An Unexpected Admirer... free porn video

(This is a story that a friend and me wrote together over a number of sessions, fantasising about a girl I know. I keep coming back to it, so thought others might enjoy it...)

Rachel is sitting in the busy reception hall of her sister's wedding, one hand idly straightening her heavy purple silk dress, the other toying with the stem of her wine glass, as she makes idle conversation with some family friends and distant relatives. She has been up on the dancefloor once, with her husband, until he found some old drinking friend. She sighs, not noticing how one of her uncles has his gaze fixed on her, at the point where her purple silk meets the pale skin of her exposed shoulder...

He's been drinking all evening. He never did like weddings. The only redeeming feature is the chance to sneak glances at the young women in their finery, and Rachel looks mighty fine today; he's had his eyes on her since she walked into the church. His hand has been slipping under the table every now and then, rearranging his suit trousers to accommodate his swelling member. He has been trying to keep it under control with his wife seated next to him, not that she would notice. He sees a few of the bride's friends go by, letting his eyes lock on their legs. His gaze keeps returning to his niece, though. He can't explain it, but his urge to have her is rising. Another drink disappears and he says that it's time he got a lady up to dance, leaving his seat and walking unsteadily across the floor.

Rachel sees him coming, his eyes slightly glassy, his walk unsure. She knows instantly what he wants, and before he's even reached the table has played out in her mind all the excuses she can instantly think of. None of them sounds compelling. She smiles up at him as he reaches her, sweetly and gently as she can. "Hello uncle."

He smiles looking down at her, his eyes drinking her figure in, less than subtly. His hand is on the back of her chair as he leans down, his breath laced with alcohol, "I was thinking that my niece was looking far too beautiful not to be escorted to the dancefloor. Would you dance with me, Rachel?" He asks, his words a little slurred, but his pupils locked on her.

"Oh great", she thinks to herself. Her feet are killing her after a day in high heels, and she doesn't want to get up to dance with anyone, especially someone as worse for wear as he is. But she sees the impossibility of her situation, how to say no without seeming rude and ungracious. So she does the decent thing. "Of course," she says, rising to her feet. "I'd love to."

He smiles and takes a half step back, making sure that he is as close to her as he can get. He takes one of her hands in his sweaty palm, the other arm smoothly around her waist, walking her onto the floor. He turns to face her and holds her close, feeling the silk of her dress move in some areas, resist in others. "You look fantastic in your dress, darling girl..." He says, one of his hands moving up and down her bare arm slowly.

Rachel thinks that there's something creepy about the attention he's paying her and what he just said. She can't quite define it - the charm of his offer to dance seems to have elided into something else. But she herself has had a fair bit to drink at this point, so perhaps she's not reading things as clearly as she normally would. So she decides to carry on as if nothing unusual was happening. "Thank you. It's always nice to be paid a compliment. I know I'm not the star of the show today."

He listens to her polite response, and when she claims she is not the star of the day, his arm around her waist tightens, he only just stifles a short moan as he feels her ample breasts pressing against his chest. "Oh that's not true!" He leans in, whispering in her ear "Your sister looks wonderful, but believe me that you are the one causing the most admiring looks." He can feel his heart pounding quicker, knowing he's crossing lines but his drink addled brain succumbing to his baser urges. He pulls back and dances with her in a semi-close position, uncertain how she will respond.

She tries to meet his eyes, to read his voice and his intentions. She wasn't being flippant about how nice it is to be paid a compliment, here at this wedding with all eyes on her younger sister, and her husband's attentions apparently elsewhere. But was what her uncle said just the alcohol talking? Or did he mean it, and if so why is he being so complimentary? She remembers how little she sees him these days, and realises just how little she actually knows him. She feels the press of his chest against her breasts - not heavy, but not nothing. "Thank you" she says, quite sincerely. She doesn't pull away.

He sees how she responds and he feels the burn of desire ignite again in his stomach. He has had feelings like this for her since her university days, seeing her blossom into a fiercely independent and womanly figure. Her soft voice is doing nothing to calm him, quite the opposite, and he feels the slight twitch between his legs as he feels her body moving with him, making no effort to pull away. He feels a mischievous edge rising too "Oh I mean it, Rachel. I saw the groom having a good look at you. Your husband should really be mindful, you know, someone might be waiting to sneak you upstairs" He grins at the last sentence, leaning in to dance closer still. His hand on the small of her back descends to where the swell of her rear begins. His nose inhales her delicate fragrance, shampoo and perfume.

Now there's no mistaking it. Rachel knows he's crossed a line; inhibitions overcome in an alcoholic haze no doubt - she smells it on his breath - in vino veritas. He's imagining someone taking her upstairs to one of the hotel bedrooms. And that means he's imagining himself. She ought to step back from this dance right now, offer him no possible encouragement. But she doesn't. She feels...what exactly? Desire! The realisation occurs to her with a jolt. He's quite close to her already, but now she's the one to lean in further, pressing her breasts against his chest with a firmness that unmistakably reveals intent. "Oh, I don't think my husband is too worried" she says, with a glint in her eyes. "He knows I'm a good girl".

