My ex was interested in being with her own sister, but the feeling was not returned
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My ex was interested in being with her own sister, but the feeling was not returned
Buurrr, hopefully no one else is caught in this cold front!
Need me to warm you up?
geronimo_appleby
always on the move
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- Nov 25, 2004
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there may be typos and other errors, however:
My Aunt Jean looked good in the denim skirt, the cork-soled wedge shoes giving her calves the same tension a pair of heels would. She had great legs anyway, but to my eye the shoes made them even better. She was wearing a light, button-fronted blouse, cotton, with ruffed gypsy sleeves; her thick blonde hair – a dyed job – neatly brushed fell close to her shoulders. A petite lady, a good head shorter than my six-one, Aunt Jean had a damn good figure on her. Her boobs swelled against the baggy blouse, their swing and say discernable when she moved. At forty-two years old she showed some signs of her age on her face, her prettiness only enhanced – again, to my eyes at least – by the light crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes. She carried a few other wrinkles here and there, signs of much laughter rather than sadness. I knew my aunt enjoyed a night out and, being divorced, why shouldn’t she? I’d known her have a boyfriend or two, a fact which made me jealous as hell, but the afternoon it happened she was between relationships, and when I analysed the events of that day later I realised Jean’s lack of male company over the preceding weeks had worked in my favour.
It had been an incident during the hot summer that triggered the feelings inside me. I’d gone round to her house a few doors down the road from our place with a message for her from her sister – my own mother. The detail of the message isn’t important, but when I casually unlatched the gate at the side of the house, the one where the path runs up towards the back garden, I had no clue that I would find Aunt Jean face down on a beach towel.
She was lying there on her front, her feet towards me, legs parted so I could see right up to the cleft of her pussy outlined in her bikini briefs. I stood transfixed by the sight, my heart a sudden jackhammer inside the rack of my ribs, the organ bouncing around like it was trying to burst free of its cage.
It was involuntary, an instinctive response, but as I stood and gawped at my mother’s sister my cock thickened and grew. I experienced an abrupt and near overwhelming urge to touch myself. It was either wank my cock or launch myself at my aunt. Yearning yawed all hollow in the pit of my stomach. Lust boiled in my veins.
That was the beginning. That was when the incestuous craving for her lush curves hit me.
Perhaps sensing my presence, my aunt hefted herself onto her elbows and leaned to one side, face turning towards me, a hand going up in a salute to shield her eyes from the sun.
She blinked and said, “Oh, Carl, I didn’t hear you.”
Or at least I think that’s what she said. I heard the sound of her voice and saw her mouth moving; I just didn’t comprehend the meaning of her words because I was staring at her round breasts, the weighty orbs contained in a hot-pink bikini bra to match the briefs.
“Carl?” she asked, the sharp tone focussing my attention, or part of it since I couldn’t drag my gaze from my aunt’s body. “Are you all right?”
The truthful answer was I was far from all right, but I could hardly blurt out that I wanted my aunt to take that bikini off so I could see her naked. Decorum prevented me from hauling my erection into view and simply tugging at it until the thing spat a heavy rain of semen over my mother’s sister. Imagine the furore if I’d knelt and grabbed two handfuls of those tits, my fingers yanking the cloth aside so I could suck her nipples.
So I shrugged and blinked and stuttered that I was indeed all right. “I … Uh … Mum sent me over, Aunt Jean … She … Ah, that is…”
I stumbled through the message, my face burning, my cock an insistent throb.
My aunt nodded, giving no indication she noticed my discomfit. “Okay,” she replied, rolling onto her back, supporting herself on her elbows and forearms.
I could have groaned with sexual frustration as she lay there looking up at me. Her legs were straight out, her soft tummy concave with the rack of her brisket outlined clearly. But it was her breasts I couldn’t stop staring at – Jesus, they were so round and firm, not huge but a fair old size all the same.
There was some more conversation, the detail of which is all hazy, and I was soon on my way, with some reluctance I recall. With hindsight it was for the best, me leaving my aunt to her dishabille. It would only have ended badly if I’d had my way and stayed. I would have done or said something which would have ended in tears for sure. So, instead of blurting out I wanted to fuck my aunt, and instead of lunging for her and slobbering a kiss over her face, I went home, told my mother the gist of Jean’s reply, went up to my bedroom, and wanked myself off while fantasising about my sexy aunt.
My Aunt Jean looked good in the denim skirt, the cork-soled wedge shoes giving her calves the same tension a pair of heels would. She had great legs anyway, but to my eye the shoes made them even better. She was wearing a light, button-fronted blouse, cotton, with ruffed gypsy sleeves; her thick blonde hair – a dyed job – neatly brushed fell close to her shoulders. A petite lady, a good head shorter than my six-one, Aunt Jean had a damn good figure on her. Her boobs swelled against the baggy blouse, their swing and say discernable when she moved. At forty-two years old she showed some signs of her age on her face, her prettiness only enhanced – again, to my eyes at least – by the light crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes. She carried a few other wrinkles here and there, signs of much laughter rather than sadness. I knew my aunt enjoyed a night out and, being divorced, why shouldn’t she? I’d known her have a boyfriend or two, a fact which made me jealous as hell, but the afternoon it happened she was between relationships, and when I analysed the events of that day later I realised Jean’s lack of male company over the preceding weeks had worked in my favour.
It had been an incident during the hot summer that triggered the feelings inside me. I’d gone round to her house a few doors down the road from our place with a message for her from her sister – my own mother. The detail of the message isn’t important, but when I casually unlatched the gate at the side of the house, the one where the path runs up towards the back garden, I had no clue that I would find Aunt Jean face down on a beach towel.
She was lying there on her front, her feet towards me, legs parted so I could see right up to the cleft of her pussy outlined in her bikini briefs. I stood transfixed by the sight, my heart a sudden jackhammer inside the rack of my ribs, the organ bouncing around like it was trying to burst free of its cage.
It was involuntary, an instinctive response, but as I stood and gawped at my mother’s sister my cock thickened and grew. I experienced an abrupt and near overwhelming urge to touch myself. It was either wank my cock or launch myself at my aunt. Yearning yawed all hollow in the pit of my stomach. Lust boiled in my veins.
That was the beginning. That was when the incestuous craving for her lush curves hit me.
Perhaps sensing my presence, my aunt hefted herself onto her elbows and leaned to one side, face turning towards me, a hand going up in a salute to shield her eyes from the sun.
She blinked and said, “Oh, Carl, I didn’t hear you.”
Or at least I think that’s what she said. I heard the sound of her voice and saw her mouth moving; I just didn’t comprehend the meaning of her words because I was staring at her round breasts, the weighty orbs contained in a hot-pink bikini bra to match the briefs.
“Carl?” she asked, the sharp tone focussing my attention, or part of it since I couldn’t drag my gaze from my aunt’s body. “Are you all right?”
The truthful answer was I was far from all right, but I could hardly blurt out that I wanted my aunt to take that bikini off so I could see her naked. Decorum prevented me from hauling my erection into view and simply tugging at it until the thing spat a heavy rain of semen over my mother’s sister. Imagine the furore if I’d knelt and grabbed two handfuls of those tits, my fingers yanking the cloth aside so I could suck her nipples.
So I shrugged and blinked and stuttered that I was indeed all right. “I … Uh … Mum sent me over, Aunt Jean … She … Ah, that is…”
I stumbled through the message, my face burning, my cock an insistent throb.
My aunt nodded, giving no indication she noticed my discomfit. “Okay,” she replied, rolling onto her back, supporting herself on her elbows and forearms.
I could have groaned with sexual frustration as she lay there looking up at me. Her legs were straight out, her soft tummy concave with the rack of her brisket outlined clearly. But it was her breasts I couldn’t stop staring at – Jesus, they were so round and firm, not huge but a fair old size all the same.
