|My Auntie, Claire:
A Story of Discovery
by James D. ©
It is difficult for me to say, with any degree of certainty or accuracy, exactly when I might have first begun to consciously perceive that my Auntie Claire was anything more than just the generic entity I had always known as my Mother’s sister. Certainly, my earliest perceptions and recollections of her were distinctly platonic and familial. We were never especially close, she and my Uncle Charles lived several hundred miles away and, in my formative years, our families visited only once or twice a year. In my youth, I knew her essentially as a very amiable and personable woman who always remembered me fondly with a thoughtful gift on my birthdays and at Christmas. Whenever I thought of her, in those years, it was always with the same reserved warmth and affection that I had for any and all of my other Aunties and Uncles.
It was shortly after my Father’s untimely passing and the coincidental, but unrelated, death of my Uncle Charles that Auntie Claire came to live with my Mother and me and the three of us became kind of a second family.
At first glance, it was often difficult for anyone to discern that Auntie Claire and my Mother were related at all, let alone sisters. They were quite a study in contrasts. While my Mother, in her early thirties at that time, was petite and slight of build with blue eyes and blond hair, her sister, Claire, six years her senior, was several inches taller with a generously full figure, auburn hair and hazel eyes. My Mother, a proud housekeeper and homemaker, was almost always dressed comfortably casual in jeans or sweatpants with a tee-shirt or pullover sweater, while Claire, a professional woman with her own real estate business, always radiated a distinctly feminine demeanor by favoring dresses or skirts.
As I began to mature and reach the age of adolescence, I am sure that it was unquestionably because of my Auntie’s penchant for dressing so distinctly feminine that I, quite naturally, began to take notice of, recognize and appreciate her very appealing, physically feminine presence in the household.
In retrospect, I think I had always been aware, however innocently, of my Auntie’s legs. Even as a very young boy, I was able to recognize and appreciate the fact that she was blessed with very shapely and attractive legs. Perhaps the point could somehow be made that, because of my Mother’s disinclination for dresses and skirts, my Auntie’s exposed legs were, for me, somehow more appealing simply by being something new and different to my experience. I suppose there might even be some truth to that. But, regardless of how or why, suffice it to say that I had always, on one level or another, been aware of, and admired, the inherent beauty of Auntie Claire’s legs. It is hardly surprising, therefore, that, as I began to mature and reach puberty, my naïve and innocent admiration would, quite naturally, begin to transform into a different kind of admiration, as well as feelings that were decidedly less than platonic.
I can vividly recall one profoundly poignant incident that rather dramatically exemplified my blossoming sexual awareness. On a typically quiet Sunday afternoon, I was reclined, in my favorite position, on the floor in front of the television while my Mother and Auntie bustled about the kitchen preparing dinner and chatting amiably. From my position, I was able to see into the dining room where Auntie was setting the table. I watched her as she moved from the cupboards to the table, her high-heeled shoes clicking softly on the tile flooring. She wore a skirt I had never seen her wear before. It was navy, matching her shoes, and fully pleated, flaring to just above her knees. As she walked, her skirt seemed to spring and sway in a provocatively appealing manner. As she would turn quickly on her heel, her skirt would lightly swish in such a way so as to occasionally reveal a glimpse of her legs that was well above the hem of her skirt.
I stared in complete fascination. While I had always been cognizant of, and admired the shape and symmetry of my Auntie’s legs, I had never seen her legs looking quite as lovely as they did at that moment. It was almost as though I was seeing her for the first time. The late afternoon sunlight glinted alluringly from her hosiery and seemed to accentuate and highlight ever curve and swell of her shapely calves to the soft turn of her ankle. To my complete mortification and embarrassment, I received an almost instant erection, which tented the front of my jeans obscenely, and I was forced to quickly turn away before she might notice.
Even if that particular incident was not my very first perception of physical, sexual attraction expressed specifically for my Auntie, it was certainly, at the very least, the most profound. It was, essentially, the very first occasion, I can recall, when my innocent admiration had manifested itself in a form of sexual desire.
That night, in the privacy of my bedroom, I surrendered to the impulse I had felt earlier and I masturbated while fantasizing about my Auntie’s legs. It was, I believe, the very first time I ever directly focused a sexual fantasy upon or toward any one specific person and, doing so, seemed to inspire me to an intensity of pleasure I had never reached previously.
I had, by fortuitous accident, discovered the pleasures of masturbation several years earlier while climbing the support pole of a swing set on the school playground during recess. And, while I liked the sensation very much, I seemed to know instinctively that it was not something I needed to do in front of my classmates. I quickly learned to translate the playground experience to the privacy of my bedroom and, through experimentation and touching I became rather adept at pleasing myself that way. From that first accidental incident, I masturbated over the next several years on a semi-regular basis, but had only, most recently, begun to associate the act, and the pleasure derived from it, with sexual connotations. My primitive female fantasies, to that point, had been primarily generic in nature, relating, more often than not, to the intangible, imaginary women that posed for the catalogue lingerie photos.
