All These Roadworks introduction: The following text is the first chapter of Lacey’s Bully Uncle by Bimbo Blackwood, a tale of incestuous noncon mind control. If you like it, you can get the complete e-book in the All These Roadworks store right now for only $7.99 USD! (Click here to view in store.)
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“Don’t look so worried. It’s not like we’re leaving you here all alone.”
I stare with wide, watery eyes at my mother, fighting the urge to wring my hands or chew my chapped lips. It’s not like I’m a child anymore—and so my parents should be able to take a couple’s vacation without worrying about me—but still, we live in a bad area, and I already have a terrible feeling about who they’re planning to leave me with. It used to be the elderly neighbor lady, but now she’s passed on….
“A week’s a long time,” I whisper.
“It’ll be fun! Uncle Darren’s coming into town, just for you!” Bile lurches in my stomach as she continues, “You always have such a ball with him. Don’t you?”
I’ll be lucky to survive an entire week with my mom’s obnoxious brother. Last time he watched me was five years ago, when I was thirteen, and he’d locked me in the basement “on accident” and loudly sang along to the radio for hours while I screamed and begged to be let out. I remember his mean laugh and glinting eyes as he’d asked me, “How can such a pretty girl be such an ugly crier?”
My mom clears her throat and I force my grimace into a smile. “Right.”
“He’ll be here soon. I know he’s excited to see how much you’ve grown. It’s been a minute, huh?”
“Right,” I answer woodenly.
Her eyes narrow slightly but then she laughs and pats my shoulder. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re a little dumbstruck. Just remember he’s your uncle.”
To my horror she has the nerve to wink at me. What the fuck? Even though everyone knows Uncle Darren is notably handsome (my dad even calls him ‘pretty boy’ jokingly) all I’ve ever seen in him is the raw, hideous creature under his deceiving skin. He thinks he’s funny but he’s just plain cruel—and I’m not sure how everybody but me hasn’t cottoned onto it. Plus, he is my uncle, so I feel unnerved and grossed out by my mom’s dumb ‘joke’ that I might find him attractive.
“Look who’s here!” I hear my dad shout from the living room. “The playboy himself!”
Shit.
I try to dip past my mom to rush into the bathroom, but she quickly loops her arm with mine and calls out, “Frank, don’t encourage him!” before dragging me into the living room.
My heart drops as my dark eyes connect to Darren’s piercing, blue gaze. “Hey Molly,” he says to my mom, while staring hard at me, and then with a slow smile he drawls, “Hey, kiddo….”
I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to say. All the air seems to be disappearing from the room, but I can feel the weight of my parents’ expectation, and my brain screams: be polite, you dumb idiot.
“Hey,” I whisper.
“Cat got your tongue?” Darren laughs and immediately my parents join him.
“She’s just gobsmacked to see you, I’m sure,” my dad says, giving me a confused glance. “It’s been a while.”
“Sure has,” my uncle says smoothly, letting his eyes sweep down me. Even though I’m wearing a tank top and shorts, I feel underdressed, like his gaze latches onto all my bare skin. It makes me want to squirm. “This one doesn’t look like she needs a babysitter anymore.”
“Well, she does,” my mom says loudly.
My dad winks at me. “Scared of her own shadow.”
I yank my hand away as my mom tries to squeeze it and grit my teeth as they all begin to laugh again. Usually my parents are nice people, but Uncle Darren seems to bring out the worst in everybody. One time he got my best friend to dump a bucket of garter snakes on my head when we were eight. It took me two years to fully forgive her. And I still think she owes me one.
“I was actually planning on staying with Samantha,” I lie. “Sorry you wasted your time coming here—”
“Don’t be silly,” my mom hisses, elbowing me.
My dad ignores me, sidling up to Darren. “You keep a good watch over her, you hear?”
“Of course.” Darren grins at me, his pupils dilating as they fix on mine. “Won’t let her out of my sight.”
