Chapters : 1 | 2
My name is Bob, and I'm six-three, with dark, wavy hair and a six pack
you could rest marbles in if I was lying down. I have a foot long
dick, and more pussy than I can find the time to keep happy.
You buying any of this?
I don't blame you. It's all lies. That's how most of these stories start, but they're probably all lies too.
So why am I starting out with an outrageous lie? Well ... in my
case, the truth is just as crazy. And I can't tell anybody I know
about it. Hell, if I did, they wouldn't believe me anyway.
So I'm going to tell you, because if I don't tell somebody, I'm going
to go crazy.
My name isn't Bob, but we'll stick with that for now. You'll
understand why I don't want to be identified later. I'm not six
foot, three inches tall. I'm a shade under seventy inches.
My hair is short, because it's easier to take care, and because I got
used to having it that way while I was in the Army. I can still
do a hundred sit-ups, but marbles would roll right off of me.
Sorry, it's just the way things are.
And, as for women, there have been a few, but there isn't one right now
and hasn't been one for quite some time. The last two
relationships I was in were based on lust, rather than love. On
their part. I fall in love easily, like my sister, who you'll
hear about in a minute. My track record with women,
unfortunately, is about like hers with men. That's just a fact
There's really nothing special about me, in fact. I got hurt
while I was on active duty, in what would be called an "industrial
accident" in the civilian world. The Army called it dereliction
of duty, in terms of the specialist operating the combat forklift that
ran over me. They had to put a steel pin in my right femur, and
had to rebuild both the tibia and fibula in my left leg. That got
me the "golden ticket" of being medically retired at a 90% disability
rating. It's only a thousand bucks a month, but the GI Bill also
got me a degree in data systems engineering. I formed my own
company and I do all right. I never wanted to be rich anyway.
Actually, other than a slight limp, it's hard for anyone to tell I was
injured. I can tell when it's going to rain or snow, but that's more of
an annoyance than actual discomfort.
Okay, enough about me. I'm just an ordinary guy. The story
actually started on an ordinary day, a Monday, in fact, when I opened
my email and found, among the dozens of work related things, one from
my niece. She's much more interesting than I am, and since all
these stories describe the girl too, I will. But in this case,
I'll give you the real scoop.
Elizabeth, who I just call Lizzy most of the time, is just shy of ...
well never mind how old she is ... she's a healthy young woman who
usually presents with a long, blond pony tail, that reaches just past
her shoulder blades when up, and to the middle of her back when it's
down. It's that golden blond color that looks like it has brown
highlights in it in the sun, except you can't find them if you look
closely. She's slim, but only because she's active. Her
mother is tending toward heavy these days, and the same is in Lizzy's
future if she doesn't keep up her active lifestyle. She also has
her mother's breasts, which are, shall we say ... generous. They
developed early, and the scamp learned to use them on men early as
well. She practiced by pushing them and rubbing them against me
during hello and goodbye hugs. There was even a time when I
accused her of doing it on purpose, just to tease me.
Her response? "It's what girls do, Uncle Bob. I have to practice on somebody. If not you, then who should it be?"
That sounds like she was coming on to me, but that wasn't the
case. Not really. It's not like every time we were together
she threw herself at me, or anything like that. She was just
unabashedly friendly and intimate with me on a level that might exceed
the usual uncle/niece relationship.
The other thing is that, along with her upper body, her bottom
developed nicely, too. She has that typical hourglass shape that
you see on the Victoria's Secret models, who actually look like women,
instead of sticks with clothes draped on them.
She looks delicious in a bikini, and yes, I've had inappropriate
thoughts about her on many occasions. I never did anything about
them, of course ... but I had them.
Lizzy lives two blocks from me with my sister, Monica, who finally gave
up men after she dumped her third husband. Number one was
Lizzy’s father, who somehow got the idea that Monica was a
punching bag instead of a good woman. That was when I was still
in the Army, and I beat him bloody one time when I went over and found
her all bruised up. I let him hit me a few times, so there would
be evidence that I had to defend myself. He decided giving her a
divorce was in his best interests. Number two was a cowboy she
met in a roadhouse one night when she went looking for trouble and
found it. He did the Rodeo circuit, trying to strike it big as a bull
rider. When she gave him the ultimatum that it was either her or
the Rodeo, he chose the bulls. Lizzy was twelve when he showed up
on the scene, and fifteen when he left and he's the one who got her
hooked on barrel racing. Number three was a stock broker who she
caught cheating on her with her former best friend. Number three
is why she only has to work part time.
