Caution: This Coming of Age Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/ft, Consensual, Heterosexual, Incest, Uncle, Niece, First, .
Desc: Coming of Age Sex Story: Chapter 1 - There is a story about a frog that is put into a pot of water at room temperature. The pot is put on the stove and the heat is increased slowly. The frog is alleged not to realize he is being cooked, even up to his final moments. I understand that frog, because in a sense, the same thing happened to me. My house was the pot. My niece and her two friends were the water. And a happy little accident was the source of the heat that slowly cooked me.
I looked up as the three girls came running toward me, screaming as if they were being pursued by ogres. I wasn't surprised. It was the same three girls who had been running around my back yard for years, screaming as if the world was coming to an end. It happened every summer, and it should have seemed as normal as the sun coming up.
But this time, as I looked up, the book I'd been reading was forgotten as my eyes took in the lush curves and bouncing breasts of my niece and her two summertime friends.
Emma lived next door to me and was the first to form a bond with Caitlin (my sister's daughter) when I took her in for two weeks so my sister could go on her honeymoon with her second husband. Those two weeks worked out rather well, and the next summer the eleven year old tomboy asked if she could "have another vacation with Uncle Bob". Her mother agreed.
That year Emma introduced Caitlin to Ashley who lived two blocks away and was now Emma's best friend. They became the three musketeers and their kingdom was my back yard. Their "moat" is my in ground swimming pool, and it's big enough to swim laps in.
So when Caitlin and I weren't going on "adventures" there was usually a lot of splashing and screaming in my back yard.
That was all fine back when they were prepubescent. They made a lot of noise, and they dashed around as if they were running from their worst nightmares, but I could still read and do lifeguard duty at the same time. They wore bikinis which, had they been on bigger, bustier girls, might have been interesting. But on these girls they were merely strips of cloth that covered the parts their mothers wanted covered. I honestly think they'd have been just as happy running around buck naked, like they probably did when they were toddlers.
But that year turned into a "tradition", where Caitlin travelled from far away California to the windy plains of Oklahoma each summer to spend two, then three, and eventually four weeks with her Uncle Bob, who treated her like an adult as long as she acted like one. What that meant was that I didn't coddle her, or require that she behave in any particular way. She was just Caitlin and we did whatever she had the urge to do as long as it was safe.
What that means is that she wanted to go rock climbing, and fishing and camping. I had a dirt bike I liked to climb hills with, and she wanted to learn to ride it. Instead of putting her on my 450, I bought her a 175 and let her learn on that. She eventually moved up to a two fifty, which was fine, considering all she weighed was a hundred and ten pounds.
And then one year she asked if I'd drive her back to California, so we could camp and see some of the national parks along the way. The first year we did that, when she was fourteen, we did Yellowstone. I booked us rooms in the lodge and we spent two days there, seeing the sights. The next year it was Big Bend, in Texas, taking the southern route back home. The following year we toured the Rockies and Mesa Verde. That Christmas, when I Skyped them for the holidays, she got in front of the computer and said she'd already decided what we were going to do the next time she came. And that was tour the Grand Canyon and Carlsbad Caverns on the way back home.
"But this year we're going to tent camp instead of staying in motels!" she said, excitedly. "I want to rough it," she had said. "You know, get a taste of what it was like for the pioneers as they moved west."
But looking at Caitlin and her friends now, I had a glimmer of how easily things could all come crashing down. My niece was all grown up, and she was a babe. Spending nights in close proximity to her in a tent might have been disastrous. But, at the last minute, I'd gotten a break. She had some kind of sports camp thing she had to be back in California for and, rather than cut her visit short and drive back, she had opted to stay just as long, and then return to the coast by air, as she had done in the past.
Looking at her now, I was kind of glad about that, because I'd have been a basket case staying in a tent with her for four or five nights.
Yeah, I know, she was only seventeen, but you couldn't tell it by looking. Suddenly she looked like she should be in college, instead of finishing up high school. And her friends were right there with her. All of them had the lush curves of young women ready for the adult dance of love and passion.
