Uncle Alan Comes Calling

Alan chuckled, and pinched her nipple, gently.

"No, she's much slimmer, isn't she?" he mused. "Nowhere near as well blessed in the tit department as you, my darling -- and her bush, well, it's almost gingery, isn't it?"

Helen tried to mount some sort of protest, but Alan was now caressing her breasts, stimulating her nipples -- which were now standing embarrassingly erect.

"You know she's -- well, versatile, don't you, Helen? Likes the girls, I mean -- as well as a good length of cock. Jenny and I got to know your mum very well when your dad first brought her to Ambridge. She did a bit of babysitting for us one night -- we were at a party, and the arrangement was that Pat would stay overnight, at ours, as we would be late home."

"But, as it turned out -- not purely by accident! -- we were back earlier than expected, and Pat was still up, watching television. Well, Jenny had sensed a few vibes, so I made myself scarce -- went upstairs, ostensibly to check on the children, to leave the field clear ......"

His voice trailed off and he turned his head to look at Helen. Her eyes were bright with interest, and, he thought, arousal. She tried to avert her eyes from his, but he laughed and turned her head back to face him. He leaned down and kissed Helen on the mouth and slid his hand up the inside of her thigh, easing her legs apart, and unerringly locating her clitoris.

"You'd like to hear the rest, wouldn't you?" he breathed, and wordlessly, her heart beginning to race with excitement, Helen nodded.

"Jenny and Pat went into the kitchen to make coffee," continued Alan. "Jenny had had a few gins at the party and, she tells me, as they waited for the coffee to percolate, she told your mother she wanted to give her a 'welcome to the family' kiss -- which she did. Jenny says it was Pat who started the tongue action, but, she, of course, co-operated and they went back into the sitting-room, coffee forgotten."

"Now, in those days, Jenny's breasts were quite striking and, by the time I returned from checking the children, Pat and Jenny were on the settee and Pat had stripped Jenny to the waist and her lips were all over Jenny's tits and nipples ......"

Alan stopped talking. His fingers were alternately caressing Helen's breasts and teasing her clitoris. Her breathing was coming in excited, shallow gasps, her mind conjuring images of her small, slim mother exploring her Aunt Jennifer's naked breasts. She had one or two Sapphic encounters, herself, in her college days, and had found them extremely stimulating .......

"Do you want me to carry on, Helen?" he asked.

She nodded, but he insisted.

"Do you?"

"Yes!" she hissed.

"What do you want to hear about?" he went on, remorselessly.

"All of it," replied the girl.

"But particularly?"

Helen took a deep, shuddering breath.

"Tell me -- tell me -- about fucking her," she groaned. "Tell me how you fucked my mother!"

Alan sighed with amused pleasure.

"Well, when I came back downstairs," he continued "your mother was all over Jenny, playing with her tits, and pushing her hand down inside her panties. I came up behind Pat, and lifted her dress -- from the back. She didn't know I had come back, and she squealed a bit, but I held her dress up and Jenny leant forward and -- well, she slid your mum's panties off. Then they both stood up, and Jenny told me to sit down. I sat on the settee and Jenny made Pat face me, with Jenny behind her, then Jenny began to strip her."

He paused, his fingers stroking Helen's clitoris, allowing her time to use her imagination -- to picture the scene.

"Well, of course, as your mother's clothes came off, I got harder and harder and, when Jenny exposed her cute little tits, I couldn't take any more, I shucked my trousers off and -- well, what do you think happened, then, Helen?"

She cast her eyes down, remaining silent, but he was insistent.

"What happened, then?" he repeated. "Tell me!"

Helen took a deep breath. Her voice was shaky when she replied.

"She -- she -- sat on it, didn't she? My mum -- she sat on your cock, and you fucked her from underneath."

"Now, how could you possibly have known that, I wonder?" Clark commented. "Stand up for a second," he went on and Helen moved off his lap. Alan quickly dragged his trousers and undershorts off. Once again, his cock was massively erect, reaching up out of its nest of wiry pubic hair. He moved to the edge of the chair, keeping his thighs together, and reached his hands out to Helen.

"I discovered your Mum is very fond of sitting on a big, hard cock, feeling it thrust up into her, and having her tits felt. Do you like that, too, Helen?"

Helen opened her legs wordlessly and moved forward, feeling Alan's thighs brushing against the insides of hers as she advanced towards him.

He reached up and took hold of her breasts.

