I watched Lori as she walked toward me, and realized something was different. She's my niece - my sister's daughter - and I've known her all her life, so I know her like my own daughter. In some ways I'm her father figure, seeing as how her own father decided to jump out of a perfectly good airplane while wearing a parachute that left much to be desired. That was when Lori was eight.

That set them up financially for the rest of their lives, but a girl needs a Daddy, and I was the closest thing she had to one.

So ... what was different? I couldn't put my finger on it.

I watched her sixteen year old hips sway gently as she walked across the parking lot. This whole thing had started when she told me there was this guy she was interested in. He wasn't paying the kind of attention to her that she wanted, and, since he played golf, she wanted me to teach her how to play so she could suggest they had something in common. Then they could go out and play and things would progress ... etcetera and so forth. Being the good father figure I was, I had agreed.

She was dressed as I had told her to, in a short tennis skirt that wouldn't interfere with her legs, and a tank top that didn't have any material to bind across her shoulders. She had tied back her shoulder length blond hair in a ponytail, so the wind couldn't blow it in her face to distract her. The whole outfit was white and the sun made her stand out.

Of course she would stand out anyway. She had that indescribable natural beauty that didn't rely on or even need cosmetics. Her skirt swished as she walked, her arms swinging confidently. She saw me and grinned, baring brilliantly white teeth, and speeding up enough to make her breasts jiggle under the tank top.

Something was different. I couldn't figure out what it was though.

I knew what would be next. When she was thirteen she developed the habit of stalking up to me and yelling, "I'm gonna jump your decrepit old bones!", not having any idea at all of the various ways that could be interpreted. But for her, back then, it meant running at me, leaping in the air and wrapping her arms and legs around me while I caught her. Then she gave me big smoochy kisses on the cheek as she squealed, "Uncle Bob!"

The jumping part faded out somewhere between fourteen and fifteen, and somewhere along the way somebody had explained to her that announcing she was going to jump her uncle's bones was probably inappropriate because of the other meaning she hadn't even known about. For whatever reason though, she wanted to keep that part of our greeting ritual. These days she simply waited until she was hugging me and then said it in my ear so other people wouldn't hear it. Nowadays I just got a nice close hug. And the kiss on the cheek, of course.

She was still twenty feet away when she squealed "Uncle Bob!" and began to open her arms. She kept coming and hit me hard enough that I staggered back a step as those delightful bouncing breasts slammed into my chest. I felt her wet kiss on my cheek and waited to hear her tell me she was going to jump my bones. I had gotten quite fond of hearing that.

Instead she pushed back roughly.

"Uncle Bob! You have stubble! You didn't shave." Two fingers came up and rubbed across ruby lips like they were actually hurt or something.

"It's Saturday morning, on my day off, and I have to get up anyway and come here to help out a whiny little girl who can't figure out how to get her intended boyfriend to notice her," I grumbled. "And now you tell me I have to shave too?"

She crossed her arms under those breasts and stood hipshot, one leg supporting her weight. "I'm NOT a little girl," she said acidly. "And he's dreamy, and a good golfer from what I hear, and it's only natural that I'd want to learn golf so he'll notice me, and you're a golf pro, and my uncle, and you love me, so you HAVE to help me do this, because this is the only way," she finally had to stop to take a breath.

"I know, I know," I said, "but wouldn't it be a whole lot easier if you just went up to him and whispered in his ear that he makes your panties wet?"

Now where did THAT come from? That just isn't the sort of thing an uncle says to his lovely niece.

Clouds gathered in her gaze, and tears welled up in her brilliant green eyes. "That's the problem Uncle Bob," she whimpered. "He DOES make my panties wet! But I can't get him to notice me as a woman!"

Man! Had we entered a new phase in our relationship or WHAT!? We'd always been able to talk about things, but this was WAY more intimate than we'd ever been before. She was crying big crocodile tears now.

I pulled her to me again. "I'm sorry baby," I said as she buried her face in my shoulder. "I'm a jerk. What can I say. Yes, I love you and yes, I'll teach you how to play golf so you can have that in common with this boy. Come on, stop crying now."