By inadvertently employing my Auntie’s legs and, by association, my Auntie, as a focal point of my sexual fantasy lent a new and special element of reality and personalization to the fantasy that I discovered to be tremendously appealing.
Because my fantasy of her had so pleasurably enhanced the experience for me, it is in no way surprising that I would come to repeat the performance many times over and, in doing so over a period of time, would inadvertently allow my Auntie to become the primary focus of all my sexual fantasies. Over the next several weeks and months, it became increasingly more difficult for me to perceive my Auntie with that same kind of childlike innocence and naiveté as I had before. She was no longer just my Auntie, an entity I had taken for granted for so many years. As my fantasies of her continued to expand and escalate, she soon became, in my adolescent eyes, an extremely attractive and desirable woman.
I began to watch for and create other situations and encounters with which I might fuel my growing infatuation for her. Feigning an offhand casual attitude, I began to watch her covertly, paying specific, physical attention to her as a woman. It seemed as if everything she did exuded a sensuality I had never noticed before; the soft whisper of her hosiery as she walked; the way some of her skirts and dresses clung to her and emphasized the swell of her hips and the plushly rounded curve of her buttocks; and her matronly voluptuous bosom which, as she moved, always seemed to sway and bounce in a most delightful way. It seemed almost inconceivable that she and I could have lived together, under the same roof, for so long without my ever noticing her exceptional loveliness.
Every day, when she arrived home from work, Auntie would always relax on the sofa with a glass of wine and read the evening newspaper. I would sit cross-legged on the floor, directly in front of her, and pretend to do my homework at the coffee table. With her face hidden by the newspaper, I took great advantage of my position to steal long revealing looks beneath her skirt and watch in astonished wonderment as she would, so gracefully, cross and uncross her legs. Most often she wore sleek, shiny pantyhose, but occasionally she would wear stockings. It was always especially sensual for me to be able to catch a glimpse of her milky white thigh above the tops of her stockings.
I began to look for any opportunity at all to take advantage of a situation where I might look up her skirt or dress, or catch a glimpse of her cleavage whenever she bent over. Each new and revealing indiscretion seemed to excite and provoke me to increasingly greater heights of arousal. My frequency of masturbation increased dramatically. From once or twice a week, it rapidly became a daily experience for me and, quite often, even more than once a day. And, almost invariably, I employed visions of my Auntie as the quintessential focus of my fantasies.
As the frequency of masturbation increased, so did my desire and need to experiment and enhance the experience. I took every opportunity, when I was alone in the house, to sneak into my Auntie’s bedroom and investigate the contents of her lingerie drawers. I loved the sensory feel of her sleek underthings against my skin and quickly learned, through experimentation, what an exceptionally wonderful experience it could be to employ her lingerie to physically magnify and enhance my fantasies.
I loved to wear her lacy, nylon things. Not as a transvestite, imagining myself as a woman, but more so to physically experience exactly how my Auntie’s body might feel if I was to touch her. I loved the way my legs felt so sleek and sensuous in her pantyhose, or the way the cool, sheer fabric of her nightgowns caressed my body as I moved about.
On many, many occasions, I would remove a variety of her lingerie items from the laundry hamper and secret them, for a day or two, in my bedroom. I purloined a great many of her bras, panties, hosiery and nightgowns and, after everyone had retired for the night, would wear them to bed to intensify the physical aspects of my fantasies. In this way, I managed never to soil any of my Auntie’s clean lingerie with my semen and would return all of the items to the hamper, for washing, well before any of them could be missed.
And, for any of you readers who are more curious than I was at that time, most of my Auntie’s bras were sized 40DD, a designation and distinction that meant nothing to me then but would, several years later, become a source of understanding and tremendous respect and appreciation.
My Mother, may God rest her soul, was taken from us quite suddenly. She died of cancer about a year and a half after my Auntie came to live with us. She went very quickly and painlessly soon after her diagnosis and, thankfully, passed away in her sleep one night with no suffering or discomfort. In her last Will and testament, she left the house and all her worldly possessions to me, with Auntie Claire as my guardian until I reached legal age. Also in her Will, my mother expressed a fervent desire that Auntie Claire and I continue live together and carry on as a family and look after one another.
