Mum's Twin Sis Visits

In a teasing tone, "What does it feel like to look at your...?"

James does not say anything.

In a chiding tone, "Go on. Take a proper shower."

He supposes he has no choice. He has to man up. But, what if he sports a boner? Well, he can turn away.

A wrinkle or two, here and there. Just slight ones. But her body otherwise is toned and healthy. There is the long slenderness of her. The long neck. Long slim fingers. Smooth shoulders. Unblemished back. A distinctive curve to her buttocks. Not a young girl's, but a woman's tail, longish and curving. The recess between, in and of itself, is bewitching enough.

He doesn't know why but he suddenly thinks of his mum. Things gone unnoticed by him until now. Of course, he also has never before seen her without any clothes on. Never wanted to, as best he can remember.

This woman, his aunt, an uncanny replica of his mother, whom he professes to know so well, has in an instant become a mystery to him. This can't be the same mother who helped with his school projects. Who chauffeured him and his mates to concerts before he learned to drive. The one whose dark and disappointing eyes saw the red "F" on his report card for math. That look alone prompted a course correction for him. His grades improved. Rapidly, dramatically.

No, he is not looking at that woman. Someone else is standing exquisitely naked, her back to him, in this shower, here and now.

You stand in front of a mirror. The mirror is a reflection of you. But, can it be that you're the reflection of the mirror?

She turns. Faces him. She is almost as tall as he is. Her narrow face. Narrow nose. Large tawny wide-set eyes. But calm. Almost sleepy in their gaze. Skin virgin white.

Fingers spread gently across and around her breasts, slowly brushing away the sand and water. Her breasts are not large. Neither is she. Sagging a little from their weight. He thinks they are heavier than they look. He can't know for sure, though he would love to find that out for himself at first hand. For an instant, he thinks he sees her massage each large nipple with her thumbs. Maybe not.

He tries to figure out the relationship between her breasts and his feelings. Do the breasts appeal to him directly? Or, something else in her appeals to him through her breasts? The good questions, they rarely have straight answers.

A soft rise of tummy. A pencil-shading shadow at the base of her belly. Pubic hair. Vaguely visible in the shower mist. She is watching him admire her, so he can't stare down at it.

Whether it is the thought of being naked with his aunt, or just being naked with another person in an open shower, he doesn't know. Nonetheless, his penis starts growing, enlarging. He feels the blood rushing in as never before. Uncontrollable. Engorging. Getting harder. Harder by the second. He pretends not to notice. Of all times, why does this have to happen to him now?

As she rinses more sand from her thick hair, her eyes lower, fastening on his hard cock. She makes no pretense. She is watching it as she washes her arms. Her eyes moving slowly on it. Studying its length, its girth, skin texture. Watching it bob up and down in the shower spray. She says nothing. He knows she is taking his measure with her eyes.

An uneasy silence settles in. Only the crash of the surf pounding the cliff face. And the hiss of the shower spray raining down, bouncing off their bodies, plopping on the floor into puddles.

"My shower water pressure is a bit low. Can I turn off mine, and share your shower, so that all the pressure is directed to one shower?"

"Sure"

He draws away to give her room beneath the shower. She pulls him closer to her, then backs up a little to give him room.

Leaning in toward him a little, she dips her head under the falling water, as he brushes sand off his chest and stomach.

It does not escape his attention that, with her now close enough, that they are almost touching. Once again, she is taking note of his erection. Her eyes lower, looking toward the floor, to see better. She watches him stroke himself once, then twice to get sand off. Watches him massage the sand out of his testicles.

He is trying to keep from ejaculating in front of her. He thinks he can manage this.

They rinse their suits off quickly, getting the remnant sand out of the crotches.

They put their swimsuits on awkwardly in front of each other. She lifts her right leg, then left, to step into her swimsuit.

His first proper look at her pubic hair without the distraction of the shower spray. Brown. Not much of it. Sleek and tidy. He likes it that it is natural. He wonders if his mum is exactly the same way. Every rip curl of pubic wisp? This twin genetic thing, just how far does it go?

She is aware that he is looking. They are dressed now. She starts to walk back to the cottage. Then stops. Looks him in the eyes, "I won't tell if you won't tell."

"Mum's the word."

***

That evening.

James is reading on the sofa in the lounge. The lounge opens up to the patio, and beyond, the garden, to the cliff edge.

