All Sexual Activity In This Story Is Between Persons 18+ Years Old.
While Trang Nguyen Pique fitfully slept off her champagne inebriation under the deep covers on her canopied double bed, the Corbin twins, Nadine and Nanine, climbed from the Pique townhouse porch into a taxi to the Basel bahnhof for their night train to Paris. Meanwhile in the second floor sitting room, Dagmar Bjerke swayed side-to-side on stockinged shins in a great red leather wing-back chair. Rocking her pelvis hard upon the digits dredging her creaming cunt, she rode a different carriage to another place entirely. As Trang’s forty-six-year-old uncle, Philippe, mercilessly fingered the Norwegian teen into one orgasm after another, he reflected on how The Devil had destroyed his staid morality and turned him into an unrestrained reprobate.
When his orphaned niece and ward told him that her three eighteen-year-old school chums wanted to fête her own eighteenth birthday, Philippe had seen no harm in allowing her to host the party in his townhouse. Largely because he still thought of Trang as a child, rather than a young woman who had come of age only two days ago, he was much surprised by his reaction when he quite accidentally spied her nubile loveliness in the bath while she readied herself for the evening get-together. Worse yet, he was ill-prepared to cope with the individual comeliness of the girls he met in his hall later. The combined power of their sweet beauty was staggering, as Satan surely must have known when he set up the temptation.
Now, while he stood beside his favorite reading chair with three fingers plugged two knuckles deep in Dagmar’s pink pussy and she sucked on his fat knob like it was the last lollipop she would ever see, Philippe thought, “Alors! Thank you, Demoiselles Corbin for eating my first load so quickly. You did not take away my appetite, but only made sure that I would not come again before your friend was well and truly fucked!”
Confidently ready to intensify her ravishment, Philippe pulled his cock from Dagmar’s salivating mouth, patted her damp brow as she bemoaned losing her lozenge, and reassured her, “This was only our prelude. You said you had a donut that needed some glaze.” She whimpered disconsolately as he moved away from her face, but then perked up again when she felt his hands back on her agitated rump.
Dagmar’s white rayon briefs were banded below her bottom. Philippe lost no time pushing them the rest of the way down her thighs to the chair cushion and then aligning his erection with her snatch. He grinned at the dripping dark ginger pubes surrounding her exposed prepuce, then bumped his cock’s broad spade head against her swollen clit. She yipped in delight, “Ohh-weeee! Yes! YES!”
Philippe tapped his tip twice more on Dagmar’s sensitive button. Her shoulder blades rippled and she rolled her head on her neck as she mewled his pet name, “Popo, oh, Popo p-p-Popo!” He could not tell if she was coming again, but he was gratified to see her pussy lips glistened with tiny bubbles. As he pulled back through her long slice, she slathered his baby baguette with her butter.
Dagmar bounced in the chair and wildly pushed her hind end backward in circles. Frantic, and failing to stuff herself onto Philippe’s stout staff, she babbled deliriously, “Plus! Plus! Popo! Papa!”
Philippe overlooked the teen’s apparently natural confusion as to who was tickling her twat and focused on her main message. Firmly grasping her bared midriff, he stabilized her shaking body and said agreeably, “More? Certainly you shall get more. You’ve really had none of me yet!” Then he pulled her toward him while, at the same time, he lunged his hips forward.
Dagmar screeched loudly as Philippe’s spear pierced its target and he slammed his great plum flat to her cervix. She thought her narrow stretching tunnel would rupture as he crashed into her. Though she had often jacked off her father and enjoyed his voluminous hot seed splattering into her throat, over her tits, or onto her ass, never had their passions carried them this far. She stirred her pelvis slowly around the wonderful new fullness she felt.
Philippe paused with his nutsack squashed against Dagmar’s under-curved butt. In her channel, he felt her Kegel muscles autonomically contract. She groaned as he flexed his prick against their strength. Her expanded cunt walls shrunk ever tighter upon his lodged limb while its nose softly abraded her womb’s portal.
Deliberately, Philippe withdrew from Dagmar’s clutch until his glossy glans was all but completely free. Then, without rushing, he re-entered midway, stopped and pulled back again with equal care. As his retreating dick head’s flange scraped her hall roof and deliciously tortured her awakened G-spot, she squealed again. Sure that this time another orgasm had broken, he slapped her ass sharply and gruffly reminded her, “You said you wanted more!”
