Mom, Aunt Clara & My Wandering Mind Pt. 03

Author's Note: Please take note of this story's category and tags, in case the subject matter might not be to your liking. Also, note this is a follow-on chapter in a multi-part series. If you haven't already, please start your reading with Chapter 1, otherwise the story won't flow well and might be a bit confusing.

This is a work of fiction. The plot is fictional. The characters are fictional. In other words, it's not real life. Any resemblance to person(s) living or dead is purely coincidental. All fictional characters in this fictional story involved in fictional sexual activities are 18+ in their completely fictional lives. If you think you recognize a real-life someone in this story, you lead a more colorful life than the author. :-)

Lastly, and most importantly, I hope you enjoy the story!

-BizMe

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Mom, Aunt Clara & My Wandering Mind: Part 3

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Could it all have been a dream? I wondered silently, awakening slowly from my slumber. It was only a nap, but still the best sleep I'd had in a long, long time.

The dream I'd had was vivid. So vivid, in fact, that for a fleeting moment I gave the slightest consideration that maybe it had been real.

It couldn't be. It's preposterous! Crazy! I tried to convince myself. The crazy kind of far-fetched that only happens in... well... dreams.

But what a fun dream it had been. Strange, sure, as most dreams are. But this dream was erotic and on a whole different level than I'd ever dreamt before. Probably because this erotic dream involved my stepmother and aunt. That's allowed in fantasy, right? So long as it isn't real life? I justified in my mind. I mean, you can't control your dreams, so how can you be blamed for them?

First, in my dream, Mom spanked me while my aunt watched. Then when I got off Mom's lap, I had a hard-on. I don't know why, I just did.

They made me stand in the corner where I was for all intents and purposes naked; only my t-shirt remained but it covered none of my nether regions. Since they were on the couch, they had an unobstructed view of my pasty white butt cheeks except, well, they weren't exactly pasty white anymore. They were a mix of mottled pinks and red from the harsh spanking I'd received.

Then I had to go pee reall bad so I ran off. I thought I'd get in big trouble from running away without permission but I had to go bad. Dreams are weird, right? So, I went pee.

Then, still in my dream, of course, I suddenly felt sad about how much Mom has done for me and how I was so much trouble for her. It made me cry. I had been so ungrateful and she deserved so much better.

Then the dream got just crazy! Before I knew it, I was laying on top of, not only my stepmom's lap but my Aunt Clara's, too. They rubbed some kind of slippery lotion all over my butt, where I'd been spanked, and then kept on rubbing to places where I hadn't been spanked at all.

And if that wasn't enough, they had me flip over, exposing all of my manhood to their lust-crazed eyes. I was hard as a rock and they didn't even care! They caressed my legs and balls. They stroked my rigid flagpole dick. They even finger-fucked my ass hole.

Imagine all that! An eighteen-year-old virgin losing his anal cherry to his aunt and mom!

It wasn't long before I spewed, cum spurting into the air like a geyser, landing on my chest and neck, my face, and in my mouth. They made me eat my own cum and they tasted some themselves!

I had never had a dream like that before. It was insane! Everything about it was so taboo. And yet, I was getting turned on all over again as I replayed it all in my mind, in the sleepy brain fog that precedes actually waking up.

I didn't want to wake up. It was one of those dreams you want to go back to sleep for, so you can keep it going, or replay it again.

In my quasi-sleepy state, I reached for my dick. Normally, I would grab a fistful of my sheets and rub up and down my pole in the morning. There's something about the silky feel of my soft sheets that sends my prick into a frenzy and I usually come within just a couple of minutes that way, letting my semen land on my chest. Since I would be going straight to the shower anyway, I didn't mind getting it all over me and it was a much better option than soiling my bed and possibly having to explain myself.

But there was no sheet when I woke up this time. It confused me, but in my sleep-drunk frame of mind I gave up trying to figure out why. Instead, I just wrapped my bare hand around my hard dick and started stroking, slowly, lightly, teasing myself into a firmer erection. Eventually, once I got it hard enough, I would switch to an all-out pummeling of my cock until I spurted my seed onto my stomach and chest, as I did just about every morning.

But as my mind started to further awaken from its grogginess, the lack of my silky sheet nagged at me. Where is my sheet, anyway? I wondered while still stroking my dick. Did it fall off the bed? Am I laying on it?