Not that I hadn't noticed this over the years before this. Basically, I got a yearly update on how puberty was treating the musketeers. I watched those polka dotted bikini tops begin to show that there was actually something under them, and those mounds got bigger every year. The girls didn't seem to notice, though. While their bodies changed, they seemed to stay exactly the same when they gathered in the back yard to jump in the pool and play the kind of silly games that kids play everywhere.
When they were fourteen and fifteen, they seemed a little shier in some ways, a little less sure of themselves, perhaps. Ashley had braces and she hated them, thinking they made her look like a robot of some kind. I told her that was nonsense and that the braces would simply help her teeth become as beautiful as the rest of her.
It was just an offhand comment ... you know ... something to help her get through a tough time. I had no idea it would have such far reaching effects on my life. In fact, I didn't even think she'd remember me saying it. After all, I was thirty, practically ancient in their minds. The only interest they had in me was that I had a swimming pool in my back yard and a niece who was fun to play with while she was in town.
And it was obvious Caitlin's two friends had no interest in me. Once Caitlin and I got in the car to make the drive to the west coast, I didn't see them for the rest of the summer.
Well, I saw Emma, of course. I mean she lived right next door to me. I almost had to run into her occasionally. But when I did all she did was wave and say something like "Hi, Mr. Simmons" and that was it. All they were interested in was Caitlin, and my pool when Caitlin was in town.
Which is why I was somewhat surprised when Ashley changed direction from the other two and came running directly toward me. They'd been out somewhere and I took the opportunity of the peace and quiet to sit by the pool and read. I knew they'd eventually be back, and I knew they'd want to swim. They always did, and acting as the "lifeguard" was a habit, even though they were now old enough to take care of themselves. I hadn't heard them come in, but it was impossible to ignore them as they ran onto the patio, headed for the pool. I saw a packet of paper in Ashley's right hand as she trotted over to me.
"Here's your mail, Mr. Simmons," she panted, bending over and extending her hand. "We got it from the box on our way in."
I had a premonition of what the Grand Canyon might be like as she held her pose, bent over, waiting for me to take the mail from her hand. Then my mind flashed through a little, admittedly silly fantasy, wherein her much too small bikini top failed in its attempt to keep her entirely too large breasts cupped in their embrace. The bikini parted between the cups and, in this fantasy, they fell about a foot to land on my chest, bouncing up and down like basketballs.
I told you it was silly.
I realized I was staring at her cleavage, and that my mail was still in her hand. I didn't know how long she'd been bent over like that, but I knew it was longer than propriety demanded. I dragged my eyes from her truly luscious cleavage up to her face, whereupon I realized I was busted big time. But instead of screaming at me for staring at her breasts, there was this little half smile, a sort of almost smirk.
"Your mail?" she reminded me.
I grabbed it." Thanks," I croaked.
"No problem," she said, smiling normally.
I would never have known anything was up, except that as she ran back to the other two my eyes saw that they'd been watching this delivery of mail entirely too intently, and my ears heard her excited whisper as she got back to them.
"You were right! He did stare right at them!"
I heard one of the girls say "I told you!" but I couldn't tell which one it was.
The point is that, quite suddenly from my perspective, the girls were all grown up ... and not just physically. I was pretty sure that Ashley Paddington, who had gotten her driver's license just last year, had also just flashed me her boobs.
And that wasn't the worst part. The worst part was that, if my instincts (and ears, of course) were working smoothly, there were other partners abetting her in that particular crime.
Hmmmm. Bad analogy. Sorry. There were no victims in this little social offense.
No sir. None at all. I almost called her back to ask her to bend over again so I could give her a second opinion.
But I didn't. Instead I lifted the book, as if nothing was wrong, and pretended to read while I surreptitiously watched the three hooligans over the top of the pages. Their heads were together and they were giggling like they were ten instead of seventeen. As I watched, my niece reached back with both hands and did that thing girls do to reposition their bikini bottoms. You know what I'm talking about. They hook a finger under the cloth and pull it away from the skin and down. It's an unconscious thing most of the time, just instinct encouraging them to be a little more modest or make things more comfortable. I'd seen these girls do that at least a hundred times, if not more.
