tagIncest/TabooFrench Niece??

French Niece??

byscouries©

The following is a story of consenual incest between adults - if this is not what you're looking for please don't read on...

FRENCH NIECE??

Chapter 1 - New York City, August 2004

"Pierre, c'est toi?" I heard down the phone line, a line that stretched all the way to the elegant 7th arrondissement in Paris, that most exclusive of areas, now home to my only sister Marie Justine (nee Mary Brown) Tremblay.

"Oui, c'est moi Marie. What a pleasant surprise to hear from you. I was just thinking of you," I lied, both nervous and excited at hearing the voice of my forty-three year old sister, a sister who would be calling me only if she wanted something. "How's everything going over there?"

"Good news Peter," she almost sang as she switched back to her native tongue, "Amelie's coming to visit you."

"She is….. When?" I stammered, but relieved that this looked like a simple request to perform, a couple of days escorting my pretty niece around New York City.

"Well Cherie, not exactly a visit," she added ominously. "Actually it's wonderful news Peter, your brilliant niece has been accepted to our Alma Mater."

"NYU? But she's only sixteen," I protested, confused by the idea of my only niece wandering the halls of America's best University.

"She's eighteen Peter. Don't you even know the age of my daughter? She graduated from the Lycee in June."

"But does she speak English well enough?" I asked, as my mind whirled through the possibilities and problems Amelie's presence in New York would cause me.

"Of course she speaks English," she almost shouted in response, her natural dislike of the male species coming perilously close to the surface as she spoke. "But she'll need a place to stay when she arrives in three weeks."

"I'm sure she'll love residence living Marie. Remember how you enjoyed your first year?" I enthused and then added, "And of course I'll love entertaining my beautiful niece from time to time."

"We were too late Peter."

"Too late? For what?"

"Amelie was going to go to the Sorbonne of course, but when NYU accepted her last week, both Jacques and I thought she should experience at least one year in America, it'll be good for her."

"And?"

"We were too late to get her in residence Pierre, so we thought……"

"Yes?" I finally murmured, all of a sudden realizing what my dear sister was hoping for.

"Well, you do have a huge house. And you are so close to the University, well, so we thought maybe the best thing for your innocent little niece is to live"

"I'm sure she'd be better off with people her own age," I said quickly, interrupting her argument. "In fact, I'm sure with the contacts I have that I could easily arrange a place for her in residence."

"I've already decided Peter! She'll stay with you first year. It'll be much safer for a young girl. Remember Peter, she's innocent, she's not used to the violence and guns and criminals and murder and drugs like all you Americans are."

"Marie, you're an American too," I protested weakly, knowing this was an argument I'd never win.

"We're arriving on the 28th Peter, Air France of course. We expect to be met," she warned, and before hanging up added, "I'll e-mail you the details tomorrow."

A myriad of emotions flashed through my brain as I sat immobile in my easy chair, the phone's busy signal buzzing unnoticed in my ear. It was hard to believe that Claire Amelie Tremblay, my little 'cat', was already eighteen and about to become a University student. I hadn't seen her for over four years and had often wondered if her Mother hadn't intentionally sent her away whenever I had made one of my visits to France in recent years.

Was it on her fourteenth birthday the last time I'd seen her I asked myself. Even then she had been taller than her Mom, I remembered. She was a thin, coltish, auburn haired girl, frisky then and with no hips and just small bumps rising under her tee shirt. She'd had hard fat nipples though, I thought suddenly, grinning at the remembered image of a topless, soaking Amelie climbing from their pool as we adults sipped wine.

Even then though, she was her Mothers daughter, having already developed a haughtiness, even a snobbishness that can be maddening in a twenty year old, but in her fourteen year old body four years ago it had been simply irritating. She'll be a bitch I knew suddenly, that worst of all possible combinations, a beautiful, rich, private school educated French teenager, brought up by my status conscious sister.

My sister, I mused, as a lifetime of sibling memories crowded my brain………

Chapter 2 - New York, Summer 1985

My sister, simply Mary then, was born six years before me, and was probably more surprised by my sudden appearance than my father. Dad was sixty when I was born, and greeted the son he had given up hoping for, a son who could carry on the proud tradition of the New York Browns, with jubilation.

