Aunt Max Comes Home Pt. 03

Maxine laid back and closed her eyes, and concentrated on the steady, rhythmic sensation of the tongue flicking on her clitoris.

It felt good, but it didn't seem to be going anywhere, building to anything. It was at a plateau. She couldn't help but be equally aware of how the pillow was above her head, not under it, and would at any moment topple over and cover her face.

She opened her eyes and looked upwards, making sure she wasn't about to be smothered, then looked down, to where her hands were lightly stroking her husband's head of curly, mostly-dark hair, a half-hearted gesture to acknowledge his well-meaning but lackluster skills at cunnilingus.

At least he knew where her clitoris was, she thought; a relatively-recent improvement, which she owed to his willingness to read The Sensuous Woman this year, no doubt in an effort to get more, if not necessarily better, sex. But, please, Judd. Put some variety into it. Try sucking. Try swirling. Try side-to-side instead of up-and-down. Go pay some attention to my labia and then come back to my pearl.

The problem was that last month Maxine, at age 35, had discovered how absolutely spectacular oral sex could be. She had impetuously and outrageously grabbed a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to slip away with another man, a strikingly handsome younger man, and ended up committing adultery for the only time in her life. Part of the earth-shattering intensity of the encounter had been the experience of really, truly being "eaten out," by a lover who was hungry to devour her; who held her legs open with his strong, hard hands like he was trying to tear a chicken leg quarter apart; who drove his tongue into her depths and then lashed her clitoris with it, back and forth like he couldn't decide which was tastier, sweeping all the way down to her perineum, shockingly close to her puckered anus, which she had never dreamed could clench and twitch as if it was a sexual organ; opening his mouth like a ravening and a roaring lion and sucking on her entire pudenda, as if he adored her full mound of honey-brown pubic hair and wanted to take some of it home as a souvenir.

And the worst, and best, part of it was that the young man was her best friend's twenty-year-old son. And since her best friend was her big sister, that meant that the man who had taught her how great sex could be, was her own nephew.

Meanwhile, her husband was unimaginatively flicking away, and even though it wasn't unpleasant, it wasn't going anywhere. She didn't have the heart to tell him "that's okay, it's me, not you," so she clamped her thighs around his head and tightened her grip in his hair and faked a gasping orgasm.

Her husband released his grip on her hips and got up on his knees, looking proud of himself. His penis -- his quite adequate, nicely thick, uncut penis -- hung at quarter-mast between his thighs. She couldn't help remembering how when her nephew had come up after giving her a genuine orgasm, his cock had been a rigid, pulsing spear.

Her husband leaned over her, covered her petite body with his, thick and mature and not undesirable, and kissed her. She could taste herself on his lips, a not-at-all unpleasant sensation that she wouldn't have ever imagined a few months ago, but she couldn't help but compare it unfavorably to the lustful kiss of her nephew.

He rolled off of her and held her, and she felt his cock growing now against her thigh. Now, of course, he would want to penetrate her and thrust into her and give himself an all-too-quick orgasm of his own, and of course she would grant him that.

She loved her husband. He was loyal and hard-working (too hard, she thought), and together they had had two lovely sons and built a more comfortable life than she had ever dreamed possible. She still thought of him as handsome, just as she had when she was 19 and he was 26 and she was a little star-struck and he had gotten her pregnant on their fourth date. But even then the sex was only marginally satisfying, and it had only grown more stale over the years.

She had pretty much come to the conclusion that that's all sex was for anyone. Then the last three or four years had happened. The whole world around her seemed to have changed, loosened up, gone braless and thrown away its morals. Movies, books, and the giggling conversations of her friends over bridge or afternoon cocktails; some of whom actually confessed to participating in extra-marital liaisons.

She still didn't know, though, whether they all weren't just mimicking the same fantasies that the popular media was promoting.

And then she had had a lapse of temporary insanity. An awkward half-stumbling hug from her twenty-year-old nephew, in which she had simultaneously felt his powerful arms enveloping her and keeping her from falling, and at the same time his startlingly erect penis pressing into her hip through their slacks. An evening and night of forbidden, fetid fantasies and dreams. A not-so-innocent acceptance of a not-so-innocent offer to go on a motorcycle ride, which had ended up in the tired little house he was renting on the south side of town, still not sure she wasn't imagining his intentions. Until he began to undress her, and to ignore her weak and disingenuous protestations, and then carried her to his bed.