The reciprocation of his move stuns him and momentarily sobers him as he sees the wicked glint in her eye all too clearly. He holds her still close, only making the most cursory moves, so as not to draw attention to them in the middle of the floor. He feels his cock thicken and begin to poke at his trousers yet again as he feels her breasts squash against his chest, the material creaking between them. He wonders what lingerie she's hiding under that purple silk and it makes his swelling worse. "Is that so, Rachel? So you'd never be so naughty as to go on off upstairs with an admirer, would you?" He leans in again, his hand slipping to her rear for the briefest of moments, causing him to sigh barely perceptibly into her ear. "If so, he's an even more lucky man than I have given him credit for"

Rachel's eyes scan the room, looking for her husband. She locates him sat at a table on the edge of the dancefloor, chatting volubly to an old school friend, utterly oblivious of her presence just a few yards away. "Does he even care where I am?" she wonders. And now she lets her hand drift down the the small of her uncle's back, the tips of her fingers gently touching the waistband of his trousers. She wants her husband to look over in her direction and see. No, she doesn't want him to do that. Both things in her mind at the same time. "Well" she says softly in her uncle's ear, letting the words be drawn out "I think it's important not to say never".

Now it's her uncle's turn to look around as he feels her hand scooting to his waistband, easing between his jacket and his body. He looks around, his wife seems to be chatting to Rachel's mother. "They're still gossiping," he thinks, relieved. He lets his other hand drift up her side, tracing her curve, making it part of a dance move before spinning her slowly under his arm. "I'm glad to hear that, Rachel. Is it bad of your old uncle to confess that he thinks you are the most gorgeous woman in the room?" He asks, his charm faltering a little as he feels a more raw feeling rising in him. He is intoxicated by her looks, warmth and scent. He's getting harder, to the extent that it's getting hard to hide

Rachel has become very conscious of how intense the situation is. She looks around at the other couples on the dancefloor, most of them 'items', all in their own little world with eyes only for each other. But none of them has their bodies quite so closely pressed together as her and her uncle; none with so much flesh touching flesh, fabric brushing hard against fabric. A married couple she knows passes close by, and there's a conspicuous distance between them, their bodies scarcely touching. She wonders if anyone will notice, and suddenly feels exposed. The room is hot, and her head spins with the dance move her uncle has just pulled. She flushes, visibly. And then the words that come out of her mouth - soft, teasing, tempting - surprise her so much that she almost feels as if they'd been said by someone else. "Careful...if there's much more of that kind of talk, I really will have to let you take me upstairs."

He looks at her intensely, hungrily as he watches her pale, usually alabaster skin begin to flush, redness creeping down her smooth throat and onto her collar and chest, her dress only just obscuring her deep cleavage from his gaze. He wets his lips, suddenly dry throated. His whole body is yearning to push against her and rut like some kind of a****l. He gives one final look around the room then pulls her in tightly, knowing that her dress will probably absorb the bulge in his suit, but part of him wanting her to feel something nonetheless. "Just tell me what you want me to say to make that happen, darling girl..." He says, his body language as if he is sharing a joke with her, trying to put a public face on his desire.

Rachel feels him press in tightly towards her. The folds of the silk dress are full and heavy, yet still it's unmistakeable, the hardness pressing against the top of her thighs. She knows for sure now that this is no game - his desire is real, and physical. She's burning up in this dress, with her body so close to his. She needs to get away from here and clear her head. "You'd have to promise me the night of my life" she says, jokingly, with the sound of a laugh in her voice...and then, after a pause "and that no-one would ever know". These last words are said straight and without even the trace of a smile on her lips. The contrast with the first part of her reply to him is stark.

His expression changes from quietly lecherous to a deer caught in the headlights, seeing something almost ferocious in her serious gaze. He pauses, his breathing obvious and heavy. "Our secret, sweetheart" He says, then looks around at the assembled party. He turns to her, his expression dark with obvious desire, "Thankyou for the lovely dance Rachel, I just need to nip to my room for something. I feel a headache coming on..." He utters, just loudly enough incase anyone overhears. He pulls out his keycard, and turns away from her, squeezing her hand before he lets go, and sauntering out of the room, looking over at his wife's table before making his final exit.

Rachel was well aware that this was a piece of theatrics for the assembled audience - although so far as she can see, no-one is paying any notice. But the keycard she knew was also for her - he held it out long enough for her to see the room number, 215, on it. She leaves the dance floor as quickly as she can, wanting to run away from there, but not wanting to make it too obvious - sliding out between the tables in the direction of the toilets. She finds the disabled toilet, where she can have more room to move in her dress, and stands in front of the sink sloshing cold water onto her burning for face for what seems like forever, but probably is no more than a couple of minutes. She looks up to the mirror, fixes her reflection with a stare, and says out loud "You can't possibly be about to follow him - that would be absurd". She composes herself, walks out of the toilet and back towards the main ballroom where everyone else is. Just before the ballroom is the main staircase, and as she approaches it, to her own surprise, she turns left and starts to ascend, slowly, gingerly, hoping that no-one is looking.

She is ascending the deserted staircase as quietly as she can, her dress swishing noisily. Her uncle has been waiting at the top of the stairs, just into the landing pointing towards the bank of rooms in which 215 resides. As he sees her arrive on the landing he smiles and advances, catching her by surprise with a smile, pinning her to the wall in the quiet corridor, hands on either side of her body. "My my, what are you doing up here, Rachel? The party is still going on downstairs..." He says, easing his body against hers, knowing the cool wall will be pressing against her bare shoulder.

She wasn't expecting this - his boldness, his audacity. She feels herself pressed to the wall, feeling it against her bare shoulder. The corridor is quiet, but at any moment any of these doors could open and someone could come out who has nipped to their room to grab a shawl or a cardigan. And here they are, her and her uncle, bodies pressed hard against each other once more, no possible innocent explanation for it. She finds herself thrilled by the riskiness of it all. The feeling is like electricity, and it runs up her arms to the tops of her shoulders. It emboldens her. "Are you sure" she says, blatantly teasing him "because I head that the real party was up here... Did I hear that wrong?"

