Voluptuous aunt and the college student having a great sex
09/24/2024
A horny male college student goes to live with his lonely, widowed and voluptuous aunt. The sexual tension builds slowly. In the year 196x I was a shy but oversexed 18 year-old college freshman,
and I had just moved into my Aunt Betty’s compact single family house in
Southern California. Actually, she isn’t my aunt exactly, but my fatherÕs
younger cousin, but to me and my kid brother she was always Aunt Betty.
I’ll describe her in just a bit, but first let me tell you how this
situation arose. I got a full-tuition scholarship at a “good” science and
engineering university, but no help with the room and board. We could
barely afford transport to and from my native Ohio, let alone a dorm room
and meal plan. It was my father’s idea to have me rent a room with his
37 year-old cousin, whose much older husband had died a couple of years
before, leaving her with a small house and not a heck of a lot else.
Dad’s plan was for me to do a host of chores around the house and pool
and yard in exchange for my room and board. Plus I think he wrote some
checks to Aunt Betty, otherwise the exchange would have been too uneven.
I had always remembered Aunt Betty as a chunky lady with delicate
features, a double chin, short dark hair and a sweet, low, soothing
voice. The last time I saw her, she actually baby-sat for me and my
younger brother, when she was still living in Ohio. I guess I was around
10 and she was almost 30, still unmarried.
When I arrived at her house on an unseasonably hot September day, with my
old suitcase and a big nylon duffle bag, I was in for a shock which
literally took my breath away. Aunt Betty waved me over to the
modest-sized swimming pool, where she was sitting and reading a novel.
She had lost considerable weight, but her short white terry-cloth robe
revealed that she was phenomenally curvaceous. I could scarcely tear my
gaze away from her high, tan cleavage, slightly sweaty from the sun. She
had nice, slender ankles, too, although her thighs were a bit plump.
Aunt Betty jumped right up and, like a good hostess, showed me around my
new home. I tried very hard not to stare at her spectacular shape or to
make excessive eye contact, either. It was really tough, because Aunt
Betty was precisely the physical type I conjured up in my masturbatory
fantasies: a pretty, but not glamorous face, with understated makeup,
and really voluptuous form. I estimate she was about five-five or
five-six tall and maybe 145 pounds, distributed nicely all around. She
must have traded in her thick glasses for contact lenses. Instead of
looking like a plain, dumpy woman who had shed a few pounds, she gave me
the impression of a stroke magazine centerfold who had gotten pleasingly
plump.
As the first weeks of the semester passed, I got into a routine of
classes, labs, study in the library until about 9, then a brisk walk
home. I was too tired to think about dating and girls. I noticed, too,
that my aunt would also come home late from her office job, rush through
a salad-bar salad and quickly turn in, quite fatigued. I gathered from
our few conversations that the small manufacturing business she was in
was understaffed; hence the long hours, and the lack of energy for a
social life.
As the weeks wore on, our respective workloads got slightly heavier, not
lighter, and we rarely ventured beyond the confines of her house.
Although our schedules did not allow us to take meals together, we
started watching the tv news together at the end of the day. Aunt Betty
always wore loose-fitting, modest clothing, but some times she sat close
enough so that our thighs touched with quite a bit of pressure, which
alone was enough to give me a semi-erection. At other times, without
making any suggestive remarks or looks, she leaned her head on my
shoulders, as if she were nodding off from fatigue. Sometimes I suspected
she was not really sleeping on such occasions, but was enjoying the
closeness.
Week by week I was getting hornier and hornier, and I suspected that Aunt
Betty also was getting aroused by having me in close proximity. Although
we spoke freely on any number of subjects, I naturally hesitated to ask
her about her love life after widowhood.
Finally, around mid-October, things began to heat up.
