A Slut For My Uncle

I'm picturing you now because it's late at night - it's two a.m. and I can't sleep because I'm so horny. I'm full of aches and pangs, and a deep, intense desire to be filled, just picked up and squeezed, slapped, bruised, sucked, filled and fucked till my toes curl and I scream out my pain and pleasure, not caring who hears me any more. I shiver in my bed in a fever, shifting my legs, trying to ignore the spreading wetness my pussy is leaking. There's so much hot, wet, sticky juice leaking from my pussy I'm afraid I'll orgasm if I even touch my clit with just the tip of my finger. I haven't had to reach down yet to spread anything around. I lie in my bed and burn with longing and a shamed blush, knowing that I'm the most horrible, bad, unrepentant slut in the world.

Two birds with one stone, you're my uncle and our neighbor - my daddy's brother and an old family friend. Everyone trusts you, goes to you for advice. You and Aunt Maggie have been together for twenty years, married right out of high school, and everyone talks about how perfect you two are together, how wonderfully life has treated you. I thought you were perfect, too. A tall, dark, handsome football star through school, you didn't let the years ruin your solid, muscular body; you never let your business run you - you run your business with an iron will. And you're so bored. I came to realize that after years of watching you at barbeques, parties. You're so friendly to everyone, so charismatic.

They don't notice how mechanical your motions, your conversation is. You always know what to say, how to flatter without thinking about it. But when you're really interested, your gray eyes - they shine. And the men you talk to - usually underlings invited to your big backyard affairs, they sit in a row on your patio with beers in hand, dull little men hanging on your words, nodding and praying you'll approve of them, that when you speak down to them, mock them, they think they're being distinguished. They lap up your insults and your grinding down, worshipful puppies all of them. I'm disgusted by them, too. I can't believe they can't see what you do to them. But I'm not disgusted by you - I watch you exert your power over those pathetic peons, and I feel my pussy getting wetter.

The powerful heat, the lust is so strong that I look around, afraid that everyone can smell me getting wet in the middle of their nice, civilized party. What would they do if they knew? Do their nostrils flare when they pass by me? Can the old men glancing at me as they pass by with their prattling wives, can they tell, as their eyes slide over me, noticing the boss's niece, and how she's suddenly tall, curvy, something worth noticing, is it more than my looks that make them smile as though they know my darkest secret?

You barely seemed to notice me before, but now I'm nearly nineteen, moving three states over to a very fancy, very expensive college. This is my last summer at home, and Daddy is always saying that, that this is the last summer his little girl will live at home with the family. The last time he said that was at a big family dinner. That time, you caught my eye, and your smile was innocent enough, but I saw the way your eyes lit up. My stomach dropped, I blushed; you still looked at me with that very particular gaze, and I knew you saw me then.

Everyone had somewhere else to be tonight. The others went home, Daddy took Mom to some fancy cultural event, and even Aunt Maggie complained of a headache. She left before everyone else to take a Tylenol and go to bed early. Your parting was touching. I watched you two kiss, and the moment your lips met, I thought in a flash that it was me kissing you. I shifted in my seat, but no one noticed, and I took a sip of iced water to cover the motion. In my short, dusky pink sundress, I still felt like everyone could smell me, that I was a marked whore.

So everyone left, but somehow, you stayed behind. You're good at doing that, just letting things unfold in your favor. No one gave you a second thought, they were just out the door. I had no idea what to do, what to say. You had babysat me before, but now there was no reason for you to stay, and my nerves were so raw I was ready to snap into a thousand pieces. I was clearing the dishes off the table, clattering more than I needed to, but I could still hear your steady, heavy, purposeful step as you came back to the dining room.

"Don't you have someone to do that?" You asked, leaning in the doorway with your arms folded over your chest.

"Usually," I replied, struggling to control my trembling voice. My skin was on fire with self-conscious embarrassment. I was afraid to meet your eyes. I cleared my throat, continuing. "She has the night off."

"Let me help, then," you offered, and you came over to me - not to the edge of the table, but right behind me, and I could feel you inches from me, a wall of heat.

"Honey," you murmured, your deep voice carrying a dark growl that betrayed your real intentions.

Then a small disaster happened. You reached around me, crossing my side with your arm and covering my hand with yours - the hand holding a clear glass dinner plate - and I started so badly that I dropped it. The plate flew out of my hand and there were two strong impressions I still have of that moment: the heat of your huge, strong hand closing over mine, and the sound of the glass shattering into a hundred pieces. I thought then, you could do the same if you wanted to - shatter me into pieces if you squeezed hard enough. Would you have passed it off if I hadn't let that plate fly, if I'd make a joke and moved on to the kitchen?

In any case, you didn't give a shit about the plate. Your hand trailed up to my wrist and held me in a vise. You buried your head in my loose hair and breathed in. You wrapped your other arm around my waist; all I felt then was self-conscious of my curvy hips. I'd gotten an hour-glass figure straight from the 40s, and I'd always been pitied by my girlfriends in school for being genetically fat.

"Don't turn away from me," you said. You caressed my curves, following them down as far as you could reach till you were rubbing my bare thigh in slow circles with your thumb. As close as you held me against you, I knew I could never get away from you until you let me, but I didn't really want you to let me go.