He groans deeply in his throat, almost like a low growl. His eyes are glassy but clearing as the lust builds in him noticeably. "Well I think the party was waiting for you to arrive, but now that you're here, I'm sure we can test that out..." He looks openly at her curves under his body and then up into her face. He moves one of his hands to cup the side of her face, leaning in, moving as if to kiss her lips, then denying her at the last, just as it seemed her lips might part. He does this a couple of times before it evidently becomes too much for him. He leans in and locks his lips to her bare throat, kissing, sucking and nibbling at her pale skin. His other hand slaps the wall beside her as he evidently enjoys the taste of her skin, finally.

Rachel feels his kisses, greedy at her throat. They are eager, wet, frantic, passionate kisses, as if he wants to devour her. She hasn't been desired like this for quite some time. It takes her back to the early days with her husband, before they settled into their contentedly dull and dutiful marriage. And she feels the lust rising in her too...to be desired, by this man, a relative, and to have him sucking on her bare throat in this corridor in a public hotel, where anyone might come along at any minute. She feels herself inflamed, and she wants to participate. Her mouth opens, and she groans...a suppressed noise, full of desire. With the hand he's freed up she reaches into him, trying to feel the hardness under his trousers, her fingers locating it after a fumble...and she feels him start as she touches it through the fabric of the pants.

From his perspective, he feels like a younger man already, he feels like he is as hard as iron, more aroused by this illicit and highly risky fumble already than he has been in years with his wife. His mind flickers to her, imagining her cluelessly chatting to friends and relatives. The thought inflames him a little, knowing the stakes are high. When it comes, Rachel's throaty groan is music to his ears, making him moan onto her pale skin. Her hand on his crotch is a surprise, causing him to bite a little harder on her neck and thrust his hips against her slender fingers. "Jesus... I've... I've... for so long, Rachel..." He moans, his head still clouded by the spirits he has been consuming all night, but suddenly single minded in what he needs. His free hand presses the side of her purple dress firmly, pawing at the material and clumsily squeezing her breast through the dress.

The acknowledgement that he's been thinking about her for a long time only increases Rachel's desire. "You want it do you?" she hisses in his ear. "You want it?" And her eyes are wide, and slightly wild, and she's conscious that she's beginning to emit this almost a****l scent. Her hand finds the clasp of his belt and unhooks it with a swift jerk, pulling it apart until the ends hang open between them. "So what are you going to do about it?" she says.

He grunts deeply and loudly, given the public nature of their clasp in the corridor. He says nothing more, but pulls away from her, his eyes bloodshot but focusing on her, her face, her hair (still so made up), her breasts and her hips in the dress that he's been eyeing all evening. He nods his head to the right, whipping his keycard from his suit pocket, placing it to the room and pressing the door open the moment he hears the mechanical bleep. He stands in the doorway and lets Rachel swish past him. He makes sure to close the door and pull the bolt across, turning around to face his niece once more.

Rachel ponders the figure of the man framed against the closed door. It's dull in the room; just some emergency lighting, and he is framed in shadows. She steps up to him, the thoughts in her head all saying this is madness, but to him she looks brassy and self-confident. With both hands, she quickly finishes what she started, undoing the button at his waist, sliding down the zip, letting the trousers fall in a pool round his ankles. And now she's fingering his hard cock through the thin cotton of his underpants, her face close to his, eyes gleaming in the dull light, her look and tone of voice as bold as brass. She surprises herself to hear words coming out of her mouth she can only ever remember once saying to her husband. "So where do you want to put it then...?"

He is stunned by her brassy, super confident attitude appearing in the relative safety of his room. He is relieved that she doesn't seem to have been put off by some of his clothing and his wife's very conservative underwear on the bed nearby. He takes half a step back as she approaches, he doesn't even realise how his body is responding on nearly base instinct. He feels the trousers drop from his waist, his 'good suit' pooling at his ankles. He steps out of one leg, his moans quavering with the feeling of Rachel's young hand on his old, worn shorts. He looks up at her and gently eases the shoulder strap off her dress, but moves no further yet to derobe her. "If we're making a party of it, I really should try all my options... that is if you want it in each place" He adds sheepishly, still stunned at her brazen approach

Rachel leans in and kisses his mouth for the first time, her tongue probing inside him, her nose brushing right up against his. And she she steps back and sinks to her knees, the folds of her dress billowing around her. She looks up at him as she slides the underpants down his thighs, revealing his protruding penis almost at a right angle to his body. "Loosen my hair" she demands. And without waiting another second her mouth absorbs his cock in a single swift movement until almost all six inches of it are no longer visible - just the girl's face above a mass of fabric, swallowing and sucking and gulping for air as his penis enters her throat.

Her uncle responds as she expected he might. His mouth hangs open dumbly as she smoothly descends, the only sound the silk splaying out around her body, and the sound of his underwear dropping to the floor. Her voice is heavy and sultry to his ears, her command so self-assured. He gasps loudly and backs against the room door as her mouth consumes his length. He was hoping for but not ready for the hot moisture of her mouth on his skin. He places his hands flat against the door, before responding to her order and shakily tugging a couple of pins loose and beginning to unpick the intricate coil of hair

Rachel loved having her hair pinned up this morning; loved the dress; loved the make-up. She always did like to dress-up for an event. But as the day went by she became increasingly frustrated at this role she was being required to play - the role of the good wife, the supportive sister, the loving daughter. The role in which she is, above all else, taken for granted. 'Good old Rachel. She's always been the sensible one.' Can she actually have been jealous of her younger sister and annoyed that she herself is no longer the centre of attention?