Out of love and respect for my Mother, whom I knew would have been deeply hurt had she ever learned of or suspected the physical infatuation I had developed for her sister, I did my level best to keep any and all of my libidinous feelings for her suppressed. And, for several months, I was reasonably successful in those honorable efforts. I say reasonably because, although I persevered greatly and, indeed, managed to greatly diminish the frequency to only once or twice a month, I could not completely stop myself from masturbating. And, in those exquisitely crucial moments just before orgasm, it was almost impossible to keep images of Auntie Claire out of my thoughts. But, as they say, time has a way of healing all wounds and, as my grief abated over the next many months, I could not help but feel my resolve slipping away as well. With only my Auntie and myself alone together in the house, it became increasingly more and more difficult to keep those old, prurient fantasies of her suppressed, and, it was with great difficulty that I managed to maintain any measure of self-control.
One afternoon, about a year after my Mother’s passing, I experienced a surprising revelation that would forever be the undoing of all my good and honorable intentions. Alone in the house while Auntie shopped for groceries, I was going about my weekly chore of vacuuming and dusting. Opening Auntie’s bedroom door, I proceeded inside with the vacuum cleaner to attend to her carpet, which was strewn with bits of thread and snippets of material. Auntie had always been very accomplished with her sewing machine and, indeed, made many of her clothes, so it was not unusual to find her carpet in such disarray.
In the middle of the room, on a metal stand, stood a dress form mannequin to which Auntie had pinned her latest effort, a cream-colored cotton dress. I was just about to move the mannequin out of the way to vacuum beneath it when it suddenly struck me, like a jolt of electricity, that this mannequin’s torso was, undoubtedly, the exact size and proportions as my Auntie’s body. I literally gasped as a plethora of licentious thoughts began to chip away at my moral resolve. With my interest so urgently piqued, I examined the mannequin closer. Headless and without arms, it was composed of a heavy rubberized substance and covered with a cotton material. Seeing that there appeared to be no way to adjust the size, it was apparent that my Auntie must have had it custom made specifically for her.
"Oh, my God!" I whispered almost reverently, stopping the howl of the vacuum cleaner. My mind reeled with the sudden implications of my discovery. I knew I should try to keep those thoughts out of my mind, but the lure of Auntie’s mannequin was just too overwhelmingly powerful. I stepped up to it and slipped my arms about the waist. My erection was immediate and could not be denied.
"Oh, God…Auntie." I sighed, feeling the soft swell of the mannequin’s bosom against my chest as I pressed my hips into the mannequin and tightened my embrace about its waistline. I came in mere seconds, my orgasm sweeping over me in a tremendous rush of emotion that could not be denied. Astonished by the speed and intensity of my orgasm, I ran from her room to quickly attend to my soiled briefs. Almost more astonishing to me was how quickly all my carefully kept and honorable thoughts and intentions had seemingly just evaporated into nothingness at that moment when I realized the poignant significance of the mannequin’s proportions.
I finished the rest of the house cleaning quickly and attempted, however feebly, to put the incident behind me and pretend it never happened. But, it was not to be. I seemingly could not help myself. Indeed, over the next several weeks, I employed that mannequin again and again. On several occasions, I went so far as to take it to my bedroom, where I would lay naked with it and masturbate. I quickly found myself, once again, plundering the laundry hamper for Auntie’s lingerie, only this time, I used her underthings to dress the mannequin. I was especially fond of her nightgowns, which felt so sensually exquisite against me as I thrust my hips against it and ejaculated. I lay with the mannequin in a variety of positions while masturbating, most often though, I would take my pleasure simulating the sex act in the traditional missionary position. Very often, if and when I had the luxury of solitude and the time to spend, I would expand my sexual interlude with the mannequin for more than only one orgasm.
And, to my complete and utter misfortune, that is precisely how I was discovered one afternoon when my Auntie arrived home unexpectedly. Thinking myself safely within the time restraints of my endeavors, I was indulging myself with the mannequin long after my first orgasm. I was completely naked and was striving vigorously to reach my second orgasm. As I was so totally self-absorbed with my need and my strenuous exertions, it is little wonder that I did not hear Auntie’s key in the front door. With my body covered in a sheen of perspiration from the energy of my exertions and the bedsprings, creaking their loud rhythmic accompaniment, I had just begun to feel myself reaching the brink of orgasm. So lost was I in my need for release that I simply could not believe or comprehend the reality of my bedroom door suddenly opening. I looked up in horror and total disbelief to see Auntie Claire filling the open doorway, staring at me in wide-eyed, open-mouthed shock. As if jolted with a bolt of lightening, I sprang backward, away from the open doorway, just as my first ejaculation erupted from the tip of my penis and jetted high into the air between us. I cried out in anguished mortification and covered my erection with both my hands.
