French Niece??

I kept up a running commentary as we drove, trying to point out all the highlights of New York to my young niece sitting in the back seat. As I talked I let my hand slide towards my sister sitting next to me, finally slipping my fingers into the high slit cut into her stylish white midi skirt.

"No, not now," she groaned, struggling to move away from me as my hand lightly touched her silk covered mound.

"No what Mama?" asked Amelie, completely shielded from the caresses I was applying to her Mother.

"Rien Cherie, It's nothing," Marie answered as my hand slipped under the soft material and a finger lightly trailed along the damp channel before penetrating her lightly. She was soaking as we pulled up to my house, panting silently as my finger pumped into her.

"Pig," she hissed pleadingly at me as Amelie jumped from the car, "I hate you! Don't touch me again, don't! Not this time, Amelie might see," she tried to order, as her pulsing pussy betrayed her.

"Viens Mama [C'mon Mom]," Amelie yelled as she moved up the walk towards the front door.

"I've missed you Marie," I whispered as Sis moved to get out of the car. "Maybe tonight," I added grinning, forcing her reluctant hand momentarily onto my now straining shaft before releasing her.

"No! I can't, I won't," she promised, but wasn't able to hide the lust, the servile hunger in her eyes.

When I finally arrived in the foyer of my two-hundred year old attached brownstone, laden still with the girls luggage, I found my niece staring wide eyed into the formal living room/dining room area.

"Mais, c'est tres belle, oh, I mean, its beautiful Uncle Peter," Amelie gushed, obviously impressed with the grandeur and beautiful furnishings of the rooms.

"Come on ma belle, I'll show you your new room, its upstairs." And after leading her into her new room and watching her eyes open in wonder, a young girls delight shining clearly on her face, added, "I hope you like it honey."

"Its perfect Uncle Peter, I love it," she said as she turned and gave me a real hug, and just for a second she let her moist lips linger atop mine, letting me momentarily sample her tongue before pulling away.

"Why don't you unpack honey while I take your Mom up to her room."

"I could sleep here," Marie quickly offered. "I don't want you put out too much," my normally selfish sister added.

"Don't even think about it Marie. Finally I get the chance to entertain you and repay you for all the times you've welcomed me at your home."

Even Amelie looked up suspiciously at this comment, knowing full well that I had never been welcomed warmly into her Mothers home. "But Peter," Marie started to protest as I led her out and up to the third floor.

My bedroom, like Amelie's directly below mine, looked out through large windows onto a private park at the back of the house, a park owned and maintained by the twenty houses that completely circled it. But it was to a room at the front on the top floor, angled under the sloping eaves, and with only a small window facing the street below, that I led Marie.

It was a luxuriously finished room, with rich, wood paneling, thick royal blue curtains, built in bookshelves, and wall mounted gold lighting fixtures. But it was also clearly a man's room, something I could see Marie sense immediately, and laughed inwardly as I saw her flinch from the hard male sexuality she felt all around her.

"Its fine Peter," she whispered, "Just give me a couple of minutes to change and freshen up and I'll come down and rejoin you."

Turning to her after I placed her bags on the bed, I ordered, "I don't want you to wear any panties while you're here Marie, I want you open for me."

"But, what do you mean," she started but she didn't finish her thought as I pulled her against me, roughly lifting her skirt above her waist before I ripped the soft, silk panties from her body.

And as I grasped her two round rear globes in my steel like fingers, lifting her up off the floor while I spread her, she cried, "No Peter, please don't………oh God I hate you," she finished as one of my fingers eased up her already slippery channel while another forced itself into her puckered anus.

"You haven't felt your brother's hard spank for a few years, have you my dear sister?" I asked chuckling as I pulled her reluctant form toward the bed and placed her squirming over my knee. "I hope you haven't forgotten that you're really just a little slave, made to suck her brother's fat prick," I teased. Two fingers of my left hand were now buried in her, pumping relentlessly as the first blow fell ……TWACK ……… and then was followed in rapid succession by a dozen more.

Slipping her now thrashing body off my lap and onto her knees between my legs, I held her arms spread wide as her face lay against my crotch, feeling my bucking penis through the thin cotton.

