Pippa’s Provence Holiday Ch. 01
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I knew my niece Pippa was going to be trouble when my sister, Donna, told me: “She’s fucking pushy, Jack, so don’t let her trample all over you.” Which was a bit rich, considering the way Donna trampled all over me whenever she felt like it!
Donna is 40, two years older than me, and Pippa, her only child, is 19. I’ve not been in touch with my sister for some time, mainly because I’m bloody busy in my job as a photographer and secondly because I think we’re both still feeling a little guilty over what we did when I was 18 and Donna was 20.
Oh, it wasn’t anything much. We’d both had too much to drink and Donna let me finger fuck her while she jerked me off. We didn’t even kiss! Not that I wouldn’t mind, Donna is a stunning brunette, not my type, maybe, but stunning, nonetheless.
She’d called me around 7pm Provence time the night before Pippa’s arrival. “I’m sending Pippa down to spend a month in Provence with you during her polytech break,” said my sis, ever the demanding one.
“She’s flying BA to Paris on the red eye in the morning, then getting the 10 o’clock TGV to Avignon. So make sure you keep all those fucking floozies you photograph for those scandalous skin mags away for a month,” said Donna, in a command, not a request.
“For starters they’re not ‘floozies’, some of them are the most beautiful and desirable women in the world,” I informed my insufferable sister. “And for seconds, they’re not ‘skin mags’, as you so crudely put it, they’re adult men’s magazines.”
“Yes, darling, of course they are,” Donna cooed in her oh-so-fucking proper Roedean accent, “and everyone buys them for the articles and the interviews.”
I sighed, there was no point in arguing with my sister, she was married to some hoity-toity barrister who thought my job as one of the world’s top photographers of stunning women was somehow demeaning to the family he had married into.
“I’ve not seen Pippa since she was 12,” I told Donna. “Tell her I’ll be the guy on the platform wearing the Chicago Cubs cap, it’s blue with a red ‘C’ on it. And it doesn’t stand for cunt.”
Typical Donna. I had been in a mellow mood after a large vodka and tonic when I’d taken her call, now I was feeling fucking pissed off.
I threw a steak on the barbecue and opened a big Aussie red – all right, I live and work in Provence, but some of the French reds are pure, unadulterated cat’s piss. Give me a ball-tearing Australian shiraz any fucking day.
Anyway, the next afternoon at 12.30 I was on Avignon station waiting for the Paris train to pull in, wearing my Cubs cap and my Cubbies T-shirt – the one reading “I’m a Cubs fan – wait till next year!” I love that team, the fucking useless bastards!
I’d not seen Pippa, as I said, for about seven years and I was a bit taken aback when a short-haired brunette, standing no more than 5 feet 2 inches appeared before me, wearing a bright red leather bustier, which came to just above her hips, blue jeans which had been sprayed on and toting a bag over her shoulder.
“Cubs – you must be my darling Uncle Jack,” said the well- spoken, big-lipped, busty, pert nosed little beauty.
“Pippa?” I said. “Did you wear that outfit all the way from Paris? How many riots were there on the train?”
She laughed and went up on tiptoe to kiss me – I’m just over 6 feet and I had to lean quite a way down to peck her on the cheek.
“No, silly, I put it on a quarter of an hour out of Avignon and there was only one riot,” Pippa joked.
I took her bag. “You travel light, Pippa,” I said.
“Three changes of lingerie, three bikinis, tooth brush, toiletries, three little dresses and two books. Mother said you’d have anything else I’d need.”
We climbed into my Maserati outside the station and I gunned it out of town as fast as possible. I hate towns. I live in a little place in mid-Provence, one of the gorgeous villages sort of built on a mountain, you’ve seen the brochures.
When we arrived, Pippa walked to the wall surrounding the swimming pool and looked at the stunning view out over the valley. No prying eyes overlooked the two-storeyed former farm house. The pool was long and blue and warm. Down below us stretched fields of lavender.
“Oh this is fucking heaven,” said Pippa, stretching herself in the sun. “Show me my bedroom and I’ll get into a bikini and we can sit by the pool and have a beer,” she said. “I could drink the entire England rugby team under the table.”
I led her upstairs, showed her where everything was, then peeled off my Cubs’ shirt and fetched two cold bottles of Kronenbourg 1664s from the fridge and placed them on the table beneath the vast sun umbrella. I was only wearing a pair of Tommy Hilfiger shorts, but I knew my well-muscled body looked good – live in Provence in summer, you get a great tan.
