"Uncle Tim?"

"Yes, Sweetheart?"

"I bet you can't make me say 'uncle'!"

My niece Hannah--technically, my wife's niece, her older sister's daughter--had finally picked our little game up where we had long since left it off. The last time she had stayed with us--two years earlier--we'd played variations of the chase-catch-tickle game under the approving eye of both my wife--her aunt--and my sister-in-law--her mother--for the entire two-week visit.

At the time, we had all thought it especially cute that as Hannah's actual uncle, I always made her say "uncle," the classic good-humored expression of submission, before I would let her go.

Two summers ago, when Hannah had been an immature twelve years old, she was always up for a round. I would no sooner catch her, tickle her playfully, obtain the "uncle!" and release her, but she would be back within a quarter-hour with her challenge: "I bet you can't make me say 'uncle!'"

This year, I had expected things to be different. And I suppose they were different, in some very important ways.

First, at fourteen, a much more "mature" Hannah was supposed to no longer be entertained by "kid stuff" like the "say 'uncle'" game. I suppose that is why, instead of fifteen minutes, it took her almost twenty-four hours before she issued the first challenge and started it all up again.

Second, this time the visit was going to last much longer than two weeks. Hannah's mom was with the State Department and had just been posted to Egypt. With all the turmoil in that part of the world, it was decided that Hannah would be better off living with us, here in Pennsylvania, for the next two years. So our little game, which had successfully whiled away a brief vacation visit in the past, would probably grow old pretty fast now that we were, for all intents and purposes, a full-time family.

Third, the last time I had seen Hanna in person, she had been a rail-thin, cute little kid. Today, she was still thin--svelte might be a better term now--and she certainly was still a cutie, although now in a distinctly sassy, post-pubescent sort of way--but "little kid" was no longer an apt descriptor.

Her waist was still narrow, as a fourteen-year-old's can so easily be, but her hips had widened. Her pelvis had reached that "sweet spot" in the maturation trajectory, distinctly mid-way between child and woman.

Her rump had always shelved out a bit in back--I remember that even as a little girl, her cousins had teased her, saying that she looked and walked like a duck. Now it had grown even more outthrust, tauntingly, and had further swelled in roundness and nubility. Don't get me wrong--she still had a tight little ass--it's just that it now had a more pronounced shape, especially in profile.

Her attitudes had grown up, too--maybe a little too fast, in fact. When my wife and I picked her up at the airport, she was wearing a little bit of make-up. My wife hadn't said anything, but I could tell she thought Hannah was too young for that just yet. Hannah must have picked up on that wavelength, since she wasn't wearing any the next day. Personally, I didn't see any harm in it, and neither had her own mother, I presume, since she had sent her off that way, but never mind. Hannah had plenty of time yet to grow up, with or without makeup.

On the other hand, ... there was the little matter of her breasts. Well, not too little a matter, if you see what I mean. The former rail-thin twelve-year-old was now a relatively well-endowed fourteener. I would have to guess her ta-tas, displayed unashamedly in a low-necked, skin-tight top, had swelled from the walnuts I remembered into an impressively full B-cup. That might not sound that large, but if you can accurately picture those breasts jutting out from their high perch on a very petite eighty-pound frame, I think you'll call them impressive, too.

One thing was not debatable: Hannah at fourteen already had bigger tits than either her own mother or my wife, her aunt. Hannah's mom had always kept the details of Hanna's paternity to herself, but she conceived our niece while posted as a junior consular officer in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. It had always been obvious that this mystery father must have been of a slightly darker complexion than my wife's family, because while Hannah's mom was blonde-haired, blue-eyed, and fair-skinned, Hannah herself had big, dark brown eyes, beautiful black hair (worn straight and long), and a perpetual tan. Now, from the evidence of her straining top, I concluded that this biological father also came from a family of busty women. If Hannah had this rack at fourteen, I could only imagine what the women of her father's side sported when full grown. Wow.

So between her specious new sophistication, the more permanent nature of her stay, and her obvious physical development, I had pretty much assumed that the days of the "say 'uncle'" game were long gone. That assumption survived for less than twenty-four hours.

"Uncle Tim?"

"Yes, Sweetheart?"

"I bet you can't make me say 'uncle'!"

"Are you sure you even want to try? The way I remember it, it doesn't take much to get you to surrender. A few tickles or spanks, and you're shouting 'uncle.' Why even start a game you're sure to lose?"

"Aw, Uncle Tim, I was just a little kid back then. And a wimp, like all kids. I'm fourteen now. I got lots more control. I can take anything you can dish out, and still not give up."

"Is that so?"

"Only one way to find out!"

"Well, I don't know... ," I drawled, attempting to lull the wary teen through feigned indecision. When she glanced away for just a moment, I grabbed her, hooked an arm around her waist, and declared, "... Gotcha!"

"Oh! No fair!" she cried, as I pulled her down across my lap. I gave her cute little butt, encased in its tight denim, a quick swat. I had intended to move on to tickling from there, but frankly, I was surprised by my own reaction to that spank. Instead of immediately abandoning that activity, my open palm struck again. And then a third time. What surprised me in this was that the decision to continue after the first spank had not been made by me; rather, it had clearly been made by my prick alone!

My prick obviously enjoyed the close contact, despite the layers of clothing, with the firm, thin fourteen-year-old torso lying against it.

My prick had also obviously enjoyed the display of the young teen's rear-end, and image seemingly forwarded to it directly from my eyes, at the command of a primal brainstem unwilling to await permission from my reasoning faculties.

And just as obviously, my prick had clearly received an instantaneous telegraph, along the wiring of my nervous system, conveying to it the tactile pleasure of my open palm striking my niece's firm but yielding buttocks.

So what was it, you may ask, that made this all so "obvious?" Well, the fact that, before my conscious mind even had time to process all the information in this situation, my penis had already begun to swell in delight, and had managed to insubordinately direct my hand in administering not one, but two unauthorized, solid schoolgirl spankings. Once my brain caught up, I was able to take back control. There was no fourth spank.

Now, before I continue with my story, I feel I have to clarify something. I am neither a prude nor a hypocrite.

I am fully aware that adolescent girls are attractive to men. In my opinion, Nature has ordained this very thing. Only the blessings of civilization, modern educational opportunities, and the emancipation of the female--all very good things--have made the pairing of older men and young teenaged girls no longer acceptable.

Nor have I ever felt myself immune to that hebephilic attraction. Many a reluctant shopping trip with my wife--a pastime most tedious to me, in itself--has been redeemed through my careful but avid observation of the packs of thirteen- and fourteen-year-old cuties patrolling the mall circuit. Watching their half-intentional, half-innocent little displays, swishing and swaying their way through the food court, I have unambiguously experienced sexual attraction; sometimes to the point of tumescent reaction. So it could not have surprised me in this instance that I was capable of being stimulated sexually by an adolescent as much as by--or sometimes even more than by--a fully mature woman. No, that was no surprise.

And I am sure that some readers would suggest--and I am in no position to dispute--that in our past horseplay, when Hannah had been twelve, there had been a subconscious undercurrent of sexuality in the activity, albeit sublimated, on both our parts. In fact, I'm sure there must have been; after all, I doubt very much that either of us would have played the game had she been my twelve-year-old nephew.

Lastly, I have already demonstrated my ability to appraise my niece's developing physical charms, and to notice that she was now quite "sexy;" Hell, her own mother would have made the same objective appraisal.

But the discovery that it all fit together--that I was attracted, as are most men, to teenaged girls, that my niece was a very attractive teenaged girl, and that our silly little game was, in its way, pseudo-sexual--was a surprise.

The result was that my penis had decided, and my conscious mind had concurred, that together they both really wanted me to fuck the living shit out of fourteen-year old Hannah--my own niece!

The conscious mind, however, is aware of things like consequences, and so it took control of the situation and overruled my prick, staying my hand from a fourth spank, in order to prevent Hannah herself from figuring out just what it was that my prick had decided.

No, a fourth spanking by itself would not itself have given it away--she'd received more than three--many more--in some of our previous games. However, the rapidly hardening cock poking up into her side might just have let the cat out of the bag. So rather than continue with the spanking, I hoisted her up, into a sitting position facing me, making sure that her exquisite ass rested astride one of my thighs, and not atop my tell-tale crotch.

I held her tightly, with hands grasping either side of her slender waist, and she took hold of my forearms, trying to push herself away and free. That was the point of the game, but there was really only one way for her to get free.

"Have you had enough? Just say 'uncle' and I'll stop."

"No way!" she retorted, and tried even harder to push herself clear.

"Okay, then!" I squeezed the fingers of both hands into her slender waist, and sure enough, she shrieked with laughter. She was still ticklish, I was happy to see.

"Enough?"

"Hah!"

I squeezed in again, this time wriggling the fingertips independently. She gasped, and cried "Stop!"

"Did you say 'stop'? You'll have to say 'uncle' if you want me to stop. You have to surrender. Are you ready to say it?"

"No, I'm not surrendering. I'm going to get away from you on my own, Unc ... I mean, Tim."

I tickled her sides again, and she squirmed and twisted, both in response to the digital assault and in a valiant effort to escape and end the game without having to submit. In order to maintain control of her wiry little body, I slipped an arm around waist, and then redoubled my tickling efforts with the other hand, this time centered on her belly, trying to quickly bring about her capitulation. My newfound realization of the sexiness of this wrestling match had me very hard, and I really wanted to "win" before Hannah accidentally discovered my arousal.

Targeting her navel looked like it might work, because as soon as I made contact, she convulsed in reaction. But then the unexpected happened, and as she twisted and turned to escape this new torment, she slipped off my knee, and almost got free, before I was able to yank her back into my clutches. This time, as she slid back into my lap, she faced away from me.

Her sweet little can pressed right up against my upright, straining prick, already struggling against its confinement within my jeans. I froze, and Hannah was also apparently taken unawares by the contact, for she took a good three heartbeats, in near silence but for her panting breath, before she recovered her wits enough to try to leap out of my lap in escape.

I spent those same three heartbeats in shock and bedazzlement. Sure, I reveled in the sensation of her eighth-grader ass pressing against my denim-covered cock. But I also felt a terror in the pit of my belly that I had been found out as a "pervert." Together these contending experiences had me temporarily stupefied. However, when she tried to jump out of my lap, obviously trying to take advantage of my passing paralysis, my competitive nature took over and told me what to do. I grabbed for the young teen, and pulled her back into me.

