“Allo! Allo! Allo! What’s a nice girl like you doing in place like this?” uncle Steve said in his best cockney accent to the young girl.

Steve had silently unlocked the front door of the cottage and carefully removed his shoes before padding over to the bedroom door where Michele was still preoccupied looking at herself in the mirror. She was currently holding up her skirt admiring how good her red satin bikini panties looked over the gusset of her sheer to the waist pantyhose. Her tummy was flat and her pubis and legs fully shaved. Her semi-tumescent penis was safely tucked between her legs and her panties fitted snugly creating a nice red V framed by her thighs.

“Jesus!” Michele yelped and spun on her heels.

She stood in front of her uncle, still holding her skirt above her waist; her mouth wide open but speechless with shock.

“Nice view,” Steve smiled at the pretty young thing standing in front of him.

Michele dropped her skirt and smoothed it out nervously as she realised who it was that was standing before her. The question was did Steve recognise his nephew?

“So who the bloody hell are you?” Steve asked, answering Michele’s question.

Michele’s mind was in turmoil; it was obvious that uncle Steve had not recognised who she was and was also of the opinion that she was a woman. She tried a bluff.

“I’m Michele,” she replied.

Mike’s voice had broken but it was not particularly deep; it sounded like a low-pitched woman’s voice, mature and smoky.

“Well Michele, what the fuck are you doing here?” Steve asked, he glanced at the lingerie and women’s clothing scattered on the bed and the makeup arranged on the vanity table.

Michele had to think on her feet and come up with something plausible very quickly. Her story didn’t have to be too complicated, just credible. She used the first excuse that crossed her mind.

“I’m here to meet Mike Harris,” she replied.

Steve beamed. Well, well, well! His scrawny nephew had found himself a girlfriend. And quite a sexy one too! But there were still some questions left unanswered.

“And you decided to wait for him in a cottage in the middle of the woods dressed like that?”

“And practice doing what while you waited? Advanced skirt lifting?” he sniggered.

Michele was rattling her brain trying to figure out how she could get away from her uncle. Maybe he would leave of his own accord? Maybe she would be able to change back into Mike and get away on her bike? Jesus! This was such a terrible predicament. She struggled for a plausible answer to his question. Then she remembered watching him having sex with her mother while she hid in the closet. She knew what turned uncle Steve on.

“Well for your information Mike asked me to dress like this. He likes me dressed this way and I was just straightening out my underwear if you must know!” Michele decided to go the offensive.

Steve looked the young vixen up and down and breathed in her perfume.

“I bet he does. But I was watching you for a little while and you were putting on quite a performance there little lady,” he replied.

“Anyway, who are you and what are you doing here?” Michele countered.

“I’m Steve Harris; Mike’s uncle,” he answered.

“And I’m going to be staying here for a few days so it looks like you and Mike are going to have some company,” he decided to back off for now and see how things developed.

“I’ll take the other bedroom; I presume you and Mike are sharing this one,” he leered at her.

“I’ll get my things and unpack and then we can wait for Mike,” he beamed and spun on his heels.

Michele’s mind was racing. She had to get out of here or get rid of her uncle. She heard him open the front door and a blast of cold air swept through the cottage then she heard him mooching around in the adjacent bedroom. He must be unpacking his things she thought.

“What the fuck is he doing here?” she whispered to herself.

Michele eventually calmed down enough to deal with the immediate situation. She packed away the lingerie that she had scattered on the bed and hung up her clothes in the wardrobe next to Mike’s jeans, shirt and jacket. She checked her makeup in the mirror and fixed her lipstick and put on a little more finishing powder; it was imperative that Steve not figure out that she was really Mike.

She decided to bluff it out. If she could see out the rest of the day she could make her excuses and retire for the evening. Once she was safely in her bedroom she could transform back into Mike and then he could emerge from the bedroom the next morning claiming he had arrived late, spent the night, and sent Michele home early. It was not the best of plans but it was the only one she could think of for now.

Michele was still not aware of how severe the snowstorm was that was that developing outside of the warm safe cottage.

Steve bought in two small suitcases and his rucksack and packed away his clothes in the second bedroom of the cottage. He went back to his car and bought in a cardboard box containing half a dozen bottles of wine, the same amount of scotch and a case of beer. The snow was building up around the hubcaps of his little car. He opened the boot and pulled out a tarpaulin and covered his car, tying it to the front and back bumpers. He looked at the darkening sky with consternation; this was going to be a pisser of a snowstorm.

After unpacking, Steve settled down in the main room of the cottage, which was a combined kitchen, dining and lounge room laid out in an open plan. The furniture had been provided by various members of the Harris clan and was a mixture of country cottage, seventies kitsch, and discarded brick a brack. He stoked the open fire and checked to see that the combustion stove was still burning. He could hear the hum of the generator and the electric lights were still working.

