Locked in the Closet Pt. 03

He was kneeling on the carpeted floor in her bedroom, still in his clothes, his face between her legs, licking at her closely trimmed pussy with those slow movements that she preferred. She was half on the bed, green dressing gown open from the waist down, her smooth legs on either side of him. When she was ready her hands went quickly to her snatch and clit, rubbing herself to an orgasm. As she screamed, she placed her naked feet steadily on the floor, buckled, and held him firmly between her thighs. Then it was time for him to start again.

His mouth hurt, but he couldn't stop. Not now.

His aunt had sent his cousins away to summer camp. They were a distraction, she said. They would stay there until after his mother came to pick him up.

"That will give us a couple of days," she said, stroking his chest on the porch. His cousins were in the car, screaming with excitement.

He mumbled something, couldn't even hear himself, but she nodded, her eyes like a predator. Licking at her dark red lips she pushed him back inside the house, away from her children's eyes. There, grabbing a fistful of hair, making him cry out in pain, she fondled his crotch. She left him with his cock in his pants, walked away like nothing had happened.

When she returned, he was still on the ground floor. He hadn't been able to move much, just go back and forth across the living room. To the couch, where it had happened. He stared at it. That was yesterday, he thought with a terrible excitement. Only yesterday, and his life wasn't the same anymore. Once upon a time he would have missed her when she was gone. This time he dreaded her return, imagined what she would do to him. He jerked himself off several times, but never enough. And he felt filthy afterwards. He knew that she wouldn't like that, so he washed himself closely every time. He'd scrubbed himself pink.

When she returned, she walked in and sat on the couch and asked him to show her how grateful he was.

"Yes," he whispered, and with jerking motions he stepped across the floor.

"Not like that," she said.

He stopped, shivered. He had done something bad again. "H-how?"

She spread her legs a little, pointing at the floor. "Down there. On your knees."

Looking all around him, he did as she said. The floorboards were painful against his knees, cold against the palms of his hands. But at the same time, they reminded him of the first time. He looked up at her and felt himself grow hard again, painfully because of all the times he had stroked himself to an orgasm today. But that didn't seem to matter. Only she mattered, looking down at him, dragging him one crawling step at a time with the point of her finger.

He rested his head on her thigh, sighed against it. He was so tired, just wanted to give up, finally. As she petted him, he cried against her pants. He jumped, but she pressed him down again.

"It's okay," she whispered. "You are ashamed. I can understand that. You behaved very badly yesterday, my little prude."

He turned to look up at her, eyes streaming, big and wet. "I am so sorry."

She smiled, stroking his cheek, dragging away the tears. "Call me auntie. Like you used to, remember?"

"Yes," he said with a trembling smile and a hiccup. "Auntie ..."

"Feels better, doesn't it?"

He nodded, smiling through the tears. "So ... You aren't angry with me anymore?"

At first, she didn't answer, continuing to look down at him, an enigmatic smile playing on her dark red lips. Then she waved him off her, and as he obeyed, again terrified, she unbuttoned her pants and pulled them down, showing her black cotton panties. She asked him to put her pants on the comfy chair.

Then she spread her legs again. "Show me how grateful you are."

Moving with a desperation that came from deep inside of him he pressed against her crotch, like a kitten, dragging his whole head against her. He could feel the hairs moving between her skin and the cuddly underwear. Soon enough, the air was full of her scent, drowning out the sweeter notes of flowery perfume. She smelt like something dangerous, something wild.

He pressed his open mouth against her, breathed it in.

"That's it," she said, caressing his head. "You really are grateful, aren't you?"

He didn't look up, but moved his head up and down against her. It was smooth, and something else too, something wet. He licked at the dark stain and shivered all the way down to his cock.

"You want to taste me?" she asked.

"Yes ..."

"Yes, what?"

He looked up at her, mouth open and tongue still pressed against her cottony wetness. He felt himself drooling, wiped himself off. "Yes, please, auntie?"

"God boy."

It started then. For two whole days she made him do things for her, lick her, stroke his cock. Most of the time she would do it for him. When she let him cum, she raised her dripping fingers to his mouth. He felt his own bitter taste on the sweet skin of her hand.

