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A Loving Family - Samantha's Story - Part Three

GF at University smashes her frigidity. Doctor examines her for the pill, Uncle loves her
This story was a Finalist in the Best Long Story Category at the ASSTR Golden Clitoride Awards 2006


For Samantha’s life as a wife and mother, read my story “A Loving Family” which is referred to in the opening paragraphs. The principal character, Samantha, who in her adult life is the wife of Don and mother to Peter and Susan, recollects her life from the age of 11 years and we meet her closest female friend, Chérie-Anne. If explicit sexual family encounters disturb you, please read no further.

This is a work of pure fiction and tells of a young girl’s sexual and emotional development into womanhood.

This has not been written simply as erotica, but is a story which attempts to explore events in Samantha’s life which may have led to why she acted as she did as a wife and mother. The sexual passages are therefore within the context of that personal, fictional, history.

A Loving Family – Samantha’s Story

Chapter Six - Samantha has a new home.


The aunt and uncles were interviewed by child welfare officers, the Court was approached and permission was finally granted with certain conditions. Daniel Bure had to provide a self contained apartment within his large home which gave 14 year old Samantha Johnson the security and privacy of bedroom, kitchen, living room and bathroom, furniture for all of her needs together with a personal telephone not linked to the house telephone. Furthermore when entering her personal apartment from the main house a door had to be installed secured with a Yale lock and sliding bolts on her side. Welfare officers had right of access to visit her without notice, as did her Aunt Polly and Uncle Bob who remained her Guardians. Officers of the Fire Department had to approve a means for emergency exit, and an external personal entrance door was included in the extension so the young woman had access to her apartment without the need to enter through the main house. At last everyone seemed satisfied that she could be secure and escape any unwanted attentions.


Samantha’s emergence from her shocked misery was now remarkable and she began her September school term with zest. She was bright, intelligent, and her school had excellent standards and facilities. She applied herself to her studies and in her spare time picked up her hobbies and sporting interests, her friendships and her outings with friends. Not least of these was her delight in helping with Danny’s business and enjoying occasional days out with the drivers.


One thing only was no longer part of her life. Sensual dreams stopped disturbing her innocent sleep and she lost all thoughts of enjoying her intimate body. She felt no need for sexual release and her magic button remained dormant.


Her love for Danny, and his for her, developed into a deep emotional bond. Not a romantic bond. Certainly not sexual in any way, but a bond of caring and friendship and shared loss which they could now talk about to each other. A relationship based on total trust in which for all practical purposes, Danny was her father.


Aunt Polly was always available for talk about female matters and occasionally would mention boys and whether Sami had any ‘special’ boy friend. The answer was always ‘no’ but Polly had a lingering anxiety that her niece could get ‘carried away with a boy’ and become pregnant. When she made this anxiety explicit, Samantha replied good naturedly and with a laugh “No need to worry on that score Aunty Pol. I’m not interested.”


Living with Danny, the relationship they had, and her dealings and involvements with the male drivers, was giving her an air of confidence in herself and with men, a worldliness that didn’t impinge on the essential Samantha’s love of laughter and camaraderie. Despite her sexual indifference she retained her femininity and could have an appealing innocence of manner, this latter presumably causing her aunt’s occasional anxiety!


Samantha was a natural driver and comfortable on the road; she took and passed her driving test three weeks after her seventeenth birthday following an intensive course with a professional driving instructor, backed up by many hours on the roads when Danny sat with her and coached her. She asked her Trustees to release money to buy a new car and felt an upsurge of freedom at being able to go where she wished, when she wanted.


In her last year at school Samantha’s academic application produced ‘A’ grades in English, French and Art, with ‘B’ in Geography, History, Maths and General Science. Not brilliant, but very creditable. She applied to, and was accepted at a University two hundred miles away from her home. Her adult life was beginning and Sami looked forward to University life, although with anxious feelings at the separation from her rock, her Uncle Dan.




Chapter Seven - A new lifelong friend is made.


Samantha was now 18 and after the calm English peace of her rural life, the University City was an exciting turmoil of experiences. The ‘Town and Gown’ lived for the main part in happy co-existence. Students of different religions, races and colours mixed and debated, argued and laughed, imbibed and relaxed together in considerable harmony. The citizens of the city had, over centuries, become accustomed to the oddities, the eccentricities, the strange garments and sometimes bizarre but fairly mild infringements of College Rules and Town By-Laws, which were perpetrated by the students as they let the steam out of the pressure cooker of lectures, research, study and exams.


As a first year student Samantha had applied for and been allocated a room in Halls of Residence, thinking it would make her new life easier during the first nervous weeks. Her uncle had led the way north in his car whilst Samantha followed in hers, and together they carried her possessions to her room in the student dormitory complex. Her room seemed suddenly tiny, cramped and confined after the roominess of her apartment in Daniel’s home. When all was unloaded from the cars there was awkwardness between them. The parting had come and neither quite knew how to handle it. She wanted to unpack, to explore, to meet other students but didn’t want to seem ungrateful and wanting him to go. He didn’t want to seem to abandon her and leave her alone.


Finally he said “Sam you’ve a lot to do now; to find your way about. And I’d better be getting along.”


“No, no, its OK - really it is,” she replied.


They looked at each other, understanding the concern each had for each other. Tears shone in her eyes and he was swallowing with unmanly emotion. He held his arms out and they wrapped their love around each other.


“Well then. Just take care and ring me if ever you need me or want to chat” he said in a gruff voice.


