French Niece??

byscouries©

The following is a story of consenual incest between adults - if this is not what you're looking for please don't read on...

FRENCH NIECE??

Chapter 1 - New York City, August 2004

"Pierre, c'est toi?" I heard down the phone line, a line that stretched all the way to the elegant 7th arrondissement in Paris, that most exclusive of areas, now home to my only sister Marie Justine (nee Mary Brown) Tremblay.

"Oui, c'est moi Marie. What a pleasant surprise to hear from you. I was just thinking of you," I lied, both nervous and excited at hearing the voice of my forty-three year old sister, a sister who would be calling me only if she wanted something. "How's everything going over there?"

"Good news Peter," she almost sang as she switched back to her native tongue, "Amelie's coming to visit you."

"She is….. When?" I stammered, but relieved that this looked like a simple request to perform, a couple of days escorting my pretty niece around New York City.

"Well Cherie, not exactly a visit," she added ominously. "Actually it's wonderful news Peter, your brilliant niece has been accepted to our Alma Mater."

"NYU? But she's only sixteen," I protested, confused by the idea of my only niece wandering the halls of America's best University.

"She's eighteen Peter. Don't you even know the age of my daughter? She graduated from the Lycee in June."

"But does she speak English well enough?" I asked, as my mind whirled through the possibilities and problems Amelie's presence in New York would cause me.

"Of course she speaks English," she almost shouted in response, her natural dislike of the male species coming perilously close to the surface as she spoke. "But she'll need a place to stay when she arrives in three weeks."

"I'm sure she'll love residence living Marie. Remember how you enjoyed your first year?" I enthused and then added, "And of course I'll love entertaining my beautiful niece from time to time."

"We were too late Peter."

"Too late? For what?"

"Amelie was going to go to the Sorbonne of course, but when NYU accepted her last week, both Jacques and I thought she should experience at least one year in America, it'll be good for her."

"And?"

"We were too late to get her in residence Pierre, so we thought..."

"Yes?" I finally murmured, all of a sudden realizing what my dear sister was hoping for.

"Well, you do have a huge house. And you are so close to the University, well, so we thought maybe the best thing for your innocent little niece is to live"

"I'm sure she'd be better off with people her own age," I said quickly, interrupting her argument. "In fact, I'm sure with the contacts I have that I could easily arrange a place for her in residence."

"I've already decided Peter! She'll stay with you first year. It'll be much safer for a young girl. Remember Peter, she's innocent, she's not used to the violence and guns and criminals and murder and drugs like all you Americans are."

"Marie, you're an American too," I protested weakly, knowing this was an argument I'd never win.

"We're arriving on the 28th Peter, Air France of course. We expect to be met," she warned, and before hanging up added, "I'll e-mail you the details tomorrow."

A myriad of emotions flashed through my brain as I sat immobile in my easy chair, the phone's busy signal buzzing unnoticed in my ear. It was hard to believe that Claire Amelie Tremblay, my little 'cat', was already eighteen and about to become a University student. I hadn't seen her for over four years and had often wondered if her Mother hadn't intentionally sent her away whenever I had made one of my visits to France in recent years.

Was it on her fourteenth birthday the last time I'd seen her I asked myself. Even then she had been taller than her Mom, I remembered. She was a thin, coltish, auburn haired girl, frisky then and with no hips and just small bumps rising under her tee shirt. She'd had hard fat nipples though, I thought suddenly, grinning at the remembered image of a topless, soaking Amelie climbing from their pool as we adults sipped wine.

Even then though, she was her Mothers daughter, having already developed a haughtiness, even a snobbishness that can be maddening in a twenty year old, but in her fourteen year old body four years ago it had been simply irritating. She'll be a bitch I knew suddenly, that worst of all possible combinations, a beautiful, rich, private school educated French teenager, brought up by my status conscious sister.

My sister, I mused, as a lifetime of sibling memories crowded my brain...…

Chapter 2 - New York, Summer 1985

My sister, simply Mary then, was born six years before me, and was probably more surprised by my sudden appearance than my father. Dad was sixty when I was born, and greeted the son he had given up hoping for, a son who could carry on the proud tradition of the New York Browns, with jubilation.

In one day Mary went from being the only child of a wealthy family, an always spoiled girl who had been the most important person in the Brown household, into almost an afterthought, the arrival of the male scion completely superseding her, even though she was the elder.

She must have loved me at first, what small six year old girl could possibly not love a baby brother? But as the years passed resentment grew, and although I didn't recognize it at the time, I know now that I induced in her incredibly strong emotions, a love/hate pendulum that threatened her happiness.

When I was ten, eleven, twelve, she would often wrestle with me as we played, and looking back I can still see the joy in her eyes as her sixteen or seventeen year old body sat astride me, forcing me down, hurting me just enough to get me to cry and beg for mercy.

I have no memories of any sexual association with these games; at that age I was still too young to harbor even the remotest interest in sex. But now I guess that Mary must have somehow received some sado-erotic pleasure in subduing her little brother, probably some early stirrings of the two sided sexual person she was destined to become.

When I was twelve Mary started first year medicine at NYU and with her living in residence for her first three years we grew apart, our childish games left behind. And when she moved back home after third year, half-way to her medical degree, a twenty-one year old woman, she found not the boy she remembered cowing before her, but an almost-man.

At fifteen, I had grown to 5'10", three inches taller than Mary, and although still thin, had a wiry strength that easily eclipsed hers. And so, during those next three years, my high school years, Mary changed tactics, ostensibly kind and charming to me when in the presence of others, but often mean and verbally harassing when in private.

When I finally discovered girls and started dating in my junior year, her attacks all of a sudden became increasingly shrill. She hated the ease I had with the opposite sex, and would invariably criticize any date I brought home. It was that year when I recognized that there was something wrong with Mary, that I realized that this twenty-three year old beautiful woman, and she was beautiful, even her brother could recognize the sexual delights that awaited someone behind every curve of her lush body, had sexual problems.