And then, as though you'd read my mind, you said, "You smell like a horny little bitch." The lust in your voice made my knees weak. I moaned as I sank against your chest. You released my wrist so you could fully appreciate my curves, then, with one hand caressing my left breast, teasing up the nipple until it sprang, aching against my thin sundress, you worked up the short skirt with the other hand, and slid it over my mound, curling your fingers over my swollen clit. Slowly, you stroked my pussy through my cotton panties - I couldn't believe I'd worn those. They were something a girl would wear. I was so wet that the fabric was sopping in the center. Your laughter made me turn away in shame.

"I knew it. You are a horny little bitch. I could smell your cunt all evening - you weren't even that close to me, were you?"

"I was," I protested, feeling my eyes tear a little. Oh God, but it's too easy to make me tear up. " I was close." That feeble protest was all I had the nerve to keep up.

"No. You were always just far enough away -" You slipped your fingers under the soaked fabric, here, parting my soft, wet pussy lips and petting me, almost gently. I shivered and felt as helpless as a doll, totally in your power. " - I bet every man their with balls could smell how badly you wanted to be fucked. I bet you like the thought of that, too - all those men wanting to fuck you?"

"No," I whispered. "Only you."

My back was to you, and my eyes were closed as I shuddered against your hand, still fondling my pussy and so careful not to bring me close to release. But I heard the breath catch in your throat, and you laughed. I knew your eyes were shining, and I was so ecstatic that I had pleased you.

"Then you're an even worse slut than I thought," you growl, your breath hot against my ear. "You're a very dirty little girl, aren't you?"

"Yes, Uncle," I sighed. It felt so good to finally admit the truth.

"Do you know what happens to little girls who are bad like you?"

I shook my head slowly.

"They get spanked very hard until they promise to be good."

You released me, stepping back. I was confused, left swaying on trembling knees and wishing you still held me. Then I heard the distinctive jangling sound of a metal clasp being loosened, and a leather belt sliding free of cloth rings.

"Uncle?" I whispered.

Your breath had gotten heavy, your deep voice thick with lust as you told me, "Do as I say now to show me how you're sorry."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Kneel down on the floor and pull up your dress."

I did as you told me to, kneeling on the cool, polished wood floor, hiking up my short sundress past my hips. My wet cotton panties were tight against my swollen pussy, and I felt much younger than I was, open to the cool air, and so vulnerable under your eager, burning eyes. Then the doubled belt whipped down on me, slapping my bottom and leaving a stinging red line across my exposed cheeks. My cry was more of a moan. It hurt, but I almost longed for a second lashing.

"Why am I punishing you?" You demanded.

"Because I'm a bad, dirty, slutty little girl," I whimpered.

"Yes, you are." And the second lash stung my cheeks, doubly painful in the same place as the first.

"Does it make you feel good to seduce your uncle, slut?"

"No!"

A third, terribly painful lash a little high up my back.

"Oh God," I moaned. "Yes! I'm sorry, Uncle!"

Of course, you were pleased with your success in drawing out my confession. But you still had a moral duty to instill proper conduct in me.

"Your honesty is the first good thing you've done tonight, slut. Well done."

A fourth, fifth, sixth lash. Tears streamed down my cheeks, but I bent towards each blow, not least because when I did, my legs parted to show you my soft, wet mound.

You delivered another ten lashed across my body, faster and even harder than before. By the time you were done, I shook with sobs, but I almost screamed to you to pound my pussy with your cock. I didn't dare turn to look at you, but I couldn't imagine that your cock wasn't straining against your pants, thick, heavy, shiny with pre-cum. I could hear you panting. The belt clattered as it slid from your hand and landed on the floor. I heard you fumble with your zipper. Your breath was so heavy, you were as eager to fuck me as I was to have you. I didn't dare to move as I listened to you remove your clothes, then move to stand behind me, then sink to your knees.

"I'm going to use you now, little girl," you told me huskily. I gasped as you guided your cock to my entrance. You head was hot and wet, and I could already tell that it's girth might be too much for me to take.

"What do you say, little girl?"

"Thank you?" I venture. I gasp as you enter my cunt. I'm so tight around you, you fill me exactly how I thought you would.

"Damn right you thank your uncle, filthy little whore."

You placed a hand on my neck and kept me low to the ground to make sure I knew my place as pumped your thick, heavy cock in my cunt. I arched my back and raised my bottom on my own, wanted you to fill every empty inch of my pussy. You weren't gentle - I loved it like the bad, dirty whore I was, moaning louder and louder as I came near climax, screaming as you cried out and you spurted your hot, thick come inside me, ramming myself up against your cock to the hilt. I couldn't take enough. I loved having my uncle's thick, hot, heavy cock spurting his come in me, owning my body and making me feel so small and helpless beneath his own huge, strong frame.

I'm lying here now, Uncle, thinking of you and what we did earlier tonight. I'm pleasuring myself despite my blushing and my shame, remembering how you punished and used me. I'm thinking how truly wicked I am, Uncle, and that before summer is over, you will need to punish me very often because I am a very bad girl.