Charming young thing, my niece, what? Aha, I could see you found her fetching.

Not that I've had much time for the tender passions myself. So far, anyway. Retired decades ago, but when business has always come first, it's too damned late to change. Been a bit of a Scrooge if you must know.

Cynthia's not really my niece of course. Her grandfather and I went through school together. Blighting Towers. Borstal of a place, but if you forged a friendship there, begad it lasted. Bit like the army, only tougher.

The grandad died a few years ago and the sweet thing adopted me instead. Calls me Uncle Eustace. Sixteen now but she still pops in every now and then, bless her. Goes to one of those girls' schools where they shelter them and keep them in uniform. Very pretty she looks too. As you saw.

I didn't realise just how pretty till... well, that's the story I wanted to tell you.

Three weeks ago it was. She came in, bubbling with excitement. Blonde hair blowing. Forget-me-not eyes radiant. They made her royal blue uniform and tights look positively dull. She'd had her sixteenth birthday and was chattering about going to college and all sorts.

She came and sat beside me on the settee. Then she goes all shy and demure. Something on her mind. Could only watch her while she decided whether old Eustace could take it. Would he be any use? Could he be trusted? Would he be shocked?

She inhaled and took the plunge, in that light unspoilt girlish voice you heard, a combination of good upbringing and an all-girl school.

"Uncle Eustace?"

"Aha?" 

"Can you keep a secret?"

"Kept a fair few in my time."

"Only, Mother and Daddy mustn't find out I've asked you about this. Specially Daddy."

"Mmmm?" Well, what else could I say, dash it? Could turn out confoundedly dicey.

"It's something I want to know about Daddy. Only he won't talk about it."

Of course, I should have stopped there, but I didn't. Set myself plumb in the line of fire. "Perhaps I can help, then?"

"It's something I really need to know. I'm worried Daddy might be poorly. When he's in the bathroom he sometimes makes funny noises. I can't tell whether they're happy ones or if he's crying. Sometimes he sounds really happy, but that might be because whatever he's doing makes him feel better for a bit. They're such strange noises and he never makes them outside the bathroom. It worries me."

My mind boggled. I mean. Obvious what it was. But was I Uncle enough to explain the vagaries of masculine sensuality? I prayed for a power cut, or handy earthquake, while she went on.

"I asked Mother about it, but she pulled a pooh-poohing sort of face and said, 'don't let it fret you. He thinks we don't know. He's playing with his willie, that's all. I've had to get used to it.'"

"Funny thing is," the darling went on. "It doesn't always sound like something nasty. He can sound so happy in there. And I want him to be happy. So I tried to ask him. He went red as a beetroot and was so near to running away I just had to change the subject."

"I don't know," I said, tentatively (and you well know, I never do tentative). "I'm not sure I can help."

She settled herself right up to me. Melty and snuggly. Dashed disconcerting, this little blonde creature so close. "You're like my grandfather, aren't you? I mean you're almost family." She laid a soft hand on my arm. If this was family, suddenly money didn't seem the most important thing in life after all.

"I need to know what he does. I've never even seen a willie. How can it be something he plays with? Will you? Will you show me? At least so I know it's not something nasty or dangerous. Please?"

What was I to do? She was so insistent. Those blue eyes so deucedly appealing. The hand on my arm stroked so persuasively.

But 'willies' as she called them. Never been part of my life, all that stuff. Except those little experiments at Blightings, when we all thought we might be gay. Of course, we weren't, most of us. Some went on to be rabid woman-worshippers. I followed the family tradition worshipping money. And executive command. But Cynthia's changed all that. Still getting used to it.

I mean, a girl who looks at you like that, pleading for help. You can't just turn her down. Granddaughter of my oldest friend, too. Damned churlish.

She wasn't looking up at me any more. Her attention was rapt on my trousers. Her arm slipped from mine and traced its way across my tummy till her two dainty hands were joined at my belt. She loosened it, took hold of the thick tweed and started to undo my buttons. (I've no truck with these modern zips.) 

There was nothing for it. I had to help her. She soon had my limp bit of septuagenarian masculinity peeping out, and began to fondle it. Begad, it felt nice. No-one had touched my dick for decades. I felt like Sleeping Beauty after the hundred years. Was Cynthia going to kiss it awake? Okay, you're laughing, but you try thinking straight with your penis in the hands of a sixteen-year-old.

It was still soft, though she didn't seem to know any different. It was hardly going to stay that way for long though. Her fingers were like magic wands, weaving their spells through my body, deep into my brain, all from touching that soft little cock. If I went stiff, would it frighten her? So far she was fondling, turning it over in her hand, saying things like "Awww, it's sweet", and straying into the tweed, puzzled, finding my balls and appraising them. 

I looked at her face, finding her prettier and prettier. She was 'awwwing' over my cock like it was a little puppy, but her voice was getting more surprised. I looked down. An erection! When did I last have one of those? Can't remember, and wasn't going to try to. This was something for the moment. By God it was. She stroked it. Feminine fingers lingered over my foreskin, fondling and squeezing. So delicately.

One finger of each hand traced every millimetre of my erect penis, like she was reading braille. Her rapt breath formed the words, "Will Daddy's willie be like this?"

"Oh, much younger, bigger and firmer," I assured her. "Don't forget I am seventy-two." Begonads though, I didn't feel it. Nor did my 'willie' look it.

"May I?" she asked. Before I could ask what she 'might,' she did it. She slid my trousers over my knees, parted my legs, and put her face right up to my cock. A hand feathered over my bare thigh and balls. Her face came closer.

She was going to.

Yes.