In speechless incredulity, Auntie’s eyes looked into mine and then down to her mannequin, where an obscenely large semen stain permeated the nightgown, and then back up into my eyes. I gaped at her in silent mortification and shame, feeling the warmth of my semen as, incredibly, it continued to pulse relentlessly into the palms of my hands. Auntie continued to stare at me for what seemed to be a poignantly long moment, but was in reality only a second or two, her eyes still wide with surprise. Then, she blinked and shook her head and then quickly averted her eyes.
"I’m…I’m so sorry." She stammered, keeping her face averted as she backed rapidly out of my room and pulled the door closed behind her.
I lay on my bed stunned and humiliated, almost to the point of nausea, my mind racing, trying desperately to think of something I might be able to say or do to explain away such an impossible predicament. Minutes passed and my mind raced with a plethora of flimsy excuses and explanations. But, there was absolutely no way on earth that the incident could be misinterpreted or painted in a different light. She had seen me naked, on top of her mannequin. She had, not only, seen the vulgarly apparent evidence of my previous masturbation permeating the front of her nightgown so obscenely, but had actually even witnessed my ejaculation as I had tried to roll away. Just the thought of such an unthinkable circumstance sent my heart racing and made me shiver with renewed mortification. Try, as I might, there seem to be no way, I could think of, to bring about an easy resolution to such an impossible situation. It was a little while later when my Auntie, bless her heart, came to my rescue.
While I lay in abject embarrassment, she returned to my door and knocked softly. "Honey…may I come in?" She called softly.
"No." I said apprehensively, pulling the blankets up tightly to my chin and wishing I had someplace to hide the mannequin and the stained evidence on her nightgown, which still lay beside me on the bed.
"I…I think we need to talk about what just happened." She said softly. "All right." She said a moment later when I failed to reply. "I understand if you don’t want to talk to me right now…and I don’t blame you."
She spoke softly and calmly, from the other side of the door, for quite some time. She seemed to understand and even empathize with my embarrassment and reticence to talk to her. To my complete surprise, she apologized profusely for intruding on my privacy. I am not sure exactly what kind of reaction I expected to receive from her, but contrition was completely unanticipated. She said she hoped I would be able to forgive her for her indiscretion and promised, over and over, that she would, thereafter, have the utmost respect for my privacy. She went on to say how the whole incident was completely her fault and how terrible she felt for causing me so much embarrassment. She spoke softly, and at quite some length, about the act of masturbation and how it was a completely normal human expression of sexuality and nothing to ever be embarrassed about.
As she spoke, her voice very soft and soothing and full of understanding, I began to feel the humiliation and stress lift from my shoulders and a warm calmness begin to suffuse my body. She went on to say how she understood completely about my use of her mannequin and her nightgown to enhance the experience for me, and that I need not concern myself unnecessarily about those aspects of the incident. She even went so far as to say that it would even be perfectly all right with her if I kept her things for as long as I wished.
I listened to all she had to say in complete silence, unable to find the words to express my gratitude to her for her kindness, sympathy and understanding. I smiled and felt the tears of grateful appreciation behind my eyelids.
Finally, she apologized one final time and told me she was going to go to the kitchen to begin preparing dinner, and that she very much hoped that I would be able to forgive her and to put the whole incident out of my mind.
I listened to her walk away and then quickly dressed. I then hurriedly replaced her mannequin into her closet and her nightgown into the clothes hamper. I entered the kitchen cautiously and, without a word to her, began helping her chop up some vegetables for dinner. She smiled amiably and chatted casually about her day as if nothing had ever happened between us. By the time dinner was ready and we sat down to eat, I was even managing to feel comfortable again.
After dinner, I helped her clear the table and wiped the dishes, as she washed them, and put them away. When she finished, she turned to me, wiping her hands on a tea towel. "Are you and I…okay?" She smiled tentatively, looking down at me over the rim of her glasses.
I looked up at her and nodded. "Yeah." I said contritely, "We’re okay."
She smiled warmly and put her arms about my shoulders. "I’m so glad." She whispered. "I would hate for anything like this to come between us."
"Me too." I said, slipping my arms about her waist. We embraced for several moments and I was tremendously aware of the warmth and feel of her body. I felt a distinct pull between my legs and was glad she released me before an erection could manifest itself.
She made no further mention of the incident. Indeed, I am sure she must have noticed how I had replaced her mannequin and her nightgown, but she never said a word.
Looking back on the whole incident now, I am certain that Auntie had to have been much more perplexed and concerned than her cool and calm outward expression evidenced. She had to have been tremendously curious about the circumstances surrounding everything she had so inadvertently witnessed. And, surely it must have given her quite some pause to ponder and reflect upon exactly what significance, if any, might be attributed to the fact that I had been simulating the act of sexual intercourse with a mannequin replica of her body that was dressed in one of her nightgowns. Despite her professed understanding of adolescent sexual experimentation, she must certainly have wondered how my actions might relate to her specifically. I know now that she began to devise a rather devious plan of her own in order to discover exactly what my feelings toward her might be.
