Aunt Max Comes Home Pt. 03

He used his left hand to lift her body higher, and he could feel her pushing herself up with her arms on his shoulders, helping him maneuver into position. She was as eager as he was. He grasped his shaft in his right hand and quickly found her hot, wet little opening, pushed in just enough to coat his swollen, sensitive knob with her lubrication, and then he pushed up into her, in one long but quick, smooth thrust through the quivering, silken sleeve of her forbidden vagina, until he could feel her pubic bone seated against his.

Her groan would have woken the neighbors if they were home, and possibly some of the residents of the cemetery down the street. He loved that sound. Still holding her up with his left hand, he used his now-free right hand to cup the side of her face, pulling out of their feverish kiss for the first time since they had entered the room. She was looking back at him with her eyes wide around her hazel irises, and her lips still forming a surprised "o" shape.

"Well," she finally said. "So much for foreplay."

He paused for a second, as if he had been scolded. But only for a second. Scolded. By his aunt. Oh, yeah, she was his aunt. The reminder made his cock twitch, and he felt himself grinning as he shoved himself up inside her again, making her grunt and her eyes roll up in her head. He worked his right hand between their bodies and closed it around her left breast, so soft and full and dense, with that hard thimble-sized nipple pushing into his palm, right through her cotton dress and the bra underneath it.

Oh yeah. She was still fully dressed. Both of them were. And, she was his aunt. And married. And they hadn't been in the house for sixty seconds yet and he was inside her already.

***

Maxine was overwhelmed by the passion and ferocity with which her nephew had taken her, pinning her to the wall, prying her panties to the side, and shoving his deliciously hard young cock up inside her.

Even the way their lips were locked was ferocious. He wasn't just exploring her mouth, he was colonizing it. She could feel his tongue against the roof of her mouth, against the back of her teeth; it felt as though, if she didn't have her arms around his broad shoulders and her legs around his trim waist and her back against the kitchen wall and his hands gripping her buttocks and his cock wedged into her, that he could lift her off of the floor with that tongue alone, with the sheer urgency of his kiss.

She thought for a moment that he might just fuck her straight to his own orgasm right here in the kitchen, so frantic and demanding was his assault; and she found the idea acceptable, even appealing. It was exhilarating to be the object of such desire. And she had no doubts that she could quickly coax him back to readiness for a more leisurely round two; in fact, she looked forward to it; she had spent hours over the past weeks fantasizing about doing that, that and nothing but that, in languorous afternoon daydreams about licking and sucking and worshipping the rigid virile organ that had given her such pleasure last summer.

But she also wanted his mouth on her sex again, and soon. She wanted to feel that firm tongue lashing her clitoris and parting her labia, his lips engulfing her entire pubis, the abrasion of those sideburns on her tender inner thighs. And she knew that if he filled her with his slick, copious spunk that that wouldn't happen. No man would ever do such a thing, no matter what the cheap paperbacks said.

Even as she felt herself bouncing up and down, her head bumping the wall behind her, she managed to tap her nephew on the shoulder and interrupt his rutting. "Take me to bed," she whispered, the first chance she got after he stopped taking her breath away with every thrust.

He didn't respond verbally, but she felt him lowering her, bending his knees. She couldn't believe how far off the floor he had driven her. Even once she felt her feet on the linoleum again, she could tell that he needed to keep dropping into a crouch before his rigid cock began to regrettably slide out of her. For the time being. But she missed it already.

She looked down at him. He was indeed on his knees now, looking up at her with an adorable lop-sided grin and that Elvis Presley curl falling over his forehead.

Then he scooped her up in his arms and carried her through the little living room and into the bedroom, to lay her down on the bed that he had shared this morning with his pretty little strawberry-blonde girlfriend. Max knew she should feel guilty about that, but she had already exhausted her capacity for guilt. She was ready to get his tongue inside her again, followed by his magnificent turgid cock, as many times as possible over the next three hours.

***

When Maxine got back to her sister's house, she could hear Peggy in the kitchen, and smell something frying. This family must go through two pounds of Crisco a week, she thought.

She felt it was appropriate to pop into the kitchen and acknowledge she was back, before slipping into her room to change clothes. It was evening in October, after all, and something warmer was in order. Not to mention that the little summer dress she had worn to arouse her nephew had essentially never come completely off this afternoon, through three separate rounds of fucking in every position imaginable.

When she came back out, dressed now in innocuous jeans and a sweatshirt, Peggy was still managing the multiple pans on the stove top. "Dinner in fifteen," Peggy said. "How were Judd's parents?"