Nervous chills go through me. What the fuck does he mean by that? And why does it feel like my consciousness is being sucked into a dark hole?
I rip my gaze away as my mom pulls me aside and whispers, “No friends over, Lacey. Not even Samantha. You can play hostess to your uncle for a week.” She also tells me in hushed tones that Darren has driven clear across the state just to spend time with me—and that I better not be rude to him. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but can you at least pretend to be happy to see him?”
“I’m too old for a babysitter,” I insist.
She sighs at me. “Is that what this is about? Well, if it puts your mind at ease, your uncle just needs a place to stay and it happens to coincide with our 20th anniversary trip. But don’t bring that up, okay? I wasn’t supposed to say anything….”
Anxiety flutters in my chest as I glance over at my dad and uncle having an intense conversation about sports. Does this mean Darren might end up living with us for a while? The guest room is right by my room—with a shared bathroom—upstairs. I can’t imagine trying to sleep every night knowing that my uncle is right there, separated from me only by a thin wall. I can’t imagine having to share a bathroom with him, where I’ll always have to remember to lock both doors (since his room and my room each have their own entrance to it). I can’t imagine all the stupid and awful pranks he’ll probably torture me with.
Not to mention, the way he looked at me only moments ago filled me with a sick dread. Almost like something terrible was going to happen, and almost like there was nothing I could do to stop it. I still feel a primal sense of violation, even though he’s no longer staring at me or talking to me, and even though he’s never actually done anything weird to me before….
I don’t even bother to make an excuse as I run up to my bedroom. The low din of my parents and uncle laughing lets me know that they think I’m just being a brat or something, and no one comes to get me for dinner. It’s not until I hear the front door slam, much later, that I realize that my parents have left without even saying goodbye.
“Shit,” I hiss as I hear the creaking of someone coming up the wooden stairs.
I scramble out of bed and into the bathroom, hastily locking both doors before starting up the shower. It’ll buy me some time—and maybe in that time Darren will get bored and go to bed. Besides, it’s not like he can pester me in the bathroom now that I’ve locked the doors. I know it’s pretty late anyway, almost midnight, as I’d kept my eye on the time as I’d scrolled through social media on my phone. Samantha hadn’t even replied to my texts asking her if it’d be cool if I came over (and explaining the bad news about my uncle staying with us), but I know she’s an early sleeper, so I don’t feel too miffed about it.
You’re being paranoid anyway, I try to convince myself as I gingerly peel my clothes off.
I shudder as I remember the way Uncle Darren’s eyes lingered over my new curves. My breasts and hips have rounded out over the last five years, but it still grosses me out that he’d noticed them. Surprising? Maybe not. But horrible all the same.
The worst part about it is that maybe a tiny part of me enjoyed being noticed. I don’t know why, but even through the fear and nausea my pussy had clenched up a little. Uncle Darren has always scared me, but he’s also really great at making me feel confused. I hate to blame the superficial planes of his face—the high cheekbones and wide flaring of his jaw, the plushness of his cruel, pink mouth—but even I am not blind to his conventional good looks in my hatred for him.
I bite back a noise as one of the door knobs rattles.
“I’m in here,” I find myself saying loudly, and then I quickly hop into the shower, pulling the glass door shut and embracing the rush of heat and steam.
My heart skitters in my chest as I hold my breath and listen for any sound from Darren’s room. (Darren’s fucking room, my mind curses, no! It’s the guest room!) But I know that it’s Darren’s room, and that it’s Darren in it, trying to get into the bathroom. The knob doesn’t rattle again. I’m nearly relaxed in the shower, convinced that he’s realized I’m in it (and decided to head back downstairs to get ready for bed or whatever) but then I hear the strangest of noises.
Something clicks.
My lungs seize up as I hear the horrifying sound of a door opening, and then I hear footsteps approaching the shower.
“I’m in here!” I yell.