But not since they were all grown up and teasing me like Ashley just had.
I know what you're thinking. You're thinking they had all decided to offer up their virginity to the older man they all thought of as Caitlin's cool uncle, and that I had to satisfy all three of them that night as I taught them how wonderful it was to have orgasms while full of hot, stiff prick.
Okay. So maybe that's what I was thinking about. But it wasn't like that. Wasn't like that at all. They swam for all of fifteen minutes and then ran into the house, where I knew they were taking showers and getting dressed for whatever was actually planned next.
Which wouldn't be their mass defloration, by the way. I knew that.
It might be a trip to the mall, or it might be a session of (re)painting each other's nails or doing each other's hair. They might even go for a run together. Caitlin was a surfer, and liked to stay in shape. And I know Emma played soft ball. She had that muscled slightly broad build that reminds you of those gymnasts in the Olympics, except that her chest was way too busty for that particular group.
And when had that happened? These girls had all gone into a closet and grown up before coming back out again to make my day much more interesting.
Not that I thought anything would actually happen. I knew better than that. Caitlin wasn't a vamp. She was a sweet girl whose major struggle in life thus far had been that she wanted to do whatever her older step-brother got to do, and ran afoul of her mother's desire to protect her from harm in the process. American culture wasn't too happy with her either, for that matter. Girls are expected to want to do girly stuff.
In any case, I was on solid ground now. They'd been taking showers (together?) for as long as they'd been using my pool, and I had fantasized about what that must look like for more years than I would like to admit to. Even at twelve, with those svelte, curveless bodies, I'd wished I could watch them scamper around Caitlin's bedroom naked. And now that they had found all those missing curves, it would be oh, so much better.
So I thought about that for a few seconds, and then adjusted the erection that had suddenly bloomed in my shorts, and went back to reading. If they needed anything from me, they knew where I was.
What I was not aware of was that Caitlin was looking out the window at me from her bedroom when I did the adjusting.
And she was completely aware of what I was doing when I did it.
Things might have ended right there. After all, it isn't unusual for a young woman to experiment a little with trying to see what it's like to get a man to notice her. But it rarely goes farther than that, at least when the man is almost old enough to be her father. I certainly didn't expect Ashley to do anything else, much less Caitlin. At least not with me.
But little things happen that, like the fabled wings of the butterfly on one side of the earth, can cause a hurricane on the other side of the planet.
And some of those little things that I think changed everything for all three of the girls that summer happened just about the time I closed my book and got up to go inside and find something to divert my mind from imagining those three little beauties frolicking together in the big walk-in shower in the bathroom Caitlin had claimed as her own while she was staying at my house.
The diversion I chose was to make myself a three layer sandwich of Black Forest ham, smoked turkey, cheese and Miracle Whip. I had the cheese on it and was slicing the tomato and lettuce to complete the masterpiece when I heard a thump upstairs that was louder than the usual thumps and bumps these girls regularly produced. About a minute later, after I had taken only one bite of a really delicious sandwich, Emma came tearing into the kitchen.
"Kat's hurt!" she blurted." She fell and hurt her ankle! You need to come quick!"
I put down the sandwich and followed Emma, who was now wearing shorts and a tank top. Her blond hair was cut in what used to be called a pageboy style, and as I went up the stairs behind her I noticed there was no bra strap marring the smooth surface of her back. I was thinking about what the front of that shirt might look like until I heard Caitlin moaning in pain and forgot about Emma.
She was lying on the bed on her side, with her left leg out in front of her. She was holding her ankle with both hands. Ashley was beside her looking concerned, but otherwise doing nothing.
"What happened?" I asked, automatically being the adult. It showed how worried the girls were that they told the truth instead of making something up.
"She was jumping on the bed and she bounced funny and that foot went on the floor instead of the bed," said Emma.
"Jumping on the bed?" I asked, incredulous. These girls were in high school, not eight years old.
