Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
This is my first attempt at writing in the first person. Firstly I thought that as there are a number of characters in the story, it would simplify who was being described.
Secondly I thought it might lend a slightly more intense air to it.
It is most certainly NOT autobiographical!
IMPORTANT — AS WITH SOME OF MY OTHER STORIES THIS IS AN INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER THAT MAINLY SETS THE SCENE — PLEASE BEAR THIS IN MIND IF VOTING OR COMMENTING.
My name is James. I was twenty-two years old at the time and had just completed my second year at college. I had agreed to visit my Aunt Anne for a couple of weeks (but I managed to spin it out to three for reasons that will soon be apparent!) She was my dad’s forty-two year-old sister and had recently moved house. I had agreed to do some odd jobs around the place for her. She always tended to spoil me a bit and I enjoyed her company; she is chatty and has a good sense of humour.
She was always fairly tactile with me, but in a maternal sort of way rather than a sexual one. In fact I had never considered my aunt in a sexual way at all until that summer. She was attractive enough — tallish and quite slim, (a UK dress size 14 as I discovered when secretly inspecting her clothes on the clothes maiden) with a well-toned body and strong-looking legs that no doubt came from her membership of the local riding school.
However, she usually wore clothes that were unflattering and often showed little fashion sense. Some of her clothes were not just unfashionable, they were a positive turn-off. For example she had some dresses and tops with big brash floral designs. Also, whilst I don’t have a fetish about big breasts, I always preferred at least a reasonably sized pair. Aunt Anne was not very well favoured in that department. I reckoned that they must only be A-cup in size.
The way she dressed made it worse. She tended to wear tops or dresses that hung quite loosely, no doubt to avoid drawing attention to her flattish chest, but the loose cut tended to make her seem more shapeless rather than less.
My latest girlfriend had finished with me a few months earlier. I’d had a number of girlfriends, some more serious than others. But to be honest I had always had a thing for older women. It probably arose from my attending an all boys’ school. My first awakening was to women rather than girls my own age. But as I say, until that summer I had never thought of Aunt Anne in a sexual way at all.
We got on well for the first few days of my stay, but on the fourth evening disaster struck. Aunt Anne had gone up to bed early and I had stayed in the lounge. I made sure that I waited a good twenty minutes or so. Then as quietly as I could I rolled one of the armchairs closer to the television, plugged in my headphones and loaded one of my porn DVDs into the player.
I decided to build up slowly to my favourite scene in a “milf” DVD, so to begin with I watched a chapter from a student-life porn movie. The scene I chose featured a pert-breasted female student giving her boyfriend oral sex when her busty housemate walked in on them and asked if she could join in. I rubbed myself through my trousers as I watched.
After watching that scene I changed to my favourite DVD. I always chuckled when the opening disclaimer stated that all who featured in it were at least eighteen years old at the time of filming. All the women were in fact at least, and very evidently, easily twice that age!
I watched part of the first chapter then skipped to my most watched one. It had fewer exaggerated moans and groans than the others. This was part of the reason I preferred it. The other was that she was naturally busty, with slightly sagging breasts that showed no surgical scars. I should say that I’ve nothing against enhanced boobs, it’s just that I prefer the way natural ones move. I imagine that enhanced ones feel less natural to the touch, as well. I wouldn’t know.
Anyway — then it happened. My headphones had blocked out all other sound. Aunt Anne had come downstairs for a drink of water but came into the lounge to check on me (after all, it was gone midnight). My hand was inside my trousers and, although I was not too far gone, I could not both withdraw it and kill the power to the television quickly enough. I whipped off the headphones and switched the television off, but my aunt — my dad’s sister! — had already seen what was on the screen — and my self-pleasuring hand down inside my trousers.
I wished the ground could open up and swallow me. I blushed bright red and hung my head in shame, but not before I saw her look at the DVD cases on the floor beside my chair. She shook her head in disbelief.
“Bloody hell, James! Bloody hell! I… I’m surprised at you! Bloody hell!” was all she said.
I started to blurt out an apology and an attempted, stammered excuse, but she had already headed out of the door to go back upstairs. I glanced at her long, ivory, satin nightdress. casino şirketleri It swished enticingly against the backs of her thighs and hung deliciously over her shapely backside as she left the room.
