When you own a cottage, particularly if it's a good cottage, you come to expect friends and family to invite themselves over from time to time.

I have a pretty good cottage up on an island filled lake in Northern New York. It's got two bedrooms, a dock, a small beach, and a terrific view of the lake. It's hard to find, and kind of isolated, but I love it so much that I just can never seem to keep from bragging.

So, from time to time, I give in to less than gentle hints, and let various people come up with me.

Some weeks ago my ex-wife, Sue, dropped off my step-daughter, Wendy, there on the weekend. I hadn't seen a lot of Wendy. During the divorce, I was unable to get visitation, despite helping to raise her for nine years and hiring a lawyer. The law stated that a step-parent can only ask for visitation if the child’s parent is “deceased or is disabled and is unable to care for the child.” Since her mother was alive, she was also able to make the decisions about who her child could visit. And my ex-wife didn’t care for me coming around at all; even to visit my step-daughter, with whom I had become quite close to during our marriage. But her mother had a week planned with a new boyfriend in Hawaii and must have been desperate since she had called me to see if I’d watch Wendy. I, of course, said yes.

At the time she stepped out of the car when Sue dropped her off, she didn’t seem that different from the fourteen-year-old of two years ago when I had last seen her. She was wearing a Soose sweatshirt and jeans. She is a blonde, her hair almost always tied into a thick tail that went halfway down her back. We spent the first day in some general conversation and catching up, but she seemed a little nervous and went off on her own for a good part of the day.

My first sight of her in a bathing suit was a surprise. The bathing suit wasn't very revealing. It was a one piece, and kind of conservative, but it did hug her body like any bathing suit, revealing the narrow waist, the flared hips, the round behind, and a surprisingly firm, full chest, new developments in the past two years.

I only gave her glancing notice, though. After all, she was a kid, and my step-daughter after all. Besides, she mostly went off on her own, either in the canoe, paddling among the islands, or exploring the woods.

There were a few other cabins along the lake that she could reach on foot or by canoe, and she talked about someone or other, some girl she'd met at one of them. She even brought her over Sunday, a pretty brunette.

Since I was on my vacation, I didn't have to go home on Sunday nights like most weekend visitors. I was going to stay through next weekend, which suited Wendy since she wanted to stay until next weekend, saying she was having a lot of fun with this other girl.

Like usual, Wendy went off in the morning while I read a book until the late afternoon sun was shining on me. She came back surprisingly early, and when I asked why, said the other girl, I forget her name, had gone home with her parents. That surprised me.

"1 thought you wanted to stay so you could play with her," 1 said

"Mr. Paul!" she cried, in protest. "I do not PLAY!"

"Sorry," I said, rolling my eyes.

"I'm not a child, you know."

"No, of course not," I grinned.

"I wanted to stay because I like being around you and I love this place. It's so beautiful. I love getting up early and hearing the sound of the birds, smelling the new day. I love paddling over to the islands and exploring."

"I do too," I said.

The cabin was too isolated to have regular electricity. It had a wood burning stove, and a small generator that powered the fridge and a couple lights. Extra light came from lanterns, and there was no heat except from the stove or the fireplace.

It was warm at night, though, so it didn't really surprise me when Wendy changed into a nightshirt long before bed. The thin little nightshirt she wore was kind of . . . tight, and short, compared to the ones I’d seen her and other girls wear. I couldn't help noticing her long coltish legs, or the small indentations of her nipples pushing against the thin cotton fabric.

But I was conscious of her age, and that she was my step-daughter, and didn't pay much attention.

Several times, though, when she moved or shifted on the couch while reading, my eyes were drawn to those legs. And once, when she got up and went to a cupboard, she had bent over to reach something without bending her knees, and the hem of the nightshirt pulled up enough that I caught a brief glimpse of blonde pussy.

I was a little shocked at that, though now that I thought of it my ex-wife often didn't wear panties under her nightshirt either. I quickly turned my eyes away. The last thing I wanted was for her to tell my ex I was peeping at her.

The next morning I got my next surprise. She put on a bathing suit, but not the one piece conservative number she'd worn on the weekend. This was a bikini, the cups simple triangles that exposed the creamy upper curves of her breasts. The bottom was narrow and high-cut, exposing her thighs and hips, and it didn't cover all of her buttocks.

"What happened to the black suit?" I asked in surprise.