"Why don't you ever go out with men?" I learned to reply to her constant criticism of me and my dates. "Don't tell me you're still a virgin?" I'd laugh at her.

"She's just a slut, a dirty little slut," she'd rage back.

"Lesbian!"

"Fuck you Peter, fuck you," she'd cry.

Only once that year did we actually physically battle, and as I easily rode atop her thrashing, struggling body, taunted, "Some day a man's going to come along and make you his slave Mary, make you grovel at his feet, how do you think you'll like it Mary, obeying a strong male.."

"Never," she screamed, "I'll never let a man control me. I'm strong, I'm liberated! Never!"

But I just laughed as I got off her and could see the fear, the excitement, the yearning in her eyes as she lay looking up at me.

In her last year at NYU, while I was eighteen and in last year high school, Mary all of a sudden found a man, or at least a male member of the human species. Jacques Tremblay, a fellow student in medicine, a Frenchman, all of a sudden started appearing at our house, and during Easter of their final year they announced to Dad and Mom their plans to get married in late July and then move to France to live and practice medicine.

"Are you crazy?" I demanded one day soon after their announcement, "Mary, he's not for you. He'll never satisfy you. He's a"

"Shut up Peter. You're just jealous," she laughed, feeling she had the upper hand. "He's kind and rich and educated and urbane and handsome," she crooned. "And he obeys me. He does what I say Peter, when I say it," she boasted, showing the haughtiness I recognized from our youth.

He was a short, dapper man, maybe 5'5" and one hundred and twenty pounds, and I didn't doubt Mary's words, easily being able to imagine her sitting astride him, disciplining him.

"He's not a man," I howled, "He'll never fill you like you want, like you need."

"He likes it when I spank him," she whispered in my ear, "With a fat leather belt Peter," she finished, a triumphant gloat on her shining face...…

Nothing would have happened; the future would have turned out completely different, if she hadn't barged in on me that July day, just two weeks before her wedding. Sally, my current girl, and I were in the backyard, naked after a summer's afternoon swim. When I heard the click of the patio door I was pounding away deeply into Sally's pussy, as she lay bent over the picnic table.

With one hand holding Sally's ponytail and the other wrapped under her stomach, pulling her towards me with each heaving thrust, I looked up and saw Mary watching us, one foot through the door and the other suspended in mid air.

As Sally's deep groans of satisfaction exploded across the yard, I kept watching my Sister, still immobile second after second, her mouth open in an anguished circle, and saw as the black rage suddenly bloomed on her face.

She was on me and pushing me over just as my first strand of cum pumped out and flew in a wild arc upward as I stumbled onto the grass. "You pig," she hissed at me before turning to an astonished Sally, whom she started to pummel as she screamed, "Slut! Cunt! Bitch! Get the fuck out of here," and Sally fled screaming before her blows and words, just grabbing her shorts and top before Mary chased her through the house and out the front door.

"Are you fucking crazy?" I finally managed to yell when Mary reappeared. "What were you fucking thinking?" I raged as I stood up to face her, strands of my cum hanging from my chest and still half-hard cock.

"You're like animals, wild animals," she yelled back as she rushed right up to me, her hands clenched in little fists and spittle dripping from the corner of her mouth. "It's disgusting!"

"It's sex Mary, just sex. That was my girlfriend for Christ's sake."

As her fists hammered uselessly against my chest I suddenly broke, first grabbing her hands to stop the ineffectual blows, and then lifting her effortlessly off the ground.

"You asshole," she screamed as I carried her over to the table and bent her over, the suppressed anger I'd carried for years now explosively unleashed.

Thwack...… thwack..... thwack...…. thwack...…. thwack..... thwack…My hand fell relentlessly on Mary's backside, her screams of protest rising as the pinkness turned to red and crimson. "Bitch," I yelled as each blow fell, incredibly excited to finally have the upper hand on my squirming sister.

"No Peter, no ...… you can't, stop, stop now," she ordered, but as I silently spanked her cries turned to pleas, "Please Peter, pleasssssse, pleasssssssse stop, it hurts."

Finally I tired, and turned her and lifted her to her feet. Grabbing her hair I shoved her face against my chest and ordered, "Clean me Mary, lick my cum from my body."

"Never you bastard, never," she wailed, but when I threatened to spank her again, I felt her tongue tentatively lick my nipple, tasting a man's cum for the first time and when she looked up into my eyes for just a second I saw a slavish acceptance of me deep within. She turned away quickly, knowing I had seen her desire, her lust, and quickly lowered her head, cleaning my chest and stomach hungrily.

Finally, on her knees between my legs, I could see her hesitate before my now surging cock. "It's too big Peter, I can't," she sobbed, a plea for mercy in her eyes.

"Clean it," I ordered as I grasped the back of her head and pulled her forward, and almost howled in pleasure as her tongue circle my engorged, leaking cockhead. "You're a born cocksucker," I laughed as she sucked me eagerly, one of her hands pumping me as the other caressed my now tight balls.

"Enough," I ordered as I lifted her up and pulled her against me.

"But Peter, don't you"

Lifting her and carrying her inside, I rushed upstairs to her bedroom, impatient to finally fuck my haughty sister, and as I threw her down on her soft sheets, told her, "Now its time you really felt me Mary. Felt what a man feels like spreading your tight little cunt."

"No Peter, no please. I'm a virgin, I can't"

"A virgin? You mean little Jacques's never fucked his sweet bride," I laughed as I knelt between her legs. "Never felt your pussy clench his little cock?" I demanded as I drove easily through her virgin gate, feeling the hot blood bathe my rampant tool as I penetrated a good six inches.

