Rhine Maiden Ch. 02: Time and Again

Dagmar smiled shrewdly and pretended Philippe's growing problem was invisible even as she thought, "Now there is something of yours that I really would like to take care of." Aloud, however, she only said, "Pas de quoi. It really was nothing, Monsieur Pique. Oh, I am sorry! You said we should feel free to call you 'Oncle Philippe'." As she closed her legs, and thus shuttered her snatch from his view, she rose from the sofa to stand beside him. Then, tenderly placing her hand light upon his right shoulder, she softly double-checked, "You did give us permission, yes, Oncle Philippe?"

As she returned from the telephone, Nanine overheard the exchange and offered, "Or 'Popo', Daggy! Deenee and I have called him 'Popo' and he didn't mind at all!" Standing behind Philippe, she squeezed her hands on his waist through his coat while she rose on tiptoe and said quietly into his left ear, "Our driver will be here soon. We must collect our things from the closet. Merci, encore, Popo!"

Philippe felt hot from his temples to his toes. He dry-swallowed the blockage in his throat and croaked, "You're very welcome, M-mademoiselle Corbin. Both of you should return for a visit whenever it might, um, please you."

Not to be outdone by her sister, Nadine briefly kissed Philippe's mouth at its left corner. His own cum-scent wafted from her soft lips into his nostrils and further stressed his unrepentant tumescence as she buzzed, "You may be certain that we will, uhm, come another time, Popo." Then, moving away from him toward the doorway, she ordered, "Allons-y, Neenee! We should be on the front porch waiting when our taxi arrives."

As soon as the twins had left the sitting room and she heard the birdcage lift doors close, Dagmar drew nearer yet to Philippe, then three-quarters hugged him. Without removing her left hand from his sleeve, she inserted her right hand under his coat and rested its palm just above his belt on his far hip. He wanted to chastise her impudence, but he too much enjoyed her warmth as she pressed herself more and more against him. Unable to resist the enchantment, he naturally encircled her with his arms and completed the embrace.

"Mmmm, Popo," Dagmar murmured, testing out the more intimate nickname. "That's nice. You hold me as well as my father." Lowering her left arm to Philippe's mid-back, she tightened her grip within his coils and slipped to her right. As she laminated her fulsome 94-66-96 frame to his torso, she volunteered, "Papa says that I am a handful. In fact, I think that is why Mother wanted me to finish my high school here in Basel instead of at home in Svelvik. I was sad and mad at first, but later I was glad because I found new friends in Nadine, Nanine and Trang. Et, maintenant, toi aussi!"

Having ended her soft soliloquy, Dagmar cuddled as close as she could to Philippe and soughed, "Do you think I am a 'handful', Oncle?"

Philippe tumbled precipitously from grace as his libido switched to auto-pilot. He divided his hands upon Dagmar's back and slid his left up her spine to her starched school shirt's collar while he tracked his right hand down past her wide belt to her round rump. Keeping her inescapably clasped, he swayed to unheard music, danced her slowly in a small tight circle and kneaded first one moon, then the other, while he answered, "My hand is full right now."

Dagmar mewled appreciatively as a glow spread from Philippe's fingertips clear through her thick wool skirt and thin rayon briefs. Penetrating her buns, it fired her hearth and started her juices to flow. She grated her chin on his cravat and squirmed her itching breasts against his vest buttons. While her body melted and her craving soul clawed her heart, she unconsciously confessed, "Papa says my bottom is a cake donut that only wants for bit of apple glaze."

Philippe stopped turning with the teen and removed his gently scratching hand from her nape to her currently unoccupied nether cheek. Seizing both hemispheres as if he were an owl catching a coney, he pulled her hips hard to his pelvis and pressed his lips into her crown's sweet-smelling hair while he gnarred, "And do you think it should be glazed right now?"

Dagmar was so enthralled that she was on the verge of tears. She raked Philippe's back with her nails and squeaked, "Oh, oui! I... it... ohhh!"

Now fully transformed by The Devil from friend to fiend, Philippe grinned as he felt his prey come apart in his arms. He shifted his feet and thrust his doubled-over rock-hard cock forward against her vulnerable captured cunt. Moaning, she bit onto his topmost vest button while she flexed her thighs and tried to fuck him where he stood. Softly, but with firm authority, he corrected her, "Non, non, non, ma petite poupée. That is not going to work at all."

In an instant, Philippe had spun Dagmar within his embrace and then turned her about to face his great red leather armchair. Forcefully, he parked her on her knees on its smooth springy seat cushion. As her nose bumped right up against an indented button on the chair's tufted back, he growled huskily, "Stay just as you are, my little dolly, while I get out my glazing rod."

Dagmar's gut roiled with pent up sexual desire. Noticing that Philippe was no longer to be there, she felt abandoned in Hell. She braced her elbows on the chair's arms, ducked her head and desperately peeped backward past her heaving chest. When she spied him standing behind her to her right, she groaned pitifully as a relieving wave washed away her anxiety.

"There, there, dolly," soothed Philippe. "I am not going to leave you miserable. But I see that you want to see." Moving forward a half-step, he unhurriedly opened his monogrammed gold belt buckle and then twisted his trousers' waist button through its hole. When he zipped down and peeled back the worsted wool fly, his engorged prick, having already worked itself through his shorts' vent, sprung proudly into view.

Dagmar gasped at Philippe's size. His spade's head was as large as any plum she had ever seen. Certainly her father's bulb, though handsome in its own right, was not as grand. She unconsciously poked her tongue tip through her teeth and teased her upper lip.

Philippe smiled to see the girl's response, but he did not quicken his pace. As his pants fell soundlessly to the dense Persian carpet, he stepped backward, kicked loose from their legs, then pushed down his boxers and fully freed his magnificence. Dagmar's eyes widened. If the orbs dangling below the thick limb in front of her were not apples, they were at least figs ripe to be plucked.

Philippe chuckled as he watched Dagmar involuntarily tremble her anticipation while she scratched her nails on the leather chair arm and chewed her cheeks. Guessing her wishes, he stepped up beside the chair and allowed, "Oui, ma petite poupée. You may pet me for a moment."

Greedily, Dagmar grasped the fat log. As she pushed her hand to its base, she wetly kissed its tip. Philippe did nothing to discourage her from palping his heavy testicles and exploring his velvet tool top's shape in detail. Rather, he raised her pleated skirt well above her twitching hips and neatly folded its hem across her lower back.

Inserting his left hand inside Dagmar's panties' elastic waist, Philippe cocked his wrist while he slid his finger tips from her coccyx over her bottom and then between her thighs. The slick rayon briefs popped from the back of his hand to her hams as his central digits found their mark. She clamped his bulb to the roof of her mouth and poured sticky juice all over his knuckles.