully, trying to see if she was pantiless.  Braless,
obviously...  the pooky outlines of her cones and nipples were there to be
seen as they bounced under the silky button-down top.

   "While it brews, I'll go get dressed," I finally offered, and ran into
my sanctuary, the den, for a few minutes to get dressed and still my
beating heart (and beating you-know-what but not beating ON it...  not too
much, anyway).

   When I came out, fully dressed now, Lissa was still in the shower.  I
got a fresh cup of coffee and sat back down at the table.  Denise had
disappeared into her room - she had her own bathroom there, I recalled.  As
I browsed the newspaper Lissa finally emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in
the towel much as before, but now with her hair ensconced in turban-like
arrangement over her head.

   She saw me sitting at the table by myself and came over and sat down
across from me.  I realized that given the length of the towel, it was only
the presence of the table that prevented me from gazing between her legs -
but prevent it, it surely did.  Oh well, I grinned to myself.

   Lissa to all appearances intended to hang out with me at the table
wrapped in her towel.  She toyed with a few sections of the paper and
finally appeared immersed in something from the food section (always a huge
section in a Thanksgiving day newspaper).  Her turbaned head bent over her
reading, a few wisps of her kinky (not THAT way) hair slipping out the
edges around her ears, she held one hand down on her reading, and leaned a
little forward.

   Suddenly I became aware that her other arm was DOWN...  out of sight...
in her lap, perhaps.  Of course I recalled a particularly relevant "general
rule" I'd given earlier - they could masturbate if someone else was in the
room and within 10 feet.  Dare I imagine she was...?  I realized I was
holding my breath as I studied her, and quickly I sipped some coffee, to
look busy, and looked back down at my own paper, but soon enough I was
compelled to begin studying her again.

   She seemed so relaxed, calm, and absorbed in her reading.  Lovely.  But
not completely still, I noted.  No...  little twitches, movements. 
Consistent with...  yes.  My god, what was it I'd engineered, here?  This
situation.

   I tried to read some political commentary in the paper, but I couldn't
concentrate.  Clearly it would be "out of character" for me to acknowledge
any possible awareness as to what was going on.  I tried to imagine, what
would I be thinking, how much would I be aware of, if I didn't have the
background knowledge and presuppositions I had.

   Was there any chance that, being innocent to the supposed tasks I'd
assigned, I would suspect my niece of doing what I suspected she was doing?
Probably not, I concluded.  But I also concluded that even if I were
innocent of my suspicions, there was no way that even a hypothetically
uninformed and well-intentioned uncle Jason could be unaware of the sheer
sexy nubility that hovered so close, wrapped in her towels and to all
appearances so absorbed in her reading.

   With such rapidity and spontaneity that I was genuinely startled, Lissa
looked up from her reading, caught my gaze on her, and said, all lightness
and sweetness, "so...  what are you going to do today, uncle Jason?" With
that she engaged in a kind of stylized stretch that was noticeably
exaggerated - hard to discount , an evident act of flirtation.

   I looked away, and said, "Oh probably just hang out and stuff.  Do you
have any plans?"

   "Not really," she said, cheerfully, and with gazelle-like grace she
stood and strolled into the kitchen, the towel around her billowing
slightly as she moved.  "Time for some breakfast, I think."

   I watched her as she moved about the kitchen, fetching herself a bowel,
a spoon, a box of cereal.  She pulled open the fridge and got out the milk
container, and brought it all to the table, returning to her seat and
pushing the newspaper aside.  I reflected I really shouldn't be so
fascinated with every move of this girl - I was going to creep her out, I
was certain.

   With some reluctance, I got up from the table and went back into the
guest room - but didn't shut the door this time.  I had, in fact, brought
some items with me to work on (though I was under no obligation) and so I
pulled out my laptop and fired it up.

   About this time, I heard Denise come out from her room, and I came out
of the den with my laptop and took a seat on one of the comfy chairs in the
living room, where I could overlook the goings-on.  Denise was dressed now,
and Lissa was spooning cereal into her mouth distractedly and reading
another section of the paper.

   Something twisted in made me open up the document I was working on that
would evolve into this story (I'd already decided I absolutely must write
the whole experience down), instead of the requirements document I was
working on for my job.  Because of where I sat in a corner of the room, I
knew I'd have plenty of time to minimize the document if one of them came
over.

   Denise was plonking around in the kitchen, and Lissa finished her
breakfast and called out to me, "watcha doin?"

   "Just some work I brought with me," I commented, and, seeing her stand
up from the table and lean on the half-wall room divider into the living
room, I minimized the document "just in case."

   "That's boring," she commented, exaggeratedly.  "Hey, mom, can I get on
the computer?" she called out.

   Denise looked around from where she was in the kitchen, wiping her hands
on a towel, and saw her daughter standing there in her towel and turban. 
"Since the computer's in the den, honey," she reminded, "you'd better check
with your uncle Jason."

   Lissa looked back around toward me, and said, simply, "is it ok?"

   "Not a problem with me," I shrugged, and grinned.  "I've got my own,"
pointed out unnecessarily.

   "So it's ok for me to go online?" Lissa double-checked she had her mom's
approval.

   "No problem, hun," Denise said.  "You might want to get dressed,
though," she added, in that special tone reserved for a mother's addressing
her teenage daughter.  Lissa looked down at herself, and, appearing
genuinely amazed that she was still in a towel, without a word, leaped
across to the hall and down to her room, disappearing.

   She's going to be going online, I thought.  Wish I could go online, too,
I thought.  And suddenly, I had an inspiration.  These days, lots of people
have wifi.  And many people are either too naive or too technically limited
to set up secured connections - more than once on a business trip I'd
freeloaded on some nearby business or private unsecured wifi network.

   I pulled up the wifi connection utility on my laptop.  Sure enough... 
there was a "very low" signal strength from a hub called "linksys" - some
neighbor of my sister's had a totally basic, unsecured, default-setting
wifi network running.  I connected to it, and brought up firefox.  Sure
enough!  I felt very devious indeed, at that moment.

   Lissa re-emerged from her bedroom, dressed now in an adorable little
yellow sun dress, still barefoot, her hair damp but rumpled from a hasty
toweling.  I definitely could see her nipples through the cloth of the
dress - much smaller than her moms, and perched on unambitious little
globes, but the bralessness was undeniable.

   She strolled past me without a glance and disappeared into the den
(actually I guess it was their home office, with the computer and all that
in there), leaving the door open.  I heard her fire up the computer, then
the familiar "Bill Gates's love song" as I called it, a few other beeps and
whirrs.

   Quickly, I logged on to yahoo under the username I'd been using with
them, and, sure enough, within minutes Denise's username appeared.  Seconds
after that, a message popped up on my screen (I almost always have my sound
muted on my machine, so there was no tell-tale beep from the messenger
software on my end).

   "Finn!  Happy Thanksgiving!" came the instant message.  It was all real.
I had no more doubts.

	----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------
	This post has been reformatted by ASSTR's
	Smart Text Enhancement Processor (STEP)
	system due to inadequate formatting.
	----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------

	
<1st attachment end>


----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------
Notice: This post has been modified from its original
format.  The post was sent as an email attachment and
has been converted by ASSTR ASSM moderation software.
----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ------ send stories to: <story-submit@asstr.org>|
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr.org/faq.html> Moderators: <story-admin@asstr.org> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|ASSM Archive at <http://assm.asstr.org>   Hosted by <http://www.asstr.org> |
|Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}|
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+