Suddenly I had noticed her. I had sexually NOTICED her.
She made no mention of it the next day. I almost wished that she would, to give me chance to clear the air, but I lacked the courage to raise the matter myself and felt that if she did not raise it, it was better left alone.
After that I contented myself with watching my porn on my laptop in my room after she had retired for the night.
Then the thoughts started.
I wished they hadn’t, but they had, and it was hard to stop them. And I found that I didn’t really want to. I began to think of Aunt Anne in her sexy nightdress, and the fleeting glimpse of her ample, shapely bum under the thin, shiny fabric. I wished I had got a glance of her small breasts through it, and wondered what they would look like naked.
I began to think of her dressing and undressing on the other side of the wall that separated her from me. I began to fantasise about her walking in on me again and asking if she could put her hand inside my trousers and bring me off as I watched my porn.
I began to watch the scene in the movie that I had usually skipped until then. It featured a slimmish, small-breasted woman with a young lad of a similar age to me. Despite berating myself with all sorts of abusive names, I found myself blocking out the woman’s face and imagining that the mature, small-breasted body was my aunt’s. And — I’m ashamed to admit — I found myself masturbating to the very explicit sight of my “aunt” having sex with a lad my own age. Of course, in my imagination the bloke in the movie was me.
I freely admit that it felt terribly dirty and shameful. And I should say that, of course, if I had chosen to, I could have stopped entertaining such thoughts. But I was enjoying my growing fixation upon my aunt. The mere fact of being alone with her in the house took on an erotic significance. I was almost painfully aware that only a thin wall and a few yards separated us when one of us was dressing or undressing.
One night when I was lying on my bed jacking off to naughty mental images of her, it suddenly occurred to me that I was doing so in very close proximity to her. She was lying on her bed just six feet or so from where I lay masturbating to thoughts of her, with just that wall between us. Guilt and shame made me start to go limp. But then — I’m ashamed to admit it but would plead that it’s simply an indication of how fixated I was becoming — that very thought started to make me hard again.
And — I know this sounds pathetic as well as obscene — I found myself shuffling onto my side to face to the dividing wall, as if secretly facing my dad’s sister. And I brought myself off in that position. Quickly. And copiously.
When she was out at work I longed to rummage through her wardrobe and her dressing table, but was too afraid of being spotted by a neighbour. I contented myself with admiring and stroking her clean clothes on the clothes maiden downstairs where she left them to air off before ironing them.
Over the following few days I started to feel a bit strained when I was with Aunt Anne. Embarrassment at having been caught jacking off haunted me. The mere fact of being alone with her was both embarrassing and arousing. Added to this was the fact that I had started jacking off to mental images of her in her sexy ivory nightdress. I wondered whether she was conscious of my blossoming awareness of her and desire for her. If she was, she didn’t show any sign.
Something else happened.
It may have been coincidence, but three days after that Aunt Anne wore a black skirt and a closer fitting top for work. The top wasn’t really tight or low cut. But it did show the shape of her small breasts. I found it hard not to keep looking. I was fascinated by the small, rounded orbs and by the outline of her bra through the pink top. The smallness of her breasts meant that virtually no cleavage was visible above the neckline. This made it almost a challenge to me to try to spot it.
I tried to be discreet, but it seemed when she was kneeling down to lift the washing from the washing machine that she spotted me a couple of times. But she gave no sign of embarrassment or anger and said nothing.
The risk had been worth taking. I had managed three brief glimpses of the greater part of one little orb inside her bra. As well as her enthralling small breasts there had also been the sight of her lovely legs. Due to her horse riding they were well toned rather than thin. They looked strong. And they were long, too.
The next day, she mentioned a party that some friends of hers were having that coming Saturday, and asked if I would like to go with her. I tried to sound enthusiastic, but the truth was that, whilst not exactly reclusive, I don’t really enjoy parties casino firmaları where I don’t know anybody — especially if, as this one sounded, there would be nobody my own age there.
Intriguingly, she seemed rather evasive about the whole thing, simply saying that it was more of a social evening than a party, with just six people present. She said she was sure I would enjoy the company of her friends. Oddly she seemed both a bit embarrassed and a bit amused as she said it. I asked no more about it.
