Mark Jackson - Lynn_s Naughty Uncle

"Come on, Lynn, do it! I really need to check out this new lens. It won't take very long."

Eighteen-year-old Lynn Hood sat on the couch with her long legs drawn up under her, watching television. The show was boring, and her uncle was being very insistent. She sighed deeply, her exceptionally large but beautifully formed breasts heaving upward and outward as she pulled her shoulders back, stretching hard, then lowering as she relaxed and hunched forward. She got her legs out from under her and stood up.

"Oh, all right. But just for a few minutes, okay?"

"Sure, Lynn. Listen, I'm going downstairs and set up the lights. Change into a skirt and blouse, will you?"

Lynn snapped her hands against her slim hips and cocked her head to one side, pursing her full lips in annoyance. A wide, thin curtain of long blonde hair fell across her face. She let it stay there, and held her pose.

"Now just a minute," she said. "Why can't you photograph me in this?"

Wes, the teenager's uncle, shook his head and eyed the girl slowly from toe to chest. Lynn was wearing a pullover sweater with the words NOT FOR SALE printed in red on the front and the single word YET! printed in a demonic green on the back, and a pair of well-worn jeans with a large red rose embroidered on the ass. The stem of the rose passed downward, directly along the seam between her tight buttocks, then upward in front to disappear under her belt buckle.

"It's a bit ostentatious, isn't it?"

Lynn shifted her weight, finally tossed the cloud of hair over her shoulder with a shake of her head.

"What?"

"Lynn," Wes said in his most reasonable voice, though his heart was pounding with anticipation and his cock was already half hardened, "I would like to take some pictures of you, not of your clothes. All of this artwork. It detracts from my photographs, and frankly, Lynn, it detracts from your beauty." He paused to lift his eyes from her enormous chest to her eyes. He stared firmly and unblinking into her beautiful dark eyes, took a deep breath for sincerity's sake, and said, "And you are very, very beautiful.' "Oh, bull," she said. She was used to this kind of talk from her uncle, and It didn't impress her at all. She was not quite as stupid as he must think. If he wanted to test his new lens, he could just as easily take pictures of fruit, or almost anything else. He didn't need her. Not for testing anything. at least. But Lynn had her suspicions about some of those poses he made her assume. And she was almost certain about the time he'd tied her up.

"Come on, Lynn. Please. It won't take very long."

"Ha. The last time I went down there with you it took two hours. And it's cold down there, Wes. Her last words came out as a little whine. Wes felt his cock harden a bit more. Once Lynn began whining in that quiet little voice of hers, he knew he had it made. Damn! if only he could have her made!

"I know it's cold, honey," he said "I promise I'll work just as fast as I possibly can." He had stifle a sudden laugh when he heard himself say that.

Lynn stood unmoving before him, her chest heaving slowly. Wes could almost feel the material of her huge bra rubbing ever so softly and quietly against the thick fluffy inside of her sweater. Oh, to be that bra and hug those big jugs!

Even though she didn't really want to do it, Lynn nodded slowly. She turned, still nodding, and walked down the long hallway to her bedroom, thinking what the hell, I might as well. As she started to close her bedroom door, she heard her uncle call after her.

"Oh, Lynn. Put on some dark stockings, too, will you?"

She shook her head in disgust, but strangely enough she found herself grinning. A hot flush rushed over her cheeks. She pressed the door firmly closed and locked it. Turning toward her bed, she sighed. The men in her life were all so damned predictable.

Lynn Hood was a senior in-high school. She was fairly tall among the girls of her class, standing five feet six inches in her bare feet. Like most tall girls of her young age, Lynn was embarrassed by her height, the more so because of her huge breasts. She was at the stage in her mental development where she could not decide whether big breasts were really that much of an asset, or whether the stares she got from her teachers, both men and women, were from lust or pity. She knew exactly what the stares of her fellow classmates meant. Girls: envy. Boys: desire.

Sometimes she was proud and somewhat snobbish about her boobs, strutting around the school hallways with her shoulders pulled way back and her head held high. On days she felt like that she would wear high heel shoes to make her even taller. And dressed in those heels, with a pair of black stockings and a short skirt, strutting as only a tall and magnificently endowed young woman who is still a virgin can strut, Lynn was a truly wondrous vision, stunning and remote. passing through the crowded churning halls like a living statue of some forgotten goddess of lust.

But just as often as she was proud of her tits, the teen was ashamed of them, frightened by the size of the things, distressed by the weight and cumbersome mass of those two huge half-globes of flesh that threatened to never stop growing, expanding, ballooning! At night she held them in her hands and wept. They felt like foreign sacks of foam rubber, with a bowling ball buried in the center of each one. Strange and terrifying growths that must belong to some other poor unfortunate girl, not her!

And when she felt ashamed of her tits she combed her long thick blonde hair down over the front of her blouse or baggy sweater. She walked hunched over badly, until it actually began to hurt her back and bring tears to her eyes. She clutched her books over her chest. And all along the hallway she felt and tried desperately to ignore the quick hard slaps on her unprotected ass.

She had given up complaining to the smiling teachers, the nodding counselors, the grinning girlfriends, and simply took it, wincing at the hardness of the slaps and walking on, waiting for the next one, until she made it to her seat in her next class.

Breasts or bottom, she knew, they would get her somewhere.

Yet for all her confusion, for all her embarrassed height-which, after all, was not very tall-and for all her huge knockers, when proud or ashamed, Lynn was a truly beautiful girl. She could easily have found work as a model. Since her tits had blown out, she had been approached by every photographer in the city-or so it seemed-and even one tiny, grizzled old man with a dirty broken Polaroid camera in a paper sack. Can I take your picture, cute thing, little girl, sweety, cunt?

She talked these many offers over with her best girlfriend, Cindy, who was also eighteen. Cindy had very small breasts, but deliciously formed and sharply pointed. She was a maddening sight in her thin white pullover blouse, especially when she left her bra off. And that was most of the time, now that the college boys had begun noticing her. Cindy was extremely popular at high school, and found herself to be the confidante of many a sordid secret. She knew how to keep her mouth shut, too.

When Lynn got together with Cindy, the conversation turned immediately to the latest encounter.

"Another guy wanted to take my picture today," Lynn said breathlessly, crossing her long legs and leaning back on her elbows on Cindy's bed.

"Nude?" Cindy asked, her bright eyes wide and laughing.

"No," Lynn said. "He was an artist!" Her voice was mocking, and both girls fell into fits of giggling. They knew what men wanted from girls their age, and it wasn't art.

Cindy pulled the chair out from her desk and sat down, resting her arms over the back.

"Are you going to let him?" she asked.