“Oh, Brad, would be a dear and help me so I don’t fall off the
step stool?” She was rearranging some crockery on a high shelf in the
kitchen. Her cotton skirt was very short, and her loose-fitting top
didn’t quite reach to the waist of the skirt, so I could see a nice
expanse of soft creamy flesh around her middle. It seemed logical to
support her at the waist, so I got to touch her bare skin, which thrilled
me intensely.
“A little tighter, Brad, I’d hate to have a fall.”
“With pleasure, Aunt Betty” I said, as I gave her waist a gentle
squeeze.
Since she didn’t seem to be in any hurry to complete her chore, I held
her bare waist and leisurely admired her full, curved thighs.
Not long after that episode, out of the blue, she remarked, “I’ve been
noticing that you look at me…a bit…longingly, Brad. Is that possible,
or is it my imagination?”
I knew enough even then not to refer to my own loneliness and extreme
horniness, so I replied: “It’s just that you’re a hell of an attractive
woman, Aunt Betty.” “I hope I’m not sounding too forward.”
“Brad, I promised your Dad I’d look after you, but I’m sure he
didn’t mean that way.” She laughed, a deep, throaty, sexy laugh.
From then on she would favor me with glimpses of her lush curves, but
they were glimpses only, which inflamed my interest in her to an
incestuous obsession.
Finally, she broke the ice, and in response to one of my longing looks,
put a hand on my shoulder, and asked, “You do find me attractive, don’t
you?…as a woman…really, now, Brad.”
“Aunt Betty, if only you knew how much you affect me, there wouldn’t
be any doubt in your mind at all.”
“How do I affect you, Brad,” she asked, her hand still on my shoulder.
“I know it isn’t what’s supposed to happen, but being close to you
arouses me powerfully…there, I’ve said it. It had to be said.” At this,
I covered her hand with my own and dared to give it a little squeeze. My
heart was racing.
“We musn’t touch-ever,” she said, as she withdrew her hand from
mine. “But, Lord help me, I need to feel attractive again….you’d really
like to see my naked body wouldn’t you ,Brad? Even though it would make
your father very angry?”
I think she mentioned my father because she wanted to emphasize the
incestuous aspect of our situation. To her I think it added a definite
extra measure of spice. With her shape, I would have died for her had she
been a perfect stranger.
“Yes I really, really would, Aunt Betty.”
“If you’re a good boy, Brad, and show me an “A” exam paper, I might
just let you have a look, but only under certain conditions.”
“Any conditions you say, Aunt Betty!” I could barely get the words
out, my mouth was suddenly so dry.
Needless to say I buckled down even harder on my courses. In those days,
in competitive colleges, the profs didn’t hand out A’s just for showing
up for all the classes. And in the engineering courses I took that year,
a B-plus was considered a really desirable grade.
When I got a solid “A”in a tough American History mid-term, I was
thrilled beyond belief, for more reasons than one! On the way home, I
spent the last of my weekly cash on half a dozen roses for my aunt, to
underline my devotion and affection. I tidied up the kitchen extra well,
and left the precious “A” exam booklet on the corner of the table, with
the flowers. I was half aroused for what seemed like hours.
“Oh you’re a dear, Brad, I love roses” said Aunt Betty effusively.
“And I promised your Dad I’d make sure you buckled down to study hard, so
now I can tell him you’re getting an “A” in History. She made no mention
of her promise to me, and I was naturally hesitant to push her.
She made no further mention of the exam grade, sat well apart from me
while watching the tv news. I was crushed and highly strung out with
sexual tension. When she headed for her room I gathered up all my courage
and somehow mentioned that I had had a “special reason” to show her the
“A” paper.
“Oh, Brad, dear, can you ever forgive me, I’m just so tired tonight,
I just can’t do justice to your History “A” and those lovely roses! But
tomorrow, I promise to make it up to you. Will you think about me tonight
and tomorrow?”
“Aunt Betty, you know I won’t think of anything else!”
The next night was Saturday night. True to my parting word to Aunt Betty,
I could think of nothing all day but her promise. And her bod. To keep
a semblance of sanity, I walked for two hours along the bland,
palm-shaded streets of the nondescript California suburb.