In that fleeting and frantic encounter with Billy, she realized that the descriptions of sexual ecstasy in the paperback novels were not exaggerations. Her orgasms had felt less like sneezes and more like epileptic seizures. Her entire body had come alive with nerve endings she didn't know she had, feeling every callous on his hard hands against the small of her back and the sides of her breasts. Mostly, she felt more desired, and therefore desirable, than she had ever felt, as her eager nephew took her like Paris ravaging Helen of Troy; like a young and virile Henry VIII laying claim to Anne Boleyn.

She had no idea, really, whether it was because the impetuous, illicit, perhaps illegal nature of their coupling had made them crazy and set their senses alight, or whether her nephew in fact had skills and techniques and maybe even a transcendent desire for her that really did make the act of sex... of fucking, she blushed... even better than the paperbacks had suggested.

Afterwards, she had told herself that she was lucky to have had the experience and to have gotten away with it, with her marriage and her world intact, and that she would have to satisfy herself with the memory because it could never happen again. And at the same time, she knew that if she ever got the chance, she would have to take it, to be right back on her back with her legs wrapped tightly around his lean, thrusting torso and his impossibly rigid cock straining inside her as if trying to reach her heart from below.

***

The next evening, her family gathered around the formica dinner table in the apartment they were renting while looking for a new house to buy, and as Maxine served up the casserole, she realized she couldn't hide her depression. The boys were oblivious, or else used to it. But tonight, Judd took notice.

"What's wrong, honey?" he asked.

"Nothing's wrong," she replied. "I'm just... well, I know it's only been six weeks. I just... haven't made new friends here yet. And I miss my sister."

"Well, then, you should take some time and go see her."

"Really?" Max said, out loud, realizing that she was feeling a flutter between her thighs, thinking not of her sister but of her sister's handsome son. "But, how?"

"Well, I've been thinking," Judd said. "It's time we get a second car anyway. The boys' after-school activities, and all..."

"But when?"

"The boys have a fall break coming up, right? That's a four-day weekend. Take the boys and go to Fairville."

Steven, the older boy, cleared his throat at that point. "That's the last football game of the season."

"Oh," said Max, feeling herself deflate.

"That's all right," Judd intervened. "Steven, do you think you can look after your little brother for those couple of days with your mom gone?"

Steven arched his eyebrows, seemingly pleased and proud about the question, and the opportunity. "Sure!"

"All right, then," Judd declared. She could tell he was feeling accomplished, to be able to extend all these gifts to his family. "It's settled. We'll go used car shopping this weekend!"

Max walked across the room and kissed her husband on the cheek.

She really did want to go spend time with her sister; and the idea of doing so unencumbered by children and other obligations sounded wonderful.

And then. Her own car. No kids. Suddenly, the fantasy that she had been harboring, that she might someday, at least once, see if the sexual ecstasy she had enjoyed in that one illicit afternoon with her well-built nephew was real and replicable -- had gone from an idle dream to a distinct possibility.

The thought of how enthusiastically Judd was facilitating her unfaithfulness made her feel guilty. And also suddenly and disturbingly wet between her legs.

***

As soon as Robert found out that his Aunt Max was coming back for a visit at the end of the month, his intrigue with her evolved into an obsession.

He had figured out last summer that his big brother Billy had actually fucked their 35-year-old aunt, their mom's little sister. He had watched them slip off together, spied on them as they disappeared into Billy's house for an afternoon, seen the tell-tale dazed, glazed look in his aunt's face afterwards. When he challenged his brother that he had figured it out, Billy had quietly confirmed it, but refused to talk about it.

Which probably only fueled Robby's fixation all the more.

Aunt Max. Billy had fucked Aunt Max! Aunt Max had let Billy fuck her! That was so damn hot. And yeah, it was wrong, he was sure, although he wasn't quite sure why. Sure, there was the whole "family" thing... but it wasn't weird like wanting to fuck your mom or your sisters. Aunt Max had moved away ten years ago, and they only saw her once or twice a year.