It was less than a week later when, while she and I were sitting together on the sofa and watching television after dinner, she turned to me and said that she had a favor to ask of me. I, of course, assented readily.
She explained that she had not been sleeping well of late and had, that very morning seen a doctor to have her condition looked into. She went on to relate how the doctor wanted to put her on some kind of sleeping medication, for a period of time, in an attempt to allow her normal sleeping pattern to reassert itself. The medication, she explained, was extremely powerful and could possibly have some very undesirable side effects. Because of the danger of side effects, she related, she was to experimentally take one of the pills, as a precaution, before she would be given the full prescription for a longer period of time.
"So…what do you need me to do?" I asked.
She smiled indulgently and explained that, the trial dosage of the medication would render her almost completely unconscious for well over an hour and that her doctor recommended that she not be alone in the house while under the effects of the medication.
"Unconscious?" I gasped, looking at her with concern.
She nodded soberly. "I’m afraid so. And that’s why I need you to help me with it. You don’t really have to do anything other than just be here with me in case of some emergency. Will you do that for me?"
I nodded and told her I would, of course do whatever she needed me to do.
She smiled. "Thank you, honey…I knew I could count on you."
She said that, since she was rather apprehensive about taking the medication in the first place, she felt that she might feel a little more secure if she were to do so in my presence.
"If it’s all right with you, I thought I might just lay back here on the sofa and read my book while it takes effect." She said. "And…if you have a movie or something to watch for the next hour or two…you might sort of keep an eye on me."
It would be perfectly all right, I said, and not a problem in the slightest.
"Well, okay then." She smiled as she uncapped the bottle and put one of the pills in the palm of her hand. "Here goes nothing." She popped the pill into her mouth and washed it down with the last of her dinner glass of wine.
She turned her body and lay back with her head against a cushion, lifting her legs onto the sofa and arranging her skirt. She picked up her book, thumbed to where she had left off and began to read.
There was a movie on television that I did, indeed, want to watch that night and several minutes later, I got up to change the channel on the television. While flipping the channel selector, I heard a soft "thunk" from behind me. I turned to see that she had apparently slipped into her drug-induced sleep and that her book had slipped through her fingers and onto the floor.
I picked up her book and lay it beside her on the end table. She lay slumped into the corner of the sofa, with her head turned to one side and her arms at her sides. I gently took hold of her glasses and slipped them from the bridge of her nose, folded them and put them beside the book.
"Auntie?" I called softly, touching her lightly on her shoulder. "Auntie." I called a little louder, shaking her gently. I got no response at all. I turned her head and braced her neck with one of the sofa cushions. Despite the fact that I moved her head a fair amount, she still made no conscious response or gave any outward sign that she was at all cognizant of anything.
I swallowed, looking down at her, my mind suddenly flooded with a myriad of sensual possibilities. "My god." I thought to myself, "She’s completely out. I could almost do anything I wanted to her and she would never even know it."
I stood beside the sofa, looking down at her. She wore a white blouse and a navy colored skirt with matching navy shoes. I couldn’t help but notice how her skirt had risen well above her knees and the way her sleek hose glistened in the lamplight.
I knelt before her, reaching across her prostrate body and placing my hand on her shoulder. "Auntie." I called to her, shaking her firmly with my hand. When I still got no response of any kind, I let my hand slide gently across her chest. I shivered as my hand moved over the mounds of her breasts and my penis became painfully erect in the tight confines of my jeans. I let my hand move over her breasts, caressing her tenderly, astonished by the sensually, soft heaviness of her flesh. Her breasts felt so wonderfully big, filling my hand completely as I cupped them and squeezed gently.
With trembling fingers, I delicately opened the top button of her blouse…and then the next…and the next. I unbuttoned her blouse all the way to where it disappeared into the waistband of her skirt and then, ever so gently, I pulled her blouse open and exposed her bra.
It was a soft almond color, with cups so elegantly sheer that I could clearly discern the dark flesh of her nipples through the fabric. I reached out and touched her breasts once more, letting my fingertips play gently over her nipples. I watched in fascination as her nipples became erect and dimpled the sheer fabric. Impulsively I bent forward and kissed the nipple closest to me. My erection cried out for release, and I was in such pain, I quickly undid the front of my jeans to relieve the pressure.
I raised up and placed my hand on her knee, shivering at the erotic sensation of her body’s warmth through the sleek sheer hosiery. I caressed her leg tenderly, thrilling to the sheer feel of her hosiery against my hand. I lifted the hem of her skirt and pulled it up, exposing her to her waist. I literally gasped in surprise to see that she wore no panties beneath her pantyhose, her dark thatch of pubic hair was clearly visible behind a narrow, darkened panel that ran from her waistband down between her legs. Almost holding my breath in anticipation, I reached out and lightly laid my hand on the smooth bulge of her pubic mound. My erection ached painfully in the tight confines of my briefs.