There was some more conversation, the detail of which is all hazy, and I was soon on my way, with some reluctance I recall. With hindsight it was for the best, me leaving my aunt to her dishabille. It would only have ended badly if I’d had my way and stayed. I would have done or said something which would have ended in tears for sure. So, instead of blurting out I wanted to fuck my aunt, and instead of lunging for her and slobbering a kiss over her face, I went home, told my mother the gist of Jean’s reply, went up to my bedroom, and wanked myself off while fantasising about my sexy aunt.
freakykink
Literotica Guru
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- Nov 29, 2012
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Hi everyone
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magicalmoments
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Dec 22, 2013
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- 4,987
I had a FWB many years ago who up until her father died was a good girl. After her father died she went off the rails, turned into a real slut and would fuck any guy who asked her. She told me this activity went on for over a year then she went back to being a (mostly) good girl again.
I talked to her a lot about this, she said she was never molested by him at all, neither did she ever have any conscious memory of desiring her father sexually but nevertheless, I got the definite impression that this hyper sexual activity after her father's death was driven by her repressed and unfulfilled sexual feelings towards him.
geronimo_appleby
always on the move
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- Nov 25, 2004
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part 2
It was the two of us in her kitchen. I was round there again, any pretext to be in my aunt’s company would do. She was wearing the denim skirt and gypsy blouse, the wedges on her feet.
“I was just going shopping,” she said to me, the evidence of her purse and shopping list on the table.
“I could help,” I replied, excitement at the prospect of Aunt Jean’s skirt riding high on her thighs as we drove to Tesco mixing in my guts. As usual, my cock was hard in the woman’s presence. I felt the tingle of desire and supressed the ever present urge to yank my hard-on.
Jean gave me a funny look, eyeing me with an up and under, peering over her spectacles. She sighed and removed her glasses, placing them carefully on the table next to her purse.
I got an immediate sense of foreboding. There was something off about my Aunt’s demeanour. I looked at her but her eyes slid away from contact.
“Carl,” my aunt said, the tone of her voice sending a leaden sinker plummeting into my stomach.
Why did I feel there was something wrong?
“I … I need to talk to you,” Aunt Jean said, decidedly awkward, as though not wanting the conversation, but feeling it necessary.
She lifted her knitted shoulder bag from where it hung by its long handle from the back of a wooden chair, ladder-backed, one of four arranged around the table. I watched her rummage in the bag, a souvenir from Jamaica, yellow, black and green stripes in chunky knit.
“Would you like a beer?” she asked me after sparking up a Marlboro Light. “I might postpone the shopping. I could do with a white wine myself.”
Ignoring the question about a beverage, I asked, “Is everything okay, Aunt Jean?”
My aunt sucked smoke into her lungs. She looked at me, her gaze impassive, unreadable as she blew the blue smoke towards the ceiling.
“Let’s have a drink,” she replied. “We can go into the living room. There’s something I need to talk to you about, Carl.”
She opened the fridge door, cigarette between her fingers. Jean reached in with her other hand and handed a can of Stella Artois to me before going back in for the wine.
I popped the tab and watched her, my mind racing, stomach heavy with anxiety. Jean poured a hefty measure into a long-stemmed goblet. She gulped a mouthful and took a drag at the cigarette.
“Come on,” she said, her head nudging towards the door to the hallway. “Living room.”
It was the two of us in her kitchen. I was round there again, any pretext to be in my aunt’s company would do. She was wearing the denim skirt and gypsy blouse, the wedges on her feet.
“I was just going shopping,” she said to me, the evidence of her purse and shopping list on the table.
“I could help,” I replied, excitement at the prospect of Aunt Jean’s skirt riding high on her thighs as we drove to Tesco mixing in my guts. As usual, my cock was hard in the woman’s presence. I felt the tingle of desire and supressed the ever present urge to yank my hard-on.
Jean gave me a funny look, eyeing me with an up and under, peering over her spectacles. She sighed and removed her glasses, placing them carefully on the table next to her purse.
I got an immediate sense of foreboding. There was something off about my Aunt’s demeanour. I looked at her but her eyes slid away from contact.
“Carl,” my aunt said, the tone of her voice sending a leaden sinker plummeting into my stomach.
Why did I feel there was something wrong?
“I … I need to talk to you,” Aunt Jean said, decidedly awkward, as though not wanting the conversation, but feeling it necessary.
She lifted her knitted shoulder bag from where it hung by its long handle from the back of a wooden chair, ladder-backed, one of four arranged around the table. I watched her rummage in the bag, a souvenir from Jamaica, yellow, black and green stripes in chunky knit.
“Would you like a beer?” she asked me after sparking up a Marlboro Light. “I might postpone the shopping. I could do with a white wine myself.”
Ignoring the question about a beverage, I asked, “Is everything okay, Aunt Jean?”
My aunt sucked smoke into her lungs. She looked at me, her gaze impassive, unreadable as she blew the blue smoke towards the ceiling.
“Let’s have a drink,” she replied. “We can go into the living room. There’s something I need to talk to you about, Carl.”
She opened the fridge door, cigarette between her fingers. Jean reached in with her other hand and handed a can of Stella Artois to me before going back in for the wine.
I popped the tab and watched her, my mind racing, stomach heavy with anxiety. Jean poured a hefty measure into a long-stemmed goblet. She gulped a mouthful and took a drag at the cigarette.
“Come on,” she said, her head nudging towards the door to the hallway. “Living room.”
geronimo_appleby
always on the move
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- Nov 25, 2004
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part 3
I have since wondered that if the conversation hadn’t taken place in the living room, with both of us on the cosy two-seater, then things might have been different.
But it did go that way. We were both on the sofa, Jean’s legs crossed, the initial pose closed in, almost defensive, her thigh a barrier between us. Like I was excluded.
Which is what Jean intended. To exclude me. That was her aim when she initiated that conversation.
But sitting there with her legs crossed, in that skirt…
All I could think of was how I’d love to touch her. I could feel the heat of her body, I could smell her scent, the cigarette smoke laced around her perfume. I wondered how her legs would feel under my palms. Her thighs were enticing, the smooth calves such a temptation.
Jean’s nerve seemed to fail her when we settled down. She smoked and sipped wine while I glugged a few mouthfuls from the can.
Silence for almost a minute.
I somehow resisted the urge to touch my aunt.
Finally she took a deep drag on the cigarette and leaned to the side to take an ashtray from the small table at the side of the sofa. Jean crushed the life out of the thing, smoke like dragon’s breath through her nostrils. She gulped wine, placed the glass next to the ashtray, and then swivelled her torso to face me.
She sighed and looked at me with what I interpreted as pity.
I ran my fingers over the embossed pattern on the beer can, swallowing down the foreboding.
“Carl,” my aunt said softly.
I blinked but refused to look at her.
She repeated my name, a hand on my knee forcing me to confront her.
“Yes?” I replied, the word a croak.
“Come on, Carl. I think you know what’s wrong.”
I shook my head, wishing I was anywhere other than that sofa.
“You’ve been round here a lot lately,” said my aunt, her voice still low. “And I … I think…” Jean hesitated, muttering a curse under her breath. She sighed and I saw her shake her head through the periphery of my vision. “Have you developed a bit of a crush on me, Carl?”
There it was. The question. The accusation.
Miserable I nodded and then swigged beer. To my surprise the can came away empty.
I hung my head, ashamed that Jean had divined my interest – which was hardly surprising since I must have made it plainly obvious. Nineteen years old, always visiting my sexy aunt, gawping at her…
Jean must have been able to read me like a book. The thoughts in my head might as well have been banner headlines.
“Have you?” she persisted. “Tell me, Carl.”