He eased himself into one of the overstuffed lounge chairs and sipped a beer while he scrutinised the Polaroids he had taken of Michele and contemplated his next move. The girl was quite attractive and some of her poses in front of the full-length mirror were close to pornographic. She had great legs and he loved the way she was dressed especially the short skirt, pantyhose and high-heels.

“You lucky little fuck Mike,” he whispered as he flicked through the photos.

He cast his mind back to the time he had had sex with his nephew’s mother in her bedroom. He hadn’t fucked her but he’d performed cunnilingus on her through her pantyhose crotch and had fucked her nylon-clad thighs. He loved women who wore nylons; he had real fetish for them. He thought of how he had surprised Michele and she had stood there gob-smacked holding up her skirt so could see her knickers. He began to grow an erection. He looked out the window and watched the snow. If Mike didn’t get here soon he wouldn’t be able to get through the snowfall. Then he and Michele would be left alone in the cottage. He smiled to himself and rubbed his erection through his pants as he examined his Polaroids.

Michele reluctantly left her bedroom and made her way into the lounge. Steve heard her high-heels click-clacking on the floor and snatched his hand away from the bulge in his pants. Michele saw Steve sitting in big armchair drinking a beer looking at some small documents or pictures.

“So how long are you staying here?” Michele asked.

She sat down on the couch as demurely as she could in her short skirt. Michele had considered changing into something a little less revealing but the truth was this was probably the most modest outfit she had. She tried to pull the hem of her skirt further down but it still rested halfway up her thighs. She crossed her legs and smoothed out her skirt again. Steve’s eyes were glued to her legs; he didn’t even try to hide the fact that he was ogling her.

“Don’t know honey; for a few days at least. Until my wife gets over her temper and lets me back home,” he replied.

“She kicked you out then?” Michele asked.

She joined the dots; her mother running away to Majorca and uncle Steve getting booted out could mean only one thing. Aunty Joyce had found out about them.

“Why?” she asked.

Steve took a long pull on his beer and checked out the young hottie; nice legs, he liked her A-line skirt, little titties pushing out the front of her mauve satin blouse. Her hair was nice; straight and glossy. He liked her makeup and the nice touches; red painted fingernails; her red toenails visible through the reinforced toes of her nylons; the cheap jewellery and black high-heeled sandals. And she smelt delicious.

“Let’s just say I had a hankering for something I shouldn’t have,” Steve smirked.

“So when’s our boy Mike turning up; he better get wriggle on; its snowing like a bastard out there,” he went on.

“Soon I think,” Michele bluffed, “maybe later tonight.”

“Then we will have to keep ourselves amused for a bit then. Want a drink?” he waved his beer in the direction of the kitchen.

Mike had stolen a few sly drinks before; in fact he’d gotten drunk a couple of times like most boys his age. What the fuck? He might as well have a drink; it might calm his nerves.

“Yes please,” Michele smiled demurely.

“A glass of wine for the lady?” Steve smiled back and Michele nodded.

Steve went to the kitchen area and sorted out the drinks. While he was gone Michele looked over at the side table to see what Steve had been looking at when she came out of the bedroom. She leaned over and snatched up the Polaroids and looked at them. She was speechless. The photos depicted her in various poses in front of the full-length mirror. In quite a few of them she was holding up her skirt and posing provocatively. She didn’t hear Steve return until he dropped down onto the couch beside her.

“That one’s my favourite,” Steve nodded at the picture that was currently at the top of the pile.

In the picture she was holding the hem of her navy-blue A-line skirt above her waist with one hand, exposing her red satin panties and her long legs clad in flesh-toned Pretty Polly sheer to the waist pantyhose. Her legs were spread wide and her other hand rested on her thigh, a red nail-polished finger pointing at her crotch. Her face was miming a kiss.

“Yes I do like that pose Michele,” he offered her a glass of wine and when she took it, her hand was shaking.

Steve’s fingers came to rest gently her thigh.

Michele shuddered and dropped the Polaroids on the cushion. Not only didn’t Steve realise that Michele was a boy not a girl; he didn’t know she was in fact his nephew.

Michele placed her hand over her uncle’s and gently prised it from her thigh. She took a gulp of her wine.

“I don’t think you should do that Steve; Mike wouldn’t like it,” she gently berated him.

Steve picked up the little pile of Polaroids and held out one of her holding up her skirt.

“But Mike likes this I bet?”

“You two must get pretty naughty up here hidden away from the world. I find it interesting that you would be dressed the way you are to meet your boyfriend; I figured a young girl like you would simply lie naked on the bed,” Steve leered at Michele, his eyes travelled the length of her body and then locked on hers.

