Chapter 4

"You're naked," I whispered.

"You are too," she whispered back.

"I can't find my shorts," I complained.

"Go to sleep!" she hissed.

"But we're naked," I said, unnecessarily.

"Go - to - sleep!" she growled.

So I lay down on my bag, because it was too warm to get inside it.

She gave me maybe fifteen seconds before I found out it was all an act. Suddenly, she rolled and landed half on top of me.

"Maybe just one little orgasm," she murmured into my lips. And then she kissed me.

And to get her one little orgasm, she crawled on top of me and settled those bulging, spongy pussy lips on the underside of the tube of steel that was sprouting from my groin. She only moved a couple of inches at first, kissing me, her tongue fluttering in my mouth, as she rubbed her clit back and forth.

Even then I didn't understand that there had been a paradigm shift in her thinking. We had done this very thing before. Not often, because whenever we did this, she invariably rubbed a little too far up, and then the tip of my cock tended to get caught in her opening. Plus, if I went off in this position, that put my sperm way too close to her vaginal canal. So we hadn't employed this method of masturbating her all that often.

When I was in biology, the teacher told us about how if you put a frog, in a pan of water on the stove, and then turn up the temperature of the burner slowly, the frog can't tell it's getting hotter, or that there is any danger. The frog will sit there, happy as can be, until it is cooked.

In this particular case, I was the frog, and that tent was the pot. And Caitlin had gotten so horny during the raft trip, and the helicopter ride, that she decided she wasn't going to wait until next year after all. In other words, the heat in Caitlin had been turned ever higher by the day's events, until, right now, she was at a boil.

And like the frog in the story ... I had no clue how hot things were.

It is here that the analogy loses its meaning, however, because about a minute and a half after she started rubbing her pussy along the underside of my shaft, and was panting and moaning as I reached up to twist and squeeze her nipples gently, she sat up straight, reached for my cock, rose on her knees, and then, as I watched, unbelieving in the soft orange glow of the Henderson's campfire, she simply impaled herself, sitting down and freezing.

The groan that emitted from her throat was like nothing I've ever heard before. It was a sound that contained pain, satisfaction, a little fright, and a big dose of relief.

"Kat!" I gasped.

She came unfrozen and leaned forward again, replacing her hands on my chest, where they had been only seconds before.

Her hips gave an experimental little thrust ... forward and then back.

"Kat!" I hissed.

"Shhhhhh," she admonished me.

The hips moved again, this time with more authority, and farther than before.

"Oh yes," she groaned.

"Oh no!" I groaned back.

"Be quiet or the Hendersons will hear you," she whispered.

The Hendersons were the least of my concerns. She was hot as a furnace, and tight as one of those Chinese finger cuffs. And all that wiggling around was making the foreskin on my penis slide back and forth over the head.

She sat up again, ramrod stiff, and her hips did this little movement that was like she was trying to get a hula hoop going around her waist. Her hands came up and cupped her breasts, lifting them until her fingers found her nipples and pinched them. She kept the hula hoop going and groaned again.

"Ohhhh yessss."

I felt the tip of my prick digging into something knobby and recognized it as her cervix, which was the exact place in the universe where the tip of my prick should not be, especially since I suddenly felt the urge to do something really awful ... which was fertilize my sister's little girl.

And then it didn't matter anymore that I should be pushing her off of me, because she had found the magic motion that brought her the first orgasm she'd ever had with a hot, stiff prick in her belly. And she went ape shit, plain and simple.

I saw it happening. Even more important I heard it start to happen. I wasn't the one who was going to alert the Hendersons that something untoward was going on in our tent. She was, and I got this terrible feeling it was going to be like a tornado warning siren in our tent very soon if I didn't do something. She realized it too, because both of her hands came to slap over her mouth and, even in the dark, I could see the whites of her eyes as some unseen tiger grabbed her in its jaws and shook her.

The whining/squealing/grunting/gasping/screaming noises overflowed her hands and, in a panic, I finally reached for her and pulled her down on top of me. Her bag was right next to us, so I grabbed it and pulled it over her head, which was on my chest, because her body was still bent as her hips continued to thrust madly. She was in the middle of the best orgasm of her life, and she wasn't about to let it go.

In the end, what her fevered brain came up with was this. She pushed up on me, grabbing her sleeping bag, and, balling it up against her face, screamed into it.

It almost worked.

Then Frank Henderson's voice came over to us from his campsite.

"You okay over there?" he called.

Her hips still working, though more slowly now, Caitlin let the bag fall on top of my face.

"I stubbed my toe in the dark!" she complained loudly, as her pussy rippled around my cock. "It fucking hurts!"

"Caitlin!" I gasped.

"I'm sorry, Daddy," she said, loudly. Then she called out to the neighbors. "I'm sorry I used a bad word, Mr. Henderson."

He laughed. "No problem."

But I hadn't gasped at her about her language.

I gasped because she had milked the cum out of my balls, and it was racing through my prick.

And as she apologized to the people next door...

My prick belched, and filled her belly with sperm.

There is an old saying that was popular when I was in the military: "Adapt, improvise, overcome." That came about primarily because we never seemed to have the equipment and supplies necessary to do what our higher headquarters instructed us to do. Such as practice doing a helicopter assault to extract a high value enemy bigwig ... without a helicopter, because there was no allocation of fuel for that kind of training.

The point is that I learned how to be flexible when the plan changed unexpectedly. That's difficult for a lot of people. They can't adapt to changing circumstances. Look at the divorce rate. Surely fifty percent of people don't make a wrong initial decision about who to spend their lives with. Rather, as their partner changes each day, like all of us must, they just can't adapt to those changes.

Apparently Caitlin was born with that talent.

