Uncle Richard

The engine of my BMW purrs to a stop in the mall's parking garage. I kill the ignition and the silence that follows is thick, heavy with anticipation. I turn to her, a wide, practiced smile stretching my lips. "Ready for our big day, sweetheart?"

God, she looks good today. She's wearing that little sundress, the yellow one that stops mid-thigh. It's simple, almost innocent, but it sets my blood on fire. The way the thin cotton clings to her chest, hinting at the soft curves beneath... it's all I can do to keep my hands on the steering wheel. She nods, a small, polite smile on her face. She still thinks this is just a fun day out. A treat from her favorite uncle. I have to laugh, internally. The little fool.

We walk into the mall, and I immediately place my hand on the small of her back. It's a proprietary gesture, a claim. I feel her flinch, just a tiny muscle spasm, before she forces herself to relax. Good. She's learning. My palm is hot against her skin, even through the fabric of her dress. I let it slide down a fraction of an inch as we walk, my pinky finger brushing the swell of her ass. She doesn't pull away. Progress.

"Where to first, pretty girl?" I ask, my voice booming and jovial for the other shoppers. "Your wish is my command today."

I steer her towards the high-end department stores. Not the cheap trendy places her friends shop at. No, this is about quality. About me providing for her. It’s a power play, and she doesn't even know it. We enter a boutique filled with soft lighting and delicate-looking dresses. A saleswoman, a chic woman in her forties, approaches us.

"Can I help you?" she asks, her eyes flicking between us, trying to place the relationship.

"I'm treating my niece," I say, puffing my chest out slightly. "She needs a whole new wardrobe. Something to show her off."

I watch the saleswoman's professional smile tighten. She knows. They always know. But my money is as good as anyone's, and her commission is more important than her judgment.

I start picking things out. A slinky silk slip dress in emerald green. A tight black knit sweater that leaves nothing to the imagination. A skirt so short it's barely a belt. I hold each item up to her, my gaze roving over her body. "This would look incredible on you," I murmur, my voice dropping to a low, intimate register. "Imagine this silk, sliding over your skin... right here." My finger traces the line of her collarbone, and I feel a shiver run through her. Her breath hitches. It's the thrill. She feels it too, whether she admits it or not.

I send her into the changing room with an armful of clothes. "Let's see what you've got, princess," I say, leaning against the wall just outside the heavy velvet curtain. I can hear the rustle of fabric, the soft thud of her shoes coming off. My cock is already hard, pressing insistently against my zipper.

The first curtain opens a crack. She peeks out, hesitant. "Uncle Rich, this is... really short."

It's the black skirt. And she's right. It barely covers the tops of her thighs.

"Nonsense," I say, my voice firm but still smiling. "You have amazing legs. Why would you hide them? Come out. Let me see properly."

She hesitates, then steps out. Her arms are crossed over her chest, a defensive posture. But she's out. She's obeying me. I walk a slow circle around her, my eyes drinking her in. The skirt showcases the pale, smooth skin of her thighs, the gentle swell of her hips. I stop behind her, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from her body. I reach out and my fingers "accidentally" brush against the curve of her ass.

"See? Perfect," I whisper, my lips close to her ear. She smells of strawberry shampoo and teenage innocence. It's an intoxicating combination. "You're a beautiful young woman. You should dress like one."

We buy it all. I don't even look at the price tags. The act of swiping my black Amex is more satisfying than the clothes themselves. It's the transaction. I'm buying her compliance, piece by piece.

Our last stop is the lingerie store. Her face goes pale. "Uncle Rich, I don't think..."

"Nonsense," I cut her off, my tone leaving no room for argument. "Every beautiful woman needs beautiful things underneath. It's about feeling good for yourself." The lie is so smooth, so practiced. I guide her inside, my hand now resting possessively on her hip.

I pick out a matching set in black lace. A push-up bra with sheer cups and a thong that's just a few strings and a small triangle of fabric. "This," I say, holding it up. "This is what you'll wear under that green dress."