“What we do and how I dress has nothing to do with you!” Michele said petulantly.

“Well you say that; but what if I showed these pictures to Mike’s mother? What do you think she might have to say about Mike dating a floozie?” Steve chuckled and his hand snuck across the gap between them and this time he gently squeezed her thigh.

Jesus! Michele was really worried now. What if his mother recognised that it was her son dressed in drag in the pictures? Even if she didn’t recognise him, how would Mike explain his none-existent girlfriend to his mother? And oh my god; Charlotte would taunt him for months!

‘Fuck! What am I to do?’ she thought.

“Of course if you’re nice to me; I’ll never show these pics to Doris, Charlotte or even Mike. They can be our little secret,” he grinned and squeezed her thigh again.

Then he relaxed his grip and began to softly stroke her leg; his fingers rasping on her sheer nylons in the quiet cottage. Michele was terrified but she had to admit to herself that it did feel kind of nice having someone stroke her thigh. She shook her head to rid herself of the thought.

“You saying no?” Steve had misinterpreted Michele’s gesture.

“No! I’m saying what does being nice to you entail?” Michele answered.

“Well you can strike the same pose for me as you did in this picture,” Mike smiled and dropped the picture of her holding up her skirt on the coffee table.

Michele had no choice really. She was alone with her uncle in this cottage far from anywhere and he was blackmailing her with the pictures he had taken of her posing provocatively. The only ace she held was that Steve still thought Mike was on his way here.

“If you promise to behave and keep your hands to yourself I’ll pose for you,” Michele sighed reluctantly.

Steve was staring brazenly at where her skirt had slightly ridden higher up her thighs. She had great legs and he really wanted to play with them but he decided to acquiesce to her proposal for now.

Steve lifted his gaze from her legs to her face and smiled.

“Go on then,” he whispered his voice thick with lust.

Michele swallowed the last of her wine, put down her glass, and got to her feet. She knew what Steve wanted to see; she had seen him fondle and hump her mother’s legs. She figured that if she gave him a good show he might get horny and go to his room to relieve himself. Then she might have some time to work on her escape plan.

She had to admit to being somewhat flattered that she was attractive enough to excite a man; she had never really considered that she may be sexually attractive to men. She only dressed like this for her own pleasure.

“Go on,” Steve insisted.

Michele took the hem of her skirt in both of her hands and slowly raised it up her thighs. Steve's eyes followed the hem and he gasped as Michele’s firm thighs encased in the sheer flesh-toned pantyhose slowly came into view.

Steve growled as the first glimpse of her red satin panties become exposed and he reached out and ran his hands up and down Michele’s thighs; his fingertips slithering over her diaphanous nylons.

“You said you wouldn’t touch!” Michele protested.

“Oh, that’s just too fucking lovely not to touch love,” Steve cooed, stroking her legs from her calves to her knees.

“Show us yer knickers then?” he begged.

Michele decided that the Steve had seen enough; she didn’t want this farce to go any further.

“I think you’ve seen enough,” she said and began to pull down her skirt.

Steve reached out and gripped her hands firmly and pulled them away; he was not being violent but he was insistent. He let go of her wrist and lifted her skirt further up her thighs until the red nylon V of her panties just peeked from below the hem of her skirt. He then let go of her skirt and smiled.

“I think I’ll decide when I’ve seen enough. If you want me to behave and keep my hands to myself just leave your skirt where it is!”

Michele baulked at what the Steve had just done to her. He was pleasant enough but it was obvious that he was now in control of the situation. What she decided to do was to let him have his way to a certain extent but she must not let him discover that she was really Mike. She exhaled and stood still, leaving her skirt hiked up and her panties exposed. Steve smiled at her again.

“Can I touch your legs? I promise I won’t go any higher than your thighs,” he pleaded.

Michele cringed; she was scared that any control over the situation that she might have had was slipping away.

“Just my legs; and just for a couple of minutes; Mike will be arriving any minute!” she bluffed.

Steve reached out and gently rested his hands on her legs. He slowly circled his fingers on her knees delighting in the feel of her silky pantyhose. Michele didn’t find Steve’s touch particularly unpleasant but she was worried about where this might be leading. She allowed him so stroke her legs and she could hear his breathing quicken.

Steve’s hands caressed her calves and then he slid his hands up her thighs and squeezed the top of her legs. In the silence of the cottage she could hear the swish of his fingers dragging across her nylons and his breathing became harder and louder until he was almost panting. She stood still and let him paw at her legs hoping he would get so aroused that he would need to retire to his room and masturbate.

Steve took his hands from Michele’s legs and stood up. He put his hands on her shoulders and pulled her towards him, breathing in her sweet perfume and gazing into her heavily mascared eyes.