When the evening came around I got ready and waited downstairs. Aunt Anne eventually appeared and I got quite a shock. She was wearing an orangey-red dress that reached her knees. Unusually for her, it fitted her quite tightly. It hugged her narrow hips and flat belly, and its tightness made appealing creases radiate diagonally down over her stomach and hips from where the material was gathered in at the waist.
As she moved, her tight dress stretched and tautened sensually across her body. The movement of her thighs was restricted by the length and tightness of her dress, causing her to walk in a slightly exaggerated and mincing way, and the fabric clung fleetingly to her crotch and thighs in a very enticing way as she did so. Her face was made up, but subtly, and looked quite natural, and her dark-straw coloured hair was held up on her head in a large grip. I had already “noticed” her several days earlier, but now she actually looked hot!
Her legs were bare and her red stilettos emphasised her their well-toned shape and the movement of her hips deliciously. Tonight the small size and the shape of her small breasts were clearly shown by her dress. The neckline was cut quite low, but she showed no cleavage due to the smallness of her boobs.
She was obviously wearing a bra, maybe even one that pushed her small breasts up and made them look a bit bigger than they really were. Her collarbone showed quite prominently and her skin was pale. The sight was enthralling. I struggled to tear my eyes away. She must have noticed, as she was beaming at me. Her eyes were bright, and emphasised by her subtle eyeliner and mascara. She had a carrier bag in her hand.
“Wow, Auntie — you look — lovely,” I said fumblingly. I knew that I was blushing.
“Thanks, love. You look good in that black shirt — if I was twenty years younger I’d say you looked hot, in fact! Anyway — shall we go?”
“Yes, Auntie, fine.”
She picked up another bag she had filled earlier with some party snack foodstuff but only a couple of cartons of fresh fruit juice. I realised that she could not really drink alcohol as she would be driving, but it seemed a bit odd to be taking so little. Still, I reasoned, there were only to be six of us.
I stepped outside ahead of her and glanced at her again as she locked the door of the house behind them. I admired the subtle curves of her waist and hips, and the contours of her shapely backside. Again I glanced at the way her dress moved against her, and as she drove I found it impossible to resist glancing from time to time at her neckline, her small boobs, and the folds of her dress across her lap.
During the journey — which lasted about half an hour — I hoped she didn’t notice my hard-on, though a couple of times her glance seemed to drop to it.
Although it was summer, it was proving to be a typical British summer. Several days of sun were due to be followed by a week of “unsettled” weather. In weather forecast-speak this usually meant persistent rain (and often wind as well) — “settled” bad weather in fact! It was drizzling as we set off and raining steadily after about ten minutes.
We drove through the town where Aunt Anne’s friends lived and to the suburbs on the south side. They lived on the edge of the town on a short road of impressive detached houses. We pulled into the drive and dashed to the door to escape the rain, which had now become heavy.
A woman in her mid forties and about five feet three or four inches tall answered the door and let us in. Aunt Anne introduced her to me as Lucy, and introduced me to her. The two women smiled, a little conspiratorially I thought, as my aunt brandished one of the carrier bags in her hand and went up the stairs. Lucy, our host, showed me into the lounge.
There was a large coffee table, but apart from a bottle of wine, a few cans, a jug of fresh orange juice and some glasses there was no other booze there, and hardly any food. It looked as if it was going to be an even more boring evening than I had suspected. I wondered whether I was going to have endless holiday photos inflicted upon me.
Although it was now raining hard outside, it was still far from dark, yet the vertical blinds were closed and the room was softly lit by a couple of lamps. The carpet and the furniture looked expensive.
The other odd thing was that in the middle of the coffee table there was a folded piece of paper güvenilir casino and two dice, ordinary, board-game type. I groaned inwardly. It looked as though there was going to be some kind of party game, especially as one die was pink and the other blue. I don’t mind some party games, but, let’s be honest, others are downright dull or else embarrassing — especially with people you don’t know and without a reasonable amount of drink to loosen your inhibitions.