I bent my head and lay my cheek against her thigh, feeling her warmth and the sensual feel of her sleek nylon. I was almost delirious with arousal, my penis literally aching with need. I lifted my head and swallowed. I took a quick look over my shoulder to make sure the living room curtains were closed and then pushed my jeans and my briefs down over my hips. My penis sprang free and a thrill of illicit pleasure swept over me to be so vulnerably exposed before her. I grasped my erection and pressed the tip of my penis down against her thigh, shivering deliriously at the delightfully provocative sensation of my penis against her pantyhose. I wondered how it might feel to actually lay on top of her. Would it even be possible? I shook her body once more, almost violently, to ascertain that she was still in deep unconsciousness. Then, I stood up.
I quickly stepped out of my jeans and then my briefs. Then, totally nude from the waist down, I gently straddled her, placing one knee on each side of her legs. I arched my back and pressed my hips forward, pressing my erection lightly between her thighs.
I shivered delightedly at the exquisitely sensual feel of her sleek nylon against me. I looked down to see my penis cradled between her fleshy thighs and, very slowly, allowed more and more of my weight to come to bear on her body.
I sighed aloud as I relaxed and allowed my entire weight to settle on top of her. She felt so sensuously warm beneath me, her body so wonderfully pliant and softly yielding. The reality of my Auntie’s body was absolutely nothing even remotely similar to the dress form. I pressed my hips gently down onto her, feeling my penis slip, with an almost breathtaking sensuality, between her sleek, smooth thighs. I buried my face in the nape of her neck, smelling the warm clean smell of her and the soft scent of her perfume. I was almost totally intoxicated from the overwhelming sensuality of our physical intimacy. I slid my hands over her shoulders and held her firmly, pressing my hips into her with a slow sensuous rhythm. Almost before I realized what was happening, I found myself on the veritable brink of orgasm. I froze, daring not to move lest the swelling feeling overwhelm me. I held myself completely still until the urgency passed and I could relax once more.
I looked up into her face, and was surprised to see that a rather high flush had suffused her cheeks. For a moment, I was afraid she might, somehow, be aware of the physical liberties I was taking. I watched her face for some moments and saw nothing at all to indicate that she was not completely unconscious and I relaxed onto her once more.
I lay motionless, taking a hand from her shoulder; I slid it down over breast. I bent my head and kissed her warm flesh of her breast where it disappeared into the cup of her bra. Impulsively, I slipped my hand beneath her blouse to her shoulder and gently slipped her bra strap off of her shoulder. Then, I very gently pulled the cup down and exposed her nipple.
"Oh, god!" I sighed reverently as I touched her breast, so exquisitely soft, her flesh the color of milk. I caressed her small dark nipple ever so gently between my thumb and forefinger; the flesh of her dark pink areolae was wrinkled tightly and grown small around her erection. I bent my head and kissed her nipple, letting my lips play gently over her. I took her nipple gently between lips and tasted her with the tip of my tongue. I opened my mouth wide and circled her nipple with the tip of my tongue before closing my mouth over her. I suckled at her nipple ever so gently, lost in a delirium of sensuality and I began moving my hips rhythmically against her once more. I slid my body up higher and moaned aloud as I felt the tip of my penis come into contact with the soft mound between her legs.
At that moment, my suppressed orgasm returned, with even greater intensity, and I was once again on the veritable brink of losing control. Again I froze, thinking momentarily that by doing so I might once again stem the onrush of my senses. But, even as I caught my breath and ceased all movement, I felt myself slipping away into the oblivion of my need. The extremely acute sensuality of my Auntie’s soft pubic mound against the tip of my penis was excruciating and could not be denied one moment longer. My penis pulsed and my first ejaculation erupted from me. A wave of orgasmic pleasure swept through my body and I could no longer hold back my unbearable need. I surrendered to that overpowering need and I moved my hips to the rhythm that could not be denied. I came…deliriously…passionately, moaning softly into her nipple with each ejaculation as I suckled her breast tenderly.
As soon as my orgasm began to abate and I returned to my senses, I was immediately overcome by the enormity of what I had just done. My god…my mind reeled…I came. I came right on her. It was one thing to touch her and tease myself, but I could not believe I could have been so inconceivably asinine. It was almost unthinkable. I sprang up in a panic, wringing my hands anxiously. "Oh, shit…Oh, shit…Oh, shit." I whispered to myself over and over.