"Noooooooo......…. Peterrrrrrrrrr, no pleasssssssssssse" she shrieked as she was split by my sword. "Yes, yes, take it all out," she pled as I withdrew, leaving just my fat cockhead in her.

"The hard part's over," I promised as I plunged in again, this time burying another inch in her. "You got most of it sweetie," I lied, as I pulled back again.

"How long is it?" she cried, "It's too big, I can't Peter, I can't."

"Look at me," I ordered, as I started to pump rhythmically, "Into my eyes Mary, look into my eyes." I took her lower lip between my teeth as I finally bottomed out in her, my nine fat inches stuffing her completely.

"You're my little sex slave Mary," I told her grinning, feeling her slowly adjust to this foreign penetration of her insides, and then felt the first tentative responses from her body. Little hip movements and clenching of her pussy muscles began to meet my every thrust and deep guttural groans involuntarily slipped between her clasping teeth.

She came twice before I finally bathed her insides, and as my millions of sperm worked their way into every available crevasse, I felt a relief, a fulfillment I had never felt before. "I hate you," she whispered as we lay facing each other. "I hate men, I hate your penises, your strength, your"

"Come here," I laughed, pulling her so she nestled softly against me. "You're beautiful, so beautiful," I added, whispering in her ear before I let my lips find hers.

"I didn't want to, you hurt me," she lied, each of her breaths caressing me softly. As I pulled her even tighter against me, forcing her to feel my full length pushing against her stomach, she complained as she looked down between our bodies, "Not again Peter, please not again."

But she was licking her lips as she said it and when I flipped her over and entered her, holding her hips up and apart, she gasped in contentment and was soon begging me to fuck her harder and harder...…..

In the two weeks that followed, those last days leading up to her wedding, we fucked almost without stop. And after each bout of lovemaking she'd deny she liked it, always insisting she hated men, loathed me.

"I hate it Peter, I hate it what you do, what you make me feel, but I don't want you sleeping with that slut," she explained one day, promising me always that this was the last time but invariably coming back an hour or two hours later, rubbing against me, teasing me until I threw her down and forced her again.

But I couldn't convince her to leave Jacques, to call off the wedding, to stay with me. "You'll never be happy with him Mary," I'd argue, "Stay with me, stay with your little brother, be his lover, my slave forever."

"Never, never, I'm a doctor, an independent woman; I'm not your toy. This is just a parting cadeau, a gift for my little brother before I leave you." She stormed.

And she did marry Jacques and move to France and have a baby girl, Amelie, my niece. But about every twelve or fifteen months Marie (as she now called herself) and I would somehow find ourselves together for a couple of days or a week, and during those few precious times Marie would drop her pretense and become my slave, complaining happily as I cocked her.

Chapter 3 - New York, Aug 28 2004

You couldn't mistake them for anything but what they were, rich French women deigning to allow the United States the pleasure of their company for a short while. And as they slowly walked towards me, every molecule in my body screamed 'danger', a warning I knew I couldn't heed.

"Ah, Amelie, le voila," my sister intoned to her daughter, pointing at me.

"Marie, Cat, what a pleasure," I said, rushing to meet them. There were no family hugs from these two, just a cheerless waving at my cheeks by two pairs of cold lips.

"J'aime pas Cat, oncle Pierre," complained my niece, the first words out of her mouth after four years of absence.

"I'm sorry honey," I replied laughing, not willing to allow either of the two any edge, "But you're in America now, English only please."

"I..... DON'T..... LIKE.... THE.... NAME....CAT..... UNCLE," Amelie ordered, scowling in heavily accented English.

"Well, sweetie, Amelie then," I responded, my sarcasm perhaps outside the grasp of her perception, "Welcome to the greatest country in the world, the United States of America – your new home!"

"Ah oui, home of the beeg Mac, George Bush and the whooper," my sneering niece answered.

'Jesus,' I thought, silently appraising the beautiful, young woman in front of me, 'I wonder how long it will take me before I have that haughty smirk wiped off her face.' And Amelie was beautiful, even more attractive than her Mother, who had been a stunner in her own right when she had been a teen.

Model tall, Amelie's 5'9" body had filled out over the last four years and round, high breasts proudly stood above a miniscule waist and flaring, full hips. She was wearing designer jeans, jeans cut so low her pubic bones were half exposed and dark, rich pubic hair would have been luxuriously escaping if she hadn't shaved and waxed. I could see her slit clearly defined by the tightness of the material at her groin and wondered fleetingly if she was wearing any underwear at all.

She certainly wasn't on top, as I could see her jutting nipples and her dark alluring circles through the thin, beige cashmere sweater she wore, and each step or motion produced a wonderful cascade of movement under the near transparent wool.

"You've become a beautiful woman," I said, grasping Amelie's two hands in mine holding her in front of me. "Almost as pretty as your Mother," I added, hoping against hope I could compliment these vain women enough to quiet their harping.

"Stop being an idiot Pierre," Marie responded, "Let's get our bags and get out of here."

As we walked to the car, with me carrying the luggage as the girls chatted happily in French, I wondered if I'd have a chance in the two days my dear sister was staying to remind her once again just what a real man would and could do. And I couldn't stop myself from giving her still firm butt a quick slap as she bent over to follow her daughter into the car, a stinging blow that really didn't hurt, but just reminded Marie of what was ahead.

I kept up a running commentary as we drove, trying to point out all the highlights of New York to my young niece sitting in the back seat. As I talked I let my hand slide towards my sister sitting next to me, finally slipping my fingers into the high slit cut into her stylish white midi skirt.

"No, not now," she groaned, struggling to move away from me as my hand lightly touched her silk covered mound.

"No what Mama?" asked Amelie, completely shielded from the caresses I was applying to her Mother.