And now this man, her uncle no less, tells her that she has in fact been the centre of his attention all day long. And she couldn't say why, but that was exactly what she needed to hear today. It triggered a wave of reactions in her - surprise, delight, desire...and ultimately lust. And now this: it's led to her being on her knees in someone else's hotel room, sucking off a middle aged man while he makes heavy breathing noises and her husband is engaged in conversation with a friend only two floors below.

She feels him unpick the pins that are supporting her hair, fumbling around in the dark for the last clasp, furtive and lustful, clumsy in his attempts to locate it. And then at last he does, and her dark, thick, glossy hair is released in a torrent and she feels it fall loosely about her shoulders. It feels like a dam breaking, a letting go of all the pent up anxieties of the day, all of them reflected in the tightness of her dress, her hair, this unnatural role she has to play. For an instant she feels joyously free.

Her uncle doesn't take his hands away. Having released her luscious hair his hands dig deep into it and hold her by it. And now he's using it to sway her head backwards and forwards, forcing the pace at which she is working his hard cock. She looks up but can't see his impression in the dullness of the room. 'He's mouth fucking me' thinks Rachel. And the thought fills her with a lust she hasn't felt in years, and she can feel her knickers instantly start to grow moist.

Her mouth is locked onto him, her lips gliding up and down the shaft, leaving it slick and moist, the fluid on his skin reflecting the low lighting, not that he's paying much attention to that. He feels her hair finally loosen and throws the clasp quickly across the hotel room, hearing it clatter somewhere underneath the desk. He runs his fingers through her luscious raven locks for a few moments, indulging himself in how it feels as another wave of scent, shampoo and hair spray, meets his nostrils. Slowly his fingers creep to the sides and back of her head, his grip tightening not roughly, but perceptibly. It has been a long time since he has enjoyed a blowjob from a woman, and he intends to enjoy every moment. He finds himself trying to remember the last time his wife actually agreed to it rather than than retreating into her own little world of 50 Shades or Outlander in bed... His attention is brought back into the room as Rachel's white teeth graze the top of his shaft ever-so-slightly. He winces but moans wantonly, not even realising how he is directing her head and meeting it with hips hips, pushing off from the door, in a steady, methodical pace. He takes a moment to try to burn this picture of her face into his memory forever, her hair cascading down over her bare shoulders, the purple silk dress straining around her bust as she rocks in time with his directions. He feels beads of precum leaking from him, mingling with her saliva, knowing she must be experiencing his natural taste (and thinking he must be careful not to overstimulate himself too quicky). The resulting twitch makes the head of his hard cock brush the roof of his niece's mouth, causing him to visibly shiver and shake at the knees, his eyes closing in satisfaction.

The pair remain in this stance and position for some time, it seems like forever to both, but in actuality may only be a matter of minutes. The room is silent, the only noises cutting through the low light are their heavy breathing, her dress rustling and shifting, and the moist sounds of suction emanating from between his legs. Rachel is making those sounds partly deliberately, imagining how she must look, the prim and proper bridesmaid gone wild... Her uncle is moaning and still directing her head with his hand, but has moved one to his own clothing, tugging at his tie and unbuttoning his shirt. He gasps and groans louder as her mouth continues to consume the majority of his length, her pretty nose tickling his pubic hair. Worried about climaxing, he suddenly releases her head and grasps her arms, hauling her to her feet. His hand slaps on the lightswitch nearby as he takes in her looks again. He notes how the dusting of freckles on her face still show through her makeup. He pulls her firmly against his body, arms around the narrowest part of her curvaceous waist, pressing his lips to hers, pushing his tongue into her mouth as his breath rasps through his nose. He thinks nothing of the fact that his cock, slick with saliva and fluid is leaving dark marks on the shining purple silk.

As he hoists her to her feet, Rachel realises she's lost all sense of time. How long have they been here? Is she being missed downstairs? Is he? What are the chances of her aunt coming through that door at any moment? Rachel cares about all of this, bit also doesn't care. 'For once' she thinks 'I'm living in the moment'.

Rachel hadn't enjoyed sucking a cock so much for some time. In fact, it's been some time since she did it at all. The sense of absorbing his shaft in her mouth, the taste of the fluids that were beginning to ooze from it, and his obvious physical pleasure, heightened by his groaning, reminded her forcefully how much she once enjoyed having sex in this way. She'd half expected him to explode in her mouth at any moment, and half hoped for it. But still, she's pleased when he draws her to her feet, because it means he isn't finished, that he wants to slide himself into some other part of her. And she wants that too...wants it desperately in fact. Where did all this pent up lust come from? She can't begin to explain it even to herself.

When he kisses her, she responds vigorously, her tongue probing deep inside his mouth, meeting his. She can taste alcohol mixed with his fluids. It's an unpleasant taste, even disgusting, but she abandons herself the filthiness of it all, the sense of being degraded by this experience...it thrills her.

Her eyes are closed as she kisses him. He's not attractive in any conventional way, though maybe he was once, a long time ago. But this is not about attraction. Rachel's urges and instincts are far more a****l than that. She slides one hand through his thinning, greying hair, drawing his head to hers, as she angles herself to kiss him. And the other hand reaches down to his groin where she clasps his long, hard shaft. Her thumb and forefinger form a circle around it, and she starts to work it hard with her hand. Their bodies are pressed tightly together and she has to work it deeply in the folds of her heavy purple dress. She knows that the glistening fluids she can feel lubricating her hand will be leaving dark stains on the dress. Even through her wild-eyed lustful haze she realises that the marks might be hard to erase when this is over. And that thought excites her hugely.