But he already knows that, my mind whirs in a panicked frenzy. He just doesn’t care! He’s going to do something awful to you!
“I need to pee, kiddo,” Darren says with a laugh.
“There’s a bathroom downstairs! How did you even get in here?”
“Why are you being such a bitch?” he asks casually, and then I hear him messing around with the toilet, the clank of him lifting the seat. “It’ll only take a second. Don’t you know the credit card trick?”
Credit card trick? Do the doors really break open that easy? Stupid, flimsy, pieces of shit….
I hate myself for it, but a low whine escapes me. “Darren, I’m in the shower….”
“Lacey,” he says mockingly, mirroring my high tone, “I’m taking a piss.”
Just give up, my thoughts tell me. He’ll go away if you don’t rise to his bait.
I do my best to block out the dizzying anxiety and my pounding heart. I can’t believe my uncle is in the bathroom with me while I’m showering. I can’t believe he might—
No! Stop thinking like that, my internal thoughts hiss.
Robotically, I shampoo my hair, counting in my head as I lather it up and then rinse it out.
But I can’t stop my frantic thoughts from cropping up: He seems to be taking a long time. I don’t even hear any sounds of peeing. Is he just standing there? Staring at the shower?
The glass is opaque and so I don’t really need to worry about him seeing much more than a very blurry outline of my naked body, but I still worry that he’s seeing too much, and it still seems like a violation. I don’t think my parents would think it was okay if they knew my uncle was in the bathroom with me like this. I think even in their blind love for him, they’d think it was weird and wrong.
I jump when I hear his voice very close to the shower’s glass door. “That coconut body wash? Smells nice.”
“No, it’s shampoo. Now get out!”
“Rude,” he huffs out with another irritating laugh. “It’s like you don’t want to visit with me.”
“I don’t!” A strange thrill goes through me at the words. I’ve never told Uncle Darren that I don’t like him—even after all the times he’s been cruel to me. I’ve only ever cried and tried to avoid him. It’s a strangely powerful feeling, but then he ruins it by pressing his lips to the glass, in a slow, mocking kiss.
“Well, I still want to visit with you,” he says huskily.
A violent tremble goes through me. What does he mean? Is he going to do something to me while I’m trapped and naked in the shower? I nearly start hyperventilating, but then I hear him walk away, and the blessed sound of a door closing behind him.
It takes me another hour, long after the water has gone cold, to get out of the shower and towel off. I’m a shivering mess, and my ears are hyper focused on any sound of him.
He’s going to walk in on me, my brain warns in high alarm. He’s going to have some dumb excuse for coming back in here—or maybe he won’t even make one up.
But only silence comes from his bedroom, and so I quietly pull on my pajamas and sneak into my room, hating that I can’t lock him out from it, since there’s no way to lock the bathroom entrance to my bedroom from the other side of the door.
It takes hours for me to fall asleep, especially with wet hair and nervous chills going through me, but somehow, I finally do.
***
“You hungry?” a low voice asks me, and I jolt awake at the heavy feeling of someone sitting on the edge of my bed.
My uncle’s blue eyes dance at my wide-eyed shock and he gives me a slow, mocking smile as he winks at me.
“What’re you doing?” I ask groggily, pulling my blankets tighter around me.
“Asking if you want breakfast. You didn’t eat with us last night.”
His tone is irritatingly innocent, and I can’t stop myself from glaring at him. “No. Go away.”
“Are you planning to hide from me all week?”
I don’t bother to answer him, knowing that no matter what I say he’ll twist it around somehow. Instead, I burrow deeper into my bed, doing my best to ignore him. But I can’t ignore the hammering of my heart. Or the way my lungs don’t want to intake or exhale air right.
“I’m hungry,” he says with a yawn. “But still kind of sleepy, too.”
To my horror he lays down beside me, stretching out on his back and halfway pinning me under the blankets.
