Winter Mix Ch. 08: "Again!"

Phil's heat-seeking missile located its target on a long backstroke then loaded itself in its launch silo on the next forward thrust. As his glans cleared Patricia's tight os and slid into place, his first knuckle punched past her caramel iris while his forked right thumb and middle finger vised into the small hollows behind her ears. The triple-point pressure was all too much. She squirmed, and squeaked unintelligibly, as her crisis broke.

Patricia autonomically squeezed her asshole and cunt hard around their invaders with different results. Her sphincter, as designed by nature, pinched off and expelled Phil's thumb like a turd, while her smooth-muscled vagina, likewise as intended, sucked his cock encouragingly. Driving both probes forward, he re-entered her butt to his second joint and jousted his lance in her lane to its full length. Redoubling its impact, her ongoing orgasm wracked her lungs and cramped her feet.

Phil paused and enjoyed his niece's quivering writhing response. Fixed inside, he flexed his curling finger and his throbbing tool. Patricia clenched her abdomen while biting the bed's bottom sheet into her mouth as yet another, more powerful, wave crested through her belly and crashed behind her aching compressed breasts. He shook her head in his clutched hand as he shoved his finger to its webbing in her rectum and jammed his hips an impossible inch closer to her contorted ass cheeks.

Arching her neck into Phil's terrier grip, Patricia screamed, "YESSS! Oh my GOSH! YESSS!"

Phil could control himself no longer. His energized nuts, recharged with reserve ammunition, exploded. His ears rang as his racing pulse raged in his temples. With reckless abandon, his unrestricted fountain sprayed dangerously vital sperm into his stepdaughter's vulnerable egg factory.

Patricia extended her arms upward and clawed her fingers into the mattress edge at the base of the huge carved headboard. Behind her closed eyes stars flashed while, at their corners, tears of joy sprung to roll down her face. Babbling excited nonsense between short gasping breathless pants, she had no coherent idea of what was happening, but she knew she needed it to continue unabated. Phil obliged her by rocking hard in both her holes while he pulsed his hand around her nape.

What seemed interminable, of course, was not. Phil's tapped out testicles quit the supply chain and his flagging phallus fell, exhausted from Patricia's overfilled pussy. Relaxing his holds, he pulled his hands from her neck and ass, then flopped onto his right side on the bed's window side. She slid from the pillows and pushed the mountain to the bed's foot while she curled facing him, on her left hip.

Phil raised his left hand to his niece's wet face, then blotted both her beaded perspiration and her tear stains with light gentle finger strokes. Sotto voce, he asked, "How are you doing, honey?"

Patricia smiled wanly, then replied in a thin weak voice, "Good, Uncle Phil..." Forgetting, or maybe not realizing, or perhaps not caring, where it had been, she took his hand away from her cheek and pushed his forefinger into her mouth. Its acrid salty taste surprised her as she sucked around its knuckles, but she did not quit until she had thoroughly cleaned herself from him. Popping the digit from her pursed lips, she asked, innocently, "What are we going to do when we get home, Uncle Phil? Does this have to... uhm, end?"

Phil patted her face and answered, "I'm pretty tired, Trixie, and I bet you are, too. Let's make our plans when we're fresher. Okay?"

Patricia saw the wisdom in Phil's words and quietly nodded her agreement. Suddenly more tired than she ever was after a three-hour figure skating workout, her eyelids closed, her brain shut down and she fell fast asleep. Reaching to the end of the bed, Phil dragged up the pillows, reversed the top one, then placed it with its wet side down under his wasted niece's head while he claimed the other one for himself. With a last look at his Omega, before getting up to douse the lights and laying down again to sleep, he calculated they had a good four hours before the seven-thirty wake-up call he placed with the front desk roused them.

At seven o'clock, Patricia was wide awake. Her grumbling stomach said, "I'm hungry!" Her greedy cunny itched, "I want something, too!" Mischievously raising the bedcovers, she peeked at her still sleeping, still naked uncle and found, just as she had done at twenty-'til-three, that his erection stood present and ready for work.