In one day Mary went from being the only child of a wealthy family, an always spoiled girl who had been the most important person in the Brown household, into almost an afterthought, the arrival of the male scion completely superseding her, even though she was the elder.

She must have loved me at first, what small six year old girl could possibly not love a baby brother? But as the years passed resentment grew, and although I didn't recognize it at the time, I know now that I induced in her incredibly strong emotions, a love/hate pendulum that threatened her happiness.

When I was ten, eleven, twelve, she would often wrestle with me as we played, and looking back I can still see the joy in her eyes as her sixteen or seventeen year old body sat astride me, forcing me down, hurting me just enough to get me to cry and beg for mercy.

I have no memories of any sexual association with these games; at that age I was still too young to harbor even the remotest interest in sex. But now I guess that Mary must have somehow received some sado-erotic pleasure in subduing her little brother, probably some early stirrings of the two sided sexual person she was destined to become.

When I was twelve Mary started first year medicine at NYU and with her living in residence for her first three years we grew apart, our childish games left behind. And when she moved back home after third year, half-way to her medical degree, a twenty-one year old woman, she found not the boy she remembered cowing before her, but an almost-man.

At fifteen, I had grown to 5'10", three inches taller than Mary, and although still thin, had a wiry strength that easily eclipsed hers. And so, during those next three years, my high school years, Mary changed tactics, ostensibly kind and charming to me when in the presence of others, but often mean and verbally harassing when in private.

When I finally discovered girls and started dating in my junior year, her attacks all of a sudden became increasingly shrill. She hated the ease I had with the opposite sex, and would invariably criticize any date I brought home. It was that year when I recognized that there was something wrong with Mary, that I realized that this twenty-three year old beautiful woman, and she was beautiful, even her brother could recognize the sexual delights that awaited someone behind every curve of her lush body, had sexual problems.

"Why don't you ever go out with men?" I learned to reply to her constant criticism of me and my dates. "Don't tell me you're still a virgin?" I'd laugh at her.

"She's just a slut, a dirty little slut," she'd rage back.

"Lesbian!"

"Fuck you Peter, fuck you," she'd cry.

Only once that year did we actually physically battle, and as I easily rode atop her thrashing, struggling body, taunted, "Some day a man's going to come along and make you his slave Mary, make you grovel at his feet, how do you think you'll like it Mary, obeying a strong male.."

"Never," she screamed, "I'll never let a man control me. I'm strong, I'm liberated! Never!"

But I just laughed as I got off her and could see the fear, the excitement, the yearning in her eyes as she lay looking up at me.

In her last year at NYU, while I was eighteen and in last year high school, Mary all of a sudden found a man, or at least a male member of the human species. Jacques Tremblay, a fellow student in medicine, a Frenchman, all of a sudden started appearing at our house, and during Easter of their final year they announced to Dad and Mom their plans to get married in late July and then move to France to live and practice medicine.

"Are you crazy?" I demanded one day soon after their announcement, "Mary, he's not for you. He'll never satisfy you. He's a"

"Shut up Peter. You're just jealous," she laughed, feeling she had the upper hand. "He's kind and rich and educated and urbane and handsome," she crooned. "And he obeys me. He does what I say Peter, when I say it," she boasted, showing the haughtiness I recognized from our youth.

He was a short, dapper man, maybe 5'5" and one hundred and twenty pounds, and I didn't doubt Mary's words, easily being able to imagine her sitting astride him, disciplining him.

"He's not a man," I howled, "He'll never fill you like you want, like you need."

"He likes it when I spank him," she whispered in my ear, "With a fat leather belt Peter," she finished, a triumphant gloat on her shining face………

Nothing would have happened; the future would have turned out completely different, if she hadn't barged in on me that July day, just two weeks before her wedding. Sally, my current girl, and I were in the backyard, naked after a summer's afternoon swim. When I heard the click of the patio door I was pounding away deeply into Sally's pussy, as she lay bent over the picnic table.

With one hand holding Sally's ponytail and the other wrapped under her stomach, pulling her towards me with each heaving thrust, I looked up and saw Mary watching us, one foot through the door and the other suspended in mid air.

As Sally's deep groans of satisfaction exploded across the yard, I kept watching my Sister, still immobile second after second, her mouth open in an anguished circle, and saw as the black rage suddenly bloomed on her face.