"Rien Cherie, It's nothing," Marie answered as my hand slipped under the soft material and a finger lightly trailed along the damp channel before penetrating her lightly. She was soaking as we pulled up to my house, panting silently as my finger pumped into her.

"Pig," she hissed pleadingly at me as Amelie jumped from the car, "I hate you! Don't touch me again, don't! Not this time, Amelie might see," she tried to order, as her pulsing pussy betrayed her.

"Viens Mama [C'mon Mom]," Amelie yelled as she moved up the walk towards the front door.

"I've missed you Marie," I whispered as Sis moved to get out of the car. "Maybe tonight," I added grinning, forcing her reluctant hand momentarily onto my now straining shaft before releasing her.

"No! I can't, I won't," she promised, but wasn't able to hide the lust, the servile hunger in her eyes.

When I finally arrived in the foyer of my two-hundred year old attached brownstone, laden still with the girls luggage, I found my niece staring wide eyed into the formal living room/dining room area.

"Mais, c'est tres belle, oh, I mean, its beautiful Uncle Peter," Amelie gushed, obviously impressed with the grandeur and beautiful furnishings of the rooms.

"Come on ma belle, I'll show you your new room, its upstairs." And after leading her into her new room and watching her eyes open in wonder, a young girls delight shining clearly on her face, added, "I hope you like it honey."

"Its perfect Uncle Peter, I love it," she said as she turned and gave me a real hug, and just for a second she let her moist lips linger atop mine, letting me momentarily sample her tongue before pulling away.

"Why don't you unpack honey while I take your Mom up to her room."

"I could sleep here," Marie quickly offered. "I don't want you put out too much," my normally selfish sister added.

"Don't even think about it Marie. Finally I get the chance to entertain you and repay you for all the times you've welcomed me at your home."

Even Amelie looked up suspiciously at this comment, knowing full well that I had never been welcomed warmly into her Mothers home. "But Peter," Marie started to protest as I led her out and up to the third floor.

My bedroom, like Amelie's directly below mine, looked out through large windows onto a private park at the back of the house, a park owned and maintained by the twenty houses that completely circled it. But it was to a room at the front on the top floor, angled under the sloping eaves, and with only a small window facing the street below, that I led Marie.

It was a luxuriously finished room, with rich, wood paneling, thick royal blue curtains, built in bookshelves, and wall mounted gold lighting fixtures. But it was also clearly a man's room, something I could see Marie sense immediately, and laughed inwardly as I saw her flinch from the hard male sexuality she felt all around her.

"Its fine Peter," she whispered, "Just give me a couple of minutes to change and freshen up and I'll come down and rejoin you."

Turning to her after I placed her bags on the bed, I ordered, "I don't want you to wear any panties while you're here Marie, I want you open for me."

"But, what do you mean," she started but she didn't finish her thought as I pulled her against me, roughly lifting her skirt above her waist before I ripped the soft, silk panties from her body.

And as I grasped her two round rear globes in my steel like fingers, lifting her up off the floor while I spread her, she cried, "No Peter, please don't...…oh God I hate you," she finished as one of my fingers eased up her already slippery channel while another forced itself into her puckered anus.

"You haven't felt your brother's hard spank for a few years, have you my dear sister?" I asked chuckling as I pulled her reluctant form toward the bed and placed her squirming over my knee. "I hope you haven't forgotten that you're really just a little slave, made to suck her brother's fat prick," I teased. Two fingers of my left hand were now buried in her, pumping relentlessly as the first blow fell ...TWACK ...… and then was followed in rapid succession by a dozen more.

Slipping her now thrashing body off my lap and onto her knees between my legs, I held her arms spread wide as her face lay against my crotch, feeling my bucking penis through the thin cotton.

"I won't, you bastard," she swore, as I pulled my fat monster free, "I won't, I won't, I won't," she sobbed as I moved my cock over her teary face, letting her feel its hardness against her cheek, her nose, her chin, her hair. "You're so cruel," she hissed as her mouth struggled to seize him, and then hungrily popped the heart shaped, crimson head between her puffy lips.

It was amazing that someone who had had so little experience with men, and with their pricks, could be so adept at pleasing them. As she licked and sucked, ravenously eating me, I freed her hands and allowed her to pump and stroke me as she worked, her only sounds gurgles of contentment, her supposed disdain for men lost as I emptied my thick strands of seed in her throat.

"I hate you," she whispered, as she knelt before me, a white string of cum hanging from her chin, as her eyes bored into mine, a deep satisfaction shining through. "I hate the way you make me feel, I hate loving the taste of you, the feel of your big cock," she finished as she lowered her head and milked the last bits of spunk into her mouth.

"Tonight Marie," I promised as I rose and moved toward the door, "Tonight I'll make you crawl for your little brother."

For two days I fucked my big sister, making her come endlessly as she thrashed below me, again and again deeply impaled on my thrusting spear. As she lay, tied spread-eagled on my King size bed, late on the second night, just hours before her flight home, I tried to convince her to join me permanently.

"Come live with me Marie, you know this is what you want, what you need… you want to be my slave, to feel my cock always, I've missed you"

"No, never, I'm a strong liberated woman, a Doctor, I don't need a man, never," she wailed. "It's I who orders Jacques, disciplines him, rules him," she boasted, even as I moved into her again, filling every inch of her insides.

"Leave him Marie. He's a wimp, a jerk, a little masochist who'll never satisfy you. You pretend to be a Dom but you know what you really want, don't you?" I demanded as she again started to spasm uncontrollably over my gushing cock. "You want my collar!! Come and be my slave, sleep tied at the foot of my bed every night, pleasure me when ordered, wear my mark," I insisted. "You'll be here for your daughter, she won't be all alone," I argued, excited at the prospect of Marie being my sex slave.

I could see she was attracted by my vision, that she was finally accepting what she was, who she could become, but still she replied, "No, never Peter, I can't, I can't. You'll take care of Amelie won't you Peter, promise me you will."