Reaching her right hand forward, she hesitated, then rubbed her fingertips across its velvet plum. She smiled in the half-dark as she felt its thin mouth wetly kiss her middle digit's pad. More boldly, she pushed her hand lower, past the helmet's rim and onto the thick sturdy stalk itself. As she curled her hand into a fist, and felt its fat under-vein's pulse, a reciprocal thrill raced up her arm straight to her heart while she sniffed a short sharp shallow breath.

Phil's opened his eyes and asked huskily, "Now what are you up to, honey?"

Continuing to explore the length and strength of her uncle's morning wood while she talked, Patricia answered, "I was thinking we might, you know, do it again. But maybe easier, this time." She dropped her hand to his nuts and then pushed back onto the boner proper, as she advised him, "My bottom's a little tender, but I itch again, and I want you to be inside me like you were the very first time." At the top of his cock, she massaged the gathering pre-cum into his mushroom's soft flesh while she inquired, "Can we, Uncle Phil?"

Phil groaned and knew he was had. His niece had turned into a chinchilla and he had no magic wand to wave to make her a sweet naif, again. In fact, it seemed from the response in his gonads, that it was she who had both the magic and the wand in her control. Scooting closer to her, he enveloped her in a hug, kissed her nose and answered, "Absolutely, and I know a way that will let you be the one deciding how hard or easy we do it."

Patricia's eyes widened as she processed what her stepdad could possibly mean. Then, after kissing him back and lingering on his lips, she grinned and said, "Okay. How?"

"Just like this," Phil said, as he rolled onto his back and pulled Patricia with him. "You set it up, honey, then put me in when you want to and ride me like you were Dale Evans on Buttermilk!" Chuckling softly, he angled his arms passively at his sides and waited to see how she would begin.

Patricia smirked, then laughingly declared, "Well, if I'm going to ride you like a horse, then I'm going to be Lady Godiva, not dopey old Dale Evans!" With that said, she raised her satin negligee over her head and dramatically tossed it fluttering onto the ornate writing desk, where it landed atop the telephone.

Cognitively and physically, Phil also much preferred the Godiva concept. To himself, he thought "I must be 'Peeping Tom' as well as the horse she rode through the town, then. God, don't strike me blind, yet!"

Patricia, already astride her stepfather's legs, sat back on her haunches and his thighs and studied his unsaddled charger. Returning her displaced right hand, she petted its neck, then gently patted its nose, again smearing the refreshed ooze on its already glistening skin. Meanwhile, she lowered her left hand to her cunny and confirmed what she had already sensed: It was wet, winking and waiting with a warm welcome.

Leaning forward, Patricia raised her bottom and scooted up above Phil's pointer. Then, forking open her inner labia with her right hand, she steadied the bone and inserted it like a living Tampax. He inhaled a long breath as he felt her accepting cooz swallow him whole. She closed her eyes while she relished the thrill from her slow slide to his groin.

At bottom, Patricia tipped her head back, arched out her chest and tugged on her lower lip with her gums. She focused on her smooth rippling Kegels crushing and releasing her uncle's fat cock. Keeping his eyes wide open to enjoy the scenery as her long auburn hair cascaded between her breasts, he took her posture to be invitational. Raising his hands from the mattress he covered her boobs and plucked at their raisins while he flexed his dick in resistance to her squeezing walls.

Patricia braced herself on Phil's chest and languidly lifted her rear end six inches, a half-inch at a time. The teasing ride made him want to abandon his promise, jam back inside, and pound her until she screamed for mercy. Instead, he milked her tits and stared at her shallow flat oval navel. It sensually floated as she rose, then fell away with equally maddening sloth as she sat back and took him into her again.

Although she was moving slow, Patricia, and Phil, too, were quickly approaching points of no return. She pressed her aching tits into his grasping hands and shimmied against him. He stirred his hips roundly on the mattress as her tight sleeve slid haltingly up and down his pole. Her breath shortened and his temples pounded.