She was on me and pushing me over just as my first strand of cum pumped out and flew in a wild arc upward as I stumbled onto the grass. "You pig," she hissed at me before turning to an astonished Sally, whom she started to pummel as she screamed, "Slut! Cunt! Bitch! Get the fuck out of here," and Sally fled screaming before her blows and words, just grabbing her shorts and top before Mary chased her through the house and out the front door.

"Are you fucking crazy?" I finally managed to yell when Mary reappeared. "What were you fucking thinking?" I raged as I stood up to face her, strands of my cum hanging from my chest and still half-hard cock.

"You're like animals, wild animals," she yelled back as she rushed right up to me, her hands clenched in little fists and spittle dripping from the corner of her mouth. "It's disgusting!"

"It's sex Mary, just sex. That was my girlfriend for Christ's sake."

As her fists hammered uselessly against my chest I suddenly broke, first grabbing her hands to stop the ineffectual blows, and then lifting her effortlessly off the ground.

"You asshole," she screamed as I carried her over to the table and bent her over, the suppressed anger I'd carried for years now explosively unleashed.

Thwack……… thwack…….. thwack………. thwack………. thwack…….. thwack…My hand fell relentlessly on Mary's backside, her screams of protest rising as the pinkness turned to red and crimson. "Bitch," I yelled as each blow fell, incredibly excited to finally have the upper hand on my squirming sister.

"No Peter, no ……… you can't, stop, stop now," she ordered, but as I silently spanked her cries turned to pleas, "Please Peter, pleasssssse, pleasssssssse stop, it hurts."

Finally I tired, and turned her and lifted her to her feet. Grabbing her hair I shoved her face against my chest and ordered, "Clean me Mary, lick my cum from my body."

"Never you bastard, never," she wailed, but when I threatened to spank her again, I felt her tongue tentatively lick my nipple, tasting a man's cum for the first time and when she looked up into my eyes for just a second I saw a slavish acceptance of me deep within. She turned away quickly, knowing I had seen her desire, her lust, and quickly lowered her head, cleaning my chest and stomach hungrily.

Finally, on her knees between my legs, I could see her hesitate before my now surging cock. "It's too big Peter, I can't," she sobbed, a plea for mercy in her eyes.

"Clean it," I ordered as I grasped the back of her head and pulled her forward, and almost howled in pleasure as her tongue circle my engorged, leaking cockhead. "You're a born cocksucker," I laughed as she sucked me eagerly, one of her hands pumping me as the other caressed my now tight balls.

"Enough," I ordered as I lifted her up and pulled her against me.

"But Peter, don't you"

Lifting her and carrying her inside, I rushed upstairs to her bedroom, impatient to finally fuck my haughty sister, and as I threw her down on her soft sheets, told her, "Now its time you really felt me Mary. Felt what a man feels like spreading your tight little cunt."

"No Peter, no please. I'm a virgin, I can't"

"A virgin? You mean little Jacques's never fucked his sweet bride," I laughed as I knelt between her legs. "Never felt your pussy clench his little cock?" I demanded as I drove easily through her virgin gate, feeling the hot blood bathe my rampant tool as I penetrated a good six inches.

"Noooooooo…………………. Peterrrrrrrrrr, no pleasssssssssssse" she shrieked as she was split by my sword. "Yes, yes, take it all out," she pled as I withdrew, leaving just my fat cockhead in her.

"The hard part's over," I promised as I plunged in again, this time burying another inch in her. "You got most of it sweetie," I lied, as I pulled back again.

"How long is it?" she cried, "It's too big, I can't Peter, I can't."

"Look at me," I ordered, as I started to pump rhythmically, "Into my eyes Mary, look into my eyes." I took her lower lip between my teeth as I finally bottomed out in her, my nine fat inches stuffing her completely.

"You're my little sex slave Mary," I told her grinning, feeling her slowly adjust to this foreign penetration of her insides, and then felt the first tentative responses from her body. Little hip movements and clenching of her pussy muscles began to meet my every thrust and deep guttural groans involuntarily slipped between her clasping teeth.

She came twice before I finally bathed her insides, and as my millions of sperm worked their way into every available crevasse, I felt a relief, a fulfillment I had never felt before. "I hate you," she whispered as we lay facing each other. "I hate men, I hate your penises, your strength, your"

"Come here," I laughed, pulling her so she nestled softly against me. "You're beautiful, so beautiful," I added, whispering in her ear before I let my lips find hers.