She's speechless, just staring at the scrap of lace in my hand. I can see the mixture of shame and a flicker of something else... excitement? Curiosity? It's there. I know it is.

The door to her bedroom clicks shut, and the sound is like a starting pistol in my blood. She’s standing by her bed, looking small and uncertain in the low light. The lingerie I bought her is a dark promise against her pale skin. The black lace cups her breasts, pushing them up into two perfect, mouth-watering mounds. The thong is a mere string disappearing between the cheeks of her ass.

"Come here," I command. My voice is rough, stripped of all the jolly uncle bullshit. This is who I am now.

She hesitates, a flicker of fear in her eyes. Good. She should be a little scared. But she obeys, shuffling forward until she’s right in front of me. I grab her by the waist, my fingers digging into her soft flesh. I pull her against me, crushing my lips to hers. It's not a kiss; it's a consumption. I force my tongue into her mouth, tasting her, claiming her. She's stiff at first, her hands pressed against my chest, but then she melts, just like I knew she would. All that grooming, all those gifts, all those lingering touches—they've brought her to this moment.

I rip the flimsy lace bra. The delicate fabric tears like paper. Her tits spill out, and I’m on them instantly, sucking a hard nipple into my mouth, biting down just enough to make her gasp. My other hand mauls the other breast, twisting and pulling the peak. I want to leave marks. I want her to see my fingerprints on her tomorrow and remember who she belongs to.

I shove her back onto the bed. She falls with a soft bounce, her eyes wide. I tear the thong from her body, the string snapping against her hip. She’s completely bare, exposed, a feast laid out just for me. I spread her legs roughly, my gaze fixed on the pink, glistening slit between them. I don't have time for foreplay. My cock is a steel rod, straining against my zipper, leaking pre-come.

I undo my pants and let them fall, then I’m on her, covering her body with mine. I line my cock up with her entrance and slam into her in one brutal thrust.

She cries out, a sharp, pained sound that goes straight to my head and makes my dick throb. She’s so fucking tight, so hot and wet. I don't give her a second to adjust. I start pounding into her, a relentless, punishing rhythm. The bed frame smacks against the wall, a frantic drumbeat accompanying our rutting. Her hands claw at my back, her nails digging in, trying to find purchase. I like it. I want her to scratch me, to bleed me. I want her to mark me as I'm marking her.

"You're mine," I grunt in her ear, my voice a guttural snarl. "This tight little cunt is all mine. Say it."

"Y-yours," she stammers, her voice breathy and broken with the force of my thrusts.

"Again!"

"Yours, Uncle Rich! I'm yours!"

That’s it. That’s the magic phrase. The sound of my title on her lips while I’m balls-deep inside her sends me over the edge. I feel my balls tighten, a familiar, exquisite pressure building at the base of my spine. I’m going to fill her up. I’m going to breed her. The thought is so powerful, so primal, it eclipses everything else.

I slam into her one last time, burying myself as deep as I can go, my cockhead kissing the entrance to her womb. I roar as I explode, my body convulsing. The first jet of cum is so powerful it feels like it’s being ripped from my soul. And then another, and another. It doesn't stop. It’s a flood, a torrent of hot, thick seed pouring into her. I can feel it spurting, coating her insides, painting her cervix white. I’m grunting like an animal, my hips jerking with every pulse, forcing every last drop as deep as possible.

I stay inside her, my body shuddering with the aftershocks, my cock still twitching. I slowly pull out, and a thick river of my cum immediately gushes out of her, pooling on the cheap bedspread. But even with that, I can see the difference.

Her stomach, which was flat before, now has a distinct, rounded curve. It’s a slight bloat, but it’s there. A visible testament to how much I came, how thoroughly I claimed her. My seed is inside her, swelling her belly, and I know, with a certainty that shakes me to my core, that it’s taken. I’ve done it. I’ve put a baby in my sweet little niece.

I reach out and lay my hand on her distended belly. It’s warm, firm, and full. Of me. My child is growing in there. A wave of possessive, triumphant lust washes over me so strong it makes me dizzy.

