All Characters In This Story Are 18+ Years Old.
*****
Claude lay on his back staring at the stippled pattern on the motel room ceiling. Nel, his 18-year old niece, and secret granddaughter, lay nude, cuddled against his right side. Her best friend, 19-year old Megan Taylor, snuggled naked on his left side. Both girls were sound asleep. The cog train trip to Pikes Peak summit and back to Manitou Springs, followed by their impromptu sexual romp and a half hour soak in the oversized Jacuzzi had left all of them enervated.
Claude inhaled a deep breath and held it for a moment, enjoying the compression from his inflated lungs against the teenagers' breasts, as they rose and fell on his ribs with the regular cadence of the girls' own breathing rhythms. He looked down briefly at their sweet placid faces and slowly exhaled, smiling as they unconsciously adjusted their soft cheeks against his sinking chest. "The luxury of youth," he thought, "so carefree and trusting." He returned his gaze to the bland white ceiling "Wouldn't have it any other way!"
A knock on the door and a strange male voice calling, "Mr. James?" broke in on Claude's ruminations about relocating his mediation and arbitration consulting practice to Denver from Portland. Megan and Nel both snapped out of their sleep at the noise and sat up, alarmed. Claude slid straight to the end of the king-size bed and strode to the connecting door. Opening it, he raised a finger to his lips and shooed his nymphs out of his room and back into their own.
"Guess he's not in," the man's voice muttered on the other side of the main door while Claude hurriedly pulled his Levi's on, careful to tuck his unprotected limp dick away from the meat-eating teeth of their zipper.
"Just a moment, please!" Claude shouted, stumbling across the room, kicking his Asolos out of the way with his bare feet. He opened the door and saw a medium-sized older man, in Western boots, jeans and a blue work shirt under a canvas fishing vest. His greasy ball cap was tipped back on a balding head with tufts of long curly gray hair sprouting over his ears.
"Howdy, Mr. James? I'm Buck Watson," the visitor announced. "Thought we could talk about your Toronado," he said matter-of-factly.
Claude looked at his watch and saw it was 4:40 p.m. He squinted at the old man and said, "I thought you were fishing and wouldn't get back until this evening. You've kind of caught me off-guard here."
"Oh, well, sorry 'bout that," Buck replied with an easy grin. He looked past Claude into Number 11. If he noticed the trail of damp towels leading from the bath to the big bed and the depressions left on the rumpled bedspread, he did not say anything. "Yep, I was. Got back early. Beulah told me about... your situation. Could've called, I reckon, but shoot, the shop's just across the street..." He looked Claude over closely, "but if this isn't a good time, well, we can talk later, I s'pose."
"No, no," Claude assured Buck, "Now is fine. I just had a little lie-down. Give me five minutes. I'll be over at the shop right away." Smiling and nodding, Claude shut the door on Buck, missing the mechanics mirthful look.
"A 'lie-down' in the middle of the afternoon," Buck said to himself, stroking his chin as he walked away from the motel door, "If that don't beat all!"
Claude pulled off his jeans, walked into the bathroom and retrieved his underwear. He got properly dressed and poked his head through the connecting door to Number 12. "Jeez, Nel!" He said to his niece, who was standing at the front window peeping her face through the drawn drapes. He pink bottom quivered as she turned around, startled by his outburst.
"I just wanted to see who it was!" Nel explained, instantly aware of the perceived risk, "I had the curtains all, like, tight in front of me. That old guy couldn't see anything!" She stepped toward Claude, joining him and Megan. "Who was that, anyway?"
Claude tossed Nel her blue panties and bra, then turned and handed Megan her black lace thong and gray undershirt. "That was the mechanic, back early from fishing. I'm going over to talk with him about the car." He put his hands on the teens' bare shoulders, gave them a quick soft caress and suggested, "Why don't you get dressed and join me in about 15 minutes. We can walk around the town and see what's doing?"
Megan stretched up on her toes, her heavy breasts bumping Claude's chest, and kissed his left cheek lightly. "Great idea, Uncle Claude," she said, as Nel followed suit on his right jaw and nodded her head. Claude shut the connector from his side and walked out of Number 11, heading for the garage while his playmates giggled in Number 12.
"Oh My God, NEL!" Megan exclaimed in rush, "Your uncle is SO HOT! I totally melt when he touches me... My nips are, like, on FIRE, just from brushing against him!" She grabbed her friend's left hand with her right and brought it to her huge left breast, flattening it against her small pink areola. "FEEL if you don't believe me!" She challenged. Megan's nipple was a pebble pressed against Nel's palm, but it seared into her hand like a burning rivet.
"I know..." Nel said, inexplicably unwilling, unable, to stop herself from squeezing Megan's boob. "I feel the same way... all the time.." she gasped, sensing her pussy bathing itself in its honey, "It's crazy AMAZING!"
Megan stepped a half-step closer and snaked her left arm around Nel's waist, dropping her hand to her the younger girl's bottom. She stroked small circles on the taut surfaces of her glutes and smiled as her friend's breathing became ragged. Nel advanced, her right tit rested on top of Megan's left breast as their chests fused. Megan massaged Nel's butt and pushed their clasped hands around, simultaneously stimulating both her own, and Nel's, aroused halos and proud nipples.