“What are you doing?” Michele whined.

“Just give us a kiss and a cuddle love; Mike needn’t know,” Steve begged.

Michele was revolted; the thought of kissing a man had never entered her mind. And kissing her uncle? The idea was preposterous! But of course Steve didn’t know who she was; he thought she was a woman! She considered her options. She could let him kiss her and hope he went no further. She could tell him she was really Mike, his nephew, and try and deal with the consequences. She could refuse him; but the reality was she was alone in the cottage, miles from help and uncle Steve was a lot bigger and stronger than she was.

She decided to try to negotiate.

“You just keep demanding more and more things from me Steve; I’m sure your nephew would not approve of your advances towards his girlfriend!” Michele piqued; her hands on her hips.

“You keep on about the boy as if he’s some kind of white knight who’s going to arrive any second and save you! Have you even looked out the windows since you arrived?” Steve snapped.

Michele glanced out the window and saw the falling snow; it was an impenetrable white sheet; it had drifted up to the window ledge. She finally realised she was trapped!

“I tell you what; I’ll kiss you; but that’s all I’m going to do! Mike will be here soon!” Michele feinted.

“Ok love! You’ve got a deal. Just a kiss and a cuddle is all I want I promise,” Steve replied and leaned into her and placed his lips on hers.

Michele could smell Steve’s aftershave and felt his stubble lightly graze her face as his lips crushed hers. It was a strange sensation being kissed by a man, especially her uncle. She had to admit that she liked the idea that a man found her attractive but she felt no real desire and she didn’t respond to the kiss. She allowed Steve to kiss her but when he pushed his tongue into her mouth her reflex action was to try to spit it out and break free of the kiss. Steve pulled her down on couch and pushed her back into the seat and forced himself on her.

Michele struggled to get free but Steve held her down and straddled her; his thighs either side of hers, his weight pressing down on her, holding her down as her hands beat against his chest as she struggled to break free.

“Get off me! Get off me you pig!” Michele whimpered

Michele could hardly breathe. Steve was heavy; his body was on top of hers pushing her back into the couch as he slobbered at her mouth and pawed at her thighs. She tried to scream but his mouth covered hers and all she could produce was a muffled gargle. She was panicking now, beating on Steve’s back with her fists and drumming her heels on the floor. Then her panic changed to terror as she felt him fumble at his flies. She wriggled and writhed but she couldn’t get out from underneath her uncle.

“Don’t Steve; please don’t! You don’t know who I am and what you’re doing!” she cried, tears ran down her face.

“You’re fucking right kid! I don’t know who you are but I do know what I’m doing!” he panted.

Michele screamed as she felt Steve’s penis flop from his open flies and press against her thigh; it felt hot and hard through her pantyhose and she felt a dribble of pre-seminal fluid soak into the nylon.

“Oh god please don’t!” she begged.

Michele struggled and wriggled but Steve followed her movements and kept his lips locked on hers; his tongue invaded her mouth. His cock began to throb as it slithered along Michele’s nylon-encased thighs. He was extremely excited by the feel young woman’s legs; her satin blouse pressed against him, the smell of her perfume and the taste of her lipstick was tremendously arousing. The more she struggled; the more his penis pressed into the V of her soft warm nyloned thighs and slid and slithered against her sheer hose.

Steve began to vigorously hump Michele’s thighs and the more she fought back the better it was for him. He could feel his orgasm approaching as he violently kissed the girl and humped at her silky-smooth legs. Michele was horrified at what was happening to her; she realised that she had allowed the Steve to go too far and now the situation was totally out of control. She was terrified that he might put a hand under her skirt or inside her blouse and find out the truth; that she was in fact a man not a woman.

She decided to let the Steve kiss her and take his pleasure against her legs rather than risk the situation getting any further out of hand or being discovered. Michele stopped struggling and lay down on the couch with Steve straddling her and she relaxed and parted her lips allowed him to kiss her. She could feel his cock throbbing between her thighs and she clamped them shut around his penis so he could dry hump her pantyhosed legs.

Steve sensed her compliance and fucked and humped at her legs; his penis locked in the silken embrace of her soft creamy thighs which remained clamped around his rigid member. He drove his tongue deep in her mouth as he orgasmed. Michele felt repulsed as she felt the hot slippery semen flooding between her thighs and soaking into her pantyhose. Steve humped frantically at Michele’s prone body; his ejaculate splattered her thighs and ran down her legs.

As the Steve’s orgasm subsided his kisses and humping became less frantic. Michele lay immobile underneath him as he emptied the last of his seed on her. When he had finished he lifted himself up off her and returned to the overstuffed lounge chair. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his member clean and stuffed his slowly deflating penis inside his pants and zipped them up.