"I wore that for two whole days," she said as if in surprise. "You don't expect me to wear the same suit forever do you?"

"I guess not," I said. "It's a bit...small, isn't it?"

"Mr. Paul!" she protested. "Don't be an old fogey. This is what's in."

"If you say so," I said.

Who could understand women? One suit was plenty good for most guys. Women, though, seemed to need at least three. I tried not to look anywhere I shouldn't, reminded myself of her age, and that she was my step-daughter, and went fishing.

When I got back she was laying on the sand, all spread out, skin glistening with suntan oil. I said ‘hi.’ She said ‘hi,’ and I took my fish inside.

All day she seemed to find some reason to be around me, and a number of times she bent over, either towards me, or away from me. It happened too often to be accidental, but I still didn't think much of it. I figured she was just another teenager having fun by turning guys on. It was something most young women enjoyed doing at one point or another.

That evening, she wore the same tight, short nightshirt, and even playfully sat on my lap once. I began to think she was carrying this teasing business to extremes.

The next day was a different suit. The top was even smaller than the one she'd worn previously, and the bottom was one of those thong things. Now I loved looking at pretty girls in thongs, seeing their round asses, but this was my step-daughter.

I didn't comment, though, and tried to keep telling myself that I had no business looking at her. I spent a lot of time fishing that day.

When I got home she was lying out in the sun again, but this time she was topless. It was impossible not to say something.

"Wendy, where's your top?" I demanded, trying to sound stern,

"Oh! I'm sorry. Mr. Paul. I didn't think you'd be back this soon."

"I'm back late. Anyway, there are other people around here, other cabins."

"But they're mostly empty except on weekends."

"Put your top on," I re-stated.

She obeyed as I walked quickly up to the cabin. I felt my cock hardening in my pants, and fought to turn my mind to other things. She had one hell of a body. She was small, but man, what curves! She had a helluva good set of tits, too.

No, no, no. I couldn't think of that!

I did my best to stay away from her, and to keep my eyes and mind off her. She stayed in that damn bikini until evening, when she changed into, not the nightshirt, but a pair of cotton bikini panties, and a tank top.

Again, it was hard to criticize her, to say anything to her. My ex-wife had worn such things around the house. But she wasn't my ex-wife.

I didn't say anything, and pretended to ignore her as she made herself a snack, then sat down on the sofa. The tank top was tight across her chest, and when she turned to one side, she raised her arm to run a hand through her head, and the armhole of the tank top exposed much of the side of her breast.

I took a deep breath and looked away and then looked back again, this time, focusing my attention on her face; it looked a little red or flushed, anxious-looking. She never looked at me, but licked her lips and swallowed often. She was breathing harder than I thought she should be, and the way her nipples were pressing against the tank top, made it obvious they were erect,

This was more than just casual flirting, more than just cock-teasing. She was realty getting off on this. And damn it, so was I!

I had a hard-on, and had to keep the book I was reading low so she wouldn't notice it. I wanted to strip her and shove my cock into her pussy. I wondered if she were a virgin, wondered if she would tell her mother what I did if I fucked her.

I wanted her bad. I didn't care that she was my step-daughter any more. All I cared about was whether I could get away with it, whether I could fuck her brains out and not wind up in jail.

I couldn't just grab her. But I could play the game back at her.

When she got up and went into the kitchen, I waited a few moments and followed. She was making cocoa.

"Well, that's just what I was looking for," I said.

"1 could make you some," she said, face still flushed.

"Sure; would you?"

I grabbed a cup and went over to her, standing behind, her. My cock had settled down some, and was only semi-hard now. I leaned over her as she made cocoa for me, and then when she'd finished stirring I leaned over to pick it up, casually pressing myself into her ass, giving it just a little grinding motion before picking up the cup and walking away.

My cock was rock-hard by the time I passed out of the kitchen. Kitchen – well, the kitchen was just a part of the cabin where the sink and wood stove and cupboards were. There were no walls separating it from the living room – something my ex wouldn’t have liked.

I sat down, making sure to cover my cock. She was still in the kitchen, her back turned to me. The back of her neck was flushed. It took her quite a while to make her cocoa and come away from the counter. Then she sat down at the table in front of the picture window, and not at the sofa.

