Winter Mix Ch. 08: "Again!"

All Characters In This Story Are 18+ Years Old

Saturday, December 22, 1962

Patricia Maxon's eyelids fluttered, then opened wide. Awake, but briefly disoriented, she stared, uncomprehending, at the huge window in front of her. Although its gauzy white sheers were drawn, its thick brocade drapes were not. She squinted through the room's dimness at fat snow flakes blowing into the darker glass and came to her senses.

Suddenly exultant, Patricia exclaimed to herself, "I'm in New York! At the Plaza Hotel! In bed with Uncle Phil! I'm a woman!" Each revelation was all the more exciting. Her heart raced. To reassure herself that she was not, in fact, dreaming, she pinched herself.

The pain was real, but even that was not sufficient to fully convince. Holding her breath, Patricia reached her right arm behind her and touched her uncle's bare hip as he lay sleeping faced away to the bed's other side. She snatched her hand back without disturbing him, or the heavy white comforter which covered them both, and shouted silently, "Yes! Oh my gosh, yes! It's true!"

Consulting the radium hands on the gold Lady Timex on her right wrist, Patricia noted the time was twenty minutes past two. Six weeks earlier, when her mother and Uncle Phil gave her the watch for her eighteenth birthday, she had considered herself grown up. But now, as she looked at the bright green numerals, she thought, "I was really still a child. Uncle Phil made me a woman!" That memory made her cunny clutch to find a non-existent hard cock.

Patricia stuck her right hand back under the covers and slid it over the thin negligee Phil Maxon had bought for her at Bergdorf's, after a surprise blizzard had compelled them to extend their shopping day trip to The City into an overnight event. Soft, slinky and super-sexy, its smooth slick satin surface tantalized her palm as she slid over her tummy to her pussy. Stretching out her fingers, she pressed their tips through the material and her pubic fur to her wakening clitoris. As she depressed her little man's head, she imagined Uncle Phil's teasing lips doing for her, again, what they had done just four hours ago.

Her labia self-lubed while Patricia sorted out her newly complicated family dynamics. Ten years ago, after her dad was killed in Korea, his twin brother married his widow. Phil became her step-father, but she still called him 'Uncle'. Last night, unplanned but not unwelcomed, he took her virginity and now she wondered, "When can I have him inside me again?"

Patricia felt her nightgown dampen as her juices seeped around her leisurely exploring middle fingertip. A glow began low in her abdomen and spread slowly from there. She extended her elbow past her curled up knees then drew her nightie's inch-wide Chantilly lace hem up above her hip and returned to more thoroughly pet her no longer protected pussy. Gasping quietly, she reveled in the small sparks she felt as her first two fingers simulated her uncle's erect penis and her thumb became his tongue, stabbing her clit.

The expanding fire grew hotter in Patricia's chest. She pushed her digits two knuckles deep into her vagina, then pulled them back and pushed them in again. Unconsciously, but productively, she massaged her button with greater force with her thumbpad. Her lungs filled and emptied with repeated, increasingly rapid, shallow breaths as she curled her fingertips and scratched at a powerful building itch.

Abruptly there, Patricia's climax made her close her eyes and clench her jaws. She wanted to scream, but dared not. Sucking her lips between her teeth, she clamped her gums down and sniffed sharply through her nose to stay quiet. The wonderful swelling wave crested in her throat, then receded, leaving behind only miraculously soothing foamy suds as her pulse and breathing calmed.

As quiet as Patricia thought she had been, she was not quiet enough. Phil had been disturbed and, unknown to her, had half-way sat up on his left side. Propped on his forearm, he had watched with much amusement, and no little titillation, while his young niece got herself off. Now that she was again somewhat settled, he laid his hand lightly where he guessed her shoulder was and caressed her through the comforter as he gently greeted her, "Good morning, honey."

Startled, Patricia blurted, "Uncle Phil! Oh, my gosh!" Wondering if he knew that she had just masturbated while thinking about him, she quickly collected her wits and answered, sleepily, as if he had just woken her, "G'morning, Uncle Phil... uhh, wha' timezit?"

Phil swallowed a chuckle before it could let on that he knew his stepdaughter was play-acting. He pulled back the covers from her body, raised her relaxed right wrist to where she could see her watch's glowing hands for herself, then advised, "It's two-thirty." Fibbing, as much for her sake as for his, he continued in a low voice, "I'm sorry I woke you. Don't know what made me open my eyes, but when I saw you, I just had to touch you. Then your eyes opened and so, of course, I said 'good morning.'" He released her arm and brushed his fingers into her dark auburn hair as he concluded, "Try to go back to sleep, Trixie. I love you."