But she never used her mouth on him again, and he caught himself staring at that dark red mouth, wishing that he could feel her lips wrap around his cock again, feel her smooth tongue. See it! He never dared to ask, but she smiled a wicked smile at him, curling her lips in ecstasy as she came in another glorious orgasm.

And never did she let him finish her. Her hand would push him away, sometimes painfully, and he would stay between her legs, eyes held tight on her slippery fingers moving in and out of her, flipping across her clit, faster and faster. He held his mouth open, waiting.

It always felt like a punishment, another sign that he was worthless. All he was good for, he felt, was licking her clean afterwards. He was happiest when she told him to do it, when she stroked him all over his face with her dripping hand, shoved her fingers down his throat.

She was his aunt, and she loved him. Even though he was useless, she loved him. When the night came, when she was done with him, she would let him curl up against her on the bed and whisper, "Good boy, good boy."

It was the third day after the two most intense days of his entire life. He was only an open mouth for her by then. She could smile and talk about ordinary things as they sat down to eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner, but it was harder for him to concentrate as he knew that she would soon spread her legs under the table. She didn't have to tell him to go down there anymore. She would expect, him anticipate. As he found his place beneath her again, in the dark, chin dragging against the hard chair, she would sit back, finish a glass of water in comfort.

She had taken him upstairs after dinner.

"Now," she said, as he continued to lick at the less sensitive parts of her pussy, like she always wanted him to do after an orgasm. "Your mother will pick you up tomorrow."

He moved his head to look at her. All he could see was the smooth green dressing gown dragging across her taut upper body. He could see her fingers waving in the air far above her head. Then they stopped. Her face came up to glare at him.

"Did I tell you to stop?" she asked.

"No!" He buried himself in her pussy again. Still, it was uncomfortable her talking about his mother at a time like this. It made him conscious of the situation he was in, similar to the first time. He remembered when he had said hello to his aunt as his mother dropped him off. She had stayed to talk for a while. All he could think of, back then, was how closely they resembled each other.

Now, one of those bodies meant a completely different thing. The other was still something ordinary. Pure. He started to cry again.

He missed his mother.

"So," she continued, moaning under her breath as she came closer to an orgasm again, "we have some things to talk about, some adult things. When we do you should make yourself scarce. Can you do that for me?"

He nodded against her, feeling her fleshy lips drag against his nose. She squealed.

"Good boy! I knew I could trust you. She doesn't have it easy, you know, right now, with her job and everything. She is glad to have you, but it gets lonely sometimes. I know. So, she needs someone to talk to once in a while, and I'm her sister, so ..."

Her body arched with tension. She pushed him off, finished herself in just a few seconds. Screams filled the room. Panting she collapsed on the bed.

"Clean it up, will you?" she mumbled, quivering. "Oh ... Really good boy."

She dragged her wet fingers through his hair as he quickly did as she asked. When he was done, he sat back on his knees again, waiting for another instruction. Sometimes she just wanted him to look at her in the afterglow.

"Come up here."

He heard her voice, but at first, he couldn't believe it. Still uncertain he followed her legs as she pulled herself up on the bed, stretched herself out comfortably, still naked from the waist down. He cuddled up against her, one of her arms around him, and whimpered as the fingers of her other hand found his crotch.

"Shh ..." she soothed as she dragged him out.

His cock immediately started to tremble and leak in her skillful hand. She hadn't let him cum all day, and it was late evening. He couldn't see the trees outside her bedroom window anymore. Gratefully he let out a whimper as her fingers circled around him, made a slow motion up and down.

"You've been so good today, my little prude," she said, and kissed him on the top of his head. "So hard. All day. Poor boy."

A couple of quick movements drove him close to the edge. He gasped as she forced him closer. He wanted her to go slower, this was too much pleasure all at once. Then--

"You've been such a good boy," she whispered as she stopped. "But your mother picks you up tomorrow. You should get your sleep. I don't want her thinking I did something wrong to you."

Still covered with his precum she stroked his cheek and jaw. Her fingers found his mouth. He knew what to do. She nodded when she heard him almost choking on her.

