Posing Uncle Bob

by Lubrican

Chapters : 1 | 2 | 3

Chapter Two

On the way back to my house, I kept trying to adjust to the fact that I had been given permission to appear naked in front of Heather. Of course merely having permission from her mother didn't solve the problem involved with doing that. Heather was waiting for me. Somehow she seemed to know what had transpired.

"So, when can we start?" she asked.

"When do you want to start?" I asked, instead of answering her.

"What are you doing right now?"

"Let's start tomorrow," I said, stalling. I was going to have to do some serious preparation to keep from exposing myself - literally - for the dirty old man I was. Of course she already claimed she knew that's what I was, but I was going to do my best to avoid presenting proof of it.

She had agreed to my request, and decided on six in the evening, at her house. That we would do this at her house actually made me feel a little bit better. There wasn't anyplace in my house where I had not reflected, shall we say, on the charms of both Heather and her mother, at one time or another. This is not to say I have no control, and will masturbate literally anywhere, like a chimp or something. It's just that when the mood strikes one, one doesn't want to lose that piquant nature of the fantasy by getting up and going somewhere else to address one's ... um ... needs.

In any case, it would be much easier there. She had a studio set up at her house, and all her materials and such.

I rang the doorbell five minutes late. She had told me she would have everything I needed. I had no idea what that was, but she'd said something about trying to provide for any modesty needs I might have. That was in a long string of instructions, like she'd done this a hundred times. As the bell rang I heard a teenager galloping down the steps with a shout of, "I got it."

Heather opened the door dressed in that thrice cursed thong bikini.

While I stared at all that cleavage, I said "I thought we were painting, not swimming."

Wolf eyes looked back at me. "I always work this way. You've seen this suit before anyway. Come on up."

She turned from the door and bellowed, "Mom! Uncle Bob's here," and galloped back up the stairs. Her naked ass cheeks jiggled, and I got a shot of the all-too-nearly-insubstantial cloth that cradled her pussy lips, and the camel toe they made.

Beth walked from the back of the house, wiping her hands on a dishtowel.

"Hi. I'm glad you decided to help. Remember. Just be yourself. She likes who you are, including your warts."

"This is not a good idea," I whispered. "That damn suit you let her wear already gave me a hardon."

"I told her to wear it," said Beth, smiling thinly. "That way you have an excuse that will be easy for her to understand. After all, that's why she got that suit. She not only expects men to react that way ... she hopes they do."

I was busy wondering whether that meant Heather had gotten that suit to tease me with, or to be a general tease to all men. I didn't think about it until much later that the only place she ever wore it was to my house. Her mother shoved me toward the stairs.

"I have complete faith that you will do what's right for Heather."

Now what the hell did that mean?

Her studio was actually an extra bedroom that was cluttered with everything imaginable an artist might need. In the middle of one wall was a raised platform with a luxuriously upholstered chaise lounge on it. I had seen that before, but not in the studio. She'd bought it at a garage sale two or three months before, and told them she'd be back to get it. I helped her bring it home and move it inside. But the last time I'd seen it, it was sitting in the middle of the living room. She'd said something about needing to vacuum it, or something like that. She and Beth must have gotten it up the stairs and into the studio.

As if things weren't bad enough already, I stared at that chaise lounge and realized that was what Beth had laid on ... naked. My cock got even harder.

Her easel was set up six feet away from the base of the platform at an obtuse angle. A tilted table beside a stool held what looked like hundreds of tubes of paint and nearly as many brushes. There were also pieces of charcoal neatly lined up, and colored pencils in a rack that was screwed to the edge of the table, and which kept things from rolling off of it. A number of finished or nearly finished canvases were scattered about the room in stacks.

She stepped around the easel and said, "You can get undressed over there" waving at a screen made of two-by-twos and cardboard. "There's a sheet in there that you can wrap around your waist and hide the good parts with."

I shot her a look, but she wasn't grinning at me like she'd just teased me. Instead, she seemed to be absorbed in choosing which pieces of charcoal she was going to use. I stripped down and wrapped the sheet around me, covering my boner. There wasn't anything else I could do, so I moved from behind the cardboard. She was waiting for me.

Heather appraised me with a critical eye. Evidently satisfied that I still had model potential, she pointed to the chaise and arranged me there the way she wanted me. She spent several long minutes making minute adjustments to my position. When she stepped away I was reclining on the sofa facing her. My right leg was bent, with the heel in front of my left knee, and my right wrist draped casually across the upraised knee. My left leg was extended and I was resting on my left elbow. The drape was covering my genitals and hip. When her fingers moved that material around, getting the folds and creases where she wanted them, I held my breath. She didn't touch my manhood, though, and find out it was stiff.