“I can’t help it, Aunt Jean,” I whined, finally looking into her face. I saw kindness and understanding there, and my aunt’s lack of anger and condemnation unblocked the flow of words. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. I just saw you in the garden, back in the summer. You were in your pink bikini and you looked so … so…”
Jean leaned back, the action causing her skirt to ride higher on her legs, a phenomenon not lost on me despite my anxious babbling and the need for jean to understand.
“All right, Carl,” my aunt said, her voice a balm. “Calm down. It isn’t the end of the world. These things do happen you know. You’re a young man, full of life and hormones. You just saw something in me that triggered a … response.”
“But you’re not angry at me?” I asked.
Jean chuckled and shook her head. She rested her elbow on the arm of the sofa, a forefinger lightly placed against her cheek. She grinned at me, the whole pose and look unintentionally provocative.
“No,” my aunt said while my eyes flicked to where her blouse outlined her breasts, my attention then moving to the expanse of thigh before returning to Jean’s face. “I’m not angry. But I think we need to clear the air, Carl. You need to stop whatever it is you’re doing. Get a girlfriend, a proper girlfriend. Focus your … erm … attention on a girl closer to your own age. And one who isn’t your mum’s sister.”
I blushed at the reminder, my eyes slinking away from Jean’s gaze.
But I looked at her body again, seeing her reclining there, so ripe and lush and desirable. Lust burst inside me while images of my aunt as I’d seen her came to mind.
Before I realised it my hand was on her knee, the palm sliding down to the hem of Jean’s skirt. Her skin was so soft!
The long, lean muscles in Jean’s thighs tensed. “Carl!” she yelped. “What the hell are you doing?”
My aunt flinched but did nothing to remove my fingers.
“I just wanted to touch you, Aunt Jean.” The words came out of me all thick and clotted with lust. I was on fire for my aunt, reckless with desire and pent up frustration. “Your legs,” I gasped, palms sliding over the woman’s thighs. “You’re gorgeous, Aunt Jean. Please,” I begged, desperation making me bold. I was going crazy with yearning for my aunt.
“Carl,” hissed Jean, her eyes wide with shock. “You shouldn’t do that. You can’t touch me. For God’s sake, Carl!”
But I was insane. At that moment I was gripped by dark urges so powerful I didn’t have the strength to deny them. My lust was all-consuming. I couldn’t see beyond the immediate. It was all about the texture of Jean’s skin under my palms, the heat of, her, her scent and the wonder of how she would taste.
If only I could lick her.
My fingers dug into tender flesh, my intention to get her legs open so I could yank her underwear aside and lap at her sex.
“Carl…” Jean gasped. “You shouldn’t…
“Carl, please, you shouldn’t touch me like that.”
Something pierced the carapace of that insanity. The tone of my aunt’s voice or the realisation I was forcing myself on her shattered the craziness.
I flung myself away, staring at my aunt while she sucked in deep breaths, her eyes locked on my face, her mouth an O of surprise.
We stayed like that for half-a-minute or more: two wrestlers between rounds.
“Aunt Jean,” I moaned, leaning forward, head in my hands, my life spiralling away. I saw a cold, bleak future as a pariah ahead of me. I would be the one cast out by the family, my name never mentioned. “Oh, God, Aunt Jean … I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay, Carl,” my aunt crooned, her hand soothing on the back of my head as she stroked my hair. “You got carried away. I can understand that, honey. Things got a bit mad. But the important thing is you stopped it. Don’t worry. It’ll be all right. I’m not angry, Carl. You just surprised me; that’s all.
My aunt rose to her feet.
I blinked and stared up at her. I was helpless.
“Another beer?” she asked, calm as you like. I don’t know about you, but I could do with another drink…”
She left me sitting there, my head awhirl, emotions shot, my cock slackening.
It only seemed like Jean was away for a few seconds. She walked up to me and thrust another can at me, the sofa slumping beneath her weight when my aunt collapsed into the seat next to me.
My aunt held the long-stemmed goblet aloft, her legs crossed once more. But what I noticed about her positioning that time was she was turned towards me, with me sitting on her left side, Aunt Jean’s right leg crossed over her left. Her legs might be crossed but the body language was open, a subtle reversal to her previous attitude.
“So,” my aunt began. “Where were we?” She sipped her drink and then rested her head on one fist, her elbow against the sofa.
I had no clue as to a proper response, my mind was still busy with what had happened and the calm attitude of my aunt.
So I kept quiet.
Jean shifted her rump, eyebrows arching, her eyes wide, questioning.
The look she gave me goaded me into an insipid reply. “Aunt Jean,” I mumbled. “I’m sorry. I … It…”
Damn but didn’t she just look so fucking lovely sitting there with her legs on display, those big tits beneath that blouse. She was all blonde and luscious, and all it would take would be for me to rip the blouse open and my aunt’s big boobs would be right there. I could force her legs apart and yank her underwear away from her body.
My aunt drained the glass, threw me a look, and then leaned over to place the empty goblet onto the table once again. “Tell me,” she said, head canted to one side. “How do you feel, Carl? What is it about me that … you know … what is it that makes you feel the way you do?”
Where could I begin?
My cheeks burned, and for want of a diversion I popped the tab on the beer, swigging a third of the can’s contents before wiping the back of my hand across my mouth.
My cock felt enormous. It was rock hard inside the constrictions of my jeans. I wanted to reposition the thing, to ease the discomfort from how it was lodged in there. But I couldn’t do that in front of my aunt, so I sat there and suffered with it.
“I dunno,” Aunt Jean I replied eventually.
My aunt scoffed at the response. “Come on, Carl,” she said, “I want to know. If you tell me I can help you, perhaps. If I know what it is I do that makes you feel the way you do, then I can stop doing it.”
I looked into the woman’s face. “I … I … uh … I don’t think you could stop doing it, Aunt Jean. It … uh … it’s everything. I think you’re lovely.” My cheeks were really on fire by then. I couldn’t believe I was saying what I was. I couldn’t believe we were actually having that conversation. Glancing at my aunt’s legs, I continued. “You’ve got great legs,” I croaked, desire flaring hotter inside me as I began to list my aunt’s attributes. “Your body, Aunt Jean…” My cheeks ballooned as I shook my head, air coming out of me. “I think you’re really sexy,” I added,” squirming to relieve some of the pressure on my dick. “I love the way you dress. You’re all covered up, yet you show off what you’ve got.”
My aunt stared at me for so long I thought I’d offended her.
“And how do you feel, Carl?”
How did she think I felt? I was absolutely mad horny to fuck the arse of her. I wanted her to suck my cock and fist it until I came all over her big tits. I wanted to see her naked, to touch her, to feel her skin and hear her moan.
All that was going through my head, but all I did was shrug and say, “Well, you know, Aunt Jean.”
What happened next is a bit vague. I don’t know who moved first. It could have been me, but it just as easily might have been her. We were closing in on each other, with our faces on a collision course. I know I reached out and put the palm of one hand on my aunt’s leg, and I definitely heard her let out a low moan.
We both stopped, inches apart. My aunt flicked a glance at my hand.
“You shouldn’t do that,” she mumbled, her eyes searching my face while, as before, she did nothing about my fingers on her skin.
Jean moved in closer and sort of bit the air between us three times. It was like she was opening her mouth to say something, but decided against it. When I look back now I realise she was moving in to kiss me, changing her mind at the last moment, only to repeat the process.
My heart was thumping. I somehow sensed we were on the edge of some huge event. It seemed to me that if I leaned in and kissed my aunt’s mouth she might reciprocate.
I just didn’t have the nerve to make a move.
What if I had it wrong? What if I kissed her and all hell broke loose?
So I sat there with Jean’s heavy-lidded stare on my face, my hand on her leg.
And of its own accord, my hand slid over smooth skin until my fingers found the tender flesh of the woman’s inner thigh.
Jean let out that low moan again.
Once more she uttered, “You shouldn’t be doing that, Carl.”