"Yes, yes of course I'll take care of her. What's her problem anyway? Does she at least like men? Does she fuck? Does she have boyfriends?"

"God yes, too many I think," laughed Marie ruefully, "She's definitely not like me in that way, in fact I'm afraid she's become a little slut. You definitely won't have to encourage her to date Peter, but you may have to lock her in sometimes.".....

My last words to my sister as I hugged her in front of the Air France gate, seconds before she boarded her flight home were, "I love you Marie, anytime you want to come, that you realize it's I you want, just come, whenever, always.."

"To be your slave?"

"Yes to be my love slave Marie, forever," I whispered as she turned toward the gate, conflicting thoughts and emotions dancing beneath her skin.

Chapter 4 - New York City, Fall 2004

I was thirty-seven that Autumn, a lifelong bachelor who had been slowly becoming set in my ways, and so I found the arrival of Amelie and her continuing presence both a trial and a pleasure. It was a joy to have a teenager in the house, with her youthful view of the world allowing me to experience life through a youngster's fresh eye.

But I had to also put up with her immaturity and her arrogance, combined with an anti-Americanism that threatened our uneasy peace almost from day one. Although she enjoyed her school, her classmates, her courses and loved being able to explore the world's most exciting city, inevitably she'd spout some half-baked European theory about the States that would infuriate whoever she was with.

"But Uncle Peter," she'd complained innocently to me one day when I admonished her for some ill thought out comment she'd made, "I thought this was the land of free speech."

"That doesn't mean you can insult us every time you open your mouth."

"But Uncle,"

"Don't Uncle me Amelie. You were brought up much better than that. You don't see your new friends insulting French food or French inefficiency or French waffling on every important issue they face or"

"We don't waffle on"

"Christ sweetie, French foreign policy is based on how many francs it will make them that day. Your President doesn't even understand the concept of long term planning, the long term to him is tomorrow....and America always has to bail you French out whenever you get in trouble. Remember Cherie, it was the good old US of A that chased the Germans out of France while you all cowered in your homes."

"Liar! Batard!" [Bastard], she yelled back. "You people are uncivilized, boorish, God Uncle, look at that fool you have as President," she raged, her haughty pride not even allowing her to see any other view than her own.

But it was also fun to watch her mind expand, growing exponentially as new ideas and sensations flooded in, being bombarded by the University environment and the richness of New York. As we'd talk over dinner I'd be continually delighted as she'd expound on some new philosophy or sociology or political science idea she'd been exposed to that day for the very first time.

And even her French haughtiness couldn't help but be impressed by the treasures of the MOMA or the Guggenheim or the Met or the Whitney and I loved the time I spent walking arm in arm with my pretty niece through the galleries of these cultural landmarks. And it was a delight to escort Amelie to the shows on Broadway, where the 'Phantom' or 'Rent' or 'Mamma Mia' or 'Chicago' or 'Lestat' would invariably bring a look of pure joy to her innocent face.

And then finally there was the sexual tension that slowly built between us that term. She was a beautiful woman who had a European's ease with nudity and sex, a casualness that we Americans often find almost shocking.

She had spent much of every summer on the Riveria, always topless, and often totally nude, as she swam and sunbathed among her friends and parents. She found our awkwardness with nudity amusing, our inability to discuss sexual matters an incomprehensible idiosyncrasy of the English speaking world.

And although I had spent time on the freer beaches of Europe, and had a more casual approach to nudity and sex than most Americans, Amelie immediately sensed my unease when she was half dressed in my presence. It was a soft spot in my armor that she loved scratching; loving the advantage my unease gave her.

It started innocently enough when she decided to join me in my nightly workouts in my basement gym, a one thousand square foot area that housed a sauna, whirlpool, shower and steam room next to a fully functional weight room which was also equipped with a stationary bike and a treadmill. She had explored it when she had first arrived and sometimes used the treadmill and spa, but until mid-October hadn't joined me when I worked out.

One night she trooped down to the gym in skimpy shorts and tank top, her midriff bare, and asked as I watched her approach, "Will you help me with the weights Uncle? Show me what I should do."

"Sure sweetie," I panted as I finished the last rep of a bicep set, "I've been hoping you'd want to try it. Weight training's good for everyone, even for young fit girls," I explained as I walked over to her, sweat glistening on my engorged muscles.

"Mon dieu [My God], your strong Uncle Peter, ...…. I didn't know...….. your chest, your arms," she stammered, as her eyes roamed over my heaving body.

"Let me see you," I said, placing a hand on each shoulder and then moving them over her back and arms and sides and bare stomach, testing the muscles under her skin, and finally feeling the tremor that coursed through her as I slid my hand over her skin under her belly button. Kneeling before her I grasped each leg in turn, slowly running my hands over her calves, her quads, her hamstrings and then onto her firm glutes and inner thighs.

"You're fit sweetie, you just need a little more strength," I explained, excited by the feel of her silky skin.

"Will you show me? You don't mind me being here when you're trying to work out?"

"It's more fun to work out with someone else," I answered smiling, "You've made my day."

"I have?"

"Uh huh, c'mon I'll show you." And I then led her through a hard hour of work, fifteen minutes of cardiac followed by a full explanation of her muscle groups and the exercises she needed to do. My hands were continually on her body as I led her, supporting her, helping her, encouraging her, as she grew accustomed to the new movements.

"That's enough for tonight honey," I finally said, as she sat panting and sweating on the floor. "You'll be sore tomorrow but OK by Friday," I promised.

"God, I stink," she said as she stood, her nose sniffing under her sweating arm, "Do you have an extra towel down here?" she asked as she quickly peeled her top over her head, baring her perfect, firm, pink tipped breasts to my view for the first time.

