Serendipity - Version Bravo

by Lubrican

Chapters : 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | Epilogue

Chapter Eight

I knew Caitlin would want to sleep with me again that night. I should say I expected her to want to do that. And when she came to my room, naked, I felt compelled to do something about it.

"Sweetheart, you have no idea how good it makes me feel that you want to do these things with me and sleep in my bed, but that is a very bad idea tonight."

"Because you want more," she said.

I was astonished. For someone so young, she was very astute.

"Yes," I said.

"I understand," she said. "Can I still have an orgasm before I go to bed?"

Said the spider to the fly.

"I guess that would be okay."

Said the fly.

Which is how she ended up lying next to me, her hot skin pressed against mine. Her breast felt like it was on fire where it touched the side of my chest. She wiggled up for kisses.

She was sly about it. I know that now. She disarmed me, and used my vulnerabilities to manipulate me.

"Thank you," she said, after half a dozen kisses.

"Any time," I said, and kissed her again.

"I mean about letting us practice on you," she said. She reached for my cock and stroked it gently. "It was a lot harder than I expected."

"You three made it that way," I teased.

She squeezed Mr. Happy. "You know what I mean."

"I guess I'm glad you did it," I said.

"Why wouldn't you be glad?" she asked.

"Because all I could think of while that was going on was all of you doing it with some boy. I killed a lot of teenage boys in my imagination this afternoon."

"Awww," she said, jacking some more. "You're jealous!"

"I am," I admitted.

"Of a boy I've never even met," she pointed out.

"But I know you will meet him," I said.

"How about this," she suggested. "How about when I find that boy, I bring him to you for your approval? I won't put a condom on a boy until you approve him."

"You'll die a virgin," I sighed.

She giggled.

"I don't think so."

Such an innocuous, common phrase. You hear it all the time. It merely expresses mild disagreement with a concept. "I don't think so." We hear it so often that it means almost nothing. We almost ignore it.

I shouldn't have ignored it when she said it, though.

Not that night.

Not in that situation.

"Can I have my orgasm now?" she asked, still stroking.

"Yes," I said, wishing I could have one while she had one.

"I want to try something," she said, her voice light.

"What?"

"It's something we sort of did last night," she said.

"What?" I asked again.

Her answer was to climb on top of me and settle her pussy down on the bottom of my rigid penis, pressing it to my abdomen and trapping it between us. She reached to spread her slippery labia, until they straddled my column. Then she leaned forward and, while she scraped her clitty along my shaft, she painted that shaft with a shiny coat of excited girl juice.

"Ohhhh yeah," she groaned, moving in short strokes, up and back again.

The fly said nothing. It just sat there, stuck to the web, watching the spider pleasure herself.

"I like this," she said, her voice full of passion.

"Careful," I said as her opening settled on top of the head of my cock, and ground into it. It felt like a blanket, fresh from the dryer had been spread all over the tip of my cock.

She slid back, moaning and then back forward, to settle on the tip of my cock again like a hen settles on an egg.

"I like this a lot !" she panted.

"Careful," I panted back, as her hips did a little circular thing that moved the head of my cock sideways and back again. All I could think of was how good it would feel to spurt, and how dangerous it would be to spurt right into the opening of her vagina.

She leaned down, but kept her hips working. Now she was massaging her clit on the head of my cock.

"I don't want to be careful," she whispered. "I'm tired of being careful."

"What?" Lightning zapped right from the top of my head to my balls, leaving a sizzling streak of terror in its wake.

"I want more too," she whispered.

And then she kissed me, and I felt her right hand leave the bed beside my head, and go between us. Her hips lifted, and she gripped my cock and, as she shoved her tongue into my mouth, she shoved my cock into her pussy. She pushed back on it hard, and after some initial resistance, during which her tongue in my mouth got as rigid as my prick was, I slid into her like a knife into a tub of margarine.

Only then did my hands come up to grip her rib cage and push her away from me.

All she did was sit bolt upright, which settled her entire weight on my hips.

And drove the tip of my prick to the entrance of her womb.

"Owww," she complained softly, as her cervix was pushed against.

"Stop this right now!" I said.

"I don't think so," she said, for the second time in fifteen minutes.

This time I listened to her.

"Kat, honey, you have to get off. This is wrong."

"It doesn't feel wrong," she said, giving her hips an experimental wiggle.

"Your mother will kill me," I groaned.

"Who's going to tell her?" asked the naked girl whose pussy was beginning to squeeze and release around my penis.

"You didn't put a condom on me," I groaned.