"Is it broken?" asked Ashley, obviously very worried.
"Let me see it," I said.
I went to the foot of the bed and sat sort of sideways while I reached for Caitlin's foot. I didn't grasp it, but instead just told her to lay it on my lap. She did that, scooting around on the bed and ending up lying on her back with her right foot behind me.
That's one of the "little things" I mentioned earlier. She just happened to position herself with her legs spread. It was simple serendipity.
I formed a cradle with my hands and she gingerly let her calf down on one hand while I supported her bare heel with the other. The ankle was swollen, but normally colored.
"Can you move your toes?" I asked.
Her toes moved just a little, then more.
"Yes," she said, tears in her voice.
"Now point your toe," I instructed her.
Very slowly she extended. I watched the ankle, which looked pretty normal, and then looked up to see what her face was registering.
At least that's what I meant to do. Along the way, as my eyes went up the length of her leg on the way to her face, they encountered the gaping leg of her oversized cargo shorts. Those shorts were all the rage those days, having multiple pockets and being much too big around the hips. They were made of thick cotton and had to be held on with a belt.
What I saw through that oversized, gaping leg opening was the fact that sweet little Caitlin was going commando.
More than that, I got a crystal clear view of pussy lips that belonged on a woman twice her age. By that, I mean her outer labia weren't tight and rolled in to create the classic camel toe. No, these lips were loose and wrinkled, full enough that I instantly imagined sucking them between my lips and sort of chewing on them. They were pale pink, lying nestled between even paler thighs and there wasn't a trace of hair anywhere around them.
I heard Emma gasp beside me. She had ended up standing right at the bottom of Caitlin's foot. When Caitlin had pointed her toe, in fact, it was right at Emma.
So, basically, Emma could see exactly what I could see.
I think it was the gasp, combined with the fact that things didn't hurt as much as she expected them to, that caused Caitlin to move her gaze from her injured ankle to her friend's face. I know this because I tore my eyes away from her delicious looking pussy and finally looked at her face.
"What?" she asked, sounding worried. She hadn't seen anything wrong with her ankle, and the pain hadn't been bad. But Emma's gasp had alerted her that something was wrong.
Emma was apparently still rattled, because again she just blurted out the truth.
"I can see your coochie!" she panted. Her meaning was obvious. If she could see it ... I could too.
"Coochie?" I had to keep myself from laughing. It actually helped calm me down. "What? Are you guys in third grade? Let's worry about her ankle instead of her ... coochie." I said the offending word in a high-pitched voice, trying to sound very young. I went on immediately without knowing why I felt that was important. I've thought about it since then, and have decided that something in my brain wanted to distract them from her visibility issues.
That's because I wanted to keep looking, of course, but I didn't realize it just then.
In my defense, I did examine the ankle. It was swelling even more, but I was pretty sure it was no more than a sprain, if that. I gently used the hand cupping her heel to begin moving the ankle through larger and larger arcs of movement.
But I confess I didn't look at the ankle while I did this. Instead, I used my side vision to stare at that luscious young pussy. I was even so perverted as to move her ankle away from me a little, probably trying to see if those sticky looking lips would part and hint of the cavern my cock had stiffened for.
And that was another of those "little things" that happened that day.
Like my niece (though I wasn't aware she was on the plan too, ) I don't wear any underwear. I just like the feel of the freedom of movement. Makes going to the john quicker too. You just have to ensure you shake well.
Unlike my niece, I was wearing shorts that fit me snugly. Running shorts, to be exact, the kind that are mostly cotton, but have some other stuff in them too. They fit me pretty well, which means a boner inside them is very visible. What made it even worse was that, because I had sat down while the thing was soft, it was aimed at the opening of the leg, and when it decided it needed to be ready to plunder Caitlin's luscious pussy, and therefore stiffened, the tip peeked out of the leg opening.
I heard Emma gasp again and looked up to see her looking at my crotch.
That's when I looked down and learned what I just told all you nice people.
