"For every absolutely gorgeous piece of ass in the world, there is some guy who is sick and tired of fucking her."
Ain't that one of mankind's most enduring and ironic truths! It doesn't matter how great the pussy a guy is getting, after a while, the "grass is greener" syndrome must kick in. I've known guys who cheated on their ultra-hot girlfriends with girls who were practically dogs — but dogs they hadn't fucked yet. Okay, I'll admit, I used to do the same thing myself in my college and dating days.
I suppose the urge is biological. The male seeking to spread his seed far and wide, to breed as many fertile wombs as possible. All subconscious, of course. Or maybe not completely subconscious — whereas few women would find the notion of bearing five children by five different men appealing or even sexy, I think most men find the idea of having children by five different women conceptually appealing as hell (if they can put the likely financial and social consequences out of mind momentarily!).
So what has me holding forth on this philosophy right now? The arrival of my fourteen-year-old niece, Simone.
Simone came to live was us — my wife Tabitha, my fifteen-year-old daughter Tina, and myself -- about a month ago. She is the daughter of my wife's twin sister, Tawny. That sister, a single mother, is doing a year in prison for check fraud, and we're taking her daughter in with us until she gets out. Now don't get the wrong idea — neither my wife nor I move in the world of crime at all! In fact, her incarceration took us completely by surprise, as we were unaware of my sister-in-law's prior arrests on the same charge (she and Simone have been living across the country from us). In any case, although we have visited back and forth through the years, it was this more "permanent" arrival of my niece that has me speaking of that delightful agony: the craving for "strange" pussy.
Despite the fact that my wife is gorgeous, and the fact that I get more sex than most men my age could keep up with, the tantalizing nuisance of my niece's delicious, "strange" body is almost unbearable.
And I could swear that the little minx is taunting me, teasing me, and flirting with me! I tell you, if she doesn't cool it, I may find myself one of these nights sneaking into her bedroom and fucking some respect for her elders into her! Mmmm. Yummy. I'll probably use that mental imagery tonight to spice up my real sex-life.
The funny thing about mankind's drive for strange pussy, I have noticed, is that it is not always a drive for variety, really. In other words, lots of guys don't seek strange just to get, say, a red-headed break from the blonde they're getting regularly. Rather, the pussy seems most often to be selected for the simple expediency of not being the exact one they already have. In other words, the strange female is sought not for different characteristics, but for simply being a different woman.
Let me give you an example of my point. I had a buddy in college, Tom, who for the longest time dated this Korean girl, Jae Yung, who was a year behind us. She was pretty, and sexy, and at nineteen and twenty had the body and face of a twelve-year old! If it sounds strange to you that Tom was attracted to her, bear in mind that most of the guys who met her desperately wanted to fuck her themselves, me included.
Anyway, they had a routine of sleeping over at Tom's place almost every night of the three semesters they were together. So Tom was fucking this delicious morsel every day at least once. But you know where this is going — despite this, Tom was perpetually jonesing for some strange pussy!
Every once in a while, when Tom thought he had an angle on some strange (say the girl he had coffee with after his Psych class, or what have you), he would go to extraordinary lengths to arrange an opportunity to get free of Jae Yung's scrutiny long enough to tag it. I know because he'd often get me to help him put together an alibi in advance. I was happy to comply, not only because I completely sympathized with his drives, but also because on at least six or seven of these occasions, I took advantage of his guaranteed absence to fuck Jae Yung myself! Now that's a different story, but I should be clear that I never shared my knowledge of Tom's activities or his whereabouts with Jae Yung in order to convince her to let me cuckold him. That would have been an absolute betrayal of his trust, not to mention the Guy Code!
Although I can still visualize from twenty years ago how Jae Yung's girlish bottom would bounce up and down as she repeatedly impaled herself on my thick prick in the classic "reverse cowgirl" position, like I said, that's another story. What is germane to our present purpose is what Tom was up to.
Was he finding strange pussy?
Was he indulging in variety, distinct from the slim-hipped, almond-eyed, smooth-skinned, tiny-tittied, virtually hairless little Korean cupcake he could have everyday -- perhaps taking an exotic excursion into the very disparate comforts of, say, a big-titted blonde, an Amazonian redhead, or an ebony princess, as a change of pace from Jae Yung's "type"?