"Yeah....sure Amelie...there, over here," I stuttered nervously, and then stumbled as I moved towards the cupboard next to the shower in the corner, an eight foot square tiled space that was open to the room.

When I turned back to her, I couldn't help but gasp loudly, Amelie's body now fully naked to my view. "Jesus", I groaned as my eyes locked on the pink gash casually displayed in front of me.

"Uncle Peter," the little vixen said laughing, "My nudity doesn't make you nervous does it?"

"No, no honey, you just surprised me," I answered lamely, as my eyes continually flicked from her face to her now erect nipples to her hairless groin.

"Are you going to shower now too?" she asked, a clear invitation in her voice.

"No sweetie, I'll get one later," I stammered as I backed quickly towards the door, my cock rock hard at the sight of my niece's nubile body.

The one constant in our relationship over the next two months was her delight in teasing me with her body and she took every opportunity to let me see her abundant charms. Casually around the house, she'd often appear suddenly topless or just in transparent sexy bras, and often appeared at dinner braless with décolleté tops, where each of her small movements would lure my eyes to her flashing charms.

And at least three or four times a week she'd work out with me, casually undressing and then showering when finished, always encouraging me to join her in the whirlpool or shower or steam room. Her perfect body came to haunt my dreams as the weeks passed and even when I made love to a favored friend, often wished it was Amelie who was writhing under me.

She finally caught me naked one night, arriving in the gym smiling as I showered after a hard workout. "I'm late Peter," she explained as she walked across the room toward me, an impish smile on her face, "Professor Chambers, he's my Poli Sci prof, took the class out for drinks. Brrrr, it was cold outside Uncle, oh I really need a hot shower and whirlpool to warm up," she added as she quickly stripped and moved next to me, her eyes twinkling as she blatantly stared at my cock.

"I was afraid you were deformed," she finally said laughing.

"What? Why?"

"Well, you were so shy. And maybe it is," she finished, her tongue licking her lips as she looked up into my eyes.

"D..d..deformed," I stammered.

"It's so big....so huuuge...…..so eeeeeeenormous," she purred, "No wonder you have all those old women chasing you.

"Ha, ha, ha. But you must remember my little niece," I teased back, finally having regained my equilibrium, "Everything is bigger in America."

"Pas vrai mon oncle [not true uncle], so far all the American boys I've seen have been very disappointing compared to my French boys"

"Just how many boys have you seen anyway Amelie?" I asked, my firm tone undermined by a grin I couldn't hide.

"Not enough Uncle," she complained, and then moved into me, letting me feel her nakedness from head to toe. "It's very big now," she giggled, as she looked down between our bodies and watched me lengthening against her stomach. "And growing," she added, as she turned away and entered the steam room. "Coming," she purred invitingly.

I fled from her that night, but from then on we were both often naked in front of each other, and often finished our workouts together in the shower, sauna and whirlpool. As the weeks passed our sexual teasing of each other increased but remained just that, teasing and flirting, neither of us really ready to take it the next step.

But she became increasingly horny as the fall term passed, frustrated by her inability to find a suitable lover. A girl who had been exposed to sex early and who had become used to a full sex life, casual and enjoyable, she found the cloying jealously of American boys both strange and annoying.

"I just wanted to fuck him," she protested to me at dinner one night in early December, "Not live with him forever. Christ, they're all like little boys, doesn't anyone in America enjoy sex?"

"Well honey," I started, completely at a loss at what to say. "Don't you have some girlfriends you can talk to about all this?"

"And oral sex! God Uncle Peter, not one boy I've dated this term knows how to go down on a girl. It's just 'suck my cock Amelie' or 'bend over baby'. They're hopeless. I haven't come since I left Paris," she complained. "You like eating a woman don't you Uncle? Tasting her?"

"Well honey, I can't, I mean I don't think this is a subject you and"

"Bullshit! I'm sleeping alone and you've got women coming and going every day."

"Not every day!"

"Mon Dieu Oncle! I come down to breakfast and find these fat, old women sipping coffee at the table. Cattie one day, Marge the next, then Juuudy…"

"Stop complaining my little girl; just because you can't find a man... and what do you mean, 'fat, old women', the few ladies of mine you've met were lovely young ladies."

"Cows," Amelie spat, "sluts; you could do much better Uncle."

"Maybe you should bring one of your little college girlfriends home for me," I teased.

"Theses Americans Uncle, they're babies. What you need is a French woman, a Parisian with grace, charm, beauty, experience, sophistication... someone just like me," she finished.

"God forbid," I answered, laughing hollowly, suddenly aware that it was someone just like her I needed, knowing that I was falling hopelessly in love with Amelie.

As the last two weeks of the term wound down, we circled each other cautiously, both of us waiting for the other, wanting, dreaming... suddenly shy, afraid of the forbidden love lurking, urgently demanding release.

Amelie's last exam was on the sixteenth and she planned to fly home on the eighteenth and I was actually looking forward to her departure, knowing I needed to be alone as I pondered our future, still afraid of making the commitment I knew we'd demand of each other.

Gloria Jones arrived on my doorstep the night of the seventeenth, an old student and ex-lover, who was now a Professor at a school in the mid-west, just home for the holidays. Amelie was out with friends for dinner when Gloria arrived, and whether I did it out of horniness, or frustration at my situation, or just to hurt Amelie, I don't know, but for whatever reason the pretty professor and I were rolling naked in my bed before I knew it.

Gloria was crouched over me, eagerly sucking my fat cock, when Amelie opened my door, a bright smile on her face. I heard her stunned gasp as the first spasm of ejaculation exploded up my prick, and watched as her face collapsed before she fled.

I fucked Gloria hard, again and again, tears continually falling down my cheeks as her screams of ecstasy echoed throughout the house and I fell asleep trying to convince myself this was probably the best thing that could happen, that the other road could only lead to unhappiness.

