Serendipity - Version alpha

by Lubrican

Chapters : 1 | 2 | 3 |4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Epilogue

Chapter Three

"So ... what do we do next?" I asked. Having basically given my niece permission to make an official pervert of me, I also wanted to make sure she had the full opportunity of controlling both me and events in general.

She looked thoughtful, and I realized that, while she'd had a "plan" for the night, it wasn't nearly as well fleshed out as it could have been. Having been young myself once, and knowing how little confidence most young people have, it's quite possible that she didn't actually believe her plan would come to fruition at all. She wanted it to, and was devastated when things didn't go to "plan", but now that it had been revived, there weren't as many details in the plan as were needed to move forward smoothly.

"Do you like to make out?" she asked, tentatively.

"I love to make out," I said.

She looked at me and I saw her face turn red.

"Would you make out with me ... naked?"

"Not a good idea," I said, immediately.

"I just wondered what it would be like to be up against you. I mean I know what Em and Ash feel like, but ..."

She really was killing me.

"How about you keep that lovely bedroom attire on while we make out," I suggested.

"I guess that would be the next best thing," she said.

"Speaking of your bedroom attire, your taste is impeccable. I would never have thought a girl of your tender years could select such a devastatingly effective ensemble."

"Oh, I didn't choose it. I had no idea what to get. Valerie helped me."

"And Valerie is?"

"She works at The Hen's Nest, at the mall."

"And she put together that outfit for a seventeen-year-old girl," I sighed.

"We told her I was eighteen," said Caitlin.


"Em and Ash were with me, of course," she said." It was their idea for me to get something to take advantage of the fact that you saw my coo -. "She took a breath. "Pussy," she substituted.

"Because I wasn't coming around," I suggested.

"No, you weren't. And I was chicken anyway."

"So Emma and Ashley helped."

"Yes. I only have two weeks left and if you're going to pop my cherry next year, we need to get you ready this year."

"So I'm supposed to ... um ... pop your cherry next year?"

"The girls said I should do it now, but I thought it would be best to wait."

"May I ask why?" I asked. This was fascinating. Again, she looked twenty-two, but her thought processes kept reminding me of how young she really was.

"I turn eighteen in August," she said." And I'll be a senior when I go back to school. My mother might not completely freak out if I ask her to go on the pill during my senior year," she said, calmly. "Then, when I come back next year, it will be safer."

"That's very wise of you," I said, imagining trying to defeat birth control pills.

"Plus, everybody knows that the only hundred percent effective birth control is abstinence. Even the pill can fail. And if I got pregnant after I graduate, it wouldn't be the end of the world. I mean, not with your baby, anyway. But if I got pregnant now, that wouldn't be good at all."

"I'm toast," I sighed.


"Please don't go around telling men that you wouldn't mind having their babies," I said.

She looked shocked." I'd never do that!" she said.

"You just did," I pointed out.

Her eyebrows rose, then relaxed.

"You mean your baby? That's different. You're special. If I could marry you, I would. I want to have your baby some day."

I groaned.

"Maybe I should keep my clothes on while we snuggle," I said.

"No," she said, doubtfully. "I don't think so."

"Believe me, it would be better," I sighed.

She shook her head and some of her hair fell to cover one breast.

"No," she said." I want you naked."

I got naked. I did it efficiently and quickly. She sat in that Indian position, like she was doing yoga or something. I was as hard as I'd ever been in my life when I dropped the last of my clothing. Her mouth sagged open.

Then it closed and she licked her lips and swallowed. I was pretty sure she didn't have in mind what I had in mind, concerning those lips and swallowing and such, but that didn't help suppress the desire to put my cock where it thought it belonged.

Still, I controlled the urge and just stood there, letting her look. One of her hands lifted and extended towards me. Her index finger, which was beautifully painted, extended and crooked.

"C'mere," she whispered.

I walked until the front of my thighs ran into the side of the bed. She lifted her butt and transformed into sitting on her calves as she leaned closer to examine my cock.

"It's beautiful," she breathed. She looked up at my face. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to see it like this."

"Since you were twelve?" I suggested.

She stuck out her tongue at me. My cock bobbed up and down as a result.

"What happened?" she asked, curious.

"You stuck out your tongue at me," I said.

"Why would that make it move?"

"It's thinking about what it might be like if you licked it," I sighed.

"Oh!" she said in a little yip.

"You don't have to," I assured her.

"It's something Em and Ash say I need to learn," she said, but she looked doubtful.