"I won't, you bastard," she swore, as I pulled my fat monster free, "I won't, I won't, I won't," she sobbed as I moved my cock over her teary face, letting her feel its hardness against her cheek, her nose, her chin, her hair. "You're so cruel," she hissed as her mouth struggled to seize him, and then hungrily popped the heart shaped, crimson head between her puffy lips.

It was amazing that someone who had had so little experience with men, and with their pricks, could be so adept at pleasing them. As she licked and sucked, ravenously eating me, I freed her hands and allowed her to pump and stroke me as she worked, her only sounds gurgles of contentment, her supposed disdain for men lost as I emptied my thick strands of seed in her throat.

"I hate you," she whispered, as she knelt before me, a white string of cum hanging from her chin, as her eyes bored into mine, a deep satisfaction shining through. "I hate the way you make me feel, I hate loving the taste of you, the feel of your big cock," she finished as she lowered her head and milked the last bits of spunk into her mouth.

"Tonight Marie," I promised as I rose and moved toward the door, "Tonight I'll make you crawl for your little brother."

For two days I fucked my big sister, making her come endlessly as she thrashed below me, again and again deeply impaled on my thrusting spear. As she lay, tied spread-eagled on my King size bed, late on the second night, just hours before her flight home, I tried to convince her to join me permanently.

"Come live with me Marie, you know this is what you want, what you need… you want to be my slave, to feel my cock always, I've missed you"

"No, never, I'm a strong liberated woman, a Doctor, I don't need a man, never," she wailed. "It's I who orders Jacques, disciplines him, rules him," she boasted, even as I moved into her again, filling every inch of her insides.

"Leave him Marie. He's a wimp, a jerk, a little masochist who'll never satisfy you. You pretend to be a Dom but you know what you really want, don't you?" I demanded as she again started to spasm uncontrollably over my gushing cock. "You want my collar!! Come and be my slave, sleep tied at the foot of my bed every night, pleasure me when ordered, wear my mark," I insisted. "You'll be here for your daughter, she won't be all alone," I argued, excited at the prospect of Marie being my sex slave.

I could see she was attracted by my vision, that she was finally accepting what she was, who she could become, but still she replied, "No, never Peter, I can't, I can't. You'll take care of Amelie won't you Peter, promise me you will."

"Yes, yes of course I'll take care of her. What's her problem anyway? Does she at least like men? Does she fuck? Does she have boyfriends?"

"God yes, too many I think," laughed Marie ruefully, "She's definitely not like me in that way, in fact I'm afraid she's become a little slut. You definitely won't have to encourage her to date Peter, but you may have to lock her in sometimes."……..

My last words to my sister as I hugged her in front of the Air France gate, seconds before she boarded her flight home were, "I love you Marie, anytime you want to come, that you realize it's I you want, just come, whenever, always.."

"To be your slave?"

"Yes to be my love slave Marie, forever," I whispered as she turned toward the gate, conflicting thoughts and emotions dancing beneath her skin.

Chapter 4 - New York City, Fall 2004

I was thirty-seven that Autumn, a lifelong bachelor who had been slowly becoming set in my ways, and so I found the arrival of Amelie and her continuing presence both a trial and a pleasure. It was a joy to have a teenager in the house, with her youthful view of the world allowing me to experience life through a youngster's fresh eye.

But I had to also put up with her immaturity and her arrogance, combined with an anti-Americanism that threatened our uneasy peace almost from day one. Although she enjoyed her school, her classmates, her courses and loved being able to explore the world's most exciting city, inevitably she'd spout some half-baked European theory about the States that would infuriate whoever she was with.

"But Uncle Peter," she'd complained innocently to me one day when I admonished her for some ill thought out comment she'd made, "I thought this was the land of free speech."

"That doesn't mean you can insult us every time you open your mouth."

"But Uncle,"

"Don't Uncle me Amelie. You were brought up much better than that. You don't see your new friends insulting French food or French inefficiency or French waffling on every important issue they face or"

"We don't waffle on"

"Christ sweetie, French foreign policy is based on how many francs it will make them that day. Your President doesn't even understand the concept of long term planning, the long term to him is tomorrow………….and America always has to bail you French out whenever you get in trouble. Remember Cherie, it was the good old US of A that chased the Germans out of France while you all cowered in your homes."