Why’re you doing this? I want to ask, but I can’t speak, my throat a tight, lumped cord.
“I’m a shit cook,” he continues lazily, nudging me through the covers with his elbow. “I thought maybe you’d get up and make us something. Or should we lie in a little, first?”
He’s so close to me that I can smell him. A musky, woody scent that is somehow awful and pleasant all at once. There’s the hint of mint, like he’s already brushed his teeth, and also something sharper and pungent, like he’s taken a shot of bourbon. Or maybe that’s just his smell. His pheromones and sweat. The warmth of his body penetrates into mine, even though we’re both clothed and there’s blankets between us.
“You shouldn’t be in my bed,” I whisper, tears pricking my eyes.
It’s insanity that I even have to tell him this (because what niece in existence has to tell their uncle that they shouldn’t lie in a bed together?), and when he laughs the rumble goes all through me.
“Why’s that?”
I choke out a sound, but find I can’t answer him. I’ve never had a man this close to me before. I’ve never even had a boy in my room with me. Even though my uncle’s just lying next to me, it feels obscene and threatening. I can imagine his long-fingered hands peeling away the covers. I can imagine his hot breath against my ear, tickling down my throat as he whispers, “I’m not doing anything.” I can imagine him rolling on top of me, his weight holding down my slight frame as that cruel mouth presses against mine.
“Please leave,” I whisper, nearly sobbing as my insides tighten and my virgin pussy spasms, fearfully.
“Nah,” he breathes, unmoving. “Not until you tell me why you’ve been acting so weird.”
It’s hard to get the words out, but I manage, “You’re the one being weird.”
“Hmm,” he hums in answer.
We lay in silence for some time, the seconds ticking into minutes, and the minutes ticking on and on. I fight back the urge to squirm. I fight back the sensation of a man so close to me—so close he could kiss or touch me. I fight back the awkward rush of something fluttery pumping through my heart and deep into my abdomen.
Finally, he sighs and says, “It’s strange how you’re the only one who seems immune to my charms.”
What? I want to bite out, but find that I can only rasp an unintelligible noise. It doesn’t really surprise me that he’s being a narcissistic and pushy prick, but it does surprise me that he’s being so open about it.
“Haven’t you noticed that everyone else seems to adore me? It’s why I’ve always picked on you. It’s kind of an innate gift, I think . . . I’ve always been able to get anyone to do whatever I want. Except you.”
I want to tell him to fuck off, and I don’t really understand what he’s saying, although an uncomfortable knowledge begins to seep into me (didn’t Samantha explain that she didn’t mean to go through with his cruel snake prank? I’d thought that she’d just been a cowardly bitch at the time, but she’d insisted that he’d “made” her do it, and that she couldn’t stop herself), and my parents never seem to see anything but the best in him, blatantly ignoring all his shitty qualities. They never do that with anyone else. And they’re usually reasonable, loving people. They should have been able to see how uncomfortable he’s always made me. It’s like everyone goes slightly mad in his presence. I’d chalked it up to his good looks and slimy charm—but there’s something in his words that make me think he’s talking about something else. Something deeper.
But none of that makes any sense. Does it?
“Maybe I just see through you,” I whisper, fighting down a blind sense of panic.
“Maybe.”
An internal war breaks out in my mind. If he just wants me to get up and make breakfast, I should do it to get this awful situation over with. I don’t want to remain here, trapped in my bed with him. But I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of bullying me, either.
“But maybe you kind of feel it, too,” he says softly. “And I just haven’t tried hard enough to make you see it. See it fully, I mean….”
“You sound drunk,” I hiss.
I squeal as he lurches around and rips the covers off me. “Do I look drunk?”
He straddles me, one knee on each side of my body as he sits on my thighs and hips. His blue eyes flash in amusement as I thrash and push at him, but he’s too tall and heavy to move, and his hands grab my delicate wrists, squeezing until I freeze under him.