“Yep. And just you take care as well.”


Neither one of them was fooled by the casual farewells. A final hug, a kiss, and he left.




Sam had been vaguely aware of the tread of feet outside her door, and muffled bangs and clatters coming from the adjoining room. Obviously a fellow student was moving in.


She set about emptying her cases and stowing away clothing and other possessions on shelves, in drawers and wardrobe. Her computer was quickly reassembled, power and internet jack points located, plugged in and switched on. The familiar jingle tone, the Windows logo welcomed her and she called up her email address. A quick email “Unk - All unpacked and assembled. I’m going on a voyage of exploration now. Another student has just arrived next door. I Love You and thanks - and be careful now I’m not there to protect you from all those women who are after you. Be good - if you can!”


Armed with a diagram showing the various lecture rooms, offices and student union locations, the cafeterias and bathrooms and goodness knows how many mysteriously labelled rooms, Samantha set off to explore. Two hours later she was back in her room which suddenly seemed cold and empty. Next door there was a heavy crash and a scream of French anger followed by “merde, merde, merde.” Silence. Sam strained to hear any noise and thought she detected quiet female sobbing.


She left her room and stood undecided at the adjacent door, timidly knocked, then knocked more forcibly when there was no reply. “Hello. Are you OK in there? I’m in the next room. My name is Samantha. Je m’appelle Samantha. Can I help?”


The door opened and a tear stained girl looked at her. “Je suis desolée, I am desolated. I dropped my ... my ... ordinateur, my ... I forget my English.”


“Computer” replied Samantha.


The French girl’s face lit up “Tu parle Français? You speak French?”


Samantha said ‘yes a little’ and asked about the health of the computer. Not so good explained the French girl, now revealed as ‘ Chérie-Anne.’ “It does not march ... you say not to work any more? I promise to tell ma chère Maman I am ‘ere and all is good for me.”


Sam offered the use of her computer, the connection was made to Chérie’s email host, a rapid burst of typing by Chérie, and a friendship had begun.


The two young women became firm friends during the coming weeks; Sam helped Chérie with her everyday English, and Chérie helped Sam with her conversational French.


As the end of their first year approached they discussed sharing an apartment or small house which would give them more room, more privacy and more “opportunity” as Chérie put it with a twinkle in her eye. Sami laughed and said she needed no “opportunity” as her friend suggested; she was quite content without “opportunities.”


“You do not like the boyfriends Sami?”


“I’m very happy to have boys as friends but I just don’t want a special boyfriend, that’s all.”


“You are lesbienne per’aps?” Chérie asked with disconcerting curiosity.


Sam flushed hotly. “No, no it’s not that. It’s just that ...”


Chérie was looking a question, and Sami told her, with many pauses, about the death of her parents and aunt, and the near rape by her cousin Len. She told her that since then she had felt no needs. Not wanted any ‘sex stuff.’


“But you ‘ad 14 years when that happened? And you ‘ad never ‘ad the love feeling. You ‘ad never ...Oh la la ... ‘ad the ‘petit mort’ ... ‘ow do you say it? And it was so very long ago. And still NO FEELINGS? I do not believe you do not ‘ave the little wings that flutter between your legs.


“Orgasm” was Sam’s brief translation, still red to her hair roots. “And no I don’t any longer. But yes I did once.”


The girls started to grin, then giggle, and soon they were holding their sides with painful laughter.


“But you must tell me one more thing, ma chère Samantha. Was the ‘petit mort’ good for you?”


“Never you mind, you wanton French hussy you” and Sami began to giggle again.


“Whatever you say I think you like it very much” retorted her friend.


The subject was dropped. The girls spent the last month of the semester inspecting flats and houses - advertised on college notice boards - that final year students were giving up, and finally decided on a suitable one a convenient cycle or bus ride away from campus and free from the throngs of students. Samantha paid a deposit to secure it for the following year.




The long summer holiday passed quickly with Samantha meeting up with friends, gossiping, shopping, and sailing.


Danny had asked Sami to call him by his given name, but this she refused to do. “You are my uncle and only me and my cousins can call you that. Nobody else has that right. You are very special to me. OK so if ‘Uncle Danny’ seems a bit silly now I’m 19, if it’s alright with you, I want to call you ‘Unk’ - my own special name for my own special Uncle.” And so it was agreed.


At the end of September there was a repeat of the previous year. Her greatly increased possessions were packed into the two cars as the new accommodation allowed for many more personal items of clothing and relaxation, as well as heavy boxes of reference books.


Unk inspected the new ‘home,’ a small terraced row house with two bedrooms, approved it, and saw her unpacked. They had brought from home everything needed for the next few days in the way of fresh food, and had just settled down to a cup of tea when the door opened and in walked Chérie. Unk politely stood, was introduced by his niece and held out his hand but Chérie would have none of it. She took him by his upper arms, pulled him to her and gave him four ‘cheek kisses’ - an embrace she reserved for her closest friends.


During the evening the girls told each other of their relaxations during the summer months. Chérie suddenly said, “Sami, I think your uncle is very handsome. Very nice. And he is obviously a gentilhomme, un chevalier in his heart. Is it possible that you and he did not ... fait l’amour ... when you lived alone with him?”


It became apparent that Chérie had been working on the pronunciation of the aspirate ‘h’ - always difficult at first for a French national - and now made only an occasional lapse.


“It might seem possible to you, you old French tart you, but no we didn’t. He never laid a finger on me.”