But, as I massaged her at that intimate place my aunt’s legs uncrossed. The skirt was as taut as drum skin across her lap, riding higher as she eased her buttocks over the cushion until she was almost horizontal, all scrunched up on the settee.
I still had the beer in one hand, my other resting on Jean’s leg. I could see the deep purple of the woman’s underwear, with the gusset packed with plump her pudendum.
My aunt took the can from my hand, remaining in situ as she placed it blindly onto the table next to her. Then she used the same hand to reach up, fingers curling around the nape of my neck.
Next thing we were kissing.
The kiss started off all tentative, several quick pecks at one another’s lips, expeditionary, exploratory, testing each other until the dam burst and our mouths opened.
Jean moaned into my open mouth, gasping when our tongues slid and writhed, dancing in a serpentine whirl.
The kiss smashed my inhibitions. It was the signal I’d needed from my aunt and I ran my hands over the front of her blouse, squeezing her breasts through her clothing and bra.
My aunt squirmed, her legs going wider, pelvis rising as she thrust her groin against the palm of my other hand.
“We shouldn’t be doing this, Carl,” the woman mumbled, her eyes glazed while she stared up at me, her expression one of wonder.
I knew how she felt, I was amazed and stunned too, but that sensation was by far outweighed by the desire surging through me. I was kissing my aunt and kneading those big boobs, the woman I’d coveted for weeks was returning my kisses and writhing on the sofa. I could feel the heat coming through her underwear, the material squidgy against her pussy.
“Aunt Jean,” I mumbled, pulling away from the latest tussle of our lips and tongue.
She winced, nose wrinkling, her eyes blazing with lust as she offered me a devilish smirk and said, “Call me Aunty Jean, Carl … It gets me so bloody turned on. I know we shouldn’t be doing this…” My aunt wriggled and groaned, eyes closing while her jaw hung slack. I had my fingers well wedged into the crease of her pussy, her knickers sodden. “…And I know it’s wrong to kiss my nephew,” she continued when the spasm passed. “But it’s so <i>dirty</i>, Carl. It’s so fucking wicked, but I can’t stop myself.” Jean gasped and gaped at me, her expression wide-mouthed delight when my fingers squirmed and pushed her underwear deeper. “Call me Aunty Jean, Carl. I want to hear you say it while I wank your cock.”
“Oh, shit,” I muttered when my aunt sat up abruptly. Both feet went to the floor and she swivelled towards me, her back upright, hands going to the buckle on my belt.
I stared down at her fingers working at the buckle and then the button. I lifted my arse off the seat so she could ease my jeans to my knees. Then my aunt’s hand slid into the fly of my boxers, her fingers finding the rigid tumescence within.
“Bloody hell, Carl,” the woman gasped, enthused by the discovery. “You’ve grown into a big lad.”
And then I moaned because she’d brought my cock out through the gap in my underwear and wrapped her lips around the bulging dome of the thing.
“Jean,” I gasped.
“<i>Aunty</i> Jean,” she corrected, her hand cranking at me as she turned to deliver the admonishment face-to-face.
“Aunty Jean,” I groaned. “Is this really happening?”
My aunt’s hand continued milking me. She nodded. “Oh yes, Carl,” she breathed, an eyelid dropping onto her cheek as she delivered a salacious wink. “I’m wanking your cock. I’m tugging my nephew’s lovely big cock … And now I’m going to suck it again.”
I have since wondered that if the conversation hadn’t taken place in the living room, with both of us on the cosy two-seater, then things might have been different.
But it did go that way. We were both on the sofa, Jean’s legs crossed, the initial pose closed in, almost defensive, her thigh a barrier between us. Like I was excluded.
Which is what Jean intended. To exclude me. That was her aim when she initiated that conversation.
But sitting there with her legs crossed, in that skirt…
All I could think of was how I’d love to touch her. I could feel the heat of her body, I could smell her scent, the cigarette smoke laced around her perfume. I wondered how her legs would feel under my palms. Her thighs were enticing, the smooth calves such a temptation.
Jean’s nerve seemed to fail her when we settled down. She smoked and sipped wine while I glugged a few mouthfuls from the can.
Silence for almost a minute.
I somehow resisted the urge to touch my aunt.
Finally she took a deep drag on the cigarette and leaned to the side to take an ashtray from the small table at the side of the sofa. Jean crushed the life out of the thing, smoke like dragon’s breath through her nostrils. She gulped wine, placed the glass next to the ashtray, and then swivelled her torso to face me.
She sighed and looked at me with what I interpreted as pity.
I ran my fingers over the embossed pattern on the beer can, swallowing down the foreboding.
“Carl,” my aunt said softly.
I blinked but refused to look at her.
She repeated my name, a hand on my knee forcing me to confront her.
“Yes?” I replied, the word a croak.
“Come on, Carl. I think you know what’s wrong.”
I shook my head, wishing I was anywhere other than that sofa.
“You’ve been round here a lot lately,” said my aunt, her voice still low. “And I … I think…” Jean hesitated, muttering a curse under her breath. She sighed and I saw her shake her head through the periphery of my vision. “Have you developed a bit of a crush on me, Carl?”
There it was. The question. The accusation.
Miserable I nodded and then swigged beer. To my surprise the can came away empty.
I hung my head, ashamed that Jean had divined my interest – which was hardly surprising since I must have made it plainly obvious. Nineteen years old, always visiting my sexy aunt, gawping at her…
Jean must have been able to read me like a book. The thoughts in my head might as well have been banner headlines.
“Have you?” she persisted. “Tell me, Carl.”
“I can’t help it, Aunt Jean,” I whined, finally looking into her face. I saw kindness and understanding there, and my aunt’s lack of anger and condemnation unblocked the flow of words. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. I just saw you in the garden, back in the summer. You were in your pink bikini and you looked so … so…”
Jean leaned back, the action causing her skirt to ride higher on her legs, a phenomenon not lost on me despite my anxious babbling and the need for jean to understand.
“All right, Carl,” my aunt said, her voice a balm. “Calm down. It isn’t the end of the world. These things do happen you know. You’re a young man, full of life and hormones. You just saw something in me that triggered a … response.”
“But you’re not angry at me?” I asked.
Jean chuckled and shook her head. She rested her elbow on the arm of the sofa, a forefinger lightly placed against her cheek. She grinned at me, the whole pose and look unintentionally provocative.
“No,” my aunt said while my eyes flicked to where her blouse outlined her breasts, my attention then moving to the expanse of thigh before returning to Jean’s face. “I’m not angry. But I think we need to clear the air, Carl. You need to stop whatever it is you’re doing. Get a girlfriend, a proper girlfriend. Focus your … erm … attention on a girl closer to your own age. And one who isn’t your mum’s sister.”
I blushed at the reminder, my eyes slinking away from Jean’s gaze.
But I looked at her body again, seeing her reclining there, so ripe and lush and desirable. Lust burst inside me while images of my aunt as I’d seen her came to mind.
Before I realised it my hand was on her knee, the palm sliding down to the hem of Jean’s skirt. Her skin was so soft!
The long, lean muscles in Jean’s thighs tensed. “Carl!” she yelped. “What the hell are you doing?”
My aunt flinched but did nothing to remove my fingers.
“I just wanted to touch you, Aunt Jean.” The words came out of me all thick and clotted with lust. I was on fire for my aunt, reckless with desire and pent up frustration. “Your legs,” I gasped, palms sliding over the woman’s thighs. “You’re gorgeous, Aunt Jean. Please,” I begged, desperation making me bold. I was going crazy with yearning for my aunt.
“Carl,” hissed Jean, her eyes wide with shock. “You shouldn’t do that. You can’t touch me. For God’s sake, Carl!”