She backed up and stood, studying me for a few minutes, and then picked up a charcoal stick and started sketching. She worked silently for a few minutes, and then asked me a question about a project I was working on. That led to another topic, and pretty soon we were talking just like usual.

We had been working about an hour when Beth stuck her head in the door.

"How's it going?" she asked.

"So far so good," Heather replied, never looking up. She was brushing at a line she had made, softening it by spreading the charcoal with a fingertip.

"Don't you look handsome," said Beth, staring at my nearly nude body. "Have any of the ... issues ... you were worried about come up?"

"What issues?" asked Heather.

"Everything is fine," I said. "Don't pay any attention to your mother, Heather. She's just trying to cause trouble."

Beth ignored me. "I brought up some lemonade and cookies if you guys are ready for a break."

"A cookie sounds good," Heather replied.

I sat up and swiveled around, resting my feet on the floor. I took a glass of lemonade gratefully and drank deeply. I had not realized what a contorted position I had been in. My shoulder and arm were stiff and sore.

"What did you mean, Mom?" asked Heather, taking a cookie and biting into it.

"Your uncle was worried that you'd react badly to his manhood."

"I haven't seen his manhood," said Heather. "He's too shy. It would be nice if I could see his manhood, but he's too shy."

I spewed lemonade all over the floor between me and the easel. Both women stared at me. I pulled some of the material closer to my dick.

"What's wrong with you?" asked Heather.

"He thought you were saying you wanted to see his penis," said her mother.

"I do want to see it," said Heather. "How can I draw it if I can't look at it?"

"He's worried that you'll think badly of him if you see it," said Beth.'

Heather looked at me. "Why? Is it tiny or something? Guys seem to be all worked up over how big they are. I hear them talking all the time about how big they are. Sounds like Texans bragging to me."

"No," I said, weakly. "That's not the problem."

"Well, the sooner you can share with me what the problem is, the sooner we can come up with a solution." Heather still didn't get it.

Beth glanced at me and said "Well, I have things to do. Keep working on him, dear. He's being silly, but I'm sure you can get through to him. You have a need, and Bob always likes to help. I'm sure Bob will help out if need be dear," Beth said as she left the room.

I was left to stare at the artist, after her mother abandoned me.

"So?" she asked, hands on hips. Bare hips, I might remind you.

She obviously wasn't going to give up. So I figured to just get it over with.

"You're what guys refer to as a Stone Fox," I said.

"That's good ... right?" she said.

"It means you're beautiful."

Her cheeks got pink. "Oh. Okay. That's good. Thank you."

"And men respond to that," I said. She stared at me. I connected the dots. "Physically," I added.

Her eyes dropped to the drape.

"You mean you ...?"

"Yeah," I said. "I'm a guy. I'm normal. You're a babe and I responded. That bikini didn't help, but even if you'd have been fully clothed, being naked with you ... well ... you're a Stone Fox and I'm a guy. Sorry."

"So you have a boner," she said.

"I believe the politically correct word is erection, especially considering your age."

"What does my age have to do with anything?" she asked. "I know guys get boners."

"Great!" I said. "Problem solved. So now you know why I don't want to let you draw me au naturel."

"I've never seen a real one," she said.

"That's as it should be," I suggested.

"But I can't draw it, unless I can see it," she said, with forced patience.

Obviously, she wasn't going to yield to the wisdom of an elder. So I figured I'd just scare her and get it over with.

So I simply dropped the sheet. I didn't have to look down to know that my rod was pointing at her like a heat seeking missile just begging to be fired at her 98.6 degree sexual core. I felt my balls jump in expectation as her eyes fastened on my manhood.

She didn't scream.

Instead, she stepped to one side, to get a profile view.

"So are you, like, normal size?"

Curiosity. That's all she was displaying. I felt like an idiot. Her mother was right. I did have an inflated sense of my self worth.

"Pretty much," I said.

"Is it really for me?" she asked, stepping closer.

It bobbed, in response to her question, which could be interpreted more than one way.

"It's because of you," I said, "not for you."

"I don't understand," she said, taking another step closer.

"Think of it as a Cadillac," I said. "You get to look at it, but you can't have it. It's out of your price range."

"Hmmm," she said. "Get back on the lounge."

