They Grow Up So Fast

'Make love to me'. He likes that so much better than fuck me. Somehow it lends a measure of moral credibility to what they're doing. And boy, can he use some! He slips inside her, kissing her as he pumps away, slow and deep. So much for moving in increments, taking things step by step. He's past the point of no return. He's now an adulterer, doing something that's so wrong yet feels so good. Oh, that terrible paradox!

He pumps harder. "My cunt's on fire!" she cries. "My head's spinning! You love giving it to your grown-up niece, don't you, Uncle Alex?"All he can do is nod at her ridiculously rhetorical question. "Oh my god! Oh my god! I love you, Uncle Alex."

"I love you too, baby." He really does, but in a way he never expected back in that innocent summer. He keeps kissing her, soft and tender. His dick proceeds, picking up steam.

She's close to a state of frenzy now. Her moans morph into screams. Her body shakes, her legs quiver. "Oh my! Oh my god! I'm on the verge of..." Passing out is what she means to say. Instead, she just does it. Her head is draped to the side and her mouth hangs open. She's lost to the world, her world that at this moment is confined to the hot, sweaty cab of a Mazda 5.

Alex pulls out, cups his hand under her head, lifts it slightly and starts kissing her. In seconds, her eyes flutter open. "Clarissa, honey, are you okay?"

She looks at him, first in confusion, then with affection. "Am I okay? My god, Uncle Alex, you just gave me the most incredible orgasm I've ever had. Did I tell you I love you?"

He drops his smile, looks concerned. "You did." He kisses her again. "But now what?"

Dreamily, she looks up at him. "Well, we could do it again, me on top this time."

He chuckles. "I mean, what happens after we return to the house?"

"Oh, I don't know. Act naturally, I guess. Don't worry, Uncle Alex, I won't say a word."

*********

Of course, they have every intention of keeping their mouths shut. Act naturally? Alex tries. When they get in, Hunt asks Clarissa how the ride went. "Terrific ride, Aunt Hunt," she says, stifling a giggle.

"That's good," Hunt says, standing in the kitchen in blue shorts and a yellow top, her still very blond hair tucked under her ears. "Well, I hope he didn't work you too hard." She winks at Alex who stands halfway between the kitchen and dining room, doing his best to relax. "You didn't, did you Alex? I wouldn't want Faith and Jeremy coming down on us for working her too hard."

"She did great," he says. "Kept up with me the whole time."

This time, Clarissa can't hold back. She throws her hand over her mouth—too late to muzzle her guffaw.

Hunt smiles cautiously, the way people do when they want in on the joke. "What's so funny? Did Uncle Alex tell you one of his corny jokes?" She turns to him for an answer.

Alex shakes his head, looks up at the ceiling and shrugs. "Beats me, Hunt. Our niece always had the giggles as a kid if you remember. Guess she never outgrew it."

Hunt nods warily.

"Uncle Alex is right," Clarissa says, still laughing. "In some ways I've never grown up."

Hunt's cynical expression says it all: she doesn't buy it. Still, she lets it go. She prepares dinner while her husband and niece shower. There's no flirting at the dinner table this time, just awkward, sometimes stilted conversation, the result of Clarissa and Alex trying too hard to hide what they did.

Alex's rational side tells him not to return for seconds. His impulsive side tells him something else. He might maintain control of his urges if not for Clarissa's prodding. After a morning training ride, they return to the house to find Hunt gone. She's out shopping according to the note she left on the refrigerator. "We're alone," Clarissa says. "And I'm dying to have you inside me again."

He could argue that it's too dangerous, that Hunt might not be gone that long, that she could burst in any minute and catch them. But he doesn't, for he wants it as much as she, perhaps more. And so he takes her into the basement laundry room. After peeling off their spandex, he lifts her atop the washing machine, spreads her legs and starts to perform oral sex. "That's it, Uncle Alex, eat my pussy, my fresh, wet, nineteen-year old pussy! Oh my god! Oh fuck, my head is spinning again!"

As much as Alex would love for Clarissa to return the favor via a blow job, he senses there isn't much time. There isn't much room to screw either, so he improvises. "Don't move," he says, and then leaves his panting niece on top the machine while he drags over a wood bench from across the room and sets it in front of the washer. He steps on it, then inserts his cock into her, gripping the sides of the machine for support. "There, that should do it," he says.

Alex's unorthodox position allows for maximum penetration, something not lost on Clarissa. She moans and shrieks while her hazel eyes hone in on her uncle's cock, pile-driving into her. "Oh my god, this in unreal" she cries, "getting screwed on a fucking Maytag! That's it! Give it to me, give it to me uncle. Make me pass out again!"

