Pippa’s Provence Holiday Ch. 02

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Fucking typical, I thought. I had made the joke about trying harder because my mistress, Yvette, worked for that car hire company and here was Pippa adopting it like it her own line. Pushy, as Donna had said, and just like her mother. I reckon if I’d suggested to Pippa we do it doggy style, within a minute of starting she’d be claiming it was her idea all along.

Anyway, I just laughed and slapped her on her adorable rump and suggested she get to work on her tan in the afternoon sun. “My tan?” she said, mock offended. “What’s wrong with it? Not good enough for you?”

I laughed and placed my bronzed torso alongside her. “Compared to me, missy,” I said, “you look like a tub of lard. “A tub of fuckin’ lard?” she laughed. “Watch it, buster.” And we collapsed in each others arms, laughing and kissing.

She may have been my bossy britches of a sister’s daughter but already I felt comfortable and relaxed with her. And I knew several things about her – she was intelligent, she was sexy, she was fun. The fact that she was my sister’s daughter didn’t enter into it. I was besotted.

Down by the pool, Pippa announced she would sun bathe naked – after all, as she pointed out, I’d seen everything there was to see. I put lotion on her lovely 38-24-36 body, which although it was beautifully proportioned was at 5 feet two inches probably too short to feature as one of my “skin mag” models, as Donna would have put it.

I then plunged into the pool for lots of laps, while she baked in the Provence sun. Then she rolled over and called “Pool boy, my front please, and quick about it!”

I laughed and climbed from the water, dried down and ran my lotion-covered hands all over lush full front nudity, aware that as I did my eight-inch uncut cock began to rise to pay homage to her firm, nubile figure.

We dined early that – Pippa had had a long day. I did just rare steaks, a fantastic green salad, with olive and cheese from the village, all washed down by a huge Penfold’s Grange, one of the world’s truly great reds. It knocked her about, a sign that either she couldn’t handle a big red or the previous three vodka tonics had taken their toll, along with her long day.

After dinner, we cuddled in the fading sunlight on a shaded sun lounger and Pippa, hardly able to remain awake, slurred her words slightly but put her point firmly across.

“Now, darling uncle,” she told me, “I’m off to bed, I’m absolutely shattered. I’m really hot for you, but I think I should sleep in my own bed while I’m here, otherwise familiarity will extinguish the flame. Agreed?”

I nodded, kissing her on her pert little nose. “Agreed, Pip,” I told her.

“Curfew ends at 6 o’clock,” she announced, “so if you want to hop into my bed after that, then it’s fine by me.”

I picked her up in my arms and carried her upstairs, helped her out of her flimsy little sun dress, tucked her up in bed, kissed her gently on the mouth and ignoring the stirrings of the old fella down there, walked quietly from the room. It was hardly gone 9pm!

I enjoyed a quiet brandy and a fine Cuban cigar, then, around 10pm crashed. It felt as if I’d only been asleep for five minutes when I heard a sheet being pulled back from the bed and a warm, firm body snuggled up against my back and buttocks. I checked the bedside clock. It read 2.06!

“What happened to the 6 o’clock curfew, Pippa?” I asked, sleepily, and felt her hand reach around me and start to stroke my cock, which, with a mind of its own, was starting to stir into action mode.

“Oh, don’t worry about that, Jack,” she purred. “It’s got to be six o’clock somewhere in the world – I think it’s six in Sydney.”

“Sydney, Australia?” I laughed. “In Sydney’s it’s more like

midday. It’s probably around 6 in the morning in Thailand, give or take an hour.”

Pippa giggled: “Look Jack, are we going to argue about time zones all morning or are you going to fuck me?”

Well, she had me there. My cock was standing up ready to perform one of the two tasks it had been designed by nature to perform and as I rolled over to face her, my hand felt between her thighs and found that she was also in performance mode.