If I thought Pippa had been a head-turner in her leather bustier at the train station, when she returned she was absolutely mind-bogglingly smashing. Now they always say men are tit men or leg men, as if you ataşehir escort can’t like both! Well, in Pippa’s case I was definitely going to be a tit man!
She was wearing trendy Armani sunglasses and Cuban-style wedged high heels, but it was her bikini that had me mentally drooling! It was nothing more than a trio of shiny black satin triangles, the upper two just covering her nipples, the bottom one barely concealing her snatch.
I tried to make a joke of it, as she sat and sucked on her Kronenbourg: “You trying to give a 38-year-old a heart attack?”
She grinned. “Oh get into the 21st century, uncle,” Pippa said. “And those Tommy Hilfiger shorts are so fucking 1995. Go inside and put on a sexy thong – you have any sexy thongs?”
I nodded. “Of course, I’m not totally senile yet,” I said, sniffily.
“Well go and put one on – it’s 2005, uncle, tight, light and bright are the catchwords. Red would suit you, now hurry!”
And like a schoolboy with his tail between his legs I did! Donna was right – fucking pushy.
I’ve got a wardrobe of thongs – something I wear them when I’m photographing a model I really fancy and we’ve got some chemistry going. Anyway, I chose a red satin number, cut quite high on the hips, so my eight inches of uncut cock was easily contained within its confines.
I stepped back on the patio beside the pool and tried to sit down quickly, but Pippa beat me to it. “Lemme see, uncle, don’t be shy,” she ordered, and I picked up my beer bottle and tried to act as nonchalantly as possible, bearing in mind my 19-year-old niece was eyeing me up!
“Nice, I like what I see,” she laughed, as I sat down, feeling my cheeks redden.
“And tell me,” she said, when I was seated opposite her again, “do you like what you see?” And with that, she plonked her beer down and stood up and walked round the table in a provocative hip-thrusting walk, just like a hooker on display.
“You’ve got a great little body, Pippa,” I said, trying to maintain a semblance of calm, “now go and sit down, there’s a good girl.”
But she merely laughed at me. “Little body? Fuck, uncle, that’s a bit of a backhanded compliment,” said Pippa. “OK, so I’m only five two, but my tits are 38s, and the rest is 24-36. What’s little about it?”
And then the cheeky, pushy little bitch sat down in my lap and pulled the two little bra triangles apart and revealed her lovely large breasts to my gaze. I drank in the sight of her cherry red nipples erect and proud, almost no areolae to speak of.
“What’s wrong with these?” she inquired, knowing full well I couldn’t drag my gaze from her lush teenage boobs.
“Nothing, Pippa,” I said, hardly getting my voice above a whisper, “now be a doll and go and sit down, please.”
“Bet you’d like to suck them,” she continued, completely ignoring my request, and thrusting her left breast into my face.
And I, to my eternal shame but unutterable pleasure, kissed her breast, then licked her nipple. It was from that moment, of course, that I was completely lost. She knew it, I knew it.
As I kissed on her full, firm 38-inch breast, I couldn’t help but notice that Pippa’s right hand was delving into the bikini bottom, her fingers probing down there. Then she withdrew her hand and smeared her fingers all over the central part of her right globe.
“Now taste this, darling uncle,” she said, in a whisper which was almost a hiss.
I moved my mouth from one glorious peak to another, only this one had been wettened by her pussy juice, which I could plainly smell as my nose came into contact with the upper stretch of her breast. The taste and the aroma were stunning.
“Oh christ, Pippa this has got to stop,” I protested.
“Why?” she snapped, having the audacity to smack me on the back of my head.
“Because it’s insane – you’re my sister’s daughter.”
Pippa laughed: “Oh darling uncle, don’t be such a fucking prude. If I’d walked up to you at Avignon and put on an American accent, said ‘Hiya, handsome, how about a fuck?’ we’d be in a motel room somewhere right now.
“I saw the way you were ogling my tits in that bustier, so don’t deny it.”
I gazed at her wonderful heaving breasts. “Of course you’re hugely attractive,” I said.
“Right,” she snapped, “now suck ’em.”
And with that she pressed my face back into her glorious mounds and I felt my mouth, with a mind of its own, sucking and laving at her.
“That’s better,” she cooed, “now, shall I freshen ’em up? You like the smell of my pussy on ’em, agreed?”
Well, I have to admit she had me there. “Yes,” I breathed heavily, coming up from between her beauties and looking at her deep brown eyes. “But you know this is insane?”
The little vixen, laughed at me. “No it’s not, it’s fucking sensible,” she said. “I’m attractive and I’m randy. It may be illegal but it’s certainly not insane.