“Yes! No! I don’t know!” I cry out, whimpering.
His weight on me, combined with his penetrating gaze, makes me feel sick with a strange heat. One I don’t want to contemplate.
“I’ll make you breakfast,” I choke out.
“I want you to look at me,” he says calmly, as though he’s not death-gripping my arms and pinning me underneath him like a rapist. “Really look at me.”
There’s the strangest shift in reality as I gape at him, my pupils blowing wide as I take in his icy, blue stare. It’s like I’m falling down a deep dark tunnel, but it’s also like all the light in the room shifts into his pale irises, filling me with a pulsing, needy warmth. I can feel the blood thrumming through my veins—but I can also feel it thrumming through him—hot and wet and pulsing, the pounding of our hearts melding into one.
“I don’t think you’ve ever really looked at me,” he whispers.
But that’s insane, I realize distantly, because I’ve looked at this man hundreds of times. Haven’t I? He’s just my awful, narcissistic, asshole of an uncle—but weirdly, deep, pulsing warmth seems to flow out of him and into me, making my entire body buzz with static electricity. I start to barely notice the heaviness of his body pinning mine, or his tight grip on my wrists. I start to feel very heavy and loose. I start to feel calm.
“There we go,” he says softly. “Good girl.”
His praise sends delicious waves of golden heat through me. I smile stupidly at him, my body and mind so heavy that I feel as though I’m sinking deep down, deep into my mattress, nearly into the floor.
“What’s happening?” I ask dreamily.
“I’m showing you that there’s no reason to hate me. Just keep looking into my eyes. You like looking into my eyes.”
“Yes,” I murmur.
They are very pretty. Like two oceans swirling in a tropical storm. I’m not sure why I never noticed how beautiful my uncle truly is, but he looks like he was carved by God himself.
An angel, I think muzzily as a brilliant wave of awe floods through me. How can an angel be cruel?
“Do you want to kiss me, Lacey?” he asks, his voice like silky smoke.
Something deep inside me screams, ‘No!’, but I find myself nodding, and I don’t even tense up as he leans forward and presses his warm mouth to mine. He tastes like toothpaste and salt, and when he deepens the kiss—his tongue caressing mine—all I can think about is how very warm and wet it all feels. I’ve never kissed a boy before, and I should be horrified that this definitely isn’t just some boy, but this feels glorious. My pussy slowly soaks my underwear as my uncle makes out with me and presses his hard body into mine.
A cold burst of realization makes me freeze: What the fuck am I doing? This is my UNCLE.
“Relax,” he whispers, pulling back to stare into my eyes again. “Stop resisting. Have you ever had an orgasm before? It’s the best feeling….”
I blink at him stupidly, trying to push away the heavy warmth his gaze presses upon me. It’s like a weighted blanket holding me down, and I can only nod at him, suddenly lost in memories of me toying with myself in this very bed, playing with my clit until my legs spasmed out, my cunt clenching in heady waves of bliss. Normally, I’d feel very guilty at the thought of acting so whorishly (because good girls shouldn’t touch themselves), but my uncle’s deep groan dampens the shame, the pleased flash in his eyes consuming me as he leans in to trail hot open-mouthed kisses down my throat.
“It’s even better with someone else. Help me take off your pajamas.”
Distantly I wonder how he knows that I’ve only frigged myself and not fooled around with anyone, but the warmth pulsing in my mind has me pulling off my top and exposing my heavy breasts. My uncle groans again, his hands pulling and massaging my puffy pink nipples. Electricity shoots through me, and I moan softly as he bends to suck each one into his warm, wet mouth.
This is wrong, a cold thought breaks through. So wrong! You need to stop this.
I whimper as my hands push down my pajama bottoms and underwear, mouthing, “Stop….”
Darren doesn’t seem to hear me; his mouth sucks sloppy, hot trails down my taut belly and then latches onto my raised, aching clit. All thought leaves me. Pleasure rushes through me, overwhelming all my senses, roaring into my confused brain.