"Liar! Batard!" [Bastard], she yelled back. "You people are uncivilized, boorish, God Uncle, look at that fool you have as President," she raged, her haughty pride not even allowing her to see any other view than her own.

But it was also fun to watch her mind expand, growing exponentially as new ideas and sensations flooded in, being bombarded by the University environment and the richness of New York. As we'd talk over dinner I'd be continually delighted as she'd expound on some new philosophy or sociology or political science idea she'd been exposed to that day for the very first time.

And even her French haughtiness couldn't help but be impressed by the treasures of the MOMA or the Guggenheim or the Met or the Whitney and I loved the time I spent walking arm in arm with my pretty niece through the galleries of these cultural landmarks. And it was a delight to escort Amelie to the shows on Broadway, where the 'Phantom' or 'Rent' or 'Mamma Mia' or 'Chicago' or 'Lestat' would invariably bring a look of pure joy to her innocent face.

And then finally there was the sexual tension that slowly built between us that term. She was a beautiful woman who had a European's ease with nudity and sex, a casualness that we Americans often find almost shocking.

She had spent much of every summer on the Riveria, always topless, and often totally nude, as she swam and sunbathed among her friends and parents. She found our awkwardness with nudity amusing, our inability to discuss sexual matters an incomprehensible idiosyncrasy of the English speaking world.

And although I had spent time on the freer beaches of Europe, and had a more casual approach to nudity and sex than most Americans, Amelie immediately sensed my unease when she was half dressed in my presence. It was a soft spot in my armor that she loved scratching; loving the advantage my unease gave her.

It started innocently enough when she decided to join me in my nightly workouts in my basement gym, a one thousand square foot area that housed a sauna, whirlpool, shower and steam room next to a fully functional weight room which was also equipped with a stationary bike and a treadmill. She had explored it when she had first arrived and sometimes used the treadmill and spa, but until mid-October hadn't joined me when I worked out.

One night she trooped down to the gym in skimpy shorts and tank top, her midriff bare, and asked as I watched her approach, "Will you help me with the weights Uncle? Show me what I should do."

"Sure sweetie," I panted as I finished the last rep of a bicep set, "I've been hoping you'd want to try it. Weight training's good for everyone, even for young fit girls," I explained as I walked over to her, sweat glistening on my engorged muscles.

"Mon dieu [My God], your strong Uncle Peter, ………. I didn't know……….. your chest, your arms," she stammered, as her eyes roamed over my heaving body.

"Let me see you," I said, placing a hand on each shoulder and then moving them over her back and arms and sides and bare stomach, testing the muscles under her skin, and finally feeling the tremor that coursed through her as I slid my hand over her skin under her belly button. Kneeling before her I grasped each leg in turn, slowly running my hands over her calves, her quads, her hamstrings and then onto her firm glutes and inner thighs.

"You're fit sweetie, you just need a little more strength," I explained, excited by the feel of her silky skin.

"Will you show me? You don't mind me being here when you're trying to work out?"

"It's more fun to work out with someone else," I answered smiling, "You've made my day."

"I have?"

"Uh huh, c'mon I'll show you." And I then led her through a hard hour of work, fifteen minutes of cardiac followed by a full explanation of her muscle groups and the exercises she needed to do. My hands were continually on her body as I led her, supporting her, helping her, encouraging her, as she grew accustomed to the new movements.

"That's enough for tonight honey," I finally said, as she sat panting and sweating on the floor. "You'll be sore tomorrow but OK by Friday," I promised.

"God, I stink," she said as she stood, her nose sniffing under her sweating arm, "Do you have an extra towel down here?" she asked as she quickly peeled her top over her head, baring her perfect, firm, pink tipped breasts to my view for the first time.

"Yeah…….sure Amelie…………there, over here," I stuttered nervously, and then stumbled as I moved towards the cupboard next to the shower in the corner, an eight foot square tiled space that was open to the room.

When I turned back to her, I couldn't help but gasp loudly, Amelie's body now fully naked to my view. "Jesus", I groaned as my eyes locked on the pink gash casually displayed in front of me.

"Uncle Peter," the little vixen said laughing, "My nudity doesn't make you nervous does it?"

"No, no honey, you just surprised me," I answered lamely, as my eyes continually flicked from her face to her now erect nipples to her hairless groin.