Without going into boring details surrounding birthdays and
Thanksgiving and so on, suffice it to say I got along with husbands two
and three as well as any in-law does. They didn't beat up my
sister, so that was a plus. But I suspect the, shall we say
transient nature, of Monica's relationships with men might have been
responsible for Lizzy fixating on me as perhaps the only stable male
relationship in her life. I mean there was all that hugging, and
rubbing her precious teenage titties against my chest while she
murmured how good my aftershave smelled, and all that.
Of course I never took any of that seriously. It was good for a
fantasy and all, but she was a girl, and I was old enough to be her
father, and the world just doesn't work that way anyway ... right?
Well that's what I thought too, until I got an email from her one day that had photos attached.
Lizzy was a member of 4-H, and had friends related to husband number
two. One of them, in fact, was who boarded her horse, a birthday
present from number two after he actually did
ride a series of bulls long enough to win some money. She rode
that horse in barrel races at various events, such as the rodeo at the
county fair, and 4-H rodeos. She also rode in parades, either
with groups of her 4-H friends, or even the mounted sheriff’s
patrol, which was ceremonial only. Everybody loved to have Lizzy
mounted in a parade with them.
Personally, I think that's because pretty much everybody wanted to mount Lizzy.
So it wasn't unusual for me to get an email with a set of pictures of
her racing from one end of an arena to the other, cutting her horse
around barrels, pony tail flying, an intense look on her face.
And I loved getting those, because she was the quintessential image of
a healthy young cowgirl, ripe and ready. The form-fitting western
shirts, and skin tight jeans, which were tucked into tooled boots
covered her body, true, but they also showcased it as well. Her
wide, leather belt, with a huge buckle made of old nickels soldered
together, gave some scale as her breasts bounced up and down in time
with the horse's gait. You couldn't watch Lizzy on a horse,
without wishing you were the guy whose bedroll she'd climb into by the
campfire that night.
As I said. I was used to getting photos like that. She had a whole crew of friends who loved to take them.
But what I was not used to getting, along with them, was a picture of
her lying on her stomach on her bed, knees bent, toes in the air while
she manipulated the PS3 controller in her hands, staring at the little
TV I knew to be in her room.
Sounds domestic enough ... right?
Except for the fact she was stark naked.
Well, not stark naked, technically. She did
have on knee socks. They were rainbow colored, striped, and that
splash of color on both lower legs was perfectly placed to frame her
moist, juicy-looking, pouting pussy lips, clearly visible between
thighs that were spread just enough to give her balance as she leaned
left and right, using unconscious body movements against the game.
I stared. I could only see part of her face in profile.
Whoever had taken the picture had been behind her. I could even
see the blurry image of the game she was playing, because the TV was
only a couple of feet from her bed, on a chair. But it was
undeniably her. That dark blond pony tail I mentioned was lying
on her back, carelessly falling to one side. If her arm hadn't
been as close to her side as it was, that hair would have been
caressing the side of her breast. And it was her bed, and her
things in the background. I had been in that bedroom before.
Which brought up the primary question: Who the fuck took that picture?!
There were no clues as to that. The flash had been used, so there were no shadows thrown by the taker. There were also no mirrors, or shiny things I could see reflections in.
I looked at the file name of the picture. It was 100__0764.jpg. I looked at the fourteen other pictures that were of her barrel racing, or sitting on her horse, smiling brilliantly, or standing by her horse, or talking to some of her equally gorgeous cowgirl friends.
The file names for those were
100__0765.jpg through 100__0778.jpg. The one of her on the bed had
been taken before the Rodeo
shots. But obviously not at the rodeo. She must have either
clicked and dragged a list to attach the pictures to her email, or
individually selected them as a group. And in the process ... she
included one she hadn't meant to include.
I went back and stared at the photo itself. It wasn't my imagination. Her pussy lips did
look moist. I couldn't help but wonder if any penis had split
those delicious looking lips, sliding between them to plumb her dark
and steamy depths.
I became aware that I was stiff as a board.
And yes, I confess ... I took out my cock and stroked it, staring at
that picture, imagining mounting her from behind, until I spurted all
over the floor under my desk.
I was sure it had been a mistake. She had not meant to send me that picture. The text of the email was standard stuff. "uncle
bob omg i actually got second place at the regional trials i only got a
ribbon but it was so much fun i wish you could come to these i love you
bye" Like I assume is typical in today’s texting
environment, she never used capitals or punctuation. I never get
mail from any other teenager, but I assume that's normal too.