“He is gay then? This so good and ‘onourable uncle of yours? He must be gay if he did not get you into his bed to make the love with you. Did he never, by accident of course, let you see the glory of his manhood? Standing proud to see the beauty of you” she said with a huge grin of mischief.


Sami’s mind suddenly played an unbidden snapshot of her father and uncle naked on that beach, and their immediate unbidden response to seeing her own naked freshness. In her imagination she felt again the throb of her father’s hardness in her hand as she reached down for it. Now, for a split second, she felt a half forgotten tension deep inside her, then it was gone again.


Chérie was watching her friend closely and saw the blush that she could never quite control, stain her cheeks. Saw the slightest intake of deeper breath and the flick of her tongue on suddenly dry lips. ‘Oh, oh, oh’ she thought ‘there is something my chère amie has just remembered from her past life that was not so chaste.’




The following day they made a sortie to the supermarket and stocked up with instant frozen meals for when they were in a hurry, and basics for when they felt creative in their kitchen. ‘Now then’ she thought ‘where do they keep the extra virgin olive oil? And oh yes - better get some boxes of beer and lager for when male students visited.’ Samantha left it to her French friend to browse and select a couple of boxes of red and white wines, cooking brandy and cooking sherry.


Chérie-Anne enjoyed cooking and that evening she decided on a small green salad followed by cannelloni. She had already prepared the wonderful meat mixture with spices and herbs and allowed it to cool. Now, as she had no pasta shells she quickly made pancakes (crêpes she insisted on calling them) and then formed the individual cannelloni and put them in the freezer to stop them softening too much. All was ready for simply adding the Béchamel and Bolognaise sauces and popping the dish into the oven.


“Me, I am going to shower and get out of these today things and into my nice evening to be with you again things” Chérie said in one of her occasionally convoluted sentences. “Today is our réunion after not to see each for so long after the vaccances. The vacations n’est ce pas?”


“How many times do I have to tell you the word is ‘HOLIDAYS’ in England ? High days and holidays is the expression.”


Well let us maybe, per’aps, make this a ‘igh day then, oui?” and Chérie grinned cheekily, her dark eyes twinkling.


The table had been laid with their nice place mats depicting cobwebbed vintage wine bottles (what else?) and the best of their student cutlery that hadn’t been bent by using it to prise open lids or unscrew difficult screws or too energetically scrape out dishes. They had two “best” crystal glasses that never saw the light of evening when friends came to call. Candles were in four empty bottles on which different coloured candles had been allowed to drip as they burned down, and which provided a harlequin of colours.


Chérie emerged from her room, quite naked, and walked unselfconsciously to the bathroom. Sam knew from her many visits to France that they were accustomed to uni-sex toilets, to the acceptance of nudity, to men peeing openly at the side of the road when nature called too loudly. Her eyes flicked admiringly over the 34C breasts, the flat tummy and the dark, almost black pubic hair, neatly trimmed, which adorned her mound. Again for a second, a long second, she felt the contraction low in her tummy.


She went to her own room and undressed. What should she do? She would feel a complete dork, a prude, such a complex of neuroses if she enveloped herself in her favourite worn towelling robe simply to walk to the bathroom. She looked in her dressing mirror. Pulled in her tummy (which was flat anyway) thrust out her breasts (a proud uplifting 34B) and checked her rear. Was it too big? (Two firm mounds of erotic feminine flesh.) Another look in the mirror and she nearly pulled on her old robe - her nipples were hard and thrusting. Oh god, dare she? She glanced at her own private, oh so private hairs. They looked as if they belonged to a gorilla she thought, ignoring that they merely need a neat little bikini trim and were actually quite delightful.


Sam gathered her courage and hurried nakedly to the shower, very much conscious of Chérie-Anne’s admiring gaze. They had occupied adjoining rooms for almost ten months but never seen each other in this way. Chérie’s mind, unaffected by any past inhibitions, wondered afresh at the uncle of her friend. How had he resisted her purity and untouched perfection? How could he have failed to teach her, guide her in the ways of love before she became soiled by mere sex? To her own delight and understanding in the arts of love making, it had never stopped her beloved father.




Dressed now in a chef’s striped apron covering a pale blue shirt neck blouse (no bra) with a matching knee length skirt, Chérie completed the cannelloni and put it to cook. The salad was in the ‘frig and Chérie called her friend. The wine was white, chilled, crisp and dry, a simple ‘Blanc de Blanc’ to drink with their salad, lightly drizzled with olive oil and topped with tiny flakes of Parmesan cheese.


Samantha also wore a blouse with a Mandarin collar, but in white with lace almost revealing a half bra giving accent to her modest figure. She wore white linen trousers and, as she continued to glance at Chérie and picture her as she had crossed the room earlier, appeared nervous and surprisingly unsure compared to her normal confident self. Chérie looked at Samantha as she removed her apron and poured the wine.


“A toi, ma belle amie.” To you my beautiful friend. She lifted her glass, clinked it to Sami’s and held it still as she waited.


“A toi, ma Chérie.” As she returned the ‘chink’ of her glass Sam’s response was halting, nervous, tremulous, her eyes flicking to the blouse where hard erect nipples thrust at the thin blue cotton. Her hand trembled and a shiver ran down her spine.


“Drink your wine and take my hand.” Samantha gulped it down and stood like a rabbit in headlights. Her hand was taken by her friend who sensed the tremors in her muscles. Samantha was gently pulled into her own bedroom.


