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Phil was in his fifties, and looked ten years younger. His time in the army had left him with good posture and a lean body. He was six feet tall, his short hair was greying, but his eyes sparkled and he referred to his developing wrinkles as ‘laughter lines’. He lived on the North Cornwall coast, an area of rugged cliffs, sandy beaches and changeable moods. He had joined up at eighteen, and shown a natural flair for army life that got him noticed, and rapidly promoted. Northern Ireland and the Falklands had left him with some scars and souvenirs, in the form of shrapnel., and the mental images that still sometimes haunted him.
At age 48, after thirty years service, he had retired, with a reasonable pension and a slight limp. Susan, his wife, and he had sold their London flat and moved to the South West. Life had been idyllic at first, the relaxed lifestyle, the lack of stress, noise and bustle of the city. Then the drunk driver had shattered everything, taking Susan from him and leaving him alone. At first there had been anger, then the misery, then the drinking. Then he discovered a love of photography, finding solace, beauty and inspiration in the land surrounding him. He had managed to sell some of his work to magazines and papers, the stark beauty of Cornwall’s iconic engine houses, moors and the sea seeming popular with tourist publications. It wasn’t a fortune, but it kept him comfortably off. Enough that he could afford to have a local lady, Mrs. Trelawney come in once a week to clean.
As he stood, mug of tea in hand, looking out of the window, wondering what the weather would bring, the early June sun casting shadows and making the gorse seem brighter than usual, he was roused from his reverie by the harsh ringing of the phone. Putting his tea down, he lifted the handset, pressed the answer button and held it to his ear.
“Phil? It’s Margaret.” The familiar voice of his younger sister came to him.
“Maggie? Hi, how are you? I haven’t seen you since the funeral.”
“We’re fine. Look, Phil. I hate to ask, but we need a big favour. Would you mind if Alison came to stay with you for a few weeks? Steve has been offered a post in the states for six months and he wants me to go with him. Trouble is, Alison starts University in September and we don’t want her to miss the start of term.”
Phil’s mind wandered for a moment. Alison? He remembered her from the funeral, some five years ago. God! Was she eighteen now? She must be. He remembered her as a slightly awkward, gawky girl. A little shy and quiet, just on the rink of blossoming into womanhood.
“No problem, sis. The house is huge, and there’s plenty for her to do in the area. I’d love to have her stay. It’ll be nice to have someone to talk to beside Mrs. Trelawney.”
“That’s wonderful, Phil.” The relief showed in Margaret’s voice. “She’ll be coming down on the train next Saturday. Thanks ever so much. I’m sure she’ll be no trouble. You’ll hardly know she’s there.”
They chatted and exchanged pleasantries for a few minutes more, before Margaret said she had to go, and hung up. Phil retrieved his tea, lukewarm now, and sipped it thoughtfully. An eighteen year old girl, staying for the summer. What was he letting himself in for?
“Cornwall? CORNWALL?!! I don’t want to go to Cornwall, and I don’t want to stay with Uncle Phil!” Screamed Alison. “Why can’t I stay here?”
“We’ve discussed this already,” said Margaret, calmly. “Your father and I have to go to the States, you are off to university, and we want to make sure you are looked after properly.”
“But what about my friends, what about Pete?”
“Pete?” Her father snorted. “That tattooed layabout?”
“Yes,” retorted Alison. “Pete. My boyfriend.”
“The further we can get you from him, the better.” Replied her father. “I don’t like him, and I think he’s a bad influence.”
“I love him!” shouted Alison, tears of anger welling in her eyes. “And he loves me!”
“Look, darling.” Said her mother, soothingly. “You’ll only be down there for a few weeks, and we’ll be back before Christmas. It’s all been arranged. We’ve organised spending money and the tickets. Phil will look after you, and you’ll be able to swim, surf, anything you want. He’s agreed to put you on his insurance so you can drive yourself. I doubt you’ll even see him, he spends all his time out with his precious cameras. Think of it as a holiday by yourself.”
“OK. But I’m not happy, Mummy.” Alison ran up to her room and texted Pete with tears in her eyes, blurring the characters on the screen of her phone. She had planned to give her virginity to Pete during the holidays; to prove her love for him. Now her parents had put paid to that.