She was a good-looking woman, for sure. He had always thought so, dating back to six or eight years ago when he started thinking about girls and women as attractive. She had been, what, in her late 20s then? So, yeah... for a woman to be 35 years old now and still that pretty, still that slender and shapely... most women that age that he knew, were fading away from being good looking pretty fast. So that made Aunt Max doubly exotic. No wonder Billy had figured out a way to take his shot.

He had started quietly spending time looking through his mom's photo albums, looking at year-old and ten-year-old and twenty-year old pictures of his aunt. No one noticed or said anything; no reason for anyone to wonder why he was suddenly interested in old family pictures.

He was fascinated, and kind of creeped out, at seeing the family resemblances across time. Aunt Max and his mom used to look a lot alike. No one thinks of their mom as hot or not hot; but he could definitely get a sense of what his dad saw in his mom twenty years ago, and he could also see the effect five kids and twenty years of cigarettes and fried chicken and Royal Crown cola had had on her.

And then, there was the fact that Aunt Max back then looked so much like his sisters did now. He knew his sisters were considered lookers; Beth was up for homecoming queen this fall. But, again, you just don't think of your sisters that way. You may spy on them to see them naked out of curiosity, but you don't think about having sex with them. In fact, you kind of have to kick the shit out of other guys if they even talk about having sex with them. Even if you had just fucked their little sister last night...

You definitely don't fantasize about your sisters and masturbate to them.

But that was what he was doing while thinking about Aunt Max at the moment. He was on his back in his twin bed in the little room he still shared with his youngest brother, who was still up watching TV. But Robert had announced he was turning in early, knowing that everyone would be watching "The Streets of San Francisco" until ten. That would give him plenty of time to slowly stroke his cock with a handful of Crisco, and pretend that his pretty, grown-up, married aunt was riding him. Like she had no doubt ridden his big brother, that lucky bastard.

He wondered what it was like to fuck a thirty-five-year-old pussy, one that had pushed out two babies. The common "wisdom" of the eighteen-year-olds he talked to was that it wouldn't be as tight. But what if it was twice as wet, twice as soft; far softer than his own calloused hands; far more deliciously slippery than the melting Crisco slathering his fingers?

He closed his eyes and pretended that the grasping, twisting sensation around his cock was Aunt Max's exquisite pussy, milking him as she straddled him, planted her tiny hands on his chest for balance, and worked her magical body up and down, up and down on him.

He had left the radio on to cover any noises he might make. That new Luther Ingram song came on. "If loving you is wrong, I don't want to be right..."

"Cum for me, Robbie," he imagined her saying. So he did.

***

Max and Peggy spent the afternoon telling stories and laughing. It was easy to remember that this was the original and valid purpose of her visit. She had had a hard time figuring out how to even let Billy know she was coming. She didn't even know if he had a telephone; and she didn't want to call him, anyway, in case his girlfriend had answered the call. Or in case the phone bill showed an unexplained long-distance call to an unfamiliar number in her hometown.

But she had figured out that she could call directory information and get a street address and send her nephew a birthday card. Even though it wasn't his birthday. Still, an understandable mistake; she had plenty of nieces and nephews to get confused about, in case Billy's girlfriend saw the envelope before he did. So she had managed to alert him that she was coming, and ostensibly available. If he wasn't feeling too guilty about their one illicit liaison to act on it.

Billy showed up halfway through dinner, and their eyes met, knowingly. She glanced around the table. Neither her sister or her husband or any of their younger children seemed to take any notice as the oldest son filled a plate and took a seat at the table.

She didn't notice the flash of consternation on Robbie's face.

After dinner, she volunteered to wash dishes, and her sister didn't object.

Billy took up his place at the other sink, a couple of steps to her left. Appropriately distant. Still, close enough that she felt her body responding, her sex moistening. She felt incredibly self-conscious, feeling the eyes of her sister's family on them.

Surely, no one could suspect, but still.