Isabella emerges from the garden. She steps into the patio. She has apparently just taken a shower. She loves the sensation of showering outdoors, overlooking the ocean. Towelling her hair. She is already in her bra and panty. She finishes up as she enters the lounge.

He can see a few black hairs showing at the sides. He resists the urge to stare at the patch visible through the panties. She notices him enamoured of this detail.

"Hi James!"

A little sheepishly, "Hi"

She considers for a moment, "I'm not sure why I'm wearing clothes. We've already seen each other native. I usually go native at home. Shall we?"

He shrugs.

"Are you OK seeing my breasts and intimates? I mean, out in the open? It's kind of primal and nice to be naked, and this lovely place is so suitable for it."

He shrugs again.

"I hope it's not awkward for you because it's effectively seeing your mum naked?"

He really doesn't how to respond to that. The question gives him a strange tingle. His aunt is volunteering his mother's nudity. Not something fifty-five year old aunts routinely do.

She considers his silence as tacit approval. After all, it's not like he is a teen.

She slides her panty down her legs. He notices the curly hair framing her vagina.

Then, she reaches back and unclasps her bra. Her breasts fall free. Her nipples thick. Quite dark. He thinks of prettily crafted cognac infused Belgian chocolates. Darker than he remembers it from the earlier vision. Her aureoles are light brown. The actual skin of her breasts is pale. Like the rest of her virginal white complexion. A few light blue veins visible.

She gets on the sofa. Crawls over him, while he is still reading. Pulls down his boxers.

"It's only fair. I want to see you."

He lifts and helps her pull them down. He is half-hard. Foreskin covering the head. She gently rolls the skin back, like she understands how sensitive he is there. Runs her finger around the edge of his glans. He shivers from the touch. Her breath hot on his penis. She kisses him softly there.

Maybe he is a bit nervous. Still feeling a bit weird that, in the back of his mind, he can't forget that this is his aunt, and perversely his mum too, naked on the sofa with him. Kissing his penis. He isn't fully hard. But, getting there. She is starting to take him in her mouth. How weird is that?

He tells himself that his mind flitting between his aunt and mum is a distraction to his relishing this experience fully. He should just make up his mind and go with it.

But, he struggles to decide.

She wraps her mouth around him. So slick and warm. Her tongue sliding against his shaft.

He decides.

She pulls it out. Leaves her tongue against his glans. She bunches up his foreskin with her fist.

It feels incredible. He has a full erection. She pulls down the skin again. Puts his cock in her mouth. Begins a more regular up and down movement. She pulls out for a moment.

"You've a really nice one."

Smirking, "Remember, I'm Isabel, OK? That'll make it easier for you."

She shifts her legs so that she has one on each side of his body. He has a good view of her pussy. The lips open in a pout revealing pink. She is slowly lowering it toward his face. She is moving into a 69.

Her vagina is in front of him. He rubs his face in it. Savours the feminine earthy scent.

He relishes the sensations. The soft skin of her thighs. The coarseness of the hairs. The subtle scent of her moistness.

As he slides in and out of her mouth, he reaches onto her buttocks. He pulls her down onto him. He begins licking her pussy in earnest.

He uses his thumbs to open up her labia. Licks up and down. Licks around her clitoris. Pulls back her hood. Gently kisses it. She moans. Starts to grind his face. She is moist with arousal.

They work on each other for awhile. Lost in pleasure.

She disengages her mouth. Lifts her leg. Reorients herself. She comes up.

Kisses him hard with her tongue. He can taste his cock on her breath. Tasting oneself through another person. What a strange thing. He is sure she can smell her pussy on his face. There is a wonderful melding of the rich, raw, earthy male and female scents and tastes. You can tell alot just by the tiniest change in the air.

She rolls over, onto her back. Opens her legs.

He gets on top of her. She continues to kiss him. She takes his erection in her hand. Strokes him up and down. With her hands on his sides, she pulls him a bit lower.

He feels the head of his penis sliding through her soft pubic hair. She brings his cock head to the entrance of her moist pussy. His male lubrication. Her feminine juices. It is sticky down there.

This woman is going to have sex with him. Whatever her manifestation, it is all the same. The same being. The same woman. And yet...

He feels like a river confronting the sea. His heart gallops as hard as a crazed horse on a wooden bridge.

She rolls back his foreskin. Slides him up and down her labia. Tender on tender. Her long slim fingers overly graceful.