Philippe began stroking with determined precision. First deep, iskenderun escort then shallow; now faster, now more slowly. Dagmar moaned, whimpered, sobbed and sighed as her body undulated from her nape to her knees. Her internal tempest raged with what seemed to be infinitely increasing power.
As Philippe taxed the virgin teen, his own payday inevitably approached. What had once looked to Dagmar to be two figs, collected themselves in his scrotum into a single apple-sized ball. He sensed his imminent ejaculation in time coat her bottom, as she had said her father did for her, but he was not her father and he had made her no such actual promise. Instead, at his crux, he hammered his spike to its maximum depth and rigidly held her sealed to his crotch while he pumped the coveted glaze into her convulsing cunt until no more could be sent.
For several minutes Philippe contained Dagmar in her crouched posture while she panted and recovered her ragged breath. When she was again quiet and motionless, he popped his softened penis from her formerly virtuous vagina. Tenderly attending to her panties, he pulled them up her thighs, smoothed them over her round bottom, then lowered her skirt to its intended decorous condition and stepped back, saying, “I’m a little bit peckish. Shall I heat up the sauerbraten and spaetzle the Lindts left in the kitchen?”
Dagmar climbed down from the chair and smiled wanly into Philippe’s open face while he went about reconstructing his own apparel. “Yes, I’m hungry too,” she admitted. “But more than that, I’m tired. May I rest here on the couch a little first?”
“Bien sûr, ma petite poupée,” Philippe replied affably. “It will take several minutes to get the supper ready. I will return and collect you then.” Dagmar nodded gratefully, then moved to the small loveseat and curled up against its pillows. She was asleep before he reached the door to the hall.
Inside his head, louder than the softly whirring elevator arriving at the second-floor landing, Philippe once again was accosted by a strange deep calm voice. “Rien ne dérangera Dagmar,” it postulated. “But, is there not another Sleeping Beauty in the house that you should check on?” Like a will-less automaton, he entered the brass cage and then, instead of selecting the button for the main floor to go to the kitchen, he sent the lift to the third level.
Exiting the elevator, Philippe missed a late opportunity to resist The Devil and obediently detoured to his niece’s bedroom. As his brogans’ leather soles took him step-by-reluctant-step along the hall’s Persian runner, his embattled soul weakly argued, “A good guardian ought to look in on his ward.” Immediately, he heard the baritone voice unctuously riposte, “Yes, look. Ensure that she is comfortable. That’s all that needs to be done.”
As he opened her door, Philippe saw by the light behind him that Trang was still a-bed and apparently asleep, but the strewn covers evidenced that her slumber was not, or at least had not been, peaceful. The thick eiderdown duvet had nearly all fallen to the floor. It covered only her ankles and feet, while the skewed top sheet beneath it was thrown back below her shins. Laying in an S-shaped curve, three-quarters turned onto her left hip, but with her back flat on the bottom sheet and her arms in an upraised bracket around her pillows, she looked to be anything but comfortable.
“I’ll just tuck her in,” Philippe said to himself. Pulling the door nearly shut, he walked to the four-poster and switched on the low-wattage Delft blue table lamp near Trang’s right side. As the glow from its parchment shade augmented the long golden light sliver which already illumined her placid china-doll face, he noted that while the bedding had been kicked away, her sleepwear itself was not disarrayed. Nonetheless, its material and design, together with her open posture, revealed much to his unblinking eyes.
Trang’s cream sleeveless silk nightgown technically shrouded her lithe trim 82-61-83 figure from shoulders to calves. It’s white open-work lace criss-cross bodice, however, lay soft upon her chest like spider-webbing and hid neither of her petite hills. Her right breast pancaked nearly flat as her outstretched hand brushed the headboard, but its little brown soldier pushed up from the knoll top and peeped at Philippe through a Chantilly daisy’s center hole. Meanwhile, on the cupcake over her heart, the dark nipple stayed invisible in the low horizon’s shadow.
Philippe’s fingertips tingled and his emptied nuts twinged. The resonant voice in his head advised him, “Here is your perfect chance. In the bath this afternoon it was clear: This girl is a woman. You wanted then to touch her sleek little body. And, just see how her fine black hairs lay smooth in her armpit! Do you remember wondering how she might taste? She is in her champagne dream. Go on!”