Nel was magnetically, irresistibly, drawn to Megan's mouth. She opened hers and kissed Megan dramatically. Megan's left hand slipped lower, pulling Nel's ass closer still. Her fingers traced the divide and tickled the lowest corner of Nel's dripping pussy. "Uhhnnnn," Nel moaned into her friend's throat. She pushed her right hand between their tummies and stabbed Megan's stiff clit with her finger tips while she pressed her thumb on her own distended pleasure button.
"AYYEEE" Megan yelped, the sound strangled by the teens' conjoined lips and gums. "Nnnananhhh" she groaned, as a gentle, but resolute, tide flashed through her abdomen.
"Ooohhhhhh...aahhHHHH!" Cooed and cried Nel, as her own climax insisted on its release.
The girls clung to each other, quaking in their rapture, as their young bodies discovered yet more stars in their expanding sexual universes. "Oh Nel!" Megan panted, when their crises passed, "I want him to FUCK me, SO BAD! Is that just horrible of me?" She wrapped her arms around the taller teen and laid her face on her bosom.
"No, Meg, not at all," Nel said, sincerely understanding the older girl's emotion, "That's, like, exactly the way I've felt, pretty much all day every day since he got here." She buried her fingers in Megan's short curly hair and lightly scraped her scalp with her nails. "He's going to live with us, and Mom has first dibs, but, like I said, she's gonna share him with me... I don't see why she can't share him with you, too..." She pushed back and looked Megan square in her eyes. "Of course, we probably shouldn't TELL her, or anyone else, though. Right?" She raised her eyebrows underscoring the seriousness of the question.
"Absotively!" Megan agreed enthusiastically. "Pinky Swear Secret!" She exclaimed, holding up her hooked left little finger.
Nel grinned and twisted her own left finger around Megan's. "Pinky Swear Secret!" She solemnly intoned, hugged Megan and then stepped over to her bed where she had earlier dropped her outer clothes. The teens were soon dressed and, after a few quick brushes through their respective easy-care haircuts, they left Number 12 and headed for the auto repair shop, happily holding hands, each lost in her own thoughts about their new conspiracy.
*
Meanwhile, over at Watson's Specialty Auto, Buck was holding forth with Claude on muscle cars, in general, and Oldsmobiles, in particular. "1968, I mustered out of the army, 22 years old and full of piss and vinegar. Used all my savings and bought a 4-4-2 Hurst/Olds." He mused aloud, not paying attention to whether Claude was paying attention. "Man, oh man! That car flat out got up and moved!" He looked at Claude and grinned. "'Course, it had a completely different mill and tranny than your Toronado... which, by the way is a very sweet ride... and looks like it's in pretty good shape, for a 50-year old car." He narrowed his eyes. "You're too young to be the original owner. How long you had her?"
Before Claude could answer, Buck rambled on, "Don't matter... Listen, 150,000 clicks on the odometer is a lot. Averaging it across 50 years, or even 30, doesn't change how many miles that is on the drive train, you know what I mean?" He paused just long enough to ascertain that Claude was following. "So, apart from anything else, what you have is a Rochester Quadrajet four barrel carburetor, that's vacuum operated with on-demand air valve plates..." He smiled as he saw Claude's eyes glaze over. "Don't worry, there won't be a test later," he laughed. "The first thing to look at is whether the carb needs a rebuild, or, assuming I can find one, a full-on replacement... If the fuel plate shaft bushing is worn, it'll have to be fixed or no rebuild will hold. That's just a fact... . I know a good machine shop that can re-bush the primary throttle shaft but that may take as long as a week."
Buck stopped talking as Megan and Nel appeared, silhouetted in the garage doorway, and walked toward the men. He sucked in his breath in a silent whistle as he watched the girls approach. "Nieces, my ass, Beulah!" he said to himself as he studied their swaying hips and undulating tits. "But, who knows, Mr. James, you might get lucky and it'll only take a tune-up to fix that hesitation you reported." He pulled out the initial write-up Beulah had worked on earlier. "Here's the dealie-oh... I charge $60 an hour and I'll trouble shoot the Olds. You pre-authorize two hours for me to estimate it. If I can fix it in that time, with parts under $30 bucks, we're done and you're on the road tomorrow. If I can't fix it, and you decide to go with my estimate, the two hours labor will be free and you will only be responsible for the actual repair time plus parts." He took a breath and snuck another leer at Megan's 38DD chest, displayed under her gray Thinsulate shirt, behind her unsnapped and spread jacket lapels. "And if you don't want me to do the work, you just pay my two hours labor, keep the written estimate, limp home and have your dealer, or whoever, go to it." Looking at Nel, Buck felt disappointed. Her coat was zipped and he was left to guess about her assets, based on how she had bounced when she walked in. "How does that suit you, Mr. James?" He concluded, pushing the paperwork on a clipboard for Claude to approve.
"Well, Mr. Watson," Claude said, "That sounds eminently fair." He signed the work order and handed the clipboard back. "I'm glad I found you. Also glad I was in when you walked over... Don't trust your luck, though, CALL me on my CELL phone when you have the Toronado fixed or estimated, please." He spoke with an easy tone and a bland smile but made eye contact that let Buck know another 'drop in' visit would not be appreciated.
"Right you are," Buck agreed, looking at the wall clock. "I don't like to work on Sunday. Will you take may call between 7 and 7:30 this evening? I can pop the hood and nose around right now, if so."
"That'll be excellent, I'm hoping everything is a minor hitch." Claude turned away and headed for the door, teens in tow.