Saturday, night, bedtime. Betty wearing her usual loose printed dress for
the late news. Her hair freshly brushed, a new perfume, a bit deeper
lipstick shade than usual. In accordance with Aunt Betty’s explicit
instructions, I stood in the passageway, five feet from her bedroom door,
which on this special night was wide open. With the electric lights out,
she set a lighted candle down on her bedside table and stood facing me so
the candlelight shone from her left side. I was not to utter a sound, nor
touch myself ‘down there’. She slowly unbuttoned her dress from top to
bottom, and let it drop to the floor. Tonight she had omitted wearing a
bra, so I could see everything not covered by her low-cut satiny white
briefs. Aunt Betty’s thighs glistened full, smooth and beautifully
curved. Her belly, partly encased by the panties, was also somewhat full,
but completely smooth, with a deep navel. Her Earth-Mother bosom covered
almost all of the front of her ribcage. The deep shadows cast by the lone
candle accentuated her incredibly lush curves, exciting me beyond
endurance. Still, it was too dark to discern many details, so even
afterwards, her body retained an aura of mystery. After standing still as
a statue for a minute or so, she gracefully turned to face directly away
from me, toward a mirror over the dresser. And as she brushed her hair,
her bent, raised arms allowed me to see the side curves of both breasts
at the same time, an astonishing sight. Then she turned to the side and
blew out the candle. I could hear the faint rustle as she slipped under
the covers.
I felt as if steam from my superheated blood would blow out of my ears
from the excitement, from the two or three minutes of forbidden intimacy.
No way I could have fallen asleep after that, except by masturbating to
the candle-lit images I had just witnessed.
**********
Sunday morning, I awakened with a hard-on which would not go away. I
forced myself out of bed, shaved and then walked almost two miles to get
Aunt Betty’s favorite newspaper. She made me leave the paper outside her
bedroom door, now closed. We shared breakfast, but she seemed slightly
distant and made no mention of the incredible events of the night
before…
Imagine this if you will. The living room is in nearly total darkness,
the house is silent in the wee hours. My aunt had rushed to the tv set
fresh from her bath around eleven and helped me to finish a half-bottle
of Italian red; we fell asleep on the living room sofa. She is sleeping-I
think- nearly upright, the bottom two-thirds of her robe completely open!
My face is buried against her shoulder, somehow my bare arm is resting
on her lap, hand curled around her soft flank, the middle of my forearm
in contact with-could it be actually-her pubic bush! I dare not even
breath aloud for fear of startling her out of her sleep. I know that if
she awakes, she will break off this forbidden contact. The thought of
touching the gateway to her intimate parts excites me to the very core
and I start to shake with tension. Although it is too dark to see, I try
to imagine Aunt Betty in my minds eye totally naked from the waist down,
as she is in fact. My erection threatens to burst the fabric of my pyjamas.
I cannot tear myself away although nothing can come of this, tonight at
any rate. Her regular breathing tells me she is truly asleep, her falling
asleep with the robe open an accident. After what seems like two hours I
gradually draw away from contact, close her robe and cover her with a
blanket from her bedroom. My balls ache from the prolonged congestion,
it’s almost impossible to sleep without stroking my member but somehow I
muster the self-discipline to hold off, in anticipation of a breakthrough
in the next few days.
That was on the Saturday night of a three-day weekend. What happened the
very next night was ten times as exciting.
“Brad, dear, I think it’s time we had a little talk; could you
get us a couple of beers from the fridge?”
“Sure, Aunt Betty.” We settled down on the living room sofa. After
downing half the can, she took my hand and placed it firmly on her
mid-thigh, holding it there for emphasis. Were things going to get steamy
at last?
“Look, Brad, it’s time for a little honesty and openness around
here. I’ll just bet you’ve been wondering about my love life-or lack of
it.” Here I nodded assent.