I ran to the kitchen and frantically grabbed a handful of Kleenex. Racing back to the sofa, I knelt beside her. The bulk of my semen lay pooled in the "Y" cleft between her thighs and her pubic mound. I pressed the handful of Kleenex down between her legs and quickly sopped the majority of semen from her. Then, with a fresh handful of Kleenex, I attempted to dry the area between her legs as best I could. I pressed the Kleenex down, between her thighs, to catch any semen that may have managed to seep down between her legs. As I quickly removed almost every evidence of my indiscretion with more ease and facility than I had expected, I sat back with a sigh of relief.
I quickly put her clothing back into order, taking special care to get her bra cup into place and then buttoning her blouse. When I had finished, I stood and, looking down at her, was pleased and relieved to see that everything looked very much as it did before I had done anything to her. As a precaution, I felt up beneath her skirt to reassure myself that any residual traces of my semen had dried and thrilled to the feel of her sleek warm legs. For a moment, I even toyed with the idea of doing it all over again, but sanity prevailed and I put her skirt back into place.
I quickly pulled on my briefs and my pants and sat down on the sofa beside her. I did my best to pay attention to the television, but my mind was still racing wildly with the almost unthinkable events that had just transpired. I kept replaying the incident over and over in my mind, recalling with exquisite detail how beautiful it had felt to actually lie on her and the feel of her body against mine.
It was some time later when I glanced over and was startled to see that her eyes were open. She smiled wanly at me. "Hi." She said softly, "Was I asleep very long?"
I nodded, looking at the clock. "Yeah…I guess about an hour and a half." I answered.
She sat up, shaking her head as if to clear the sleep out of her consciousness. "Woah." She sighed with a hand to her forehead, "I guess I’m still a little out of it."
"I guess that stuff really works." I offered, hoping that, as her consciousness returned she would not notice anything I might have overlooked in my haste.
She stood up unsteadily. "It certainly seems so." She offered as she hesitatingly made her way down the hallway to the bathroom.
I cringed on the sofa, praying that she would notice nothing while she was in the bathroom. I heard the toilet flush and moments later, the bathroom door opening. I kept my eyes riveted to the television as he approached. She sat down on the sofa and crossed her legs casually.
"How do you feel, Auntie?" I asked
"Well…" She said, tentatively, "I feel pretty good actually. I certainly don’t notice anything in the way of side effects. The pill worked very quickly too…I don’t remember much of anything after I started reading my book."
My relief was almost palpable. She seemed completely unaware and totally at ease.
She lifted the bottle of pills and looked at it cautiously. "I’ll tell the doctor tomorrow how things went…but, I don’t think there are going to be any problems with side effects."
Seeing that she was apparently quite oblivious to the indiscretions I had perpetrated upon her, my guilt and anxiety quickly evaporated. Being with her so intimately had been a wonderfully beautiful experience, almost a fantasy come true in many respects. I could not help but wonder as to the possibility of other such intimacies if she were to, indeed, have a prescription for those wonderful pills.
We watched television together for another hour or so and then she excused herself to go to bed.
The next evening, at the dinner table, she related her experience at the doctor’s office that afternoon. He had apparently been pleased to hear that she had not experienced any side effects, but suggested she take at least one more trial dosage to be sure.
"So…if you don’t mind me imposing on you one more time…" She smiled sweetly, "I was hoping we might do it the same way we did last night."
I swallowed and nodded, feigning an indifference I did not feel. I was suddenly beside myself with anticipation. I could not believe my wonderful good fortune. In a giddy euphoria, I helped her clear the table and wash the dishes before we both retired to the sofa to watch television.
After an hour or so later she stood up and excused herself and made her way to the bathroom, returning several minutes later. She sat down again on the sofa and tentatively explained that, when she had explained the circumstances of the previous evening to her doctor, he suggested that it would be prudent for her, again as a precaution, to remove any restrictive clothing before taking the pill.
I nodded, noticing with a quick furtive glance, that she no longer wore any hosiery. She wore a red pullover sweater and a short white skirt with white, high-heeled shoes. Without hosiery, her legs looked especially smooth, her pale skin only slightly darker than the white of her skirt.
She said she thought that the time was as good as any and that, if it was all right with me, she would take the pill right away. I nodded and said that any time was fine with me. She stood up and made her way to the kitchen. I watched her return with her pill bottle and a small glass of water. As she walked, I distinctly noticed a much more pronounced bounce and sway beneath her sweater and realized, with a gasp of surprise, that she must have removed her bra as well as her hosiery.
She popped the pill into her mouth and quickly washed it down again with the water. Just as she had the previous evening, she stretched out on the sofa and began to read. My heart was pounding with suppressed anticipation. Just the thought of her with no bra or pantyhose caused me to shiver in expectation.