‘sorry babe. Got 2 go away 4 a ataköy escort few wks. Back soon. Luv u. Ali. XX’
She waited for the familiar ring of an incoming message. It arrived and she read it. ‘no probs. C u soon. Luv pete xx’
She scrolled through the menu options to the photo album on her phone. There she found the one she wanted. Pete, stripped to the waist, showing off his tattoos and nipple ring. She thought back to the first time they had kissed, in the front seats of his car. As she looked at him, and remembered, her hand strayed down towards the waistband of her jeans, and she deftly unbuttoned them. Her slim fingers moved inside her jeans, then into her panties, through the wispy down to her throbbing clit. With practiced moves, she stroked and caressed herself, her fingers finding just the right rhythm and pressure, feeling her wetness growing as she strummed and probed, biting her lip to stifle her moans as she reached a peak of pleasure, clenching her thighs together on her hand as her climax overtook her, waves of pleasure crashing over her. Her body shivered and shook in the aftermath, as she reluctantly withdrew her hand, lifted it to her mouth and licked her fingers clean of her juices.
300 miles to the south-west, Phil went out to the large garage, opened the doors and went inside. He walked over to a shape, hidden under a blue cover and pulled it aside. Underneath was a gleaming, red 1968 MGB roadster. Phil had bought it second-hand, not long after his 21st birthday. Over the years, it had rusted and developed faults, but Phil had spent the last 5 years restoring it to pristine condition. Now it sat next to his everyday workhorse, a Landrover, in the garage, only being used on high days, holidays, and for the odd classic car rally. Alison would love driving it, he hoped, far more suitable then the ‘landy’. He put the cover back on, and went inside to call the insurance company. Mrs. Trelawny had left him a sandwich and cup of coffee on the table, along with a note that she was going shopping. He phoned the insurance people, got Alison added to the policy…nearly dying of shock in the process, as they informed him of the extra premium…but he paid it with his credit card, nevertheless. He sat and finished his meal, looking out over the moors behind the house. Then, gathering his camera he set out.
Saturday rolled around, and Phil found himself parked outside Penzance station in his Landrover, waiting for his niece to arrive. Mrs. Trelawney was back at the house, cooking a ‘special’ dinner, as she called it, just for him and Alison. He sat, smoking nervously (he had been meaning to give up for years now, but never got round to it), listening to Pink Floyd’s ‘Dark side of the moon’ on the cd player, and wondering what Alison looked like now. Would he recognise her? He had her mobile number, and she had his. She had promised to phone him when she arrived, and he was waiting nervously for the shrill ringing that would inform him of her arrival. The band were half way through ‘Money’ when the phone rang, and he picked it up. The display showed ‘Alison’. He pressed the ‘answer’ key and held it to his ear.
“Uncle Phil! Hi. I’m outside the station. Where are you?” Phil turned his head towards the entrance of the Victorian building and nearly dropped his phone. A lithe, blonde girl in jeans and a tight T-shirt, with a suitcase was holding a phone to her ear and looking round. ‘God! Is that her?’, he thought. ‘she has grown in 5 years’.
“Yeah, Alison.” His mouth was dry, and his heart racing now. “Black Landrover. I’m opposite the entrance.”
The gorgeous blonde turned her head, then waved. “Hi there. Got you!”
She hung up and started walking towards him. Oh god…it was her. She was beautiful. Tall, shapely…with superb hips, legs and breasts. His manhood started to respond to her…and he fought to control himself. He opened the door and stepped down, going round to open the rear door for her luggage. As she got close, she dropped the suitcase, and flung her arms round his neck, kissing him on the cheek.
“Hi, Uncle Phil! I haven’t seen you in years!”
Taken aback, Phil tentatively put his arms around her and hugged her gently.
“Er…nice to see you, too, sweetie.” They untangled themselves. “why don’t you jump in? I’ll put your bag in the back.”
“OK.” She said, and almost skipped round to the passenger side, then scrambled up into the Landrover’s cab, giving Phil a good view of her round buttocks under the tight denim. Phil lifted the case into the Landrover, surprised at the weight, shut the door and got into the driver’s seat. He buckled up and started the car, pulling out of the station car park, and heading avcılar escort off into the traffic.
“I hope you’re hungry. Mrs. Trelawney’s made us a special meal for tonight, to welcome you.” He said, trying not to look at her, the way the seat belt accentuated her breasts, the diagonal strap snuggling between them, making them seem fuller than before.