I was rubbing her back and, in an off hand sort of way noticed that she had neglected to wear a bra. Her back was smooth and I liked rubbing it. This boy had better be worth it ... making my niece cry. I ought to go find him and...

The proverbial ton of bricks hit me square on the head.

I knew what was different.

As my cute niece sniffled in my chest I realized I was looking at her as a potential sexual partner instead of as my niece. She was in the flush of puberty, nubile, well proportioned and just ripe to have babies, and part of me wanted to be the first man to give her one. I felt bad.

Well, not bad, exactly, but I knew I shouldn't feel that way. I should concentrate on being a good uncle.

"Look, honey, I understand. And I told you I'd teach you to play golf, and you're here, so what do you say we dry your beautiful eyes and get started?"

She took a deep breath, pushing those nice soft breasts against me one last time and stepped back, smiling. She wiped her eyes. "Yes! Thank you. I can't wait."

I had gotten her a bag from the clubhouse that had a total of three clubs in it: a driver, a seven iron and a pitching wedge. I started out explaining that there was a right way and a whole lot of wrong ways to hit the ball, but that if she wanted to learn it right, she should concentrate on using the exact same swing every time she hit the ball, regardless of what club she was holding. "That's the secret, Lori - consistency. Then, once you are consistent, you can start tweaking your swing to make EVERY shot better."

She pulled out the driver and I handed her a ball and tee. "Give it a try," I said. She'd been around me enough to have seen me hit a lot of balls, so she was prepared in terms of knowing what to do with the tee.

I, however, was not prepared when she bent over straight-legged and pressed the tee into the ground. Her tennis skirt rode up and I was presented with a prick stiffening view of a pair of well packed, baby blue panties, cradling the nicest, tightest buns I had seen in a long long time. One of her legs left the ground as she over-balanced, and she spread her legs.

Camel toe. I wanted to grab my chest and fall to the ground. The front of my slacks tented out and I looked around hastily to see who else was watching this amazing show. No one, thank goodness.

Completely oblivious, Lori stood up and prepared to hit the ball. She took a stance that wasn't bad for a beginner, but all I could think of was, that if I was the ball, I could look up and get a prime view of that sweet teen pussy in those clinging blue panties.

I missed her swing completely. She heeled the ball and it shot off at an oblique angle to her left. She stomped a foot angrily and turned around. "See? Rob will never want to take me out if I do that."

I held up a hand. "Not to worry, sweet Princess. That's what I'm here for." I threw her a ball and said, "Set it up again and I'll help you this time."

I wanted to see those panties again. She bent over, same as before and I took the opportunity to adjust my cock so it was straight up and down, against my abdomen. I wasn't paying attention, though, and I knew if I was going to help her I needed to.

"Lori sweetie, you know I love you, but tomorrow, you need to wear something else besides those panties. I love 'em, but they distract me when you bend over."

There was this horrible silence as I realized I had just said that out loud, instead of in my mind as I had pictured it.

She stood back up slowly and turned around, smoothing her skirt down over her hips. I knew my mouth was open, and that my face had to be beet red. I was trying to think of something to say, but ... well, what would YOU do in that situation?

I expected her to be pissed, but instead there was this look on her face like, "OK, little boy, we've had fun playing, but we have to pick up our toys now and put them away."

"I'll keep that in mind," she said, her voice level. "I wondered why you wanted me to wear such a short skirt." There was just the barest hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth.

"NO!" I blurted out. "That's not why. It's important that you be able to swivel your hips and twist your thighs..." I trailed off as she laughed.

She let her eyes slide, ever lower, like she was checking me out. Then she raised them and said, "My swing?"

"Uh ... yeah," I managed. I went toward her and she turned around to address the ball again.

I did exactly the same thing I do with everybody else. First I walked around her in a circle, telling her to bend her knees further, or straighten an elbow, or move one foot forward or backward. Then I got behind her, put my arms around her and gripped her hands.

