Uncle Randy and the Angry NieceChapter 8
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Uncle Randy And The Angry NieceChapter 10 free porn video
"Two things," Cheryl said, ignoring my question. "First you have to give me a good morning kiss, and then we have to schedule what we're going to do today."
Okay, now I had a new question, but I still wanted my first one answered. "Cheryl, what did you after you crawled in my bed last night?"
"Didn't I just say that first you have to give me a good morning kiss?"
"I have morning breath."
That brought on the 'Are you Mandy Kuczynski or her brother?' look again. "So hold it while you kiss me. I have morning breath, too, and that's what I'm going to do so I don't gross you out."
Note to self: learn how to argue with female members of this family who use logic. I quickly kissed her.
The twist of the grin was sly, but the sparkle in those brown eyes was sheer delight. "That's better. See? We both lived through it. Now my day is off to a good start. I'll bet yours is, too."
"It will be a lot better after you answer my question." I hope.
"Uncle Randy," she said, the stern expression and the condescending tone in her voice diminished by the sparkle still in her eyes. "We have our mouth open and our ears closed again, don't we? Maybe I should call you Uncle Mandy."
What could I do? She delivered it so perfectly, except for her sparkling eyes, that I held my breath and gave her another quick kiss. I'm sure that by the time she graduates from law school, she'll have that under control, too.
The stern expression looked like it was trying to hold back a laugh. "There's proof I was right, Uncle Mandy. I said first we kiss and then we schedule our day. You've already kissed me. You're supposed to be listening to me schedule our day now. We weren't listening, were we?"
"Listen to you schedule our day?"
"This is a working ranch, Uncle Mandy. Everyone works. Even on Sunday a horse ranch has chores to perform. I guess I'll have to go out to the horse barn to find anything with horse sense around here."
"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
"Are you saying you didn't enjoy messing with Mom's head last night?"
She had me there. "But I was also trying to make a point."
"Well, so am I." She pushed a corner of her pillow under her head, raising it enough to bring our noses to the same altitude. "You're right. It's a working ranch with ranch duties, and I have to share the load, so I'm telling you what we're going to do today."
"Your sharing the load includes starting at the top?"
She shrugged. It made her right tit, which was above her forearm, move in a most wonderful way. "It worked for Mom."
"So tell me what my plans are and answer my question. I need to go pee."
She smiled. "That's good. Instead of always talking to me, you need to listen once in a while."
That earned a third kiss. "I'm sorry. I forgot. I'd already done Step One. Please, Niece Cheryl, tell me now what my plans are for today. Quickly, I beg of you."
She frowned at me. "Dad grovels better than you."
"He's had a lot more practice."
At first she looked like she was about to kiss me, but then her face changed, like she remembered we'd already done that. "Step Two. We are going to check the horses. Since we've overslept by two hours and nine..." She threw up a hand to catch my chin as I tried to look over my shoulder and check the clock. "I won't lie to you, Uncle Randy."
"Sorry. I know. It was reflexes, not an accusation of incompetence."
Cheryl has the most beautiful smile, even when one side of her face is pressed down into a pillow. "Since we've overslept, then we won't make the horses wait any longer by wasting time getting dressed. Except for me, of course, to make Mom happy, but I'm already wearing my necklace because I didn't want you to wake up and find me naked in your bed. We visit the pottys, get Buena Vista her morning apple, and then check the barns and stables."
"What if Ricky is here?"
"There's this new invention called a window. Before we go downstairs, the first one out of the potty checks the parking lot for his truck. After we've checked the horses, we'll, like, come back to the house and I'll fix breakfast while you read the paper and drink your coffee. How does French toast with homemade vanilla syrup and Canadian bacon grab you?"
I tried to look disappointed. "Well, I was planning on a Denver omelet with green peppers and shallots and baby mushrooms and alfalfa sprouts. But I forgot to get shallots at King Soopers yesterday, so okay. But you need to call your mother."
She sighed. "Uncle Mandy, what part of 'working ranch' did you not understand? I can't waste time on personal calls when I still have chores to do. She will have to wait until after I'm done with my morning chores!"
She might be Marek and Mandy's daughter, but she still was definitely related to me.
"After I've slaved over breakfast and then slaved some more over the dishes," which meant she was going to load the dishwasher, "then I'll see if I have time to squeeze in a personal call. It will have to be short, though, because you will need help in the studio."
I began to wonder how long she lay awake last night planning this. Which brought back my original worry, but she wasn't done with the day's plan yet. "What help is that?"
"Uncle Mandy! How can you shoot photographs of a model without a model?"