“Who’s Mrs. Trelawney? And…oh, wow! Floyd…’dark side of the moon.'” Alison spun the volume control up, almost to maximum, the bass distorted and rumbling.
“Do you mind?” She asked, grabbing a cigarette from the pack on the dash, and using his Zippo, expertly, to light it.
“Does your Mum know about this?” he asked, taking one himself.
“Probably not,” She answered, winding the window down, letting the blue smoke disperse. “You have great taste in music, Uncle Phil.” She said, singing along to the track.
“Thanks. I thought your generation were all Eminem and Snow Patrol. It’s nice to meet an aficionado of the classics. Oh, and Mrs. Trelawney is my housekeeper. She cooks and cleans for me.”
They turned off the main road then and along a track, which opened up into a broad gravel courtyard, in front of a large, granite house, with an old Fiat parked out side. Phil parked, applied the handbrake, turned the engine off and got out. He went round to the rear of the Landrover and retrieved Alison’s case, while she alighted.
“Wow, Uncle Phil. Nice place.” She gasped.
“Glad you like it,” He replied. “think of it as your home for the next few weeks, and please…just call me Phil, you’re making me feel old with the uncle thing.”
“OK, Phil.” She laughed, and followed him through the front door.
“Come and meet Mrs. Trelawney,” Phil said. “She’s been dying to meet you.”
Alison followed him through the house, to the kitchen. She’d been expecting an elderly, greying old spinster…what she saw was a beautiful, dark haired woman in her early 30’s, in jeans and a blouse. Slim, with long hair, tied back in a ponytail, with dark eyes, full lips and a boyish figure.
“Alison. This is Mrs. Trelawney…Jan. Jan, this is my niece, Alison.”
Mrs. Trelawney took the proffered hand. “Hello Alison. Nice to meet you, Phil has told me so much about you.”
She smiled, her face lighting up, her eyes twinkling.
“Nice to meet you, too.” Replied Alison. “I hope he hasn’t told you too much.”
“Nothing bad, anyway.” Said Jan. “Well, I must be going. Dinner’s in the Aga, and I’ve laid the table in the dining room. See you both tomorrow.”
Mrs. Trelawney smiled at them both…seeming to linger for a fraction on Phil, then left. A few moments later, they heard the sound of her Fiat leaving.
“I’d better show you to your room.” Said Phil. He took Alison’s case, and led her upstairs, opening the door to a large room, with built-in wardrobes, en-suite bathroom and a huge, old wooden bed. The bay window looked out over the cliffs and the ocean beyond.
“Make yourself comfortable, I’ll see you downstairs when you’re ready. I’m going to have a shower and get changed. Yell if you need anything, Ok?”
He left her to unpack, and headed off to his own room, at the end of the house. He undressed quickly, turned the shower on and, once it was up to temperature, got in and started to soap himself. As he did so, his thoughts turned to Alison, and he felt himself growing hard. He grasped his shaft with a soapy hand and started to stroke himself, imagining what her young body was like, her breasts, her nipples, her pussy. How she would feel in his arms. His hand moved faster, he felt himself nearing the point of no return. With a groan, he came, spraying thick white semen into the shower, he watched it wash away…and finished washing himself, slight pangs of guilt racking him at the realisation he had just masturbated while fantasising about his own niece.
Phil dried himself, dressed in a pair of chinos and a short-sleeved shirt, slip-on shoes and went downstairs. Alison was already there, in the sitting room. She had changed into a light summer dress, which hugged her in all the right places, emphasising her young body. She stood, looking out of the large picture window, gazing at the expanse of the Atlantic before her. The evening light shone through her dress, making it transparent, so Phil could admire the curve of her legs, all the way to the top, where he could just make out the outline of her panty-covered slit. He felt himself growing hard again. He coughed, to announce his presence, and she turned, startled. As she faced him, he could see she wore no bra. The dark circles of her areolas clearly visible through the thin material.
“Would you like a little wine?” he asked, his mouth dry, his avrupa yakası escort heart racing.
“Mmmm! Yes, please.”
He went to pour a couple of glasses of white and brought them through. She stood, still gazing out across the sea.
“Thanks,” She said, as she took the glass from him, and sipped delicately. “Oooohhh! Very nice.” She said, extending her small, pink tongue and licking her red lips.