Only that one extra picture was abnormal.
I have to admit I was obsessed with that photograph. The shot
itself was horrifyingly beautiful. I say horrifying because it
bothered me on so many levels. First off, because of that
picture, I now wanted to fuck my niece. There was no getting
around that. Not that I was going to do anything about that desire, but it was a lot
stronger than the mere "innocent" fantasies I'd had of her in the
past. Second, I just couldn't stand the thought that it was some
punk boy, some kid her age who had taken that picture. I had
awful images in my mind of this kid with no face, who was playing video
games with my niece, taking a break only to climb on top of her and
fill her pussy with his little prick and her belly with his spend.
It drove me a little crazy.
I'm not exaggerating here. I was so upset by this that I planned and executed a secret mission to try to learn more.
What I did was call my sister, and tell her it had been much too long
since I'd tasted her cooking, or sat and watched a movie with her.
That was actually true, and since she and I had been pretty close,
growing up, she was always up for spending some time with me. The
only fight I could ever remember having with her was the one after I
beat the piss out of number one and threatened his life if he ever
touched her again. Basically he got frustrated, yelled "Mother fucker!"
and stomped out of the house. First she hugged me, sobbing and
clinging to me. Then she raged at me for butting in, asking me
what the hell she was going to do now. I told her find a better
fucking husband and we yelled at each other for another ten
minutes. Then Lizzy toddled in and started crying because we were
yelling. We made up and she confessed that this wasn't the first
time he'd done it.
Anyway, Monica said "Come on over. Bring pizza and beer," so that's what I did.
My plan was to get Lizzy to choose the movie. That way she'd be
engaged, and I'd have time to snoop. And it worked perfectly too.
She picked something called "The Color of Magic," which was this
ridiculous science fiction kind of sort of thing with a flat world
perched on the back of four elephants, who were standing on the shell
of a huge turtle, swimming through space. But I didn't
care. I said I'd already seen it, and recommended it highly, and
they told Netflix to stream the thing. It was silly, but actually
interesting too. I let it get half an hour into things, when the
plot was beginning to unfold, and then said "Potty break. I must have eaten something that didn't agree with me. I might be a while. Don't stop it for me. I remember what happens."
Then I got up and went to Lizzy's bedroom.
The TV was back on top of her chest of drawers, and the chair was back
in place at her computer desk. She'd just put the computer to
sleep, and it came up quickly. I executed a search for the file
name 100__0764.jpg. It was on the C: drive, not hidden at all,
right in her "my pictures" folder. I went to explore and
navigated to that folder. It was set for thumbnails. There
were lots of pictures in there, probably four or five hundred.
Everything I could see was just normal snapshots. I changed it to
display the file details, sorted it for file name, and went to find
file 100__0764. There it was, in line numerically with a bunch
that came both before it, and after it. I knew the after photos
were the ones of her barrel racing. I double clicked on
100__0764. It was the one she'd sent me by accident.
I closed it and double clicked 100__0763. It was another picture, taken
in her bedroom. She was in it, dressed only in those same bright
rainbow knee socks. But this time she was stretched out on her
bed, in the arms of an equally naked girl who I happened to know was
named Lou Ann. They were kissing.
Lou Ann was one of her 4-H buddies. There was a group of them that I
had often seen together, quite often in pictures at 4-H events. I
had never seen them like this, though. I clicked the "previous"
button on the image viewer, and saw Lizzy standing with Lou Ann and two
other girls, named Kandy and Nicole. They were all hamming it up
for the camera ... and all of them were even more naked than my niece.
"Bob?" came the call of my sister.
I frantically pushed the off button of the computer, holding it until I
saw the light around it go dark. I didn't have time for anything
else. I quickly tiptoed out of her room, leaving the door open.
"Bob?" called Monica again.
"Yeah!" I called.
"Bring me a beer when you come back!" she called.
"Me too!" yelled Lizzy. I heard her laugh and her mother scold her.
I got a bottle of Miller and a can of Mountain Dew and took them back
to the living room, where there was a bar fight going on, on the
screen. I handed the bottle to Monica. Lizzy was lying on
her stomach on the floor, her chest on three throw pillows all stacked
up. She was in the same position as the picture I had looked at
only a minute before, on her computer, except that she was
clothed. Her T shirt had ridden up, though, and a small slice of
her lower back was exposed. Don't ask me why, but I pressed the
cold can of pop against that exposed skin.