"Are you going to shower now too?" she asked, a clear invitation in her voice.

"No sweetie, I'll get one later," I stammered as I backed quickly towards the door, my cock rock hard at the sight of my niece's nubile body.

The one constant in our relationship over the next two months was her delight in teasing me with her body and she took every opportunity to let me see her abundant charms. Casually around the house, she'd often appear suddenly topless or just in transparent sexy bras, and often appeared at dinner braless with décolleté tops, where each of her small movements would lure my eyes to her flashing charms.

And at least three or four times a week she'd work out with me, casually undressing and then showering when finished, always encouraging me to join her in the whirlpool or shower or steam room. Her perfect body came to haunt my dreams as the weeks passed and even when I made love to a favored friend, often wished it was Amelie who was writhing under me.

She finally caught me naked one night, arriving in the gym smiling as I showered after a hard workout. "I'm late Peter," she explained as she walked across the room toward me, an impish smile on her face, "Professor Chambers, he's my Poli Sci prof, took the class out for drinks. Brrrr, it was cold outside Uncle, oh I really need a hot shower and whirlpool to warm up," she added as she quickly stripped and moved next to me, her eyes twinkling as she blatantly stared at my cock.

"I was afraid you were deformed," she finally said laughing.

"What? Why?"

"Well, you were so shy. And maybe it is," she finished, her tongue licking her lips as she looked up into my eyes.

"D..d..deformed," I stammered.

"It's so big…….so huuuge………..so eeeeeeenormous," she purred, "No wonder you have all those old women chasing you.

"Ha, ha, ha. But you must remember my little niece," I teased back, finally having regained my equilibrium, "Everything is bigger in America."

"Pas vrai mon oncle [not true uncle], so far all the American boys I've seen have been very disappointing compared to my French boys"

"Just how many boys have you seen anyway Amelie?" I asked, my firm tone undermined by a grin I couldn't hide.

"Not enough Uncle," she complained, and then moved into me, letting me feel her nakedness from head to toe. "It's very big now," she giggled, as she looked down between our bodies and watched me lengthening against her stomach. "And growing," she added, as she turned away and entered the steam room. "Coming," she purred invitingly.

I fled from her that night, but from then on we were both often naked in front of each other, and often finished our workouts together in the shower, sauna and whirlpool. As the weeks passed our sexual teasing of each other increased but remained just that, teasing and flirting, neither of us really ready to take it the next step.

But she became increasingly horny as the fall term passed, frustrated by her inability to find a suitable lover. A girl who had been exposed to sex early and who had become used to a full sex life, casual and enjoyable, she found the cloying jealously of American boys both strange and annoying.

"I just wanted to fuck him," she protested to me at dinner one night in early December, "Not live with him forever. Christ, they're all like little boys, doesn't anyone in America enjoy sex?"

"Well honey," I started, completely at a loss at what to say. "Don't you have some girlfriends you can talk to about all this?"

"And oral sex! God Uncle Peter, not one boy I've dated this term knows how to go down on a girl. It's just 'suck my cock Amelie' or 'bend over baby'. They're hopeless. I haven't come since I left Paris," she complained. "You like eating a woman don't you Uncle? Tasting her?"

"Well honey, I can't, I mean I don't think this is a subject you and"

"Bullshit! I'm sleeping alone and you've got women coming and going every day."

"Not every day!"

"Mon Dieu Oncle! I come down to breakfast and find these fat, old women sipping coffee at the table. Cattie one day, Marge the next, then Juuudy…"

"Stop complaining my little girl; just because you can't find a man…… and what do you mean, 'fat, old women', the few ladies of mine you've met were lovely young ladies."

"Cows," Amelie spat, "sluts; you could do much better Uncle."

"Maybe you should bring one of your little college girlfriends home for me," I teased.

"Theses Americans Uncle, they're babies. What you need is a French woman, a Parisian with grace, charm, beauty, experience, sophistication……... someone just like me," she finished.

"God forbid," I answered, laughing hollowly, suddenly aware that it was someone just like her I needed, knowing that I was falling hopelessly in love with Amelie.

As the last two weeks of the term wound down, we circled each other cautiously, both of us waiting for the other, wanting, dreaming………… suddenly shy, afraid of the forbidden love lurking, urgently demanding release.