Eventually, the mystery of the missing sheet had distracted me so much that I abandoned trying to wank off and just rested, allowing myself to slowly enter the land of the living again, without my usual wake-up ritual.

When I could no longer convince myself that I was asleep, I stretched my legs and arms straight out from each other and opened my eyes.

I'd woken up horny. I'd woken up energized. I'd woken up... naked? In my living room? On my stepmom's and aunt's laps?!

Oh shit! I screamed in my head. That wasn't a dream?!

It would have been a demented, perverse dream (if it had been one) but at least excusable, right? I mean we can't control our dreams so we can't be blamed for them, can we? Except... it wasn't a dream! So, does that make it less sick? Or more?

I didn't know the answer. I had a hard enough time analyzing things when fully awake; I sure wasn't going to figure something like this out right after waking up.

"Oh God," I muttered. I knew I needed to move. I needed to stretch. I needed to get up and extricate myself from this situation before it got even worse if that were possible. But first, I needed to get some blood moving into parts of my body other than my suddenly lengthening dick.

Oh, double-shit! I started to panic. Isn't it bad enough that I'm naked on their laps? Now I've got a major stiffie and... Shit! What if they wake up?! The first thing they'll see is me! With a raging hardon!

I fought to suppress what had happened, to bury it deep in the caverns of my mind and never let it resurface again. But my penis betrayed me as it grew nearly to full length, fueled by the memories of being spanked by my stepmom and then... all those unmentionable things they did to me afterward, both Mom and Aunt Clara.

I was still incredulous. No! It couldn't have happened! This isn't real! Maybe THIS is a dream, too! Yeah, that must be it! Me waking up is just part of the same dream. Like when I used to dream that I had taken a shower and gotten dressed for school only to wake up and have to do it again, for real. I mean, it's completely insane to think it could have happened the way I remembered... I mean... the way I DREAMT that it had happened. It... It just can't be!"

And, yet, there I was. I carefully lifted the leg closest to the coffee table off of Aunt Clara's lap and planted my foot securely onto the floor. Then I pressed my shoulders against the couch cushion just beyond Mom's left leg so I could raise my hips off of Aunt Clara and hopefully maneuver myself without any attention onto the floor. From there I would gather my clothes and disappear and, hopefully, wake up from this dream within a dream!

My hips reached high toward the ceiling and I was about to pivot away when a voice froze me solid.

"Where are you going?" It was Aunt Clara. Her voice sounded calm. Not angry. Not repulsed. Not even surprised by the sight of her nephew's erect cock now almost even with her face and merely a few inches away since I was thrusting my pelvis up into the air.

"I..." I whispered, hoping not to also wake up Mom, "Um... I was just going... to... um... just, get up?"

"Hmm," Aunt Clara purred lazily like a cat waking from its nap. "Do you need to go pee or something?"

"Um... no. I just..."

"Do you need to get a drink... or something to eat?" she asked.

"No... Um... I'm not hungry."

"Were you uncomfortable the way you were laying?"

"Um, I mean... I'm naked... That's kind of uncomfortable," I confessed.

"I meant your position," she clarified. "Are you sore or anything?"

"Oh, no... It felt nice... I mean, I was comfortable... it was fine."

"Then... why are you getting up?" she pressed

"Um... to get dressed?"

"Hmm," she chuckled so quietly I barely detected it. "That's adorable." She said, like someone who knew a secret that hadn't been divulged to me yet.

"I'm... just going to get up now," I said nervously as I tore my eyes away from her and again started to pivot off the couch.

"Lay back down, Andrew," she stopped me with a hand on my thigh. "We need to talk." It wasn't a request. Her tone was demanding. Insistent.

Whatever this conversation was about, I was certain I wasn't going to like it.

"Can I put something on first? Please?"

"Hmph," she grunted, "Well, that's one of the things we need to discuss. Now lay back down."

Reluctantly, I lowered myself back to where I'd started, flat on my back, resting atop the laps of my stepmom and my aunt, my nakedness on full display.

"Here." Aunt Clara handed me a couple more throw pillows so I could prop up my head. "Comfy?" she asked after I'd positioned them behind my head.