He moans deeply into her mouth as he feels her hand pressing at the back of his head, his nose brushing hers as the pair squirm in the kiss, continually searching for the deepest, most pleasurable angle to the kiss. His eyes are open, he sees how wide hers are, hearing her wild breathing through her nose, can feel the heat rising from her flushed face and neck. He sucks hard on her bottom lip as her hand slinks down and makes an artificial ring moving up and down his arousal. Even thinking back to the early days of his marriage, he can't imagine Rachel's aunt ever acting in such a primal fashion. No, she would have cared too much about making a mess of her clothing and hands. In the back of his mind, he wonders where Rachel could possibly have been hiding this side to her. Like the rest of the family, he was very much of the idea that his eldest niece was a highly strung, perhaps even slightly stuck up, young woman: obsessed with her work and studies. He has never been so happy to have been proven wrong, though. Not breaking his embrace with her, he eases her body away from the door, half pushing her back, half spinning around with her. When he thinks he finally has enough room, he slips both hands behind her and reaches for the zipper at the back of her dress. "I need to see what you are hiding under here, darling girl..." he growls between kisses, moving to kiss her throat as he pulls the zip down slowly, even resorting to licking her exposed neck a few times, such is his burning lust.

While her uncle is astonished to see this side of Rachel - a side she's kept largely under wraps ever since she was in her teens - she's no less surprised at him. What happened to the placid, middle-aged, predictable man she thought she knew? Where did this version of him come from? Suddenly Rachel realises that she doesn't know him at all - this older relative whom she's known since she was a c***d but has now openly propositioned her on a dance floor, in plain sight of both her husband and his own wife, and is now taking charge of their forbidden sexual gropings in a bedroom just two floors above their heads.

Make no mistake, Rachel loves this side of him. As she feels the back zip of the dress sliding open, his tongue flicking out against the bare skin of her neck leaving thin traces of wet saliva which almost instantly dry in the heat of the room, she feels a since of release, just as she did when he unpinned her hair and let it cascade down over her shoulders. The dress is heavy, and tight, constraining her body like a corset, and the feeling as he liberates her from it is like being let out of a prison and breathing fresh air.

She feels the zip reach it's stopping point, just above the small of her back. Since the dress covers only her left shoulder, she needs to do nothing more than angle that shoulder slightly, and the mass of heavy purple fabric falls instantly to the floor, making a whoosh and then a dull thud, billowing out around her feet in a dense heap.

Rachel turns around. She's wearing only her cotton knickers, strapless bra, hold-up stockings, and heels. As she turns, she steps on the dress, her high heels digging into the expensive fabric. But she doesn't care. She just wishes now that she'd worn more sexy underwear - maybe her black lacy panties - instead of what she has on. Not that it's going to stop her. She sees his slack-jawed gaze, watching him drinking in her curvy figure, and she decides to play up to it. She sways her hips to one side, tilts her head to the other, and runs her hands up through her tumble of hair - noticing for the first time that it's begun to cling to the sweat of her shoulders and forehead, realising that she must look every inch the woman who is in the throws of an illicit liaison. "So" she says to him, boldly, "you wanted to see what was under the dress....does it meet your approval?"

His eyes are as large as golf balls as he stands there, dumbstruck, admiring his eldest niece in all of her feminine glory. He notices all the little features, the paleness of the skin, the flush in her neck and chest, how her luscious dark hair, accentuated by the spotlights of the room, clings initially to her moist skin, resisting at first her fingers, but eventually moving as she runs those hands through her dark mane. He notes the glimmer of her wedding diamonds as she does. His drunkenness is nearly evaporated as he lets his gaze descend down her, over the lace features of her strong, strapless bra holding in her ample bosom, her panties, relatively plain, yet fitted perfectly. Then he feels his member throb as he reaches the tops of her holdups, the most overtly lacy and sexual piece in the ensemble. He openly gawps at her legs, the silver sparkly heels (probably her sister's choice, he thinks) shining in the lights too. He nods at her coquettish move and question, his eyes struggling to tear themselves away from the pale flesh infront of him. "yes, yes yes... oh god a thousand times yes..." He says, his voice a hoarse whisper. He silently reaches out and runs his hands over the soft cotton covering her mound. The sound of skin on cotton fills his ears as his fingers reach her waistband, pressing against her skin before slipping inside the panties and his middle finger effortlessly placing itself between her feminine lips. He looks at her from under eyelids heavy with desire as his finger starts to work in languid strokes and circles, his eyes looking for any changes of her expression.

Rachel stands there, still as she can, hips swaying gently, her hands in her hair, as his fingers slide between the elastic of her cotton briefs and her bare mound, working it gently at first, and then more vigorously. She lets out a low groan. "Oh". She tosses her head back, and her eyes roll upwards under her heavy lids. Her mouth hangs open with desire. Another groan - not to encourage him, but involuntarily. Her right hand lets loose her hair and reaches down to his waist. Without looking she finds his hard shaft and begins to work it expertly with her fingers, feeling that it is even wetter and stickier than before. She adjusts her stance to steady herself, feet placed apart, still standing on the dress, legs slightly wider. And he audibly hears her gasp in the hot, still air of the room, as she feels him respond to her touch.