“There! That wasn’t so bad was it? It’s not like we fucked or anything! Just a bit of slap and tickle,” Steve said apologetically, suddenly realising his impropriety and the ordeal he had afflicted on the young woman.

Michele just lay back on the couch totally bewildered by what had just happened; she was speechless and felt totally violated and disgusted. A single tear ran down her cheek leaving a trail of black mascara.

“No harm done love. Just give yourself a wipe down and fix your makeup and Mike need never know we had a bit of fun before he got here,” Steve was starting to feel a little guilt and remorse.

He reached for his beer and drank the remaining suds and then got up and went to the kitchen to get another drink. The reason he went to the kitchen had more to do with the fact that he felt guilty and didn’t want to be near the girl he had violated rather the needed for a drink. Michele sat up on the couch; her thighs were sticky with cooling semen and she didn’t want to get any on her skirt so she held it up away from her legs.

Steve watched her walk to the bedroom and he felt sorry for her, but he also felt his lust returning as he watched the young girl walk slowly back to the bedroom holding up her skirt; her red satin panty-clad arse on display for him to see.

Michele closed the door to her bedroom, she was quietly sobbing but she knew she had to regain her composure or things would only get worse. She wiped away Steve’s issue with a towel and pulled down her panties and hose. She wiped her legs with a damp cloth and dried herself. She sat on the bed kicked off her heels and opened another packet of pantyhose; this time smoky-grey. She couldn’t transform back into Mike yet so she had to maintain her ruse.

Sliding into the new pantyhose was still a thrill despite the fact that she had just been molested; they still felt wonderful on her shaved legs. She rescued the red satin panties she had been wearing, fortunately they had remained semen-free and she slid them back on and pulled them tight. She slipped back into her high-heels and sat on the bed bewildered as to what to do next.

She looked at her semen-stained pantyhose on the floor; they seemed to reflect her own sense of guilt and shame, all wrinkled and discarded. After a few minutes of just staring at the garment she reached down and picked them up. They were still warm and smelt of her perfume. She lifted them to her nostrils. The pungent musky smell of semen assaulted her sense of smell. Then she did something totally by reflex and instinct; she bought them to her mouth and she tentatively touched the wet nylon with the tip of her tongue.

Her uncle’s semen tasted salty and musty; not unpleasant, just different. Her little cock thickened and became mildly uncomfortable in its gaff. She awoke from her daydream and realised what she had just done and threw the tainted garment into the corner of the room with disgust. She went to the little sink where she had wet the cloth she used to wipe her uncle’s semen off her legs, and brushed her teeth. She spent a few minutes fixing her makeup and gave herself another couple of sprays of perfume.

What to do now? Her position was nearly untenable. She had to maintain her cover; she couldn’t possibly reveal that she was really Mike but neither could she continue with the pretence of waiting for Mike to turn up and rescue her. She opened the wardrobe door and looked longingly at Mike’s clothes hanging there. It would be so easy to wash off her makeup and dress in her male attire but how would she be able to explain Mike’s miraculous arrival and Michele’s disappearance? She looked out the window. The snow was at least three feet deep and still falling.

Michele came out of her bedroom to see Steve sitting in his overstuffed lounge chair sipping a glass of scotch, once again thumbing his way through his small collection of Polaroids.

“You are an awful man Steven Harris. When Mike gets here I’m going to tell him what you did!” she spat.

“Look out the window luv. Mike isn’t getting here through that lot and to be honest I really don’t think you’re going to tell him anything,” Mike sneered.

He sipped his scotch.

“Have a drink if you want; we ain’t going anywhere for a while so you might as well make yourself at home.”

Michele made her way cautiously to the kitchen and poured herself a large whisky. She gulped it down and then poured another and made her way back to the couch, carefully smoothing out her skirt as she sat down.

“So how did you two meet?” Steve looked up from the pictures.

“I just can’t imagine my wimpy nephew meeting a girl like you and I certainly can’t imagine him being able to impress you enough that you would be prepared to wait for him in this isolated cottage in the middle of nowhere,”

Michele ignored him and sipped her scotch.

“So do you two fuck or is it one of those romantic teenage platonic relationships that seem to be all the rage nowadays?” he sneered.

“Fuck off you creep! Mike is a wonderful person! He’s kind, gentle, and would never force himself on a lady like you just did! You disgust me!” Michele replied, the disdain heavy in her voice.

Steve just laughed.

“So we might as well get comfortable and get to know each other a little better,” he chuckled.

Michele sipped at her whisky. She was getting a lot more worried now that it was getting dark. The snow was piling up outside the cottage and showed no signs of letting up and it was obvious her ruse of claiming to wait for Mike would no longer work. She decided to change tack and to also lead the subject away from their sexual encounter.

