Serendipity - Version Charlie
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"You're naked," I whispered.
"You are too," she whispered back.
"I can't find my shorts," I complained.
"Go to sleep!" she hissed.
"But we're naked," I said, unnecessarily.
"Go - to - sleep!" she growled.
So I lay down on my bag, because it was too warm to get inside it.
She gave me maybe fifteen seconds before I found out it was all an act. Suddenly, she rolled and landed half on top of me.
"Maybe just one little orgasm," she murmured into my lips. And then she kissed me.
And to get her one little orgasm, she crawled on top of me and settled those bulging, spongy pussy lips on the underside of the tube of steel that was sprouting from my groin. She only moved a couple of inches at first, kissing me, her tongue fluttering in my mouth, as she rubbed her clit back and forth.
Even then I didn't understand that there had been a paradigm shift in her thinking. We had done this very thing before. Not often, because whenever we did this, she invariably rubbed a little too far up, and then the tip of my cock tended to get caught in her opening. Plus, if I went off in this position, that put my sperm way too close to her vaginal canal. So we hadn't employed this method of masturbating her all that often.
When I was in biology, the teacher told us about how if you put a frog, in a pan of water on the stove, and then turn up the temperature of the burner slowly, the frog can't tell it's getting hotter, or that there is any danger. The frog will sit there, happy as can be, until it is cooked.
In this particular case, I was the frog, and that tent was the pot. And Caitlin had gotten so horny during the raft trip, and the helicopter ride, that she decided she wasn't going to wait until next year after all. In other words, the heat in Caitlin had been turned ever higher by the day's events, until, right now, she was at a boil.
And like the frog in the story ... I had no clue how hot things were.
It is here that the analogy loses its meaning, however, because about a minute and a half after she started rubbing her pussy along the underside of my shaft, and was panting and moaning as I reached up to twist and squeeze her nipples gently, she sat up straight, reached for my cock, rose on her knees, and then, as I watched, unbelieving in the soft orange glow of the Henderson's campfire, she simply impaled herself, sitting down and freezing.
The groan that emitted from her throat was like nothing I've ever heard before. It was a sound that contained pain, satisfaction, a little fright, and a big dose of relief.
"Kat!" I gasped.
She came unfrozen and leaned forward again, replacing her hands on my chest, where they had been only seconds before.
Her hips gave an experimental little thrust ... forward and then back.
"Kat!" I hissed.
"Shhhhhh," she admonished me.
The hips moved again, this time with more authority, and farther than before.
"Oh yes," she groaned.
"Oh no!" I groaned back.
"Be quiet or the Hendersons will hear you," she whispered.
The Hendersons were the least of my concerns. She was hot as a furnace, and tight as one of those Chinese finger cuffs. And all that wiggling around was making the foreskin on my penis slide back and forth over the head.
She sat up again, ramrod stiff, and her hips did this little movement that was like she was trying to get a hula hoop going around her waist. Her hands came up and cupped her breasts, lifting them until her fingers found her nipples and pinched them. She kept the hula hoop going and groaned again.
I felt the tip of my prick digging into something knobby and recognized it as her cervix, which was the exact place in the universe where the tip of my prick should not be, especially since I suddenly felt the urge to do something really awful ... which was fertilize my sister's little girl.
And then it didn't matter anymore that I should be pushing her off of me, because she had found the magic motion that brought her the first orgasm she'd ever had with a hot, stiff prick in her belly. And she went ape shit, plain and simple.
I saw it happening. Even more important I heard it start to happen. I wasn't the one who was going to alert the Hendersons that something untoward was going on in our tent. She was, and I got this terrible feeling it was going to be like a tornado warning siren in our tent very soon if I didn't do something. She realized it too, because both of her hands came to slap over her mouth and, even in the dark, I could see the whites of her eyes as some unseen tiger grabbed her in its jaws and shook her.
The whining/squealing/grunting/gasping/screaming noises overflowed her hands and, in a panic, I finally reached for her and pulled her down on top of me. Her bag was right next to us, so I grabbed it and pulled it over her head, which was on my chest, because her body was still bent as her hips continued to thrust madly. She was in the middle of the best orgasm of her life, and she wasn't about to let it go.
In the end, what her fevered brain came up with was this. She pushed up on me, grabbing her sleeping bag, and, balling it up against her face, screamed into it.
It almost worked.
Then Frank Henderson's voice came over to us from his campsite.
"You okay over there?" he called.
Her hips still working, though more slowly now, Caitlin let the bag fall on top of my face.
