Dear Stepdaddy,

Can you help me understand my Uncle?

Well, actually, he's not my real uncle, that's just what I call him; not "Uncle Something," just "Uncle."

I'm a freshman co-ed at a state university, seventeen years old, planning on majoring in English. Uncle is an important alum who lives in my hometown, and when I first applied the university had me interview with him.

That was the fall of my senior year in high school – I was sixteen, then – and he ended up interviewing me all through the fall and spring, usually at an apartment he owns near the city center, and once or twice at his suburban home when his wife and kids were away. I'm not trying to be coy, Stepdaddy: Uncle is my lover and taught me all about sex, both oral and regular. He says he is eventually going to also take my bottom, but he says not until I ask him to; ask him like I really want it. I never thought I'd ever want to do that in my life, but I'm starting to think I'm going to ask him to do it. Weird, huh? I'm not sure why he is so confident I'm eventually going to request that of him, but that's not why I am writing to you, Stepdaddy.

Anyway, I got accepted into the university (duh) and I made it out of high school without getting pregnant (which is just plain luck, I have to assume, since Uncle always cums in me, and he demands that I stay off the Pill). I still see him at least once a month, when he comes to campus to do alumni stuff (I think he sits on one of the trustee boards or something). We have a big hotel and convention center on campus, and when he's here I spend plenty of time with him there in his suite. But he never takes me out to a restaurant or dancing or anything like that. We're still sneaking around.

Last year, I understood why we had to keep everything so secret. I mean, he's married and everything, he's like 48, and I was a high school girl in a small city. No one knows me there, but he's pretty well-known, shows up in the business section of the newspaper from time to time and stuff like that, so I can see why we could never go out in public.

But this is a huge campus, with tens of thousands of students. Students go out to dinner with visiting parents and such all the time. No one would take any notice of our age difference because of that. I'd like to introduce him to the friends I've made here – they aren't from my hometown, so it's not like they'll bust him out to his wife or anything. My friend Lyla would think it's so cool – I really wish I could let her in on my secret.

He says that I'm missing the point. He says that yes, he is taking care to be discrete for all the usual reasons, but he says the main reason we have to treat this like a conspiratorial state-secret is that it's hotter that way. What does he mean by that? Wouldn't it be hot for him to be seen in public, squiring around a super-young piece of ass like me, displaying to everyone who sees us that he is a man who fucks young pussy "because he can?"

Niece by Choice

Dear Choice Piece,

I am afraid I am going to have to side with your "Uncle" on this one. Sure, it might be fun for the two of your to crash some black tie gala where no one knows either of you, to scandalize the society ladies and incite the envy of the men. But the idea of somehow "normalizing" your relationship, introducing him to "Lyla", going public in some sense with the sexual nature of your relationship? Yawn. Why would you want to spoil this scorching hot set-up by doing that?

Sure, in this day and age, it's not like it would freak out everybody that you, a seventeen year old nubile kitten, were engaging in incessant and unprotected bouts of fully-penetrative breeding-sport with a married man old enough to be your father. But he is not your "boyfriend." He doesn't want to be, you don't want him to be.

Seriously? Would you want him, or anyone like him, to be your "boyfriend?" What fun would that be? You can have boyfriends all you want from amongst your age-appropriate peers, but that’s not what's driving your attraction to older men. You're drawn to the sex, and especially to the sexual mismatch. Your pussy and your reproductive urges are driven by a sense of the older man's power, authority, accomplishment, mastery. You are attracted to him not because he cares about the pressing concerns of youth culture but precisely because he is not concerned about them at all.

He is not meant to be your boyfriend, and if you tried to play it that way it would, for you, suck almost all of the fun out of sucking all of the cum out of his avuncular balls in a frequent and dutiful fashion. Imagine him hanging out with you, your friends, their boyfriends. Making small talk with Lyla at a college bar happy hour. Everybody loses.

The second problem with the above "public" scenario is that it would deny you (and Uncle) the delights of the secret, the forbidden, the naughty.

To illustrate, note that this is no fun:

"Hey, Lyla, I gotta run. I have to drop this course change form off at Webster Hall and then I'm going to drop in and see Doug, that 48-year old dude I'm hooking up with."