I succeeded in preventing her escape, for I now had a firm grip on her with both my hands. I had pulled her into me once more, her back now held firmly against my chest, her ass again upon my crotch, although now situated with a little less impropriety.

Yes, I had a firm grip. I had succeeded in wrapping my left arm around her belly, and with it, I held her in a tight bear hug.

Yes, I had a firm grip. My right hand had gone for her right shoulder, but had overshot its mark. Nonetheless, I had gained a solid purchase with it on her struggling form. The handhold I had found--and still held--was none other than her succulent right breast.

Again, we both froze, and I was torn between apologetically removing my hand--and acknowledging that I had overstepped the obvious bounds of our relationship--or leaving it there in order to play the "innocent ignorance card." Not surprisingly, given such an impasse, my penis broke the tie, and my hand continued to grip the firm, precious flesh.

I didn't know what to do, but Hannah did.

"Okay, okay, I give up: Uncle."

I let her go, of course, and tried to play the game off as I usually did, by taunting her good-naturedly for submitting. I think my efforts at this sounded hollow, and feeble. Hannah's tan face was darkened by an under-welling red blush; with a wan smile she darted from the room.

And so that was that. You can't go back again. A fourteen-year-old is not a twelve-year-old, and if there had been any doubt of that before, I had put my finger on the truth for the both of us. Well, actually, I had put my entire hand upon it.

Naturally, the "say 'uncle'" game was history. I was a little embarrassed by my "overreach", but I knew that it had been an accident and that there would likely be no lasting effect on my relationship with Hannah. Terminating the pastime was probably for the best anyway; my newly discovered sexual response to the game and her now-nubile body had demonstrated that there was a good reason such activities are usually sidelined when young girls grow up. Given the opportunity to reflect, I was almost frightened with how easily I had become aroused.

As I've stressed already, I wasn't ashamed of myself because she was so young, but because she was my own niece, a girl I had known since she was five and--more importantly--a girl over whom I now held parental responsibility as guardian and "in loco parentis."

Nor was I particularly worried that she would mention the episode to my wife. Hannah was probably just as embarrassed as I was. Even if she did, she'd almost certainly not mention the hard lump she had detected pressing into her ass. If my wife asked me about the titty feel, I would laugh it off with an "I guess we can't play that game anymore now that Hannah's growing up!" and that would be the end of it. And even if my wife did learn about my hard-on--an extremely unlikely report for a shy fourteen-year-old to make to her aunt--I could of course beg off with an "it's only nature" kind of excuse; my wife isn't such a prude or jealous type that she wouldn't understand how it had happened.

No, my real concern was for my ongoing relationship with Hannah, external to the now-defunct game. I was going to have to serve as one of her parents for the next two years, and for that, I needed her to both trust and respect me. I would have to watch Hannah very closely over the next few days to see whether I had diminished those feelings to any degree.

For the next several days, I kept an eye trained on Hannah's behavior and reaction to me. To my relief, she seemed completely unfazed and unchanged by the event. We didn't mention the game during that time, and it looked to me as though we were on the path to two years of conventional family bliss in our household after all.

One evening a few days later, I was watching a ballgame on the big screen TV in our media room. I was startled when I noticed Hannah was standing next to me.

"Whoa, you scared me there. I didn't hear you come in."

"Sorry, Uncle Tim. I didn't mean to."

"That's all right. What's up?"

"Aunt Cindy went to her bridge club."

"Yeah ... it is Tuesday. So what's the matter? You bored? Want to watch the game with me?"

"Uh-huh. I'm sorta bored. Um ... Uncle Tim?"

"Yes?"

"I bet you can't make me say 'uncle'."

"Umm, gee Honey. Are you sure?"

"What, afraid you can't do it?"

"Well, no, of course I can do it. I can always make you say 'uncle'."

"Don't be so sure. I was just surprised last time. You pulled a fast one, Uncle Tim, and caught me by surprise, so I freaked and gave up. I'm prepared for your trickery now. But..."

"But what, Sweetheart?"

"But no matter what, if I do say 'uncle, ' you'll stop, right?"

"Of course. That's always been the rule. Either that, or you escape."

"I'm not going to try to escape anymore. You can do whatever you want, as long as you SWEAR to stop when I say 'uncle.' I mean, not that you can make me say it."

Now, I'm sure you're thinking exactly what I was thinking--or at least was hoping; Hannah had felt some kind of thrill from our "mischance" of the other day and, instead of revulsion (or perhaps fascinated by her revulsion), she wanted to try it again.

I was game. My prick (as I'm sure you have already assumed) was more than game. Especially after I had had a chance to size up my barefoot niece and observe that she was wearing a tight pair of denim shorts--almost "Daisy Dukes"--and a tight t-shirt stretched across her oversized, underaged tits. Yes, I was game.

Yet I wasn't sure how to start. Now that she claimed that she wasn't going to try to escape or elude me, my usual opening gambit of seizing her seemed a little out of place. She solved the problem by plopping that delicious heart-shaped bottom in my lap, as she faced away and leaned back into me--resuming the precise positioning we had been in the other day, when in alarm she had cried "uncle."

I paused, and listened to her nervous breathing, as I tried to prevent my own respiration from audibly betraying my lust. Then, gently, I placed my hands around her waist, on either side, and slowly squeezed that tender flesh. She squirmed in my lap, but didn't protest. Neither did the penis pressing into her backside.

Encouraged, I traced my right hand slowly around front, towards her navel, and wiggled my fingertips into her firm abdomen. She giggled, and wriggled, again to my gonadal delight.

Emboldened, I slid the other hand, open-palmed, up along her ribs--higher and higher--until it rested under her arm, almost in her armpit, at the exact latitude of her cute tits. I could feel the thickness of her bra strap, and the edge or beginning of her bra-cup, through the intervening cotton of her top.

I detected no response from her to my advance, except perhaps that her breath might have quickened. I know mine did. To lighten the tension, the fingers of my other hand cavorted around her bellybutton again, and she shrieked and twisted with laughter -- a slightly hoarse-voiced laughter. I know that if I had tried to speak myself at that moment, my voice would have been a lust-constricted croak.

Impassioned, I made the move. I slid my left hand around front, from under her arm, and gently took possession of her left tit, while simultaneously lifting my right hand from her tummy to take a similar station on its counterpart. I held my breath, and after an almost inaudible gasp, Hannah held hers. There was no protest. No complaint. No "uncle."

I was feeling up my fourteen-year-old niece's titties!

It was amazing in so many ways. For one thing, although they were hung upon the body of a petite schoolgirl, they filled my hands completely. Bear in mind, that although I often playfully seize my wife in a similar pose, her A-cups are no match for her own niece's sweet B's. The last time I had felt up some "strange" titty--that is, tits belonging to someone other than my wife--had been a couple of years ago at a strip club. Those had been much larger, but fake. I can tell you, this "real" experience was much nicer than that!

I could feel the heavy fabric of her bra cups under her T, but even through that shielding, I detected a pebbly nipple poking into each of my palms. Jesus, these were nice. I leaned back in the couch and "scootched" my ass out along the seat, to further recline my body and, along with it, that of my adolescent ward. In this angle of indecent repose, Hannah relaxed, and rested her head back upon my right shoulder. Now I could see her face: her eyes closed, her lips pursed, her nostrils quivering in time with her speeding breath. She was lovely. As were her boobies, which under the weight of my hands nonetheless thrust heavenward from her chest, monuments both to her genes and to her healthy puberty. Her T-shirt, which previously had stretched tautly from one magnificent peak to the other, now drooped suggestively into the valley between them, as my adoring grasp had apparently pressed the luxurious mounds a bit closer together, and allowed this suggestive catenary to appear in her tight top.

Then, of course, there was her ass! Whereas in our more seated configuration, her rear had rested primarily on the upper thighs of my lap, it now seemed that most of her weight balanced, somewhat precariously, upon the longitudinal hardness of my butt-smothered cock. Those tight denim shorts of hers did a nice job of separating her buns and spreading her sweet crack, so when we finally found equilibrium, it was with my log-like presence nestled securely along its length.

I was in heaven, as I slowly began to caress her vibrant flesh, cupping, stroking, gently squeezing, and so forth. For her part, Hannah's eyes remained closed, but a look of distinct pleasure was evident throughout her visage. I couldn't help myself, but thrust up with my pelvis, grinding my groin into her sweet rump. Like I said, I was in heaven.

In a low voice, engendered by the sexiness of the situation rather than by any need for secrecy in the otherwise unoccupied house, I spoke.

"Are you sure this is all right, sweetheart? You're not afraid or anything, are you?"

Her eyes popped open, and turned towards mine. With a sassy pout and the diction of a too-confident middle-schooler, she replied, "I haven't said that word, have I?"

"No, no you haven't." I was both amused and turned on by her impudence, so I took that as my cue to unambiguously grind my cock up into her as lasciviously as I could. Her cheeks colored more at this, but she said nothing. "And, since the object of this game, from my point of view, is to get you to say 'that word, ' I guess I need to try something else. Sit up and turn around in my lap."

With a pout, Hannah sat up and, guided by my hands, retook a position straddling my semi-supine waist, facing me. I was careful to ensure that her crotch came to rest directly upon my turgid genitalia. Deliciously, her too-tight denim shorts created a perfect split-bulb camel-toe out of her eighth-grade pudenda, so as my niece straddled my hips, her cuntlet straddled my shaft, to my visual and physical delight. Her knees rested on the sofa seat to either side of me, and her hands rested lightly on my reclining shoulders, for balance. There were no closed lids now; her big black eyes stared into mine, widened in what looked to be a combination of sexual arousal and second-thought alarm at her indelicate situation.

I had no such second thoughts. I reached for her cute boobies once again, now from a front-facing vantage, and returned to caressing and cuddling the adorable cupcakes through her T-shirt and bra. At the crotch level, I think I was the one to start the motion, but Hannah soon followed, and her young hips began to slide forwards and backwards in a tentative dry-hump motion all their own. It felt so wonderful -- her jeans-clad crotch sliding along my length -- that after a minute or so of this I abandoned her tits, to grab an ass-cheek in each hand and help the motion along.

Hannah had trouble looking me in the eye, shamed, I think, by what probably seemed to her to be slutty behavior, behavior that despite its "nastiness" she couldn't bring herself to stop. Her little pelvis started getting ahead of my guiding hands, and her immature lovebox must have been heating up from the action, because the rut became more natural and urgent for her with practice. As far as I was concerned, I was getting an almost perfect lap dance, and was beginning to feel the early warning of an orgasm. Fine with me--I'd happily shoot off in my pants if it were induced by the frantic grinding of a beautiful fourteen-year-old's crotch all over my cock!