"I stubbed my toe in the dark!" she complained loudly, as her pussy rippled around my cock. "It fucking hurts!"
"Caitlin!" I gasped.
"I'm sorry, Daddy," she said, loudly. Then she called out to the neighbors. "I'm sorry I used a bad word, Mr. Henderson."
He laughed. "No problem."
But I hadn't gasped at her about her language.
I gasped because she had milked the cum out of my balls, and it was racing through my prick.
And as she apologized to the people next door ...
My prick belched, and filled her belly with sperm.
There is an old saying that was popular when I was in the military: "Adapt, improvise, overcome." That came about primarily because we never seemed to have the equipment and supplies necessary to do what our higher headquarters instructed us to do. Such as practice doing a helicopter assault to extract a high value enemy bigwig ... without a helicopter, because there was no allocation of fuel for that kind of training.
The point is that I learned how to be flexible when the plan changed unexpectedly. That's difficult for a lot of people. They can't adapt to changing circumstances. Look at the divorce rate. Surely fifty percent of people don't make a wrong initial decision about who to spend their lives with. Rather, as their partner changes each day, like all of us must, they just can't adapt to those changes.
Apparently Caitlin was born with that talent.
She was lying on top of me, limp as a cooked noodle, with the exception of some muscles in her belly, which kept jerking. That had the effect of making it appear as if she were still trying to keep our coitus going. And her rib muscles, of course, which were powering her gasping lungs.
"It's over ... isn't it?" she panted. "That's not fair. I was just starting to have fun. It can't be over. That was too wonderful for it to be over."
I had expected there to be at least a few moans of contrition. What had just happened had happened a year earlier than it was supposed to. Which is a little confusing, because it shouldn't ever have happened, according to most of the populace. But her obvious acceptance of the situation allowed me to adapt pretty easily.
"There will be more," I said.
"Yes," she agreed. "There will be much more."
"I thought we weren't going to do that," I said, stroking her back.
"We weren't," she said, easily.
"That wasn't an accident, Caitlin," I said.
"I changed my mind."
"You know this complicates things."
"No it doesn't. Not really."
We were talking softly. We had to, seeing as how the Hendersons might be lined up next door, ears cocked. The noises she'd given out hadn't sounded very pain-filled to me. Then again, Jenny hadn't interacted with Kat all that much, like you might have expected. The boys both had their heads buried in electronic devices. But Jenny had spent most of her time leaning against her father with her head on his chest and a hand on his knee.
Who knows? Maybe he knew exactly what those noises were, because he'd heard them come from his own daughter's throat. Maybe that's why he laughed.
Probably not, though. It's much more likely that, because I had just found out I was going to be fucking my niece as often as possible for as long as she'd let me, I wanted to project that kind of relationship on others. After all, if everybody's doing it, then it becomes the norm. Right?
"I don't see how this doesn't complicate things," I said. "In three days I'm going to deliver you to your mother, who will take one look at you and know that you've been playing hide the sausage. And since there has been no other male in your company, she's going to know whose sausage you've been hiding. Then there is the fact that, while I haven't done this for some time, and was used to going without, that's going to be a lot more difficult when I get back home than it's been before this."
"Why do men only think about their own problems," she sighed. "What about me? Where am I going to find another sausage to play with when you go back home?"
"You better not play with any other sausages," I growled.
She made wiggling motions with her upper body, and her hands stroked my sides.
"Good boy," she murmured. "I like it when you're jealous."
"I don't want to be jealous," I said. "And that's the problem. You're a normal girl, and normal girls are attracted to boys their own age. I know you're going to end up with a boyfriend, and that's fine. It's what should happen. But I can't help but be unhappy at the thought that some other guy is going to be with you like this."
She sat up. My eyes had adjusted and I could see her pretty clearly. She was gorgeous, and my cock gave a little lurch as it tried to firm up again.
"I don't know about normal," she said, softly. "What I do know is that I fell in love with you when I was twelve. I knew it was silly, but I didn't care. You were my man, even if nobody else, including you, knew it. And every year I came back, and sometimes you'd look at me with this special look in your eye and I knew you were thinking naughty things, and I couldn't believe how good it made me feel. By the time I was fourteen, you could make my pussy wet with one of those looks."
"I thought I was ogling you in secret," I said.