She senses a light apprehension. Reassuring in a whisper, "It's OK. It's OK."

She pulls in his buttocks. He feels his erection open up her pussy.

She keeps both hands on his buttocks. Kisses him while they move. Her tight vagina feels incredible. He thinks her undulating breasts on her chest, the rippling flesh, look so sensual. She wraps her legs around his torso to possess him. He snuggles into position.

"You feel so good inside me. A bit harder, please."

Her hand presses just below his buttocks, showing him the pace she wants.

It feels so amazing to have his erection buried in a pussy. He has never been inside one without a condom. Sensory overload. Her walls gripping his penis, dragging his foreskin back and forth, back and forth.

"Foreskin, please."

"Huh?"

She reaches down. Pulls him out. Pulls his foreskin back again, tight. It had slipped up. Presses him back inside her. She seems to begin enjoying herself again. She has this thing about the foreskin.

She presses her palms on his face. Kisses him with her darting tongue. He feels her raise her thighs to squeeze his hips while he thrusts. Then, he feels her heels dig into his buttocks.

She eases him into a rhythmic pattern. She clenches his shaft. Flexes her muscles. Holds him in her grip for a few seconds. Then releases him.

"Do you like that?"

"Oh God, yes, yes, do it again."

She flexes her vagina again, holds him in her vice grip, this time mercilessly longer, then releases him.

"Do you like that?"

"Oh God!"

He feels his orgasm build as his hot, meaty penetrations are getting more pleasurable with each new stroke.

He reaches out and takes one of her hands in his. He holds her hand while they fuck. Like they are in this together.

After several minutes of quiet except for the sounds of his penis movements, she feels the shift in his thrusts.

Cooing in his ears, "Go ahead and cum."

"I want you to finish in me."

"You can come inside me. It's OK. It's safe. It's safe for a boy to cum in his mummy."

He is about to ejaculate. But something about what she just said spooks him. As he feels himself go over the edge, he wills himself to pull out.

He slips out. Only just. He spurts over her pubic mound, belly and breasts.

She breathes deeply. Watches his cock spurt onto her, as he strokes himself through his climax, milking his excitement to the max. So much. Where does it all come from? Enough to put out a small fire.

He collapses beside her. Her intimate smell hangs in the air like a fine mist. She excuses herself to go to the washroom.

She returns. Kisses him.

"It was nice and special."

She rolls over and goes to bed. He falls asleep soon after.

***

Chapter 8

Day 3

Evening. The cliff edge.

Another glorious cinematic sunset. One that could well have been rented from Universal Pictures.

They are listening to Brahms' Second Piano Concerto on the media player. There is something just so wonderful about Brahms playing at the edge of an ocean without a sign of anyone as far as the eye can see. Brahms is performing just for them. And the ocean.

Now, the cello passage that begins the third movement. She sees James listening intently, sucking the music right out of the player.

"What does music mean to you?"

"I imagine this... You can too."

"I've a fav piece of moving music. Say, a piece from Brahms like this one. Or depending on my ranging mood of the moment, maybe a piece from jazz pianist, Bill Evans. Maybe something darker hue, more contemporary, Billie Eilish."

"I imagine I assign the piece to a poet, a novelist, a photographer, a Youtube blogger, a filmmaker, a dancer, a painter, an architect, a surfer. I tell each of them to live that music for a day, however they may perceive that music, invest their soul in it, then create something. At the end of which I'll have a poem, a novel, a photograph, a Youtube video, a film, a dance, a painting, a building, a surf ride. Different, but somehow, of the same fibre thread essence."

"That's what music means to me. Well, at least, something like that, if this makes any sense at all."

"Just so you know, I've zero musical training. All connoisseur."

***

"Did that mum thingy spook you?"

"I can't say. I don't have the words for it. Roleplay. And yet, not quite. Dissonance..."

"I understand..."

"Do you've any particular... errr... inclination?"

***

The drawing room. It is very differently nuanced from the rest of the property.

The decor and furniture are classic. The herringbone lay of the oak floorboards gleam to a high polish. The big room is frighteningly free of decoration. No pictures on the walls. No clocks. No vases. No sideboards. No books. The floor has a unique rug that its pattern cannot be discerned. A stillness fills the space. It is a stillness so profound he has to adjust his hearing to it. He hears the high, unfamiliar cry of a bird outside. But he cannot see the bird itself.