She squawked, and rolled over. My eyes went to the front of her T
shirt, where her breasts thrust out. A small slice of skin over
her belly was also exposed.
"Uncle Bob!" she complained.
"Sorry," I said. I stood up and felt a little light headed.
I blamed it on standing too quickly after having been bent over.
My eyes drifted to the crotch of her jeans, where her legs were splayed
"No you're not," she said. "What's wrong?"
"Wrong?" I finally looked at her face. Both of her eyebrows were up.
"You're all flushed," she said.
I felt the heat in my face, then, and put a hand up to touch it automatically.
"Beats me," I said. I went and sat back down by Monica. Her
hand rose and fell on my thigh, only inches from my penis, which was
more than half hard.
"I haven't seen a good bar fight since Rodney left," she said, casually. Rodney was number two.
"I'm sorry you're so deprived," I said, trying to get my mind off of my niece ... and my sister's hand.
I watched the rest of the movie, but I'm not sure I could write a
description of it. I kept thinking about the very quick looks I
had gotten at pictures which, more and more, appeared to my mind as
having been taken at a slumber party of some kind. And it wasn't
just the average, run-of-the-mill garden variety slumber party.
No, these girls were the very best of friends.
Still ... who had taken the pictures? Another girl? Maybe
Samantha, who was also one of the regulars. Or some boy they had
snuck into the house that night.
I know. I'm a pervert. Deal with it. And besides ... maybe it's not
all that perverted. I wanted there to be a guy involved, somehow,
because that would make the girls bisexual, and it was important for my
fantasies that they be bi-sexual. I just wanted to be the guy. That's all.
All this dominated my thoughts, as I watched dragons fly, and sword
fights, and a chest that had legs and ran around saving the day. It was
a weird movie, but not weird enough to keep my eyes off my niece's very
cute bubble butt.
Which might be why, after the movie was over, and the credits were
rolling, and Monica got up to take two fistfuls of beer bottles to the
recycling container in the kitchen, when my niece rolled over to lie,
reclining on those pillows and looked at me, I said "I got your email
with the pictures in it. They made my day."
"Really?" Did she sound strained, or was it just my imagination?
"Really," I said.
Her smile bloomed. "Wanna see my ribbon?" she asked, sitting up
effortlessly, as only the young can, and bouncing up onto her
feet. There was no hint of anything naughty or saucy about her
look, or her behavior.
"Sure," I said.
She took my hand and dragged me to her bedroom. She didn't notice
the door was now open. I stood there, just inside the door,
looking at the bed. She went to a shelf crowded with
trophies. They were all pretty much the same, made of cheap,
gilded plastic, set on a brown wooden base, with a brass plaque on it
that commemorated the event and the date, and what place the winner had
been. There was also a little box overflowing with colorful
ribbons. I was reminded of those rainbow knee socks. .
"See?" She turned and thrust a red ribbon at me proudly.
"It's beautiful," I said, trying not to look at her breasts. "So
were the pictures." I winced mentally. Why couldn't I talk
about something other than the pictures?!
"There are more!" she said. "I'll show them to you!"
She went to her computer and touched the keyboard.
I expected nothing to happen. After all, she had left her
computer asleep, but I had turned it off. So she'd have to boot from
Except that's not what happened.
There are two ways to put a Windows operating system to sleep.
One is to use the mouse, and select that feature from the shut down
menu. The other is to push the off button for exactly the right
amount of time, and then release it. If you press too long, the
power is abruptly cut. That is what I thought I had done, when I heard my sister calling, and thought she might be coming to find me.
Turns out all I did was put it to sleep.
When the screen bloomed to life ... there were Lizzy, Lou Ann, Kandy
and Nicole ... all smiling at us ... naked ... with their arms around
I had just enough time to stare at it and notice that Nicole's hand was
all the way around Kandy, cupping her breast, when Lizzy turned and saw
"Shit!" she gasped.
She ran and stood in front of the screen, facing me. Her eyes
were wild. That moment was the first time that I was absolutely sure
she had not intended to send me the picture she had sent me.
"I'm sorry!" she said, her voice shaky.
"Sorry?" I wasn't sure what else to say. I was still processing things myself.
"Please don't tell Mom," she pleaded.
"Okay," I said. "I won't."
She turned around, bent over and grabbed for the mouse. I stared at her round bottom some more.
Lizzy wasn't a dumb girl. Not by any stretch of the
imagination. And while she might not have known computers as well
as I did, she wasn't clueless about them either. It didn't take
long for her to think through what had just happened.
