Me and My Uncle Ch. 09

I was moaning deliriously, panting out my appreciation of how good my uncle's big cock felt as he rammed it up and down in my twitching ass.

The whole scenario was surreal. Here I was under the clear, hot summer sky, with my uncle's cock buried in my ass, vigorously working my hands in my dripping pussy, while some farmer jacked off as he watched us fuck.

It was too much. I threw my head back and squealed loudly as my orgasm exploded through my body. I felt Uncle Bill's hands cupping my ass as he worked me harder and faster on his cock. I could hear him gasping as he began to hit his nut strokes.

Through the haze of my climax, I looked out just in time to see our watcher spew several explosive arcs of cum from the end of his dick. I don't know if Bill could see him, but seconds later I felt his hips lurch upward, followed by a volcano of hot, creamy cum. My body shuddered as he filled my ass with his seed, and I used my experienced rectal muscles to milk him of every drop he had to give me.

Slowly, our orgasmic twittering subsided until I finally slumped back onto Bill's chest, spent for the moment, and he wrapped his arms around me and held me close. I looked up through lust-glazed eyes and noticed that our audience had departed, a development that didn't terribly disappoint me.

As I gradually got my breathing under control, my uncle's cock slowly wilted until it oozed out of my anus. That was my cue to climb slowly to my feet and stagger toward the water.

I got a mini-rush out of the way the cum slowly flowed out of my distended ass and down the insides of my legs as I waded into the river. Like I've said repeatedly, in my prime I was a nasty little whore, even as I was beginning to seek a way out of that life.

I swam naked in the river, and soon Bill joined me. We frolicked in the water like the lovers we could have been, if he hadn't been so possessive and obsessed with using me. We cooled off and cleaned up a little bit, then we made ourselves decent, packed up and headed back toward our camp.

We both continued sucking down beers in the hot summer sun, and soon my head was spinning. It wasn't a moment too soon that our campsite came into view and I staggered out of the boat toward our tent.

I took a long nap while Uncle Bill cleaned and dressed our fish, and the whole time he continued to drink a steady flow of beer. When I finally woke up, the sun was low in the sky and the smell of fish cooking on the grill wafted over our campsite.

Despite the pleasant aroma, I was feeling grumpy, the way a person does when they've put on a drunk under the heat of the sun, then quit for awhile. And Uncle Bill was showing signs of being seriously drunk.

He could pack away some beer, so he wasn't stumbling drunk. But I'd been around him long enough to know the signs that he was getting pretty intoxicated. He was talking in clipped tones, he seemed a little surly and he was looking at me in a funny way.

Why I picked that moment to ask him what he planned to do the next spring when I moved away following graduation, I'll never know. He just stared at me like I had lost my mind.

"What the fuck are you talkin' about?" he asked incredulously, and not a little belligerently. I knew immediately that I had made a mistake. But instead of retreating into my timid mode, the way I almost always did when confronted with Bill in this mood, I pushed. I was in a pretty sour mood also, and I guess I was looking for a fight.

"I'm talking about when I graduate and go off to work at a real job," I said. "I'm not going to be your whore forever, I'm not going to stay in Bumfuck, Missouri the rest of my life, and you'd better start getting ready for it."

"Shit, girl, we've got us a fucking gravy train going, why in the hell would you want to stop now?" he said.

"Because I'm getting tired of BEING the fucking gravy train," I said, rather louder than I intended. "I'm the one who's having to fuck for this train, not you. It's my pussy, my ass, my mouth that gets used, not yours, and I'm getting tired of it."

"You lie," he said, and at that an evil grin creased his face. "You weren't tired of it this afternoon on the riverside. You wanted me to fuck your hot little ass, begged me for it. You can't live without cock, so don't lie to me like that."

"You promised me that if I worked for you for four years, you'd let me go," I said, now feeling a little desperation. I was afraid to admit that maybe he was right.

"And maybe I lied," he said, with a finality that hit me like a sledgehammer. "You ain't quittin'. Shit, you wouldn't know what to do if you weren't fucking every night. You wouldn't know what to do if'n you didn't have me to look after you. You can't make it on your own, and you know it."

"Bullshit!" I cried, then turned and walked off down the riverbank. I could feel the sobs building, but I fought them down.

I had broken my vow from years earlier that I would be strong-willed and not to cry about anything. Back in February when Caleb Binion, my friend the sheriff's deputy, was killed, I had been inconsolable, because I knew instinctively that I no longer had any protection from the predators on the county police force.

And the idea that Uncle Bill was reneging on his promise to let me go after four years had me on the verge of tears again. But I stifled them, tamped them down with grim determination.

It was almost dark when I returned to camp. On my long walk, I thought out a lot of things, and came to some bedrock decisions.

The first and most important decision was that I needed to quit drinking. I was slowly, but surely descending down the same path my mother had taken years earlier. I had managed to avoid drugs, for the most part, but I could see that resolve crumbling the heavier my drinking became.

The other major decision I made that night was that I WAS going to leave Missouri after I graduated. I wasn't going to let Uncle Bill use me indefinitely. I would hold up my end of the bargain, and be his fuck toy for as long as I was in college. But once I got that diploma, I was out of there. I was determined to show him that he was wrong, that I could make it on my own, without him to "look after me."

And once I was out of my uncle's clutches, I made up my mind that I wasn't going to be used by men - or women - for sex, like I had been my whole life, as far back as Schlutzie. I didn't anticipate a long period of celibacy, but I resolved to have sex on my terms, not those of others.

Uncle Bill had eaten, and had left me a plate full of his grilled fish. I had to admit that it was delicious, even if it wasn't hot off the grill. As I ate, I rolled over in my mind how I was going to proceed with my uncle.