Of course, this put my iron hard prick right in the crack of her ass. I was trying to talk to her about her grip, and moving her fingers with my own, by feel. I looked over her shoulder and saw that the heel of the club was two inches outside the ball. I pointed that out.

"You need to back up a little honey," I said. What she did was press back against my prick with her ass. I moved my feet and pulled her back, and, of course, that just slammed her ass into my cock again.

She wiggled it from side to side. Her ass I mean.

Well, come to think of it, she probably wiggled my prick from side to side too. it was too late to do anything about it now, and she wasn't screaming for the police, so I told her to back swing slowly, and helped her do it with my hands.

My left hand, of course, couldn't stay on her left hand. Instead I supported her wrist, then her forearm, and then her elbow as they rose. She did what a lot of inexperienced golfers do and started to straighten up.

My left hand slipped off her elbow and landed right on her right breast. That would be her braless, soft, teenage breast. I knew my hand shouldn't be there, so I moved it.

To her LEFT, braless, soft, teenage breast.

This was turning into something you'd expect to see in a poorly written porn video.

"Um ... sorry," I mumbled. Then I put that hand on her left hip and told her to swing the club without moving her legs. The club went down, there was that sweet thwack of a well hit ball, and the ball took off on an eighty yard trip that was flat, straight and just pretty. It was only eighty yards off a one wood, but then again, it was her first real drive. I was pretty happy with it.

She was ecstatic. She turned around and jumped up and down and hugged me, squealing about how she did it, and it was so much fun and all that.

She wanted to do it again, so I threw her another ball. She looked over her shoulder at me and said, "Don't watch, you dirty old man." Then she bent over and showed me her panties again.

She duffed that one, knocking it maybe ten yards. And the next one and the three after that. I was having fun watching those panties each time she bent over to tee up another ball. But she was getting pissed and finally turned around and said, "Well, why is it doing that?"

"Every time you've swung you start out right, and then stand up. You straighten your knees as you reach the top of your back swing. When you do that the club hits the ball too high."

"So how do I keep from doing that?" she asked.

"Keep your knees bent. Don't stand up," I advised.

She tried it again, but again she stood up. It was instinct, really, in an effort to put more oomph into her swing.

I got an idea. Now I know what you're going to think about this idea I had. But it really was to help her with her swing. Well ... it started out being for the purpose of helping her with her swing. OK, I'm a dirty old man and wanted to feel that precious ass against my cock again. But a side effect of that was that I could hold her hips down so she COULDN'T stand up.

I explained I was going to hold on to her hips so she couldn't stand up. I snuggled up behind her, got her in the right position, put my hands on her hips and pushed my cock into the crack of her ass snugly. She pushed back. And wiggled.

"OK, now, nice and slow back swing, and then follow through with the ball," I said.

I want all of you out there who were calling me a dirty old man to know ... she hit that ball at least NINETY yards that time!

She hit 30 more balls before we called it a day. Her ass was pressed into my groin for all but the last five. I was a wreck, but her last five were perfectly good drives, though one sliced a little. She needed a glove to correct that.

I needed to beat off. Which is exactly what I did after she made me promise to meet her the next day. It was still summer, and she had another month before school would start and she'd get to walk up to her intended and say "I hear you play golf! My uncle's the Pro over at Indian Hills, and I play with him sometimes. Maybe we could play a round some time."

I kid you not, that's what she was planning on saying to this boy. She even practiced it out loud. Who understands teenaged girls?

Anyway, the next day I got there ahead of her and hit a few myself. I was trying to get back into Pro mode. When I'd gotten home the day before, I hit the shower and whacked off thinking about those panties she'd showed me so many times. I really blew my cork too, all over the walls of the shower. Today I intended for everything to be completely professional.

I saw Lori drive into the parking lot. She got out of her car and started toward me. There was that walk again. She was dressed the same today, and this time I noticed the barely discernable dents in the tank top where her relaxed nipples were. I felt stirrings in my pants and cursed under my breath. I decided the iron I had been practicing with needed to be cleaned and did so. For that reason I wasn't paying attention.