All thoughts of the "say 'uncle'" game were dismissed, as I climbed that metaphorical hill towards my ejaculation. Seeing as my hands were no longer needed on Hannah's ass to encourage her pelvic rhythm, I returned them to her tits. After about thirty seconds of feeling her up through her clothing, I cursed myself for a dullard and pushed up her T-shirt. This was a bit of a struggle, as it was so tight on her precocious upper body. Hannah seemed to know what I was about, because she raised her arms and in a few moments, we had managed to remove and discard the obstructing T-shirt.

Before my eyes lay the lacy cups of her straining bra, obviously a little too small for her still-growing chest. As I clutched at her now nearly nude breasts, practically mauling them in my enthusiasm, I reveled in the tan beauty of her newly uncovered tit-tops, which her bra left exposed. I also enjoyed the bare, flat tummy visible below the snow-white garment. Hannah was obviously of a naturally athletic, if slender, build, for her toned abdominal muscles rippled as she continued to gyrate in my lap.

When I focused my dizzy and dazzled gaze, for just a moment interrupting my avid and active scanning of these various treasures, I noticed that the clasp to her bra was in front, right between her wonderful, oscillating breasts. Fumbling as quickly as I could, burdened by my lust and her unceasing motion, I managed finally to release the catch and throw the offending cups aside, to reveal, at long last, her glorious fourteen-year-young tits.

They were firm enough, I can attest, to obviate any support purpose for that bra; light brown enough, without a single distracting tan-line, to evoke worshipful devotion to her natural butterscotch coloring; and capped proudly enough, by protruding, dark-brown gumdrop nipples, to instantly flood my mouth with Pavlovian saliva. I was stunned by their beauty, but I was stunned even more by what happened next.

Unexpectedly, Hannah threw herself back, pushing off from my shoulders, and hugged her arms across her naked breasts, hiding them and removing their divine glory from the sacrilegious gaze of man. All pelvic service--and all progress towards my climax--immediately halted. Staring down, not meeting my eyes, her hair covering her face, Hannah "lost" the game I had thought we were no longer playing.

"No! Er, stop ... I mean, 'Uncle'!"

She jumped off my lap, clutched the flaps of her bra-cups against her exquisite chest, leaned over to scoop up her T-shirt from the floor, and scampered out of the room with an apologetic, "You win again, Uncle Tim."

I was flummoxed; disappointed; and above all else, sexually frustrated. I had half a mind to hunt Hannah down and ask her to explain herself. Hell, I had a fragment of a mind--maybe only one or two percent, mind you -- to hunt Hannah down and force myself upon her; I was that worked up.

However, I recalled my promise. I had affirmed to my delectable young wrestling partner that if she said the word, I would stop. I couldn't go back on that word. Not to mention, I had very authentic affection for Hannah the person.

Instead, I took my frustrations out on--and my well-earned pleasures in--my wife's own hot cunt later that evening. She, of course, had no idea where my appetite or energies had suddenly come from, and I imagine she was a little puzzled when I led her to the couch in our bedroom suite, hoisted her into my lap, as traddle me, and fucked up into her ferociously while she bounced up and down along my impaling cockshaft. She was probably also surprised with the attention I paid--mauling, pinching and squeezing -- to her now-too-small tits throughout the frenzied session. Surprised, but not displeased.

Hmmm. Maybe fooling around with my niece would be good for my marriage!

Of course, aside from the brief but delicious moments of direct physical contact with my niece--moments during which I enjoyed a preternatural clarity of mind -- I was confused by conflicting emotions of lust, infatuation, and fear. While clearly Hannah had initiated the two inappropriate episodes, responsibility to prevent those excessive developments that had already occurred clearly had lain with me, as an adult and parental figure. Duh. But my concerns--that Hannah might under-appreciate the sensitive nature of our dalliance, and let something slip--were misplaced.

After our aborted "game" on Tuesday evening, Hannah acted as normally as one might hope under the circumstances. She sometimes avoided my eye, and when she caught it, she would immediately blush, deeply enough to show through her tanned complexion, but other than that, the household carried on normally. I thought perhaps that Hannah had learned her lesson, her curiosity having taken her just far enough to burn her fingers, and that she would swear off both teasing and experimenting for a few years. I actually came to flatter myself that I had done her a great service, and that under the safe tutelage of her loving uncle, she had learned that she was still much too young for such things.

Until Saturday.

My wife and, I thought, my niece, had left after breakfast to hit the malls. I settled down with the paper in the family room, the TV rumbling in the background, HGTV, I think.

I was engrossed in an article about the latest Beltway scandal when I was startled, and about jumped out of my skin. I don't know if that's ever happened to you, but I find that if I think I'm alone in the house, and I'm not, it jolts me every time.

"Uncle Tim?"

I jerked the paper aside to see Hannah standing right in front of me. Recovering from the surprise, I tossed the paper to the floor. I cleared my throat, and tossed caution to the floor as well.

"Yes, Sweetheart?"

"Aunt Cindy went to the mall."

"Yeah, I know. I thought you went with her."

"No, I stayed. Which means it's just us."

"So... ?"

"So, like, whatever we do, that's just between us, right?"

"Yes..."

"There's no reason Aunt Cindy needs to know, right?"

"Absolutely. From me or from you, right?"

"Right! But, I mean, not even teasing or hinting in front of her, okay Uncle Tim? It's embarrassing, and she might guess, and then she'd hate me."

"She wouldn't hate you, Honey. Or should I say, she wouldn't hate you."

"C'mon, promise. No teasing or hinting."

"But I love teasing you."

"I mean, no teasing me in front of Aunt Cindy."

"But other times is okay?"

"Yeah."

"So I can tease you right now?"

"Um, yeah."

"I don't know if I want to. Not unless you actually want me to. Do you want me to tease you, right now?"

"Um, well ... yeah."

"Okay, well, let's see. Oh yes. So: we both agree you are a scaredy-cat, right?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that you pretend your tits are grown-ups, but when push comes to shove, you're still a little kid, aren't you?"

Her hands, resting on her hips, reflexively moved slightly, in the direction of her breasts, to shield them from the piercing stare with which I accompanied this challenge. She mastered her modest impulse, however, and her hands returned to her hips.

"No, I'm not."

Clearly, she came prepared to make this very case, because it was obvious to me that under her T-shirt this morning, there was no bra at all. Obvious, not because her youthful bust sagged in any way from the norm--oh no, far from it--but because her dark nipples were plainly visible through the white, over-stretched poly-cotton blend. I growled.

"I bet you are. I bet I can make you say 'uncle' by simply pulling off that T-shirt."

"I bet you can't."

"Can't what?"

"Make me say 'uncle'."

"C'mere." I reached my hand out, which she took, and then I pulled her into my lap, facing me, her jeaned thighs spreading to straddle mine, her pubis settling atop my swelling groin.

"But Unc ... but Tim?"

"Yes?" I grunted, my hands already guiding her waist in order to find the best placement of her crotch for my pleasure.

"Take it in little steps, okay?"

I, of course, honored her adorable request, and paced myself. First, I cupped her sweet tits through the T-shirt, and gently caressed them. In appreciation or in response, Hannah began to grind her little pelvis, rewarding me for my patience.

"Hannah, lean forward a bit." She did, pressing that titflesh into my palms but also, more importantly for the moment, bringing her face within reach of mine. I've told you of her clear, tan complexion. I've alluded to her South American heritage, which I should mention had provided her with very attractive, high cheekbones. But I have yet to describe her lips, which--after her breasts, of course--were her very best feature.

Hannah had thick, full lips, pursed naturally into what I've heard described as a "bow-shaped" pout. For although these lips were exaggerated in the vertical dimension, her mouth was not large at all. Far from it. From side to side, her mouth was in fact quite small, so in combination with its succulent fullness, it described a sexy, fleshy, moist ellipse, nearly as tall as it was wide, interrupted only by a lovely notch beneath her pert nose, which demarked the center of her upper-lip and lent a slight heart-shape to it all. In short, Hannah had classic cock-sucking lips, the kind that when a man sees them, he secretly delights in the knowledge that he is managing, without censure, to gaze upon a completely exposed, and completely inviting, female sex organ. Those were Hannah's lips.

At this instant, they invited a kiss.

When my lips touched hers, for the first time ever, she didn't react, but even inert those lips yielded deliciously to my contact. Moist, soft, resilient. It only took a moment, however, for Hannah to catch on, and soon her lips moved, in response to my movements, nibbled, in response to my nibbling, and finally, parted and released a sweet pink tongue tip, in response to the insistent delving of my own.

Overcome with this new intimacy, my hands abandoned her tits, and reached down to grab her ass, pulling her into me. As our mouths danced and dueled, tongues darting back and forth and curling around each other, our embrace tightened. Her fourteen-year old boobs pressed into my chest, and her crotch, at her own instigation and assisted by the reciprocating guidance of my avuncular hands, ground into my penis with growing expertise.

We made out like this for several minutes, my delight and hunger building in tandem. It was wonderful to be sharing this pleasure with such a gorgeous young girl, a mere fourteen years old despite her premature development. She was my own niece for heaven's sake, but my natural love for the girl was augmented and magnified by the sort of love that only over-teased testicles can provide. As we dry-humped our organs together, as our chests pressed against each other, and as our mouths made both love and war, I realized that I was going to come. I was going to blow a load in my pants, and I was more than willing to do so.

But then, in the back of my mind, was another precinct heard from.

No, not my instinctual, base mind. As you can imagine, it was encouraging me to gratify myself as quickly as possible. No, this time it was my reasoning mind that took things further.

You remember my reasoning mind--the one that was previously so worried about the dictates of society and propriety. Well, there had apparently been a coup, or something, because now my reasoning mind was contributing advice in a completely different direction.

Through its intervention, a piece of wisdom bubbled up through the sensate pleasures I was enjoying to make me realize that I needed to make further progress with Hannah before I could allow myself to come.

I realized, with what was happening that sunny Saturday morning in the family room, that this episode would probably be repeated many times in the future. Of course, I gloried in this realization. However, I also recognized that what we had done so far--French kissing, crotch-grinding, and titty squeezing--fell well within the normal experience of fourteen-year old girls. I wouldn't be surprised if nothing we were doing was particularly new to Hannah--some boy might have already enjoyed such a session in a dark corner of the school gymnasium during a seventh grade dance, for all I knew.