She kissed it.

Her lips fluttered against my foreskin. She kissed the shaft. Too young and girl-like to put it in her mouth, but dammit I didn't mind. These kisses did everything needful.

Didn't realise how intoxicated I was till she suddenly stops.

"Uncle. Show me what Daddy does when he's playing with it. Does it hurt him?"

"No, no, no, my girl. Doesn't hurt him. Now you've got to understand, I'm only a crusty old businessman." I pointed to my dick. "But you can see how excited you've made me. What he does is very like what you've been doing for me."

She looked down at my cock again. My, just the feel of those marvelling blue eyes made it grow more than a tad harder. "If you don't mind my saying so, Cynthia, you're doing it very beautifully." She squeezed my cock between both her hands in gratitude. I'm not the swooning type but she brought me devilishly near to it. "Put your hand round my willie," I instructed. "Fingers around one side, thumb along the other."

I was about to tell her to squeeze it, but I didn't need to. Instead, I moaned. Yes, OK, like a woman. So would you, at a squeeze like that. And that was only one hand. Her free hand was tickling, stretching, and generally studying, my foreskin.

Suddenly she let go.

"Show me," she demanded.

Slowly, I began to massage my dick while she watched intently. My damned worry was how she would feel if I came too soon. Or, if I became too uninhibited, would she be scared? Or worse, disgusted? You can imagine my quandary, can't you? Whatever I do she's going to imagine her Daddy doing. If I get it wrong, what's she going to think of Daddy? Why did I start this malarkey in the first place? Should have put my foot down.

So far she was neither scared nor disgusted. Her eyes were glued to my penis as I tried, as best I could, to imitate a genteel, elegant wank, such as she could happily picture her father giving his cock.

Even so, I'd have come far too soon if she hadn't stopped me and said, in that schoolgirl voice of hers, "Uncle Eustace?"

"Yes?"

"You look sweet undressed. Would you like to see me undressed? Would you like to see what I'm like down there. I've got hair there too."

"But," my voice was a tad shaky, but my God, how was I to resist this? It was too much. "What about Mother, Daddy? Won't ...?"

"Oh, they won't mind. You're like a Grandad. I want to show you how well I'm growing. They're not interested. They want everything to be private, but why should it? Just sit back and let me undress for you."

She was so innocent. So simply beautiful. Not glamorous, you understand. No teasing or flirting. She just unselfconsciously took her clothes off and stood there like a little Eve. Small, sweet things of breasts with exquisitely delicate pink nipples. She didn't even try to hide, nor coquettishly delay showing me, the tight slit at the top of her legs, between lovely lips which culminated in the most enchanting little dimple.

She just stood before me as I took in her figure. A female without feminine wiles. Unaware of her tantalising waistline and hips. Smiling unconcerned as my eyes absorbed her genitals (no way am I descending to crude words to describe her genitals). Her young blonde maiden curls wove a pastel haze, like an impressionistic morning mist caressing Venus' Mount.

She came right up to me and stood between my parted legs. It was all I could do not to come prematurely. But I wanted this magic to go on forever.

I continued my pressureless massage. Miming a wank, you might say. But this time, while I was attending to my dick, Cynthia was putting her fingers to work. She studied both of my balls in turn, then decided to find out what was behind them. She explored my perineum, my cheeks, and seemed to have no reservations about investigating my ass itself. This evidently put her in mind of an omission.

"Uncle," she announced, abruptly. "I said you could see me undressed. But I forgot to show you my bottom."

She turned. And it was at the sight of this pure, innocent bottom, a creation fresh from nature, that I decided there was no point in trying to hold back my own forces of nature for much longer. I stopped my demonstration wank.

 "Cynthia," I explained. "When I, or your Daddy, play with our cocks, it's so that we can release juices. Very important juices. It's good and healthy. I don't know why your Daddy's shy about it. A lot of people are. But we don't need to be. I'm going to show you how those juices are released. I'll probably make noises like your Daddy, but it will be because I'm enjoying it."

Cynthia was looking agog at my dick, taking in all I was saying.

"You've seen what I do. Do you want me to go on, or would you like to play with my dick yourself and see what happens?"

As guilelessly as if I'd invited a child to play with a new toy, the nude nymph took hold of my penis. She covered it with the palm of her right hand. The fingers stretched until their tips curled among my balls. She rubbed my dick against my belly, while doing unutterably magical things to my balls, while her other hand sank deep between my legs. I felt myself held and possessed, before and behind, by this divine, totally unspoilt creature.

She'd watched, and studied, my miming of 'Daddy's play'. She progressed from rubbing my cock with the palm of her hand, to a thoroughly-learnt grasp of my shaft with all fingers. Now no mime, just voluptuous pressure and steady, confident motion. Keeping time with Cynthia's manipulations of my dick, my senses soared and fell in switchbacks of ecstasy. My eyes swam, but always had before them the primaeval femininity of my little naked adopted niece.

Now I was making the noises that had so puzzled her. Between gasps, moans, and what I can only call snorts, I was able to warn her what the 'juices' would look like. So there was no shock, only wonderment, as my penis finally brought forth, lustily as any young 'Daddy'. I had tissues at the ready, but Cynthia insisted on helping me.

And then the little darling made cups of tea. My only worry was that I might need to start all over again. It wasn't so much the tea, as her, "I do like being naked. Let's stay naked while we drink our tea."

So there's my story, begad. And if I got a little flowery telling it, well, it's because she did something to me. Y'know, I think she cured the Scrooge in me. She's shown me there's other things in life besides money. Have a feeling it won't be long before she shows me more.