“You stay here? You do not move. You do not try to run away, oui?” Chérie-Anne darted from the room, padded quickly into the kitchen, turned off the oven, hurried back to Sami, then turned again and picked up the wine bottle.


“I think we have a little of the wine more, for a good courage for you my Samantha who does not know how to love.” They again touched glasses and sipped, or rather gulped in the case of the English girl. “Samantha I tell you en vérité, in truth that you sit here in my heart. You are the belle amie de mon coeur, my very dearest and loved friend. Je t’aime. Je t’adore.”


“And, Chérie-Anne, you are my very dearest friend too, and I love you. I adore you” she whispered.


“Please do not move. Please to let me know all of your beauty for my love of you. C’est bon pour toi?” Chérie whispered, her English becoming more mangled as her own excitement and passion grew.


Samantha closed her eyes and nodded her permission, her whole body flushed in a new awareness. Finger tips stroked lightly on her face, traced her lips, smoothed on her taut neck. Her legs trembled violently and her shaking hands were taken and placed on Chérie’s shoulders. “Hold on to me. Do not fall, entendu?” “Yes I understand” gasped Sami, clutching at her friend for support.


A sweet breath caressed her cheek, a tiny soft kiss anointed her lips then the corner of her eye as nimble fingers unpicked the buttons of her blouse. Hands pulled the soft cotton wide then tugged it down each arm in turn. Hands reached around her to deftly unsnap the catch of her bra. A hand threw it to one side. Finger nails scratched softly on her swollen breasts, reached nipples that were already stiff in passion. Nerves, unforgotten nerves, merged and mingled and flashed down, down to her most intimate self. She staggered, almost falling. Every tiny hair, every nerve in her body seemed to be raised, begging to be touched.


Cheri-Anne took her arms and walked her backwards, pressing Samantha against the door to help give support. The hand of the shaking girl was taken and put on the door handle. “Hold it. Lean back. Do not fall.”


Chérie stooped and kissed the rigid nipples, tender with need, then nipped and pulled them lightly with her teeth. Her tiny loving kisses trailed down a taut stomach, her pink tipped tongue reaching inside the ‘innie’ of the belly button. Sami’s exclamation, her ‘Ahhhhh’ of surprised pleasure made her French friend know she was loosening the tension locked inside. She again inserted her probing tongue as her hands began to unfasten the buttons of Sami’s linen trousers. A gentle tug and they crumpled to the floor.


“No. No. Chérie I can’t. Please don’t. I can’t. I don’t want to. I don’t know how toooooooooo.....” but her protests were cut short as fingers grazed in her gap, along her slit. Fingers now were pulling down lace panties. A hand was lifting her unwilling foot. She was naked at last. Two hands gently but firmly pulled her apart. As the knowing French fingers stroked teasingly on each side of her dormant clit, the warmth and the heat of Chérie’s love for her finally began to melt the glacier of inner need, frozen in shock for too many years.


Samantha felt her own heat. Felt her own flow. Felt the escape of her submissive desire onto Chérie’s expert fingers. The forgotten ache was there, low down, swelling, building like a too flimsy dam holding back impossible forces. She looked down. Saw Chérie’s upturned face. The girls’ eyes locked. Chérie’s hand was flat on her tummy, feeling the inner tension. Her other hand tantalised the most private, the most sensitive parts of her friend’s femininity. Sami’s eyes closed, her face seemed to compress, her facial muscles tautened and Chérie knew it was now her time. She gently rubbed on the awakened clitoris, hard and demanding the ultimate of love, then felt the eruption of orgasm rip through her friend who screamed out her liberation from the chains of anguished hurt.


Sam’s legs finally gave way. She slid down onto the floor and collapsed, holding Chérie’s fingers in a death grip to the centre of the throbbing after shocks. Then, magically, she felt the flutter of little wings between her legs and remembered Chérie’s astonished statement ‘I do not believe you do not have the little wings that flutter between your legs.’


“ Chérie? Please hold me tight. Please tell me you love me ... and Chérie I can feel the little wings between my legs.”


“I do love you my Sami girl” then she giggled “and I know you have the little wings because I feel them beating oh so sweetly on my fingers.”




Chérie re-heated their supper and put an ice pack around the wine as Samantha quickly showered and put on clean panties. She re-appeared still flushed and looked shyly at her friend. This was a new, relaxed Samantha. Content. Happy. Released almost completely from her past.


After they had eaten and were sitting in a new intimacy, side by side on the sofa, they sipped their wine and Chérie said, “Tonight my Samantha I saw all of your beauty. I gasp at your beauty. I adore your beauty ... but I do not believe that your so good and ‘onourable uncle is not wanting to know the beauty of you. Sami we shall drink to our friendship. But Sami, please, please let us also drink to our love. For you I feel the ‘grande passion,’ the love for you. Please I beg let me love you. I am not lesbienne I promise, but I have such love to know of you and to give you. My poor words. I do not have the English language of love.”


Samantha leaned her head on her friend’s shoulder. “ Chérie ... you don’t need to say English love words. I don’t even know them myself. What you did for me. What you showed I had inside me. No words can describe that anyway. I don’t know about lesbians. And I haven’t been with a man. I’m still a virgin. I wanted my Daddy but he was killed before ...”


“I think that you are made for love. I think the men will have great passions and desires for you. It will be so wrong, so bad for you if some boy wanting to have only the sex is your first one. You know, my own chèr Papa, he teached me ... taught me the great loving. Not the sex ... pouf ! That is for people who do not love. Your uncle he loves you? Yes?” Samantha nodded agreement. “Then he is the one to teach you in love how men and girls make the big love. Not the little sex. But the big love.”