Phil lay down again, on his back, doubtful that he would easily fall asleep again, but sincerely hopeful that his niece could. His thick dick, filled full with hot blood, lay hard against his naked gut while he stared up from his jumbo pillow into the black void between him and the hotel room ceiling. Patricia was relieved that her uncle seemed not to know what she had been doing. At the same time, she was oddly perturbed that he was now going back to sleep.

Spinning under the comforter, blanket and top sheet, Patricia re-oriented herself to snuggle Phil. She tucked up under his arm, laid her left hand flat on his right pectoral muscle and divided her lace covered breasts around his left ribs. Scratching her fingers on his pebble-hard nipple, she petulantly whispered, "I don't want to go to sleep, Uncle Phil. I want to... uhm, do it. Again!"

Phil's boner lifted from his belly, then fell again with an audible smack as Patricia tickled his tit and shocks zipped south to his nuts. When she heard the sound, she intuitively stroked down to his navel and encountered the bouncing beast's velvet nose. Smiling, she lowered her face to his other pec and kissed the rivet there before she burbled into the surrounding flesh, "It feels like you'd rather not sleep, either, Uncle Phil." Her eyes laughed unseen as her ears heard a soft groan in his chest cavity.

Phil was pleased that his niece obviously did not mind that he had incestuously fucked her virginity away, but at the same time he foresaw complications. His wife, Roberta, was the foremost challenge, yet he also needed to consider his new young mistress, Becky Barnes. At present, however, the adage about a 'bird in the hand' seemed applicable. He bent his left elbow so he could stroke Patricia's long hair while he lowered his right hand beneath the covers and firmly guided her left hand to his steely stiffy.

"Yes, Trixie," Phil sighed. "I guess you're right: I'd rather do something else besides sleep." He hitched his pelvis while he helped her close her fingers in a fist. His erection throbbed as her curled palm slid to his pubes. Inhaling deeply, with his chest lifting her soft cheek, like a boat on a rising tide, he asked, "Do you remember what my baby stuff tasted like when I squeezed it from the condom we filled up?"

Patricia nodded and replied, "Yes, and I remember licking it from your finger, too. It was yummy. Why do you ask?"

"Well..." Phil began, as if merely musing aloud. "The captured semen, my cum, as I call it, might be kind of like, oh, I don't know... maybe a bottle of soda that a person could get at a store." He paused and rubbed Patricia's ear shell thoughtfully while he assisted her to pet his prick back up to its helmet and then down to its base again. "Anyway, if we thought of it that way, I wondered if maybe you would like to taste my cum straight from the source. You know, like getting the soda right at the fountain. Do you think you'd like that?"

"Oh, Uncle Phil," Patricia answered. "That sounds like fun! How could I do that? Could you show me?"

"Of course," Phil grinned. "Let's go to one of the armchairs. Bring a big pillow." While Patricia grabbed her pillow and got out of bed on the window-side, he got up on the closet-side and walked to the wall switch to turn on the room lights. Then, after pulling away the snack trolley with last night's Seven-Ups, his opened Seagram's bottle and the glass bowl of popcorn, he swung the nearest armchair away from the bed's foot to face into the room's open area.

Patricia suddenly realized her uncle was buck naked. She laughed delightedly at his bobbing seven-inch hard-on and stated the obvious, "You didn't put your underwear back on last night!"

Phil took her mirth in stride and winked as he replied evenly, "Polite young ladies don't laugh when they see a man's erection. They know that might make it shy and not as much fun to be with. I didn't see any reason to cover up my cock because you already knew what it looked like and I sure didn't need shorts to stay warm under the covers, did I?"

Patricia could not argue with her stepdad's logic, but she felt bad that he might have taken her comment the wrong way. "I'm sorry, Uncle Phil. I didn't mean anything mean. Honest."

"I know that, honey," Phil replied kindly. "Everything I said was true, but I wasn't chastising you." Seating himself in the armchair with his legs spread as far as possible, he directed, "Put that pillow on the floor, so you'll be comfortable, then get on your knees on it and put your hands on my inside thighs."