“Oh God,” I moan, my fingers burrowing into his thick, wavy brown hair.
He keeps sucking and licking until I’m nothing more than one long, trembling, raw nerve, and right before I reach ecstasy he pulls away, climbing on top of me.
“Darren, no,” I whimper, but my traitorous legs open as he fumbles with his sweatpants, freeing the rigid flesh between his legs.
“You want this,” he murmurs to me, staring deep into my eyes. “You want me.”
“I—,” I choke out, the protests dying in my throat as something blunt and warm presses into my virgin, teenaged pussy.
I’m so wet that it goes right in, the pain a slight sting as my uncle’s cock stretches me out, sliding in too deep.
It’s too much, my mind screams. Make him take it out!
But then euphoria washes over me as he presses his forehead into mine, our eyes locked and our mouths open, gasping.
“Say that you want me,” he demands.
All the warmth in my head throbs deliciously, muddling up my thoughts.
“I want you,” I moan helplessly.
A tiny sliver of reasonableness tries to tell me that I don’t want this at all, but the pulsing warmth drowns it out as my uncle pumps into me rhythmically, his hips kissing mine and then drawing away to push deeper still. It should hurt, I realize numbly, but I’m too far gone, my mind and body sunken into some deep, pleasurable pit of nonexistence. All I am is my uncle’s cocksleeve. All I am is a throbbing, aching vessel for him to fill. All I am made for is to pleasure . . . and to be pleasured.
It seems to go on for hours, but it might be only minutes, of his deep, slow thrusting until he stiffens and I feel gushes of warm wetness flooding my insides.
He’s cumming in me, my brain screams, but for some reason the persistent throbbing and wet gushes of his sperm makes my pussy seize up, clenching around my uncle desperately as he curses and groans, and ribbons of bliss tear through me.
“Fuck, you’re tight,” he moans, his eyes fluttering shut.
With his eyes closed I’m able to think through the blinding pleasure: I’m not on birth control—this was a huge mistake.
But then he looks at me again, his face flushed and his lips parted, and all I can think is: By God, he’s beautiful.
He keeps pumping into me, his strokes jerky and uneven as he drains the last of himself into my unprotected womb.
“Do you still hate me?” he asks, breathlessly, his tone soft and taunting.
The warmth dissipates in an instant. I stare up into his cold eyes, nausea seeping through me as I realize what’s just happened to me. His cock feels too bulky and thick, stretching out my unwilling, tender pussy, and I feel soaked and soiled, the golden aftershocks of my orgasm dying in a chilled flutter.
“You—you raped me,” I whimper.
“I did no such thing,” he says, pulling out with a sickeningly wet slosh; his cum spills down my ass and thighs, soaking the bedsheets under me. “You wanted this. You told me you wanted me.”
Whatever magic he held over me is gone. (Or maybe he’s just not trying to hold me under his spell any longer, I think to myself with a sickening sense of unease.) All that’s left is my uncle’s leering, satisfied smile, and the taunting chill of his pale eyes as they sweep over mine. The weight of his body feels crushing, and I wheeze and gasp until he rolls away, laughing.
“I’m still hungry. You should make us breakfast unless you want to go again….”
“I was a virgin,” I find myself saying, hysteria making my tone high. “You tricked me.”
“And now you’re not. It’s going to be a long week if you get flustered every time I ‘trick’ you. I made you like it, didn’t I? I don’t know why I have to try so hard to make you like me—but I did it for you. Stop whining.”
I pull on my underwear and pajamas clumsily, hating the wet squelch of my uncle’s cum against the cotton of my panties.
“You’re a monster,” I hiss.
Darren laughs. That same, hateful sound he always makes after he’s pranked me and I’m left in tears. “Maybe. Or maybe you are for not seeing just how awesome I am. Don’t worry, princess, I’ll make you see the light again—after you make us breakfast. Or maybe before, if you whine about it much longer.”