The girls continued to chatter about men and love and discovering the very deepest emotional satisfaction and exchange of tenderness. Finally they stood, ready for their beds.


Samantha’s heart began a nervous fluttering beat, a pulse throbbing in her neck. “ Chérie ... errmm ... Chérie ...?”


The French girl looked at her friend’s face, heard the tremble in her voice. “Oui? Ma belle Sami?” and her face dimpled in a knowing smile.


“ Chérie ... will it be alright? ... May I? ... Tonight? ...”


Samantha was gently pulled into her friend’s arms and received a soft kiss. “But it is what I ‘oped you would want with me. BUT, Sami please to wear a pretty nightie yes? And I will wear my most pretty for you. It is ... well you will see. And in my room this time, yes?”


The lovers dressed in their undress for each other and Samantha went through the darkened living room to Chérie’s bedroom. The faint glow of a bedside light showed her waiting friend. They reached for each other. They gently searched over and under skimpy nighties. The soft material grazed on sensitive needful skin, increasing the eroticism of touch and discovery. Samantha felt the edge of the bed on her legs. She was pushed back. She sat. She fell back. French fingers lifted her nightdress to find her. She surrendered once more to her friend.


Samantha received her second enchanting lesson, from mutual tender love to an absolute of feverish passion. Afterwards they held each other, throbbing heart to throbbing heart, and slept.


The following morning in the dawn light, Sami tentatively woke her lover with light touches and took the lead. Chérie allowed her to explore, guiding her hands as her need grew, open and unresisting as Samantha gained in confidence.


Their intimate needs were held in abeyance when their monthly curse caused them to give each other privacy, but the days of abstinence made the flame of Sapphic love burn more brightly because of it.




The French girl’s reference to her father’s love was spoken of in shared intimacy, as was Sam’s own brief encounter with her father. Chérie was adamant; Samantha should not simply keep men out of her life, but enjoy the wonderful connection that could only be made with a man.


“Sami, you are not the complete woman without knowing a man’s love. With a man it is different. It is not like the softness of another girl. A man is hard. He tries to be gentle, but oh la la he is HARD! A man he is different, and in France we say “Vive la Difference!” and Chérie’s eyes sparkled as she giggled her own delight at the difference. “To see him, swollen with the need for you. This mighty weapon that threatens you, demands to possess you, but is delightful for you to know and have.”


Samantha finally capitulated and agreed she should prepare herself in case Unk was somehow inveigled into undreamed of intercourse. She would consult the family planning clinic in a neighbouring town as she couldn’t face the embarrassment of sitting waiting with first year fellow students at the campus clinic. She phoned and made an appointment and her friend was made to swear on her life to accompany her, on her father’s life, her mother and grandmother’s lives, the French Flag and anything which, day by day, occurred to Samantha in the week preceding the dreaded visit, and not for one moment to desert her.


She showered the evening before and twice in the morning, once before and once after breakfast. She powdered and perfumed, she asked Chérie three times if she was wearing the right sort of panties. She put two extra clean pairs in her handbag. Chérie couldn’t resist huge grins at her friend’s nervousness.


“It’s all very well for you” moaned Sam, “you’ve had god knows who in your knickers.”


The outside ‘face’ of the clinic was anonymous and quite respectably plain. The girls entered, Sam clutching her friend’s hand. “Knock and Enter” said a sign on one of the doors. Sam was frozen to the spot so Chérie knocked, opened the door and dragged her friend without ceremony into the office. A pink faced motherly female smiled at them from behind her desk.


“Samantha Johnson, my friend here, she has an appointment” announced Chérie, realising she had to take charge.


“Yes, I see. We had her booked in to see one of our lady consultants but she hasn’t been able to get in today. Ms Johnson will you be willing to be seen by Dr. Dennis Braden?”


Samantha started to shake her head and opened her mouth to reply but Chérie beat her to it. “That would be OK for us. Wouldn’t it Sami? SAMI?” And she gave her girl friend a hard stare. “Yes” gulped the nervous young woman.


They were directed to another room and were greeted by another mature kindly female wearing the white uniform of a nurse.


“There are just a few questions we need to ask. Just to be sure that we can go ahead for you. Now which of you is Ms Johnson?”


Sam opened her mouth but her throat and mouth were dry. “She is” said Chérie firmly.


“Right. Now your full name is ...?” and “are you now pregnant ...?” and “have you ever been pregnant ...?” then “do you suffer from any sexually transmitted disease ...?” and “are you now in a sexual relationship with a male ...?” and the intimate questions went on and were recorded, together with the dates of her last three periods and their regularity, Samantha frantically consulting her diary to be sure of her dates.


The nurse asked them to wait and left the room. Samantha turned to her friend, a hunted look on her face. “I’m going” and she made to stand. Chérie pulled her sharply down onto her seat. “Humph, so you are the little English coward are you? Ready to run away are you? A French girl, never would she run away. Well if the French girls have more courage that is that. So you run away then and hide your silly frightened English face from me.”


The door swung open and the nurse said “Come with me Ms Johnson, the doctor is ready to see you now. Your friend can wait for you in the waiting room by the Reception Office.”


Samantha threw a despairing look at her friend who merely pointed to the waiting nurse and said “Allez ... Go!”