She had posed me again, and was standing there, just staring at me, when her mother came back into the room. She had a bunch of what looked like rags, that had been laundered and folded. She set them on a table and turned to look at me.

"Oh my," sighed Beth. "I had no idea."

"What?" asked Heather.

"Your uncle is what we women call well hung."

"I cannot believe you said that," I gasped.

"Well you are!" said Beth.

"He told me he was about normal," said Heather.

"He was being modest," said her mother.


"He's trying to downplay all this. He is just protecting you from himself. He knows his limits and tries to manage them so that he won't do something that scares you."

"He said I caused it," said Heather. "And I know what that means, but I could never be scared of Uncle Bob!" said Heather.

"The other side of it, darling, is that he has the experience to realize he may need to protect you from yourself too."

"That's silly," said Heather.

"No, it's not," said her mother. "There will come a time when you decide you want to become fully a woman, and it would be really nice if it was with the right man. You only lose your virginity once, and that memory will be with you your entire life. Bob knows that."

"We're not talking about having sex!" complained Heather. "I just want to draw him, and I want to get it all right."

"So seeing his erection ... and knowing you caused it ... that doesn't make you feel anything?"

"Of course I feel something. I'm all warm inside. He paid me a very nice compliment. Any girl would want a handsome, wonderful man like Uncle Bob to be interested in her. But that doesn't mean anything is going to happen."

"Famous last words," said Beth.

"How about if you stay here," I suggested. Both women looked at me.

Beth said "I'd enjoy that very much."

"Why?" asked Heather.

"Because I like looking at him like this," said Beth. "I'm all warm inside too."

"Mom!" said Heather, sounding shocked. "You should be ashamed of yourself!"

"Why? I'm at least a grown up. And I love him as much as you do."

"This is all fine, and makes me feel good, but it's not helping the ... situation," I said. "It would be nice if we got this finished, so I could go ..." I stopped. I'd been about to say "do something about this boner," but I realized things were already bad enough. "Just go," I said.

Beth wasn't stupid. She laughed.

Heather frowned. She wasn't stupid either, but all she knew was that something had happened that she didn't understand. She went to her easel, picked up chalk, and began making marks on the paper. Beth just looked at me with those wolf eyes. I noticed that her nipples were poking through her shirt.

"So he's bigger than most," said Heather casually.

"Yes, he is," sighed her mother.

"Knock it off, you two," I growled.

"It's not working," said Heather.

"Why not?" asked her mother.

"Well, I don't know how much art you've looked at, but I'm willing to bet none of it portrayed a man with a boner," said Heather, dryly.

"Hmmmm," said her mother. "You're right. They always show them soft."

"Make it get soft," said Heather, looking right at me.

"You do not want me to go there!" I said, as her mother laughed.

"Who says I don't want you to go there?" she shot back.

Her mother stepped between us. "Let me take care of this little problem," she said.

"How?" asked Heather. She really wasn't stupid.

"Why don't you wait outside," suggested her mother.

"Why don't I stay here so I can see what you do?" countered Heather.

"Do you really want to see your mother ... with a man?"

I expected Heather to blow sky high and talk about her father. But that's not what happened. Instead she got all curious again.

"You'd do that? With Uncle Bob?"

One set of wolf eyes looked at the other.

"Not what you're talking about," said Beth. She glanced at me. "Though it's tempting. There are other ways to make it soft, though."

"Ways ... perhaps I should know about?" suggested Heather.

"You have got to be kidding me!" I gasped. If anything I got even harder. I could feel precum beginning to seep into my shaft.

"Do you really want your mother to teach you how to masturbate a man?" asked Beth.

"Somebody get me a paper bag," I panted. "I'm gonna pass out here!"

"No you're not," said Beth, looking at me. "Lie down on your back."

"You're serious!" I croaked.

She stared at me. "Bob, honey, if you want to go home at all tonight, then just lie there and take it like a man. You told me how you've lusted after us for years. Okay, so now you get to live out one of your tawdry little fantasies."

"He's lusted after us for years?" Heather sounded intensely interested. "Both of us?"

"He's a man, darling," said her mother.

"He's a dirty old man," said Heather.

"Not so old," said Beth, and then she reached for my prick.

It might have been humorous if I hadn't been so freaked out. In fact, some day, I'm quite sure I'll laugh my ass off about it. But at that particular moment, while Beth described how to hold the penis just so, not too tight and not too loose, and grip it so the foreskin slid off and then back on the head without having to change grips, I just lay there paralyzed. That precum made its appearance and Beth told her daughter what that was.

