Algebra

by Mat Twassel

I was thinking we wouldn't do it anymore. I'd tell Uncle Don we had to stop. It was just getting too intense. I was afraid. But I was going to tell him. Right when I went into his room I was going to tell him. But then he surprised me. Before I could say anything he kissed me. It was a soft kiss. Almost a goodbye kiss. Soft, sweet, light. Almost shy. Like we were just boyfriend girlfriend, like we'd never really even made out before. I didn't want it to end. Soon we were lying on the motel bed, still covered by the funny white bedspread. We were fucking but still kissing. I was coming so much.

We lay there for a while. How can I tell him now, I wondered. I tried. "Uncle Don," I started to say. He shushed me with his cock. It was soft, but he rubbed it over my lips, and then it wasn't so soft anymore, not in the same way, and I was sucking it, and I was almost coming from sucking him.

"You're so sweet," he said, touching my eyelids, looking down into my eyes. "Don't you love that sound? The juicy squeak of cock-sucking." There was a lot of liquid in my mouth, but Uncle Don hadn't actually come. Instead he got off the bed and led me to the bathroom. He sat on the toilet. "Close the door," he said. I was afraid he was going to do something gross, but he didn't. He said, "See in the mirror? Isn't it strange they'd put a mirror so you could see yourself while you're sitting on the toilet?" I looked in the mirror. His erection was pointing straight up. "When I was little I used to masturbate on the toilet," he said. My eyes moved from his cock to his eyes in the mirror. "Sitting down it was just so intense."

"Oh," I said, my eyes moving back to his cock. I didn't know what else to say.

"Did you ever try it sitting down?"

"Try what?" I asked, blushing. I kind of knew what he meant.

"Here, sit down," he said. "On me." He patted his thighs. "You'll see. It will be so intense."

I wasn't sure whether he wanted me to sit on his cock. Whether he wanted me inside. I started to straddle him, and he said, "No, the other way. So you can see in the mirror." I started to sit the other way, facing the mirror, still not sure if he wanted to be inside me. He held me by the hips. He lowered me. Slowly he lowered me onto his cock. I was so wet he went in easily. I felt like one of those lost balloons floating up into the sky, higher and higher, about to pop.

"Oh," I said. I hadn't meant to say anything. He was pressing the top. No more room.

"It feels good, doesn't it?" he said.

"Yes," I gulped.

"Look how red you are?" he said. "Your clit is like a little ruby. Can you see?"

"Yes," I said. A wobbly yes.

As if in answer, he wobbled my clit with his forefinger. "Does that feel good?" he asked.

"Yes," I hissed.

"Help me," he said. "Help me make you come."

I put my index finger on the other side. He pressed my clit against my finger. It made me feel a little shy. It made me feel excited. Very excited. He pressed again, and I pressed back. We watched in the mirror as our fingers played with my clit. "See how stretched you are?" He moved his finger away and pried me up a little. I could see the way he filled me. I could see the sheen of juice. It excited me, but I wanted his finger back on my clit.

His finger touched the juice and then dabbed it on my clit. Around and around his finger went, right on the pip of my little clit. I was about to die. Then he stopped. Instead of circling the tip, he stroked the stem, top to bottom along the hood, slow, excruciatingly slow strokes, top to bottom, top to bottom.

"Please," I said. My own fingers were helpless.

He pressed his fingers on either side of the stem, pushing so my clit had nowhere to go, nowhere but out. My little clit bloomed, ruby red, berry fat.

"Touch it," he said. "Touch it now."

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