"I didn't want to, you hurt me," she lied, each of her breaths caressing me softly. As I pulled her even tighter against me, forcing her to feel my full length pushing against her stomach, she complained as she looked down between our bodies, "Not again Peter, please not again."

But she was licking her lips as she said it and when I flipped her over and entered her, holding her hips up and apart, she gasped in contentment and was soon begging me to fuck her harder and harder………..

In the two weeks that followed, those last days leading up to her wedding, we fucked almost without stop. And after each bout of lovemaking she'd deny she liked it, always insisting she hated men, loathed me.

"I hate it Peter, I hate it what you do, what you make me feel, but I don't want you sleeping with that slut," she explained one day, promising me always that this was the last time but invariably coming back an hour or two hours later, rubbing against me, teasing me until I threw her down and forced her again.

But I couldn't convince her to leave Jacques, to call off the wedding, to stay with me. "You'll never be happy with him Mary," I'd argue, "Stay with me, stay with your little brother, be his lover, my slave forever."

"Never, never, I'm a doctor, an independent woman; I'm not your toy. This is just a parting cadeau, a gift for my little brother before I leave you." She stormed.

And she did marry Jacques and move to France and have a baby girl, Amelie, my niece. But about every twelve or fifteen months Marie (as she now called herself) and I would somehow find ourselves together for a couple of days or a week, and during those few precious times Marie would drop her pretense and become my slave, complaining happily as I cocked her.

Chapter 3 - New York, Aug 28 2004

You couldn't mistake them for anything but what they were, rich French women deigning to allow the United States the pleasure of their company for a short while. And as they slowly walked towards me, every molecule in my body screamed 'danger', a warning I knew I couldn't heed.

"Ah, Amelie, le voila," my sister intoned to her daughter, pointing at me.

"Marie, Cat, what a pleasure," I said, rushing to meet them. There were no family hugs from these two, just a cheerless waving at my cheeks by two pairs of cold lips.

"J'aime pas Cat, oncle Pierre," complained my niece, the first words out of her mouth after four years of absence.

"I'm sorry honey," I replied laughing, not willing to allow either of the two any edge, "But you're in America now, English only please."

"I…….. DON'T…….. LIKE……. THE……. NAME…….CAT…….. UNCLE," Amelie ordered, scowling in heavily accented English.

"Well, sweetie, Amelie then," I responded, my sarcasm perhaps outside the grasp of her perception, "Welcome to the greatest country in the world, the United States of America – your new home!"

"Ah oui, home of the beeg Mac, George Bush and the whooper," my sneering niece answered.

'Jesus,' I thought, silently appraising the beautiful, young woman in front of me, 'I wonder how long it will take me before I have that haughty smirk wiped off her face.' And Amelie was beautiful, even more attractive than her Mother, who had been a stunner in her own right when she had been a teen.

Model tall, Amelie's 5'9" body had filled out over the last four years and round, high breasts proudly stood above a miniscule waist and flaring, full hips. She was wearing designer jeans, jeans cut so low her pubic bones were half exposed and dark, rich pubic hair would have been luxuriously escaping if she hadn't shaved and waxed. I could see her slit clearly defined by the tightness of the material at her groin and wondered fleetingly if she was wearing any underwear at all.

She certainly wasn't on top, as I could see her jutting nipples and her dark alluring circles through the thin, beige cashmere sweater she wore, and each step or motion produced a wonderful cascade of movement under the near transparent wool.

"You've become a beautiful woman," I said, grasping Amelie's two hands in mine holding her in front of me. "Almost as pretty as your Mother," I added, hoping against hope I could compliment these vain women enough to quiet their harping.

"Stop being an idiot Pierre," Marie responded, "Let's get our bags and get out of here."

As we walked to the car, with me carrying the luggage as the girls chatted happily in French, I wondered if I'd have a chance in the two days my dear sister was staying to remind her once again just what a real man would and could do. And I couldn't stop myself from giving her still firm butt a quick slap as she bent over to follow her daughter into the car, a stinging blow that really didn't hurt, but just reminded Marie of what was ahead.

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