After a few minutes waiting for my cock to soften, I got up and walked over to the table myself, then sat down too. I talked to her casually about the lake and islands, asking her if she'd seen the river at the north end of the lake.

She didn't look up, except for quick, darting glances, and her face remained flushed. She said she was going to bed, and I nodded, saying I was going soon too. I kind of pushed my chair back and around from the table as she got up, and when she passed I caught her wrist and pulled her onto my lap, laughing like it was just a friendly kind of thing.

She squirmed a little, but made no real effort to pull away. I had my arm around her waist and she was leaning back just a bit, her thighs tight together.

"Tell me, Wendy, do you have a boyfriend yet?" I asked.

She blushed and shook her head.

"Why not? Pretty girl like you should have a boyfriend."

"I uh, I . . . I'm kind of . . . shy around boys."

"You are. Why?"

"I dunno," she gulped.

"You want a boyfriend?"

"I dunno," she said, looking away.

"Well, if you don't have a boyfriend I guess you're a virgin," I said teasingly.

Her face turned bright red.

“Never been kissed, huh?” I smiled.

"I have too been kissed." she said.

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Anything else?" I teased.

"A little," she said; a shrug in her voice. Her voice was very tight, and she was as tense as a statue.

My left arm was around her waist, my hand on her belly stroking softly. My right hand was on her leg, stroking that casually. I moved my right up to her face, caressing her cheek lightly.

"I bet the boys are after you for more than a little," I said softly, nudging her bangs aside with my fingertips.

"I'll say," she snorted.

"You have very nice teeth," I said, sliding my thumb down against the comer of her mouth. "You should smile more."

I pressed against the corner of her mouth with my thumb, drawing it upwards a little, smiling at her.

"I smile," she said defensively.

"Tell me what the boys want you to do," I said, now sliding my index finger along her lips.

"I . . . you know," she gulped, looking uncomfortable.

I pulled her face around and kissed her on the side of the throat.

"Remember when I used to blow raspberries against your throat?" I teased, pressing my lips against her throat again and blowing a few.

"Yeah," she gulped.

"So what do the boys want you to do?"

"I . . . they want to . . . you know . . . feel me," she said, squirming a bit on my iap

"Where?"

"My . . . my boobs."

"Where else?"

"My behind."

"Where else?"

"Between my legs," she said, whispering now, looking away from me,

"Do you let them feel your boobs?"

"Sometimes," she gulped.

"Why?"

"I . . . it . . . feels nice . . . sometimes," she said, her voice quavering a little,

"Do you touch them anywhere?"

"So . . . sometimes," she breathed,

"Where?"

"They . . . their . . . cocks," she gulped, her eyes widening, as though she'd said a word she shouldn't.

"Do they get hard?"

"Ye . . . yes," she whimpered.

"Do you squeeze their cocks?"

"Yes." she breathed.

"Do you give them hand jobs?"

"So . . . sometimes."

"Do they touch you between the legs?"

I slid my right hand down onto her leg, stroking idly along her inner thigh, keeping a good several inches away from her panty-covered crotch.

"Sometimes," she gasped.

"Have they ever made you cum?"

"No."

"Have you ever made them cum?"

1 slid my hand just a little higher; Wendy was trembling a little, swallowing repeatedly. Her face was flushed, and she appeared embarrassed, tense, and excited. Her nipples were hard little eraser points against her tight tank top.

I shifted her a bit on my lap, just in case she was forgetting my big boner beneath her, and noticed a slightly darker shade on her panties between her legs. It was dark and obviously coming from the moisture seeping through her pussy lips.

"Have you ever given them blowjobs?" I asked.

"So . . . sometimes," she whispered.

I slid my hand back onto her face and caressed her cheek, then flicked back her bangs again. She was sweating nervously. I pressed my index finger against her sips, and dipped it between a little, then slid it back and forth along her mouth.

"Did you like it?" I asked, trying to keep my own voice even.

"Sometimes," she sighed.

I pressed my finger a bit harder, and she opened her tips, and then slid them down over my finger.

"You used to suck your thumb when you were a baby," I said. "I guess you never know where a talent like that can come in handy."

She slid her lips down my finger to the knuckle, and her eyes tilted towards me as she sucked on my finger. She slid her lips back up and off them, and then turned away. I pressed my hand against the side other face and turned her towards me.

I caught her flickering eyes with mine and held them, and then pulled...