"Maybe someday," I said.

"Maybe," she agreed. She moved back and patted the bed. "Lie down with me?"

I felt a soothing drip of precum ease through my penis. This girl owned me.

I lay down and she arranged herself in front of me. We weren't quite touching, but some of that belly lace was touching me.

"Thank you," she said, staring into my eyes.

"You're welcome," I said.

Then I leaned in and kissed her.

I meant it to be a normal kiss. I know that sounds stupid. What's a normal kiss, after all? I guess that what I mean by that is that I meant it to be a kiss that lasted a couple of seconds and then ended, so we could talk some more. The talking part had been going really well, you know?

But it wasn't that kind of kiss at all. Instead it turned out to be one of those "I hope you brought a lunch, because you're going to be here a while" kinds of kisses. In the first place, she had practiced kissing with somebody, because she was really good at it. She didn't open her mouth like a hippo, like all the actors seem to do in movies, and she didn't move her jaw up and down like a crocodile trying to engulf my head. Again, like they all seem to do in Hollywood. Instead, she just made her mouth available to me while she took advantage of the fact that my lips had parted too.

Within seconds we were moving against each other and our hands were roaming. I swear it was just instinct, at least on my part. She had a firm little ass, and since that ass was naked, I couldn't keep my hand off of it. The other one was under her and more or less trapped.

And her free hand ended up on my prick somehow. I'm sure it was an accident. There was no way she planned to grip me like that and stroke me like she'd done it a hundred times before.

And all the while her sweet lips were moving against mine, and her tongue flicked in and out of my mouth, dueling with my own tongue.

And then I was disappointed as she abandoned my cock, probably realizing at last exactly what she had in her hand.

Then I understood as she threw one of her long, slim legs over me and pressed her barely clad pussy against my thigh. Her abs must have looked like a belly dancer's as she started moving her pussy all over my thigh, clearly masturbating against my leg.

And she whimpered into my mouth.

I was fucked. She was a willing woman, in heat, and I was fucked.

By that, I mean, of course ... that she ... was fucked.

I didn't exactly lose control. In my defense I'd like to point out that she took very definite steps to end up where she ended up.

Like for instance when she suddenly pushed away from me, her eyes wild, and said, "Stop!" She literally jumped off the bed, to stand panting as she stared at first my face, and then my bone. I thought she was scared, but then, as if she'd practiced it to perfection, her hands went here and there and tugged and did things, and that beautiful outfit came free and drifted to the floor like it was made of feathers.

Not the panties, of course. Those she pushed down, bending over. I could see her breasts as they hung, and her nipples looked like they might be half an inch long. She stood back up, gloriously naked, and I just barely had time to register that there was no hair anywhere below her belly button before she jumped back on the bed and back into the same position we'd been in before.

"Start!" she breathed into my face, and then we were kissing again.

This time it was her naked, slick pussy rubbing all over my thigh, and as anybody who would take a second to think about it knows, a man's thigh is not all that far from his penis. That penis had been pressed against a wad of lace, but now it kissed her naked abdomen, smearing precum all over her soft, pale skin.

She helped by deciding to try something else, which means she left off masturbating against my thigh and moved so she could grip my erection and masturbate with that.

I think that's what actually fucked me. I mean got her fucked.

I'm not circumcised and, for whatever reason, my foreskin is really long and loose. Even when I'm hard as rock, the skin around the tip isn't tight. I understand that with most uncut men, when they get ready for sex, the tip of their cock peeks out of the foreskin, which is partially retracted. That's not how I am. With me, the head is still fully covered. I've always thought it made me look a little deformed, but Caitlin had said it was beautiful, and that was good enough for me.

I tell you this because when she started sliding the end of my bone up and down between greasy pussy lips, what she felt was the soft mass of my foreskin, which kind of matched what turned out to be the soft mass of her inner labia. And it felt really good. To both of us.

But then, because her grip was on the shaft, she eventually moved it in such a way that my foreskin was pulled back, and the texture of things ... at least my texture ... changed. Plus the shiny knob slipped into the opening of her tunnel.

I could go into detail about why I think what happened, happened, but I'll spare you. What happened was that her hips jerked, almost like they had while she was belly dancing on my thigh, and the next thing I knew my knob was clasped in her pussy.

I don't have to go into detail about why I did what I did. It was just instinct. I rolled on top of her and pushed it in further, until my hairy skin over my pubic bone rubbed against the hairless skin over her pubic bone. She had a prominent clit, and it was standing at attention by this time, and it got crushed.