"It's okay," she said, as her hips lurched forward and back like a belly dancer. "It's a safe time."

"There is no safe time," I groaned.

"Stop talking," she ordered. "This feels really good. Don't ruin it for me."

"Caitlin!" I groaned.

To keep me from talking, she simply leaned down and started kissing me again.

I could literally feel her orgasm as it rushed through her. I could feel it in her lips. I could feel it in the way she rubbed her breasts against my chest. Most of all I could feel it as her internal muscles munched on my cock like a camel chews its cud.

And, as she expressed her delight verbally, into my mouth, Mother Nature grinned happily as my balls bunched and I jetted hot streaks of semen deep into Caitlin's sex.

Right where it belonged.

Or didn't belong.

I admit I was a little confused as it happened. It's confusing to love doing something with all your heart, while your mind lays into your conscience with a willow branch.

Caitlin was not so ambivalent about things.

She went limp on top of me, her hair covering my face, and her lips right next to my ear.

"Thank you," she whispered. "I love you so much."

Well ... what can I say?

There are events that happen in very little time, and which change everything for the participants. It happens all the time, every day, continually. Most of the time it happens to somebody else. If you think about it, you'll remember some of those events yourself. Some of those events are big, like when they announce who won the election of the president.

But most of them are small, affecting only a few people ... such as an uncle, and the niece he just fucked for the first time.

Yes, I know the context of that sentence is upside down, and that she actually fucked me , if one wants to be legalistic about it. But that's not how her mother would have interpreted things. Of course, had Hannah actually been there, then she would have understood how blameless I was in the defloration of her sweet, innocent daughter.

But she wasn't there, and the actual course of events, and the language that went with it, would never be revealed within her hearing.

But, for the first few seconds after I fertilized Caitlin, I actually felt pretty blameless.

Until you take into account what I said four paragraphs ago. Did you catch that? Did you see how I ended that sentence?

"... for the first time."

After I enjoyed the crap out of having just cum in a girl I loved, and after those few seconds in which I blamed it all on her rash, hormone driven decision, I realized instantly that this was only the first of many times we'd do this. At least if I had anything to say about it.

I don't cry over spilt milk. And she really had been an eager participant. And at the end, she hadn't sounded even one iota unhappy.

Still, it was just a little awkward, lying there with her draped over me, my penis still barely in her as it softened and crept out of her pussy like a thief in the night, trying to sneak away from the scene of the crime.

I thought about saying, "You're welcome," but that sounded silly in my mind. I was still trying to think of something to say when I heard the first of her soft snores in my ear.

She wasn't so much heavy as she was "solid" on top of me.

Nothing itched, so I let myself drift off to sleep.

We woke up a little later. I don't think it was because the light was still on. Rather, I think she got cold. She slid off of me and reached for the bedspread, which I'd thrown aside before she got there. Once she pulled that up over us, she snuggled her head onto my shoulder again and went back to sleep.

Now you have to understand here, that when I said this event had changed everything, I was serious.

I had resisted her efforts to explore sex. I know you probably don't remember it that way, and a jury of my peers probably wouldn't think that was true either, but it was. I had not dived into these waters with abandon. Was I a bit culpable? Yes. But I had tried to put on the brakes at various points.

All that changed.

Had she told me, the night before, "Uncle Bob, I think I'd like to try fucking, would you do that with me?" I would have argued against it. It's quite possible I'd have kicked her out of my room.

All that had changed.

Before this, I had thought of her as my beautiful, talented, headstrong niece, a girl in her teenage years, who was available only in fantasies.

That had changed.

Now she was a woman, pure and simple. She was still Caitlin. She was still beautiful, and talented and headstrong. But somehow, in my mind, what had happened changed her from "Caitlin, my teenage niece" into "Caitlin, my above-the-age-of-consent lover."

This became evident to me when I woke up the next morning with a typical morning hardon and decided almost instantly that I didn't have to go all that badly, and I wasn't going to waste such a magnificent boner.

So I got up on my hands and knees, and crawled over her, where she had rolled onto her back during the night. I sucked her nipples until she moaned, something I hadn't yet done to any of the musketeers. She moved, waking up and, suspecting that at least some of that dangerous, slippery sperm I'd spewed into her six or seven hours ago was still hanging around, I just started pushing my prick into her once-fucked pussy without so much as a how-do-you-do, or permission of any kind.

Things had changed for Caitlin too.

Her hands came to my hips and pulled.

Turns out that sperm doesn't hang around as long, or at least isn't as slippery, as I had thought. Mind you, this was the first time I'd gone back for seconds without at least some preparation, but I recognized very quickly that things were entirely too tight in there for me to just shove things in.