The bed was empty when I woke the next morning and I stumbled to the bathroom and the shower ashamed of myself, wanting to hurry and clean the sticky evidence of my betrayal from my body. Water was dripping from me, only a towel around my waist, when I heard the screaming argument downstairs.

"You cow, you fat slut," rebounded up towards me as I rushed downstairs. "You filthy, disgusting pig, COCHON," the final French oath telling me whose hate, anger I was hearing. As I arrived at the ground floor Gloria rushed out of the kitchen, orange juice dripping from her face and clothes, almost running in her haste to escape.

"Gloria, Gloria," I yelled as she sped unseeing by me.

"She's fucking crazy!" she screeched. "Your niece is such a little bitch Peter, a fucking little bitch," were Gloria's last words as she fled through the front door.

We watched each other warily for what seemed like minutes before Amelie finally broke. "You bastard, you knew, you knew, why....you fucker," she cried, an almost manic wildness in her eyes.

"So you took it out on her? Your anger at me? Did it make you feel good, hurting someone like that?"

"Fuck you Peter," she sneered, "She's just a little American cocksucker Uncle, just someone you used to hurt me."

"I'm sorry about last night Amelie, hurting you. I never, ever wanted to hurt you," I started, "but you had no right to do what you did. You are a little bitch, its time you grow up and start acting like an adult," I fumed, my anger overcoming the guilt I felt.

"Who fuckin cares? You showed me what you think. I HATE YOU!" She finished as she fled away from me. Two hours later, she stood on my doorstep, her suitcase in her hand, waiting for the cab she had ordered, having refused my offer of a ride. "I'll find somewhere else to live when I come back Peter," she said listlessly as she moved toward the cab, "If I come back."...

I felt sick for the next week, continually reliving our parting, our argument, wondering how I could possibly salvage my love. As Christmas day approached, I prayed she'd call, wondering if I shouldn't just jump on a plane and cravenly beg her forgiveness.

"Joyeux Noel, [Merry Christmas]" I heard tentatively whispered, when I groggily picked up the phone that had awakened me late on Christmas morning.

"Hi," I answered as I felt an explosion of joy smash through my body. "I miss you Amelie."

"Me too. I'm sorry Uncle Peter, so sorry. I called your friend last night, I... I tried to apologize, I don't know if"

"It doesn't matter Amelie. I think this is the nicest Christmas present I've ever got," I said, trying to control the wetness that was threatening to flood from my eyes.

"I'm wearing yours," she said, laughing through her tears. "In fact, that's all I'm wearing, can you imagine? They're hanging on my naked breasts, tickling my hard nipples Uncle, exciting me," she teased, an urgent panting in her voice.

"I wish you were here honey, I'd love to have one of your perfect nipples between my teeth, to be able to cup your breast, to kiss your sweet clit"

"You know Americans don't do that Uncle," she laughed huskily, and then added, "Mama wants to know why you gave me just an expensive gift, why I got pearls and she only got a silver choker. It almost looks like a slave collar Uncle."

"Tell your Mama I love her so much and that I just wanted her to get used to what it feels like to be the property of a strong man. That she has only until July before I get angry. Don't tell her that in front of your Dad," I warned.

"Do you and Mama have secrets Uncle Peter?"

"When are you coming home, Amelie?" I countered.

"Home?"

"I love you Amelie."

"Me too. Friday, I'll be back Friday Peter. Will you take me out for New Years Eve? Can we go to Times Square?" she asked excitedly, "Will you kiss me, kiss your little French niece when the New Year comes? I'm holding your pearls against me Uncle, against my wet slit. Oh I just put three, no four, no six inside me Peter. They feel so good, oh I wish it was your"

"You little tease; wait til you feel a real American spread your puffy, pink lips with a big, no huge, no eeeeenormous hot monster penis…." I laughed.

Chapter 5 - New York City, 2004/2005

Amelie's flight was late, delayed for two hours on the tarmac at Orly by a freak storm, and so she only landed at ten o'clock on New Years Eve. When she finally appeared through the doors from immigration and saw me, she ran shrieking toward me and I had to catch her as she leapt the final eight feet, landing smiling against my chest as her legs locked around my waist, her tongue stretching to find mine.

"Oh Oncle Pierre, je t'aime [I love you], she yelled between long kisses, "Je t'aime, je t'aime, je t'aime," she continued, laughing and hugging me as a bemused public swirled gawking past us.

"Are you drunk?" I asked grinning, easily tasting the champagne on her flicking tongue.

"No! I just had a glass or two my beautiful uncle, they wanted to reward us for being so patient during the delay," she explained as she continued to kiss me. "Did we miss Times Square? I want to see the big ball Uncle"

"No sweetie, if we rush we still have time to get there, c'mon, lets go," I answered as I lowered her to her feet. I had to hold her arm as we ran, Amelie's two glasses must have been very large, I thought, as she teetered unsteadily beside me.

Can you love someone too much I wondered, as Amelie stood nestled against me among the throngs near 42nd Street, everyone's eyes riveted on the big silver ball that was slowly descending. Our lips were locked together when 2005 arrived, and I could feel her body shivering under my hands as I lifted her off her feet, holding her as tightly as I dared.

"Promise you'll never let me go Uncle," Amelie pled, a new desperate edge in her voice.

"Jamias ma petite, [never my little one]," I promised, suddenly aware of how empty my life would be without her, of how easily she could destroy my life.

I had to carry her from the taxi at five that morning, as we had caroused from bar to bar throughout the night, and deposited her giggling form in the middle of my King size bed.

"Are we home Uncle?"

"Yes my love, you're home now."

"Will you sleep with me tonight Uncle Peter?" were her last words before she fell unconscious, a sweet smile spread across her face.

I finally roused early the next afternoon, awoken by a tickling sensation on my nose, and opening my eyes saw a long white feather dancing over my skin. "Hi honey," I said as I saw Amelie's bright eyes following every movement she made with the plume.