But I was insane. At that moment I was gripped by dark urges so powerful I didn’t have the strength to deny them. My lust was all-consuming. I couldn’t see beyond the immediate. It was all about the texture of Jean’s skin under my palms, the heat of, her, her scent and the wonder of how she would taste.
If only I could lick her.
My fingers dug into tender flesh, my intention to get her legs open so I could yank her underwear aside and lap at her sex.
“Carl…” Jean gasped. “You shouldn’t…
“Carl, please, you shouldn’t touch me like that.”
Something pierced the carapace of that insanity. The tone of my aunt’s voice or the realisation I was forcing myself on her shattered the craziness.
I flung myself away, staring at my aunt while she sucked in deep breaths, her eyes locked on my face, her mouth an O of surprise.
We stayed like that for half-a-minute or more: two wrestlers between rounds.
“Aunt Jean,” I moaned, leaning forward, head in my hands, my life spiralling away. I saw a cold, bleak future as a pariah ahead of me. I would be the one cast out by the family, my name never mentioned. “Oh, God, Aunt Jean … I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay, Carl,” my aunt crooned, her hand soothing on the back of my head as she stroked my hair. “You got carried away. I can understand that, honey. Things got a bit mad. But the important thing is you stopped it. Don’t worry. It’ll be all right. I’m not angry, Carl. You just surprised me; that’s all.
My aunt rose to her feet.
I blinked and stared up at her. I was helpless.
“Another beer?” she asked, calm as you like. I don’t know about you, but I could do with another drink…”
She left me sitting there, my head awhirl, emotions shot, my cock slackening.
It only seemed like Jean was away for a few seconds. She walked up to me and thrust another can at me, the sofa slumping beneath her weight when my aunt collapsed into the seat next to me.
My aunt held the long-stemmed goblet aloft, her legs crossed once more. But what I noticed about her positioning that time was she was turned towards me, with me sitting on her left side, Aunt Jean’s right leg crossed over her left. Her legs might be crossed but the body language was open, a subtle reversal to her previous attitude.
“So,” my aunt began. “Where were we?” She sipped her drink and then rested her head on one fist, her elbow against the sofa.
I had no clue as to a proper response, my mind was still busy with what had happened and the calm attitude of my aunt.
So I kept quiet.
Jean shifted her rump, eyebrows arching, her eyes wide, questioning.
The look she gave me goaded me into an insipid reply. “Aunt Jean,” I mumbled. “I’m sorry. I … It…”
Damn but didn’t she just look so fucking lovely sitting there with her legs on display, those big tits beneath that blouse. She was all blonde and luscious, and all it would take would be for me to rip the blouse open and my aunt’s big boobs would be right there. I could force her legs apart and yank her underwear away from her body.
My aunt drained the glass, threw me a look, and then leaned over to place the empty goblet onto the table once again. “Tell me,” she said, head canted to one side. “How do you feel, Carl? What is it about me that … you know … what is it that makes you feel the way you do?”
Where could I begin?
My cheeks burned, and for want of a diversion I popped the tab on the beer, swigging a third of the can’s contents before wiping the back of my hand across my mouth.
My cock felt enormous. It was rock hard inside the constrictions of my jeans. I wanted to reposition the thing, to ease the discomfort from how it was lodged in there. But I couldn’t do that in front of my aunt, so I sat there and suffered with it.
“I dunno,” Aunt Jean I replied eventually.
My aunt scoffed at the response. “Come on, Carl,” she said, “I want to know. If you tell me I can help you, perhaps. If I know what it is I do that makes you feel the way you do, then I can stop doing it.”
I looked into the woman’s face. “I … I … uh … I don’t think you could stop doing it, Aunt Jean. It … uh … it’s everything. I think you’re lovely.” My cheeks were really on fire by then. I couldn’t believe I was saying what I was. I couldn’t believe we were actually having that conversation. Glancing at my aunt’s legs, I continued. “You’ve got great legs,” I croaked, desire flaring hotter inside me as I began to list my aunt’s attributes. “Your body, Aunt Jean…” My cheeks ballooned as I shook my head, air coming out of me. “I think you’re really sexy,” I added,” squirming to relieve some of the pressure on my dick. “I love the way you dress. You’re all covered up, yet you show off what you’ve got.”
My aunt stared at me for so long I thought I’d offended her.
“And how do you feel, Carl?”
How did she think I felt? I was absolutely mad horny to fuck the arse of her. I wanted her to suck my cock and fist it until I came all over her big tits. I wanted to see her naked, to touch her, to feel her skin and hear her moan.
All that was going through my head, but all I did was shrug and say, “Well, you know, Aunt Jean.”
What happened next is a bit vague. I don’t know who moved first. It could have been me, but it just as easily might have been her. We were closing in on each other, with our faces on a collision course. I know I reached out and put the palm of one hand on my aunt’s leg, and I definitely heard her let out a low moan.
We both stopped, inches apart. My aunt flicked a glance at my hand.
“You shouldn’t do that,” she mumbled, her eyes searching my face while, as before, she did nothing about my fingers on her skin.
Jean moved in closer and sort of bit the air between us three times. It was like she was opening her mouth to say something, but decided against it. When I look back now I realise she was moving in to kiss me, changing her mind at the last moment, only to repeat the process.
My heart was thumping. I somehow sensed we were on the edge of some huge event. It seemed to me that if I leaned in and kissed my aunt’s mouth she might reciprocate.
I just didn’t have the nerve to make a move.
What if I had it wrong? What if I kissed her and all hell broke loose?
So I sat there with Jean’s heavy-lidded stare on my face, my hand on her leg.
And of its own accord, my hand slid over smooth skin until my fingers found the tender flesh of the woman’s inner thigh.
Jean let out that low moan again.
Once more she uttered, “You shouldn’t be doing that, Carl.”
But, as I massaged her at that intimate place my aunt’s legs uncrossed. The skirt was as taut as drum skin across her lap, riding higher as she eased her buttocks over the cushion until she was almost horizontal, all scrunched up on the settee.
I still had the beer in one hand, my other resting on Jean’s leg. I could see the deep purple of the woman’s underwear, with the gusset packed with plump her pudendum.
My aunt took the can from my hand, remaining in situ as she placed it blindly onto the table next to her. Then she used the same hand to reach up, fingers curling around the nape of my neck.
Next thing we were kissing.
The kiss started off all tentative, several quick pecks at one another’s lips, expeditionary, exploratory, testing each other until the dam burst and our mouths opened.
Jean moaned into my open mouth, gasping when our tongues slid and writhed, dancing in a serpentine whirl.
The kiss smashed my inhibitions. It was the signal I’d needed from my aunt and I ran my hands over the front of her blouse, squeezing her breasts through her clothing and bra.
My aunt squirmed, her legs going wider, pelvis rising as she thrust her groin against the palm of my other hand.
“We shouldn’t be doing this, Carl,” the woman mumbled, her eyes glazed while she stared up at me, her expression one of wonder.
I knew how she felt, I was amazed and stunned too, but that sensation was by far outweighed by the desire surging through me. I was kissing my aunt and kneading those big boobs, the woman I’d coveted for weeks was returning my kisses and writhing on the sofa. I could feel the heat coming through her underwear, the material squidgy against her pussy.
“Aunt Jean,” I mumbled, pulling away from the latest tussle of our lips and tongue.
She winced, nose wrinkling, her eyes blazing with lust as she offered me a devilish smirk and said, “Call me Aunty Jean, Carl … It gets me so bloody turned on. I know we shouldn’t be doing this…” My aunt wriggled and groaned, eyes closing while her jaw hung slack. I had my fingers well wedged into the crease of her pussy, her knickers sodden. “…And I know it’s wrong to kiss my nephew,” she continued when the spasm passed. “But it’s so <i>dirty</i>, Carl. It’s so fucking wicked, but I can’t stop myself.” Jean gasped and gaped at me, her expression wide-mouthed delight when my fingers squirmed and pushed her underwear deeper. “Call me Aunty Jean, Carl. I want to hear you say it while I wank your cock.”