"How did that happen?" she asked out loud.
"How did what happen?" I asked.
"How did that picture get on my screen?"
That was uncomfortably close to an area of history I did not want her to investigate. I tried to block with humor.
"Well, the OS is called by the user to display a file, and it tells the
graphics viewing card to make various pixels glow, which creates an
image on the screen."
She stared at me.
"I know how it works," she said. "But that's not what I was doing the last time I used the computer."
"Not what you were doing?"
"I wasn't looking at pictures!" she snapped. "Somebody's been in
here!" She went still, and looked horrified. "My mother!" she whispered.
Now, this told me a couple of things. I now knew that her mother did
not know what the girls were up to during their slumber parties.
If she did, there would be no angst. I also knew them both, very
well. They had that best friends kind of mother/daughter
relationship that every mother wishes she had with her daughter, but so
few actually do. All this picture business might be something
she'd kept secret from her mother, but now that she thought the secret
was out, I knew she'd talk to her mother about this, either very soon,
or sooner or later. I could see where this was going to go. She'd
broach the subject with her mother, seeking to get forgiveness, or at
least explain. Her mother would respond in a way that would make
it clear she had not peeked
at the computer. But she would push for more details, of course,
uncovering everything in the process. After that little meltdown
was over, Lizzy would reflect on the only other person who was present
that night ... the only other potential suspect. She would
connect the dots, and hold me responsible for the fact that she was now
grounded until she was thirty.
"It wasn't your mother," I blurted.
"What?" She looked at me with raised eyebrows.
"It was me," I said, swallowing, and hoping she wouldn't scream at me loudly enough to get Monica's attention.
"You?" She sounded confused.
"Move," I said, tersely. I walked toward the computer. I
had to physically move her aside. She had closed the picture
viewer. I opened explore again and navigated to the
directory. I looked over my shoulder at the open door.
"Close the door," I said softly.
"What are you doing?" she asked. Her voice was high and she sounded a little scared.
"Just close the door for a minute," I whispered.
"Come here," I said.
She did, and I highlighted file 100__0765. I double clicked it. There she was, standing by her horse, smiling.
"You sent me that picture," I said.
"Yes." She sounded completely confused.
I clicked the previous arrow, which displayed 100__0764. There was that luscious pussy.
"You also sent me this one," I said. "By accident, I suspect," I added.
"Shit!" she yipped again. "You weren't supposed to see that!"
My ears perked up. She didn't sound embarrassed. It was more like she was angry.
"I'm sorry I intruded on your privacy," I said, urgently, trying to get
my message out to her before she reacted loudly. "I didn't know
whether you'd sent it on purpose, or by mistake. I was trying to
figure that out, so I snuck in here earlier tonight to take a look
around. I found the others ... I figured out it was just a
slumber party picture, or something like that. I'm sorry. I
swear I won't ever do it again."
She stood up and looked at me.
"You thought I sent that to you on purpose?"
You know how you can have the high ground one minute, and lose it instantaneously the next?
"Well ... you know how you've teased me all these years," I offered in my defense.
Suddenly the color drained from her face.
"Did you look at ... all of them?" she asked, her voice in a whisper.
"All of them?" I didn't know how to answer that question.
"How many did you see?" she asked, suddenly very intense.
"Three," I said. "Your mom called me and I had to stop. I thought I turned it off, but I only put it to sleep."
"Three," she said, looking past my head. "So that's why the picture was there when I brought it up."
"I'm really sorry, Lizzy," I said. "I didn't mean to spy."
"Of course you did," she said, folding her arms under generous breasts. "But you only saw three pictures?"
It sounded important to her. I know I should have said "Yes," but I didn't.
"You mean there are more?"
The male part of me must have shone through, because she said "Down, boy. You're not supposed to see those."
My question was the obvious one. "Well who is?"
Now she blushed.
"It was Sam's idea. She wanted to send them to this tumblr site.
I blinked. I knew what she was talking about. Tumblr.com
hosts what they call blogs, which can, in fact, be a
traditional blog format. But a significant section of their users
simply use their blog to post porn. There are literally thousands
of them, with page after page after page of pictures of naked men,
women and everything else under the sun. Suddenly, thinking back
on the pictures I'd seen on her computer, I realized they were very
much like pictures I'd seen on various Tumblr blogs.
And that meant those pictures were out where anybody in the world, who had a computer, could see them.
"Are you fucking insane?" I gasped.
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