I had been giving my wife's niece Clare driving lessons for almost a month, usually going out in my car on Saturday afternoons. She’d initially signed up with a local driving school, but got rattled and lost confidence after her instructor shouted at her one time. I decided we should go back to Square one and start all over again.

Twenty-year-old Clare is a very attractive drama student, who wants to get into TV. For our fourth Saturday session, I decided we’d concentrate on the Highway Code. I directed her to an unmade gravel track leading to some woods. We parked up in the shade and I started going through the Code.

“And what is the precise sequence of coloured lights on traffic lights?”

“Red, red-and-amber green; green, amber, red.”

“Very good.”

“And who has priority at a pedestrian crossing – car driver or pedestrian?”

“The pedestrian, but only if they’ve stepped off the pavement.”

“Excellent.”

Clare adjusted her position in the passenger seat and set it to semi-recline. She stretched out her slim sun-tanned legs. She was wearing pink trainers and white ankle socks, a pink T-shirt and alarmingly short faded denim shorts. Her blonde tresses had subtle pink and purple highlights and she was wearing a lovely perfume that smelt of fresh freesia.

Momentarily pausing from our code quiz, I idly wondered to myself whether she was wearing any knickers.

“Next question please?”

“So sorry, I was miles away.”

She giggled. “I could see that!”

“Errm – what does a solid double yellow line in the gutter signify?”

“No parking at any time.”

“Very good.” I turned and smiled at her and reached for a thermos of chilled orange juice my wife had made for us. “Shall we have a break for five minutes?”

“Why not.” She crossed her legs at the knees so that one thigh was higher than the other. The hem of her shorts slid up a few centimetres. She took the mug of orange with one hand and slowly stroked the inside of her thigh with the other. This mildly flirtatious signal emboldened me to ask: “Clare – are you wearing any knickers?”

She spluttered mid-way through swigging her drink and blushed, but quickly recovered. “Why no, as a matter of fact, I’m not. I saw it was going to be a warm afternoon and left them off.” She handed me the empty mug and smiled coyly. “Why, do you mind, Uncle Mark?”

I gave a nervous cough. “Not in the slightest.”

Her hand gently pulled the hem of the shorts a little higher, though her secret place remained hidden. “Like to feel?”

“May I?”

“But of course.”

I cautiously ran my hand up inside the shorts until it rested on her silk-smooth vagina. She moaned softly. “Finger me if you want.”

My middle finger slid tentatively between her moist labia lips. She closed her eyes and whispered, “Oh, that’s nice.”

With my spare hand, I slid her shorts right up so that I had a clear view of her cunnie. On the inside of one thigh was a small tattoo of a butterfly. I know that nowadays lots of girls have tattoos, but I was suddenly jealous of the artist who’d etched this piece so close to her quim.

I wondered whether I had the nerve to ask the all-important question, then finally stammered it out, “Are you a virgin, Clare?”

She shook her head. “Nope. Lost it last year – but the first time wasn’t much fun. He was a student at college. But I’m afraid he suffered from premature ejaculation. It was all over in moments.”

“Done it since?”

“Once or twice. But still nothing memorable. I’m happiest with my little helper Ché.”

“Who would he be?”

She put her hand into the door’s glove compartment and from her clutch bag produced a very small white plastic vibrator. She handed it to me and smiled. “He never fails!”

“Like me to try it?”

“Mmmm, yes please.” She opened her legs invitingly, flattening her thighs on the seat to fully expose herself to me. With a finger and thumb, she parted her lips so that I could slip the machine in. “You won’t need lube as I’m nice and wet.”

I clicked the vibrator on. It made a pleasant purring sound and I gently placed its tip against her opening, nudging it against her clit. She moaned softly and closed her eyes. After some minutes, a gentle trembling of her body signalled her first orgasm.

She opened her eyes and gave a lovely smile. “So… how about you?”

“How d’you mean?”

She reached across the space between us and gave the bulge in my slacks a playful squeeze. “Like me to suck you off?”

I was quite taken aback by her forwardness. “Would you?”

Flipping herself over onto her knees, she pulled off her shorts and simultaneously unzipped me. “Sure.”

For a relative amateur, she showed great agility in ‘freeing’ me from my boxer shorts, carefully uncoiling my semi-erect cock. She placed her lips gently over my glans and ran her tongue tantalisingly around my pee slit. Now it was my turn to close my eyes and moan. After gently sucking me for several minutes, Clare looked up and asked, “Nearly there?”

I nodded. “Very close.”

“Mmmm. That’s good!” Then she bent forwards and began eagerly sucking and masturbating me at the same time. A few moments later, I ejaculated a big load into her mouth, allowing the last drops to fall onto her lips. She spluttered a little but managed to get it all down.

She looked up, ran her tongue slowly around her lips and smiled. “Beats mugging up on the Highway Code any day wouldn’t you say, uncle?”

“It certainly does.”

“Can we come here again next Saturday?”

“But of course.”

“Just one thing…”

“What’s that?”

She kissed my ear lobe with her cum-coated lips and whispered, “Bring a condom.”