Our mouths had come apart as I rolled on top of her, and she let loose with a sobbing sort of crying groan that an uninterested observer might have interpreted as a groan of pain. But I wasn't uninterested, and what I heard in that sob was the joy of completion ... the celebration of finding out that what you'd fantasized about had just turned out to be true.

Just to be sure, I gave her a little wiggle, trying to roll her clit in a circle.

I got another of those groans.

Then she whined and said "Oh I love you so much!"

And then, like a sixteen-year-old boy with his first girl, I lost it and blasted her pussy full of my not-so-manly spend.

There are men in the world who don't really care about the woman's pleasure during sex. For them, the purpose of sex is so they can dump a load, pure and simple. If the woman cums, that's fine, but that's not a priority. Those guys like to fuck a lot, and they like to fuck a lot of different women. It's not that they are heartless beasts. They're just following Mother Nature's prime directive, which is to spread your seed far and wide. It works. You know those guys you hear about who have fourteen children by three or four mothers by the time they're twenty-five?

But there are also men who care a great deal about the woman's side of things. We like to spread our seed too, as far as that goes, but the spreading part isn't the most important thing to those men when it comes to being in a relationship. To those men, in fact, the primary thing is that, when things are finished, the woman still has smoke in her gaze, and says things like "That was the best sex I've ever had," or "Don't get dressed, Baby. I think I have some oysters in the pantry," or "We're definitely going to do that again, and soon."

They're not vain. It's just that sex for this kind of man requires that it be a partnership, where the woman gets as much out of it as he does.

I know this because that's the kind of man I am.

I'm not saying we're better than the guy who casually fucks anything he can get his hands on. Our type doesn't have all those kids, generally speaking, so those other guy's genes get a lot more space in the pool than ours do. I would suggest that most sexually transmitted diseases get a leg up from his habits, and that it's practically impossible for a man like that to actually support all those children. That wouldn't work out at all if there wasn't a social safety network that used taxpayer dollars to do the supporting for him.

But that's a philosophical issue. Rather, I'd say that my type of man actually has the tougher job. Making a woman happy is hard work. And I'm just talking about day to day happiness. Making her happy in bed is real work. It means you have to be attentive, and patient, and do things for a much longer period than you sometimes expect. For a guy, he can wank off within a minute or two. Look at the right picture (or actual naked woman), jerk on that puppy just right, and presto, banana cream for the pie.

Women? Not so much. During masturbation a woman sometimes rubs, prods or pokes for as much as half an hour (I'm told) before they fall over that little cliff.

Mamma Nature built men to get the job done and then move out smartly, to go kill a mastodon for supper. For Mamma Nature, there is no such thing as a "premature" ejaculation.

I suspect women weren't all that happy about sex for a couple of million years, until one of them became queen somewhere and could demand satisfaction from her lover. Come to think of it, she's probably the one who coined the phrase, "premature ejaculation."

I didn't mean to go into a diatribe, here. I just wanted you to have the information necessary to understand how bad I felt about having that premature ejaculation. I mean here she was, thoroughly enjoying her first time with a man, and then he literally blows it and cuts things short.

I felt terrible. I felt great, because I'd just had an orgasm ... but I felt terrible. I was pretty sure she'd be disappointed. And I wasn't wrong.

"Don't stop!" she panted." Why did you stop?"

I didn't think it was the time to explain that, when a man ejaculates, it is instinct to press as deeply into the woman as possible and stay there, until all the pulses that eject his semen are finished. In my case, my body was still trying to keep the ejaculation going, even though I was dry as a bone in there. I had given her every drop I had, and I had succumbed to instinct in every way.

"I came," I gasped, weakly." I'm sorry."

She blinked, her chest still heaving.

"That's it? That's what everybody gets so excited about?"

My traitorous prick shrank rapidly under the assault.

"I'm sorry!" I panted." I got too excited. You turned me on too much."

"So it's my fault?"

My embarrassment and disappointment in my own performance apparently wasn't enough punishment for my loss of control. The queen was intent on making her unhappiness known.

"In a way, I suppose it is," I said, suddenly sober. "If you weren't so beautiful, or so sexy - you don't know how sexy you looked in that outfit - and if I hadn't wanted to do what we just did for years, I might not have gotten overexcited like that. Next time will be much better. I promise you."

The queen had been reminded she was all powerful, and she calmed down. But she was still a teenager.