He responds deftly to each little groan she makes, twisting his hand inside her cotton panties, using the side of his finger sometimes, then the pad of it. He licks his lips as he feels and hears her moisture building, the soft squelching noises are music to his ears. He sighs contentedly as he sees Rachel's head tilt back, her hair cascading down further, apart from her body now, such is her angulation. "Having a good time, darling girl?" He moans, caught halfway through his sentence by her small hand snaking itself around his glistening shaft again. With his free hand he reaches down and cups her hand on him, guiding her strokes, making her tighten her grip on him ever so slightly. He responds to her grip with a deep moan, crooking his finger inside her to reach deeper into her intimacy. His breathing is faster again, he is losing self control just as he did in the corridor. His free hand moves from his shaft to Rachel's breasts, pawing at her chest clumsily, enjoying the way her milky flesh is moulding to his touch. He pulls her close roughly, laughing a little at her start. His hand unclasps the expensive looking bra with surprisingly little effort, him making space for it to fall from her body to the purple heap at their feet. "I need you, Rachel. I need to be inside you..." He whispers, hissing with a desire edging on desperation. He worries in the back of his mind that she'll interpret this as something negative, but he has uttered the words before thinking about it...

His words light a fire inside Rachel. He doesn't just want her; he needs her. And Rachel has a desire to be needed sexually. As the bra feel from her body, Rachel felt her nipples tense and harden. And now she feels let loose. She takes a step forward, carrying both her body and his back against the door. She leans into him, frantically kisses his mouth with deep, open kisses. The sound of the smacking of their mouths, and a****l desire to consume each other, fills the room. And now she is pawing at his shirt, wanting to strip him bare. She works the buttons frantically, but gets frustrated at the last two and just pulls it open, the buttons skittering across the carpet. Disengaging from the kiss she fixes him with eyes full of lust and makes clear her consent. "I'll do anything you want" she says. And then, after the briefest of pauses, she repeats the word with the stress on the first syllable. 'ANYthing'.

He smiles as he sees her ample breasts exposed, noticing how quickly her head snaps down at his confession of utter need. He barely registers what is happening as she lunges at him, a moan escaping his body as the air is knocked out of him with the sheer force of the move. His back hits the door firmly, sending a large thudding noise in all directions, even into the corridor. He tries to keep up with her frantic kisses, catching up with her lips and tongue only for her to change position slightly. The feeling of her breasts mashing against his chest is heavenly. He decides quickly to go with the flow, letting Rachel dictate the pace of kissing, since she seems lost in her own world for a moment. As she unbuttons him, he feels the tip of his cock brushing against her thighs, feeling something of the heat coursing off her intimate region. He is frantically pulling at her panties, pushing them beyond the point of no return just before she steps back. "Get on the bed..." He says with some purpose, holding her suddenly by the wrist and leading her over. He half spins her onto the bed, her glistening body on top of his casual clothing and his wife's more decorative underwear (he doesn't understand why his wife keeps buying it really, so seeing a nearly naked young body in heat on top of them inflames him more). He eases her back, positioning himself between her legs, one hand by her side, the other on the base of his cock, rubbing the head against her sticky entrance. "Are you ready, Rachel?..." He moans, obviously taking alot of effort to restrain himself.

He realises he is at the point of no return. His body is poised over her, his cock threatening to enter her at any second. He has given no thought to the fact that he is bare-skinned, it has been so long since his wife really allowed him into her that he has not thought to check if Rachel is on the pill or not. Even if he was to have the thought, the added risk would likely only inflame him further. he looks down at her as he waits for her response, noticing the dark sheen of her holdups, the gleam of the heels behind him, and the sheen of perspiration on his niece's pale skin. He notices how her large and heavy breasts are swaying with her movements, rising from her ribs one moment and slipping apart from each other to her sides in the next...

Rachel feels him poised, ready to penetrate her, his engorged manhood pressing so close against her now - one hard thrust and he will be inside her. She positions herself on the bed, ready to take the force of him entering her. Her fingers grip the bedsheets tightly, and she realises that one hand is clasped around a pair of her aunty's knickers - black, lacy, and silky to the touch - the kind that Rachel wishes she had worn herself today. The thought that they are in her hand while her uncle straddles her from behind causes a strange sensation that she can't explain to herself, except that it inflames her even more, if such a thing were possible.

She knows he's wearing no protection, and she's not on the pill. But somehow all of that knowledge dissolves itself in the heat of the moment. Maybe the insane risk is even one of the reasons she's now primed and ready for sex like an a****l, almost like she's never been in her life. She looks back over her shoulder, tossing her hair, matted and wet, to one side. And her eyes glisten in the dim light of the room with the unmistakeable glow of pure lust. 'What are you waiting for?' she says, trying to inject a tone of irony in her voice, but failing to mask the reality of her physical desperation. 'Just do it.'

This is all the encouragement he needs. Rachel's voice is so certain and commanding to him, he feels powerless to resist. He places his hands on her hips, taking a tight grasp of her creamy flesh now glistening with sweat. He smiles warmly as he takes one final look at the a****listic creature on his hotel bed, her stockings shimmering, her heels gleaming in the low light. He then snarls, making a noise he has never uttered before in his life as he pushes forward and impales her to the hilt. The force of his thrust pushes them forward on the bed, but it's the noise that he makes that is more noticeable. It's a deep whimper signalling the ages of pent up desire being finally realised. He gasps as he feels her insides clasping him, warm and wet encasing him. He has one knee on the bed himself and is wasting no time to thrust in and out, letting his whole length almost leave her before pushing deeply in again, the soft squelching noises of their bodies meeting filling the room obscenely...