Philippe extended his shaking right hand toward the recumbent innocent, escort iskenderun then violently snatched it back as he croaked, “Non! Je suis son oncle!” Having overcome his craven impulse, he felt weirdly weary and held his temples. With closed eyes, he dubiously prayed, “My God! What is happening to me? Is it I who is dreaming? Will morning come and all will be as it should?”
Looking again upon his niece, Philippe moved midway along the high mattress’s edge. At her knees, he gently took hold of her legs and straightened them. She groaned low in her throat the moment he touched her bare smooth shins. Fearful she might wake, he froze his position, but the warmth seeping from her calves through his palms turned his guts to jelly.
Philippe studied Trang’s face for any signal she had roused. Seeing none, he resumed his effort to organize her covers like he had promised himself in her doorway. As he pulled the top sheet up to her chin, however, she sat bolt upright and surprised him with a huge hug as she exclaimed, “Popo! I was just dreaming about you, and now here you are!”
Nonplussed, Philippe stuttered, “D-dreaming? About me? Wh-what do you mean?” Just like when she embraced him to thank him for her new birthday watch, her poked-up pips burned through his vest. And, just as then, his cock, notwithstanding its recent vigorous exercise, filled with fresh blood. In his head, the evil baritone laughed sardonically, “You said you would tuck her in. Maybe she would like more than that.”
Trang squeezed herself tightly to her uncle’s chest and pulled him until he was seated beside her hip. Now, between that, her hands, and her breasts, there were five separate points generating heat throughout his being. As he looked past her, he saw in the ambient half-light, his soul incinerating in a pentagram of flames while imps danced about, lashing him with their pointed tails. She kissed him on both his cheeks and the vision cleared to be replaced by the room’s usual carved cherry-wood furniture.
Trang replied earnestly, “Oui, Popo! About you, but also about me. I don’t know where we were. A garden, perhaps, because the air was so sweet-smelling.” She sniffed his neck and declared, “Its scent was exactly like your eau de cologne!” She kissed him behind his ear and buzzed, “Please don’t think me naughty because I drank too much champagne, Oncle. I know I should have paid more attention to your advice, but it was so wonderfully new!”
Trang pulled back her head without releasing any of the pressure on Philippe’s chest. As she gazed into his eyes, he felt her heart beating through his suit and he struggled to breathe. She kissed him again lightly, but full on his lips, then said, soto voce, “Popo, we should be frank with each other. Certainly, I should be frank with you, at any rate.”
The undertone in his niece’s soft voice made Philippe stiffened her arms. He thought warily, “This must be what a trout in Lake Lucerne feels like when it bites an angler’s hook.” Trying to mask his alarm with insouciance, he said, “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, but I agree we should be able to be as candid as we have always been.”
Trang ran her small hands up and down Philippe’s back as she answered quietly, “I mean, about this afternoon. And when we opened presents later.” Then, moving her hands to her front, she pushed back down the Egyptian cotton sheet that he had laid up against her. When she had reduced, by this single critical layer, his protection from her small but potent charms, she continued, “I saw you looking at me through the mirror in my bath. And then again, later, over my shoulder; under my camisole.”
Philippe was shocked. He opened and closed his mouth in failed speech. Trang touched her fingers to his trembling lips and said, “Wait. Don’t say anything yet, Popo. I have a confession to make and I hope you will not be angry with me.” Assured of his attention, she removed her hands to his ears and combed through the graying streaks in his light brown hair while she went on, “I left the door open on purpose. I hoped you might investigate when you heard the water running.”
Trang stroked her palms gently forward on Philippe’s neck, then loosened his tie, popped the button behind it, and purred, “La! C’est mieux comme ça, non? I know that I breathed much easier when you opened my dress collar! Oh, Popo, I wanted you to see me. To know that I no longer am a child!”
Recovering from the stunning revelation, but not from Trang’s, or The Devil’s, influence, Philippe slid his hands under her nightgown’s deep V-back and up to her shoulders, where its stitchery joined the satin with the lace-work. While he slipped the soft silk down her softer biceps, he pushed her back onto the mattress and into her pillows, then finished uncovering her front to her hips as he growled, “Is that so? Then let me see you fully and judge more closely!”
In elated submission, Trang threw her hands up iskenderun escort bayan to her straight-cut neck-length coal-black hair. As she cupped her head, she grinned and cried, “Oui, Popo! Regardez-moi! Tell me I am grown!”