"Uh, sure," I answered tentatively. Comfy is not a word I would've chosen. I glanced to my right and saw Mom, sleeping, her face looked angelic. She looked happy. Content.

The realization that this was not a dream-in-a-dream scenario washed over me as my mind started to function. I abruptly moved my hands to cover my nakedness.

"Are you alert now?" Aunt Clara asked, following my hands to my crotch. I wasn't sure if she was asking about my mental state or the state of my... well, my penis.

"Is this... real?" I asked, though I already knew the answer. "Did all that really happen?"

Aunt Clara ignored my questions. "As you're fully aware, Andrew, things have changed around here," her hand started idly caressing my leg from my knee to my upper thigh, ensuring my erection wouldn't be subsiding any time soon.

"Some things already have," she snickered, and her fingers grazed mine. "But there's more that will be changing."

I swallowed if for no other reason than I didn't what else to do.

"I'm a psychotherapist. Licensed. Practicing. I have a successful career. Lots of connections. Institutions. Research. Universities. I'm an adjunct professor there. Even have an office on campus."

"Okay?" Was this all just the prelude to something I wouldn't go along with if she hadn't first reminded me of her credentials and qualifications.

"Naturally, I've spent most of my career treating college-aged students. Depression. Anxiety. Eating disorders. Addictions. Suicidal thoughts. All the most common challenges young people like yourself face."

"I... I don't have any of those," I told her.

"No... No, you don't. The challenges you face aren't as common as those. But they're not unheard of, either. Especially among males your age. Eighteen. Fresh out of high school. Standing on the precipice of monumental change. Not only crossing into adulthood, but pursuing your education, thinking of your career, and starting life on your own.

"Your body has changed fairly recently, too, and you still haven't fully embraced it yet" she continued, her hand now pressed firmly on top of mine, her fingers gently wiggling between mine, as if she wanted to hold my hand... the same hand I was using to cover my privates from her view.

"I've seen this before, Andrew. Many times. I've treated it successfully. Sometimes using traditional methods... sometimes with... well, not so traditional." She smirked.

"Like with Patrick?" I asked, inquiring about my cousin, whom I'd overhead Aunt Clara mention to my stepmom while I was eavesdropping from the hallway earlier that day.

"Hmm, so you were spying quite a long time in the hallway before you finally came out from hiding and yelled at your mother." Her ability to deduce all that from the smallest slip-up from me was frightening.

I bowed my head shamefully. "I'm sorry. Yes. I was spying... a little... before... But I didn't hear everything." I quickly added, as if that could somehow lessen my guilt.

"Hmm, not for lack of trying, though, am I right?"

"No," I admitted. "I... got distracted a few times... I missed parts,"

"Hmm, I suspected as much."

The movement of Aunt Clara's fingers had been almost imperceptible until the moment when she curled them between mine, clenching our hands together and pulling my shield away from my groin, exposing my manhood to her sight yet again.

"It's just that kind of mental lapse that we're going to help you with, Andrew." Her hand moved upward to my belly and released my hands there. She patted them firmly, indicating that I should leave them where she placed them.

"I've already discussed these therapies with your mother. She's given her consent and agreed to participate. She needs to be involved. Not only because the bond between a mother and son is vital to the success of these methods, but because we will need to monitor your progress twenty-four seven."

"I... I don't understand," I muttered,

Aunt Clara's fingers started idly playing with my pubic hairs, dancing and twirling the tiny curls with her fingertips, teasingly close, but never actually touching my rapidly tensing shaft.

"Do you want to get better, Andrew?" she asked as if anyone in all of history has ever answered a question like that with a no. "Do you want to not be so absent-minded all the time? To lose concentration at the slightest distraction? To daydream when you should be concentrating? To not always forget things you're supposed to have done?"

I swallowed and, instead of answering with words, I simply nodded.

"Would you like to have the confidence to talk to Nadia Swenson?"

My dick twitched at the mere mention of her name. Aunt Clara's eyes widened at my reaction.

"Interesting," she mumbled to herself. "Wouldn't you like to ask Nadia on a date?" Aunt Clara pressed. "Wouldn't you like to... kiss her?"

Again, my dick spasmed and Aunt Clara smiled devilishly with only one side of her face.

"I bet you'd like you to fuck Nadia Swenson, yes?" she asked, placing so much emphasis on the word that my steely prick lurched into empty air at the obscenity of the question.