Many a fourteen-year old girl found such snogging to be so enjoyable and satisfying that she postponed going any further for years. Many a fourteen-year old boy grudgingly accepted what he could get, perhaps also for years.

But a thirty-six year old uncle, already taking extraordinary risks with his fourteen-year old niece, needed far more in the reward department to compensate for his peril. If I followed my instincts, and settled for this status quo, Hannah might settle in to an ongoing make-out-party relationship, punctuated, I am sure, by enjoyable but ultimately unsatisfying lap-dance ejaculations for her dear old uncle.

I had the momentum now, and so it was incumbent upon me to keep up the pressure, to keep up the progress.

Pulling back from performing virtual cunnilingus on those wonderful, full-bodied lips, and recruiting my hands away from their pelvic assistance duties, I grabbed the hem of her T-shirt.

"Lift your arms, Honey, That's it." I tried to pull the shirt up over her head, but found it difficult from my position, particularly once her boobs were bared and my attention was enslaved to them. The cute eighth-grader took over, and easily doffed and discarded the offending garment.

Her breasts, completely unencumbered with a bra this time, stood full, proud, erect. Her nipples, dark brown and protruding, poked out enticingly from her grapefruit-sized mounds. Gravity had won not a millimeter of ground in its war against these still almost impossibly new mammaries, which cantilevered out from her ribcage in unconquered defiance of the forces of time and tide. In a second, I was upon them.

Kissing them, kneading them, burying my face between them. After years of marriage to a small-breasted woman, I was being reintroduced to the joys of "rack." Frankly, I was so enamored with them that I didn't know whether to "shit or go blind"--should I pull back, to gaze upon their naked beauty, hefting their firm mass in appreciative hands? Or should I continue to feast upon their smooth perfection, and press my stubbly cheeks inconsiderately between their soft curves?

Actually, I did both, alternately and repeatedly, and once I had begun adding nipple-pinching in the first case, and nipple-suckling in the second, Hannah seemed to be once-and-for-all sold on the idea of topless fun. She gasped when I sucked, and oohed when I twisted, and picked up the pace of her pelvic gyrations throughout, as each cycle of my adoring attentions raised the tempo and intensity of her undulations.

I can't say enough about those tits. So smooth, so naturally tan, so miraculously capped. Now jiggling cutely with her motion. Now spit-slick with my slobber. Now teased into pebble-nippled hardness. Now showing, with a slight reddening of her cinnamon-tinted cleavage, the lusty abrasions of my unshaven cheeks.

Their size was magnified by the contrast to her petite frame, but nonetheless they were perfect in shape and proportion. And lastly, they had one fantastic characteristic that my wife's breasts could never have; that no wife's breasts could ever have: they adorned in their youth the awakening body of a fourteen-year-old girl!

"Forward!" my lust screamed, and so I hoisted the eighty-pound darling off my lap and none-too-gently flopped her onto the couch seat, lengthwise, climbing out from under her calves in the process to crawl across her slight form and heaving bosom. Instinctively, she spread her denimed thighs, and welcomed me between them. I graciously accepted the invitation, and went back to work worshipping at the altar of her adolescent breasts.

I soon discovered that in this position, my crotch was no longer aligned with hers, at least not as long as I insisted upon cavorting with her chest, which of course I did. This realignment did allow me, however, to release one hand, my right, from tit-play responsibilities, in order to slide it down her flat, firm belly, across the front panel of her tight jeans, and into her widespread crotch. When my fingers first pressed into the seam of her pants, disturbing with their pressure the swollen, split flesh of her warmed-up vulva, I could feel, even through the thick fabric, a moist, humid heat. She groaned, and spread her thighs wider, so I commenced, while never pausing in my appreciation of her upper torso, to first gently, and then more insistently, saw my fingertips through her underaged groove.

Hannah really seemed to like this a lot, and in the bouncing, bubbly fun, I found that I had progressively repositioned myself, until I was kneeling on the floor, beside my eager young pupil. My face and left hand still worked over her twin prodigies, while my right hand continued to press her only remaining raiment into her crease and to strum at her precious pudenda vigorously. My cock, now out of contact with both girl and couch, tented my jeans out almost painfully.

Suddenly, Hannah gasped, arched her back and, with two middle-school hands, managed to clutch my crotch-working wrist with tremendous force, successfully yanking my massaging hand even further into her bucking junction. If I wasn't mistaken, Hannah had just had her first orgasm, at least the first by her attentive uncle's hand. I vowed it wouldn't be her last--not even her last of the day!

As she came down from the climax, I gently eased her back from the precipice of stimulation, my fingertips lightly soothing and smoothing her still-spasmodic loins. Her crotch, even through the denim, was swampy-hot.

I had lifted my head off her chest just as the final convulsions had hit her, and now I gazed into her flushed face, and used my left hand to soothe and stroke her brow, even as its twin continued to gently molest her still-clothed sex.

"Did you like that, Hannah?"

"God, yeah ... I never ... I mean, I've done it to myself ... well, you know ... and you were a lot rougher, but..."

"But it's more fun with someone else, huh?"

"I'll say."

"So you're not ready to say 'uncle, ' then?"

"No, no ... you can do that to me anytime. I'd never say 'it' to that."

While she was saying this, I lifted my right hand out of her crotch and placed it on her belly, near the waistband of her low-slung, over-tight jeans. This surprise move caused a sharp intake of her breath, and to my visual joy, the resultant concavity of her tummy created an exquisite gap between the clothing and the girl, as the tight denim stretching between her protruding teen hipbones necessarily separated itself from her retreating belly. In a flash, my flat hand slid, palm down, along her smooth abdomen to dart through the temporary chink in her armor. This unexpected maneuver elicited another alarmed inhalation, which in turn expanded her chest and depressed her stomach even further, affording me even deeper access into her last redoubt.

I was pleased to discover that this tactic had allowed me entrance not only within her jeans, but also within her panties, for as my fingers slid happily down her young body I encountered no second line of defense. In fact, I encountered nothing at all, other than silk-smooth skin, until my fingertips reached the moist, fleshy apex of her pubescent young pussy. With tits like those, I had expected to find a similarly precocious pubic bush, but only after gently tracing the pads of my fingers around the peak of her protruding mons did I detect a sparse patch of hair -- not quite peachfuzz, but not quite full-blown pubes, either. My cock lurched. Jesus, no matter how many times I was reminded, it never lost its appeal: this girl was only fourteen!

Constrained by the tightness of her jeans, I was unable to slide my hand in deeply enough to toy with her vaginal mouth, so I contented myself with a rather dexterous manipulation, if I say so myself, of her delicate upper puss, not limited to, but certainly centered on, her oil-coated clitoral nubbin. Glancing up into her face, I found my niece staring back at me with eyes glazed and half-lidded, her full lips parted in lust-stirred respiration, and her pink tongue-tip occasionally darting out to drag itself wetly across them.

"Ready to say 'uncle'?" I asked, huskily.

She didn't respond vocally, but merely shook her head, slightly, at my jibe.

The pleasure-dazed teen quickly rescaled cum mountain, and it made me feel manly, for some reason, that I was able to bring her to a second climax within five or six minutes of her first.

As she recovered from this orgasm, I attempted to move things logically along. I pulled my hand out from her pants, but only so that I could unsnap her jeans. It was time they came off.

Hannah, however, had different ideas. Perhaps it was satiation, but her caution and hesitancy seemed finally to outweigh both her excitement and her curiosity.

"No, don't, not yet Uncle Tim ... oh, there I said it: 'uncle, ' Uncle Tim. I'm not ready for that. Are you mad at me?"

"No Honey, I'm not mad at you." My prick, however, was none too pleased!

"We can keep playing. I mean, with the other stuff."

"No, Honey, you lost the game. You said 'uncle.' We can't keep playing, not until next time. But there is something more."

"What?"

"Since you lost, you have to pay the price. You know, give me a reward."

"Like what?"

"Let me show you."

Minutes later, she had the rhythm down nicely, and I was making steady, inexorable progress towards my "reward" for winning the game.

I was again leaning back in the center of the couch, my hips slid forward in the seat until my ass was almost at the edge. Under other circumstances, this would be a pose of almost uncomfortable recline. But not under these circumstances.

These circumstances consisted of Hannah once again straddling my over-teased penis, her now satiated and swollen cunt-muffin sliding up and down along its turgid length. The denim of her jeans was moist and warm from her earlier exertions; and it was actually sodden enough that it left some moisture on the fabric of my own trousers as it described its repetitive course. Although still technically a "dry hump", her seepage promised future, wetter pleasures.

As it was, I decided to enjoy the moment for itself. As the young teen concentrated on her task--her hands on my shoulders for balance and leverage; her young face turned down in concentration, watching the action like a novice dancer watching her own feet; her silky, long black hair cascading all around her; and her pearly white teeth biting delicately into her bee-stung lower lip--I concentrated my own attentions once again upon caressing, cupping, and otherwise playing with her spectacular middle-school breasts.

It didn't take long until I grunted out my own satisfaction, bucking my pelvis up into her continually grinding young loins, spouting great spurts of semen right into my Fruit-of-the-Looms.

The rest of the weekend, I kept finding myself staring at Hannah's tits, which had just proven themselves to be such wonderful playthings. Or at her lips, which had so succulently mated with my own. Or at her ass, which in its bubbled beauty had helped grind out my well-earned ejaculatory offering of "naughty niece appreciation".

For her part, Hannah would stick her tongue out at me if she caught me staring, or swish her bottom coquettishly. That is, as long as her aunt--my wife--was out of sight.

Occasionally, as we passed near each other, I might pat her sweet little bottom, or trace a finger across the tip of a titty, but other than that, I left the initiative in her court. It had worked out well so far, so why mess with success?

However, by Tuesday morning, I was starting to get a little antsy. Would we play again soon? Thankfully, it turned out that I wasn't going to have to spend the day at work in uncertainty, for as I sat at the breakfast table, finishing the last cup of coffee before leaving for the office, I heard the door open, and Hannah call out to her aunt in the waiting car, "Just a sec, I forgot my homework!"

She made not for her room, but for me. I looked up into her face as she came to a stop right next to my chair at the table.

"Did you forget something?"

"No. I just wanted to remind you, it's Tuesday."

"So?"

"So, it's bridge night."

"So what? I don't play bridge."

"Uncle Tim! I hate you!"

"Maybe. But you love this." I wrapped one arm around her waist, and with the other hand I reached into her crotch and stroked her sweet puss through her jeans.