"Sorry. I guess I slept through that part of the plan. Then what?"
"Then we'll have a late lunch and relax after my driving lesson. Maybe go swimming until it's time to check the horses, maybe think of something else to do. We'll see when the time comes."
Not bad. I guess being Mandy's daughter prepares you to start at the top. "Is that it?"
"For now."
"Good. Then, what happened after you crawled in bed with me last night?"
Her right hand caressed my cheek, and then she frowned. "Looks like one of us needs to use the razor during potty time. You might decide to hug Blaze, and I wouldn't want you to scratch her cheek."
"Razor. Got it." All those years around Mandy taught me one useful thing: it would be a mistake to repeat my question now.
She smiled again. "I found you lying on your back in the moonlight, and with that awesome boner on your stomach. I got in bed and just sat there beside it, looking at how totally awesome it was and wondering what it felt like. I've ... well, I've never touched one before. It went down in a few minutes, and I still sat there looking at it, wondering what that felt like, too. Then I got sleepy and lay down beside you. You turned on your side, toward me, and I kissed you and went to sleep."
I sighed with relief. "And that was all?"
"Well, no. I also said, 'Thank you, Uncle Randy, ' after I kissed you."
"You didn't touch..."
"NO! Not without your permission. You said during the massage that I couldn't, so I didn't."
"I guess I wasn't thinking again, was I?"
"You have an excuse. You've spent more time around Mom than I have. Now: I've answered your question, so you have to answer one for me."
Apparently I'd also missed the part about reciprocal questions in the rules briefing. "What question would that be?"
I couldn't describe her look if I wanted to. "Was yours as good as mine last night?"
There were plenty of worse questions she could have asked. "Yes. At least, I hope yours was as good as that one. As my favorite niece would say, it was awesome."
"Cool."
While I'd been shaving, Cheryl had loaded Mister Coffee, so I had a cuppajava to go with my morning paper after we returned from checking the horses. "Perfect," I said after tasting it. "How did you know how much to put in?"
"God, I hate you." Translation: you could triple your IQ points and you'd still be behind Mom.
"You've watched me make it and paid attention. Right. You know, Mandy won't recognize you when you return home."
She pushed the refrigerator door shut with an elbow and stood there with the eggs in one hand and the milk in the other. "Uncle Randy, I don't want to think about leaving right now."
I raised the cup in a silent toast to her. "I'll tell her I want to keep you to make coffee."
She smiled faintly. "Wait until you try my French toast."
I waved a hand at the stove. "By all means, don't let me slow you down. I'm looking forward to it. I'll be reading the paper if you need anything from a top shelf."
I opened the paper, but didn't read it. I didn't want to think about her leaving, either. Ever notice how not wanting to think about something you dread means you can't think of anything else?
We were discussing Cheryl's Blaze over breakfast. She paused a forkload of French toast in mid-air to ask for clarification of a comment I'd made about Blaze's first set of shoes.
"You're about to drip again." I nodded toward her fork.
She looked down at the glob of syrup gathering at the bottom of the hunk of toast, lifted only her eyes to peer at me from beneath those graceful brown gull wings, and moved the fork a couple of inches closer to her body. The syrup landed a half-inch above the edge of a nipple and flowed down around the curve. She shoved the toast in her mouth, chewed while still looking at me, and swallowed.
"Looks like you finally get your wish," she said.
"And what wish is that? Not my wish to see you take your laundry to the basement during breakfast again, because you missed your necklace. Besides, I couldn't watch that again anyway. I'm not supposed to see you naked."
She shook her head. "You said you never had the pleasure of licking vanilla sugar syrup off a girl's boob before and that you were sure you'd enjoy it. Now you get to find out."
Almost anyone can break a horse to the saddle. Damned few people can do it exactly right, and of the few people who can do it exactly right, none can do it righter than Snake Dawson. Snake always approaches the horse with a look that says, "We both know that you're going to fight it, and we both know that in the end I'm going to get my way, so why not save us both a lot of time and effort?"
I saw that same look on Cheryl's face. "Cheryl..."
"Uncle Randy, the longer you take before you give in, the longer it's going to be until I call Mom, and she's going to be mad at you."
"Because I wouldn't suck your tit?"
That brought back the smirk. "Do you want me to tell her that?"
"Do you want to come back next year?"
The smirk evaporated. "Yes." Translation: more than anything else in the world.
The look now on her face was so earnest, so achingly endearing, that I regretted mentioning the possibility of her not returning. A quarter of an hour ago, I, too, had been dreading the idea of her leaving. Maybe she was right. Maybe I was Uncle Mandy. "I want you to come back, too. But, Cheryl, I'm not sure this is a good idea."