"I... I... " I stuttered, sliding my hands back down to cover my shame but Aunt Clara intercepted the attempt quickly and set my hands firmly back in the place where she'd wanted them.

"My therapies will help with all of that, Andrew. I promise. But..." she paused, cocking her head to one side as she looked intently into my eyes, "I need to hear you say you want this. That you want to get better. That you agree to subject yourself, willingly, to my care. That you'll do what I say, without question, until the therapy is over and you're functioning like you ought to be."

I stared at her, unsure exactly what I might be agreeing to.

Sensing my hesitance, Aunt Clara's fingers started moving again, twirling among my pubic hairs, dancing sensuously mere millimeters beneath my pulsing cock, still bobbing aimlessly in the air.

Her fingers descended along my leg, her nails dragging along my skin down to my knee, then turned back up, this time tracing its path in my inner thigh.

Without thinking, I spread my legs wider, giving her better access to reach higher without any hindrance.

As her fingers crept closer to my balls, I felt another hand touch my chest and I flinched, quickly glancing toward where they'd come from.

Mom was looking down at me, a reassuring smile on her face. "Please say yes, Andrew. Please agree to the therapies. Not just for you... but for me, too."

"Do you want to please your mother, Andrew? To make her happy?" Aunt Clara asked.

It sounded like a guilt trip. It was a guilt trip. But it wasn't untrue, either. How could I say no to my stepmom? I hadn't forgotten that I'd made her cry. Nor had I forgotten all the years I'd been a burden to her. How she'd given up her career for me. Her social life. Her love life. She'd given up everything to care for me. To raise me to be a young man who could eventually leave the nest and thrive.

Except, I wasn't thriving. I was floundering. My wandering mind. My flighty thoughts. My inattentiveness. My waywardness when I should be more focused, that always seemed to happen at the worst possible times. My lack of confidence in nearly everything I did.

How could I say no to her? I had to say yes.

"Do you agree, Andrew?" Aunt Clara asked again, just as her fingers reached the tender skin of my scrotum and started teasing my balls.

I nodded my acquiescence.

"I need you to say it, Andrew. I need to hear you say it out loud and I need a witness to hear it, too."

"I... I agree, Aunt Clara. I want to get better. I... I'll do whatever you ask."

"Anything?"

"Y... yes," I assented reluctantly.

"Everything?"

"Yes, Aunt Clara."

"Without arguing or backtalking? Without second-guessing or defiance? And you'll consent to all of the assessments and training and corrections as required for this course of treatment, as I alone see fit?"

I was getting tired of all the qualifications she was throwing at me. I'd already said 'yes' twice. Or was it three times? I tried to recollect in my mind exactly how many times I'd already resigned myself to her care.

"Say it, Andy" Mom urged when she noticed I was starting to drift without agreeing to Aunt Clara's terms.

"Say you agree, unconditionally, to follow the therapy until it's done. Please?" Mom pleaded.

I saw in her eyes an incestuous desire for me to say yes—an inappropriate longing, lustful in its prurience—but I also saw the desperation in her eyes. An expression that told me she had left nothing on the table, no stone unturned, in her efforts to help her son. This was the last option. There was nothing else she knew of to try.

"I... I agree, Mom."

"Tell her," Mom smiled then nodded toward Aunt Clara, who was now cupping my balls in her hand and gently, but thoroughly, massaging them.

"I agree Aunt Clara. I'll do whatever you ask. I... I promise. I won't fight you and... I... I just want to get better. I want Mom to be happy and... for her to be proud of me."

Aunt Clara showed her delight at my consent by sliding her hand up from my testicles to my tumescent erection, wrapping her fingers around the base, and slowly sliding the o-shape she'd made upward to the tip of my cock.

"Then we ought to get started," she spoke confidently, almost ignoring what her hand was doing while enumerating a litany of rules and guidelines for the therapy she would be administering.

"You must indicate your agreement, Andrew. After each item, I need you to consent so I know you're paying attention. Do you understand?" Aunt Clara asked, while her hand was slowly, methodically, gliding up and down my shaft, her soft-lotioned skin touching my velvety skin.

"Yes, Aunt Clara. I understand," I muttered as a rush of desire started churning in my loins.