The consulting room was empty except for a bench with some sort of contraption at two of the corners. There were a few shining stainless steel instruments in individual dishes, a bowl, and a jar of lubricant and clean hand towels.


The nurse said “Go behind that screen and please take off your clothing from the waist down. You will find a white cotton wrap to put round your waist, and then come back to me here.”


As Samantha stepped out of her panties she was aware only of the embarrassing humiliation to come. She did as she had been told and her only comfort was the thought that when she got Chérie alone she would kill her in the most painful way she could devise.


“Lie on the couch please. A little lower. Lower still. Now let me lift your left foot.” Samantha’s foot was placed in one of the contraptions and the nurse went to the other side of the couch, lifted her other foot and secured it in the other contraption. The cotton wrap was adjusted over her tummy but her legs were now spread wide, the whole of her genital area exposed and vulnerable. “There we are ... soon done now. Try to relax. The stirrups are so that doctor can examine you properly.”


The nurse placed a stool between Samantha’s legs and close to her tremulous body. A door opened and there was a male face looking down at her. A handsome face wearing a beard. He appeared slim in his white coat with kind eyes that smiled as he spoke with a cultured American New England accent.


“Ms Johnson I am Dennis Braden. I have read your notes. I see that you would like to take the birth control pill is that right?”


“Yes” she croaked.


“Very well. Let me tell you what I have to do to see if that will be best for you. I see you have no menstrual problems and are regular. What I need to do is carry out a physical examination that will involve an internal. Do you understand what I mean? I shall have to insert an instrument called a speculum into your vaginal passage, dilate you with it and look inside to see if there are obvious abnormalities. I will have to press on your tummy to see if I can detect anything that you may not be aware of. Do I have you permission to do that? I know you have signed a consent form, but I would like you confirm it before I start. Nurse will be here with you all of the time that I examine you. May I proceed? I know you are apprehensive and I understand that. If you can, please try to relax as I enter you. If you become too tense it will make it more difficult for me and more uncomfortable for you. Do you like an occasional glass of wine?”


Again the single, strangled word “Yes.”


“Take three deep breaths and slowly exhale and try to imagine arriving home when this is all over, and relaxing with a nice glass of wine.”


He dipped a small sponge in lubricant and wiped it over her slit, parting her skilfully to coat her vaginal opening. His middle finger found her tightness and he twisted it to gain entry. Her muscle repelled him and he said quietly “Think of being home. Try to relax, Think pleasant thoughts.” She relaxed and quickly his finger slipped inside the warmth of her sheath.


He glanced at her face. God she was pretty and, incredibly, still a virgin. His finger stilled to allow her to relax around it, and he saw her impaled by his gloved digit where no man had been before. Her dark brown hairs cloaked the perfect mound of her sex. She was utterly delightful and he envied the man for whom she was preparing herself. He withdrew, inserted the speculum and shone a light to carry out a visual. All seemed well. He replaced the speculum in its dish and carefully probed on top of her tummy. No discomfort. Good. He made a comment to his nurse who turned to make a series of notes on the clinical record. He could not resist a final look at the gift this girl would soon bestow on a man, and gently reinserted his finger one last time, seeing it held inside her.


“Thank you Ms Johnson that’s it. It’s all over now and I am sorry if this was uncomfortable for you. I will prescribe the birth control pill and Nurse will give you a leaflet. Good luck in your future.” Then he was gone.


The nurse smiled at her as she released her from the stirrups. “It’s rather horrid the first time isn’t it? You have been wonderful and very sensible too, to make yourself safe before anything happens. Good luck my dear and here is your prescription. There is a bowl of water there and a hand towel so you can make yourself feel comfortable after the examination.”


Samantha bathed herself, still feeling dilated from the instrument used inside her. Everyone had been very nice and tried to make it not too unpleasant. She felt huge relief and on a high that it was behind her, and that Dr Braden “mmmm” and she giggled to herself. Her first male finger and it had been the finger of a perfect stranger!




The end of her second academic year saw Samantha telephone her uncle before inviting Chérie to spend time with her during the long summer holidays. Chérie then phoned her mother and it was agreed she would bring her daughter to Samantha’s home and, at Daniel’s suggestion, would herself stay ‘a few days’ in the large house. They made a date for three weeks after the end of the semester, which gave Chérie time to meet with her French family and friends before returning to England .


Samantha as ever luxuriated in the spaciousness of her apartment after the small house she and Chérie rented during term time. Now, three days after returning from her University College , it was a late summer’s evening and dusk created a mellow light in Dan’s living room. The weather had been hot and both were wearing T shirts and shorts as they sat sipping chilled wine and exchanging gossip. Samantha was now aged 20 and maturing into full womanhood and as they relaxed with their wine, their conversation turned to talk of a more personal nature.


“Unk,” she asked “have you never wanted to have a relationship with another woman? Does my being here stop you doing that?”


“Well I admit it’s crossed my mind a time or two but you being here hasn’t been what’s stopped me. I’ve been very lucky Sam, after all I’ve had two loves in my life, Emily and you, three loves if I count ....” and he abruptly stopped. Hurriedly he carried on “I can’t imagine any other woman taking the place of either of you. Anyone else would have to mean something to me, be someone very special as Emily was, and not just a casual ... a casual ... way of having pleasure. I really don’t want any other kind of ‘relationship’ as you put it.”


His niece with feminine curiosity leapt at his slip of the tongue. “Three? Go on Unk you can’t stop there. Was it a hot girl friend when you were a teenager? Did you do naughty things? She sounds a bit special to be ranked with Aunt Em and me” Samantha laughingly teased.