Patricia dumped her king-sized pillow in front of the chair's front legs, then lifted her champagne sheath to mid-thigh and dropped to her knees. When she leaned forward, as instructed, to brace herself on her uncle's inner quadriceps, her negligee's sheer cream lace bodice, devoid of any structure and supported only by barely-there spaghetti straps, fell away her firm B-cup breasts, giving him an unrestricted view of her caramel areolae.

Phil grinned appreciatively, not only to see Patricia's pert puffy peaks, but also her buttermilk butt cheeks roundly displayed below the matching cream lace trim on her nightie's hem. His upright pillar wig-wagged against the sagging lace. "Very good, Trixie. Now imagine you are on a stool at the soda fountain, and my cock is the straw in your drink. Okay?"

Patricia beamed at her uncle and chortled, "Got it." To herself she said, "This is going to be a fun game. What flavor should my soda be?" Deciding in her mind on root beer, she leaned even further forward, craned her neck, then stuck her open mouth onto the straw. To her surprise, a wet bead of something hit her tongue as soon as it touched the fat marshmallow.

Immediately lifting her head again, Patricia queried, "Something liquid landed on my tongue, Uncle Phil, did you already squirt your baby stuff?"

Now it was Phil's turn to laugh out loud, not in a mean way. "No, honey, I didn't cum yet. That was probably just a little lubricating juice. Don't worry, you'll know when my baby-stuff comes out." He put his left hand behind the teen's head and subtly urged her back to his dick.

Accepting both the answer and the physical hint, Patricia licked her lips, then closed them once more around Phil's prickhead's fleshy flange. Again she tasted a viscous drop of something that was different from the cum she had swallowed once before, but was also yummy in its own right. She drew in her cheeks, pursed her lips and sucked gingerly. She was pleased to hear her uncle moan as if she had done something he liked.

Phil added his right hand behind Patricia's head, interlaced his fingers and suggested between groans, "Put... uhnn, as much... in y-your... uhnn! Mouth... as you, uhnn... CAN, h-honey!"

Patricia pushed her gums further down the staff, but at about the half-way point is was on the back of her hard palate and she did not think it could go further. Reflexively coughing a small cough, she backed off. Phil praised her effort, "Good uhhnn, girl! Now... uhnn, h-hold my... uhn-nuts in your... h-h-ANDS!" Happy that he was happy, she slid her palms down his thighs to the chair cushion and slipped her left hand under his heavy testicles. Not knowing what else to do, she improvised and encircled his scrotum with her right hand, then closed it around the base of his stalk.

Phil was finding control nearly impossible. He squirmed in the armchair and curled his toes into the carpet. Pulling forward and down on Patricia's pate, he required her to go even deeper onto his dick than she had done voluntarily. By necessity, she opened her throat as fully as she could and fought tears as the plump pulsing head pushed its way past her epiglottis.

Frightened she might choke, but unable to escape her uncle's unrelenting grip, she gagged once and then, miraculously the beast in her mouth slipped its full length in. Buried to the hilt, Phil pulled his stepdaughter's head back an inch or so, then pulled her down again while he jerked his hips upward. She nearly gagged again as his glans hit the back of her throat. One more time he withdrew and gave her a respite.

Phil was ready. He wondered if Patricia was. Thrusting and pulling simultaneously a final time, he shot a hot wad into her gullet well past his spitting head's landing spot. She lurched in his clasped hands and shook her shoulders as she tried to deal with the great gob. She felt like an unchewed chunk of meat was trying to go the wrong way down; it was definitely not root beer.

Crying freely, Patricia moaned around the blockage in her mouth and throat. Not trying to be brutal, Phil pulled his dick back until only the helmet lay pulsing and spurting on her tongue. Grateful to be able to breathe and swallow again, she pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth. Like the very first time, the jetting jism squished easily and passed to her tummy without pain or worry.

At last, Phil's nuts finished dispatching his steaming seed. Letting go Patricia's head, he opened his eyes, and pulled his fat cock completely free to flop against his shrunken scrotum on the armchair's cushion. She fell forward between his legs and pushed her head into his stomach. Reaching her arms up, she held tightly to his elbows on the chair arms and croaked, "That was... really harsh, Uncle Phil..."

Sliding his hands beneath her armpits, Phil hauled Patricia up into the chair and curled her in close to his chest. Last night, when she had tried sitting on his lap, in this same chair during the TV shows, she did not fit. He guessed the difference was that he had been trying to keep appropriate distance then, but could not do so comfortably. Now, after throat-fucking her, he was not so concerned about such things.