"Sorry," I said, for some insane reason. My right hand abandoned Caitlin's heel and reached to pull on the leg of my shorts, covering up the one-eyed snake that had been trying to slither out into the warm sunlight.
"Oh-Em-Gee!" gasped Emma, who on this day, at least, had some strange compulsion to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. "He's got a boner!" She pointed, just in case anybody in the room might not understand which "he" she was referring to.
I looked up at my niece's face. I loved Caitlin, and did not want to hurt her feelings. Further, I didn't want her to be afraid of me. We'd had too many good times to fuck things up now.
I actually saw the pink blush bloom at the top of her chest, which was exposed by the tank top she was wearing. It was identical to the ones her two friends were wearing, except that hers was yellow, while Emma's was powder blue and Ashley's was lime green. My eyes were drawn to two distinct points just below that bloom of pink, and then I dragged them back to watch the blush stain her cheeks, eventually going as far as her forehead.
But she didn't reach to close the gap in the leg of her shorts.
She met my gaze and I saw what I almost thought was defiance there. I don't know why, but I decided to mess with her a little. I looked back at her stiff nipples, and then up to her face. I was sure she saw exactly where I was looking. Then I looked up her shorts again, and back to her face. That's when the blush reached her forehead, by the way.
"I think it's just sprained," I said, looking right in her eyes. "I've got an ace bandage in the bathroom. I'll wrap it up and we'll see if you can put any weight on it. If you can't, I think I've got some crutches around here somewhere too. Okay?"
"Yes," she said. Her breathing was both deeper and faster than her circumstances would normally have suggested. "Thank you," she added.
I looked at the dimples her excited nipples were making in the thin fabric of the shirt, and then up her shorts again. She watched me do that and swallowed.
"You're welcome," I said, softly.
I looked at the other girls, who were smart enough to know something besides the ankle had just happened. They had wide, round eyes.
And their nipples were spiked as well.
When I returned with the ace bandage I interrupted an excited conversation that was cut off like the end of a carrot with a meat cleaver. I noticed the shorts had been rearranged, so all I did was pay attention to the ankle as I wrapped it. When I was finished I looked directly at her still pink face and said "Gently, now ... try to put a little weight on it."
She lifted her legs, putting them together, and rolled to sit on the side of the bed. Emma went to lend her a shoulder as she scooted forward and touched the floor.
"It's not so bad now," she said.
Pervert that I am, my mind flashed to that same comment in a very different context, which involved the two of us naked, with me on top of her.
"You want to try standing up?" I asked.
She nodded, looking down at her ankle. I think the pain had all her attention at that point. Ashley came around and her two friends became her crutches as she stood, first on one foot, and then letting her weight settle on both.
"It hurts," she said." But I don't think it's broken or anything."
"I don't either," I said. "But we need to keep an eye on it. First, though, let's get an ice pack on it for a while. You can try walking on it later."
I went to put ice cubes in a quart sized zip lock bag and returned. My cock was under control now, and hanging harmlessly again.
"Twenty minutes lying down," I said, "before you try to stand up again. I'll go look for the crutches."
"Yes, sir," she said, looking at me. I saw her blush again. I wondered if something bad had just happened, and I wasn't thinking about the ankle. I hoped not. I really did think the world of her, and the last thing I wanted was for her to decide that her summers with Uncle Bob had come to a screeching halt.
"We'll stay with her," said Ashley, needlessly.
I hadn't really expected either of them to come help me search for a pair of crutches.
I found the aluminum crutches in the garage, right where I thought they'd be. When I got back to her bedroom, the girls had recovered their composure. I say that because I didn't interrupt an excited confab this time. They were confident again, and there were no traces of giggling or foolishness, though all those nipples were still erect. Now that I think back on it, that should have been a warning. It would have been better if they'd been a little giddy and "girlish" about things, if you know what I mean.
But young women who are stretching their sexual wings, in an environment they feel safe in, are often less wary than would be wise.
Again, I want the kind reader out there to understand that I wasn't trying to help these girls explore their sexuality. Not at all. But girls do that, just like boys do, and they do it whenever and wherever they feel is the "right time" to open up to new experiences.