"Reach down and put it in," he ordered, and Helen obeyed, her heart racing as her fingers closed as far round the thick shaft as she could. She slid the tip along her moist cuntlips, torturing herself with the almost unbearable sensitivity, and then, unable to delay any longer, pushed down and once again felt her channel being stretched and filled like never before ......

.......................................................................................................................................

Since that terrible day, she had never been able to refuse him. No matter that the original threat had lost its bite, over time, and then Hugh had died in a car accident, and Helen had gone into a complete nervous decline, Alan would appear and she would find herself, eventually, impaled on his insatiable cock and, invariably, gasping her way to a shattering orgasm.

And even when she had found the moral courage to protest, and try to refuse him, it had been fruitless. Early on, Alan had secretly filmed them together and he now had a series of stills and carefully edited videos, showing Helen naked, and clearly climaxing with a stiff cock ploughing her cunt, and sometimes her mouth, and he only had to remind her of the effect of leaving one or two of those round the village green, to persuade her to strip off, again.

Recently, he had been coming round less frequently, though, and she had wondered ......

She looked across the counter at him, apprehensively. As usual, his eyes were raking her body up and down.

"That's a rather thick sweater, my dear," Alan chuckled. "Tell me -- what are you wearing under it?"

"Just -- just my underthings," Helen replied, quietly, unable to stop the blush spreading to her cheeks. It was ridiculous, considering what she had done with her uncle over the years, but he still had that ability to make her feel like a little girl, caught out in some naughtiness ......

"I see," he breathed, his eyes settling on Helen's bosom, again. "Just ......?" he waited for the answer to his unspoken question.

"Bra," Helen breathed, eventually. His eyebrows rose. " .... And panties," she added, her face now flaming.

"How lovely!" Alan exclaimed. "And -- the colour?"

But the shop door swung open again before she could reply, and Oliver D'Arcy walked in, as though he owned the place. He was the local Master of Foxhounds, and behaved accordingly. Helen detested him, but, being in the livery business, had to 'tug the forelock', like the rest of the village.

"Morning, Alan!" he boomed. "Morning, Helen! Well, afternoon, really, I suppose. Good lord!" he went on, looking at his watch, "it's almost one o'clock."

"And it's Wednesday," Alan took up the theme. "Early closing. You'll be shutting up shop, soon, my dear, won't you?"

"Yes," she responded, trying to sound confident -- normal. "Yes -- once I've attended to you -- and Oliver."

Alan grinned at her, then turned and went over to the front door. Flipping over the sign to read 'Closed', he dropped the lock, and turned back to face Helen and Oliver.

Helen looked at him, not understanding -- then at Oliver D'Arcy. D'Arcy's eyes were bright -- looking at her in a way she recognised only too well.

"Oh, no," Helen breathed. "No, Uncle Alan -- you can't. Please -- not this."

"Let's go into the back, my dear," Alan insisted, coming towards her, followed by Oliver.

Tears pricking her eyelids, Helen retreated, still protesting. "No -- please, Uncle Alan," she implored, "it's not fair -- please, Oliver -- don't make me ......"

Her eyes met D'Arcy's, but there was no sympathy there. As Alan bundled her through the door into the back shop, it was only too clear to Helen that Oliver was cut from the same cloth as Alan.

The back shop would be more accurately described as a store shed. It was a lean-to wooden building on the back of the livery shop, with no windows, an earth floor and a single bare light bulb, which Alan flicked on as Oliver D'Arcy closed the door behind them. Bundles of horse feed were stacked all around the wooden walls, each with its individual aroma, the combined effect of which was quite overpowering -- but the smell was the last thing on the minds of the three people present.

Helen stood, facing the two men, her arms folded across her chest, trembling and apprehensive.

"So, Helen," said Alan, coolly. "Just -- bra and panties, I think you said. Time to let the dog see the rabbit, don't you think?"

She stared at him, hopelessly. The thought of exposing herself to Oliver D'Arcy was absolute anathema to her. His position as Master of the Hunt made it even worse -- it was like some little medieval village girl having to give herself to the local squire for a few minute's amusement before he consented to her marrying the honest man of her choice.

His supercilious drawl made her hackles rise.

"Yes, young lady -- what delights does the sweater and joddies conceal? I've seen many lovely things inside a pair of joddies! Time for a show, I think!"