Still, her hands on my hips, pulling, suggested she wasn't feeling any pain yet. And that's one of the good things about having a foreskin. When you are jumping the gun, lubrication wise, that foreskin will stretch only so far before it says "Whoa the fuck up there, cowboy, or you're going to tear something!"

So what I ended up doing was fucking the first inch and a half in and out of her entry while her hands left my hips and came to pull my face down to hers. I flinched, thinking of morning breath, but then our lips were touching and our no doubt stinky tongues were dueling. But at that point you couldn't tell things would benefit greatly from a toothbrush. When you think about it, what we were doing at that moment is probably what all homo sapiens sapiens did before somebody invented the toothbrush in the first place.

And as she got excited, her own body provided the oils necessary for my little lunges to become longer ones, until, at last, I hit bottom and my pubic bone crushed her clit. The impossible-to-describe feeling of being buried in sweet, hot pussy, results in a relatively natural desire to stay buried, which is what I did, and there is also a natural desire to get just a little deeper which, in my case, resulted in a sort of wiggle that rubbed the crap out of her crushed clit.

Her reaction was, to put it lightly, spectacular.

I hadn't yet lowered all my weight on her. But when her knees cocked, and her hips jerked up, a groan of ecstasy such that I had never heard from any woman, caused the cave man in me to just breed the fuck out of her. To that end, I let my elbows flex until my entire weight ensured she couldn't wiggle out from under me and escape.

Not that she was trying to escape, of course. Rather, her heels lifted and slammed down on my butt, pulling like her hands had been pulling earlier.

What followed was as inelegant as any lovemaking has ever been. In fact, I hesitate to even use the term "lovemaking" for what transpired, except for the fact that while I did what I did, I was aware of who I was doing it to, and that I had fallen head over heels in love with her. I had loved her before, but now I couldn't live without her.

Anyway, what happened was that I couldn't bear to pull out of her. I was so stiff, and wanted to be so deep in her, that all I did was lunge and move, all the time trying not to retreat from the ground I had conquered. I guess that did things to her clit, because her chirps and whines and grunts of happiness got louder and longer until she wailed right in my ear, almost deafening me. There was a period of exquisite pain in my groin as my prostate tried to allow the passage of semen through my urethra, while the sphincter of my bladder fought to keep things closed off. It actually felt like something broke as my seminal fluids rushed to complete the act of breeding. It was ecstasy, punctuated by terror that I wouldn't be able to keep from peeing inside her. That terror, in fact, caused me to do a military grade pushup as soon as I had deposited my seed, and I fairly leapt off the bed and ran for the bathroom.

I had to sit, because my cock was still rock hard.

I bent it down, expecting that I wouldn't make it before urine erupted from my body.

Only to find that nothing happened at all.

I couldn't get a stream going to save my life.

I'm sure this has happened to some of the men in the audience. Not this frenetic, almost bestial type of coupling, but finding out that trying to pee after having an orgasm can be difficult at best, and impossible at worst. I don't know if that happens to women or not, but it happens to men.

Unless there is something wrong with me and I'm unique.

Nah. I'm pretty normal. I'm betting it happens to everybody. You have sex, or jerk off, and then when you try to pee, it turns into real work.

If you women are laughing about this, please don't. Us guys don't exactly start a forum discussion about these things.

Anyway, there I was, now in terrible, gut wrenching pain from a bladder that felt like it was a pinata. What was worse was that I could hear the whistle of the stick that was about to burst it and was unable to do anything about it.

So I sat there and thought about all this, wondering whether the body's signals get crossed in this situation. The urethra is designed to deliver both urine and semen, but they come from different organs. So there has to be a switching mechanism, right?

Yes, I know this is a real buzz kill after describing what was some of the best sex of my life, but I had to do something to take my mind off the fact that I was about to explode in a messy, painful demise.

As I said, everything had changed, and one of the first expressions of this was when Kat appeared in the bathroom doorway. She stood there, statuesque, naked, her silhouette worthy of being the template for a work of art. When she reached to flip on the light, my penile problems only got worse, because she looked well-fucked and eminently fuckable, all at the same time. My body, which had already tried to follow the prime directive, and make a new human, tried to get ready to do that again, long before such activity should have been on the schedule.

"Please," I groaned, my mind awhirl with the turmoil of pain and desire.

"What's wrong?" she asked, as if it was perfectly normal for both of us to be in the bathroom naked, with me on the pot.