"You do naughty things to me, Uncle Tim." She did nothing to stop my molestation, however. In fact, she pressed her fourteen-year old cunt further into my sliding fingertips.

"I do naughty things to you? I don't know about that. It's you, after all, who will probably interrupt my baseball game the minute your aunt walks out the door tonight."

"You can watch your game. You can ignore me." Her hips continued to drive her vulva into my hand. It was warm and sensibly humid.

"How can I ignore you if you walk in with no shirt on at all?"

"Who says I'd do that?"

"Well, that's sort of where we left off last time, before you submitted, and said 'uncle.' Topless with pants on. Seems we should pick it up right there," I suggested, pressing a little more firmly into her squishy flesh before withdrawing my hand. "Now, your aunt is waiting to take you to school. Run along, little girl."

She playfully grabbed my face with one hand, squeezing my cheeks together and forcing my lips into a "fish-mouth" shape. In an erotic juxtaposition, she play-acted as an adult scolding a young boy. "You're so BAAAAD, Uncle Tim. Very, very bad!"

With a swish, she turned on her heels and was out the door.

I spent the day at work not in uncertainty, but in tightly wound anticipation.

During the third inning--I think it was game four of the ALCS--my baseball game was interrupted.

"Uncle Tim, I bet you can't make me say 'uncle'."

Standing before me was a very prepared Hannah. She was topless, as I had "suggested," and she had taken further steps on her own. Instead of jeans, she wore a stretchy pair of tights, form-fitting and reaching down to mid-calf. Their cut left little to the imagination--these must have been purchased for her when she was younger and smaller. It was obvious that she wore no garment underneath them. It was also obvious, as if I didn't already know, that she was blessed--that is to say, that this evening I was blessed--with a fat pair of swollen labia, whose shape, it was easy to see through her immodest apparel, could have been modeled upon her succulent mouth.

"Let's just see about that," I croaked.

I soon had her lying back along the couch, where I took my familiar station kneeling beside her. Once again, I sucked and fondled at her tits, and engaged in several minutes of mouth-sushi, while my other hand plied and poked, strummed and stroked at her youthful crotch. All the while, I could measure the progress of her helpful young organ by the very copious and uninhibited flow of its juices seeping through the permeable textile.

When I felt her orgasm arriving, I plunged my tongue as far down her throat as I could manage, and practically choked her with it while she bucked and buckled her way through her first arched-back climax of the evening.

While she recovered from this, I knee-walked into a position from which I could take hold of the waistband of her pliable pants and draw them down over her fourteen-year old hips. She didn't resist, although she didn't lift her ass up off the couch helpfully, either. No matter. In seconds, they were history, and I gazed down at the sweet little V of her bare crotch for the first time, marveling at is beauty. Only a wispy tuft of light hair, peppered with what looked like maybe half a dozen silky black strands, interrupted the otherwise smooth mound. Her fat cunt-lips peeked out between her slender, tan thighs, and as I spread her knees, these parted, to reveal slick inner petals, and a tiny hole dribbling with her natural lubrication.

"You're embarrassing me!"

"If you don't like it, you can just say 'uncle, ' you know."

"No, it's not that. It's just that ... please kiss me again."

I figured I could accommodate that, so I was soon back in my prior position, kneeling beside the supine Hannah, and making out like a teenager. This time, however, while we swapped spit and wrestled tongues, my far hand was finally toying with a completely unguarded schoolgirl puss, an advancement which added immensely to both my own and my niece's enjoyment.

Her previous shyness seemed to have disappeared, if her brazen willingness to offer up her sopping wet vulva for my digital manipulation was any indication. I ran my fingertips through the wet crease, playing with both her cuntal mouth at one end and with her excited little clitoris at the other. She seemed to like that; I know I did.

After a bit of this, as her tension grew, I began to play with her vaginal threshold, poking my fingertips further and further inside. When I detected no interfering hymen, I drove a finger all the way into her young box, to be rewarded with a squeal, and with two middle-school arms wrapping around my neck and shoulders. I continued my exploration.

It was easy, given her undersized organ and my long adult fingers--I now had two, the index and the middle, buried in her very tight hole--to reach with my fingerpads the rough, bumpy flesh of her forward sugar wall, the swollen tissues often called the G-spot. While my left arm held the sweet teen about the shoulders, and while she continued to hang upon my neck like a newlywed, I began to scrape the tips of those two fingers remorselessly across that sensitive, deep-seated flesh, and to diddle her wee clit with my thumb at the same time.

In moments, she came, her fingernails digging into my back. Through her panting, animalistic breath, she moaned things like "Oh, god, don't stop, don't stop, GOD!", and such. All women seem to say things like that when they come, even the first few times. Theological interpretations of pleasure must be instinctively encoded, or something.

After she came, I didn't let up. I continued to scrape my fingerpads across her G-spot, to twirl my thumb around her clit, and to suck on her tits, her neck, and her mouth. I knew from experience that once in this state, a girl like Hannah could come repeatedly.

As she approached her next orgasm, I asked her an embarrassing question.

"You said you've played with yourself. Was it as good as this?"

"That's gross! I don't want to talk about it."

My hand froze, and her eyes widened. "Don't stop!"

"When you played with yourself, was it as good as this?"

"No. Nowhere near as good." My hand resumed its deep groin massage.

"That's better. Now, have you ever had sex?"

"No!"

"Has a boy ever played with your pussy like this?"

"No."

"Do you know what a hymen is?"

"My virgin thing?"

"Yeah. You know you don't have one?"

"I don't? Well I never had sex, honest!"

"Easy, Sweetheart. I was just wondering. Lots of girls lose theirs as kids, just running and jumping and such. Anyway, it means I can do what I'm doing very easily, without having to break your maidenhead. You're glad of that, aren't you?"

"Oh yeah, Unc ... I mean Tim."

OK now, sweet Hannah, I want you to concentrate on my fingers; concentrate on your pussy. It's time to cum again for your favorite uncle."

It was over forty minutes later, as Hannah trembled on the verge of her sixth orgasm, that I put a variety of loyalty oaths to the now-helpless young girl. My right hand and arm--especially the tendons in my right wrist -- were exhausted, but I continued to stroke her deeply and productively.

"Hannah, who is your favorite Uncle?"

"You are."

"That's right. And who makes you cum so nice?"

"Oh, god, you do!"

"That's right baby, that's right. And you don't own this sweet baby-pussy anymore, do you."

"Nooo..."

"Who owns this pussy?"

"You."

"And who makes all the decisions about this pussy--when it gets played with, when it cums, how often it comes--who?

"Mmmm ... you do ... you do."

"Right again. And eventually--not today, but eventually--who is going to fuck this pussy?"

"You?"

"Yes, me. But not today. Now, one more time, come for your uncle."

I had other plans for my own pleasure this day. As the cum-exhausted eighth-grader sat beside me on the couch, her legs curled up beneath her, I gave her instructions.

"Today you're going to finally meet your Uncle's cock. That is, unless of course you want to quit, then you should just say 'uncle' and I'll get back to watching my game." This was greeted with wide-eyed silence. Good. "All right then. It's time that you did some work. I'm tired. Pull my sweatpants down and take a look."

Dutifully, she tried to push my waistband down, and eagerly, despite my feigned weariness, I lifted my ass off the seat and added a hand to hurrying the process along. It's a good thing I did, because once my thick, purple-headed cuntsplitter sprang into view, Hannah gasped and covered her mouth in surprise.

"Now, now, it won't bite. Touch it. Take a hold of it. That's right. That's nice. Now stroke it, smoothly ... okay, just keep doing that for a while ... use both hands ... good girl, just like that."

She was soon giving a very serviceable handjob. Her technique may not have been perfect, but being fourteen and gorgeous sure made up for a lot. I felt myself getting close, so I decided to try one more gambit.

I put my hand behind her head and gently pushed it down to my crotch.

"Kiss my dick." She did, but when I eased up the pressure, she immediately sat up.

Gently, once again, I pushed her head down into my crotch. "OK sweetheart, time to give him a suck. You know what that is, don't you?"

"Eww. Do I have to?"

"Of course you don't have to. You can just say 'uncle.' Is that what you're saying?"

"Yes."

"Yes what?"

"Yes, 'Uncle'. I'm sorry. I don't think I can do that."

"That's all right. But just so we're clear, you can do that; you just don't want to do that. Right?"

"I suppose. I'm sorry. It's just..."

"Don't be sorry, Sweetheart. I'm not mad at you. You can give me my prize for winning again, though, by continuing with your hands until I'm done. Can you do that?"

"Sure!"

"And one more thing."

"Yes, Uncle Tim?"

"You know how this game works now, don't you? If you want to play again--not that you ever have to--but if you do ever want to play again, you know you're going to suck your uncle's cock, don't you?"

"Yeah. I guess that's right."

"Yes, that's right. And you know that yummy time you just had, lying back on this sofa while your uncle made your pussy feel so nice?"

"Yes, Uncle Tim. Of course, I remember it. I'll never forget it!" She was already stroking my cock again, and she seemed to be getting bet/pter at it.

"That can only happen again if we play the game. So it's up to you. Now, keep doing what you're doing and that will be fine ... for today."

Minutes later, I spewed ropy white semen all over her hands, her naked tits, and my own chest in a staggering orgasm. Even in afterglow, it was very nice. But I was already looking forward to the next time. Assuming there was going to be a next time.

Hannah walked a little funny the next day; after being teased through six orgasms, her pussy was probably a little bit sore. And all from just my fingers! I couldn't wait for that day--if it ever came--when her tender walk would be attributable to a good solid fucking, courtesy of my oversized prick.

In any case, she didn't approach me for the game for several days, but I realized that this did not necessarily indicate reluctance at the cocksucking precondition. It might simply have been due to my wife's maddening lack of absences! But on the other hand, I had been quite clear--"no sucky, no more fun."

I don't want to give you the impression that I have some kind of will of steel. While I imagine Hannah was agonizing over her decision, whether or not to approach me again for play, knowing that doing so would mean she would have to fellate me, I was also agonizing.

What if my condition proved to be too daunting? What if she never initiated the game again? Was it really so bad, I wondered, if the "only" things I was allowed to do with her included playing with oversized fourteen-year-old titties, and finger-fucking underaged fourteen-year old pussy? Would that be so bad? Was the sensation of her soft, junior-high hands wrapped around my spewing cock so unpleasant, that I could deny myself its pleasure for evermore? Was I that Spartan?

No.