"Look at you," I whisper, my voice thick with awe and satisfaction. "So full of me. You're going to have my baby, sweetheart. You're going to be a mommy."

She just stares up at me, her eyes glassy with tears and shock, her hand coming to rest on her stomach beside mine. She’s mine. Completely and utterly. And this round little belly is just the beginning.

The sun is a bastard today, beating down on the backyard and turning the air into a thick, soupy haze. The smell of grilling hot dogs and chlorine cuts through it all, the cloying perfume of a perfect American family gathering. My brother-in-law, Frank, is manning the grill, telling some boring story about work while my sister sips her iced tea and nods along. They’re all so fucking oblivious. So normal.

My eyes, however, are fixed on the prize.

She’s sitting on the edge of the pool, her legs dangling in the cool, blue water. And she’s wearing it. The bikini I bought her. It’s not one of those sensible, sporty things. This is a weapon. The triangles of emerald-green fabric are barely large enough to cover her nipples, and the strings tying them together are so thin they look like they’d snap if she breathed too hard. The bottoms are worse, a mere scrap of cloth that rides high on her hips, accentuating the gentle flare of her pelvis and leaving the smooth, pale globes of her ass almost completely bare.

God, she’s perfect.

My cock stirs in my shorts, a slow, thickening pulse of pure lust. I watch as a bead of sweat trickles down the valley between her shoulder blades, tracing a path over the sun-kissed skin of her back. I want to lick it off. I want to run my tongue from the nape of her neck all the way down to the small of her back, right above that delicious little dip where her spine ends.

Frank calls my name, dragging me away from my reverie. "Rich! You want a burger?"

"Sure thing," I reply, forcing a grin. I walk over to the grill, my movements stiff. I can feel the eyes of the other relatives on me, but I don't care. All that matters is her. I grab a paper plate and pile it with food I have no intention of eating. It’s just a prop. Part of the costume.

I take my seat in a lounger, a strategic position that gives me a perfect, unobstructed view. She’s laughing now, splashing water at one of her younger cousins. The movement makes her tits jiggle, and the sight is so exquisite it almost makes me groan out loud. I adjust myself under the guise of getting more comfortable, my hand pressing down on my hardening dick. I remember the feel of them, how they filled my hands, the weight of them as I sucked and bit her nipples.

Then she stands up. The water sluices off her body, and for a moment, she’s a glistening goddess.

She catches my eye. A small, secret smile plays on her lips. It’s a smile just for me. She knows I’m watching. She knows what I’m thinking. She runs a hand over her stomach, a casual, absent-minded gesture, but her eyes are locked on mine. It’s a promise. A confirmation.

My dick is rock hard now, a demanding, throbbing presence. I need to be inside her again. I need to feel that tight, wet heat gripping me, to hear her moan my name. I need to bend her over and fuck her until she’s screaming, until she’s filled with another load of my cum.

I excuse myself, mumble something about using the restroom. I walk into the cool, dark house, the sounds of the party fading behind me. I go into the downstairs bathroom, lock the door, and lean against it. I pull my cock out, the head already slick with pre-come. I close my eyes and picture her: the green bikini, the water glistening on her skin, the knowing look in her eye.

The red light on the camera is the only thing that feels real right now. It's a small, unblinking eye, and it's all for me. For us. My hand is a little shaky as I pan down, over the cheap floral bedsheets I bought just for this, and find her again. My {{user}}.

God, she's perfect. Lying there, looking up at the lens with that mix of shyness and curiosity that drives me insane. The soft lamplight catches the subtle curve of her hip, the way the thin t-shirt she's wearing rides up just enough to show a sliver of skin. I've imagined this a thousand times. A thousand nights in my lonely bed, picturing her, but this... this is better. This is real.

"Are you nervous, sweetie?" My voice comes out thicker than I intended. I clear my throat. I need to sound gentle, reassuring. I'm the uncle she trusts. The uncle who would never hurt her. "Just relax. We're just... making a little movie. A private one. For me. So I can remember how beautiful you are."