Under the circumstances, he's not sure that's such a good idea. What he IS determined to do is climax himself, something he passed up in the car. He's at the point where he could come any time. Still, he holds back, savoring the moments, these electrifying moments that he's all too aware are dwindling down to a precious few.

Just his luck that when he does decide to come, the front door flies open. The sound comes as a rude intrusion into his tsunami of sensation—cut short by the stark realization that he and his partner in sin have but seconds to scramble their way to freedom—if they even have the luxury of that much time. "Shit!"

He lifts Clarissa off the machine. Then they both throw on their cycling duds, their kinetic motion akin to characters in a silent movie.

"Hell-o. Anybody home?"

"How do we explain this?" Clarissa asks upon hearing her aunt's melodious mezzo calling from upstairs.

Alex grabs a piece of toilet paper from the half-bath, swipes it over his jizz-stained, still erect cock and then stuffs it down his shorts. "I'm not sure other than to say we're doing laundry." He knows how ridiculous this sounds being that there's not a load of laundry in sight.

"Hell-o. Alex, Carissa, are you here?"

Deciding to be proactive, Alex goes to the foot of the stairs. "We're down here, Hunt. I was just giving Clarissa a tour. She hadn't seen our basement yet."

Hunt descends the stairs. She's wearing sandals and a yellow and orange sun dress that exposes her thick, dimpled knees. "Well, Clarissa, how do you like our basement?" she says, her tone decidedly sarcastic, her hands on her wide hips.

"Ah, well, it's nice, well equipped with a Maytag washer-dryer combo, I see."

"We were headed upstairs when you came in," Alex cuts in. "The tour was very brief."

"I'm sure it was, Alex. I mean, there's not much to see down here other than the Maytags and your work bench. I hope you found it interesting, Clarissa. Ahem."

"Um, yes, very much so," Clarissa says. "Interesting. Right. Well, the tour's done so I think I'll go shower."

The next day, while riding with Alex to the same park & ride for more cycling, Clarissa says, "Aunt Hunt knows, doesn't she, Uncle Alex? She knows, or at least suspects what we did."

He'd like to allay her angst. However, he thinks she might be right. "At worst, she might suspect it," he says. "But don't worry, she's got no proof."

Hunt's alleged suspicion, coupled with her cold affect toward them both, is enough to keep their sexual ardor in check for the last two days of Clarissa's visit. Well, in check in the house, anyway. Alex can't resist one last entreaty from Clarissa after their final bike ride. Again, it's in his car, this time with her taking topside, pounding her pelvis up and down her uncle's greased pole, her boobs swaying with the motion, her pussy on fire, her head spinning, fucking as if there will be no second act with this incredible older hunk of a man who imparted his knowledge of bike racing and so much more.

After she shoves off for Virginia, Hunt wastes little time in confronting her husband in the basement laundry room. She calls him down, says "I'd like to show you something interesting."

When he appears, she holds up a pair of his cycling shorts, the same shorts he wore the day of his and Clarissa's Maytag escapade. "Jerking off in you spandex?" Hunt shows him the dried jizz in the garment's crotch. "Maybe you should have washed this yourself so I wouldn't notice."

"Masturbation isn't a crime, is it?" he says calmly. "We both know it's been my chief source of relief lately." It might not be, he thinks, if she didn't look the way he now sees her, a frumpy hausfrau attired in a frumpy house dress.

Seconds pass as she stares him down with those steel blue eyes of hers, her face a picture of cold disbelief. Then: "Except for the past few days, I suspect you've had another source. Not that I can prove it. But if I could, you'd be out of this house, and my good niece Clarissa would have some splain' to do to Faith and Jeremy."

"You're paranoid, Hunt, to even put something like that on your radar. Clarissa and I rode bikes together, for chrissakes. Get real."

Leaving Hunt to the laundry, he goes upstairs and pads into the living room. On the mantle above the fireplace he stares at the framed color photo of him and Clarissa taken outdoors during her visit all those Julys ago. She's the picture of a happy, normal kid, all smiles and innocence, yellow ribbons and pigtails, holding her bike and standing beside a grinning Alex, his arm draped around her. Both wear summer threads, posing for Hunt's then-new digital camera. Damn, he misses her already.

He's still staring at the photo when Hunt returns from the basement and approaches his back. "They grow up so fast, don't they, Alex?" Her voice is soft this time, almost wistful.

He turns around and looks her in the eye. "Yes, they sure do. Maybe too fast for their own good." Pause. "And maybe too fast for the good of those they touch."