"I could tell you were trying to be a gentleman. It just made me love you more. And I still knew I was being silly, because I was so young. And I knew what people would say if I told them how I felt about you. So I didn't. I just waited to see how things would work out. And sometimes I'd get the picture of us at Sentimental Falls ... remember ... two years ago, when we had that Japanese couple take a picture of us in front of the waterfall? You had your arm around me and your hand was so close to my breast I wanted to scream, or at least reach and pull it up to put it right on me. I wanted to feel your hands on me so much! I'd look at that picture and rub between my legs until I had the nicest orgasms."
"I didn't know," I sighed.
"You weren't supposed to," she said. "I knew what you'd say too. So I had to be patient, and wait until I got the chance to move things up a notch."
"Well, showing me your pussy sure moved things up a notch," I said.
"I didn't show it to you," she giggled. "You just saw it. That really was an accident. But when you looked up my skirt, I knew it was my chance to move things along."
"It almost sounds like you planned to have sex with me."
"Of course I did," she said. "I've known you would be the man to pop my cherry for years."
"I'm no expert," I said, "but I'm pretty sure there was no cherry to be popped."
"You know what I mean. I knew you'd be the man. And you're the only man who gets to do that. There won't be any boyfriends, or sausage hiding. You've gone without for all these years. Which I thought was really stupid. I'd have probably let you do this two years ago if you hadn't been all proper and gotten us separate rooms."
"I thought you wanted to wait."
"I thought that was the best thing to tell you," she said. "I wasn't sure I'd be able to get you to do this at all. I hoped that by playing around a little, I'd get you used to the idea. And for some reason men look at a woman differently once she turns eighteen. ”
"So let me get this straight," I said. "You decided three or four years ago that you were going to end up with me like this."
"Correct," she said.
"And you want me to be your boyfriend," I said.
"No," she said.
"But you just said, basically, that I'm your man."
"You are. But calling you my boyfriend is silly. You're a man."
"So I'm your man friend?"
"You're my Uncle Bob. You always will be ... in public."
"And how, exactly are we supposed to make this work? You're going back home. You'll graduate high school next May. I sort of suspect the days of your summers with me are over. You'll go to college and even though you don't think so right now, you'll meet a man - a younger man - and fall in love with him and I'll be the uncle you see at family reunions, but that's about it."
"Can we stop talking and go back to what we were doing before?" she asked.
"We should talk about this," I insisted.
"Look," she said, leaning down to hold her face suspended over mine. Her hair fell down and tickled my shoulders. "This happened sooner than it was supposed to, a whole year sooner. We can have that conversation, but it needs to happen next year. This isn't the time to talk about this."
"Why not?" I asked.
"Because you still think of me as 'Little Caitlin,' who is only seventeen, and doesn't know what love really is. And to have this conversation, you can't view me that way."
"But that's who you are!" I moaned.
"That's who you perceive me to be," she countered. "But you don't know how much time I've spent thinking about this, all these years. Just like I couldn't talk about it to anybody else, I couldn't talk about it to you either. But that doesn't mean I didn't think about it. I've been planning what happened tonight since I barely had breasts. Yes, it happened sooner than I planned, but that's okay. All it means is that now I actually know what I'll be missing. Please don't let one little accident spoil it for us. I didn't fall in love with you yesterday, and this is no crush, Uncle Bob. You have to trust me."
"I trust you plenty," I said. "I just know how things tend to work out, that's all."
"Do you love me?"
There was a sudden note in her voice that I recognized instantly. It was the sound of knowing, as you say something, how important ... and dangerous ... the thing is that you're saying. In the same instant another facet of what she'd been saying bloomed in my mind. She'd had these feelings for me for years. But the future she seemed to envision required that I reciprocate ... that I feel as strongly for her as she did for me. And, because she'd never been able to ask me how I felt about her, she'd had to make certain assumptions.
Such as that I had fallen in love with her too.
We do that, in callow youth. We assume that, if we're attracted to someone, that they'll be attracted to us too. After all, there's nothing wrong with us. We have admirable attributes of some kind. So why wouldn't that person reciprocate in terms of feelings?
But it doesn't always work out that way. In fact, it could be argued that it rarely works out that way.
In fact, that very condition - rejection - is one of the things that begins to jade a young person, to harden that soft, supple bubble of self-worth, and make us mistrustful of others. We build walls to protect ourselves from rejection. It was the fear of rejection I heard in her voice.
I hadn't given any thought to actually "loving" my niece. What I mean is I hadn't thought past simple sexual fantasies. As a fully jaded grown up, I knew there was no future for us. Not as a couple in love, staying together, making a home of sorts. I couldn't love her that way. It wouldn't be allowed.