Phil swore to himself, "Goddamn it! I'm not going to come first! I'm NOT!" At the same time, he well understood the truth in the adage, 'saying so don't make it so' and he worried he might not hold out long enough. It was very close. He felt his balls huddle and his sack shrink as his churning insides prepared to surge.

Much to Phil's relief, Patricia suddenly dropped her ass very fast and fell gasping onto his hard chest. Clutching his shoulder points with white knuckles, she whimpered in his ear, over and over, "Oh! Uhn! Oh! Uhn! Oh!" She shuddered from her trapeziuses to her buttocks and drooled onto his collarbones. Released from his honor-bound pact, he curled his gut, crunched his glutes and lunged hard to her cervix as his crying nuts, flooding her with every available newly-minted sperm, shouted, "Hallelujah!"

When her flashing orgasm finally had passed and she could tell her uncle had no more baby stuff to send, Patricia sighed soft and long into his sandpaper neck, then effusively whispered, "Thank you! Thank you, Uncle Phil! That was the best! Oh my gosh, thank you!"

Phil ran his hands up and down over Patricia's sticky sweaty warm body. Holding her loosely in an inescapable loving hug, he rumbled, "You're welcome, honey. But don't sell yourself short. You're pretty special yourself!" Abruptly the phone began ringing under her discarded nightgown and she started to move off him to answer. He tightened his hold and kept her close as he growled, "Let it go. It'll stop."

Much later, downstairs in the Palm Court restaurant, over eggs Benedict, orange juice, coffee and hot chocolate, Patricia leaned forward over the table and asked very confidentially, "Uncle Phil, if a man doesn't use a condom to capture his baby stuff, will a girl always get pregnant?"

An incredible prickly heat tore down Phil's spine. He swallowed hard as he remembered the Plaza Hotel had provided in their complimentary toiletries packet a single Sheik condom, which he had responsibly used Friday night. He also remembered fucking Patricia twice more unprotected and dumping of ton of semen into her each time. He shouted at himself, "Damn, Damn, Damn! How could you be so stupid?" Taking a sip of coffee to collect his thoughts and any wits he had left, he answered his own question silently, "Because you let your little head rule your big head, that's how, you big dummy!"

Phil set his cup in his saucer and looked into Patricia's brown eyes as he answered, just as discreetly, "No, not always, Trixie. In your Personal Health class, I'm sure you learned about a woman's menstrual cycle, and how, while it's technically possible to get pregnant anytime, the likelihood increases dramatically the closer she is the the middle of her month." He deliberately drank another gulp of coffee before following up, "Why? Are you concerned that you might have gotten pregnant this morning?"

That was not the answer Patricia most wanted to hear. She already knew that stuff. She asked herself, "Why couldn't he just fib to me a little and say 'No, don't worry about it' or something?" Aloud to her uncle, she replied, "Well it's been two weeks since my last, uhm..." Mouthing the word silently, she finished, "... period." Then, continuing in a more normal, but quiet, voice, she said, "I'm sorry. I kinda got all caught up, because I love you and we were having fun and I didn't want to not, uhm, you know, do it. I just forgot to say."

Phil saw the tears well up in his stepdaughter's face and hurried to head them off, if he could. Reaching across the table, he took her left hand in his right and said, "It will all be okay. Maybe no one told you, but even under the most optimal fertility conditions, a pregnancy is only about an eight or nine percent chance. That means over ninety percent of the time it doesn't happen." He squeezed her hand reassuringly and said, "C'mon, let's take care of our bill and get back to Westport. You'll feel better about all of this when we're home again. I know it!"

Patricia nodded, dabbed her napkin at her eye corners and said, "Okay, Uncle Phil. But I'm not going to breathe a word about any of this to anyone. Ever. And especially not to Mom!"

As Phil signaled their waiter, he breathed a sigh of relief and agreed, "Me neither, honey. It's our secret."