"Oh," Max replied. That's right, that's where she said she had been. "They're fine."

"That's nice," Peggy said, obliviously.

"Anything I can do to help?"

"No, I've got it under control. But you can tell the girls to set the table." There really wasn't much room in the galley kitchen for two cooks, anyway. Maxine headed out to the living room where her nieces had been watching The Price is Right. They had heard their mother already, and were getting up to start their task.

Maxine sat down on the sofa and stared blankly at the TV, still replaying the afternoon's events over in her head. That's when Robbie came into the room, quickly glancing out toward the dining room, then stepping toward her.

"Hi, Aunt Max," he said, in a low voice.

"Hello, Robbie," she replied. "How was your day?"

"It was... fine," he said. She thought he was going to sit beside her, but instead he walked around behind the sofa. And leaned over her and placed his hands on her shoulders.

"Robbie, what are you doing?" Maxine said, softly, with a sick certainty already growing in her stomach.

"I just thought maybe you could use a little back rub," he replied. His fingers worked into her tightening muscles. Strong hands, like his brother.

"No, thank you," she said, tersely.

"I don't know, you feel pretty tense," he pushed. Oh, God, Maxine thought. He knows.

"Stop it, Robbie," she insisted. "I said no."

He took his hands off of her but remained looming behind her. Fuck, fuck, fuck, she said to herself. There was no way this was an innocent coincidence.

She was shocked at how offended she felt. She was angry with Billy for having obviously let their unspeakable secret slip. She was angry at Robbie for his brazen, clumsy approach. Assuming -- assuming!!! -- that she must be an easy mark, a wanton slut who opened her legs for any young man who made a move on her. No, not just any young man. Her own nephews. Any of them. Damn him.

"Maybe later?" Robbie suggested.

"Go away, Robert," she hissed.

Was he crazy? How did he think he was going to pull this off, in a house with five other people, even if she had been willing, instead of outraged?

"No one has to know," he whispered.

"You're right, Robbie," she replied, turning toward him. "No one needs to know."

"You're a nice looking young man, Robbie. It would be a real shame if your brother knocked your teeth out."

That stunned the young man. For a moment. Then he broke into a wide grin. "So it's true."

Fuck. There really isn't an instruction manual for carrying on a clandestine incestuous relationship with your sister's son, Max realized; but if there was, threatening to have the nephew you were fucking beat the shit out of his younger brother wouldn't be in it.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she spat out, flustered.

"Okay," he said. He left his perch behind her and came around the front of the sofa. She eyed him suspiciously, watching him weigh his options. Seduction hadn't worked, but she had given him the keys to try blackmail.

"Hey, mom," he called out. "Don't set a place for me. I'm going out."

Then he looked back at Maxine, and arched an eyebrow and flashed a grin, sweeping his wavy blonde forelock off his brow. Damn, she thought, he did look like Bobby Kennedy.

"See ya later, Aunt Max," he said, his voice back to its normal volume. Then he went out the front door, and Maxine was left on the sofa listening to the clatter of dishes in the next room, and the thundering of her heart.

***

Maxine could barely concentrate during dinner, or in the living room as the family watched Love, American Style. She couldn't believe that her sister wasn't noticing, wondering... what was going on?

It was bad enough that she had spent three hours this afternoon in bed with her oldest nephew. She hadn't anticipated having to fend off the amorous advances of her sister's next oldest son, eager to be the next nephew to get his hard young cock up inside their thirty-something married aunt. Or to deal with the fear that her shameful secret was out.

She had expected Billy to lock the truth away forever. He had every reason to. What reason did Robbie have to keep anything in confidence?

She didn't have any idea how the rest of the weekend would play out. Her Friday afternoon tryst with Billy -- her real reason for the trip -- was over; she hadn't dared hope for, or risk, more than one furtive encounter with him. Now she didn't want one. She was so far removed from desire or arousal, she doubted she would ever have sex again. But she did want to try to see Billy one more time, to let him know how angry she was at him for betraying her, and to urge him to make sure their secret got no further than his little brother.

After a sleepless night, she decided on Saturday morning that she would come up with an excuse to go catch Billy at work. She knew he worked a half-day on Saturday at the gas station, the same one her father had worked at back in the '40s and '50s. She couldn't go to his home in the afternoon; the bank was closed and Roxanne would be there.

So during their late breakfast on Saturday, she slipped the half-full gallon jug of milk out of the refrigerator and stuffed it into a box on the back porch. Then she returned to the fridge and announced, "We're out of milk!"