"I thought we weren't going to do that yet," she reminded me.

"Didn't I just explain that I completely lost control of my body?" I argued. "Weren't you trying to put me in you?"

"No," she said, not breathing so hard." Could you lift up a little bit? You're heavy!"

You know those fireworks they like to talk about and use in movies to indicate what happens during sex?

Well, sometimes those fireworks are just explosions, that threaten to destroy things.

We went through the awkwardness of disengaging, and getting up. I stared at her body and got my first good look at her pussy lips, where my semen was already leaking out of her. A lot of younger women have labia that are firm and tight, and roll inwards to seal their sexual opening. But not all. Whether it's because of genes or use, labia often flower open and stay that way. Caitlin had those kinds of lips, both inner and outer. The result of that was a pussy that looked like it was blossoming, or that the lips were too well developed and too big to fit inside her. They bulged outward and were soft and spongy. They were also smeared with millions of sperm.

And yes, that really was the first time I thought about the fact that sperm make babies. At least with this woman.

"Crap. You aren't on the pill," I said, sort of thinking out loud.

"No." Her answer was curt. "I seem, to recall telling you I'd ask my mother to put me on the pill when I go back to school!" She was still unhappy at that point. Her friends had told her how much better an orgasm was with a real, live, warm penis in you, rather than a cold, rubbery dildo. She'd been looking forward to that.

Warning klaxons started blaring in my head.

"Do you have a diaphragm in?"

She glared at me." I don't own a diaphragm. I'm not on birth control ... because I don't have sex!" The last word was yelled.

I began thinking I'd just raped my niece. The thought of that was devastating. I don't think I've ever felt that bad. Then I remembered her yelling for me not to stop, and I relaxed a little. She wasn't mad because I'd taken her virginity. She was mad about the way I'd taken it.

"Maybe we should see about getting you the morning after pill," I said, softly.

She waved a hand at me and then sat up, swinging those long, beautiful legs so her feet landed on the floor.

"Don't worry. It's not the right time of month to be a problem."

I should have thought about (and reminded her about) the fact that there is no safe time of month for sperm to wiggle its way into a woman's womb. Statistically there is, but tell that to all those pregnant women who use the rhythm method. Instead, I was distracted by her calm announcement that she'd already thought about what time of month it was ... and what that meant. Either she was really quick on her feet when it came to thinking about her menstrual cycle ... or she'd already thought of that when she put on that outfit.

Speaking of the outfit, it was lying on the floor. I leaned over to pick it up.

"You can throw that in the trash," she said, disconsolately.

"Why?" I asked, stunned.

"I'm not wearing that again," she said.

"Why not?" I asked, horrified.

"Not if that's what it makes a man do," she said.

"Hey," I said, relieved." Let's not go overboard here. Yes, I had a premature ejaculation, and yes, it was because you were so excited, and eager and beautiful and a dozen other reasons, but that doesn't mean it will always be like that. And yes, you were right, I wasn't planning on making love, not actually having sex, anyway, and that was part of it too. I was overwhelmed by my feelings for you, but that doesn't happen to all men."

I thought about what I'd just said. I liked it all except that last few words.

"Not that there will be lots of men who will be in that situation," I said, trying to clarify things.

"So I'm so ugly no other men will want to make love to me?" There were storm clouds in her eyes.

"Don't be an idiot!" I barked, reacting to her comment instinctively. I winced. "You know that's not what I meant," I amended.

"What did you mean?" she asked, frowning.

"I meant the thought of you doing that with any other man makes me want to own guns," I said.

She softened." You mean you want me all for yourself?"

"I can't want you all for myself," I said. "You're my niece. Some day you're going to meet a nice young man and get married and I'll hate him for years, but be nice to him for your sake."

She laughed. There are not words to describe how relieved I was when she laughed.

"So do you promise next time will be better?" She wasn't laughing now.

"There shouldn't be a next time," I said, controlling my desire to yell, "Yes!"

"Don't get stuffy," she said, ignoring my sage advice." What's done is done. You can't clean up spilled milk. We're going to do that again. You owe me."

"You don't cry over spilled milk," I said, correcting her butchering of the saying. "And how, exactly, do I owe you?"

"You owe me what Em and Ash said it would be like," she said.

"How can I possibly match the expectations of Emma and Ashley?" I asked.

"You almost did," she said." But you stopped too soon. Next time you will not stop too soon."