“And anyway – since it’s illegal we can’t get married, which means we can’t get divorced, kadıköy escort bayan so we won’t make each other miserable. And I won’t have babies, ‘cos I’m careful. Where’s the problem?”
And after she’d told me that, she pressed her fingers across her left breast. I licked her and inhaled her juices. Christ, she smelled so fucking sensational.
“And something else,” she said. “You really, really want me, because I can feel something jutting against the under side of my thigh, and I don’t think it’s a stick of salami, although it feels about the same size, you randy old fucker.”
“Of course I’ve got a fucking erection,” I protested. “You’re making me lick your breasts and you’re smearing them with your sex juices. Do you have any wonder I’m hard?”
“Well,” she said, kissing me on the mouth and tasting young and vibrant, “you could be gay.”
And then I put my arms around her, picked her up and kissed her on the mouth, looking at the amazing way her big boobs maintained their stunning uplift against me.
“I’ll show you how fucking gay I am,” I said and walked into the house and upstairs to my airy, high-ceilinged bedroom.
She didn’t say a word as I carried her upstairs, she just kissed me occasionally. Inside I pressed the door behind me shut with my heel and threw her on the huge double bed. She bounced when she hit the mattress!
I pulled my thong off and revealed my eight-inch hard on, pre-cum gleaming at its hooded foreskin lips. As I did, Pippa lifted her buttocks off the bed and pulled away her scandalously brief little bikini bottom. A Brazilian peeped up at me, her labia lips lush, pink and inviting.
Ignoring my usual approach, which was to give a new lady a long, slow licking down there, I climbed onto the bed and thrust myself at her.
Pippa looked me straight in the eye, laughed as my cock trembled on the lips of her cunt and then said cheekily in a mock American accent: “Hiya, handsome. How’s about a fuck?”
And I thrust into her, my cock meeting absolutely not one shred of resistance as I entered her slippery, satiny smoothness. Pippa, for her part, was thrusting and grinding beneath me, kissing me on my mouth, and when she placed her heeled feet onto my buttocks I realised she hadn’t removed her shoes.
“Fuck me,” she gasped, demandingly – as if I wasn’t doing just that already.
Despite the slight breeze blowing through the open bedroom window, sweat was now pouring off our bodies due to our erotic exertions, as we gasped, groaned and grunted in total lust.
Then I raised my upper body slightly, pressed my hands down onto her fantastically firm breasts and felt that old, familiar surge in my loins. Pippa was banging her pussy mound against my pubic bone and as I roared in delight when my spunk shot into her, she called out, too.
“Oh fuck, oh fuckit, oh fucking hell, I’ve come, I’ve fucking come!” she screamed. “I don’t fucking believe it, I don’t believe it.”
I collapsed back on top of her shuddering, sweat-streaked body and kissed her full on the mouth.
“Why don’t you believe it?” I said, still panting from the furious fuck.
“Simultaneous fucking orgasms,” she smiled at me, “I’ve never had one. You randy old bastard, you.”
“Well, they are rather rare in this house, I have to admit,” I told her. “I usually try to make sure the lady comes first.”
“Nice guys finish last, eh uncle?” Pippa laughed, as she pulled out from under me and walked somewhat unsteadily to the bathroom, where I saw her plonk herself down on that typically French invention, the bidet, and clean herself of my semen.
Back in the bed, Pippa smooched me slowly, then said: “That was one of the best fucks I’ve ever had. I knew you’d be good, mummy seemed to indicate you were sexy.”
I heard warning bells ringing – Donna, surely, had not informed her daughter of our long-ago indiscretion.
Pippa spotted my hesitation. “It’s all right, Uncle Jack,” she smiled, “mummy told me all about the hand jobs you gave each other. Crikey, she could do with you now.”
“How come?” I asked.
“Because my useless fucking father is about as sexy as a Mongolian maggot farmer,” she snorted.
“He’s got a fucking middle-aged paunch and thinks that one round of golf a week is enough exercise – well, he calls it exercise. How can a round of golf that takes five fucking hours be exercise?
“For the rest of the week-end he’s in the Cock and Cunt, or whatever it’s called, drinking with his cronies and talking about the MCC, changes to the lbw rule, or rugby.
“As for mummy, she reckons the last time she looked down there she was growing cobwebs. Yes, she could certainly do with some brotherly love, right now.”
“And her daughter?” I asked. “How is her sex life?”
Pippa sat up and said: “Fetch a bottle of fucking French champagne, you thick-cocked fucker and I’ll tell you.”
From the fridge I got a bottle of Krug – no Australian stuff when it comes to bubbles. Bubbles escort maltepe is the French domain. I put two flutes on a tray and went back to the bedroom and poured two glasses.