"And I don't want you doing something in your room either. It's laundry day tomorrow, and I planned to make your mother help me. As an excuse, you know? Now, what would she say if she saw a large stain on your sheets? She would ask me about it, wouldn't she? Ask me if her son had misbehaved himself."

He was still hard when she touched him again, her fingers circling him, squeezing him.

"A son that is still hard when I talk about his mother," she whispered. "No, not a very good boy at all. A bad boy, a filthy boy."

He started to shake, half with terror, half with excitement as her hand continued to finger his length. She made him scream with one last squeeze before she let him go, looking at the precum in the dim light. It was too dark to see really. Smiling, her lips seemed black. Her eyes glinted in the darkness.

"Go to your bed now," she said in her normal voice. "Remember what I said. No touching."

"No, auntie."

"Good boy. If you're good I will give you a special treat before you go. A kiss."

He gasped. "A-a ..."

"Yes. Leave me now. I'm tired of you."

He quickly prepared himself for sleep, still too hard and excited to dare touch himself. In his own room he lay himself flat on his back, terrified of everything she had told him. If his mother saw cum-stains on his sheets she would think that he was some kind of degenerate. She wouldn't look at him for the whole ride home. And he needed her smiles now, her comforting presence.

He closed his eyes, imagining his mother, her kind face. But he hadn't imagined it for long before he saw his aunt's shadow on it. He started to fantasize about the special treat that she had promised him. A kiss. She had never kissed him before, not for real. Only on the cheek. He imagined what it would be like. Soft, tender, her mouth full of sweet promises, the way that lovers kissed.

Love, he thought, and couldn't stop the specter of his mother showing up against the uncontrollable impressions always following the thoughts about his aunt.

"No, no ..." he whimpered, still hard. His aunt had left a mark that would never go away. Not even now. With no ability to stop it he saw his mother's face, so alike his aunt's, how they slithered in and out of each other, blending together.

His aunt crawled between his legs. His mother came closer. His aunt pressed a sweet kiss against his cock, opened her mouth.

It was his mother's tongue that licked him.

He beat his arms against the side of his bed, wanted to scream. Eventually he fell in a pitiful sleep. He dreamt wonderful dreams, full of horror. Next morning, when he looked himself in the mirror, he saw a misused face. He didn't recognize himself. He looked older somehow, wiser.

"Baby!" his mother shouted as she saw him. She rushed from the breakfast table, put her arms around him. "When I told you to help your aunt around the house, I didn't mean it like this."

"I'm just tired," he said.

"I can see that", she said, looking at her sister. "What did you make him do?"

His aunt looked back, smiling. "Nothing. Drain some pipes, clean the floor."

"Come now, sit down and have something to eat," his mother told him, never letting go off him. She would have fed him if her sister hadn't looked at her in a sardonic way.

"What?" she asked her. "Can't I miss him?"

"Sure," she said.

He felt her glances throughout breakfast. A part of him felt the pull of the floor under the table. He imagined himself crawling under it as usual. He saw himself open his mouth, gasping and licking at her excited pussy. He imagined his mother's legs right next to him.

He shivered, moved to make it more comfortable in his pants.

This time though, he knew what she meant, and as soon as he had eaten enough, he excused himself, told them that he had to finish a book. He held it over his crotch as he went outside. Despite the painful erection it felt freeing going around like this. He remembered his first days here. He couldn't understand it.

At the base of a tree, he found a familiar spot, sat himself down. Soon he found himself lost in exciting espionage again. He laughed out loud a couple of times. Then he fell silent, looking at the house.

The laundry room was this way, he remembered, and now he heard voices coming through the open window. His mother and aunt. They hadn't suspected him down there.

"I understand that!" his aunt said.

"You don't understand", said his mother. She sounded exhausted.

"Yes, I do. You miss someone. That's all. Nothing to be ashamed of. And no biggie either."

"Easy for you to say."

"Why? You think it's so easy, three kids this far from town?"

His mother hesitated. "That's true!" she exclaimed, but lowered her voice immediately. "How can you be so calm about it?"

"No biggie, I said."

"I don't understand."

"Just buy it."

"Buy-- Oh, no, I couldn't!"

"Why not?"

"But, because ..."

"Tell me, I'm curious."

"No, I ..."