But, in that instant where she dared to risk being rejected, I knew that the feelings I had for her did run much deeper than all those simple fantasies that I hadn't known had showed on my face, and which had encouraged her to make plans. It was crazy, but I loved this young woman. I was still sure that would never lead to anything, but I had to reassure her. In that instant I decided to let her continue her fantasies. Time would wear them away. And maybe, at some family reunion far into the future, I'd get a special hug from her, and a whisper in my ear about how fondly she remembers those summers with Uncle Bob.
"I do love you," I said, softly.
"Then things will work out," she said. "Now, how long before we can go again? That didn't last nearly as long as it should have."
"It doesn't just get hard on demand," I said.
"Why not? It seems like every time I've ever seen it, it was hard."
"When did you ever see it before this?" I asked. "Before this summer, anyway," I amended.
"In your pants," she said. "You've always had boners in your pants."
"Only when you were here for the summer," I said.
"I'm here now," she suggested.
"It takes time," I said. "Once it spurts, it takes time to be able to do it again." I frowned in the semi dark. "Speaking of spurting ... I shouldn't have done that inside you."
"It's okay," she said. "It's safe."
"Why is that?" I asked. "Are you on the pill?"
"Of course not," she said.
"No. I don't use birth control. I don't have sex."
"That is not true," I said, thrusting upwards with my hips.
"Well it was true until tonight," she said. "It's totally the wrong time of month to worry, though."
"Famous last words," I warned.
"Well, there's nothing we can do about it now," she said. "Don't cry over spilled milk."
"The milk that spilled is up inside you and might be making a baby right now," I said.
"Probably not," she said.
"We don't want to make a baby, Caitlin," I said.
"I agree," she said. "And we didn't. Now, how do I get it hard again?"
She was obviously not going to just stop. And it wasn't like I could tie her up or anything.
"You know how to make it hard," I said. "Suck it."
"Ewww. It's been inside me!"
"Yes, and while I haven't indulged in eating your sweet little pussy yet, that's something that was on my menu for later. I'm quite sure you'll taste delicious."
"I like the way you taste," she admitted. "But I'm not so sure I'd like tasting ... me."
"I'd clean you off of me if I could," I said. "But I can't reach it."
"I'd love to see that. A guy sucking his own dick? That would be hilarious."
Then she quit seeing the humor in things and scooted down, until her head was directly above my penis, which was suddenly cold as the heat her body had preserved went away.
I let her take her time. She picked up my penis with two fingers, gingerly, like she didn't really want to touch it. I thought about telling her where the rubber gloves were that I wore when I washed dishes, I figured the best way to get her mouth open was to keep mine shut.
Her head dipped and I felt a feather light touch on my cock as she licked at it. There was a pause as she evaluated whatever data she now had. Then her grip firmed up and she rubbed the tip of my cock between her lips, pressing it against her closed teeth. The stimulation was amazing as the hole in the tip of my prick was dragged gently over the bumps created by her teeth. Eventually she opened her teeth and let the head enter her mouth. She did this with the foreskin covering things, and then, after it was inside my mouth, she pushed back on the loose skin around the shaft and bared the glans to her sucking mouth.
Apparently she could live with her taste.
Ten minutes later she raised her head, and stroked her hand up and down my rigid shaft three times.
"Now that's what I'm talking about," she whispered.
I don't know whether it was through some intuition she had, or simply because being on top was the only way she'd ever had sex, but she climbed back on. Within minutes I realized she was remembering things, and trying to recreate them, as she leaned this way and that, moving her hips in the same way. Finally she settled with her hands on my chest, sliding forwards and backwards, pressing hard on the back stroke, as if she were trying to rip my cock out from the root.
But there was no danger of that. If anything, the only pain I felt was from her crushing my pubic hairs against my skin, making it feel like they were cutting me.
"Oh, please don't stop," she suddenly gasped.
Since I wasn't doing anything except lying there watching her have fun, it was easy to "not stop."
"Oh yes," she moaned.
"Be quiet," I whispered. "You can't stub your toe twice in one night."
"I can't help it," she whined. "It feels too good."
I reached for a pillow and slid it between her face and my chest. She got it, and, as her first orgasm thundered through the tent, she pressed her face hard against the pillow and screamed. Her pussy muscles went crazy and she lost the smooth, even rhythm she'd been using to move with. She wiggled her hips, as if she were trying to get me even deeper inside her, and then, finally, fell to lie on the pillow.