“Looks like a fuck, Pippa,” I announced, moving onto her and sliding my stiffness into the lush warmth ataşehir escort of her moist minge, driving into her up to the hilt, feeling our pubic bones bang together. Christ, she was a delight!

I thrust into her sweet succulence, then detected her starting to gasp, so I rolled her over till she was bucking and bouncing on my cock, her breasts jiggling in the moon’s eerie half light coming through the window.

I rose sdlightly and sucked on one firm cherry, then the other and it only took a couple of sucks – honest – for her to scream out “Fucking hell, uncle, that’s got me going, yes, yes, yes” and then she collapsed on my sweat-streaked chest, gasping what I took to be cries of delight.

Pippa pulled from my erection and lay on her tummy and was soon fast asleep, her lovely body rising and falling in contented rest. I meanwhile looked down at her, cock stiff and unassuaged. The little user, I laughed to myself, and I lay back and slept fitfully until I was woken by the sun streaming through the window.

I felt her side of the bed, still warm, but no sign of Pippa. I rose, showered, shaved, pulled on what I hoped my bossy little bitch would consider a suitably sexy little thong – a bright red number – and walked down to the kitchen.

She was seated, clad only in a little black bikini, at the old oak table which dominates my kitchen, poring over proof sheets of some of my models. “Oh, hi uncle,” she said, proferring a cheek for a kiss.

“What have you got there?” I demanded, sniffily, bestowing a brief kiss on her warm cheek.

“Oh, just some pictures, they’re rather sexy,” said Pippa.

“Where did you find them?” I demanded, knowing damn well where she’d found them.

“I was just going through your stuff in your office, uncle. Something wrong with that? Perhaps I’d find something you don’t want me to find? Pictures of mummy, maybe?”

“Don’t be silly,” I snapped, “I’ve never photographed your mum.”

“Well you should,” said Pippa, “she’s got a great figure for a 40-year-old. You could lie and say she’s 34 or 35, no one would be able to tell the difference.”

I smiled at her naivety, as I prepared us coffee and omelettes. “There’d be no need to do that, Pip,” I explained, as I started on the eggs. “There’s a huge market for pictures of mature women who have kept their good figures and have a certain hauteur.

“There’s a lot of magazines with titles like 40-plus, and they’ve got nothing to do with the size of the women’s busts. Men just love wanking to pictures of what the French describe as ‘women of a certain age’,” I told her.

“So you’d like to photograph her. Would you like to photograph me?” asked Pippa, thrusting her 38-inchers forward in a provocative display.

“No, that would not be a good idea, darling,” I told her. “If people came across my trade mark pictures showing you in all your glory they’d probably put two and two together and very quickly arrive at four. No, modelling your lush little body for me would not be a good idea.”

Omelettes made, coffee poured, I sat opposite her and we enjoyed breakfast. “Yum,” said Pippa, shovelling the eggs into her mouth somewhat indecorously, “you cook almost as good as you fuck.”

I let it ride, and then she pushed a spread sheet across the table to me: “And talking of fucking, I bet you did with her, eh?”

The sheet showed about 24 pictures of one of my favourite models, a stunningly structured black woman, her skin gleaming like ebony by my pool, her pussy wet and inviting.

“How can you tell, Pip?” I asked, smiling smugly.

“She’s got ‘I’ve fucked you eyes’ and she’s got a really moist pussy that says she’s looking forward to her next fuck,” said Pippa.

I laughed, and sipped on my piping hot black coffee. “Well for starters the moist pussy is there courtesy of the slightest application of Vaseline, which gives a perfect representation of an aroused woman’s minge,” I told her.

“But you’re right about the eyes. I had fucked her – and she was sensational!”

Pippa grinned: “OK, I was half right – and was she as sensational as me?”

“Now that would be telling. The jury’s still out on that,” I teased her, and she pushed back her chair, came round the table and rubbed her beautiful kadıköy escort bayan titties directly into my face.