I met many of Tom's side jobs, and almost every single one of them was an Asian girl, and most of these were Koreans just like what he already had at home, right down to similar bodies, faces, and hairstyles. Tom wasn't catting around in order to get different kinds of pussy — he was indulging his taste by seeking different examples of his favorite kind of pussy.
What does the old story of my college buddy have to do with me now? Well, in a similar manner, my discovered lust for my fourteen-year-old niece is probably perplexing to those unschooled in the topic of "strange pussy".
You see, Simone is not all that "different" from the pussy I'm already plugging. This isn't much of a surprise, since as I think I mentioned that her mother and my wife are not only sisters, but identical twins. Both Tabitha and her sister Tawny are leggy, blonde, beautiful, and amply but not excessively endowed with tits near the high-end of the C-cup range. Both still have tight asses and flat bellies.
Now I don't know what Simone's father looked like, as he left Tawny shortly after Simone was born, but perhaps he looked something like me. The reason I say this is that Simone looks like a younger sister to my daughter, Tina. In fact, whoever he was, he seems to have had, like me, a relatively recessive genome, since both Tina and Simone look a lot like their mothers, and a lot like each other.
So, let's review the dramatis personae. Aside from me, who you don't really care to hear described, I'm sure, we have thirty-eight year old identical twin sisters, one of whom lies out of reach in jail, and the other of whom I have been fucking for about seventeen years. They are both in great shape, tight-assed blondes with larger C-cup tits.
Then we have their daughters, my daughter and my niece, who look very similar both to each other and to their mothers, with slightly darker hair and, of course, more youthful, teen-aged shapes. The fifteen-year old is my daughter, Tina, Daddy's Princess, which leaves the fourteen-year-old, Simone, to be the object of my hunger for sexual strange.
What about her tits? I keep coming back to the tits in describing these women. Sweet, conical, large breasts seem to run strong in my wife's family. My daughter Tina has a nice pair, I must admit, and at age fifteen she is already pushing into what I would guess is the low end of the C-cup range.
Simone is only fourteen, of course, and has some growing to do. However, her breasts are already a cute, up-thrust pair growing right through the upper reaches of the B-cup spectrum and heading for bigger things.
So, perhaps the sincerest demonstration of the point that I am trying to make about the appeal of strange is that despite the presence of larger breasts to enjoy, after she moved in I couldn't keep my eyes off of Simone's adorable growing B-cup muffins.
It was in staring at Simone's schoolgirl-tits that I first came to suspect that she might be flirting with me. At the dinner table every night, she sat right across the table from me. More than once I looked up from my entranced stare at her tight top, to find her staring right back at me. She wouldn't look away right off, and when she did, under the pretence of continuing her meal, I could usually detect the slightest smirk.
Of course, this alone was not enough to lead me on. Perhaps she didn't really notice, or perhaps she thought me a creep, and did her best to stifle a guffaw upon busting me. Maybe she was just uncomfortable about the whole matter, and the "smirk" I thought I was seeing was really more of an embarrassed grimace.
I figured the only way to find out was to continue to make no bones of my appreciation for her form, to ensure that she was aware of it. Now, while doing this, I still had to keep my attraction just between the two of us. It would do no good at all for my wife — or heaven forbid, my daughter — to realize I was leching over my niece.
Bearing in mind this need for discretion, I nonetheless decided to be more obvious to Simone, while at the same time getting a better view for myself.
We have a game room in our finished basement, complete with a 9-foot pool table. In furtherance of my cause, I asked the family one night at dinner who wanted to play pool. My wife declined, as I expected, and at first, so did Tina, but when Simone said "Sure!", Tina quickly followed with an "All right."
Tina was a decent player, but Simone had hardly ever held a cue before.
I announced that Tina would play against Simone, and I would coach and guide Simone so that she could learn the game.
So, by now you must be wondering what this game of pool has to do with strange pussy or even enjoying the visual charms of my niece. Well, in order to "coach" Simone on her shots, I would go to the far side of the table to indicate exactly where her cue stick should be aiming. As an almost irrelevant aside, this process was actually quite helpful to her game, as she began to understand the angle-of-incidence geometry of the process. The more important purpose of this was voyeuristic.