Another couple was present, Caroline and Jack. They too looked to be in their mid-forties. We all made small talk for a while. Aunt Anne came into the lounge. Again the atmosphere seemed a little strange, and all present — except me — seemed to exchange some knowing glances. My aunt arranged the snacks on the coffee table. I felt uncomfortable.
Caroline had light blond wavy hair that fell to her shoulders. She was busty — I guessed a DD or maybe even an E. She had a soft provincial accent and laughed quietly but frequently. She was wearing a tight, pale blue jersey dress that, like my aunt’s, hugged her hips and belly. But although she was bustier and curvier, with wider hips and a slightly plumper stomach than my aunt, she was not much bigger overall, and she was by o means overweight.
As I looked closer I guessed that she was probably in fact in her late, not mid-, forties. She showed an inch or so of cleavage above her dress, and I found myself glancing again and again at the rise and fall of her ample breasts under her tight dress. I could just make out her nipples through the soft-looking fabric. To my horror I felt the early stages of my hard-on returning. Like my aunt, her legs were bare. And, a littler like Aunt Anne’s, they weren’t skinny — nor fat.
Lucy had a nondescript accent, but she did have a mannerism that, whilst undoubtedly subconscious, struck me as very erotic. From time to time she would lick her lips, especially if she spoke for several sentences without interruption. Like all mannerisms, once I noticed it became hard not to, and I found my eyes drawn to the movement of her mouth whenever she spoke. Her shoulder-length hair was dark and slightly wavy, natural and in fact bordering on the slightly untidy.
Her lips were thin and she wore a mid-pink lip gloss. Her eyes were blue and piercing. She was wearing a red satin blouse and a black skirt that reached half-way down her slender thighs. She was fairly slim with modest sized breasts, I reckoned B-cup. She sat with her leg crossed; her exposed lower thigh looked good in sheer black nylon. If it had been a warmer evening she would no doubt have been bare-legged like my aunt and Caroline. I found my gaze being drawn to her shapely, slender legs, and their sheer black covering made them more appealing.
The top two buttons of her blouse were unfastened and just the top of her cleavage was revealed. Also her blouse gaped open slightly between the buttons, giving glimpses of pale bare skin. It was only the skin of her abdomen and a little of her breasts, but it seemed inviting and enticing. Or maybe it says more about my wandering eyes, even where women twice my age were concerned.
To my surprise and embarrassment both Lucy and Caroline made a lot of eye contact with me and sometimes even seemed to be running their eyes over me. I felt uncomfortable, and was sure I must be imagining it — too much porn must be making me read too much into harmless and friendly glances, I thought. After all, Lucy’s husband, Bill, was in the room with her, and so was Jack, Caroline’s partner.
But then again — though I thought I must be imagining it — Bill’s eyes seemed to be roving over Caroline and Jack’s eyes over Lucy — and doing so overtly. It all seemed very confusing and weird — and, frankly, disturbing, too. Aunt Anne sat beside me. I was very conscious of her nearness in that sexy dress, and felt a twinge in my trousers as a result. Bill and Jack also seemed to be eyeing up my Aunt Anne — without even pretending to be discreet.
I realise that this all sounds very naive of me. But it was unprecedented, and don’t forget that one of the other five people present was my own aunt and that the remaining four were friends of hers — and apparently very respectable ones at that.
Bill got up and asked who wanted a drink. Everyone else opted for fruit juice and I felt obliged to do the same. FRUIT JUICE! Great, I thought! This looked like being quite some party! He looked at me and smiled.
“Has your Aunt Anne explained about our little parties, James?” he asked me.
I felt stupid.
“No. She just said we were coming across to your house for a party, but that it was more of a social evening,” I replied nervously.
“Social evening. Er, yes,” Bill repeated. He seemed nervous, too. “Social evening — yes, that’s a reasonable way to describe it…”
I began to feel more uneasy. Lucy looked rather embarrassed and Caroline and Jack tried to stifle laughter.
Bill smiled again.
“Er… ever heard of SWINGING, James?”
“I er… yes.”
A shock wave ran through me, and I felt myself flush and feel hot as my aunt’s evasiveness, the strange atmosphere and suggestive looks began to fall into place. I felt both excited and scared.
Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32