As he enters her, thrusting himself in to the hilt, Rachel lets out an involuntary squeal that could have been heard by anyone who happened to be passing the room at that moment, it's sexual meaning unmistakeable. She is pushed forward onto the bed, her arms momentarily buckling underneath her, her face thrust down into the bedclothes, forehead brushing against a discarded pair of briefs lying on the bed, nose close enough to smell the musty fabric. She instantly props herself up again on her elbows, left hand brushing her damp hair back from her eyes. And now the aroused man behind her, whom she can't see, is forcibly working her like a cheap whore, punching his manhood deep into her with every thrust. She hears the squelching as he almost withdraws and then thrusts its length in fully again, the sound of his grunting, the slap of her breasts as, hanging loose, they crash into one another, flesh on flesh. Their illicit liaison proceeds in a fury of sound and smell that fills the room, like a****ls rutting in a wood. All sense of the outside world disappears into the miasma of this long bottled up lust. 'Oh fuck' she says, her voice louder in the dark room than she thought it would be. "Don't stop'.

He is lost in the sensation of his niece's body under him. The taboo thrill that had been arousing him before is now at a new level as his mind flashes to images of her earlier in the day, and even earlier when he used to admire her as a firm young university student. He feels his body shiver as he pushes and thrusts and bucks with all of his remaining might against her. 'I'm not stopping, darling girl...' he grunts and pants as he feels his body slapping against her. He pauses momentarily as he thinks he hears footsteps in the corridor, but quickly resumes his rhythm, past caring about possible eavesdroppers. His cock is like iron and it feels even better with her slick fluids coating the length of his shaft. He can feel her fluids beading in his pubic hair, sensing her desperate arousal, almost as much as his... He grunts and spanks her round pale backside firmly, enjoying how different she feels compared to his aging wife. 'Fuck, Rachel you're on fire, girl...' He moans loudly again, possibly audible from the doorway. He reaches around her body and finds her mound with his fingers, circling her clit roughly, clumsily and frantically in time with his thrusts.

Rachel feels the slap of his hand on her backside - something her husband has never tried or even suggested. Each spank sends a little shiver through her body. Even she could have had no idea she would like it so much. 'So this is what being a whore must feel like' she thinks, the thought flashing through her mind of countless older men working out their lust on the soft , firm bodies of younger women; all the women who like her have got on all fours on a bed and taken it; all the men who have taken their had to a young, firm backside until it was red and sore. And the word 'whore' rolls round her mind like wine in a glass, and enflames her. When he reaches his hand around her side and clumsily finds her clitoris, the effect is like electricity and she almost has an instant orgasm. Her body shakes with the force of holding it back, beads of perspiration pouring down her face, his cock still drilling deep inside her, fluids leaking down between her legs and running onto the bedsheets. She cranes her neck round behind her to look at the shadow of her grunting uncle, fucking her vigorously from behind. She pouts out her lipstick-smudged lips. 'Kiss me' she demands.

He is grunting hard and loudly, each thrust costing him more effort, his balls tightening with each push. He feels the sweat trailing down his body and mingling with her perspiration and fluids. The feeling is beyond anything he has experienced in all of his years, even with ex girlfriends in his own youth. Nothing has ever felt so primal and instinctive, the desire to achieve climax overriding every other need and concern that might occur to him otherwise. The dim light that he left on in the doorway of the room is casting a low light across her body. He admires the way her back is glistening with the heat of their encounter, her luscious raven dark hair sticking to her porcelain light skin. The thought that he is causing such heat and exertion in her younger body fills him with heightened desire, part of him still disbelieving that his prim and proper niece has opened some floodgate deep inside of herself. Her demand to kiss her forces his mind back to her, his eyes flickering to her face. He wastes no time in responding, though. Moving his hand from her clitoris to her face, cupping it softly, leaving her own fluids on her skin as he does. He leans over her fully, causing his angle in her to change, their sweating bodies to merge as he plants his lips to hers hungrily, attempting to devour her mouth. The mixture of sensations overwhelms him slightly, and he gives a wordless whimper that can only suggest how close he is to a powerful orgasm. He is fighting his body hard now, aching to keep this moment alive for even a little longer...

Rachel feels how close he is to orgasm. She's almost there herself, consciously holding her body back from full release. She's just like a bitch in heat, her only thoughts are those of the a****l sexual encounter, the man, dog-like, straddling her from behind, furiously pounding into her. As he kisses her, the act is purely lustful, with no tenderness at all in it. Rachel responds in kind, her mouth vigorously locking onto his, tongue forcefully probing inside him. She tastes the residue of alcohol on his breath; his thick saliva coats her tongue. It's filthy she knows, disgusting even, but in this moment what would be her normal sense of distaste is transformed into pure sexual pleasure, heightened by the sheer transgressiveness of the act. To be fucked, like this, and by her own uncle, on a bed where even now her aunty's intimate clothes lay strewn.To be engaged in this unforgivable violation of her marriage vows, on the day of her own sister's wedding, and just a few floors above the room where so many of her friends and family are, where her husband now is - looking around maybe, missing her, wondering where she's gone - while her clothes and hair are a matted mess, her skin flushed and sweaty, as a man the age of her father buries his throbbing cock deep inside her, his saliva running down her chin, his sweat running down the shoulder she angles towards him. All of this rushes through her mind like a forest fire, her senses tingling and alight with it. She's never done anything close to the thrill of this.