So all I did was deliver the crutches, remind her to keep the ice on her ankle for at least ten more minutes, and call me if she felt like she needed to be seen at the hospital.
Then I left them in her room to return to my sandwich.
The bread had dried out and was all crusty.
I sighed and ate it anyway.
I was working on a project in my CAD program when Ashley tapped on the open doorway of my office. I'm an architect, and I have my own business, so I get to work when I want to.
"She's going to take a nap," she said, leaning into the room just a little. "We didn't know if we should leave the ice pack on her ankle while she falls asleep or not."
"Won't hurt a thing," I said." No more jumping on the beds. Got it?"
"It was just this once," she said, immediately. "It was just to..."
The silence made me look from the screen to the nervous looking girl at my office door.
"Just to what?" I asked.
"Nothing," she said, obviously lying." We're going to go now."
"Okay," I said." See you tomorrow?"
I don't know why I asked that question. Maybe it was just me on autopilot. The musketeers got together every day that Caitlin was in town, unless she and I were doing something that excluded her friends. That didn't happen all that often. We'd done all the museums and sights-to-see things when she was younger.
"Really?" She sounded worried, somehow. "You're not mad?"
"Why would I be mad?" I asked." She jumped on the bed, and now she's living with the consequences of it. It's just a life lesson in making better decisions," I said.
"Decisions," she said, softly.
"Yes," I said, looking at her. I suddenly realized she was wearing a bra again under the tank top. "You make decisions as you grow up, and then you have to live with the results of those decisions."
"Of course," she said." Okay. Good."
I wondered what that meant, but she turned and was gone like smoke from a good cigar in a cool breeze.
I gave it another twenty minutes at the computer and then went upstairs to check on Caitlin. She wasn't in bed.
I found her outside again, on a chaise lounge by the pool. The crutches were lying on the concrete beside her, the ace bandage was gone, and the ice pack, or what was left of it, was draped across her ankle. She was in her bikini again, laying out in the sun, eyes closed.
"Well, you made it down here," I said.
She opened her eyes." Yeah. It's not as bad as I originally thought."
"Good," I said." You need to take it easy for a while, though."
"I know," she said. Then, "Uncle Bob?"
There was a long pause, until she eventually said, "Never mind."
Now she wasn't so confident. Gone was the brash young woman who put herself out there to see what would happen and didn't worry about it before hand. It made me a little sad to see that. I was used to the fearless tomboy, who was willing to take on just about any challenge. We'd always been able to talk about things, just about anything, in fact, and I did not view her reticence now as a good thing. I think that's what made me say what I said.
"You want to talk about it?"
"About what?" she responded, still firmly reticent.
"I think you know," I suggested.
She blushed beet red, and I knew she knew that I knew she knew.
"Maybe," she said, softly.
"Whenever you're ready," I said." I'm going for a swim."
"Is it okay for me to get in the water with my leg like this?" she asked, obviously glad that the subject had been changed.
"Sure. In fact that's probably the best thing you could do for it," I said. "The water will support your weight, and you can work the ankle, loosening it up."
"Will you help me get to the water?" she asked, sitting up.
"You don't mind if your pervert uncle touches you?" I couldn't resist it. Don't ask me why.
Her eyes widened. I knew she was shocked that I was that open about things. Then that stubborn tomboy appeared suddenly on her face.
"I don't think of you as a pervert," she said, firmly.
"Maybe you should," I shot back.
That got her, but not for long.
"I'm not worried about being around you," she said. "In fact..." She closed down, and then hastily said, "Never mind. Help me into the pool, mister pervert."
I helped her to the pool with her arm over my shoulders and my hand on her side, my fingertips just below her breast, lying on her ribs. It was so tempting to cup that breast ... but I didn't. She hopped along to the edge of the pool and then let go of me to fall in, body extended. She landed on her back, arms spread, bad foot up in the air. I saw the cups of her top float briefly to the surface before being dragged down by her descending body. The water cleared enough for me to see her naked young breasts as she grabbed for the errant top and tried to put things back into place while holding her breath and staying off her bad foot.