In contrast, this is fun:

"Hey, Lyla, I gotta go back to Webster again this afternoon. Yeah, I know, right? They can't seem to sort out this stupid course change...I've had to spend practically every afternoon there this week!"

Then, of course, after parting ways, you walk right past Webster Hall and on to the on-campus Hotel and Conference Center. You enter the lobby of the hotel section, feeling your cheeks pinking, but you nonetheless walk purposely to the elevator bank – the same elevator bank these same hotel clerks – many of them students – have seen you take many times already this week. Up to the now-familiar floor, to the familiar suite, you open the door with your key-card and take care to bolt it behind you. You hear Uncle in the sitting room, talking on the phone. Sounds like business or something. As you round the corner, he gives you a smile/nod combination, along with a wink. His conversation continues without missing a beat. It's something about selling a subsidiary pro rata to the ell-ell-cee members directly. Whatever. With a saucy smirk, you get a naughty idea, and kneel at Uncle's feet. He makes no attempt to impede your silent efforts to fish his cock out from his dress trousers, and as it begins to swell in your hands, you "lean in," just as so many young women are being encouraged to do these days by neo-feminist scolds, but your interpretation of that trite admonition is to "position myself to best pleasure Uncle’s penis." Good girl.

You make love to Uncle's prick with your mouth, with your hands, and, looking up into his face, with your eyes. He returns your adoring gaze with an approving look, but his business conversation continues as though nothing unusual were afoot. His ability to master himself and continue business while a seventeen-year old cutie devotes herself to worshipping his cock underscores why this is so much hotter for you than having him as your "boyfriend." The flavour of his steadily-flowing, sweet-tasting pre-cum across your tongue assures you that despite his aplomb, he is being pleased.

Nonetheless, you take it as a personal challenge to disrupt him, to break his vocal cadence, to try to make him take an unplanned breath, perhaps, even, to break his train of thought – that would be naughty, sexy, success. You take him suddenly deep, your eyes watering, you can't help but feel a gag reflex, but you are rewarded when Uncle inhales, mid-sentence, and has to start it over. You lift his shaft, and slide under it, to lick and lave his shorn scrotum, always being mindful to look up from underneath his spit-slick manhood, maintaining eye contact while playing peek-a-boo around the niece-pleaser in your grip. Again he halts in the middle of a thought, distracted by your play, and then mutters a "where was I...."

But you know you've really succeeded when, after twenty minutes of these devotions, Uncle places a hand on your head, almost involuntarily –and certainly unnecessarily, as far as you are concerned – to hold your lovely, receptive face in place while he unloads his uncle cream into your avidly suctioning mouth. You swallow it all happily, a twinkle in your eye, and continue to nurse gently, to capture those final little oozing after-spurts of his cum. At last, you pull off, wipe the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand, and smile archly up at Uncle as you hear him say, "I'm sorry Tom, my mind was elsewhere for a minute there, could you say that again, everything after the debentures part?" Uncle smiles at you and mouths silently, "Just you wait, Kitten, I'm going to punish you!"

Much later, you meet up with Lyla and some other friends. She asks about the administrative problem with the English department, about the course change – did you finally get it resolved?

Your secret burns inside you...you love living this double-life...and your pussy twinges (causing a dollop of deeply-emplaced uncle-cum to slither out into your panties) at the memory of the "punishment" Uncle exacted from that naughty organ once his business call had finished.

"No, believe it or not. I'll probably end up spending hours there again tomorrow." You shiver as you say this, because now you have another secret, a secret that makes your tummy twist with pterodactyls rather than mere butterflies, a secret made all the hotter because there is no one in whom you can confide. Uncle agreed that tomorrow afternoon he is going to honor the submissive plea you made today. Tomorrow, he says, he will condescend to gently, slowly, lovingly, but nonetheless insistently, teach your bottom hole how it, too, can please his penis.

Now, Little One, don't you see how much better it is for you that Uncle makes you live a secret life? It’s not for him…it’s for you and your overheated mating organ.

--SD

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