“Mike probably won’t be able to get here through this snow so I think I’ll just stay the night and leave tomorrow,” she said.

“There’s no fucking chance love; not in this, and not now its nearly night. I’ll bet our Mike is safely at home, snuggled up and warm,” Steve speech was slightly slurred; he’d been drinking constantly since he arrived.

“Well I think I’ll toddle off to bed myself. I’ll leave tomorrow and if you behave yourself there’s probably no need for Mike to know what you did to me,” Michele tried being diplomatic.

“I don’t care what you tell the little wimp to be quite honest. As for behaving myself I think you’ve got tickets on yourself love; I’d rather have a wank,” Steve laughed, but his lecherous gaze gave away the lie.

He was till staring at Michele’s long legs and her tight slim body and making Michele very uncomfortable. She feigned a yawn.

“Well that’s me; off to Bedfordshire,” she stood up and stretched faking another yawn.

Her stretching caused her skirt to rise to the very tops of her thighs and provide Steve with a quick panty-peek. His cock began to thicken again. He kept his eyes glued to her tight arse as she click-clacked to her bedroom on her high-heels, right up until she glanced back at him before closing and locking the door. He could see the fear in her eyes in that glance and for some reason it aroused him further. He was not normally a violent man towards women but being trapped in close proximity to this young coquette, alone, and out here in woods was maddeningly exciting.

Michele saw the look of lust on Steve’s face when she glanced back at him before she had closed the door and she slammed it behind her and locked it. She briefly considered wiping off her makeup and changing into her male clothes and climbing out of the window and running down the road to the highway but she knew it would be suicide in the deep snow and the dark. At least the cottage was warm. The generator was still working and she turned on a bed lamp and sat at her vanity. She did look pretty; no wonder Steve was hot for her. Her cock gave a little spasm trapped in its gaff and she shook her head and cleared her mind of such thoughts. She was thinking about what to wear to bed when she heard the ominous sound of Steve knocking on her door.

Steve stared at Michele’s fantastic arse until it disappeared through the door then he snatched up his polaroids and looked at the pictures he had taken of her; he was almost salivating with lust and he rubbed his growing erection through his jeans. He thought about all of the things that he could probably do to her while they were alone in this cottage. There would be consequences of course; but lust and alcohol were beginning to overcome reason and probity.

He finished his drink and slammed the glass down on the table. He threw the pictures on the table and stood up and strode over to Michele’s bedroom door.

“Fuck it! In for a penny; in for a pound!” he sighed and began to bang on her door.

Michele jumped up and leapt on the bed; the piece of furniture farthest from the door. The door was rattling and Michele could see that the bolt was small and really only designed for privacy not security. It would soon give.

“Go away Steve! Behave yourself! Think of your nephew!” she begged.

She was on her knees, supplicant on the bed; a look of terror on her face.

“Fuck Mike and fuck you!” Steve bellowed through the door.

“In fact I think I will fuck you!” he began kicking door.

Michele was terrified. She knew Steve wouldn’t fuck her; not when he found out she was a boy. But what would he do then? Beat her up? What about when he found she was really his nephew?

“Oh my god! The embarrassment! The humiliation! Jesus; what the fuck am I going to do?” Michele sobbed.

Just then the door gave way and Steve burst into the room.

Michele tried to leap off the bed and make for the window; the only avenue of escape but Steve was too fast and crossed the room in a couple of steps and fell on her.

Steve straddled Michele’s waist, his knees on the bed either side of her; he pinned her hands behind her head. Michele could smell the alcohol on his breath.

“Are you going to behave Michele?” he smiled down at her.

Michele nodded her compliance, she hoped that he was only going to dry-hump her legs again; she could live with that. She would encourage him to do so, so that he didn’t try to touch her non-existent breasts or vagina. Steve looked down at the heavily made-up young woman lying prone beneath him. She was very attractive and her perfume excited him; he could feel her breasts through her satin blouse; her tits seemed oddly firm. They would require investigating he thought as he pressed his body against the pretty young girl.

Michele’s head was spinning; she realised the gravity of the situation. If Steve found out that she was really Mike she didn’t know what would happen but nothing good would come of it. She had already endured him mauling her and coming over her legs; she might as well let him do it again if that’s what he wanted. Anything to keep her secret. She figured he probably had one orgasm left in him before the booze made him too sleepy so she might as well let him get it over with and she could hopefully sneak away from the cottage early tomorrow when it was light and the weather was better.

“I’ll behave; just please don’t hurt me,” Michele begged.

“Good girl!” Steve smiled.

Steve placed his free hand on her breasts and squeezed them through the material of her blouse and brassiere the silk and satin sliding against each other deliciously under his fingers. Michele gasped and began to wriggle. She couldn’t let him find out that her tits were really fake.