"Can I try it?" asked Heather.

"Maybe later, Darling," said her mother. "Right now, let's just get Old Faithful to spurt so you can get back to work."

"Gaaaaaa," I groaned.

"Now if he's a gentleman, he'll tell you when it's going to happen," said Beth, "so you don't get in the way and get it all over yourself. Of course it doesn't really hurt anything, but you have to change clothes. The best way to do it is with no clothes on, so then it doesn't matter. If it gets on you, you can just rub it in. They say it's good for the skin."

"Who says?" asked Heather, leaning in to watch her mother flog my log.

"It isn't important," said Beth. "If you're worried about him not being a gentleman, and warning you, you can mitigate the danger by having a towel ready to cover it when it goes off." She sped up a little more and told her daughter she was doing that. "Since we don't have a towel, I'll just use method B."

And with that, she leaned down and closed her lips around the head of my prick. She sucked and laved the tip with her tongue. I went off like my semen was an ICBM, coming out of the silo that was my penis.

"Mom!" Heather sounded scandalized.

Beth swallowed, pulled off, and milked me, capturing the dregs in a puddle contained in her curved finger and thumb. She pinched off the tip and raised her hand to suck at that puddle.

"Mom!" Heather squealed. "That is so gross!"

"You have no idea what you're talking about," said Beth, who was flushed now. "All right. He's soft. Now you two can get back to work. I have things to do downstairs." She raised both hands to pinch her nipples, and my balls heaved one last time. She went to the door, looked over her shoulder, and said "Behave yourselves."

With that she left the room and closed the door. I had a fleeting thought about mothers who leave young daughters alone with a naked and still horny older man. Heather stood looking at me - at my prick, actually - for a minute, and then rearranged me on the lounge. Then, like it had just been a routine tea break or something, she went back to the easel and went back to work.

Time passed. Heather was basically hidden behind the easel, and my prick behaved. My mind wandered. Actually I got a little sleepy. Then suddenly Heather was standing beside me.

"Make it get big again," she said.

"Not a good idea. Besides, I can't just will it to do my bidding. It takes stimuli and time for it to erect."

"What kind of stimuli... like this?"

With that she reached out and lightly grasped my dick, giving it a nice, warm squeeze. Bent over like that, I could see clear through her cleavage, and those nipples were advertising themselves again. My little friend rose to the challenge and "got big again." With an intense look of concentration she leaned forward and began stroking my cock with considerable expertise. That she'd been paying attention when she watched her mother do this, became obvious. I was shocked in one sense, but not in another. This young woman had already displayed too many signs that she was plenty old enough to be engaged in this behavior. I was just being an old fuddy duddy about it.

I did not, however, make her stop.

The sight of her young hand caressing my traitorous prick robbed me of prudence and common sense. She had wanted an erection ... and she got a doozy. And, like the one her mother had banished, it was one of the most intense skin splitting chunks of wood I had ever experienced.

Staring down into her bikini cleavage, watching her hand move along my shaft, seeing the tip of her tongue gripped gently between pearly white teeth, and knowing that my relationship with both of them had changed forever, was more than I could stand.

Normally, I have pretty good staying ability, but today was not a normal circumstance. The situation, and the view, were conspiring to make my time here short. It couldn't have been more than sixty seconds after she began stroking the whole thing, when I felt the building of semen at the base of my cock. To make matters worse, Heather began exploring my scrotum with feather light twisting strokes as she began to beat my meat furiously.

"Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!" I called out, "Stop dear. I'm gonna cum all over everywhere if you don't stop."

Her mother had told her a gentleman would warn, and I did. But I'm not sure she heard that part, because She kept her gaze on the swollen head of my cock as the first long stream of white sallied forth to do battle with, as it turned out, that cleavage I had just been looking at.

I honestly don't know if she kept stroking me on purpose, or if it was just instinct. In any case, she got two more shots just above the cups of her bikini top before she let go. Her hands went behind her in that limber way only women can do, and the top of her bikini came loose. She flipped the cups away, ducking her head at the same time, and I realized she was just trying to keep my spooge from getting on the cloth as it dripped down her skin.

Then, proving she had listened to what her mother had said, her hands came to smear my essence all over her breasts. I watched, spellbound as her hands slid over swells that looked like they belonged on a Playboy model, rather than my innocent niece, with nipples that were so extended that her hands bent them as she massaged her breasts.