The only warning I had was "Uncle Bob!"

I was suddenly pressed against squirming teen girl, whose arms were around me and whose warm moist lips were on my cheek. I'd remembered to shave today. Those lips slid to my ear and her hot breath said, "I'm going to jump your decrepit old bones."

SPROING! Instant boner. So much for staying professional.

"What are you going to teach me today?" she asked sweetly as she backed away from the tent in my slacks that had been pressing against her.

With as much dignity as I could I quickly adjusted the problem and said "We're going to work on using an iron. But I want you to try a couple of drives first. Let's see if you remember how to do it right.

"I know," she said, acting grumpy. "Knees bent, don't stand up, nice steady back swing blah blah blah." She held out her hand for a ball. She walked out on the tee and, looking over her shoulder she said, "I took your advice."

Then she bent over to tee up the ball.

She HAD taken my advice. That advice, if you'll remember, and which I hadn't meant to actually say out loud, was "You need to wear something else besides those panties". She HAD worn something else besides those panties.

She'd worn a white thong.

She bent over, knowing I was going to look, and gave me the sweetest shot of bare ass, with a white string disappearing into the crack of that sweet bare ass.

I actually staggered.

While I was trying to get my lungs to actually take a breath, she hit the ball a hundred yards, straight as an arrow, right in the middle of the fairway. She looked over her shoulder again and gave me a little smile of satisfaction. "I think you teach pretty good Uncle Bob."

She dropped her eyes to my crotch, which probably had a wet spot on it by now and I suggested that she was ready for iron shots. We went down the fairway, where she'd hit that beautiful drive and I dropped a bag of balls on the ground. She grasped the concept quickly and started knocking balls further down the fairway with the seven iron.

Now a guy would have reached out with the head of the club and dragged a ball over into position, then set up on it and hit it.

Not Lori.

Oh no.

Lori bent over, exposing that luscious, smooth, kissable ass to me, picked up a ball, moved it and then hit it.

Every single time.

I got light headed and had to sit down on the grass. Do you have ANY idea how embarrassing that is? A grown man, sitting on the ground, staring at his beautiful sexy niece, probably drooling a little. It was sad.

She came over to me and stood in front of me. "Uncle Bob? Are you OK? Is it too hot?" She started fanning my face.

With the front of her tennis skirt.

Her thong was gorgeous. In a philosophical sense I really appreciated how it snugly cupped her pussy lips between a thin strip of white fabric. Esthetically I approved of how she had obviously shaved her pubic hair so that none stuck out from the sides of that material. On a technological plane I was amazed at how someone was able to engineer a material that was at once white looking, but actually semi-transparent - almost wet looking - allowing her pussy lips to show through. From a medical perspective I realized the real value of all that moving air across my sweaty face. And, that part of me that was in tune with Madison Avenue applauded the fact that whatever feminine hygiene product she was using made her smell fabulous.

On a more earthy level, I had an almost irresistible urge to bury my spurting prick in her belly and make a baby in her. I actually opened my mouth, in preparation for ripping that thong off of her with my teeth.

Then she stepped back and squatted down, her face a foot or two from mine. "Are you feeling better now Uncle Bob?" she asked, care for my condition obvious in her eyes.

"Urgh," I managed to say.

"Well good," she said, smiling. "I think you've been out in the sun long enough, Uncle Bob," she said. Then she helped me up and held my elbow as I shuffled back to the tee box. By the time we got there I was breathing more or less normally, and was able to collect my bag and make it back to the clubhouse without her help.

In the parking lot she hugged me. "Thank you, Uncle Bob," she said in my ear. "I know this isn't easy for you, and I really appreciate what you're doing for me."

I mumbled something about how it was OK, and I was glad to help.

She pushed me away gently. Those nipples were stiff and pointy and I stared at them, though she didn't seem to notice.

"And I apologize for teasing you with my thong," she said. "I know it was naughty. I won't do that next time, OK?"

I nodded dumbly. She got in her car and drove away, waving gaily at me.