I knew that if she didn't blink, and soon, I myself would cave. I'd settle for less than I hoped, but for more than I had previously ever dreamed of. She was just too irresistible.

Come the following Tuesday morning, as luck would have it, my wife had to go to work early. A schoolmate's mother would pick Hannah up for school. While we waited for her ride, Hannah broached the subject weighing on both our minds.

"Today's Tuesday."

"Yep. Bridge night."

"Yeah. I just don't know, Uncle Tim."

"I know, Honey. That's all right. Just decide what you're comfortable with, and don't worry about it. Don't worry about me!"

"I just feel so torn, you know?"

"C'mere." I pulled Hannah into my lap. "I love you no matter what. I love you if we play the game every day--every night--or if we never play it again." While I said this, I reached up under her plaid skirt, slid a hand along a smooth, slender thigh, nudged aside the gusset of her cotton underpants, and effortlessly slid my middle finger right into her slick, quivering fuckhole. Apparently, thinking about what we might do that evening in her aunt's absence already had her gushing, despite her intellectual misgivings.

She moaned.

"Now, give me a kiss... ," which resulted in a far better lesson in French than her third-period language class would be affording her that day, I assure you. "Now ... have a good day at school. Whatever you decide, I love you just the same."

Now that was a long day at the office. I resolved to control myself, and not give in, at least for another week, even if Hannah failed to initiate our game that evening. If she came forward, it would mean she was going to suck my cock before the night was through. That was a prize worth a wait. However, if she didn't appear in the media room, well, I'd try to ignore my lusts and watch the World Series. I wouldn't negotiate. Not yet. Such self-discipline would deny me, in that event, her delicate eighth grade hands stroking my cock to completion. Ouch! Okay, I could hold out at least one more week before relenting. Maybe.

As it turned out, all this tortured analysis was moot for, to my great joy and relief, I had no sooner found my seat and flipped on the big-screen TV that evening than Hannah walked in.

She was naked.

Her beautiful big brown eyes were wide with anticipation, or fear. Her spectacular, oversized, adolescent breasts heaved, up and down, in apprehension. Her even, white upper teeth pressed into a fat, succulent lower lip, while between her slender tan thighs, two equally succulent, swollen lips peeked out.

Both my heart and my dick leapt at the sight. Dare I hope? But caution was warranted; our little game followed a precise formula, so I stuck with it.

"Hello, Hannah. Is there something I can do for you? Do you want to watch the game with me? It's the World Series, you know."

"Uncle Tim!"

"Yes?"

"I'm naked!"

"I see that, and you look lovely. Good enough to eat. Was there something else?"

"Yes! I mean, Uncle Tim... I bet you can't make me say 'uncle'."

"Well, we'll just see about that. You know that you have to start where you lost the last game, right?"

"Yeah, I know." She started to sit on the couch beside me, presumably to again lean over my lap.

"Why don't you kneel down on the floor in front of me here ... it will make things easier ... that's it."

I leaned back in the couch, lacing my fingers together behind my head in a classic "king of the world" pose. I scooted my hips out toward the edge of the seat, and spread my knees. Optimistically, after dinner (and after my wife's departure), I had changed into a very thin, very loose pair of sweatpants, and I had no underwear beneath. Given the enticement of the bare teenaged tit-tops mere inches from my crotch, perched on the chest of my lovely, kneeling niece, these sweatpants were tenting up impressively. I kept silent, waiting for the "challenger" to make the first move in the "game."

Tentatively, Hannah reached up, over the protruding flannel peak, and took my waistband gingerly in each hand. Slowly, she pulled the material towards herself, lifting it up and over my rigid prick. Once revealed, it obscenely swayed back and forth like a flagpole weathering a December gale.

It was adorable how her dark eyes darted back and forth at this display, tracking with and transfixed by the cockhead slowly swinging and pitching mere inches from her lovely countenance. She licked her lips, screwed up her face, and leaned forward.

Apparently, she had resolved to jump right into the deep end of the pool, rather than to take things a step at a time. She opened her cunt-like mouth--and I mean that simile in the most complimentary way--and enveloped my knob in one go. As her thick, bee-stung lips settled around my shiny, swollen glans, I gasped. I am absolutely convinced that the female mouth--and specifically, Hannah's perfect mouth--was either designed by God or selected by evolution for the specific purpose of sucking cock. The feeling is just too perfect for happenstance.

Next, Hannah's lips sealed around my shaft, just below the crown, and within moments, either by instinct or in a clever extension of her earlier French-kissing lessons, she began to swirl her tongue tip around its bulbous mass, eliciting even further gasps and groans of delight from her temporarily speechless uncle.

Then, both of her delicate hands entered the fray, first by taking hold of my exposed shaft, stroking it up and down as I had taught her the week before, and then by exploring my scrotum and balls, which were elevated for her examination by the elastic waistband of my sweatpants, hooked conveniently underneath them.

All the while, I simply gloried in the experience. The physical sensations, of course, were fantastic, but don't let me glaze over the visual and psychic pleasures, which were profound: the pursed "oh" of her mouth, smoothly sliding around my shaft, descending further and further along it as her comfort and experience grew; the dark pools of her juvenile eyes, peering up into mine, seeking (and receiving) avuncular approval for her efforts: and her tiny, light tan hands, with their slender fingers and tentative touch, caressing and pleasing every square inch of my crotch not currently enmouthed.

Yes, the imagery alone was enough to make me think I'd died and gone to heaven.

Add to this sight the hot, juicy love her sweet eighth-grader mouth was making and the eager tickling and exploration her fingertips were pursuing, and it felt like I just might actually die from the joy of it all! Whether heaven would be my destination after such a death, I don't know. Anyhow, at that moment, the experience sure seemed like it might be worth eternal damnation.

I almost came in her mouth, right then, but concentrated on, of all things, the stereotypical "baseball." This approach was easier than usual, given that there was a game on the big screen, visible right behind the avid middle-school cocksucker. It also helped that I stood to lose a thousand dollar bet if the White Sox won the Series (I'm a foolish and emotional Cubs fan, you see), and things weren't looking so great for my pocketbook at this point. In any case, after this heroic effort at self-distraction, I was barely able to restrain myself, but I did in fact manage to forestall my ejaculation.

Coming so close to climax, and successfully backing away, can suddenly give you a greater command of your faculties, and your orgasm, than you had before. On this occasion, that was my experience. Hannah continued to bob on my prickhead, and play with my balls, and I luxuriated in the pleasure, but I was happily now at some distance from finishing. My reasoning brain came once more on line, and no sooner had the thought crossed my mind that I could let the precocious girl suck me to completion at a leisurely pace, but it struck me that I had to interrupt the proceedings.

Crazy, you say? A gorgeous, big-titted fourteen-year old schoolgirl, my wife's own niece,

kneeling naked and subservient between my thighs, sucking the very first cock of her young life--my own happy cock--and showing no signs of stopping before receiving her very first bellyful of cum, and I want to STOP?!!

Well, yes, for the moment at least. For as the lust fog cleared from my head, after I stepped back from that early ejaculatory precipice, I realized that if I came in Hannah's mouth right now, she would "win."

Now track with me here. I'm competitive by nature, but I'm not such a damn fool that I'd pass up an opportunity to blast my ropy yogurt down such a delectable throat just for the sake of my undefeated record. No, sir.

However, if I pumped my cum down her slender neck before she said "uncle," then she would win. As far as I knew, Hannah kept coming back, kept re-initiating our game, partly out of frustration at losing. Wasn't possible--just possible--that the game she won would be our last game ever? I certainly intended, over time at least, to go much further with Hannah than a blowjob, notwithstanding how delightful that was proving to be.

Therefore, in order to protect the long-term interests of my libido, I interrupted her steadily improving blowjob.

"Ok, Sweetheart, that's enough for now. Obviously, I can't get you to say 'uncle' this way. Maybe you'll get to finish later. Come up here on the couch." She complied, wiping her wet lips across the back of her hand as she did so.

I gently pushed her back along the seat of the couch, until she was lying on her back, her legs across my lap. She gazed up at me in expectation.

"This is such a pretty pussy you have, Hannah." I plucked playfully at the tiny tuft of nascent pubic hair, barely visible. "Do you remember who this pussy belongs to?"

She nodded.

"Do you remember what you said last time? That I am the one who decides when this pussy gets played with? When it comes? All that?"

She nodded again.

"Would you like to have your pussy played with, Hannah?"

"Please!"

"All right then, spread your thighs, I want to get a close look. I hope this isn't too embarrassing for you--it would be a shame for you to say 'uncle' over this, after what you've already brought yourself to do with your mouth, wouldn't it?"

"Yeah. I won't get embarrassed."

"We'll see."

Actually, I had no particular plan to embarrass her. I had a plan to eat her. I knew that if I managed to do that for even a few seconds before she freaked out, she'd be hooked, so I was trying to buy myself those few seconds.

Therefore, while Hannah was focusing on not being embarrassed, I was focusing on using my fingertips to stroke, and to gently part, her swelling, darkening outer labia. I was also focusing on leaning in, closer and closer, and inhaling her heady, musky, fragrance.

And while Hannah was concentrating on keeping her thighs spread, and on keeping her mouth tightly shut against any late-arriving modesty that might eject a premature capitulation, I was concentrating on diddling her shy, oozing sugar hole, and her emerging, glistening funbutton. Finally, when I could no longer resist the flushing fullness of her savory biscuit, I leaned in and swept my broad, flat tongue up through the groove of her vulvic crevice.

"oo-Ooo-OOO" she groaned in a quavering voice. Repetitions of this sexy utterance, varied in both vowel choice and volume, accompanied my oral efforts for the next several minutes, during which time I fully explored her schoolgirl pussy with my tongue, lips, nose and face.

My fingers, already acquainted with this pubescent playpen, reintroduced themselves by entering her clutching channel, to tease and stretch her slimy interior sheath. Their activity only encouraged my niece's incoherent vocalizations, which in turn further motivated my own ministrations.

Within minutes, Hannah was bucking her young pelvis up into my face, onto my fingers, and over my lapping tongue, in a frenzied, frantic climax perfectly appropriate to such a healthy young animal.

I rode her out and, as her convulsions diminished, her flow increased. The sweet discharge of her adolescent organ coated my tongue, and I slurped it up with gusto. Finally, my niece went limp, exhausted by her achievement. Given such a temporarily biddable subject, I brooked no delay.