“Oh, shit,” I muttered when my aunt sat up abruptly. Both feet went to the floor and she swivelled towards me, her back upright, hands going to the buckle on my belt.
I stared down at her fingers working at the buckle and then the button. I lifted my arse off the seat so she could ease my jeans to my knees. Then my aunt’s hand slid into the fly of my boxers, her fingers finding the rigid tumescence within.
“Bloody hell, Carl,” the woman gasped, enthused by the discovery. “You’ve grown into a big lad.”
And then I moaned because she’d brought my cock out through the gap in my underwear and wrapped her lips around the bulging dome of the thing.
“Jean,” I gasped.
“<i>Aunty</i> Jean,” she corrected, her hand cranking at me as she turned to deliver the admonishment face-to-face.
“Aunty Jean,” I groaned. “Is this really happening?”
My aunt’s hand continued milking me. She nodded. “Oh yes, Carl,” she breathed, an eyelid dropping onto her cheek as she delivered a salacious wink. “I’m wanking your cock. I’m tugging my nephew’s lovely big cock … And now I’m going to suck it again.”
NippleFreak
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The most satisfying, loving, tender sex I ever had was with my cousin. We were lovers for well over ten years. With our common family ties and our long history as a couple there were never any problems figuring out what would give her pleasure. There were also no games trying to figure out if she wanted sex because she always wanted sex.
It is very special to make love with someone whose body, mind and spirit are as familiar as your own. Even though the sex ended with menopause we share an emotional intimacy with one another that neither one of us has with anybody else.
It is very special to make love with someone whose body, mind and spirit are as familiar as your own. Even though the sex ended with menopause we share an emotional intimacy with one another that neither one of us has with anybody else.
leninocala
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I hope his religion hasn't stopped you from having fun.
UCanBLeafinMe
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He's the ex because of his religion.
NippleFreak
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Much the same thing happened between my ex wife and me. At the time we married she attended a church that was very tolerant, basically said that we all have an obligation to be kind to others. Then they changed and became extremely puritanical and judgmental. She started insisting that I had to go to church with her and to buy into the notion that sex is absolutely only for reproduction. That did not work too well for me. I guess that it did for her because she has all those people around her shouting and hollering about how all the rest of us are going to hell while they are guaranteed to go to heaven just for being "saved."
UCanBLeafinMe
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My first clue that my husband was changing because of his church was when he brought a copy of my W-2 to their office, so they could properly tithe us. I told him that I will never, NEVER, belong to a church that tithes, because it shows they're more interested in money than the spiritual well-being of the flock.
He then began to tell me that I needed to stop playing with my sisters, for the sake of my soul. Later, he would add that I needed to stop being topless and nude around our daughters, because that is how I am going to corrupt them.
voyfun
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did you "corrupt" them as he called it ...i wold think that kind of "corruption" sounds like it would lead to some fun
UCanBLeafinMe
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did you "corrupt" them as he called it ...i wold think that kind of "corruption" sounds like it would lead to some fun
No one can "corrupt" you sexually. You can only bring out their true selves
voyfun
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i agree ..are your daughters as fun as you are ?
UCanBLeafinMe
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What makes you think I'm fun? You're an online persona. You don't know me, except for what I've said.
And you'll never know, since I won't discuss them in here!
Taboolvr
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You and I seem to be the same in that. My ex is my ex because of her spiritual beliefs. Craziness...
Taboolvr
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UCanBLeafinMe
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geronimo_appleby
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part 4
My aunt went at me, licking and slurping my cock. She kept it up until I was groaning and moaning and my toes were curled up in my socks and training shoes.
“You like it when your aunt sucks your dick, Carl?” she muttered eventually.
“God, yeah, Aunty Jean,” I groaned, accompanying the sound with an eye-roll. “Incredible. You’re so sexy … It feels so good when you do it.”
My aunt levered herself off my lap. Looking at my face, she said, “If I kept on doing it, would you come soon?”
I nodded, gulping. “Soon,” I replied. “Yes.”
She gave me that devilish smirk again. “Well,” my aunt said, “maybe it’s time you did me a favour.”
I boggled at Jean’s fingers as she unfastened the buttons on her blouse.
My throat worked as I swallowed heavily. “Oh, fuck,” I moaned when the blouse gaped open and I saw the upper slopes of Jean’s breasts bubbling over the cups of her bra.
She watched my face as she slid the blouse from her shoulders. “Got a thing for my boobs?” she asked, the smirk fixed on her face.
The slack-jawed, boggle-eyed stare continued from me, my gaze fixed on those globes when Jean reached back to unclasp her bra. She teased me by holding the cups in place, the straps slipping to the crook of her elbows.
Then, with a flourish and a “Tah-dah,” of unveiling, my aunt whisked the bra away, holding it at arm’s length before letting it drop.
I believe I actually whined like a hungry dog when I first saw Jean’s breasts completely bare. The sound piped out of me, my eyes bulging fit to pop out of their orbits.
“A definite fan,” Jean said, chuckling. She reached for my hands. “Here, feel.”
My fingers were spread over firm yet spongy flesh. Jean’s nipples poked from between the index and third fingers of both hands, those teats like thimbles. I squeezed gently, testing the density of my aunt’s breasts, the action bringing a closed-eyed moan from her.
“God, I’m so fucking horny,” Jean groaned.
We kissed again, an oddly tender, loving meeting of our lips and tongues: the calm in the eye of the tempest.
Then my aunt was on her feet. Her boobs swayed, my eyes locked on the heavy pendulum swing.
But when she hiked up the denim skirt and hooked both thumbs into the waistband of her knickers she caught my attention.
A tug and a shimmy and Jean’s underwear was round her ankles. She stepped free daintily, posing deliberately with her fists on her hips.
“Smooth,” I whispered when confronted by Jean’s depilated mons.
“I love having my pussy all bare,” the woman informed me. “Do you like it that way?”
I blinked and nodded in a vague response. I was too busy gawping at Jean’s dangling labia, those folds thick and meaty between her legs, the silhouette clearly visible.
Jean noticed my fixation. She shrugged. “Piss flaps like elephants ears,” she said, crudely. “That’s what one bloke said.”
“You’re beautiful,” I managed to croak, tearing my eyes away from the sight of my aunt’s ungainly labia.
“Thank you, darling,” she replied, smiling at me as she draped herself across the sofa, legs going wide so her pussy was entirely exposed. “Now, how about you give your Aunty Jean some head?” Jean splayed her labia with the tips of her middle fingers, holding herself open to expose her scarlet core, pinning the flaps against her body like the petals of some exotic flower. “Lick me, Carl,” the woman whispered, her chest rising and falling. “Lick Aunty Jean’s cunt.”
My aunt went at me, licking and slurping my cock. She kept it up until I was groaning and moaning and my toes were curled up in my socks and training shoes.
“You like it when your aunt sucks your dick, Carl?” she muttered eventually.
“God, yeah, Aunty Jean,” I groaned, accompanying the sound with an eye-roll. “Incredible. You’re so sexy … It feels so good when you do it.”
My aunt levered herself off my lap. Looking at my face, she said, “If I kept on doing it, would you come soon?”
I nodded, gulping. “Soon,” I replied. “Yes.”
She gave me that devilish smirk again. “Well,” my aunt said, “maybe it’s time you did me a favour.”
I boggled at Jean’s fingers as she unfastened the buttons on her blouse.
My throat worked as I swallowed heavily. “Oh, fuck,” I moaned when the blouse gaped open and I saw the upper slopes of Jean’s breasts bubbling over the cups of her bra.
She watched my face as she slid the blouse from her shoulders. “Got a thing for my boobs?” she asked, the smirk fixed on her face.