"I can't pee," I moaned.

She laughed.

And I don't mean she giggled. She produced a laugh that moved from delight to an uncontrollable belly laugh that robbed her of the ability to stand. She leaned against the door and slid down to sit, legs akimbo, her swollen pussy lips on display, with my sperm oozing from between them. She laughed until she couldn't get enough air and fell on her side.

And ... just like that ... I was able to pee.

Since there has already been way too much discussion of peeing, I won't go into how good it felt. You already know, anyway.

I got done before she stopped laughing, though she did taper off, kind of in concert with my stream tapering off. It was a little weird. She wiggled until she was on her back, with her knees bent and her feet on the floor, her arms wide as she dragged air into starved lungs.

The first words she got out were, "Sorry" and "I'm sorry," between bouts of laughter.

And I sat there, no longer in pain, my penis still half hard, staring down at this lovely naked girl who I wanted to pick up and take back to bed.

Instead, I stood up and went to the tub, turning the hot tap on. When it started actually delivering hot water, I turned on the cold to get the temperature I wanted. Finally I flipped the lever and the shower head spat streams of nice, warm water.

Apparently being in cave man mode that morning, I picked her up and helped her into the tub. I pulled the curtain across and commenced to play with her body under the auspices of cleaning it. I think she was still a little weak from all that laughter, which had now subsided to an occasional giggle. Apparently she got her lungs working again, because the giggles subsided and she sank down, squatting to take my prick into her mouth. Just like that. She sucked it hard, but lovingly, the spray from the shower splitting the hair on top of her head into ever changing rivulets, and then pulled off.

"I love you," she said to my penis. "You're my favorite penis in the whole world."

"There are others you only like a little?" I said, immediately hostile to the idea.

She stood up and pressed her front to mine.

"I don't know," she said. "I've only seen the one." She kissed me again, just a peck. "In real life," she added.

She squatted again and held my cock gently between two fingers, pointing it at her face.

"You're my favorite so far," she said, and then looked up at me as if daring me to say anything else.

I didn't, and she leaned in to kiss the tip.

"You're the only one I'm going to let fuck me," she said, and stood up, rubbing her breasts across my cock and balls.

"I'm going to fuck you ragged," I said, suddenly unable to moderate my comment.

She put her arms around my neck and kissed my chin.

"Good," she said.

As I said, everything changed. I've tried to give you some idea of the paradigm shift that had taken place. In one instant we were explorers, delicately treading the path of her discovery. The next second we were a mating pair that couldn't keep our hands off of each other. That's just the best way I can describe it.

A man's capability to regenerate after sex, to be able to "go again," as it is often put, is complicated by the fact that there are different components to it. Part of sex is physical. But, whether you know it or not, most of sex is mental. That old saying: "Where there's a will, there's a way" may have originated in a situation like ours.

Now that I look back on it, I suspect that I was the one in heat, rather than her. She was just happily accepting whatever happened, because to her it was all new, and glorious, and fun and fulfilling. Me? I wanted to make babies with her. Not that I thought about it in those terms. What I thought about was wanting to be in her, and wanting to feel my semen rushing into her. I didn't think, "baby". I just thought, "fuck!"

I know that sounds crass, but I think it was just the natural, initial response to taking a mate. And that's how I felt about her in those early moments. She was my mate. She was mine. I would share her with no other. I wanted to take her long, deep and continuous, to show the world that we were a pair and she was mine.

And yes, I know that sounds a little crass too, but in my defense, that's how evolution has turned us guys out. We don't try to be that way. We just are.

It moderated quickly, even after only a few hours.

But I fucked her again right after we took that shower. And we lay there, entwined, resting, until she sucked me back to life and rode me cowgirl style for the second time.

And I think it was during that session that the overwhelming lust to possess her began to give way to rational thought.

First of all, I was hard, but I couldn't cum. I knew I wouldn't be able to cum. The inside of my penis announced a kind of pain that tells its owner, "I'm done!" while the outside of the penis smiles happily, buried in hot pussy that strokes it, and says, "Take your time. Please, continue. I've got nowhere to go."

Second, once the craziness of that initial lust faded, I was able to pay attention to her. No longer was she simply a receptacle for me to dump my seed into. Now she was my lover, and I watched her face, and felt her hands on my chest. I reached to play with turgid nipples that, after acknowledging them for a short time hours ago, I had ignored since then. When I squeezed those nipples, her head lolled back, and I felt her pussy ripple in what had to be an orgasm, though it was a quiet one.

I had cum three times within a ten hour period, two of those within the previous sixty minutes.