“Mummy hardly ever lets me drink at home.”
“Well, you can here.” Phil laughed. “Just don’t overdo it. I don’t want your Mum accusing me of leading you astray. Shall we eat?”
“Yummy. I’m starving. There was no buffet on the train. All I’ve had since London is a Mars bar and a coke. Not a very balanced diet.” She laughed, her voice tinkling in Phil’s ears as they went through to the dining room, where he had served up a thick, delicious stew.
They ate, laughing, topping the wine up and catching up on family history. She learned that Mrs. Trelawney was a widow, her husband had died at sea, in a storm some 7 years ago. He learned that she was going to study History. However, when she asked him about his Army career, he asked her to change the subject…so she asked him about his photography instead.
After dinner, they sat in the sitting room, and he showed her his portfolio, packed with photos of the surrounding area and various landmarks. Towards the back, she found a page of photos of a woman…she looked familiar…Mrs. Trelawney. In some she was nearly naked, in some dressed as a pirate, or other costume. In nearly all of them, she was bare-breasted.
Phil noticed the page, and hastily snatched the book away, blushing as he did so.
“Those were from the local camera club. That’s where I met Jan.” He stammered, clearly embarrassed. “She used to model part-time. I asked her to let me take some depicting local legends and the like…smugglers, pirates, mermaids. You know.”
Phil looked at his watch, the hands said it was nearly 1 in the morning.
“Oh, my…look at the time,” He muttered. “Time to turn in, lots to do tomorrow.”
“Yes, I’m feeling tired too,” replied Alison. She kissed him on the cheek, resting her hand briefly on his thigh, “Goodnight, Uncle Phil. See you in the morning.”
The contact of her hand seemed to burn through the material of his trousers, and his cock twitched slightly at her kiss. He watched her depart, and listened to her climb the stairs, followed by the sound of her door closing. Footsteps around her room preceded the sound of the toilet flushing, water running as she washed and did her teeth, he supposed, then the creaking as she got into bed.
He finished his drink and then wandered round the house making sure all the doors were locked, before he switched the lights off and headed up to his own room. After he had undressed, and attended to his own hygiene needs, he lay on the bed in just his boxers, mulling over the day’s events. As he lay there, close to sleep, he was awakened by the sound of a telephone. It wasn’t the house phone, or his mobile. He realised it must be Alison’s, and sure enough, the ringing stopped, to be replaced with her speaking softly and giggling occasionally. As he listened, he heard her say ‘No’, and ‘I can’t, he might hear’. Curious, he slowly got off the bed, opened the door and crept along the passageway. Light shone under Alison’s door, and he could hear her…obviously deep in conversation.
“Oh, Pete…of course I love you. You know I do. Oh, ok…but you have to do the same for me. Ok? Yes, I’m playing with my nipples now…they are hard, Pete…like when you touched them last week. Is your cock hard for me? Are you stroking it?”
Phil froze, stunned…his cock growing as he listened to his niece having phone sex with some boy.
“Oh, Pete…Mmmmmm! My pussy is so wet…I want you to be the first to fuck me, Pete…I want your cock in my pussy…my fingers are there now, playing with it.”
Unable to help himself, Phil grasped the bulge in his shorts, and started to stroke himself through the material. He pressed his ear closer to the door.
“Oh Pete…stroke your cock for me…cum for me baby. Stroke that big cock, and imagine it in my wet cunt…you do want to fuck my little virgin cunt, don’t you Pete? Oh fuck me, Pete…fuck me! My pussy is so wet for you, baby. I’m going to cum Pete…I’m so close. Tell me you love me…tell me how much you want me! Fuck me, Pete…fuck me, baby! Ohhhhh! Mmmmmmmm! YESSS!”
Phil could hear the bed creaking and Alison’s moans as she brought herself to orgasm only a few feet from him. Suddenly, a floorboard groaned under his weight. Alison was suddenly quiet…then…
“Pete? I thought I heard something. I think he’s awake. Night, babe.”
There was a beep, then a click as the light under the door was extinguished. Phil waited a few moments…then crept back to his own room, where he stroked himself, remembering the way Alison had talked so sexily and dirty to Pete. He came hard, spattering his belly and chest with seed, before he settled down for a good night’s sleep.
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