She slumps a bit and exhales. Her breath becomes laboured.

She whimpers, "I'm here."

A corporate power suit. She begins unbuttoning her suit jacket. He stops her.

"I will tell you how I want it."

He somehow thinks it will be particularly sensual, if not outright erotic, if he exposes her from the bottom up.

"Take off your skirt and panty."

He assumes she is not the kind of woman who walks around without underwear. A lady of the manor.

He should have known not to make naive assumptions like that.

As her skirt drops, her pussy is exposed. After getting over his initial surprise, he sees that it is quite beautiful. The hairs are natural, though look trimmed. They lay obediently flat with only the slightest of curls. They are unexpectedly fine.

The outer lips form a perfect flower around the hood. The hood covers an obviously large nub.

What she really resembles is an art gallery. A peculiar kind of art gallery where patrons with peculiar curiosities might steal away to see peculiar items on display.

He instructs her to sit. Spread her legs. She moves the tails of her blouse aside. There is something about a woman's expanse of thighs, especially when her legs are open. That just does it for him.

He has a clear image of her centre. Every detail seems right. In many respects, the vagina is an entire woman in its own right. He just looks for a long while hoping to make her uncomfortable.

He walks up to her. Lifts one of her bare legs by her dainty ankle.

Lets his hand glide along her sculpted form from ankle to calf to inner thigh before reaching between her legs.

He is surprised when his hand comes back with tiny beads of moisture off the ends of her hairs.

He puts his fingers to his nose. She smells quite good. A raw scent like that of freshly turned garden earth.

He puts the tip of his finger to his lips. Her feminine juices have a clear, piquant flavour that seem almost homemade.

He shows her a wrinkled expression to let her know he knows.

His hand rises to her forehead to brush back an imaginary strand of trailing hair.

He unbuttons the blouse. He waits with anticipation after commanding her to take off her bra.

He is not disappointed. He wonders at the grace of the full jutting breasts. He has seen them before. But, they look new. They don't look like they belong to a fifty-five year old woman. They have an inviting weight that has defied the years. Defied gravity, the laws of physics. The colour of cream with hints of fine aqua veins below the surface. He holds both of them like ornate treasures. Begins to fondle them. Pulls on the nipples to distort their beauty.

He looks into her eyes. Waits for an expression to cross her face. He expects an icy glare. How dare he violates her this way. Ascertaining her like meat chattel.

He sees none of that. He can't read her expression. What is she thinking? But, all he gets is the heat coming off her body.

He stares at her breasts and her pussy. He doesn't know where to start. It bespeaks a certain pathos. Like the mule who, placed between two identical buckets of fodder, dies of starvation trying to decide which to eat first.

But, James kind of, perversely, relishes this starvation of the senses.

***

Chapter 9

Day 4

Evening. The cliff edge.

A moist sea breeze is blowing in slow and easy from the south. A sea scent mingled with a hint of rain.

"Alot has happened in the last three days. Will you look at your mum the same way again?"

"I don't know. I guess I'll know only when she comes back."

"Our last night. I'll be leaving noon tomorrow."

He is silent.

"Let's make it memorable. Do you've any particular inclination?"

"Remember we discussed music yesterday. How I would assign a musical piece to an artist, have the artist live the music, and create something from it?"

"Yes"

"Let's listen to Ravel until dark. Then, we go indoors."

They feel the rising symphonic buildup of Ravel's Bolero. Beginning meekly with a sweet flute. More and more instruments entering the fray. Always the same tune. Only increasingly louder. A rising musical tide. More festive. Grander. Until the full complement of the orchestra roars.

***

She picks up the chair, sets it with its back a foot from the bay window.

Darkness and warmth in the room. There is a soft reverence to it all. Though a light mood touch of boudoir.

Ravel plays in the background.

She undresses him. Holds him in her hand. Squeezing gently. Watches it grow. Squeezing more until he is properly hard. She studies it as she strokes him a moment. She is invincible. Completely in control.

Commanding lightly, "Come and sit."

He sits naked on the chair. Cock pointing and swaying in his lap.

She faces him. Steps between his legs. Lowers to her knees. Bends her head down. Not using her hands, she begins to slowly slide, graze her face against his raging cock. Lets her face, her cheeks feel the hotness. Her face gliding up and down along one side of his cock, then moving to the other side with her other cheek. He doesn't quite know why her handsfree action turns him on.