“Keep still honey, you promised remember?” Steve smiled and leaned down and kissed her.

Michele could not afford to let Steve put his hands inside her bra and discover that her tits were actually rice filled stockings. She stopped struggling and responded to his kiss, entwining her tongue with his. Steve groaned and moved his hands away from her breasts and stroked her face as the kiss intensified.

“So pretty,” Steve sighed, momentarily breaking the kiss, then pressing his lips back to hers.

She felt Steve adjust his position on top of her as he lifted his knees from a straddling position and forced them between her legs. She kept control of herself and allowed Steve to lie on top of her kissing her passionately as she reluctantly responded. She could feel Steve’s penis harden and elongate against her body.

“Mmmmmm! I knew you’d like it eventually Michele,” Steve sighed and slid his hand under her skirt and began pulling at her panties.

Michele froze. ‘Oh my god; I can’t let him there!’ she thought.

She lifted her face up to his and initiated a long passionate kiss and slowly moved a hand between their bodies and stroked his thickening organ through the material of his jeans.

“Mmmmmm; that’s a good girl,” Steve groaned.

It was the first time Michele had touched a penis other than her own. She had felt Steve’s cock on her legs when he had humped her but this different; she was squeezing his member with her fingers. It felt hot, turgid and pulsing through the denim; surprisingly it was not exactly an unpleasant experience.

The fervour of the kiss intensified as their lips mashed together and their tongues entwined and she ran her fingers around the thickening bulge in his jeans and her tactic seemed to be working. He’d stopped yanking at her panties and was content to stroke her pantyhosed thighs and occasionally run his finger across the front panel of her of her satin panties. She was worried that Steve might try to find her non-existent vagina when a more immediate threat ensued.

“Take it out!” he hissed.

“Whaaat?” Michele replied.

“Take out my cock!” he ordered and took Michele’s hand and placed it back on his crotch.

Michele had no choice; if she didn’t take control of the situation Steve might start putting his hands where she didn’t want them. She figured that a little masturbation was worth the price of keeping her secret. She fumbled with his zip and eventually pulled it down and her fingers disappeared inside his jeans. His cock was thick and warm and slowly throbbed. The smell of stale semen assaulted her nostrils; he hadn’t washed his penis since he came on her that afternoon. She manipulated his erection with difficulty but eventually it sprang free of his underwear and popped out his jeans.

Steve reached down and hiked up her skirt and for the second time that day he straddled Michele and began to dry fuck her. Steve rubbed his cock all over her nylon-clad thighs and the front of her panties.

“Fuck that feels so good!” he moaned and then lay down on top of her humping at her like dog in heat.

He lowered his face back to hers and kissed her, driving his tongue deep into her mouth as he writhed on top of her. Michele responded and allowed Steve to hump away at her, she could feel his hot snake-like penis prod and slither against her thighs and the front of her panty crotch. She let him grind against her hoping he would soon be sated. She prepared herself to once again become a sponge for her uncle’s semen. She waited for the hot gush of his seed on her legs and groin. She was surprised to find that she was anticipating it and was subconsciously humping him back.

Then Steve suddenly moved putting his hand under the gusset of her panties and Michele squealed and wriggled, trying to free herself from under him.

“Please don’t Steve! Don’t touch me there! You can come on me again if you want to. I’ll even help you this time,” she begged and reached for his cock to stroke it.

“I think I want a little more than a pantyhose-poke this time Michele,” Steve grinned and suddenly rose back on his haunches.

He dismounted her and pulled her off the bed and onto her feet. He kissed her again and his hand slid under her skirt and massaged her buttocks through the layers of hose and panty; he squeezed and rubbed her cheeks and Michele lifted the front of her skirt and rubbed her satin-clad groin against his throbbing cock. She rubbed and humped against him, encouraging him, wanting him to come on her, to finish soon.

Steve was really enjoying the feeling of his cock nestled against her mound; the cool satin felt delicious against his aching member. But he wasn’t going to make to do with a dry-hump this time. He broke the kiss and pushed down on Michele’s shoulders until she was forced to her knees.

Michele felt the cold floorboards on her knees and she looked up at Steve; her heavy eyeliner and mascara smudged as tears ran down her rouged cheek.

“Please don’t,” she implored him.

Steve looked down at her pretty face; her beautiful hazel eyes enhanced by eyeshadow, mascara and eyeliner, her rosy rouged cheeks, her plum-red lips. He watched the tears run down her cheek and then pulled her face into his groin.

“Kiss it!” he demanded.

Michele realised that she was in terrible trouble. She could either acquiesce to his demands or try to fight him off. If Steve won the fight the consequences were grave; she would be exposed and he still might force her to give him oral sex.