Even in the failing light it was obvious that Danny was embarrassed at his slip.


“Never mind me, what about you? Here you are a ravishing beauty and no boyfriend on the scene! Do you have him tucked away in your wardrobe back at Uni? Is he labelled “For College Use Only” when your ancient Unk isn’t watching over you?” and now Danny was laughing at her. “Come on own up, have you ‘been with’ boys at college? Been kissed? Been .....?” and a question was left hanging, unasked, but no less explicit for that.


It was Samantha’s turn to be flustered. “Of course I haven’t been with a man” she protested.


“Why ‘of course?’ It’s perfectly natural that men try to ... want to ... well bluntly to take you to bed! Have you never wanted a very special man in that way?”


Samantha remembered Chérie’s advice. ‘Tell him about your chèr Papa and your longing for him.’


“Uncle Danny” she nervously began, and Dan noticed her regression to the shyness of her early teen years. “Uncle Danny ...”


“Tell me, Sami, whatever it is I’ll still love you for trusting me, for telling me. You and me don’t have secrets do we? Or at least we care for each other enough to share most of them even if not all of them.”


Slowly, haltingly, Samantha told her dearest Unk about her desires, about wanting her father and what happened when she was in the sea with him. “I’ve never wanted a man to love me since then. I was sure I was being punished for wanting my Daddy in that way and that’s why they were all killed.”


After Sam’s tremulous confession there was silence before Danny, his voice quietly reassuring, said “You weren’t being bad, Sam. Not evil, bad. I’m told many girls have a passion for their dad, and sons for their mothers too. Just as brothers can have a passion for their sisters. I ... please don’t be shocked ... I had a passion for my sister, too.”


“But you only have one sister and ........” Samantha stopped short, suddenly realising the implication of what was being said.


“Yes. My sister Maggie. Your mother. She was 15 and I was 17 when we first ... when we began to love each other.”


There was a stunned silence. “Uncle Danny, did my Daddy know? ... later... after ... before they were married?”


“Yes. Your mother wouldn’t marry him unless Harry knew first and told her he still wanted her.”


“Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh ... so that’s why, in France that time on the beach ... Mum and Aunt Em let you see them naked. You’d all seen each other before?”


“Yes, Sam. But after your mother fell in love with your father, she never betrayed him. She never went with me in that way again. But of course we weren’t embarrassed together. You know that nudist beach just down the coast here? We often went there, the four of us. That was before you arrived on the scene! And Emily knew. I had to tell her when we fell in love.”


There was now an awkward silence, each hoping the private revelations had not placed a barrier between them. Suddenly Samantha finished her wine, got to her feet and went to her uncle, bending over to kiss his cheek.


“Unk” she said “it’s OK, I don’t mind. I’m not horrified or anything. And I’m glad I know. And I’m glad you know about what I wanted with my Dad.” She kissed him again, hugging him and he felt her firm breast, her hard nipple covered only by thin cotton, press on his cheek. “See you in the morning, Unk. I love you, you know that. I will always love you” and she left the room for her own apartment.


After an initial shyness, the following day passed without awkwardness. Danny organised his transport and Samantha helped in the yard. Friday evening came and once again uncle and niece sat, after dinner, sipping wine and chatting.


“We’ve got another glorious sunny day tomorrow Unk, but there’s a change coming on Sunday. Do you fancy a picnic on the beach while it’s nice?”


“After a working week what could be better!” exclaimed Daniel “and I’ll take the beach canopy with us so we can get some relief from the sun, too.”




After loading the picnic basket, beach towels, canopy and a cold bag with drinks they set off with Samantha driving her car. She drove past a favourite public beach and Danny glanced sharply at her but she kept her eyes firmly fixed ahead. His suspicions were confirmed when she pulled into the secluded parking area used by visitors to the nudists’ beach. Between them they managed to carry all of their gear and Samantha marched resolutely further and further down the sands until they were well away from the access point and the few early naturists already there. Finally she stopped in the lee of sand dunes, alone on this part of the beach, and dropped all that she was holding. She wouldn’t meet Danny’s eyes as he built the canopy whilst she laid out the towels and opened a shoulder bag.


Samantha was wearing a loose cotton dress and as Danny took off his shirt, she pulled it up and over her head, folded it neatly and put in the bag. She wore only bikini panties with ties at each side and she stood proudly before her dearest Unk, arms at her side, breasts swollen and nipples rigid as she allowed him to view her. His eyes devoured her and he swallowed convulsively. He saw the tremors in her arms, her excited, exciting nervousness apparent as she stood for him see.


His heart thundering in his chest, he stepped out of his beach shorts and stood revealed in his briefs. Her eyes took in his lean muscled body and rested on his hips, his appreciation of her loveliness clearly outlined under the cotton.


Samantha gathered her courage for her final moment of provocation. Her face and breasts were flushed as her heart beat strongly inside her heaving chest. She moved close to him, took each of his hands and guided them to the ties of her panties.


“Sami? Ohgod Sami, are you sure?” he choked as his fingers gripped the loose ends.


Her answer was a whisper from a dry mouth. “Yes. If you want to. Yes.”


He tugged. The simple bows were released. His hands gently pulled down. The soft cotton fell from her. She was naked.


She stepped away a few paces so he could fill his eyes with all she shyly offered. His eyes swept over her unconcealed body, at last displayed. Her charms no longer needed his imagination. All was fully and proudly revealed.