"You're really blushing!"

"Stop it ..."

"No, why is it so unthinkable?"

"Because, every time I think about it, I see a ... young man ... down there ... and I can't ..."

"It makes you think about ...?"

"Yes! Are you happy now?"

"No, not really. Why don't you get an older one?"

"Oh, please! I've seen plenty enough of men my age! No, I don't want to, and that's that. I don't want to go a sleezy website, don't want to speak to them, and especially don't want to look at them."

"So, you ...?"

"Yes, a lot. But I'm fine, so I won't. Got it?"

"Sure, sis." His aunt chuckled.

"It's just horrible really."

"Work?"

"Everything really. But yeah, mostly that."

By then they had finished loading the washing machine, and as they disappeared into the living room or kitchen again, he lost their voices. Still, he couldn't lift the book again.

Had they been talking about a ... "Personal trainer?" he whispered to himself, and the thought about his conservative mother in a everything in the open training outfit immediately made him blush.

He shook his head, clearing his thoughts.

As if his mother needed to go to the gym! For her age she was beautiful, still in great shape. Like his aunt.

But he shouldn't think about that.

Finally, he finished the book. A quick read, but it had taken him until the last moment to finish it. He looked at the sky. They had to get going soon, or else they would have to stop for lunch somewhere. Sneaking through the door he didn't escape the notice of them in the living room. His mother sat on the couch, his aunt on the comfy chair.

"Hey, dear, we'll let this lie soon," his mother said. "Have you packed?"

"Going to," he said.

She nodded, evidently still captivated by the last words of her sister. He left them to go upstairs.

It felt all weird going up there now. He felt it in his soul. Even his things didn't feel the same anymore. He didn't think that he ever wanted to return here, not alone. It was his decision, he knew, and backing into the corridor he stared at a stain on his aunt's bedroom carpet. He shut the door. Then, on a hunch, he went into the spare guest room, into the large closet. He took in the light, the smells. A flowery shadow still hung in the air. He breathed it in. He would always remember this place.

As he stood there, the smell seemed to grow stronger. He felt himself stiffen, but tried to ignore it. Only the thought of his mother downstairs stopped him from screaming as he felt hands on his shoulders, a couple of soft dark lips real close to his ear, whispering, "Promised you a kiss, didn't I?"

He stared at the open door, through the guest room, all the way to the empty stairway. He tried to fight it as one of her hands travelled down his shivering breast, over his sensitive belly. Still, he couldn't help himself as he grew longer and harder beneath her touch. She knew him too well by now.

Gasping he saw her get on her knees in front of him, saw her tearing at his tight jeans. She pulled them down with a strength that pushed him against the window. No, no, no ... he thought. But she was too beautiful as she spread her dark red lips, reached out with her tongue between them. Soon he forgot everything else, and as she continued his mother could have stood on the staircase, outside looking in, right there in the closet with them, without him being able to think about anything else than her soft-hard lips, her swirling tongue, her locks of hair, her lusty expression as she choked on him, made him grimace with the intensity of it. He screamed as she forced him down her throat. What was pain, what was pleasure, he didn't know anymore.

He couldn't hold on. As he came in her mouth, he beat his head against the window. He moaned in synch with her continued sucking. Like the first time she didn't stop immediately. He grasped at her hair, but couldn't push her away, not even when he squealed in pain. He moved his hips closer to her.

When she was done, she released him with a juicy pop, and still on her knees in front of him she helped him back inside the trousers, buckled him up. As she did, he saw dark red lipstick stains on his white underwear. She winked as she locked them in.

She gave him her hands. He lifted her off the floor, and when she turned to leave, he followed her. He was used to it, and she seemed to anticipate it. She glanced at him in the mirror as she went into the bathroom, opened the medicine cabinet. With casual movements she straightened her look, applied a new layer of lipstick. In a few minutes she once again looked like the perfect single mom, ready to pick her kids up at summer camp.

But she would flock the other parents around her. She had a look about her. He felt himself drawn to it. He started to get down on his knees.

"Your mother is waiting in the car," she said. She held his gaze through the mirror. "I told her that I would pick you up next weekend, that I had some work for you. You don't mind, do you?"