"Already?" Peggy exclaimed from her semi-permanent post at the range, where she was frying bacon. "I could have sworn..."

"Growing kids," Max commented.

"I guess I should be glad they're still drinking milk," her sister laughed.

"Don't worry, I'll run down to the market and get another one," Max offered. "After all, I have my own car now..." she added, hoping she sounded more breezy than she felt.

"My little sister, all grown up," Peggy joked. "Okay, thanks, go. I'll hold off on the second round until you get back."

Max jumped into the Pontiac and pulled down the lane and on to the main road into the little village. She made herself stop at the market and get the milk first, lest she be too rattled to remember on her way home. Then she ran the town's other stop sign on her way to the old cinderblock building that housed the Conoco station and Whitey's Garage.

Sure enough, Billy was in the first service bay, his head buried under the hood of a mud-colored Plymouth Fury. "Billy," she called out from beneath the overhead door. "I need to talk to you."

Billy straightened up and wiped his hands on his jeans, his eyes bright with surprised delight until he saw the stern expression on his aunt's face. Despite the chill of the morning, he had already stripped down to his customary faded white t-shirt. "I'll be back in a minute, Whitey," he called over his shoulder.

Max turned and marched back out to her car, which she had left idling far enough away to give them some privacy.

"What's up, Aunt Max?"

She spun to face him. "Your brother. Robbie knows. You told him?"

Billy raised his greasy palms. "No!" he half-lied. "He figured it out. He... followed us." That much was basically true, he quickly told himself. She didn't need to know that once confronted, he had not only admitted the deed, but quietly shared his pride that he hadn't used a rubber.

Max looked off down the street. "Well... hell." The situation called for a stronger curse word than that, but she didn't use that kind of language out loud. She snorted. She may fuck her own nephew, but she wouldn't utter that word in front of him.

Billy swept his Li'l Abner forelock off his brow, leaving a smudge on his forehead.

"How do you know?"

"He came on to me last night."

Billy scowled. "I'll smash his face in," he muttered.

"I already threatened him with that," Max sighed.

"You did?" He allowed himself a chuckle, then paused and considered. Billy was no rocket scientist, but the dynamics of sneaking around were something he had experience with. "So... you kind of admitted it."

Maxine's eyes flashed back at Billy, then she turned her head to look the other way down the street. "Yeah, I know."

"So? What do you want to do?"

"I don't want to have to do anything," Max returned her glare to her nephew. Her tall, handsome, dirty, dripping-with-testosterone nephew. "I want you to make sure he never breathes a word of it."

"Yeah, yeah, okay," Billy agreed. He wasn't sure how he was going to do that. He was confident he could take Robbie in a fight, although not without taking some damage himself, and raising a lot more questions than he avoided. But the threat of violence was definitely a tool he could use. "I'll take care of it. Trust me."

"You better. You know if your mom ever found out..."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Billy muttered. He had certainly thought about that, a lot. As well as how his girlfriend would react. Not to the infidelity per se; that was kind of a fact of life in his world. But with his own aunt? No, Roxanne wouldn't find that forgivable.

"Okay, then," Max said, opening her car door. She had done all she could do.

"So, when are you heading home?" he suddenly asked.

"Tomorrow," she replied, before realizing what he was getting at. "After church."

Billy stifled a snort at that. She glanced up at him and allowed herself a chuckle at the irony. Billy's family didn't go to church. For her it was a habit, and she had also been looking forward to seeing some long-ago friends, without connecting the dots.

Good thing Baptists don't do confession, she thought. God might strike her dead at the church doors.

"Billy," she said quietly, acknowledging his intent. "We can't. Ever again."

"Remember that place on the river road where we hung out last time?" he persisted.

"Billy..."

"I'll be there at two."

***

That's the thing about late October. It's too cold to go wading; and the fish aren't biting in the middle of the day.

Lots of cars passed by on the river road. The sight of a rusty pick-up truck and a Pontiac sedan, even one with out-of-state plates, at one of the several little clearings along this stretch of road, wouldn't be remarkable.

No one would have any reason to pull off the road and join them. So no one would have any reason to look into the rear window of the pick-up, and see the

shapely calves and the two dainty feet of a thirty-five-year-old woman, one on the back of the bench seat and one on the dashboard.

Let alone get close enough to peer into the cab and see the broad shoulders and the clenching buttocks of the man on top of her, his hips gyrating in a motion reminiscent of a young Elvis Presley, as he skewered and inseminated his aunt.