The slack-jawed, boggle-eyed stare continued from me, my gaze fixed on those globes when Jean reached back to unclasp her bra. She teased me by holding the cups in place, the straps slipping to the crook of her elbows.
Then, with a flourish and a “Tah-dah,” of unveiling, my aunt whisked the bra away, holding it at arm’s length before letting it drop.
I believe I actually whined like a hungry dog when I first saw Jean’s breasts completely bare. The sound piped out of me, my eyes bulging fit to pop out of their orbits.
“A definite fan,” Jean said, chuckling. She reached for my hands. “Here, feel.”
My fingers were spread over firm yet spongy flesh. Jean’s nipples poked from between the index and third fingers of both hands, those teats like thimbles. I squeezed gently, testing the density of my aunt’s breasts, the action bringing a closed-eyed moan from her.
“God, I’m so fucking horny,” Jean groaned.
We kissed again, an oddly tender, loving meeting of our lips and tongues: the calm in the eye of the tempest.
Then my aunt was on her feet. Her boobs swayed, my eyes locked on the heavy pendulum swing.
But when she hiked up the denim skirt and hooked both thumbs into the waistband of her knickers she caught my attention.
A tug and a shimmy and Jean’s underwear was round her ankles. She stepped free daintily, posing deliberately with her fists on her hips.
“Smooth,” I whispered when confronted by Jean’s depilated mons.
“I love having my pussy all bare,” the woman informed me. “Do you like it that way?”
I blinked and nodded in a vague response. I was too busy gawping at Jean’s dangling labia, those folds thick and meaty between her legs, the silhouette clearly visible.
Jean noticed my fixation. She shrugged. “Piss flaps like elephants ears,” she said, crudely. “That’s what one bloke said.”
“You’re beautiful,” I managed to croak, tearing my eyes away from the sight of my aunt’s ungainly labia.
“Thank you, darling,” she replied, smiling at me as she draped herself across the sofa, legs going wide so her pussy was entirely exposed. “Now, how about you give your Aunty Jean some head?” Jean splayed her labia with the tips of her middle fingers, holding herself open to expose her scarlet core, pinning the flaps against her body like the petals of some exotic flower. “Lick me, Carl,” the woman whispered, her chest rising and falling. “Lick Aunty Jean’s cunt.”
voyfun
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I am talking about the online persona...i am interested in what you said i dont care if it is real or not for you it is a conversation in a thread
geronimo_appleby
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part 5
Spurred by that obscenity, I fell to the task with gusto. What I lacked in experience and finesse I made up for with rampant enthusiasm. My aunt offered guidance, keeping me focussed with gasps and mewls and the occasional snarled command.
I lapped at her like a thirsty Labrador, my tongue all over her, the taste and texture of my aunt’s sex divine.
“Two fingers,” Jean grunted, her hips corkscrewing as I complied. “Keep licking my clit,” she added with a mumble. “Curl those fingers inside me. Feel for a little rough patch on top.” Her curdled groan told me I was doing okay. “Lick me,” Jean squealed, her shoes coming up off the floor.
She held her thighs at their limit, legs spread as she laid there with her chin on her chest and stared over the front of her body, with Jean’s face a twisted grimace of agonised delight.
“Lick it,” she hissed, teeth clenched, the cords in her neck taut. “My clit … Lick my clit … Finger me. Rub my pussy, Carl.”
Jean gasped and jack-knifed forward. She yanked my face up from between her legs by a fistful of hair. I yelped at the sting in my scalp, surprised at the vehemence. She slapped my wrist, my fingers coming out of her smeared with my aunt’s lust.
“Kiss me,” she groaned, eyes glazing. Jean’s fingers mushed at her vulva. She gasped and winced and repeated the order. “Kiss me, Carl. I’m going to come. Kiss Aunty Jean while she comes and comes and fucking comes…”
Spurred by that obscenity, I fell to the task with gusto. What I lacked in experience and finesse I made up for with rampant enthusiasm. My aunt offered guidance, keeping me focussed with gasps and mewls and the occasional snarled command.
I lapped at her like a thirsty Labrador, my tongue all over her, the taste and texture of my aunt’s sex divine.
“Two fingers,” Jean grunted, her hips corkscrewing as I complied. “Keep licking my clit,” she added with a mumble. “Curl those fingers inside me. Feel for a little rough patch on top.” Her curdled groan told me I was doing okay. “Lick me,” Jean squealed, her shoes coming up off the floor.
She held her thighs at their limit, legs spread as she laid there with her chin on her chest and stared over the front of her body, with Jean’s face a twisted grimace of agonised delight.
“Lick it,” she hissed, teeth clenched, the cords in her neck taut. “My clit … Lick my clit … Finger me. Rub my pussy, Carl.”
Jean gasped and jack-knifed forward. She yanked my face up from between her legs by a fistful of hair. I yelped at the sting in my scalp, surprised at the vehemence. She slapped my wrist, my fingers coming out of her smeared with my aunt’s lust.
“Kiss me,” she groaned, eyes glazing. Jean’s fingers mushed at her vulva. She gasped and winced and repeated the order. “Kiss me, Carl. I’m going to come. Kiss Aunty Jean while she comes and comes and fucking comes…”
geronimo_appleby
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part 6
I’d toed the heels of my training shoes off my feet. My socks were gone, the jeans and boxers were abandoned. My tee-shirt was across the room where I’d flung it in my haste to be naked. My aunt was spread across the sofa, a hand at her sex as she rubbed away and watched me.
“If we do this, Carl,” she gasped, “we can’t undo it. You know we’ve gone too far already, but this…”
She paused, her hand still.
“If we fuck, Carl … It’ll be incest. You know what that means? We can never tell anybody about it. It will have to be a secret between us.”
At that moment, standing there looking down at her … Well, I didn’t give a shit what label was put on it. I could keep a secret. All I wanted was to pin that lovely bitch to the sofa with my dick.
I cranked at my cock, my fist working at the iron-hard length. “Aunty Jean,” I groaned, “I just want to put it in and fuck you.”
A sob burst from her. She scooted her backside along the sofa, opening her legs, pussy all pink and swollen and glistening. Jean held out her arms in invitation. “Come to me, you lovely boy,” she purred. “Come and love me.”
The image of my mother’s sister lying there, her face slack with desire, eyes glassy, jaw dangling as I knelt and split the tacky folds of her sex with the keel of my cock is seared on my memory. That gorgeous woman, her face, that body, those legs, all of it from the denim skirt bunched around her hips to the cork-soled wedges still on her feet, all of it is right there inside my head, available for recall whenever I want. I can call back the memory and my body reacts instantly. My cock thickens and grows, and I often masturbate thinking about that first time, those moments shortly before my cock-head penetrated my aunt’s body and I slid balls deep inside her.
I fucked into Jean, screwing her hard and fast, probing deep as though I wanted to spear her completely, my length piercing her body to trap her like a butterfly specimen in a display.
My aunt went berserk. She grunted and groaned and snarled. Jean writhed and squirmed, yelping and squealing as we rutted, both of us intent on our respective orgasms.
I couldn’t last long. Not at that pace and not as excited as I was. It was inevitable that I’d come quickly, but my aunt was so aroused herself that she joined me on the ride.
She was thrusting up to meet my downstroke, a hand at her vulva, fingers going at her clit when I grunted out a warning.
“Not inside me,” Jean whined. “Take it out and come over me, Carl. But please don’t let go in my pussy.”
“Jean,” I mumbled, head lolling as I clenched my jaw in an effort to hold back the flood. “Aunty Jean,” I corrected, “I’m…”
My aunt pushed a hand to my chest, her buttocks slipping back so my cock slid out of that molten embrace.
“Wank it out, Carl,” the woman gasped. “And then, if you’re capable, if you can stay hard we can fuck some more. I haven’t finished with you yet.”