Several minutes later her body slumped and she slipped away, once again, into apparent unconsciousness.
Having already experienced the effect that pill had on her, I was much more confident and lost no time. As soon as I felt I had waited a prudent amount of time, I moved very quickly. I shook her, almost violently, several times, to ascertain her complete unconsciousness, then I quickly slipped out of my jeans and my briefs. I stood before her with my penis urgently erect, feeling deliciously naughty and lascivious to be so exposed. I knelt and cupped her breasts in my hands. She felt so wonderfully smooth and soft without her bra, her heavy pliant flesh so supple and warm to the touch. I gently lifted her sweater to her neck and exposed her incredible breasts. I bent my head and kissed her nipples, rubbing my face against her extraordinarily smooth flesh. Her scent filled my senses and I slid my hand down onto her leg, pulling the front of her skirt up and laying it over her stomach.
She wore an extremely sheer pair of pale blue panties, her pubic hair so provocatively visible. Reverently I reached out and caressed her pubic mound. Her thighs were so deliciously smooth to the touch and I caressed her tenderly until I could hardly stand the anxiety of my need.
Just as I had the night before, I straddled her, thrilling at the exquisitely intimate and sensual feel of her naked thighs against mine. I lay forward, allowing my weight to settle slowly onto her. My erection slid between her thighs and, just as it had happened the night before, I was almost instantly on the brink of orgasm. I lowered my mouth to her nipple and, as I suckled gently, I arched my back and pressed the tip of my penis against her soft pubic mound. I rocked my hips into her, feeling what little control I had slipping away. I didn’t care; I wanted it to happen. I needed it to happen. Surrendering to that need, I pressed my buttocks down onto her thighs and thrust my hips rapidly. I moaned softly into her nipple as my first ejaculation streamed against her. I let my entire weight settle onto her and ground my pelvis into her as my penis pulsed again and again.
Spent, I lay motionless on top of her for several minutes, catching my breath and luxuriating in her clean warm scent and the delicious feel of her body beneath me. I knew from the experience of the previous day that it was not critically important for me to leap up immediately to attend to the consequence of my orgasm. I had the luxury of having a bit of time in which to indulge myself in my Auntie’s body.
I raised myself slowly and stood up, smiling down at the pleasurably pooled streams I had discharged over her pubic area, her pubic mound was literally inundated with my semen. I had forgotten to bring any Kleenex with me before I had begun, so I had to leave the room in order to get some.
I returned moments later and knelt beside her on the floor. She looked so peaceful and lovely in her sleep, and so incredibly sensual with her beautiful breasts exposed an her skirt hiked so revealingly. I hesitated, not wishing to let the moment end for the evening. I reached out and gently slid my fingertips through the semen pooled against her pubic mound and traced my fingers between her legs. Such an exquisitely sensual feeling, my semen so cool and slick against the warmth of her skin. My renewed erection sprang to attention. I couldn’t help myself.
Quickly, I stood and straddled her once again, laying my erection once more between her thighs to feel my own semen as a sensual lubrication between us. I slipped my hands behind her shoulders and lay my face into the nape of her neck. I moved my hips slowly, sighing audibly at the acutely sensual feeling her slick, wet thighs against my penis. I moved my hips slowly from side to side, until I was completely wet with my own semen, and then thrust into her forcefully as my second orgasm swept me away.
As I finished and lay gasping on top of her, I glanced quickly at the clock. I was surprised to see that hardly more than ten minutes had elapsed between my orgasms. If I wanted to, I could easily spend more time being intimate with my Auntie and still feel reasonably safe about the time.
I sighed my pleasure, moving my hips and pressing them down into her. Impulsively, I kissed her lightly on her cheek "Oh, Auntie…you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen." I whispered, bending my lip and kissing her once more.
I pumped my hips rhythmically for several minutes until I could feel myself building toward another orgasm. Looking once again at the clock, I was dismayed to see that quite a bit of time had elapsed. I knew I should finish right then and there in order to be sure that I would be able to get my semen blotted and dried and her clothing back in order. I knew I should…but I couldn’t help myself. I wanted very much to come one more time, could feel it building inside me. I held to her tightly and pumped my hips as hard and as fast as I could in order to precipitate my orgasm more quickly. I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth, focusing only on my need and how beautiful it felt to be on top of her. My hips slapped loudly into her soft flesh as my movements became more and more urgent. Finally, after two very long minutes, I cried aloud and exploded in orgasm for a third time.
had let things go way too long, I leapt up and very quickly applied a
large handful of Kleenex to her pubic area, which was literally inundated
with my semen. I dried her as best I could and then quickly put her clothing
back into order. I quickly dressed and assumed a casual position beside
her on the sofa to watch television. She came to consciousness less than
a half an hour later.
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