But that wasn't the worst of it. I had screwed up. A perfectly innocent relationship, one that had existed successfully between artist and model tens of thousands of times in the past, had turned into a debacle of older man lust. There was no way we were going to explain this away as art. We had crossed the line from art to sex - and I was responsible. I waited to see her reaction. I expected revulsion, rejection and recriminations. As the rest of the day had gone, I didn't get what I expected.

"Fuck that feels good," she moaned.

"What a potty mouth." It was out of my own mouth before I could stop it. I think maybe I was in shock. Her response wasn't quite what I had expected.

"That was awesome," she said with wonder, "I knew, watching Mom, that it would feel good in my hand, but I had no idea it would be that cool. And it was so hot on my skin!" Her hands were still moving slowly over her breasts.

"Listen, Heather," I began, "I'm sorry..."

She interrupted, "How long before you can do it again?"

I needed time to think. I got up and, remembering the folded paint rags Beth had brought in, went to the stack and picked two up. I used one to wipe the tip of my still drooling penis.

"Let me clean you up a bit," I said.

She stood as I wiped her chest with the bit of cloth. I watched her close her eyes and sigh as I slid the cloth over her straining nipples. I really wanted to suck on them, but I controlled myself. She'd run one hand over her belly, so I cleaned that too. As I did so she bent her knees, squatting an inch or two. Her right hand came to the thin panel that covered her pussy lips and she touched it with two fingers.

"I'm wet under there too."

I looked up at her and saw her eyes were still closed. She was smiling dreamily.

"I don't think so, sweet thing," I answered. I left it at that, rather than end up giving her a lecture about having gone too far already and all that.

But she interpreted my comment completely differently than I intended it. Before I could react in any way, she reached to her waist and undid something that made the belt come loose. Moving her left foot about ten inches to the side, she let the bottom of her bikini fall to the floor. It actually stuck to her pussy lips for a second before it pulled away, as if reluctant to leave, and dropped.

"I am wet down there," she insisted. She reached for my hand, which was still holding the cloth, and pulled it toward her pussy.

I should have had the strength to restrict my movements to just wiping her dry. But of course, I didn't. Instead, I turned my hand, and when she pushed it against her pussy, I could feel her heat and slipperiness on the back of my hand.

I was mesmerized. I dropped the towel and turned my hand over, cupping her slick, nearly hairless mons. Her back arched, her head lolled back and she sighed, as I slid my two middle fingers up and bracketed her clitoris.

While one half of my brain reminded me I had plenty of things to sort out about how these weird relationships had changed today, the other half of my brain told me there would be time for philosophical musings later, and that I had important work to do now. This girl needed an orgasm. She deserved an orgasm. And I wasn't about to tell her to go get it from somebody else.

I didn't feel a hymen as I slid a fat finger into her. She squatted to help and then her knees got weak and she fell towards me. We ended up on the couch together, with one of her legs sticking straight up in the air as I finger-fucked her for all I was worth. Her hand went back to my prick and her panting lips got closer and closer to mine. Just as I sealed her mouth with my lips, she came hard and what would have been a scream was muffled by my lips.

She went nuts, jerking her body and my cock, until I thought she was going to rip it off. Then she just melted, and would have rolled off the couch except that I caught her.

"Oh shit," she panted, gasping for air. "That was so awesome!"

"That was a no no," I said.

"Nu uh," she panted. "That was a yes yes. It was better than awesome."

"It was wrong," I insisted.

"If that was wrong, I don't want to be right," she said, unknowingly copying the lyrics of a song that suddenly sang in my head. If loving her was wrong, I really didn't want to be right.

"I can't wait until next time," she sighed.

"There isn't going to be a next time, Missy," I said.

She found energy from somewhere and rolled up against me, her lips right next to mine.

"Oh yes there is," she said firmly. "There's going to be lots of next times. But right now I need to draw."

She bounded up as if nothing had happened and got behind the easel.

"That's interesting," she said, as I got back into position. "It's never looked quite like that before."

I looked to see I was almost half hard. Doing her had made me try to get hard too soon after I had cum, so it didn't quite work. But it wasn't completely limp either.

"It was trying to get hard again while I was giving you that orgasm. It wanted to fuck you." I had decided to just be bluntly honest with her. Maybe it would shock her into having some common sense.

"Really!" She sounded more curious than scared, of course.

I shouldn't have been surprised. Nothing had been going like it was supposed to with these two.

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