She had an out-of-body experience, envisioning the view of the two of them standing there, side by side, hands busy with dishes and towels. The contrast so striking. The six-foot, two-inch tall, broad-shouldered twenty-year-old man, and his five-foot, three-inch aunt. Who would ever believe that their two bodies fit together so perfectly, and had already done so, like a hand in a glove. A large, strong hand and a soft, supple glove of the finest lambskin. Lord, they had fit so well; and she had a quick flash of anger at a god who was so capricious that he had shown her how perfect sex was designed to be, with someone she should never have.

She glanced back over her shoulder to make sure no one was staring at them, and stepped six inches closer to him.

"God, it's so great to see you again," he whispered. "I didn't know..."

"I know," she whispered back to him, although she didn't know just what he was going to say. "When I would see you again?" "If I would see you again?"

"Do you want to..." he started to say.

"Yes," she replied, almost in a hiss, cutting him off before he said something illegal in his mother's kitchen.

"How?"

"Can you get off work tomorrow?"

"I can call in sick," he answered, quickly.

"I can tell your mom I'm going to go visit Judd's parents for a few hours."

"Okay. But you can't park your car at my house." Of course, the town was too small. People would notice.

"All right," Max said, thinking quickly. "I'll drive into Madison and park at the library. Can you come pick me up?" Madison was only seven miles away, and the library wasn't on the main drag.

"Yeah, that'll work. What time?"

"Eleven?"

"Better make it one thirty," Tommy said. "In case Roxanne comes home for lunch."

Max nodded, processing the information. "Home for lunch." So they were living together now. Not that it mattered. She was more disappointed that that meant they would probably only have two or three hours together.

***

He met her at the library and pulled his rattling red pickup truck up beside her Pontiac sedan. She quickly exited her car and slid into his passenger seat.

"Hi," was all she said.

"Hi," he responded, hoarsely. He couldn't believe how desirable she looked. She was wearing a short green dress with white polka dots, really too short for the season, although no one around here was too hung up on fashion rules. Her long light-brown hair was pulled up off her forehead with a matching green headband. Her shapely legs tapered down to a pair of cute white tennis shoes, and she had a purse that matched those slung over her shoulder.

"I love your dress," he commented as he steered out of the parking lot, wanting to get away from any potential witnesses before he stopped to kiss her.

"Thank you," she said, flushing a bit. He was wearing a white t-shirt and jeans. The idea that she would dress for him -- casually, but sexy in a flirtatious way -- hadn't occurred to him, but he liked it, a lot.

He turned down a side street and pulled over under a massive orange and yellow maple tree and leaned over to kiss her. She responded, gently, her tongue flicking at his upper lip but remaining restrained for now. He smiled and headed back toward the highway. The last time they had been together, on his motorcycle, he hadn't been completely sure whether she would even allow him to kiss her, let alone undress her and take her to bed, until it all started happening. This time they both knew they were here to fuck. He could wait ten minutes.

As soon as they entered the side door into the kitchen, they were on each other, her arms around his neck and their lips pressed together in a hungry open-mouthed kiss, Billy's tongue swirling against hers. He brusquely backed her up against the opposite wall, making her squeal, in a good way, and instantly realized that she was

so much shorter than him that he needed to bend his knees to maintain their kiss.

She moaned into his mouth as his hands moved down her sides, pausing at the flare of her hips, then moving back up to grasp her by the waist.

She must have sensed his next move, because she gave a little hop just as he lifted her, and suddenly her legs were encircling him, and his hands were cupping her bottom, underneath her short skirt, easily encompassing one globe in each paw with room to spare, kneading them as he pinned her back against the wall. He could feel the heat from her pussy through the denim of his jeans, against the underside of his turgid erection, which he ground into her, making her moan again.

He found he could easily support her with one hand engulfing her entire ass, so he used the other to reach under her and fumble with his belt and the button to his jeans. He managed to jerk both his pants and his briefs down in one motion, only a foot or so down his thighs, but that was plenty.

He took a few moments to push back against her again, grinding his hard, bare cock up and down over the gusset of her panties, definitely feeling not only her heat but her wetness now. He hadn't even checked to see what color they were, and now he was pulling them aside, removing them as the last barrier. He worked his middle finger through her soft curls, so much smoother and softer than any of the other girls he had been with, and quickly found her pussy lips and parted them, drawing another gasp from her.