Steve grabbed her head in both hands and pulled her face towards his cock. She felt his penis rubbing against her lips then he forced it into her mouth.

Michele felt the firm mass of Steve’s cock slide between her lips and into her moist warm mouth. It tasted musky but not unpleasant. The skin of his shaft was sleek and she could feel the bulging veins pulsing against her lips. The head felt sleek and spongy. She closed her lips over the shaft almost as a reflex action. The cock was not of itself unpleasant, she didn’t feel the need to gag. She just didn’t want to have to fellate her uncle; the idea was repulsive. She made to spit out the invading member but Steve held her face firmly in his groin. She felt degraded and abused but knew that there was nothing she could really do. Well there was one thing!

“If you bite it, I’ll beat you and then I’ll fuck you senseless. You decide,” he said menacingly.

He must have read her thoughts.

"Suck my cock Michele. Please! I promised I won’t tell Mike," he begged.

He held her head with his cock half in her mouth until Michele complied and reluctantly started suckling him.

Michele gagged as his glans rubbed against her tongue and his shaft slid in and out of her lips. He tightened his fingers and forced Michele’s mouth up and down on his cock. He moaned as she grudgingly sucked his penis. Steve looked down he could see how wide with fear her heavily made up eyes were and he watched as she kept fighting against the urge to gag. The look of shame in her eyes aroused him further.

Michele’s conscious mind receded into to a dark place as she tried to deal with the enormity of what was happening to her. She was fellating her uncle! She listened to his groans combined with the slurping and slapping sounds of her lips as she moved her mouth and tongue against his penis. She almost entered a trance, subliminally allowing herself to be defiled; sucking and licking on the hot fleshy organ invading her mouth. She was now getting used to sucking on the throbbing organ and was no longer gagging.

Michele realised that the best strategy was to get this over as soon as possible; to fellate this man to orgasm so that he wouldn’t impose further sexual demands that might expose her for who she was. She used her tongue to slather the head of Steve’s penis and her lips sucked on his silky shaft. She closed her eyes and got into a steady rhythm and she found she could coordinate her breathing whilst sucking on the cock and using her tongue at the same time. With her eyes closed she imagined that she was one of the sexy models in her fashion magazines reluctantly performing fellatio but secretly enjoying it. A warm pleasurable feeling began to develop in her groin.

After what seemed like an eternity Michele could sense that Steve was close to climax; he groaned louder and vigorously thrust his invading manhood in and out of her mouth. She forced herself to open her eyes and looked up to her uncle looking down on her. His penis seemed about to burst in her mouth.

As she sensed Steve’s climax approach the swelling and the pulsing of his penis were palpable; then suddenly she felt Steve’s cock spasm and discharge into her mouth. She worked hard to control her gag reflex and swallowed his ejaculate as it erupted from the convulsing organ. Steve’s semen tasted warm, bittersweet and musty; not entirely repulsive.

She made a pretence of compliant participation and moved her free hand up and cupped Steve’s scrotum, gently milking the last of his seed with her tongue as she suckled the base of his penis and stroked his scrotal sack, glad that he had finally climaxed. Deep down inside she was actually proud of her accomplishment; she had set out to invoke an orgasm from Steve as quickly as possible and she had achieved her aim.

Steve was still panting as he pulled his deflating penis from her mouth; the last of his seed seeped from his cock and dribbled on her blouse. Michele felt a like a great weight had been lifted off her as Steve sat down on the edge of the bed his head in his hands.

He was obviously feeling remorseful again. Steve obviously believed that forced fellatio was a significantly more heinous crime than a little dry humping, she thought.

“You are a fucking pig!” Michele spat as she wiped at the little globules of semen that Steve had dribbled on her blouse.

“I’m sorry Michele. It’s the booze! It’s being trapped in this cottage alone with you! It’s because you are so fucking sexy that I can’t resist,” Steve tried to apologise.

“Fuck off! Get out!” Michele spat.

“And don’t come back!” Michele added as Steve walked shamefaced out of the bedroom.

She got to her feet and slammed the door behind him and made an effort to try and refix the lock but it didn’t look like it would hold up to much force. She pulled a chair over and jammed it under the door handle and tried to open the door. She pulled the door handle as hard as she could but it wouldn’t budge. It would do for now, she thought.

She sat down at the dresser and sobbed for a while. Then she became of aware of something strange. She hiked up her skirt and looked at her red satin panties; the gusset was wet! She pulled her panties halfway down her thighs and put a hand inside the gusset of her pantyhose and found that her gaff had broken loose and that her penis was semi-tumescent. Her fingers discovered a warm sticky mess between her legs. She pulled her hand out and looked at her fingers and then smelt them. It was semen! Her semen!

To Be Continued…