“And what if I tell?” I find myself asking hysterically, imagining my mom’s shocked and rageful face as she learns her younger brother has sexually assaulted me.
“They won’t believe you,” he answers calmly. “Haven’t you learned anything yet? I can get away with whatever I want.”
Cold shock seeps through me as I see the events playing out through Darren’s eyes. My parents will be horrified we’ve slept together, sure, but they’ll blame me and my impulsiveness for it—because my uncle’s charming powers will convince them that he’s not in the wrong. I can still feel the tendrils of his power tugging against the recesses of my mind. Worse, I remember the absolute hold he had over me when I agreed to let him fuck me.
Agreed, my mind taunts me. You AGREED to it.
I don’t understand what just happened, but even without understanding, there’s no choice but to accept it as my fault.
“Please,” I beg, tears welling up and through my clenched eyes. “I won’t tell, just don’t do that to me again.”
My uncle laughs. “That’s no fun. I want you to get up and make me breakfast—and I want you to do it in your shortest skirt and tightest top.”
He grabs me, his eyes latching onto mine, and our pupils connect and dilate together as warmth floods into me.
“You like me, remember that,” he says softly as I start to feel weighted down again. “Remember that you really, really like me. And you want to wear slutty clothing to please me….”
I don’t remember what I was crying about, but it suddenly seems important to find my sluttiest outfit. I peel off my pajamas, and then get up to find my tightest crop top and miniskirt, sliding off my bra and cum-soaked underwear.
I should cook bacon and eggs, I think drowsily.
I barely remember coming down the stairs or starting breakfast, but as I serve up the food a cold chill goes through me: what am I doing?
“I think with you, repetition matters,” Darren drawls, pulling his plate closer to him. “It’s happened to me a couple of times before. An odd girl thinks she doesn’t like me—or thinks she’s too good for me—but over the years I’ve come to realize it just takes persistence.”
I glance at him, unsure of what he’s talking about. I’m not even really sure of where I am or what’s happening. All I can see are his swirling blue eyes—they seem to deeply penetrate mine. Warmth buzzes all through me, making me feel lax and stupid.
They’re so blue, I find myself thinking.
“Suck me off, under the table,” he demands.
Heat blooms inside my skull, threading down deep into my aching, wet cunt. It’s a hideous suggestion, part of me knows, but there’s something inside of me that feels compelled to do it—like satisfying his desire will set me free. And like he has me all tangled up in a warm, glowing, rope of compulsion.
I’m not hungry for breakfast, my mind whispers. I’m hungry for cum.
My breasts spill over my crop top as I stoop down low and crawl on my hands and knees under the table. I can feel the cold, kitchen air on my bare, soaking wet, pussy. Darren’s sperm trickles down my feverish thighs. There’s only one thought in my mind as I give into the exhilarating heat flooding through me.
I want to pleasure him—I want my uncle’s hot load down my throat.
A tiny sliver of resistance tries to break through as I take his exposed cock into my mouth: Oh God, it tastes like me, what am I doing?
But he grabs my long, dark hair and scoots his chair back, yanking me along with him, just as I start to pull away. Our eyes lock together and the oppressive heat in his gaze, along with his authoritative command of, “Keep going!” tamps my resistance down, and I find myself desperate to sink his cock back into my warm, wet mouth. The swirling heat of our pupils connected relaxes my throat so that I can really take him in deep. I choke but swallow around him, sucking and bobbing obediently, even though I’ve never done this before.
“Good girl,” he moans.
My pussy spasms at the praise, spraying wet rivulets of our combined cum onto the kitchen’s tiled floor. It’s not long until he shoots hot gushes of salty sperm into my belly and strangely all I can think is: Now I get it; Uncle Darren is the best! I’m so happy we have an entire week to spend alone together….
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