And he stepped forward, hands raised. Reflexively, Helen lifted her own hands to prevent him, but then Alan gave a warning cough and caught her eye. He didn't have to say anything -- with a heart like lead, Helen let her hands drop to her sides and allowed D'Arcy to grip the bottom of her sweater.

She raised her arms to allow him to pull it over her head, but, once he had raised it to her neck, and it was covering her head and arms, she felt him stop and she knew he was looking at her breasts in the pale blue half-cup bra. Her face, hidden by her upturned sweater, nevertheless turned scarlet.

"Bloody nice tits, Clark -- you weren't wrong, there!"

Helen was prepared for him to do more than look, but she still gasped when his hands grasped her breasts, roughly. Then she felt Clark's hands at her back, unclipping her bra, and she felt utter despair, then D'Arcy flipped the loosened cups up and her naked breasts tumbled out into his groping hands ......

She heard D'Arcy give a little whistle, then he pulled her sweater and bra off, in one movement. Under the single bare bulb, Helen stood, naked to the waist as the two men leered at her.

"Right!" pronounced D'Arcy, who was clearly in charge. "Sit down, then, girl, and we'll get those boots off."

It was like a nightmare. Helen lowered herself to the bare earth floor and the men took a boot each, turning their backs on her, in the time-honoured way, as they slid her riding-boots off. Helen had had her boots removed hundreds of times, in this way, but never, she reflected, in her sick misery, by two men, while she sat with her tits out.

But, in a way, it felt as if it wasn't happening, and it still felt unreal as D'Arcy told her to remove her jodhpurs, and Helen obeyed, wordlessly.

She stood before them, in just her matching pale blue panties, and D'Arcy claimed the privilege of removing the final piece of clothing. Helen stared up at the grubby light bulb as she felt her panties being pulled gently downwards. Then, with the trembling girl completely naked, D'Arcy stood back and examined her.

"Excellent trim, Alan -- as you said," he remarked, as his right hand slipped between Helen's thighs, cupping her pubic mound, his middle finger sliding along her slit, from which sufficient moisture had leaked through her panties to wet his finger. He raised it to his mouth, and licked it, tentatively.

"Thought so!" he crowed. "This one's ready for siring, and no mistake!"

The tears had spilled over Helen's eyelids the moment Oliver D'Arcy's hand had cupped her vagina, but he was completely oblivious to the girl's distress. His hand was now working between her legs, rubbing her clitoris, and teasing the lubricating inner lips of her pussy. He laughed again, turning towards Alan -- at the same time beginning to unzip the front of his corduroy trousers.

"Come on, old boy -- let's spit roast the filly, eh?" he whooped. "You take the front end -- I'll take the back!"

Helen's blood ran cold. She had never had it -- done to her -- there! Oh, God, would she be able to? It was bound to be so painful

And then D'Arcy's hands were on her breasts again. They were surprisingly gentle on her tits, squeezing, lazily flicking her nipples to erection. Then his mouth dropped to take her left breast, and his tongue did an even better job of arousing her very sensitive nipple.

She leaned her head back, closing her eyes. She was aware of his hand between her legs, again, teasing and stroking her clitoris, and then he was moving behind her, exerting gentle pressure on her shoulders, bending her forward at the waist.

Helen opened her eyes again. As she bent over, the familiar impressive dimensions of Alan's erect cock rose towards her, and she realised that she had not actually looked at Oliver's penis, although she had been aware of it pressing against her thigh as he had massaged her nipple and clit.

But, now, she could feel it nuzzling between the tops of her parted thighs, seeking her opening. For a second or two, her heart grew cold again, then she felt its tip pushing against her spread cuntlips and, such was her relief that her rape was not to be anal, that she pushed her hips back and -- as always happened -- experienced such a wonderful sensation at the moment of her penetration by a hard male appendage that she grunted with pleasure, and contracted the walls of her vagina, to increase the pleasure for both him and her.

As she heard Oliver's appreciative groan, she raised her head and, slipping her right hand round it, guided Alan's waiting cock into her mouth, closing her lips round it and laving the sensitive tip with her tongue ......

Oliver's pace increased and his hands reached underneath Helen and grasped her breasts, firmly, but gently. She felt the familiar arousing sensations -- her nipples hardening under the caressing of his thumbs, her G-spot just being brushed by D'Arcy's thrusting cock, and her tongue laving the rigid contours of her uncle's very impressive weapon. No doubt, as always, the regrets and self-recrimination would come later, but, just at this moment, Helen abandoned herself to the pure sensual joy of her first "spit-roast".