“I had two brief flings about four-five months after your Uncle
Woody passed on, with guys who sell stuff to my company, but frankly
they treated me like dirt. And for me that’s worse than being lonely-or
horny. I’m just not about to go looking around for a man now or probably
any time soon…but I have needs…I was thinking you and I…oh, hell!
Get me another beer, will you?”
“Anything for my favorite aunt!” was my attempt to be lighthearted,
but I was getting all of a sudden very tense as I sensed the direction we
were headed for.
“Brad, I remember every flattering thing you ever said about me, and
all those looks you’ve been giving me…and I don’t think you’d ever
treat me like dirt.”
“Of course not, Aunt Betty.” I placed my hand back on her thigh,
but higher up. She responded by covering my hand with her own.
“A nice-looking broad-shouldered young fella like you, not going out
with girls, I couldn’t help wondering…hoping, you know…that had
something to do with your feelings about me.” At this I almost was
tempted to answer by taking her in my arms and kissing her, but I was
still a little shy. Instead I meekly nodded, avoiding eye contact.
“The time is ripe for us to see how we respond to each other, as
equal adults, Brad. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Brad.”
“Oh God, yes, YES!”
“It has to done just right, making sure that neither one of us is
disappointed, and that it’s what we both truly are ready for.”
“Uh, what are you driving at, Aunt Betty?”
“I mean, Brad, that I’m sure you masturbate, if you’re like all
other young men, and that it’s got to stop right now, so you can give ME
your all. And I’ll stop, too, as of this moment.”
I tried not to look shocked, but this was back in the 1960s, when we
didn’t talk much about masturbation and boys were totally ignorant on the
subject of female masturbation.
******
The air was warm for November, even for a Southern California autumn. A
thin crescent moon hung in the night sky. As instructed by Betty, I
heated up her small pool and hung a bunch of towels on a lattice-work
fence to secure our privacy from the eyes of neighbors. I got into the
pool and faced away from the house. Aunt Betty liked to give surprises.
After a few agonizingly slow minutes, I heard her slip into the water
behind me. With pent-up passion she hugged me from the back, rubbing and
then pinching my nipples. No high-school girlfriend had ever done
anything like that! She nuzzled my neck and shoulder, and then squeezed
my nipples ’til they hurt. As previously instructed I stood still and
straight.
“Now, Brad, turn around and look at me.” She was wearing a one-piece
swimsuit which concealed only the lower 60% of her full bosom. I gasped
at her awesome cleavage; somehow the effect was all the greater as I had
to strain my eyesight to the utmost in the scanty moonlight.
“Now let’s move to the deeper part of the pool, I want to show you
something.” I willingly obeyed.
“How long can you hold your breath under water, Brad?”
“Don’t know, Aunt Betty.” Not even at a moment like this was I
permitted to call her simply by her first name.
“You’d like me to drop the top of my swimsuit, wouldn’t you, you
sweet boy?” I nodded vigorously. “Well, you can see my breasts as long as
you can hold your breath under water…starting…now!”
I took two or three deep breaths and dropped under the surface. There,
not two feet away was a sight to behold. No doubt Aunt Betty was a
natural DD-cupper, and although her boobs probably sagged quite a bit
under their weight in air, under water they seemed to float and sway,
weightless yet undeniably massive in their shadowed roundness. She placed
her hands on her hips, arched her back and twisted back and forth to
accentuate the wonderful jiggling motions. I tried to memorize the sight
of those great round masses of tit-flesh until my eyes stung fiercely
from the pool chemicals. I passionately wanted to hold Aunt Betty’s
breasts and suck on them, and would have died happily for one minute of
such unimagined pleasure. What did happen is that, my lungs bursting, I
surfaced, and mumbled, between gasps of air: “Incredible, Aunt
Betty…you are just so sexy and beautiful…I just…have never seen
anything like that…anywhere(what I meant was, in stroke magazines)
“Oh you dear, lovely boy, give us a kiss,” she said, as she bent
forward, tilted her head toward me and kissed me deeply, so our teeth
ground together for an instant.
