Fucking typical, I thought. I had made the joke about trying harder because my mistress, Yvette, worked for
that
car hire company and here was Pippa adopting it like it her own line. Pushy, as Donna had said, and just like her mother. I reckon if I'd suggested to Pippa we do it doggy style, within a minute of starting she'd be claiming it was her idea all along.
Anyway, I just laughed and slapped her on her adorable rump and suggested she get to work on her tan in the afternoon sun. "My tan?" she said, mock offended. "What's wrong with it? Not good enough for you?"
I laughed and placed my bronzed torso alongside her. "Compared to me, missy," I said, "you look like a tub of lard. "A tub of fuckin' lard?" she laughed. "Watch it, buster." And we collapsed in each others arms, laughing and kissing.
She may have been my bossy britches of a sister's daughter but already I felt comfortable and relaxed with her. And I knew several things about her – she was intelligent, she was sexy, she was fun. The fact that she was my sister's daughter didn't enter into it. I was besotted.
Down by the pool, Pippa announced she would sun bathe naked – after all, as she pointed out, I'd seen everything there was to see. I put lotion on her lovely 38-24-36 body, which although it was beautifully proportioned was at 5 feet two inches probably too short to feature as one of my "skin mag" models, as Donna would have put it.
I then plunged into the pool for lots of laps, while she baked in the Provence sun. Then she rolled over and called "Pool boy, my front please, and quick about it!"
I laughed and climbed from the water, dried down and ran my lotion-covered hands all over lush full front nudity, aware that as I did my eight-inch uncut cock began to rise to pay homage to her firm, nubile figure.
We dined early that – Pippa had had a long day. I did just rare steaks, a fantastic green salad, with olive and cheese from the village, all washed down by a huge Penfold's Grange, one of the world's truly great reds. It knocked her about, a sign that either she couldn't handle a big red or the previous three vodka tonics had taken their toll, along with her long day.
After dinner, we cuddled in the fading sunlight on a shaded sun lounger and Pippa, hardly able to remain awake, slurred her words slightly but put her point firmly across.
"Now, darling uncle," she told me, "I'm off to bed, I'm absolutely shattered. I'm really hot for you, but I think I should sleep in my own bed while I'm here, otherwise familiarity will extinguish the flame. Agreed?"
I nodded, kissing her on her pert little nose. "Agreed, Pip," I told her.
"Curfew ends at 6 o'clock," she announced, "so if you want to hop into my bed after that, then it's fine by me."
I picked her up in my arms and carried her upstairs, helped her out of her flimsy little sun dress, tucked her up in bed, kissed her gently on the mouth and ignoring the stirrings of the old fella down there, walked quietly from the room. It was hardly gone 9pm!
I enjoyed a quiet brandy and a fine Cuban cigar, then, around 10pm crashed. It felt as if I'd only been asleep for five minutes when I heard a sheet being pulled back from the bed and a warm, firm body snuggled up against my back and buttocks. I checked the bedside clock. It read 2.06!
"What happened to the 6 o'clock curfew, Pippa?" I asked, sleepily, and felt her hand reach around me and start to stroke my cock, which, with a mind of its own, was starting to stir into action mode.
"Oh, don't worry about that, Jack," she purred. "It's got to be six o'clock somewhere in the world – I think it's six in Sydney."
"Sydney, Australia?" I laughed. "In Sydney's it's more like
midday. It's probably around 6 in the morning in Thailand, give or take an hour."
Pippa giggled: "Look Jack, are we going to argue about time zones all morning or are you going to fuck me?"
Well, she had me there. My cock was standing up ready to perform one of the two tasks it had been designed by nature to perform and as I rolled over to face her, my hand felt between her thighs and found that she was also in performance mode.
"Looks like a fuck, Pippa," I announced, moving onto her and sliding my stiffness into the lush warmth of her moist minge, driving into her up to the hilt, feeling our pubic bones bang together. Christ, she was a delight!
I thrust into her sweet succulence, then detected her starting to gasp, so I rolled her over till she was bucking and bouncing on my cock, her breasts jiggling in the moon's eerie half light coming through the window.
I rose sdlightly and sucked on one firm cherry, then the other and it only took a couple of sucks – honest – for her to scream out "Fucking hell, uncle, that's got me going, yes, yes, yes" and then she collapsed on my sweat-streaked chest, gasping what I took to be cries of delight.
Pippa pulled from my erection and lay on her tummy and was soon fast asleep, her lovely body rising and falling in contented rest. I meanwhile looked down at her, cock stiff and unassuaged. The little user, I laughed to myself, and I lay back and slept fitfully until I was woken by the sun streaming through the window.
I felt her side of the bed, still warm, but no sign of Pippa. I rose, showered, shaved, pulled on what I hoped my bossy little bitch would consider a suitably sexy little thong – a bright red number – and walked down to the kitchen.
She was seated, clad only in a little black bikini, at the old oak table which dominates my kitchen, poring over proof sheets of some of my models. "Oh, hi uncle," she said, proferring a cheek for a kiss.
"What have you got there?" I demanded, sniffily, bestowing a brief kiss on her warm cheek.
"Oh, just some pictures, they're rather sexy," said Pippa.
"Where did you find them?" I demanded, knowing damn well where she'd found them.
"I was just going through your stuff in your office, uncle. Something wrong with that? Perhaps I'd find something you don't want me to find? Pictures of mummy, maybe?"
"Don't be silly," I snapped, "I've never photographed your mum."
"Well you should," said Pippa, "she's got a great figure for a 40-year-old. You could lie and say she's 34 or 35, no one would be able to tell the difference."