With his right hand, Phil turned his niece's chin up so he could look into her tear-streaked face and get good eye contact. "Yes, honey, I know," he said quietly with sincere compassion. "First times can be rough, but if we do it again, it'll be better." To himself, he added, "And you can bet your cute little ass that we will do it again." Kissing her sweetly, he took pleasure from tasting his own cum, then asked, "How about if we do it more like we did it last night? That was alright, wasn't it?"

Patricia nodded her head affirmatively and sobbed, "Yes, I liked that a lot. It was what I was hoping when I said I wanted to do it, again."

"Okay, then," Phil replied brightly. "Let's go back to the big bed." Patricia eagerly climbed from his lap, pranced to the massive Plaza king-size bed and jumped onto it on all fours as if she were a dozen years younger. He watched her boobs bounce as she leaped and landed. Picking up the pillow by the chair, he called to her, "Perfect! Don't budge. I'm on my way!"

Patricia had to budge. In fact, she budged like someone had pumped Mexican jumping beans into her. She stayed on her hands and knees, but she was airborne half the time as she used the bed's extra thick mattress like a trampoline. Her tits flew from their lace pockets and her hem rode up over her rump to settle around her slim belly.

Phil paused at the bed's foot and watched his cock harden as he watched his stepdaughter's antics. Climbing up on the mattress behind her, he pushed the pillow he carried under her stomach and gave her bare bottom a sharp swat on its left cheek. She yelped, "Oww! What was that for?" Never in her memory had her uncle, or her mother, or dad, for that matter, struck her.

Delivering a second smack to Patricia's right side, Phil answered, "I wanted your attention. You were hopping like a frog and I thought I needed to do something special to get it." There was no heat in his voice or words but there was plenty of heat in her butt. When she reached her hands back to rub the red marks there, he stacked the bed's other king-size pillow on the first one and pushed her chest to the rumpled bottom sheet.

Phil covered Patricia's hands with his and used them like chamois cloths to burnish her bottom while he asked, "So, Trixie, have I got your attention?" Bent over the piled pillows, with her ass high in the air, her chin and nose had skated over the dried-up wet spot that her virginal orgasm had left when he fucked the daylights out of her during '77 Sunset Strip'. She had to turn her head to one side to speak. Her old sex-scent rose into her nose as the additionally-starched linen abraded her cheekbone.

Patricia was confusedly of several minds, even as she heard herself answer, "Yes, Uncle Phil. You have my attention." Her bottom still smarted from her spanks, but the strong guiding hands gently forcing her to massage her hurt felt wonderful. The pain and pleasure intermixed in a way she had never imagined was possible. Meanwhile, her raw throat, and the light exotic odor invading her lungs, reminded her of their reason for being; her tummy fluttered with butterflies on the pillows.

Phil knee-walked over the thrown back comforter until he was as close as he could be to Patricia's insulted hindquarters. His hard dick had nowhere to go but between her legs. She soughed as she sensed the solid shaft slide over her snatch. Its plump head tickled in her downy pubic smudge while he continued gliding her lax hands over her glutes.

"That's good, Trixie," Phil stated softly, almost as if talking to himself. Then he asked, rhetorically, "Isn't that good, honey?" While he spoke, he steadily gimbaled his hips so that his cock slid, outside her slit, but along it, wallowing on her puffing outer lips and bumping her bald-headed little man. She mewled and sighed as her pussy percolated her juices anew.

Each stroke buried Phil's greasing boner deeper among Patricia's increasingly widening wet folds. Extending his thumbs, without ceasing his slow circular rubs on her bottom, he separated her moons, like Parker House rolls, along the divide and then dipped his pads down the muscles' meaty sides to her exposed stretched anus. Reflexively, she thrust her butt backward against the strange pressure source and groaned, "Ohhh... Uhhnnncle..."

Phil grinned over her back and thought, "I'll take that as a 'yes', Trixie." Still slowly, but surely, working his prong toward his primary objective, he directed, "Keep rubbing your bottom, honey. There's a good girl." Then leaving her hands, he pushed his splayed right palm over her satin spine, between her scapulae and onto the back of her neck. At the same time, he introduced his left index finger tip to her sphincter and teased it around its rim.

Patricia's nerves were on overload. She crackled and snapped from her flexing calves, to her contracting hamstrings; from her tailbone to her nape; in her chest and in her ears. Meanwhile her insides were melting. Her building, all-encompassing, amazingly wonderful tension consumed her.