Jean yelped and grinned up at me, her expression exultant, mouth widening when the first splash of the hot stuff flicked out of me and hit her skin. A thick rope of gloop glistened in the valley between Jean’s breasts. She was rubbing herself with one hand, and had just begun to smear the ejaculate into her flesh when the second spurt caught her across the chin, the force of it causing the jizm to spatter over Jean’s mouth, a trail of viscous goo lying across my aunt’s face like a fat, silvery worm.
I was grunting and cranking away at my cock, with Jean making much the same noises, both of us gasping and groaning and wall-eyed.
Finally the outpouring ceased, with my aunt’s body squelching around her probing digits as her climax boiled on. Then she too calmed, with Jean’s chest heaving, knees going up to her chest, her hand wedged between her thighs.
“You dirty bugger,” she mumbled, surveying the spread of destruction across her chest, a hand coming away from her face smeared with my cum. “What a mess!”
My aunt eyed my cock when I staggered to my feet, the length of that jib oozing a snotty drip of ejaculate.
She too stood up, pressing her body to me, my own spunk cold against my skin. Not that I cared, not since Jean was kissing me and I had my hands full of her buttocks.
“Can you go again?” she asked, pulling back, her breasts smeared and glistening.
“I-uh-I think so, Aunty Jean,” I replied.
“Oh good,” responded my aunt. “Sit down.”
I sat on the sofa at her direction.
My aunt straddled me, those big tits in front of my face. I grabbed those weighty orbs, squeezing slippery flesh between my palms while Jean reached down between us, grabbed my cock, held it upright, and then sank down on it.
“I’m going to fuck you,” she mumbled, that slack-jawed expression on her face telling me she was already feeling it. “I’m going to ride your cock, my darling nephew. I’m going to ride you until I come. I want you to kiss me when I’m doing it. Kiss me while I come on you, Carl.”
So I did.
I’d toed the heels of my training shoes off my feet. My socks were gone, the jeans and boxers were abandoned. My tee-shirt was across the room where I’d flung it in my haste to be naked. My aunt was spread across the sofa, a hand at her sex as she rubbed away and watched me.
“If we do this, Carl,” she gasped, “we can’t undo it. You know we’ve gone too far already, but this…”
She paused, her hand still.
“If we fuck, Carl … It’ll be incest. You know what that means? We can never tell anybody about it. It will have to be a secret between us.”
At that moment, standing there looking down at her … Well, I didn’t give a shit what label was put on it. I could keep a secret. All I wanted was to pin that lovely bitch to the sofa with my dick.
I cranked at my cock, my fist working at the iron-hard length. “Aunty Jean,” I groaned, “I just want to put it in and fuck you.”
A sob burst from her. She scooted her backside along the sofa, opening her legs, pussy all pink and swollen and glistening. Jean held out her arms in invitation. “Come to me, you lovely boy,” she purred. “Come and love me.”
The image of my mother’s sister lying there, her face slack with desire, eyes glassy, jaw dangling as I knelt and split the tacky folds of her sex with the keel of my cock is seared on my memory. That gorgeous woman, her face, that body, those legs, all of it from the denim skirt bunched around her hips to the cork-soled wedges still on her feet, all of it is right there inside my head, available for recall whenever I want. I can call back the memory and my body reacts instantly. My cock thickens and grows, and I often masturbate thinking about that first time, those moments shortly before my cock-head penetrated my aunt’s body and I slid balls deep inside her.
I fucked into Jean, screwing her hard and fast, probing deep as though I wanted to spear her completely, my length piercing her body to trap her like a butterfly specimen in a display.
My aunt went berserk. She grunted and groaned and snarled. Jean writhed and squirmed, yelping and squealing as we rutted, both of us intent on our respective orgasms.
I couldn’t last long. Not at that pace and not as excited as I was. It was inevitable that I’d come quickly, but my aunt was so aroused herself that she joined me on the ride.
She was thrusting up to meet my downstroke, a hand at her vulva, fingers going at her clit when I grunted out a warning.
“Not inside me,” Jean whined. “Take it out and come over me, Carl. But please don’t let go in my pussy.”
“Jean,” I mumbled, head lolling as I clenched my jaw in an effort to hold back the flood. “Aunty Jean,” I corrected, “I’m…”
My aunt pushed a hand to my chest, her buttocks slipping back so my cock slid out of that molten embrace.
“Wank it out, Carl,” the woman gasped. “And then, if you’re capable, if you can stay hard we can fuck some more. I haven’t finished with you yet.”
Jean yelped and grinned up at me, her expression exultant, mouth widening when the first splash of the hot stuff flicked out of me and hit her skin. A thick rope of gloop glistened in the valley between Jean’s breasts. She was rubbing herself with one hand, and had just begun to smear the ejaculate into her flesh when the second spurt caught her across the chin, the force of it causing the jizm to spatter over Jean’s mouth, a trail of viscous goo lying across my aunt’s face like a fat, silvery worm.
I was grunting and cranking away at my cock, with Jean making much the same noises, both of us gasping and groaning and wall-eyed.
Finally the outpouring ceased, with my aunt’s body squelching around her probing digits as her climax boiled on. Then she too calmed, with Jean’s chest heaving, knees going up to her chest, her hand wedged between her thighs.
“You dirty bugger,” she mumbled, surveying the spread of destruction across her chest, a hand coming away from her face smeared with my cum. “What a mess!”
My aunt eyed my cock when I staggered to my feet, the length of that jib oozing a snotty drip of ejaculate.
She too stood up, pressing her body to me, my own spunk cold against my skin. Not that I cared, not since Jean was kissing me and I had my hands full of her buttocks.
“Can you go again?” she asked, pulling back, her breasts smeared and glistening.
“I-uh-I think so, Aunty Jean,” I replied.
“Oh good,” responded my aunt. “Sit down.”
I sat on the sofa at her direction.
My aunt straddled me, those big tits in front of my face. I grabbed those weighty orbs, squeezing slippery flesh between my palms while Jean reached down between us, grabbed my cock, held it upright, and then sank down on it.
“I’m going to fuck you,” she mumbled, that slack-jawed expression on her face telling me she was already feeling it. “I’m going to ride your cock, my darling nephew. I’m going to ride you until I come. I want you to kiss me when I’m doing it. Kiss me while I come on you, Carl.”
So I did.
NippleFreak
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Dec 17, 2002
- Posts
- 8,734
My ex wife had a sister who was not quite as physically attractive as she was but who had a raging sex drive. We were sweet on one another. I suggested to the ex that since she did not like sex but her sister did maybe we could arrive at an agreement that would either involve three ways ("You gotta be kidding! I'm not a lesbian!") or that would involve her lending me to her sister to satisfy the sexual frustration that was driving us both crazy ("That is immoral. If you want to do that then be my guest but don't bother ever try to come into this house again!").
I wonder, if the ex had been open to arrangements that would take care of the sexual cravings that she was not taking care of, whether we might still be together. I "get it," that some women just don't like sex or lose their sex drive when they grow older. What I don't understand is that so many think that their men should just close the door on their own sexual fulfillment.
Sex between in-laws seems, accepted by nonsexual spouses, like a good way to hold together marriages that work but that are dead in the bedroom.
I wonder, if the ex had been open to arrangements that would take care of the sexual cravings that she was not taking care of, whether we might still be together. I "get it," that some women just don't like sex or lose their sex drive when they grow older. What I don't understand is that so many think that their men should just close the door on their own sexual fulfillment.
Sex between in-laws seems, accepted by nonsexual spouses, like a good way to hold together marriages that work but that are dead in the bedroom.
LeopardPrint
Experienced
- Joined
- Feb 25, 2012
- Posts
- 64
Gently dipping my toes back in here after being a way for a long time hi peeps.
hi peeps.- Status
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