She put down her fork. "This bothers you more than what you did for me last night?"
"No. Yes. I don't know. Cheryl, I don't know where we're headed with..."
"Like I do? Look, I don't know, either, Uncle Randy. But I know that I'm ... like ... well, that I'm having fun right now and that you are, too. I'm just trying to enjoy right now. How can I do that if I'm always worrying about later?"
"A good photographer..."
"A good photographer plans ahead for work. This isn't work. Not for me. It's fun. Is it work for you?"
"No. I can't lie to you. No. It's fun for me, too." That made her face light up. "But..."
She pushed her chair back with her legs and rose to her feet. She came around the table and stuck the syrupy treat in my face. "Are you still wondering what it would be like, and do you still think you would enjoy it?"
I sighed. "Life would be much easier if I could lie to you."
Her voice was soft. "I'd be disappointed in you if you did." She was being openly honest, and, in all honesty, I agreed with her. I'd be disappointed in me, too. "I'm going to stand here until you either lick it off and tell me whether it was as enjoyable as you thought, or you tell me you want me to go away. I know if you do, you won't be lying to me."
"What do you plan to ask in return if I lick it off?" I'm getting craftier as I age. Or more paranoid. If there's a difference.
"Nothing but an honest answer. Honest. Cross my heart."
I knew she wouldn't lie to me. The subtle reminder that she wouldn't made me feel like I was being reprimanded. Maybe that was its purpose. I put my fork down, wiped my mouth with the napkin, rinsed my mouth with a swig of coffee, and turned to look at the beautiful pink object in my face. No, I turned to see it, not just look at it. "I wish I had a camera."
"Why?" Her tone wasn't one of sarcasm but one of curiosity. She understood that she had an opportunity to learn something. She had heard Randy Long, Photographer, speaking.
"I like the way the light reflects off the syrup and the shape it makes where it's trickled down the skin. It complements the contours of your breast. It's almost competition-quality photography."
"Want me to go get a camera?"
"No. More movement on your part would distort it, and like the perfect sunset, the effect will disappear before I could retrieve and ready a camera. Let me just enjoy the scene for a moment."
"Sure." She meant it. My obnoxious angry niece had been replaced by a caring young woman considerate of the wants and needs of others. Mostly considerate. The stubborn streak that wanted what it wanted wasn't completely submerged by the new personality. The proof was right there in my face. Still, it hadn't taken me as long as I had expected to transform her from her mother's daughter to my niece.
"Okay," I said after a minute. "I think I can close my eyes and remember the scene for the next fifty or sixty years." First I licked off the majority of the syrup. Then I sucked the rest off, scrubbing the surface with my tongue as she gasped, wiggled, and cooed.
"All done."
She looked at me with dreamy eyes. "Was it as good as you expected?"
"Nope."
"It wasn't?" She knew I wouldn't lie, and now she was worried.
"It was better."
She blinked. Twice. "God, I hate you."
Neither of us believed that.
You know how counting to ten is supposed to calm you down? That doesn't work when you're dealing with Mandy. Neither, I suspect, would counting to ten thousand. "Didn't I tell you she'd call you, but that it would be late?"
"You're still lying around the house? You haven't checked those animals yet?"
"Horses. They're called horses. Dad raised them, remember? Yes, we've checked them, but she's not finished with her chores. I mentioned those, too, remember? She fixed breakfast, and now she's maybe two minutes away from being finished with the dishes. If you'd waited two more minutes, she'd have called you."
Cheryl looked up from loading the dishwasher, grinned wickedly, and then sloooooowly resumed adding the last plate and the silverware.
"You made her cook breakfast and do the dishes? And she did it?"
"I thought somebody should set the example of how she should be as a parent herself."
"Well, isn't that MY job?"
"I thought it was supposed to be, but I've been wrong before."
Indecision is when you can't make up your mind whether to tell Cheryl to load faster so that you can get away from the unpleasant experience on the phone or to load even more slowly so you can help her delay her own unpleasant experience with it.
At noon we decided to delay lunch and stick with the plan because we'd had a late breakfast. I thought another reason Cheryl was eager to keep going was because the photo session was going well. I'd shoot a series of shots of her, then she'd attempt a similar series of me. I had the easier job because I had a better model. I had at least six figure study shots that were of gallery quality, if only she'd been eighteen. They were salable and well-suited for any book on photography, but these days you never knew what idiotic reactionary twit would cause trouble because of an inbred inability to differentiate between art and pornography. I had my hands full with just the family psychopath.
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