“Now you” she said in a husky quavering voice.


His hands pulled at the waist of his briefs and Samantha watched as he began to uncover himself. The cotton caught on the hardness that her nakedness had provoked. She held her breath as he reached inside to release himself. It was free. She saw it at last pointing at her with his need. The knot in her tummy began to demand attention. She swallowed, licked dry lips, looked at his flushed face and said “the sea. I’m going in the sea. Please come.”


As she walked away he saw her tight cheeks, the gap between them, and the womanly sway of her hips stimulating his senses.


The sea was limpid as she waded in to cover her breasts. He reached her and she turned her back to his front. His hands rested on her hips and she guided one to her breast and Danny brushed it over the firmness of her nipple. He now knew what she wanted, what she needed, and put his other hand on her tummy. Her muscles tensed at his touch. His fingers slipped down, down and found her female hairs. His fingers curled and riffled in them. His fingers went lower and curled again. His fingers slipped between and cupped her heart stopping centre as Samantha parted her legs. Suddenly she reached down and held him to her bud, hard and wanting. Held his hand against it. Began to hump her hips as he held her firmly in his grasp. His hardness was a bar of heat against her ass cheeks as it tried to nestle between them. His length, his raging cock was stimulated by her as she moved towards her release.


“It’s ... ohhh ... ahhh ...” she began, her incoherent sounds rising in sound as she humped harder and harder. “I’m ... it’s ... pleaaasssssse ... Daddyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy” and she convulsed in his arms.


He held her as she shuddered her liberation by a man, and Danny felt the pulsing heat of her sex on his fingers.


Finally she was more calm and turned to him, clutching him around his neck, pressing her cheek to his, holding him nakedly to her still trembling body, feeling his impatient cock now prodding at her tummy. She reached down, as she had once before many years ago. She held her uncles cock in her girl’s hand.


“I couldn’t do this to Daddy then, not in France , he wouldn’t let me. Please let me help you, Unk. Please show me how.” So he took her small hand in his, wrapped it around his raging need and taught her how to move it, up and down, squeezing, pulling foreskin over bulging knob, until ...


“Sami ... it’s coming for me ... don’t stop ... Samiiiiiiiiiiii” and he in his turn was throbbing and jerking in her hand. She held it as he softened in her gentle fingers. They clasped each other close.




They lay in each other’s arms in the shade of the canopy and drifted into contented sleep.


Danny woke with a raging hard on and his niece’s slim fingers stroking up and down the length of his cock. He moved to sit up but she said “No, please don’t move. Please let me play with him.” Danny lay back.


“I’ve never seen one properly before. I know I saw yours and Dad’s in France that day. But not really to look at and touch like this. I was scared of one after Len tried to rape me that time. But I love yours I really do ... all big and fat and hard and ... and like ... impatient to do things to me” and she giggled. “Please let me play with him, Unk. Can I? Can I rub him like you showed me in the sea? Is that OK?”


Danny lay back, a smile of pleasure on his face as she learned the pleasure of holding a man’s vitality in her hand.


Experimentally she drew back on his foreskin and marvelled at the swollen purple knob. She pulled the foreskin up and over the knob and saw the tiny hole peeping at her from the folds of his gathered skin. She rippled the skin up and down over the base of the fat knob until suddenly he was restless under her hand, his hips lifting to her as she pulled back on his rod. He seemed agitated and Sami glanced at his face, seeing it contorted as if in pain. She stopped, thinking she was hurting him but his hand clasped over hers and made her hand work him harder, faster ... his hips lifted and he groaned ... then his cock was throbbing and a white something was spurting out of the tiny hole, spurting up to his chest and on his convulsing tummy. His hips sank and he lay panting beside her.


Samantha dipped her finger in the blobs of semen. Theoretically she knew what it was but had never seen it before. She rubbed it lightly on his tummy, and then held it to her nose to smell it, then touched some to her tongue. She picked up more and rubbed it over her nipple.


“Samantha ... god you are so bloody sexy. Don’t do that I will want it again” he laughed.


“Well I don’t mind” she giggled.


Their picnic had been wonderful. Uncle Danny had stood little chance with his emancipated niece following advice from her experienced French amie. They returned home to a light supper and finally, with the light failing, Samantha had said to her dearest uncle “Stay with me tonight, Unk. Please?” He did. She gave herself. He possessed her.


Her French friend would soon be here, and Samantha was determined to maximise the enjoyment, the discovery, the previously unimaginable pleasure of her uncle’s cock and his seismic explosion of desire into her own welcoming body. She began to adore the fullness as he claimed and reclaimed her once virginal hole. She began to revel in the feeling of helplessness as he knelt between her spread legs, his cock twitching as she watched him lower it to her submissive body, leaking its willingness for him to take her once more. Chérie had been right, a man was different.


And so Samantha ‘knew’ her uncle, and he ‘knew’ her and removed the barrier of her maidenhood at first gently, in nervousness and in excitement, but with growing confidence, until she was gifting the honeyed centre of her innocence of men to Danny without reservation.




Two weeks later Chérie and her divorced Maman arrived. A second single bed had been installed in Samantha’s bedroom for Chérie, whilst Madeline, the mother, had a guest bedroom and bathroom in the main house.


Danny and Madeline got on well. Very well. So much so that her visit was extended and he promised to visit her home in France .




This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

Copyright © (c) Susan England. This story may not be reproduced at any other site without the express permission of the author, Susan England. All such requests and any feedback on her stories should be emailed to

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