We clinked in a toast and Pippa told me: “You ask how is my sex life? Well, since about 15 minutes ago it’s fucking fantastic, thanks. I’ve had a couple of boy friends, about my own age, but they come too quick, don’t know how to satisfy a girl and usually drink far too much.”
Then she leant down and inspected my cock, now slightly less than eight inches, but showing signs of revival. Pippa planted a little kiss on its tip and then remarked: “Shaved shaft, shaved balls – what’s with that, uncle?”
I confessed: “It’s my mistress, she likes it that way.”
“Your mistress?” smiled Pippa. “Oh, uncle, that’s so French. Not girl friend, mistress. Tell me about her.”
“She runs a rental hire car branch at Avignon station,” I told her.
“Not that little blonde I saw you smiling at as we left the station?” Pippa asked.
“Yeah, that’s Yvette,” I told her.
“Yvette? Oh, that’s lovely – that’s so French, too.”
Then she looked at me impishly. “And tell me, being with a car rental firm, does she try harder?”
I laughed: “No, I try harder.” And I took the champagne flute from her hand, placed it on the bedside table, and bent down to look at her lovely snatch.
Her labia lips were almost red, thick and lickable. So I licked them. Her aroma was intoxicating, her taste was like an aphrodisiac. One lick of my tongue from her cunt to her clit and I was instantly hard again.
But Pippa had other ideas, playfully pushing me onto my back and squatting above my face. Her glorious bum then lowered itself to my face and I found my tongue laving away at her tight little brown anal bud, while the 19-year-old bent down and took my hard-on in her mouth and started sucking. She may have only had a couple of boy friends, but one – or all of them – had taught her how to suck cock!
I tasted her sweet snatch, juice oozing from her as she ground her pussy around on my face, then decided it was time for firm action. Grasping her upper thighs, I pulled her from my face and turned her through 45 degrees. Still she sucked on my stiffy, like a limpet.
Then I dragged my cock back from her voracious sucking, kneed her thighs apart and lay on top of her, stroking her breasts before cupping her firm young arse and lifting her slightly, so my cock could access her cunt.
As I dived into the depths of her vagina, Pippa kissed me greedily on the mouth and whispered: “Take your time, uncle, let me enjoy you longer this time, please!”
I kissed her on the mouth, lingeringly, allowing her to taste her own sex juices on my lips, then rolled her over until she was in the dominant position, keeping my thighs tight together, while she knelt up and assumed a sitting position on my cock.
Her lovely lush breasts bounced an erotic, swaying dance as she humped up and down on my erection, and I put my hands up and cupped them, then rolled her thick, full nipples between my fingers, feeling their delightful erections.
“Great nipples, Pippa,” I whispered, as I fingered her there.
Her reaction was to lower herself onto my upper torso, then bunch her fists on the bed and raise her breasts so they were almost in contact with my mouth.
“So suck them, uncle,” she panted, as she worked away on me.
I opened wide and took a great mouthful of perky, teenage breast in my mouth, running my tongue around its full firmness, before sucking on the nipple itself, hard as a stone in my mouth.
This brought a sort of panting from her, a panting of pleasure.
“Oh that’s so fucking great, now the other one,” she ordered, and I switched my attentions to the other equally erect nipple.
This was what sent her over the edge. I had only been sucking for about six or seven seconds – no more than 10, anyway – than Pippa’s orgasm burst through her pussy.
“Fuck me, fuck me, oh yes, oh yes, I’ve come!” announced my lovely little niece, as she soared skywards once more in throes of sexual delight.
Then she collapsed from me, her body slippery with sweat, those gorgeous big breasts heaving.
I, meanwhile, lay back with an unsatiated stiffy, my cock’s foreskin pulled down to the thick ring thanks to the tightness of Pippa’s young cunt.
But Pippa had my interests at heart, the lovely little vixen!
With a smile, she bent down and sucked on my cock, before taking a thumb and forefinger and pushing my foreskin back into its natural position.
Bending lower, she again sucked on my stiffness, before looking up at me with a mischievous smile: “This tastes so fucking yummy, remind me to only suck you when you’ve been up my cunt, uncle.”
And then she started to stroke me, using just a thumb and forefinger, exactly the way her mother had stroked me all those years ago. She let my foreskin drag down an inch from the tip, then flicked it back up, then down, then up.
Soon I was totally beyond any kind of control, and as I arched my back and stiffened my body, Pippa placed her mouth around my helmet and with two swift up-and-down jerks of her head, took the full force of my ejaculation, before pumping me to completion.
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