She came up, spluttering, arms behind her and kicked, like she normally would. That hurt the ankle, though, and she went under with a gurgle.
I jumped in, dove under her and pushed her up with one hand on her firm bubble but. Her arms had left off trying to get modest again, in support of not drowning, and the bikini top was again floating in the water. From where I was I could see her breasts and they were just as delightful as her lower parts had been. I pushed off the bottom to come up beside her and gripped one of her upper arms, pulling her toward the shallow end.
She struggled at first, and then realized what I was doing, and went limp, knowing it would be easier for me to tow her like that. She spent plenty of time in the ocean and was well trained about water safety as a result.
I got her to where we could stand and put her on her feet. Her hands covered her breasts as she stood up, but the instinct to wipe the water out of her eyes was too strong and her breasts were left briefly bare as she cleared her vision. Then the hands went back to cover her nipples.
"I've seen them before," I said, calmly.
"When?" she gasped.
"Not yours," I laughed." But I've seen other breasts on other women. Coochies too, for that matter." I said that intentionally, emphasizing the word I was deriding.
"That's just the word we use in private," she barked.
"And you're old enough to use the proper word," I suggested.
"Vagina sounds so stupid," she shot back.
"I was thinking pussy," I said.
"Uncle Bob!" she gasped.
"Well, when you flash yours at someone, don't expect them to call it by any other name," I said, grinning. This didn't seem so terribly serious now. It was more like before, when we were able to talk about other things most people don't talk about. Like the time she'd been watching a DVD and I told her I was going to the grocery store and asked if she wanted anything.
"Tampons," she'd said, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. In truth I think she was distracted by the movie, and that lowered her inhibitions.
"I've never bought tampons before," I said. "Are there more than one kind?"
She had blushed then, and said, "I'll just go with you."
But on the way I'd insisted she teach me all about tampons. By the time she was finished, it didn't seem so strange any more. That kind of atmosphere asserted itself now, as odd as that might sound.
"I didn't flash it at you," she said. "I mean I didn't mean for you to see me there."
"Why didn't you cover up, then?" I asked. It was a legitimate question.
"I don't know," she said. "Now turn around so I can fix my suit."
"No," I said, calmly.
"What do you mean no?" she asked, staring at me.
"You turn around and I'll tie it for you," I said.
She blinked several times, looking confused.
"Okay," she said.
She turned and arranged the suit to cover her breasts. I reached around, inserted my fingers under the edge of the bottom of the cups, and then slid them back to find the strings. My fingertips brushed the bottoms of her breasts in the process and she sucked in air and moved backwards. All that did was make her run into me, and that bubble butt pressed right on my cock. Thankfully it wasn't hard at the time.
"I thought you weren't afraid of me," I said, pulling on the strings.
"I'm not!" she barked, looking over her shoulders at me. "You just startled me, that's all."
I tied the strings in a bow and pushed her away from me. She turned, looking disgruntled.
"You're a beautiful young woman," I said, calmly. "Don't be surprised that, like any other man, I'd be more than happy to view that beauty any time I get the chance."
She was startled. That was plain. I would find out later that the bouncing on the bed business was for the purpose of exploring what bouncing breasts looked like without a bra on. The idea was for them to watch each other and say whether it looked sexy or gross. The going commando part (they were all that way too) was just for the excitement of doing that. They didn't intend anybody (me) to see them like that, and when it had happened, it had all seemed out of control to them. They weren't ready for that much exposure, but when it happened, it was something none of them could ignore. They were still processing the results, and she didn't expect me to approach the subject so boldly.
"Thank you," she said, somewhat dazed. I think it was just her mother's training on what to do when one complimented you.
"You're welcome. I've abused you more than enough for one day. I'll go get something ready for supper."
I had the sliding door open when she called out to me and I turned. She was standing there, looking at me.
"You didn't abuse me," she said.
"I'm glad," I responded.