I didn't even make it home. I managed to keep it in my pants until I got to the bathroom of "The Broken Club". You know, the bar in the clubhouse? I thought it was a pretty appropriate name that day. I beat my meat so hard I was afraid I broke it.

We didn't meet for two days after that. I had other lessons to give, and it gave me a chance to get my equilibrium back. I was pretty disgusted that a 16 year old girl I had known all her life could get to me like that. I had acted like a 14 year old kid, but she hadn't seemed to notice, thank goodness.

Then it was Wednesday morning, and I had another lesson with Lori scheduled. Today I planned on working on approach shots, and getting out of the rough or other bad situations.

Again I saw her drive into the parking lot, get out and walk toward me. Today she wasn't wearing white. Instead she had on a forest green tennis skirt, and her tank top had given way to a halter top that tied together between her breasts. It too was more or less green, and I saw as she got close enough to hug me that it was green because it had hundreds of little tiny $50 bills printed all over it. I thought it was appropriate. She looked like a million dollars.

It was a little strange as a golf outfit, though. "New outfit?" I asked.

She dimpled and said, "Yes, and thank you for noticing. The white one shows dirt too easily, so I thought I'd try this one."

We weren't mud wrestling here, but who was I to advise a teenage girl on her wardrobe.

We started out in the fairway, about thirty or forty yards from the green and I showed her how to loft a ball high with the wedge so it would drop straight down on the green and stop. I won't bore you all with the details, but there are several ways to use a pitching wedge and I went through them all.

I guess she really did feel bad about teasing me. Today she wasn't bending over to move the ball around.

Then I took her over to the edge of the woods, where most amateur golfers spend a LOT of their time.

"OK, now in this situation, all you really want to do is get the ball back out in the fairway. A lot of guys try for the green, through the trees, but that's a sucker shot, because if you miss, you're right back where you started, or maybe even worse." I demonstrated by dropping a ball and whacking it toward the green. It conveniently hit a nearby tree and took off to our right, deeper into the woods. "Now you try it," I said.

This time she didn't just drop a ball. This time she bent over to put the ball on the ground. Her skirt slid up and one leg lifted off the ground as she overbalanced, just like a few days ago.

I didn't see panties this time, though. I didn't see her thong either. I leaned against a tree.

Today she wasn't wearing anything under her tennis skirt.

In the position she was in, she gave me a perfect view of two of the prettiest plump, pink pussy lips I'd ever seen in my life. They were thick and loose looking, though they were pressed together. My cock acknowledged them with a snappy salute, as if to say "Good day, ladies! I'm exceptionally glad to see you today."

She stood back up like nothing had happened, took a nice, slow back swing and lofted the ball right out into the middle of the fairway. She turned around.

"How was that? Did you like it?"

No bouncing around. No jumping up and down shouting about how she "did it". My mind was running a mile a minute. She knew exactly what she was doing. She knew I'd been watching her bend over, and what I could see when she did. There was no mistake here. For the life of me I could only think of one way to interpret this.

She WANTED me to see her naked pussy!

But that just didn't jive with who my sweet innocent niece was.

"Well?" she asked, a trace of impatience in her voice.

"Um ... you're not wearing any panties," I said. I have been known to be brilliant, erudite, and about five or six other fifty-cent words that are impressive. All I could come up with now was, "You're not wearing any panties."

"That's right," she said, as if we were talking about whether she had fingernail polish on or not. "How did you like my shot?"

"Your shot? Oh it was fine," I said numbly. "It was just perfect. Nothing wrong with that one. I think you're going to like that one." I didn't have to look to know that the front of my shorts was all tented out again. Her eyes dropped and fixed on just that area.

"Maybe I should try it again," she said. Without waiting for me to make another stupid statement, she turned around and repeated her performance. It was the same. The poor girl overbalanced just about every single time she bent over. And that made her have to lift that leg, and that made her sweet teen pussy wink at me in the dappled sunlight of the woods.

Damned if she didn't drop that one about five yards from her first one.

She turned around again. "How was that?" She took a step towards me.

"Urgh," I managed to say again.