“I demand a re-trial,” Pippa laughed, and I grabbed her round buttocks and pulled her into my lap, kissing her coffee-tasting mouth and running my hands roughly over breasts, feeling the erect nipples standing up in the shiny satin material.

Pushing the chair back, I lifted her glorious little body into my arms and took her back upstairs, threw her on the unmade bed and as I pulled my thong off to reveal my cock in its “Ready for action” stance, Pippa lifted her buttocks from the mattress and in a flash was out of her bikini bottom, then her bra.

This time I determined to adopt my preferred modus operandi on a fuck – cunnilingus, a quick taste of cock for her via fellatio, then intercourse. I knelt between her lovely firm thighs and tasted the incredible tangy pussy, its lips swollen and randy, her cunt dripping and in equally “Fuck me” state.

Pippa gasped loudly as I went to work with my oral adoration on her fantastic fleshy pussy, grinding herself slowly on my mouth as I worshipped her teenager tenderness, flicking from anus and cunt up to clit and back down again until she was panting “Fuck me, Jack, fuck me!”

I rose, but was not yet ready to allow her my shaft in her cunt, placing it instead to her mouth, where her sensually-thick lips accepted it way down past the ring, sucking on me like a pump.

Hastily I realised she could, as one American president put it, “suck a golf ball through a mile of plastic hose”, and I pulled away from the delights of her face to the equally delicious delights of her minge, thrusting smoothly but eagerly into her tight little cunt, feeling that wonderful tug as her vagina’s walls tightened around my foreskin, dragging it back to its ring.

Soon we had established a smooth, wonderful rhythm of fucking, her pubic bone thrusting down to meet me on the upstroke, her breasts standing up like beacons eager for the occasional suck and kiss and lick, as I pulled my mouth from her sweet-tasting lips and tongue to her tasty titties.

Before long something had to give and it was Pippa who, when she announced a nearing orgasm, I found, meant she was almost on the verge of climax. Her warning of “Fuck me, Jack, fuck me” had hardly escaped her lips than she was panting: “Yes, yes, oh fucking yes, that’s it, so fucking, fucking it!” And she had come.

But now, she was not going to escape with a fuck and leave me unsatiated. Her announcement of completion was the signal for me to place my knees in her armpits and present my cock, its helmet pink and glistening from her sex, to her mouth.

She opened her lips in an adorable “O” shape and took my cock deep into her mouth, sucking on me again with an energy that once more amazed me. I couldn’t stand too much of it, and soon I was bucking and fucking against her face until, with a bellow born by my frustration that had begun building from around 2 in the morning, I pumped my seed down her voracious little throat.

I stayed in position until Pippa withdrew her mouth from my stiffness, kissed it sweetly on the piss lips, then adjusted my foreskin until it again covered my helmet.

Sinking down beside her, I kissed her slowly on the mouth and then entered her with my tongue, tasting as I did some traces of semen which she had not yet swallowed. Our tongues melted together, licking and assimilating my juices, until we fell apart, panting and laughing.

Pippa then propped herself up on one elbow and smiled down at me: “Now, am I forgiven for delving into your naughty porn pile?”

I looked at her in make belief anger. “Tastefully erotic glamour photography, you wicked little hussy,” I laughed.

Pippa grinned back: “And is that fuckin’ jury still out, uncle?”

I rolled on top of her and nibbled at her edible little nose. “Er, the jury’s come back and it wants to re-hear some of the evidence,” I told her.

“Bastard!” she laughed, punching me on my shoulder and twisting out from beneath my body. “Well in that case, the jury’s going to have to wait till this afternoon, ‘cos I’m going out to lay by the pool and work through your proof sheets to find which ones of those models you fucked escort maltepe and which you didn’t!”

Outside, Pippa spent the rest of the morning lying naked on a lounger, flicking through the spread sheets, guessing – sometimes correctly – which models I had fucked, but more often than not getting it wrong, as I guess I would fuck maybe one in 25 of the women who get sent to me by the magazines and photographic agencies.