Simone's top was tight, as I already mentioned, but it had a scooped neckline. As she would bend over to take a shot (with me saying things like "lean over more, get closer to the cue ball"), I would find myself looking straight down her cleavage. As she looked up at me to determine whether her cue was lined up with my raised finger at the table edge, she could and did unmistakably catch me staring into her exquisite décolletage. I know she was completely aware of my purpose, because the first few shots left her face ablaze with a blush. The smirk was gone — perhaps with the cleavage in view, her sense of holding all the power slipped away.
Once I knew that she knew, I teased her further. On each shot, the coaching process required me to tell her when she was ready to actually take the shot. First, I'd wait until she was all lined up with my target mark. Then, I'd wait until she looked up into my eyes and ask "now?"
I would then almost theatrically sweep my eyes away from hers to flagrantly stare down her shirt. The smooth, creamy rounded tops of her freshman titties heaved with each deep, embarrassed breath; their color flushing to a brightening pink. Sometimes I would let the tip of my tongue pop out between my lips to lightly wet them; other times I would return my gaze up to meet hers until she would widen her eyes and almost imperceptibly cock her head toward my daughter in a wordless exasperation that conveyed, "C'mon, say 'now', please, before Tina notices!"
Then I'd finally say "now," she'd take the shot, and quickly recover to a more modest pose.
I'm surprised my daughter didn't catch on — after all, I was taking outrageous chances. I can only assume that she was glad to be catching up with and overtaking her cousin. Simone had been leading with the aid of my coaching, but now that I was teasing her so completely, her shots were beginning to go more poorly.
After a couple of games in this fashion, we called it a night. I went upstairs to my bedroom and fucked my wife Tabitha silly.
It was on the following night that the desire for strange became almost unbearable.
As we sat again at the dinner table, I again couldn't keep my eyes off of my teenaged niece. Today, however, she wore a rather loose fitting top. It had a wide yoke-like neckline that carried right over onto the edge of her shoulders, and as she ate, one or the other of its shoulders would slip down and expose one of her delicious upper arms. Her bra strap would remain in place, however, reminding me of the treasure undisclosed. Each time this would happen, she would distractedly pull the sleeve up to cover her bra strap, only to have it or its opposite fall again within a few seconds. Needless to say, I was mesmerized by this "dance," and of course after the activities of the night before, there was no way that Simone didn't realize this. Perhaps this teasing was intended to pay me back for the lingering visual fun I had sampled the night before.
Perhaps she was actually angry with me?
As it turns out, I guess not. As dinner drew to a close, I could hardly believe what I was hearing from Simone's bow-shaped mouth: "Can we play pool again tonight?"
Right after dinner, as my daughter and I made for the basement, Simone announced that she'd be right down, and headed for her bedroom. "Drat!" I thought, she'd going to put on a sweatshirt or something to take my fun away."
However, nothing could have been further from the truth. When Simone joined us in the basement, I about choked. Yes, she had changed her outfit. No, there was no sweatshirt. No, she hadn't changed tops — she still wore the loose-fitting, low-necked number that I had been enjoying at dinner, and which had had so much trouble staying in place. But she had changed something. She had removed her bra.
As I'm sure you can imagine, this was a most enjoyable and singular game of pool. Every time Simone bent over, her top drooped down, displaying her growing B-cups fully to my gaze as they hung from her slender frame. From my "coaching" stance on the opposite side of the table, I could — and did — enjoy every inch of her young breasts, from their rounding swells to their distended and seemingly erect nipples.
Tonight, when she looked up to ask, "Now?" there was no look of embarrassment, no exasperation. Instead, the little minx would arch her eyebrow at me, almost as if in challenge!
I was as hard as a rock. After the first game, which somehow, despite her teasing and my distraction, I was able to coach her into winning, we played a second. About halfway through, my daughter Tina told us to go ahead and take the next shot, but she had to use the bathroom.
As it so happened, the next shot was a tough one, for the cue ball was almost out of reach for the right shot. Simone reached for the bridge. Swallowing my prudence, I asked: "Would you like to learn how to shoot that without a granny stick?"