Kicking off the sweatpants from around my ankles, I sidled up into her junction. Reaching under each of her thighs, I rolled her hips up and pressed her knees into her oversized tits, scooting my own knees in to support her elevated lower back. This maneuver had the desired two-fold result: It brought her sloppy, swollen cunt to the top of the stack, so to speak, and it laid the swinging beam of my manhood perfectly into her trench, lengthwise.

Hannah's eyes popped open, just as soon as her hazy mind was able to count one hand on each leg, plus something touching her puss. Her eyes focused on the thick, rigid serpent lying along her crack, its purpling head resting atop her virtually non-existent pubic patch. Her eyes shifted, for a second, to meet my own with a look of worry and hunger. Then they returned to my cockhead, as if mesmerized.

Taking this as a cue, I slid forward, allowing my shaft to glide luxuriantly along her slot. My prick extended past her twat as I did this of course, and Hannah followed its head with her eyes as it reached two, three and four inches out into the open air above her face, its underside glistening with her own oily lubrication. I pulled back, and she marked this retreat just as attentively. I slid forward again, until my balls rested on her upturned schoolgirl ass, and then once more backed off, until my business end itself was splitting her widening labia. Now, the sweet spread of her inner petals seemed to wrap the bulge on the underside of my shaft as I slid back and forth, and I could hear a rising pant emanating from my fourteen-year-old niece, at least insofar as it wasn't drowned out by my own.

"Ooh, that feels nice ... um, what are you doing?"

"I'm just letting your pussy get to know my prick, that's all. This isn't fucking, you know."

"I know..." she replied, in a tone that indicated she hadn't been sure.

She clasped her hands over her own knees, taking responsibility for maintaining her position, so I was able to press down on my shaft with one hand, driving it between her slick lips even further, to her greater pleasure and my own.

"But sooner or later, I am going to fuck you, you know. That is, if we keep playing this game."

"I know."

"And judging by how slutty this little pussy of yours is getting right now, it wants to get fucked."

"I know," she replied, to my surprise.

"When I do fuck you, I'll start sort of like this." I grasped my aching shaft with my hand, and drawing back further this time, I pushed it down, pressing its inflamed tip against the moist opening of her girlhood.

"You would?" She pulled her knees farther apart.

"Yep. And the next thing I would do, which is almost, but not quite fucking you, is this." I pressed in, wedging the spade-like tip directly into the hole, and slipping into her threshold. I didn't stop until the fat head of my very ready organ lay within the tightly squeezing mouth of her schoolgirl cuntlet. I don't know, this was probably technically fucking--it was certainly enough from a criminal court's point of view, I am sure--but generations of teen boys, myself included, had used this "incrementalist" approach to getting it done, and as I've mentioned before, I'm not one to mess with success.

"This isn't really fucking, but it sure feels nice getting the head in, sort of sitting on your doorstep. I feel so 'connected' to you, Hannah. Do you like it?"

"Yeah! But ... are you sure that this isn't fucking?"

"Yep. Damn sure." Her little velvet box squeezed and slobbered over the invading tooltip. I was really tempted to slam myself home. "This is almost fucking. I can fuck you from here, just by sliding in. So, Hannah?"

"Yeah, Unc--I mean, yeah, Tim?"

"You better understand, that if you ever let a boy get to the point I'm at, you won't be able to keep him from fucking you. You won't be able to stop him, just by asking. Or by saying 'uncle.' But you can stop me. This time. We both know it's eventually going to happen, but it doesn't have to happen today. You understand?"

"Yes."

"Good. But this pussy of yours is so inviting, so squishy and wonderful, that we have to decide now. I'm going to count to three, slowly. On 'three', I'm driving in, and we're fucking. Once we start fucking, there'll be no stopping me, even with 'uncle, ' until I'm finished. Do you understand?" I pressed in about a centimeter. Jesus! I had to be careful if I wanted to live up to my word.

"One..." I twirled my cockhead around in her expanding, readying vestibule.

"Two..." I adjusted my stance into a more upright position, in preparation for a mighty downstroke.

'Thr--"

"UNCLE! NO! UNCLE!"

Almost--almost did I disobey my reasoning mind; almost did I betray my word. Almost did I plunge into her ready depths, despite her eleventh-hour submission. Almost.

But instead, I withdrew, sitting back on my heels, my angry cock veering about dangerously in the air, my spine practically shuddering at the denial. I was in a state.

"I'm sorry, Uncle Tim. You win again. So now I have to finish by sucking you, right?"

I don't know if it was my imagination--inflamed, in all likelihood, by my hyper-aroused condition--or whether Hannah's own quickly-expanding sexual experience informed her technique, but the blowjob my fourteen-year old niece administered after leaving me blue-balled at the entrance to her virgin cunt was outstanding.

Before the interlude of her own oral gratification, the novice eighth-grader had tentatively suckled and stroked at my offered manhood. Now, after her first experience of cunnilingus, she performed like a trailer park cockhound campaigning for homecoming queen.

Her mouth was all over me, and she made several valiant efforts to take me to the root. She failed at this, but the attempts served to coat my throbbing rod with her slick schoolgirl saliva.

She pressed my shaft up flat against my belly and lapped at its underside. She held it upright, in both hands, reverently, as she kissed it from head to balls. She pursed her full, fat lips into a tight little fish-mouth, and slid it over my cockhead, back and forth, subjecting it to an exquisite, overpowering constriction. And through it all, her eyes--her huge, liquid eyes--stared up into mine in an expression that I can only describe as WORSHIPFUL.

That was the best part, by far. Not just her eyes, but the whole visual scene--her beautiful face, so young and "innocent;" her full, junior-high lips slurping along my pole; and yes, her big, dark eyes, wide and attentive, staring up into mine for approval.

I was going to cum, of course.

So when she loosened her pucker a bit, and started sliding back and forth down my shaft in a longer stroke, I hissed at her, in a loving way, that she shouldn't stop, oh god no, don't you stop, not yet, no.

To make sure, on the last few strokes, I took hold of her bobbing head in both hands, gently I hope, and added my own hip thrusts to the relative motion. The orgasm hit first, shocking my body with delight, and after three or four strokes of the electrical charge, great spouting eruptions of ball-juice hosed out of my pisshole like a superheated steam leak.

Hannah gamely held on, and although some of my copious load dribbled from the corners of her mouth as I continued to pump through the swollen gasket of her juvenile lips, I believe she swallowed most of it. In other words, she swallowed a lot!

Have you ever come so hard that your balls hurt afterwards? I mean, hurt pretty badly, enough to double you over? That's what happened as I came down the slope from the first orgasm Hannah ever sucked out of me. They fucking ached. And, of course, it was absolutely worth it!

The next few days, Hannah and I were both as skittish as proverbial long-tailed cats in a rocking chair factory. The source of the tension was obvious--we both knew that Hannah was going to get fucked, and soon, by her uncle's very motivated prick.

We knew we'd never make it until the following bridge night. Hell, we barely contained ourselves until Saturday morning, when my wife finally left us alone to attend to her weekly shopping expedition. In the intervening period, although we kept our hands to ourselves, Hannah and I would practically jump with guilt every time my wife spoke to one of us.

Finally, Saturday morning arrived. Neither of us played it cool. The instant we heard the door opener grinding in the garage below the family room, Hannah and I both practically ran to the picture window to watch my wife's Audi pull out. Luckily, she didn't look up and see us staring back ... that would have been a curious sight to her, I am sure!

As she drove down the block, Hannah and I followed, racing to the room at the end of the hall--Hannah's own bedroom--from which we watched the sedan take a right turn onto Adams Street and disappear from view.

Alone, finally, and for sure.

By the time I turned around, Hannah had already stripped off her pajama top and was making quick work of her bottoms, doffing panties and all in her hurry. I quickly followed suit.

"Uncle Tim," she rushed, as she scattered a passel of stuffed animals and climbed up into her four-poster princess bed, "I bet you can't make me say 'uncle, ' and I really mean that this time!"

It was soon obvious that she really did mean it this time. I had no sooner joined her on the bed but she had pulled her knees up to her chest and spread them, framing her oversized fourteen-year old titties and opening her nearly hairless crotch to my admiring attention.

My clothes were off in Olympic-qualifying time, and within moments, I was sidling up into the proffered junction and laying my turgid pole along its slippery groove. I had previously supposed that I would need to start with a little cunnilingus again, to prepare her for her impending defloration, but it was now obvious that her own anticipation had lubricated her junior-miss-sized hole quite sufficiently. Her cunt-lips glistened with her own concupiscence.

Her big dark eyes stared up at me; her pink tongue swabbed across her sexy, pouty lips. Her healthy tits, pebble-hard nipples distended, heaved with her heavy breath. The warmth of her oozing puss caressed and bathed the lower side of my resting but eager shaft.

"You sure you want this?"

No smart-aleck response this time. Just a nod.

"You don't want to say the special word? A word describing the family member who is your mother's sister's husband? That word?"

Slowly and solemnly, she shook her head.

"Ok, then, here goes. Once I start I won't be able to stop no matter what you say."

I adjusted my stance, giving myself room to back my log off her quim and aim the tip into its mouth. The cooperative little orifice spread around my flared knob as I pressed in, and in moments I found myself where we had left off the last time, with my glans soaking and luxuriating within the bubbling vestibule of my niece's fourteen-year-old vagina.

This time, however, this achievement represented not the end of a day's work, but the beginning. After a few moments enjoying this dilatory anticipation, I pressed in.

Hannah's eyes widened even further, if you can believe it, and her pupils dilated noticeably as I slowly but inexorably slid into her sweet sheath, penetrating her juvenile mating channel for the very first time. When I had about four inches buried within her, she grunted, and so I paused to allow her young organ to accommodate itself to its new friend. I could feel her vaginal muscles quivering around me, and sensations of both heat and oily moisture began to increase.

While waiting for the right moment to proceed, I occupied myself with pinching and pulling at Hannah's steepling nipples, dark-brown and shaped like inverted gumdrops. This seemed to have a beneficial effect, because in response she moaned, and humped her crotch up into me. Taking that as a cue, I continued to pull and twist at her sensitive nipples, and pressed myself further into her loins.

Soon, I felt my balls come to rest upon her exquisite, upturned little rump. Wow! I could hardly believe that the petite little teen was able to take my whole length on her very first try. We were obviously made for each other!

"Hannah, we're fucking now, you know."

"Yeah..." she said, a little dreamily.

"Your own Uncle's adult penis, thirty-six years old, is buried deep in your fourteen-year-old pussy. What do you think of that?"

Her pussy answered first, rippling along my length. God! That felt great. Then, she was finally able to focus her half-lidded eyes on mine and answer verbally.