Rachel feels her arms giving way beneath her, with the heat of the room, and the force of his thrusts. She can't hold this position for much longer, and now she longs for the release of a shuddering orgasm. Their mouths detach as they both gasp for air, the sound of their a****l panting filling the room. "I'm not on the pill" she blurts out between breaths. "But I want you to cum inside me".

His head is spinning with lust rather than alcohol now, the primal coupling taking place on his hotel bed making his mind keen, if only focused on his sexual pleasure and the writhing body of his curvaceous niece under him. If Rachel's mind is spinning with thoughts of her marital transgression, his mind is filled only with images of his niece. He imagines all the hugs and touches over the years, how his desire was sparked in her and now how he is ferociously consummating his pent up lust, desire, attractions and months of frustrations... his wife is not even a distant memory, nothing exists in his mind apart from Rachel. Her spontaneous warning about the pill followed by her breathless plea for him to let loose inside her is the final element to tip the balance. He leans back upright, one hand pulling her shoulder to keep her firmly against him, the other hand holding onto the swell of her hip roughly. He thrusts a couple more time into her glistening body, feeling the way her sex feels molten hot around him now. He cries out her name and grits his teeth, his entire body tensing, all his nerves exploding. He feels a thick, viscous rope of cum leaving him in an eruption, weeks worth of pent up seed. He thrusts through his powerful and noisy orgasm, his body trembling and struggling to maintain its grip on Rachel's warm, sweating curves. He finally throws his head back and cries out to the ceiling, his eyes almost whiting out with the ecstasy he is in...

Rachel feels him tense at the moment before orgasm. Her body perfectly attuned to his, she lets herself go at the same time. She never achieves simultaneous orgasm with her husband, but here on this bed in a dimly lit hotel room, she somehow finds her body heaving with the pleasure of full sexual release at precisely the same moment as her uncle is shooting his thick cum deep inside her. She can feel it too, the fluid, squirting and coating her insides like cream. Every fibre of her body shudders with the sheer pleasure of it, and she cries out loudly in the room - 'Oh fuck!' Her arms can no longer support her weight and so she plants her face into the bed as he finishes with her, his final thrusts going deeper than anything yet. Perfectly in harmony, their shared moment of desperate carnal lust. Her body is still shaking uncontrollably as he disengages, pulling out of her with an audible plop, and rolling off to the side of her on the bed, her body leeching with sweat, used up for the older man's pleasure. She's panting still as she says between deep gulps of air: 'That was the best sex I ever had'.

He is lying flat on his back, on top of the mass of clothing and underwear, arms out by his sides, his chest and belly heaving as he sucks in air and tries to calm himself from the high he has just experienced. His head is spinning, his ears are ringing and his cock is still half hard, despite the vigorous coupling he has just experienced. 'Darling girl, that was the best I have ever had too, you were unbelievable, sweetheart...' He pants, shaking his head in stunned disbelief, his cock head still oozing seed down his length and onto his thigh... After a few moments, he turns his head 'I don't know what came over me, but seeing you, in that dress... I just...' His voice tails off and he shrugs

She leans into him. Her hair is across her eyes, and she tries to brush it out of the way but can't. It's wet and plastered to her forehead, and her hands are sweaty and shaking. 'I'm so glad you told me how you felt' she says, confidentially. 'I wouldn't have missed that for anything.' She looks at him, at her own body, at the dress, damp and stained on the floor, her skin all flushed and sweating. 'No-one must know' she whispers with some urgency. 'We need to clean up.'

He nods and shifts his weight in agreement. 'I'll stay here and sort the room. You don't have to worry, I won't tell a soul, I promise. Why would I want to possibly share anything so special, anyway?' He reaches out his hand and cups her face gently, touching his lips to hers again, with a newfound tenderness after the a****listic display he has just put on. 'Straighten your hair and get ready. I don't think we can risk you using the shower, though.. much as I'd like to see that...' He grins more wickedly again, winking playfully at her.

Rachel gets up, finds the mirror, and turns on the light above it. She's shocked by what she sees. The girl in the mirror isn't recognisable even to herself, but looks like another woman entirely. It's obvious what she's just been doing. Rachel knows it's going to be almost impossible to get herself straight. She works her hair for a few minutes, trying to get it up as it was, but it's hopeless...it was done for her this morning, pinned up by her sister before they set off for the church. It would be quite impossible to replicate by herself. She's conscious of the man behind her beginning to shift nervously, his lust now wearing off, and worry about being caught kicking in. Who knows how long they have? So she pins the hair quickly as best she can, splashes water on her face to cool down, and steps into the dress. 'Can you help me fasten it' she says, her voice trembling.

He is moving behind her in the room, his naked body still glistening in sweat, his cock still not fully tamed, but more flaccid than before. He is casting his and his wife's clothing into drawers and the wardrobe, half remaking the bed, to cover the signs of their writhing upon it. He turn at her call and walks behind her, taking the weight of the dress and helping her get an arm through the one shoulder strap. He pulls at the zipper and feels it rise up her back, encasing her pale but flushed skin once more. He runs his warm, clammy hands over her bare shoulder as if to say wordlessly that it is done. 'I wish you could stay...' he whispers wistfully as he feels her pull away from him already.

'Me too' she says. Then she has a thought, spots the piece of paper and pencil by the side of the room phone, and scribbles 'R' and her mobile phone number down on it quickly. 'Call me' she says. And then she leans into him, kisses him tenderly on the mouth, and turns to go. As she gingerly opens the door, checking that the coast is clear in the corridor, she turns back momentarily. 'It was amazing', she smiles at him. And with that she turns and goes, not waiting for a response, the door clicking softly behind her.