She was lying on top of me, limp as a cooked noodle, with the exception of some muscles in her belly, which kept jerking. That had the effect of making it appear as if she were still trying to keep our coitus going. And her rib muscles, of course, which were powering her gasping lungs.

"It's over ... isn't it?" she panted. "That's not fair. I was just starting to have fun. It can't be over. That was too wonderful for it to be over."

I had expected there to be at least a few moans of contrition. What had just happened had happened a year earlier than it was supposed to. Which is a little confusing, because it shouldn't ever have happened, according to most of the populace. But her obvious acceptance of the situation allowed me to adapt pretty easily.

"There will be more," I said.

"Yes," she agreed. "There will be much more."

"I thought we weren't going to do that," I said, stroking her back.

"We weren't," she said, easily.

"That wasn't an accident, Caitlin," I said.

"I changed my mind."

"You know this complicates things."

"No it doesn't. Not really."

We were talking softly. We had to, seeing as how the Hendersons might be lined up next door, ears cocked. The noises she'd given out hadn't sounded very pain-filled to me. Then again, Jenny hadn't interacted with Kat all that much, like you might have expected. The boys both had their heads buried in electronic devices. But Jenny had spent most of her time leaning against her father with her head on his chest and a hand on his knee.

Who knows? Maybe he knew exactly what those noises were, because he'd heard them come from his own daughter's throat. Maybe that's why he laughed.

Probably not, though. It's much more likely that, because I had just found out I was going to be fucking my niece as often as possible for as long as she'd let me, I wanted to project that kind of relationship on others. After all, if everybody's doing it, then it becomes the norm. Right?

"I don't see how this doesn't complicate things," I said. "In three days I'm going to deliver you to your mother, who will take one look at you and know that you've been playing hide the sausage. And since there has been no other male in your company, she's going to know whose sausage you've been hiding. Then there is the fact that, while I haven't done this for some time, and was used to going without, that's going to be a lot more difficult when I get back home than it's been before this."

"Why do men only think about their own problems," she sighed. "What about me? Where am I going to find another sausage to play with when you go back home?"

"You better not play with any other sausages," I growled.

She made wiggling motions with her upper body, and her hands stroked my sides.

"Good boy," she murmured. "I like it when you're jealous."

"I don't want to be jealous," I said. "And that's the problem. You're a normal girl, and normal girls are attracted to boys their own age. I know you're going to end up with a boyfriend, and that's fine. It's what should happen. But I can't help but be unhappy at the thought that some other guy is going to be with you like this."

She sat up. My eyes had adjusted and I could see her pretty clearly. She was gorgeous, and my cock gave a little lurch as it tried to firm up again.

"I don't know about normal," she said, softly. "What I do know is that I fell in love with you when I was twelve. I knew it was silly, but I didn't care. You were my man, even if nobody else, including you, knew it. And every year I came back, and sometimes you'd look at me with this special look in your eye and I knew you were thinking naughty things, and I couldn't believe how good it made me feel. By the time I was fourteen, you could make my pussy wet with one of those looks."

"I thought I was ogling you in secret," I said.

"I could tell you were trying to be a gentleman. It just made me love you more. And I still knew I was being silly, because I was so young. And I knew what people would say if I told them how I felt about you. So I didn't. I just waited to see how things would work out. And sometimes I'd get the picture of us at Sentimental Falls ... remember ... two years ago, when we had that Japanese couple take a picture of us in front of the waterfall? You had your arm around me and your hand was so close to my breast I wanted to scream, or at least reach and pull it up to put it right on me. I wanted to feel your hands on me so much! I'd look at that picture and rub between my legs until I had the nicest orgasms."

"I didn't know," I sighed.

"You weren't supposed to," she said. "I knew what you'd say too. So I had to be patient, and wait until I got the chance to move things up a notch."

"Well, showing me your pussy sure moved things up a notch," I said.

"I didn't show it to you," she giggled. "You just saw it. That really was an accident. But when you looked up my skirt, I knew it was my chance to move things along."

"It almost sounds like you planned to have sex with me."

"Of course I did," she said. "I've known you would be the man to pop my cherry for years."

"I'm no expert," I said, "but I'm pretty sure there was no cherry to be popped."

"You know what I mean. I knew you'd be the man. And you're the only man who gets to do that. There won't be any boyfriends, or sausage hiding. You've gone without for all these years. Which I thought was really stupid. I'd have probably let you do this two years ago if you hadn't been all proper and gotten us separate rooms."

"I thought you wanted to wait."

"I thought that was the best thing to tell you," she said. "I wasn't sure I'd be able to get you to do this at all. I hoped that by playing around a little, I'd get you used to the idea. And for some reason men look at a woman differently once she turns eighteen."

"So let me get this straight," I said. "You decided three or four years ago that you were going to end up with me like this."

"Correct," she said.

"And you want me to be your boyfriend," I said.

"No," she said.

"But you just said, basically, that I'm your man."

"You are. But calling you my boyfriend is silly. You're a man."

"So I'm your man friend?"

She giggled.

"You're my Uncle Bob. You always will be ... in public."

"And how, exactly are we supposed to make this work? You're going back home. You'll graduate high school next May. I sort of suspect the days of your summers with me are over. You'll go to college and even though you don't think so right now, you'll meet a man - a younger man - and fall in love with him and I'll be the uncle you see at family reunions, but that's about it."

"Can we stop talking and go back to what we were doing before?" she asked.

"We should talk about this," I insisted.

"Look," she said, leaning down to hold her face suspended over mine. Her hair fell down and tickled my shoulders. "This happened sooner than it was supposed to, a whole year sooner. We can have that conversation, but it needs to happen next year. This isn't the time to talk about this."