Philippe promptly bent his head and indulged his first desire from hours ago. Burying his long thin nose in the brunette smudge under Trang’s lifted right arm, he traced its length with his tongue and savored her skin’s humid slightly nutmeg taste. She twisted beneath him and squeaked with delight, “That tickles so!”
Moving laterally to her mouth, Philippe transferred Trang’s tang from her pit to her lips. She instinctively opened and admitted his tongue before lightly biting down and sucking its tip. A thrill shot to his groin. His engorged cock pressed uncomfortably against its cage.
Philippe pulled away from his niece’s hungry mouth to gaze at her bared breasts and belly. Her small chest already heaved with her excitement while her tummy quaked around her dainty oval navel. Plucking at first one hardened nipple, and then the other, he watched their supportive brown areolae puff up high from her tremulous tits’ surfaces. She squeezed her shoulder blades together and arched her back as electric bolts fired from her berries to her beaver.
Scooting his butt further down the mattress, Philippe paused only long enough to adjust his complaining hard-on within his trousers before he sawed Trang’s silk sleep-slip past her slim bottom and down her thighs. She squirmed cooperatively. As her black delta came into view and pointed south to her nearly lipless petite pussy he remembered how the smooth straight hairs had dripped when she stood from her bathwater. He reflexively sucked his teeth and imagined how he might make her wet in another way.
Philippe flattened his left palm over Trang’s minimally mounded right breast and palped it with easy but firm contractions. Meanwhile he trailed his right forefinger from her heart to her bush and threaded it among the hairs. She moaned softly as a warming glow spread through her lungs and abdomen. When his fingernail reached the apex of her cunny, she gasped.
Philippe smiled and directed the teen, “Curl up your legs, so that I may remove your gown.” When she lifted her heels, he whisked the cream sheath off her toes and dropped it to the carpet. As she folded her quadriceps onto herself, her vagina lengthened and closed impossibly tight while her starry brown anus rose with her moons. He leaned in for closer inspection.
Propped on his right elbow with his torso half-twisted below his niece’s canted posterior, Philippe grinned at the girl’s gash and quietly assured her, “There is no doubt, ma petite, that you have grown considerably. I’m sorry that I haven’t said so to you sooner.” As his nostrils picked up the womanly sex-scent surrounding the thin crevice within her dark bush, his brain and his cock reveled in the erotic aroma. He could not wait to verify its source.
Pushing her ivory inner thighs apart, Philippe dove between them and kissed Trang’s slim slice. At the same time, he firmly raked his right fingertips through her chatte’s soft fur from its upper verge to his burrowing brow. As her succulent petals naturally spread and her lubricating dew anointed his nose, he moistened his lips on her fibrillating central folds while he gently pressured her popped clitoris with his left thumb. She could not help but lower her arms and hold his head tightly in place as his tongue toured her twat.
Trang’s light high voice sang up to her bed’s canopy, “Popo! OH! There! Weeeee!”
Philippe was glad for Trang’s grip in his hair but alone it was insufficient. As she rolled her hips in her orgasmic throes, he fought constantly to keep his mouth where it could do the most good. Abandoning her forested mons, he pushed his right hand under her thrashing bottom and vised himself to her loins. She scrabbled her nails in his scalp and pulled him into herself more fiercely.
Philippe was energized beyond belief by Trang’s enthusiasm and noise, but his tongue was blocked from any substantial penetration. He tucked his chin, lowered his approach angle and tested the salty iris three centimeters below her guarded gate. It, too, puckered protectively and thwarted his access even while its nerve endings fired electric delights to add fuel to her fires. Accepting what was readily available, he slithered north again to her hood and suckled the stiff bald bean there.
Trang bucked into her uncle’s face and moaned unintelligibly while wave upon wave rose within her from she knew not where, then smashed into her soul. She suffocated in an avalanche that she could not escape even had she wanted to do so. Stars spangled in her mind and lights strobed before her eyes. She tried to hold on to the feasting head but her aching fingers and cramped wrists fell to the mattress with her devastating passionate consumption.
Philippe lifted up from his collapsed, suddenly still, ward. Fearful that something awful has occurred, he called softly to her, “Trang… Trang are you awake? Are you alright?” When there was no immediate response, he straightened up and gently shook her shoulders. Slowly, she roused and looked dreamily into his eyes. The bedside lamp’s glow was outdone by the visible shine in her porcelain cheeks.