Inside, in the cool of the kitchen, Pippa sucked on a Becks while I prepared lunch. Half-way through I took a call from my mistress, Yvette, the 25-year-old blonde from Avignon, who told me she’d not be arriving this evening, some stock taking or something, but would be here tomorrow for the weekend.

“I’ve got my niece from London,” I told her. “She’s staying for a month. You’ll like her – she’s lovely, a bit pushy, but lovely.”

Yvette paused: “Pushy I can ‘andle, it’s lovely I’m a bit doubtful about, Jack!” We both laughed and hung up.

“That was Yvette,” I told Pippa, “she’s arriving for the week-end tomorrow. You two’ll get on like a house on fire.”

We lunched, then Pippa plonked down her empty beer bottle and leered at me – there’s no other word for it. “Now let’s get that fuckin’ jury to make up its mind, Jack!”

I picked her up, she was nude save for high heels, and we once more went upstairs to my bedroom and I laid her gently on the bed, then stepped out of my thong. Pippa lay back, stretching like a cat, her shoes still on, which somehow made her look more naked.

“What’s the jury want to know first, Jack?” she asked, smiling up at me.

I knelt on the bed, cock swaying stiffly. “It wants to check the taste of the witness’s pussy again,” I said, lying between those wonderful thighs and licking the incredibly sweet, tangy-tasting minge.

“What’s the verdict, Mr Foreman?” she asked, after I had licked and laved there for a while.

“Guilty,” I grunted.

“Next?” inquired my lovely little teenage niece.

“The jury now wants to check out the mouth for fuckability or fellatio finesse,” I said, rather childishly pleased with the alliteration of “fuckability” and “fellatio finesse”.

My cock rose to her mouth as I placed my knees in her armpits once more. Pippa’s tongue snaked out and licked my ball sac, then ran up my shaft to my drooling cock head. Finally, she took my helmet in her mouth and sucked strongly on it, so strongly I had to pull out, for fear of an early ejaculation.

“And next, Mr Fucking Foreman?” she asked sweetly.

“The jury’s next task is to test out the witness’s tit fuckability,” I said, trying to control my rasping, excited voice.

I lay my erection between her 38-inch twin peaks and began a slow fuck ride between the lush firmness of her golden globes, my foreskin being pulled slightly back from the helmet on each upthrust.

Fearing once more a hasty completion to my fucking, I pulled back from this intense delight and heard Pippa announce: “Now Mr Foreman, will the jury please fucking well get on with it!”

“Just one more thing to be check out, witness,” I panted, “and that’s cunt cockability. Or, can the lady fuck?”

“Thank fuck,” said my filthy-mouthed little minx. “Just get on with it.”

And I plunged my eight inches of throbbing heat into her cunt, revelling again in the smooth, satiny tightness of her vaginal walls.

But my pussy, mouth and breast checks had been too much for me. I had hardly started thrusting than I realised that I was extremely close to ejaculating. There was no chance of giving my witness her rightful orgasm, my lust was in charge and was going to enjoy itself and fuck her, pardon the expression.

The surge started in my testes, roared into my shaft and then crashed out into her cunt, giving away the jury’s verdict well before it was called on to deliver it orally!

Pippa smiled up at me and kissed me tenderly on the mouth.

“And tell me, darling Mr Foreman, has the jury reach a conclusion? It certainly feels like it.”

I gathered my thoughts as my cock started to dwindle and slithered out of her juicy cunt.

Then I rolled onto my side and kissed her on the mouth. “Well, darling witness,” I told her, “I’m afraid I have to tell you this is a murder case.”

“And?” Pippa asked, arching her eyebrows above those deep, brown-eyed swimming pools which were her eyes.

“You’re guilty, Pippa, guilty as charged.”

“Guilty of what?” she pressed me.

I laughed: “Having a body to die for!”

To be continued…

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