"You're all red in the face again, Uncle Bob," she said, coming closer. "I'm worried about you. Maybe you're too hot. I think maybe you'd better sit down and rest, Uncle Bob." Her hands went to my shoulders and pushed as my knees gave out and I slid down the tree. It left scratches on my back, which I was not aware of in any way, shape or form at the time.

"I think maybe I need to fan you again, Uncle Bob," she said, her voice full of concern. She lifted one foot and straddled my legs, which were sticking straight out from the base of the tree. She lifted her skirt and gave it a half hearted wave.

Her pussy was right in front of my face. What could I do? I'm only a man. I'm just a normal average guy who, when presented with a naked pussy, does what any man would do.

I leaned forward and licked it, from bottom to top. My tongue split those stuck-together lips and I tasted her sweet nectar as she leaned forward into my face. My hands found her calves and slid up her legs onto her buttocks as I licked her like a German Shepherd licks a spoonful of peanut butter. My nose pressed against her clitty and I shook my head back and forth in little jerks, trying to rub it off her body. I heard approving sounds coming from up above me somewhere and the world went dark as her skirt was draped over the top of my head.

Her hips gave a little jerk, a tiny hump as her knees bent, tipping her pussy forward and up, into my mouth. I raised my lips high enough to suck in her clitty and I nibbled on it. I heard my sweet, innocent, virginal niece start chanting, "Oh fuck ... oh fuck ... oh fuck," and her little humps got more forceful until she was pounding my head against the tree. I started seeing stars about the time she went off and splashed my face with a river of happy-girl juice.

At first I thought she'd lost control of her bladder. There was that much. But she was just a squirter. She was delicious, tasty in a way only young girls can be tasty and fresh. It was probably the best day I'd had in a long LONG time.

There was enough of my brain left functioning that I knew she'd be sensitive about now, so I just licked long, slow licks with my tongue wide and flat. Finally she stepped back. I could see she was holding on to the tree with her hands. the look on her face was one I'll never forget. It was the look of someone who just found out she won the lotto, and would never have to work again in her life. She couldn't quite believe it, but she wanted it to be true.

She looked down at my lap, which had changed only in that there was now a wet spot where my prick was holding the pants away from my body. "You still look hot, Uncle Bob," she panted. "Your face is all wet, like you're sweating or something. In school they told us to loosen the clothing of people who are overheated, and make them lie down."

She stepped back and knelt in the grass. Her hands went to my belt as I leaned against the tree, unable to say or do much of anything. Then she unhooked the waistband and slid the zipper down. She pointed to a patch of deep thick grass a couple of feet away and said, "We need to get you over there, so you can lie down, Uncle Bob."

I'm telling you I was putty in her hands. She got me there and, in the process, managed to get my pants down around my knees. That left me in my boxers.

I don't mean to break the mood here, but I have to tell you about my boxers. They had hearts on them. Yup, white background and tiny hearts all over them. They were actually a gift from her a couple of years earlier and by pure dumb luck I had put them on that morning. When she saw them she went "Awwwwwww," and her eyes got misty.

Just then my prick found the opening and slithered through. There, before our eyes was the proof that I was an incestuous pervert. It was so hard that it would normally have been trying to point up toward my chin, but the cloth of my drawers made it stand straight up out of a nest of little red hearts. I never saw anything as silly in my life.

But she just LOVED it.

She lowered her body until she was on her hands and knees and just stared at it.

"It's beautiful," she said in a hushed voice. "I knew it would be."

Hmmm. How interesting it is when you find out your niece has been thinking about what your prick would look like, and that she has completed her plan to find out.

She giggled nervously. "It looks like one of those thingies ... like up on the green ... that has the flag on it."

"The pin," I said hoarsely.

"Yeah, the pin," she said dreamily. "That goes in the hole."

My prick pulsed and another thick bead of milky white precum bubbled up to fill up the collar of foreskin that was around the tip of my cock. Her hand went to the base of my prick and she worked the fabric around until she was able to push it down and expose my balls. They were tight and full.