Almost immediately she sat up again, panting. Initially she just sat there, breathing as deeply as she could. Then I felt her internal muscles clutch my cock and squeeze it. I got the impression she was experimenting with muscles that, until this night, she hadn't been aware she had. She relaxed her internal grip and wiggled. I realized the tip of my cock was prodding the knobby opening to her womb. I think she was playing with that feeling, just enjoying having something rigid in her.
Then she leaned forward again and started rocking. This time, though, it wasn't in such powerful strokes.
"Suck my nipples," she whispered, dropping one to touch my lips.
I did so, happily, while she moved her hips in short little jerks and made humming noises.
I didn't even realize she was having another orgasm until she groaned and those pussy muscles went crazy again. This one was clearly different than the previous two. She told me later it was like being submerged in the very warm water in a hot tub, and that she knew she wouldn't have to scream. She also said this one lasted much longer.
And I could tell that, because her pussy milked me so much that I suddenly had to cum.
"We don't want to make a baby, Caitlin," I groaned. "You need to get off."
"We won't make one," she sighed, her pussy still rippling. "Not yet."
It was those final two words that did the trick. They told me that the thought of having my baby inside her did not disgust or terrify Kat. Beyond that, they told me she'd thought about having my baby long before we did this. It almost sounded like a baby was part of her plans.
And that thought made me contribute to the cause. I gave up and let the soothing flow of semen burst from the tip of my cock, right next to that knobby opening to her womb.
Where, apparently some day, my baby might actually grow.
I don't think I ever came that hard in my life.
I don't remember anything of that night except waking up once as Caitlin burrowed against me in her sleep. I went back to sleep immediately and neither of us woke up again until almost nine in the morning, which was unusual for both of us. Apparently really good, passionate sex takes it out of you.
I like morning sex, but morning sex is difficult. In the first place, if it's been a long night, both of you have full bladders. Then there's the morning breath problem. If that's not enough, those people who shower in the morning, rather than at night, feel the need to shower. All those things get in the way of just waking up and having a nice, long, slow morning lovemaking session.
In our case, I was the person who usually took a shower before going to bed, and Caitlin was the person who usually took a shower when she got up in the morning. But what got her out of the sack was her bladder.
"I have to pee so bad I'm not sure I can make it to the potty," she whined, pulling on a T shirt over her bare breasts.
"I've got a coffee can around here," I said. I had an empty gallon size coffee can that I used for heating up water to wash dishes. I figured it could be used in an emergency as a portable potty before too. After all, I got the dish water boiling, and boiling makes things sterile.
"Oh yeah," she said. "I can just see me trying to balance over a six inch circle while you ogle me. No thank you. I think I'll go to the real potty."
"Suit yourself," I said, as she pulled on sports shorts.
"I might as well take my shower while I'm there, too," she groaned.
Two minutes after she left I stepped out of the tent and, after seeing there was no activity at any of the campsites around us, peed on a tree ten feet from our campsite. It's good to be a man. The world is our urinal.
I got the fire going again and put half a pound of bacon in the cast iron skillet.
Then, since all I had been able to think about pretty much since I woke up was getting Kat naked in our nest of sleeping bags and pounding her to half a dozen orgasms ... I pulled everything out of the tent and collapsed it. I rolled it up and stored it in its sleeve and then rolled up the sleeping bags.
I know, that sounds counter intuitive, based on what I wanted to do. But the fact was that I had spurted my semen - my sperm laced semen - deep inside my niece the night before. And I knew that if I slid my prick in her this morning, like I desperately wanted to do, I'd fill her to the brim with baby makers again. And yes, she'd said it was safe, but "safe" is a relative term.
So I removed the temptation to pin her to a sleeping bag and make a baby in her.
When she came back, still combing her long hair with her fingers, I had everything packed up except what it took to eat breakfast and clean up afterwards.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Preparing to eat breakfast," I said, nodding toward the scrambled eggs that had been fried on top of the bacon. "Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. You should always start your day with breakfast," I said, trying to sound wise.
"Breakfast is okay," she said. "But that's not the way I intended to start my day. Why did you take the tent down? We can't do it out here in the open!"
"Precisely," I said. "We lost control last night, and did something we shouldn't have. I have simply arranged things so that we can concentrate on other, less destructive pursuits."
"You think eating that is less destructive than burning a bunch of calories making love?" She raised an eyebrow. "You never took nutrition in school, did you."
It didn't occur to me that she hadn't argued with me about not making love any more.
It probably should have occurred to me.
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