One other decision I made on my walk through the woods was that I was going to make an effort to not be confrontational with him.

Now that I knew his intentions, I knew I had to be very careful about how I acted, and not let my true thoughts and feelings show. I was going to have to put on an act of contrition, while I carefully made my preparations to get away from him when the time came.

So after I had eaten, after I had pulled some ice water out of the cooler, I apologized to my uncle for the way I had spoken. I had to swallow my pride as I did it, because I was still upset about what he'd said about me. But it had to be done, so I did it.

Like I said at the start, I'm a survivor, and if groveling at my uncle's feet helped me survive, that's what I was going to do. He seemed to accept it, at least in his twisted way.

We built another bonfire, then brought the air mattress out onto the clearing. As he stared at me, I did another little strip show, and it was almost like the night before, except that my heart wasn't as into it like the previous night.

But I faked it pretty good. When I was naked, I knelt on the mattress and beckoned for him to shuck his shorts and join me.

His hard cock thrust out in front of him as he did what I asked. We kissed hard, and despite my feelings, I could feel the old tingling in my pussy that told me I was going to enjoy this whether I wanted to or not.

Uncle Bill lay on his back, and I rolled on top of him in a 69 position, my knees astride his head. I felt his fingers pry open my slippery cunt, followed closely by his lips and tongue. I groaned - legitimately - as he began to work his mouth on my pussy.

I turned back to the throbbing-hard cock that was aimed at the starry night sky. I opened my mouth wide and slid the head past my lips, working them in a circular motion, while my tongue danced in circles around the hard shaft.

Our mouths were humming as we gave each other mutual pleasure. His tongue ventured upward to bathe my ass, which was still a little red and sore from its earlier workout, while I worked his cock ever deeper in my mouth.

When I felt him start twitching just a little, we once again showed the telepathy of longtime sex partners - I would hesitate at that point to call us lovers - as we both pulled our mouths away from the other's crotch almost simultaneously.

Bill rolled me onto my back, then crawled between my legs. When he looked down on me, I knew I wasn't going to completely get away with defying him like I had earlier. There was a hard look on his face as he knelt between my outstretched legs, holding his cock in his fist like a weapon.

"Tell me what you want, whore," he growled, and the sound sent a chill up my spine. "Tell me you want this cock in your sweet little pussy. Come on, bitch! Beg for it."

This time, I knew better than to defy him. I reached between my legs, opened my sodden pussy lips and did as I was told.

"Fuck me, Uncle Bill," I whispered. "Fuck me with your big fat cock."

"And what are you?" he taunted me. "Tell me what you are."

"I'm your whore," I said softly. "I'm your cock-sucking, cum-loving whore."

I couldn't help it. A tear slowly slid from my eye at the degradation he was demanding of me. Gone was the playful lover that he'd been on the riverside, gone was the man who wanted to rewin my affection. He was a pimp, and I was his slut. Period.

I realized - if I hadn't a thousand times already - that it had always been like that, even before I made my deal with him. Maybe he loved me, but it wasn't for me. Instead, he loved me for what he could squeeze out of me, for what I could bring in for him.

"Don't you ever fucking forget it," he snarled as he rammed his cock in my pussy, all the way to the hilt in one breathtaking thrust.

I lifted my legs and wrapped them around his waist and fucked him back with as much power I could muster, not because I necessarily wanted to, but from force of habit. It was what I did. A man put his cock in me and we fucked, nothing more, nothing less.

I had learned a long time ago how to make my body appear to enjoy mechanical fucking, and that's what I did that night in the woods, as the campfire flickered around me, and the sounds of the crickets and the birds filled the dark, moonless night. I put my mind and body on autopilot and let my uncle fuck me for as long as he needed.

But it took him awhile. Unlike a lot of men, beer didn't necessarily inhibit his sex drive. Up to a certain point, he could get a hard-on when he was fairly drunk, and then it was like the alcohol pickled his dick. It stayed hard forever, and finally, just from the sheer friction of his cock on my clit, I did manage to climb toward an orgasm.

So I redoubled my efforts, working my sweaty, still-oily body around his, and finally he picked up the pace. He hooked the backs of my knees with his elbows, so that my ankles were around his neck, and he pounded my pussy hard and fast.

Like two bugs in a hot skillet, we fucked frantically, if a bit woodenly, until I arched my back in the throes of a modest climax, and Uncle Bill lunged forward, driving his cock to the deepest part of me. With a loud grunt, Bill jerked hard and his cum exploded out the end of his cock to fill my pussy with his wet load.

Afterward, after he disengaged himself from me without a single word of endearment, I pulled the mattress back into the tent, put the sheets back on it, crawled in and fell asleep. It wasn't a restful sleep, though. My slumber was filled with nightmares, of men using me remorselessly, causing me pain, until I felt myself spinning into a dark whirlpool.

I woke up in a panting, sweaty panic. It was late in the night, and the moon had just risen. What there was of it bathed the night in a ghostly glow, and I could hear the snores from my uncle, lying on the mattress next to me. He was oblivious to the emotional torment I had been through.

Little did I realize that many of those nightmares would become terrifyingly real.

We broke camp the next morning in a strained silence. A gulf had been opened up between me and my uncle, and as the weeks and months passed, it would grow deeper and wider.

I didn't completely quit drinking, but I cut it down to a rarity, and when I did drink, it wasn't much. It's been that way ever since. I might drink a beer or a cocktail once or twice a month at some function, or out at dinner with Ron. But two is my absolute limit.

I was less successful in hiding my true feelings from my uncle, and we alternated between heated arguments and icy silence. More and more, I hated him for enticing me into the degrading life of a whore, and more for making a promise he wasn't willing to keep.

Our relationship had taken a critical, downward turn, and it led inexorably to a fateful climax that nearly killed me.