This continues the account of the third of five days and nights that studly 18-year old Mikey spends together with Mike, the 24-year old uncle he idolizes, and Mike's fascinating and beautiful 22-year old fiancée Alice. The beginning of their story is told in "Cross-Country with My Uncle," and continued by "Alice, My Uncle, and Me," day 1 and day 2.
I woke up in a pool of bright morning sunshine in Alice's bed. We must all three have slept deeply, since we awoke in nearly the same arrangement as when we drifted off last night. I was lying between my uncle and Allie, tete-beche, my head at their feet. My left leg was still stretched across my young uncle's big chest, and Allie, on her side, facing me, was nuzzling my right calf. She was actually sort of hugging my entire right leg, with her left leg thrown across my right, her knee impinging slightly on my crotch. Certainly that was one of the reasons why I had a major hard-on. But worse -- if by "worse" I mean "better," "infinitely better" -- my furry right calf was nestled between her breasts. Because her left arm was folded over them, I could not really see her breasts, but could I ever feel them! their softness, their warmth. And the nipple of her right breast parted the hair just above my right ankle.
I looked down at Alice, still in repose, a vision of California beauty. I took the opportunity to study her features in the bright light. Her little round chin, with just a hint of a dimple; her perfect nose, her delicate eyebrows, like her golden eyelashes, glistering in the sunshine like spun gold.
My attention was drawn again and again to her refined mouth. Though she never seemed to wear makeup, her lips always seemed to be strikingly beautiful. Perhaps it was some trick of contrast between her lips and her perpetual mild tan, her brilliantly white teeth, and her rather short blonde hair. Only a great beauty like her really looked wonderful and complete in such a simple, almost boyish cut. And she always liked the "wash and go" convenience of a short and simple style. Her chin and jaw line were well defined, but soft, and her neck was, well, aristocratic. Somehow it suggested Nefertiti, Queen of old Egypt.
While I studied her mouth and her throat, despite myself I kept coming back to yesterday, when she, a remarkably compact young woman, fellated my young uncle, and in fact deep-throated him, before my very eyes. Considering the size of his phallus, it had been a really remarkable performance. And I have to confess that ever since that moment I had been somewhat obsessed by her lips, unable to cease visualizing what she had done, unable to stop projecting what she might still yet do with **my** penis, so very nearly like my uncle's! But I could only dream. Rather than taking a casual pleasure in a reverie of this sort, it made me restless and uncomfortable and anxious, for now that I had spent the night in their bed, it wasn't just a dream, it had taken the shape of an actual hope, an aspiration. But it was something about which I could do nothing.
These reflections also contributed to my complete and perfect erection, as did the memory of last night, my first in Mike and Alice's bed. Looking down toward my big, hard dick -- it never failed to gratify me unbelievably just to see it, whether hard as a rock, or comfortably flaccid -- I saw my prolific belly hair, part of it still pasted to my lower abs with my own dried cum, the result of my uncle's sublime handwork of last night. And slightly to my left, I saw his big cock, now as firm and erect as mine, and his big, shapely balls. What might he be dreaming of, right now?
As I gazed, Alice began to stir. Though she was mostly curled around my right leg, her left arm was thrown entirely over it, and her hand rested on my Uncle Mike's right pec, the tips of her fingers lost to view in his luxuriant dark blond chest hair. She opened her eyes, yawned, and even stretched, almost in the manner of a cat, maybe, or a cartoon character. It was charming, and it caused her left breast to travel a little along my calf as it came into view. She looked down at me, and at what was springing from my lower belly -- and virtually tangent to her knee; and then over to Mike's face and down his body to his midparts, where his cock, the virtual twin to mine, stood. She shook him a little, rising up onto her right elbow and leaning over to his face and kissing his cheek and then his lips, she spoke quietly and smilingly to him, "Wake up, wake up. A wonderful new day has begun!" In the process, alas, she pulled her breasts away from my leg, to my infinite regret; but the saving grace was that they both swam into my view, luscious and full.
I wondered whether she was always so charming and sweet, and whether her manner might eventually cloy. To these questions I quickly decided (1) Yes; and (2) No.
I was as smitten as ever I had been before.
Mike responded to her quiet kisses with a gigantic smile, even before he opened his eyes, though they too were smiling even before opened them. Her face was still only an inch from his and he reached his right arm behind her head and pulled her mouth to his and gave her a passionate kiss. Oddly, I felt that I was part of this, since when he reached over to pull her mouth to his, he necessarily pulled my left foot against his right cheek, since it was still lying across his chest and extending a little over his right shoulder. He released her head and rubbed his right hand up and down my calf in the most friendly fashion.
When they broke, Mike looked down at me and went, "Mornin', Sport. Whazzup?" And looking at each other's rigid cocks, we shared a chuckle. (Okay, I hate to admit it, but it was really a smirk followed by a giggle.)
Allie fell back onto her side, and smiled too, and again she was wholly gilded by the morning sun, an object of incredible beauty. I said, "Mike, there's something I want."