Now, it was her turn.

One of the nice things about being with a virgin is that she doesn't have any preconceptions about sex. A lot of women, because they have inadequate lovers, come to think that they only get to have one orgasm, (if that!) and then it's time to get up and run the vacuum or whatever. The guy rolls over and they think they're done for the day. Those women have this unfathomable ability to transition from passion to practicality in the blink of an eye.

But a virgin doesn't "know that" yet.

And if she's got the right man, once he gets over his initial rampaging lust, he'll show her a good time.

That's what I tried to do.

I helped her learn how to bend forward and rub her pussy on my pubic bone. She already liked feeling the tip of my cock pushing against her cervix. If anything, what she lacked was the patience to take her time getting there. It was almost like she was afraid she was only allowed to feel that incredible thing for a certain amount of time, and she needed to get as much accomplished as she could before time ran out.

And, to be honest, when a guy gets soft, I suppose time has run out. Except there are lots of ways to get a woman off that don't include a stiff prick inside her.

But, as I said, my cock was in that peculiar condition where it stayed happily hard, while not interested in moving enough to make that pain inside it any worse. Semen can only sooth so much irritation before it ceases to be effective. Plus, once you empty the reservoir, it takes time to fill it up again.

Anyway, she managed four more orgasms before she lay down on my chest in slow motion and relaxed.

"Are we going to do this all day?" she whispered.

"Part of me would like to," I said, "but I think we're done, at least for a few hours."

"Good," she sighed. "I'm kind of sore."

"So am I," I said.

"Guys can get sore?" She sounded like that was a novel idea.

"Of course we can," I said.

"I'm hungry," she said, changing the subject without warning.

"You'll have to get up if you want to solve that problem."

"I don't want to get up. I like it here."

"What will Ash and Em say when they find you like this?" I asked.

There is a button on every woman that will get her moving. I had just found that button on Caitlin.

She fairly jumped up off of me and the bed, and stood, looking over her shoulder at the doorway to the bedroom.

"Crap! I completely forgot about them! They can't know we did this!" she gasped. "They'd never understand!"

"What's to understand?" I asked.

"You don't get it!" she moaned. "We made a pact!"

"Not to do it?" I assumed out loud.

"No. We made a pact to do it together."

I sat up.

"The three of you ... made a pact ... to lose your virginity together ... at the same time?"

"Yes," she said, nervously.

I imagined the girls at prom, getting together with their dates in a huddle. The conversation might sound like this:

"Guys, we're ready to lose our virginities, but there are a couple of conditions."

"Okay." (That's all three guys, agreeing to the conditions before hearing them.)

"We all have to do it at the same time, in the same room."

"Okay!" (That's all three guys agreeing to the conditions again after the fine print has been read. The guys are very agreeable.)

I couldn't resist digging for more. She was mine, now, pact or no pact, but I know the value of role playing in a relationship, and whatever little fantasy they had dreamed up might be useful to use as a pattern for bedroom games in the future.

"So, how were you going to work that with you in California and them here?" I asked. "I doubt that your date for prom would be willing to fly the two of you here so you can get together with Ash and Em and their dates in a motel room somewhere."

"What?" She looked at me with raised eyebrows.

"How did you plan to get three guys and the three of you in one place whenever you decided the time was right?" I asked.

"What three guys?" she said. "There aren't three guys."

"Then who was supposed to divest the three of you of your virginities at the same time?" I asked.

"You were, of course," she said, almost scornfully.

"At the same time?" I asked, the concept not yet having fully sunk in.

"Well, not in the same instant, of course," she said, as if any fool would assume that to be the case. "More like we'd all do it in a row."

I smiled.

"Not that I'm encouraging this, mind you. I'm perfectly happy with you, and you alone, but I have to ask. What order were you going to go in?"

She took the question completely seriously, and I was instantly reminded of her chronological age. She was, despite our recent activities, still a teenager.

"Well, I was going to go first, of course. I mean you're my uncle, and it was my idea. Then Ashley, and Emma would be last, because she's so scared."

"It was your idea?" I asked, fascinated.

"I've wanted to do this since I was twelve," she said. "But we can't talk about this now. We have to get dressed. I have to wash the sheets, or at least make the bed. They can't find out we did this."

"Whatever you say," I said.

I sat up and swung my legs to the side of the bed. Caitlin did that thing I mentioned before, where (for the woman) passion fades and practicality takes the fore.

I'd have helped get the place straightened out, but I couldn't take my eyes off of her.

It's not my fault.

She should have put some clothes on before she started.

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