She stood up. Almost immediately she bent at the waist and looked at her hairless mons. My sperm was running down her left thigh.

"You made a mess," she commented.

"We really should do something about that," I reminded her.

I realized she didn't get it when she answered, "Then I'll take a shower while you make something to eat. I'm starved."

When I got to the kitchen Mickey's big hand was on the nine, and his little hand was on the twelve. As a kid I was confused about that, because I thought the longer hand was the "big" hand and the shorter hand was the "little" one. When I was eleven and discovered masturbation, the next time I looked at that clock I decided the short hand was the one he jerked off with. That's why it was fatter ... more muscular looking. After that I had no problem, because I wanted to jerk off about once an hour, so it was easy after that to remember that Mickey's short hand was the hour hand. I loved that clock. That's why I still had it.

I digress. When I got to the kitchen I remembered what time of the day it was. But it was a Friday night, and neither of us had to get up for anything in the morning. Besides, what had happened was momentous, and not just because I hadn't been able to control myself. She was already talking about "the next time" and that, alone, was fodder for much discussion.

Oddly, I didn't feel all that bad about "molesting" my niece. That's what anybody outside my house would have called it. But they hadn't been there ... hadn't heard the things she'd said ... hadn't felt the joy in her lips or the pure, unadulterated lust her body communicated as she rubbed against my thigh. And those groans of joy, that had literally wrenched the semen from my body ...

They hadn't been there for any of that, so in my mind, they didn't get a vote.

Yes, if my sister ever found out, there would be hell to pay, but it had only been once, and I should be able to impress on her the importance of being discreet about that.

I didn't realize I was still naked until she walked in. The only thing she had on was the towel she had wrapped around her wet hair.

As it turned out, my recuperative powers were better than I had expected. I felt my penis begin to pay homage to her.

"Perhaps we should put on some clothes," I suggested.

"Perhaps we should not," she said." Is supfast ready yet?"


"If the meal between breakfast and lunch is brunch, then isn't the meal between supper and breakfast supfast?"

"I think you're making this more complicated than it needs to be. Let's just call it a midnight snack."

"It's not midnight," she said, glancing at Mickey.

"It's actually bedtime," I argued.

"You can go again that soon?" she asked, looking at my penis, which was flying the lust flag about half mast at that point.

"Sweetie, we shouldn't have even done it once, much less again," I said, stubbornly. "I wasn't strong enough before. As I said, you're an incredibly desirable young woman, but I should have controlled myself."

"So ..." she said, casually reaching up to manipulate the towel on her head. It did interesting things to her breasts. She moved one foot to the side to improve her balance as she leaned her head back to let her damp hair fall down her back. That displayed that swollen split peach that did nothing whatsoever to defend the entrance to her sex. "What you're saying is that, to find out what an orgasm is like during sex, I should probably ask Ashley if I can borrow Kevin after all?"

Women play dirty. It's just in their genes. I'm sure of it. She had me boxed in and she knew it. It was amazing how grown up she could be in any given moment. I had no answer, so I just kept my mouth shut.

"Have you really wanted to have sex with me for years?" she asked, not letting up.

"Make love, not have sex," I corrected, automatically.

"Yeah," she said, draping the towel on the back of the chair. "I like the idea of making love. It's much better than just having sex. Just having sex is what I'd do with Kevin."

"Look! "I said explosively. "There isn't going to be any Kevin. Or any other guy. Get that through your head!" I turned away from her to scramble the eggs.

"Okay," she said, softly. "Just you. I can live with that."

She came over to me and put her hands on my hips. I felt the hot tips of her breasts brush my back. She turned me around, ignoring the fact that I had a spatula in my hand and was resisting her. She stared in my eyes, but her hand found my penis. It was three quarters firm.

"Kiss and make up?" she suggested, pressing her breasts to my chest.

"You're killing me, here," I complained.

"Don't die," she said, stroking my cock twice. "Not yet."

"Why are you doing this?" I groaned.

"Because I love you," she said.

She moved me to one side. She turned the burner off and moved the skillet to a cold one. She took the spatula from my hand and laid it on the thingy on the stove made to lay a spatula in. She turned back to me and put her hands on my hips again, pulling me against her in a full body embrace. She put her lips on my chin, because I didn't look down enough for her to reach my lips.

"I'm not hungry anymore," she said. She bumped her loins against mine. "Not for food, anyway," she added.

My cock finally got to full staff.

"Can I please have my orgasm now?" she asked.

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