It was a highly exceptional situation. Despite our great intimacy for eighteen years, never to my knowledge had he ever refused me any request. The reason for this was that I virtually never, ever made any request of him. He always seemed to be able to gratify me completely no matter what he did, and almost never, ever did I feel the need to ask him for anything. But if I did ask, on those rare occasions, he never failed to oblige me. This time seemed different, though. He and Allie had asked me into their bedroom, first; and now into their bed, without, of course, any hint of a solicitation from me.
As delightful as were my circumstances, with my right leg across Mike's chest, and with Allie still tangent to my left leg in three different places, I pulled away and got off the bed and knelt on the carpet near my uncle's ear. "Uncle," I said almost in a whisper, "I want to give Allie a tongue bath." He tousled my hair and grinned and said, "Sure, Mikey. So do I." He rolled over toward Alice, and smilingly murmured into her ear, and with a twinkle in her eye, she gave a subtle nod to him.
Mike said, "Mikey, just follow my lead." He murmured to Allie, and as he moved toward the foot, she arranged herself in the middle of the king-sized bed, and Mike patted the bed near the foot on the right side. I crawled up there, and as he took her right foot in his hands, and began to kiss her toes, one by one, I took her left foot.
Now there is something you need to know about Allie. It's true that she seemed to be almost careless of her toilette, with her almost boyish hairstyle, her simple 'sport' manicure, her casual dress. But in reality, she was extremely fastidious. A case in point was her feet. As a Stanford student, she very rarely wore hosiery, but rather almost always pure cotton socks, often the tiny low-cut design that hardly showed above her footwear. When she could not avoid wearing hose, she always wore tiny cotton footies inside her hose, and she always avoided open-toed styles and sandals. On the rare occasions in which she wore sandals or open-toed shoes she wore them only with finest denier cotton hosiery, imported from France. They had a gossamer look, though they were not as transparent as nylon or silk, but neither were they hard and harsh on her feet as silk or nylon would have been. And whenever she had been on the beach or had been in something other than thick cotton, as soon as she could she applied special softening lotions and emollients to her feet and put on clean thick socks again. The result was that her feet were absolutely as soft and refined as her hands or even her butt. It was a very rare woman anywhere who could boast feet of such elegance, and they were especially unexpected in such an athletic and outdoorsy woman as Alice.
Her feet were remarkably erotic. Mike of course had known this for years, but I had hardly dreamed that such feet existed, much less that Alice possessed them. Like Mike, I began slowly to kiss her feet. Her feet were exquisitely perfumed. Last night after her bath no doubt she had applied some creamy lotion that still lent her feet a faint but unmistakable air of attar of rose and jasmine. I kissed the top of her foot all over, and then leaned down to kiss the sole. Instead of horniness, or even just firmness, I found softness and delicacy. When I kissed her instep, she began to coo softly. I noticed that Mike too, was kissing the instep of her right foot. And then Mike began kissing and sucking her toes, one at a time, and I followed suit on her left foot. My cock grew harder than ever; but what I was amazed at was Alice's reaction. As we continued, slowly and luxuriously, her breathing became slower and deeper, and then after an interval, it suddenly came in short, sharp gasps. In the bright sunlight I saw that the tiny golden hairs on her forearm were each of them erect. From her cunny, necessarily widely spread since Mike was holding one foot and I her other, came a richer, complex odor of musk and sex that soon overwhelmed the floral notes of Alice's toes and feet. As Mike stroked her right ankle and I her left, and we continued to kiss and suck and tongue her toes, she shuddered and stiffened and exhaled deeply, and choked a small cry. There was only a matter of a moment of respite before another wave of tension, this time accompanied by a surprisingly deep and throaty, "Oh my god. I love you, I love you both."
Following Mike's lead, I got on my all fours over Allie's lower left leg and began a systematic lapping with my tongue, starting right with her ankle. Slowly, slowly in tandem we lapped upward, up her shins. Her skin was firm, tanned, and absolutely smooth, not the tiniest prickle anywhere. Allie's breath remained slow, deep, and steady, and she moaned softly as we slowly, slowly ascended toward her knees, and then beyond.
We lapped and kissed, upward, upward, slowly, slowly, up her thighs, and seemingly inevitably toward her dear cunny, as though drawn by her fragrance. But to my surprise, and I must say dismay, at mid-thigh, Mike touched me lightly on the shoulder, and he moved off her leg, dragging his balls down the length of her shin. He rearranged himself on her right side, and began kissing her fingers and palms. Following his lead, I too dragged my balls down her left shin, and moving to her left side, took her little finger between my lips. And then her ring finger, and then by turns the others; then I kissed and licked the back of her hand, and then her palm, and then her wrist. I wondered how her hand could be so soft and mild, and yet so strong and supple, since she was a tennis and racquetball player, a cyclist, even sometimes, rock climber. And then I arrived at her inner forearm, and when I got to the inside of her elbow, she thrilled a bit. The back of her forearm was covered with the tiny golden yellow hairs, ever so fine and soft, capturing the sun in infinitely small fragments.