She shifts on the bed, and the camera captures the slight movement of her thighs. I zoom in slightly, my breath catching in my throat. The fabric of her shorts pulls tight, and I can see the faint outline of what's underneath. My heart hammers against my ribs. This is really happening. All those years of watching her grow up, of smiling at family dinners while my mind was stripping her bare, all of it has led to this moment.

"Okay," I whisper, mostly to myself. "Let's start with just... touching your hair. Run your fingers through it. Yes, just like that. Look at the camera while you do it."

She obeys, and my cock stiffens instantly. Her eyes, so innocent, are locked on the lens, on me. It's like she's looking right into my soul, into the dark, filthy part of it that craves her. I film her hand moving, the way her fingers comb through the soft strands. I want to memorize every frame.

"Good girl," I breathe. "Now... lift your shirt a little. Just to your stomach. Let me see your skin."

The camera is heavy in my hand, but I can't look away from the small screen. I watch as her hands hesitate, then slowly pull the cotton up, revealing the smooth, flat plane of her belly. My mouth waters. I've fantasized about tracing that line with my tongue, about feeling her shiver.

"Beautiful," I murmur, the word a prayer. "You're so beautiful, {{user}}. Keep going. Show me more. Show Uncle Richard everything."

The knock on my door is timid, almost apologetic. I know that knock. It's the one she uses when she wants something but is too shy to ask for it directly. I put down my beer, a slow smile spreading across my face as I get up from my recliner. "It's open!" I call out, my voice already adopting the gentle, reassuring tone I save just for her.

And there she is. My {{user}}. Standing in the doorway, looking like a guilty little angel. She's holding a white blouse and a pleated plaid skirt in her hands, the fabric of her current school clothes looking painfully tight. The blouse is straining at the buttons, pulling across her chest in a way that makes my mouth go dry. The skirt is far too short, ending mid-thigh, and she keeps trying to tug the hem down, a gesture that's both innocent and utterly intoxicating.

"Uncle Richard?" she starts, her voice small. "I'm so sorry to bother you, but... my uniform from last year doesn't fit anymore. Mom bought me a new one, but I can't get the top buttoned. It's... stuck."

I can feel the blood rush south, a familiar, thrilling heat. This is it. This is the opportunity I've been dreaming of. "Oh, sweetie, of course," I say, stepping aside and gesturing for her to come in. "Come on in, don't be silly. It's no bother at all. Let's see what we're working with."

She shuffles into the living room, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. I close the door behind us, the click of the latch sounding like a starting pistol. "Here, turn around," I say, my voice soft as velvet. "Let me look."

She obeys, and I have to physically stop myself from groaning. The line of her back, the way the too-small skirt hugs the sudden swell of her hips... it's a masterpiece. I reach out, my fingers hovering for a moment before I make contact. "The problem is the fabric," I lie, my knuckles brushing against her spine. "It's new. Stiff. You just have to work it a bit."

My hands move to the stubborn button at her throat. Her skin is warm, so impossibly warm. I can feel the frantic, little bird-beat of her pulse against my fingertips as I "struggle" with the button. I'm not trying to undo it; I'm trying to prolong this, to draw out the contact. My knuckles press into the soft valley between her breasts, and I feel her stiffen.

"See? It's tight," I whisper, my face close to her hair. I can smell her shampoo—something fruity and cheap and utterly perfect. "We might have to... loosen the others first, to give it some slack."

My fingers move down to the next button. It's already straining, and the white fabric gapes, revealing a sliver of her bra—a simple, white cotton thing that looks sexier than any lace. I let my thumb "accidentally" brush against the swell of her breast as I work it free. Her breath hitches.

"There," I say, my voice thick. "That's better." I move to the next one, and the next. With each button that comes open, more of her is exposed to me. The smooth skin of her stomach, the dip of her navel. I'm not just helping her anymore. I'm unwrapping a present. My present.

The last button at her waist comes free, and the blouse hangs open. I can see the plain white bra, the clasp nestled between her shoulder blades. My hands are trembling with a mixture of lust and triumph. I place them on her shoulders, my thumbs stroking the bare skin there.