"Finally, sleepy head wakes up," she pouted. "A beautiful angel in his bed and my handsome Uncle passes out, incapable of anything."

"Ha, ha honey," I growled as I rolled over and on top of her, letting her experience what it would be like under my powerful body. "Actually Amelie, I ravished you while you slept, penetrating your little cunny with my magnificent organ."

"You lie," she protested, but then added coyly, "Maybe you did and I didn't even notice it."

Hardening, I let her feel all of me against her stomach. Then I rubbed my full body aggressively against her, grinding as I forced her knees apart with my legs, holding her arms effortlessly over her head in one hand while the other caressed, kneaded and stretched her straining nipples.

"Uhhhhnnnnn," she gasped as I filled her, and then wrapped her legs around my waist as I started to thrust into her. We both needed a physical fuck that day and neither of us gave an inch as we fought to satisfy ourselves.

I was still hard and inside her after we had both cum, and could feel our orgasmic juices leaking past my cock and onto her heaving thighs. "Fuck me Uncle Peter, please fuck me again," she pled as she lay sweating under me.

I started again, and with long unhurried strokes slowly brought her towards another orgasm, and then as I sped up, and as I felt the first tremors radiate from her centre, told her, "Amelie, I'm not your Uncle, I'm your Daddy."

I saw the shock in her eyes as my first and second and third ejaculations flooded her now pulsing centre, and her questioning groan of 'Daddddddddddddy' eerily bounced off the walls, an almost continuing accusation.

"How? Why? I can't be!" she gasped as we panted side by side. "You fucked Mama? When?"

I talked for minutes, whispering in her ear, trying to somehow explain our past, how I had impregnated her Mom.

"I never understood," she finally responded, "How Mama and Papa ever had me, I was sure they never made love. It's weird, when ever I asked Mama, about sex, about men, when I was younger I mean, it never made sense. I thought she was a lesbian for awhile but then…. I just didn't know"

I tried to explain my theories about Marie to her daughter, about how I believed she was fighting unhappily against her true sexual nature.

"Do you want her? I mean to come and live with you, with us."

"Yes sweetie, I've always wanted her with me."

"And now?"

"You're my love, my wife, my future," I whispered.

She watched me pensively for what seemed like minutes, baring my soul with her gaze before finally asking, a small grin forming at the corner of her mouth, "How many children do you want?"

"Five, six, seven," I laughed back.

"Do you think you're capable, old man, capable of satisfying someone as beautiful as I?" she demanded as her hand snaked around my shaft.

"Don't you worry about me daughter," I threatened, "But first I'll just check and see what your little clit tastes like."

"Remember Daddy, we're in America," she teased as she eased her lips over my cockhead.

We hardly left the bed for the next three days, and I think we both knew that our first child was already growing in her stomach. Amelie finally called her Mom in mid June, telling her she wouldn't be home for the summer and that she was pregnant with her first child.

Five minutes later Marie was on the line with me, demanding, "Why did you let my poor sweet darling get into trouble," etc. etc. etc.

"You better come over Marie, your daughter needs you," I argued.

After back and forth haggling she finally agreed, promising she'd book a flight immediately and that she'd be in New York within days.

"Marie," I cautioned.

"Yes."

"Pack everything you'll need – for a long visit Marie. And Marie, bring your collar."

Two days later I went to the airport to pick her up and had to smile as I saw her approach. She was braless under a skimpy silk top, a top held up by just two spaghetti thin straps, which left her neck bare except for a shiny silver band, my Christmas collar.

"Are you willing to wear it always?" I asked as she floated into my welcoming arms.

"I'm staying Peter, forever," she insisted, as she glued her body into mine.

Chapter 6 - New York City, Today, November 24 2005

It's warm now in the room as I sit here typing my story on my laptop; I can feel the warmth coming from the fireplace across from me, the first of many fires I'll light this winter in my cozy den.

"Are you almost finished Papa?" I hear my daughter Amelie ask from her chair next to the sofa.

"Oui Cherie" [yes love], I answer, quickly glancing up fondly at my love, our daughter Natalie sucking eagerly at her fat teat. "She looks hungry tonight," I say grinning as I type, captivated by the sight of my two girls.

"Don't worry Papa, there's lots more, you and Mama will each get your share."

Marie is nestled beside me on the sofa as I type and momentarily I move my right hand to her hair, gently stroking her neck, her shoulder, her hard nipple before I reluctantly return my fingers to the keys. She's wearing my collar proudly now and the only other covering on her delectable body is the string of black pearls I gave her for her birthday just two weeks ago.

"She's finished," Amelie announces to us as she rises slowly, holding Natalie in her hands. As she sets her down in her bassinet, I watch Amelie as she moves, entranced as always by her beauty. She's bigger now, her full breasts now extravagant with their loads of nutritious milk, and I can't help but lick my lips as I see the drips of white cream at each distended nipple.

She catches me watching and laughs, "You'll have to wait Daddy, Mama's first."

My fingers are flying now, urgent to finish this work, and as Amelie sits down on the sofa, on the other side of Marie, I feel the first lengthening twitch in my pants. She's naked under the long, dark red skirt she wears I know, her only covering, and I yearn for her, this insatiable hunger that seems to endlessly attack me now.

As Marie leans away from me and moves her mouth towards Amelie's waiting nipple, I release my right hand once more, sliding it up between Marie's silky thighs. She's wet I discover as my fingers slip through the thick pelt protecting her pink insides, my mind in three places as I try to finish these last words with my left hand.

Even as she drinks from her daughter Marie reaches back, seizing me, freeing my now rampant monster, stroking me first before guiding me into her opening, engulfing me in her tightness,

"Daddy! Mama!" Amelie cries as I ...…..

THE END