"I think it's good."

"You think this is good, huh? Well how about this?" I started to move within her, cycling slowly through only a centimeter or so at first, but building in speed and stroke-length steadily.

'Oooh! That's even better. Please keep doing that!"

"Do you like fucking your Uncle?"

"Yesssss."

"Are you going to fuck him from now on, whether you win or lose the game today?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah ... I belong to you, Unc ... I belong to you, Tim. Please keep fucking me..."

I, of course, was happy to comply. Shifting my angle a bit, and pulling halfway out, I found the spongy flesh of her G-spot with the tip of my cock. Perhaps it was a good thing we had spread this debauching out over several episodes, because due to my earlier, lengthy digital molestation, I was quite familiar with Hannah's internal geography. When I found it and started scraping my helmet across it diligently, the effect was immediately noticeable on the already-panting young teen.

"Hannah, who owns your pussy?"

"You do!"

"That's right. And who decides when it gets to orgasm?"

"Oh, my ... oh, you do, you do!"

"That's right. Hannah, I am giving your pussy permission to come now."

"Oh, if you just keep ... just keep ... oh God! Here it is ... oh ... Oh ... OH!"

Hannah's eyes clamped shut, her jaws tightened, and her sweet, succulent mouth blossomed into a pursed, spreading flower that was positively cunt-like in its swelling beauty. Her vagina fluttered around my cock, and I resisted the urge to slam into her deep and throw my own orgasm into the fray, opting instead to continue to caress her special flesh with my tip in a rapid but short-stroked massage.

Her orgasm lasted for what seemed like a minute and a half, but that seems unlikely in retrospect. Perhaps it was the variety of her cries, mewls, and moans, or the pelvic energy of her jerks, humps, and clutches that made it seem so epic. In any case, as it finally subsided, I was looking down on a very satiated fourteen-year old niece, gripping the end of my proud, avuncular cock with her nibbling, bubbling, underaged twat. I was in a paradise of lust--and love. In exhaustion, Hannah took her hands from her knees and started to lower her legs.

"Just a minute, there, Sweetheart." I took my hands off her magnificent tits, and hooked each of her legs with an arm, rolling forward and lifting her crotch even further upwards. From here, I was able to slip her sweet, tan calves over my shoulders. I pressed my own pelvis inward, sliding my cockhead off its G-spot lodgment and driving it deep into her immature organ, nudging across the hard nut of her cervix and into the squishy, resilient tissues of her vaginal back wall.

I took a moment to rearrange her silky black tresses about on the bed sheet, spreading them gloriously and ensuring that her beautiful face would be completely unobscured as I took my own climactic pleasure. Once this handiwork was prepared, I put my palms down on either side of her head, actually on those very raven locks, and put my weight on them, while simultaneously lifting off my knees and onto the balls of my feet. This maneuver further rotated her young pelvis upwards into a submissive, receptive angle.

I don't know what Hannah saw in my face when she looked up into it. Her own expression was angelic and adorable. But it wouldn't surprise me if what she saw was the visage of some beast, or demon, for from that moment I was nothing more, or less, than an instinctual fucking animal.

My pacing "just happened"--I didn't direct it--but I can describe it. First, I slid slowly through her slick orifice, long-stroking her from stem to stern, and the sensation was sedately godlike, magnificent. Within twenty or thirty strokes, however, I noticed that my pace was picking up, and my thrusts were getting shorter. Although I continued to batter at her back wall--in fact even more forcefully than before--I was no longer pulling back to her very threshold.

Hannah seemed to like this development, because from her throat emanated a continuous keening, syllabically punctuated each time my battering ram collided with her deeply-bruised cockstop.

"unhhhhhhh-UNH-uhhhhhhh-UHN-unhhhhhh-UHN..." It went, and in reaction, my inner beast pumped faster, and harder.

'unhhh-UHN! unhhh-UNH! unhhh-UNH! unhhh-UNH!..." she crooned, climbing, it seemed, her own slope towards a second orgasm. Her wee hands reached up and placed themselves on my neck, to hold on urgently. I felt my lower cock--the part of the shaft at its very base, from and around which my scrotal sac was hung--tingle and tighten, and I knew that within moments I would be coming into my niece's adolescent belly. I felt my hips jerking back and forth with a rapidity that would have impressed a champion mastiff.

"unh-UNH-unh-UNH-uhn-UNH-unh-UHN," rang out and, when I felt her fingernails dig into the flesh of my neck in an autonomic response to the massive orgasm wracking her petite body, I felt my own loins convulse, and my hips slam forward, this time to stay, burying my prick as deeply within her juvenile center as possible. Time froze, as my balls unloaded an incestuous tidal wave, a seminal offering upon the altar of my fourteen-year-old niece's shattered virginity.

A few minutes later, as we cuddled on Hannah's princess bed, her novice nook quivering and trembling around the still very present, and still half-stiff, cock nestled within it, my niece had recovered enough to tease me a bit.

"I did it. I won. You never got me to say 'that word'."

"You're right," I said, gently pushing a strand of her silky black hair off her face and hooking it behind a delicate eighth-grade ear. "I did everything I could ... I teased your pussy lips with my cock--a cock old enough to have fathered you..." At this observation, I felt that cock, still half-awake, twitch in pleasure inside her sweet hole.

" ... and you didn't quit. And then I teased your pussy inside, stroking and rubbing the tip of my prick against that sweet spot you like so much, even making you come like a madwoman, and you didn't quit at that, either." I felt a recuperating, adolescent vagina squeeze me in return, at the recollection.

"And I teased your breasts, and pinched your nipples. Like this. These breasts, that make Middle School boys go ga-ga, and which, I'm sure, have every male teacher in the school contemplating criminality. And you still didn't quit." This narrative, and its accompanying physical demonstration, had her nipples distended and rock hard once again.

"And then I fucked you, deep and hard. Relentlessly. Like some kind of mindless, savage beast. And you didn't quit then, either." My prick, restiffening, slipped further into her belly, and her coltish legs cooperatively slid up to wrap around my waist.

Rolling her onto her back and starting up a new fuck-rhythm, gentle but insistent, I continued. "And I even went so far as to cum right inside you, planting what must have been at least a quart of your own uncle's sperm right into your cute little tummy. It's swimming--no, TEEMING--around in there, right now, looking for your eggs!" She reached her arms up around my neck at this, and pursed those beautiful lips in a pretend pout. My prick oozed out the last drops of its first orgasm's fluid, even as it began to prepare to load up for another round.

"And still you didn't quit. And so," I concluded, picking up my fuck-pace, "I have finally, and most definitely, LOST, and you have indisputably WON. For your prize, I'm going to spend the next hour or so losing for a second time!"

Needless to say, once the floodgates were opened, we couldn't fuck often enough. Every time my wife left the house over the next several weeks--and many times when she hadn't--I'd be all over my niece like a cheap suit.

And it wasn't just me. Hannah often initiated the fun herself. In fact, I never had the guts to seek out my little eighth grader when my wife was at home, but that was never enough to stop her. Regardless of the risk, I never could resist her coquettish advances, which she always predicated on our original, "say uncle" game.

As a perfect illustration of her brazenness, consider what happened just this afternoon. Today is Saturday, and my wife--Hannah's own aunt--was just in the backyard, weeding her flower garden. She could be out there for the next two hours ... or she could walk in the door at any moment. As usual of late, Hannah seemed to thrive on the sense of risk. She found me in my study, paying bills. She appeared in nothing but a pair of too-tight white cotton panties, her pudenda visible by impression. Her facial expression was challenging, her arms--and her prematurely large breasts--akimbo.

"Uncle Tim, do you remember what you said last night, while I was sucking your cock?"

"You mean while I gave you a ride home from cheerleading practice?"

"No, not then. Then, you were just muttering stuff like 'sweet little cheerleader whore, ' and junk."

"Oh, yeah, sorry."

"Don't worry, I don't mind. Especially 'cause you were fingering me through my cheer panties the whole time. That was nice--as usual. No, I mean later, in the media room. You face-fucked me something fierce. I thought I was going to choke, you came so much. You do remember that blowjob, right?"

"Of course, how could I forget?"

"Yeah, well before you came--actually, before you grabbed my head and got rough--you said that today would be like a really dumb day for us to fuck. 'Cause you think I'm fertile right now."

"Yep. Probably. If you really started your last period a week ago last Tuesday."

"I did. I marked it down, like you told me to. Today is the day, the dangerous day. So, if we had sex today, and you came inside me..."

"And I would come inside you, if we had sex. Unless you said 'uncle, ' of course."

"Of course. If you could get me to say 'uncle, ' then you'd win, so then you could pull out. Mission accomplished. But if I didn't say 'uncle?'"

"I would keep going. I'd keep plowing my very adult cock into your hairless young pussy."

"Hey! That's not fair! It's only hairless 'cause you shaved it last week, Uncle Tim."

"Yeah, well there were only ten or twelve real hairs to begin with. Anyway, as I was saying, sooner or later, I'd come. Inside of you."

"Between 'sooner' and 'later, ' I'd prefer 'later.'"

"I know you would, you horny little fuck-kitten. Don't worry, I'd fuck you for a long, long time, first, before I came inside your juvenile womb. You know, to give you plenty of opportunity to give up, and say 'uncle'."

"Not a chance. I'd show you--I'd just keep cumming again and again, for as long as you fucked me. And if you couldn't make me say 'uncle, ' then you'd have to come inside me, and I'd get pregnant. I'd have to show up to Mrs. Maynard's eighth-grade homeroom Monday morning, already totally knocked-up with my own uncle's baby. Right?"

"Yep. Quite possibly. So we'd better not even start; and if we do start, you'd better say 'uncle' before I plant my sperm deep into your very fertile, very vulnerable fourteen-year-old baby-box, don't you think?"

"Hmmm."

"And I ought to warn you, I feel a REALLY big load brewing in these balls of mine. So you'd best just not even start. I'd come tons."

"Really, you'd come tons? So if you were to come inside me this afternoon, there's a good chance your sperm would still be leaking out of my pregnant pussy and down my thighs, every time I stood up to sing a hymn in Sunday School tomorrow morning?"

"Yep."

"Gosh, that sounds scary. Maybe I should follow your advice..." She turned as though she were going to leave the room, but then stopped and faced me, once more swinging those spectacular tits into view. "Um, Uncle Tim?"

"Yes, Sweetheart?"

"I bet you can't make me say 'uncle'!"

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