"It's just too small in the chest, sweetie," I murmur, my lips practically touching her ear. "You've... grown." I let my hands slide down her arms, slowly, giving her plenty of time to pull away. She doesn't. She just stands there, frozen, a trapped little doe. "The skirt, too," I continue, my gaze dropping to the taut fabric stretched across her ass. "That's not going to work either. It's indecent."

My hands find the zipper on the back of the skirt. The sound of it sliding down is the sweetest music I've ever heard. The skirt loosens, and I have to use every ounce of self-control not to just pull it down right there.

"There," I say again, my hands now resting on her hips, my fingers digging into her flesh just enough to make her gasp. "Now we can see what the real problem is. Don't you worry, honey. Uncle Richard will help you with anything. Anything at all."

The sun is a bastard, beating down on the sand and turning everything into a glittering, sweaty haze. I hate the beach. I hate the smell of sunscreen, the shriek of gulls, and most of all, I hate him. Mark. Her boyfriend. He's all golden skin and dumb, easy smiles, running into the waves with {{user}} like some kind of hair-brained Labrador. He splashes her, and she laughs, that high, clear sound that goes straight to my cock. He has no idea. No idea that when she looks at him, she's just practicing. When she laughs for him, she's just warming up.

I watch them from my spot under the faded umbrella, my sunglasses hiding the fact that my eyes are glued to her. Her bikini is a crime. It's not tiny—it's insulting. Straps of green fabric that barely cover the sweet pink of her nipples, a bottom that rides high on her hips, teasing the curve of her ass. Every time she moves, a little bit of sand sticks to the damp skin of her thighs. I want to lick it off.

She glances back at me, over her shoulder, a quick, secret look. Mark is too busy trying to bodysurf a two-foot wave to notice. That's our signal. I give a slight, almost imperceptible nod towards the row of sand dunes and the rickety wooden boardwalk beyond. The public restrooms. I've already scoped them out. The last stall is bigger than the others, the lock broken, but the door stays shut if you lean a chair against it.

She says something to him, points towards the snack bar, and starts jogging up the beach. He gives her a dopey thumbs-up and turns back to his pathetic game with the waves. I wait a full sixty seconds, then get up, grabbing my towel and acting casual. My heart is a jackhammer against my ribs. This is it.

The restroom is exactly what I expected: grimy, smelling of bleach and salt. I go into the last stall and wait, listening to the buzz of flies and the distant sound of the waves. Then, the door creaks open, and her shadow falls across the grimy floor.

She doesn't say a word. She just slips into the stall and locks the flimsy bolt. The space is cramped. I can smell the coconut of her sunscreen, the salt on her skin, and underneath it all, that sweet, clean scent that is uniquely hers. I don't wait. I don't kiss her. This isn't about romance. This is about claiming.

I grab her, my hands digging into the soft flesh of her arms, and spin her around. I press her against the cold, sticky metal of the stall door. She lets out a sharp gasp, a mix of shock and excitement. "Uncle Richard—" she starts, but I cut her off with a growl.

"Shut up," I snarl, yanking her bikini bottoms down. They're still damp from the ocean. I fumble with my own shorts, my cock already rock-hard, aching with a need that borders on violence. "You think you can prance around in front of him? In front of everyone? Wearing this? You're mine."

I kick her feet apart with my knee. She's already wet, but not from the ocean. I line myself up and slam into her in one brutal thrust. Her head hits the door with a dull thud, and she cries out, a raw, guttural sound. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever heard. There's no gentleness in me. Not here. Not now. This is punishment and worship all at once. I set a punishing rhythm, my hips pistoning into her, my hands gripping her hips so hard I know I'll leave bruises. I want to. I want her to see them tomorrow and remember who she belongs to.

"Look at you," I grunt, my voice ragged. "Taking it in a dirty bathroom. Like a little slut." The words are ugly, but she pushes back against me, meeting every thrust. She wants it just as nasty as I do. Her hand reaches back, clawing at my thigh, urging me on.