“Now I’m sure, dear Brad, of my feelings, but tonight is not the
right night…don’t ask…turn around right now, Brad.”
As ever I obeyed her instantly, shaking with passion and disappointment
at the same time. I heard her climb out of the pool and disappear behind
me into the house.
I lay down on the poolside lounger in confusion until the air turned
colder and caused a shivering fit. Back in the house, Aunt Betty’s
bedroom door was closed. The house was silent. I felt almost sure she was
as drawn to me as I to her, and that we would soon consummate our incest,
but maybe she enjoyed teasing me…maybe it would never happen. With the
greatest difficulty, I remembered my promise to avoid masturbation
completely. I read myself to sleep with a materials science textbook.
———-AUNT BETTY 2 ———–
——–by Septimus (fvj@world.std.com)——-
SUMMARY: horny male college student lives with his widowed, equally horny
and voluptuous 37 year-old aunt. The sexual ardor between them has
smoldered for weeks, but thus far no action.
——————–
After the moonlight swimming pool incident I was extremely edgy for days.
It was a wonder I was able to take notes in class. I looked at Aunt Betty
with an acute longing. The English have a (to me) funny-sounding
expression, “keen as mustard.” I’m not sure how the expression is
supposed to be used, but I suppose if you fail to feed a dog for a
couple of days and then hold a nicely broiled lamb chop a couple of
inches from its snout for a few long minutes–well that dog will be “keen
as mustard.” I was keen as mustard for my voluptuous aunt. I hung on her
every word and gesture, trying to sense when she would finally invite me
to share her bed. My devotion to her was totally transparent.
There was no more physical contact between us for a few days. But, twice
she walked around the house immodestly wearing just her bra and briefs.
Somehow I knew not to approach her on those occasions; I sensed she
wanted me to be a voyeur, not a lover. On a third such occasion Aunt
Betty invited me to stand in the passageway near her bedroom and watch
her undress, down to her underwear. Everything she wore was just little
snug for her buxom figure, and showed a little bulge of extra flesh at
the upper and lower edges of her lingerie. How I longed to squeeze those
sexy, adorable little bulges. She had left the room lights on, and
posed lasciviously for the mirror, cupping her full breasts and then
slowly running her delicate hands down her rounded belly and stopping at
her upper thighs. Unlike the models who pose for stroke magazines, who
generally put on exaggerated facial expressions of supposed “sexiness,”
Betty had no expression except a subtle smile of satisfaction at what
she saw in her mirror. As usual, I was totally mesmerized by what I saw.
I said nothing, knowing from past experience to keep a silent voyeuristic
vigil.
******
When the night of consummation came, it was a total surprise to me. As
usual, Aunt Betty was in total control of the situation. She invited me
to have Saturday night dinner with her (I think it was the weekend before
Thanksgiving) and I remember well that the dinner consisted of a green
salad, a small serving of leftover pasta, a single glass of California
Riesling wine for her, a single glass of ice water for me. After
clearing the table, I absentmindedly looked in the refrigerator for a
dessert; Aunt Betty observed my search, closed the ‘fridge door and put
both hands on my shoulders.
“My sweet child, tonight you’ll sleep in my bed. You won’t be wanting any
rich desserts just now.” You can imagine how stunned I was by this
sudden, yet long-expected invitation.
“Yes, Aunt Betty, I look forward to…to being with you…more than
I can say.” The sharp lust in my eyes was utterly genuine and
transparent, and must have more than compensated for my stiff, unromantic
words, for Aunt Betty smiled and said, simply, “Come to my room at eleven.”
Eleven P.M. was about two hours off, plenty of time to shower thoroughly,
brush the teeth, gargle mouthwash. I softened my 18 year old whiskers
with the hottest water possible and took the slowest, most deliberate
shave of my life. Partly to look and feel perfect for my adorable Betty,
and partly to make the time pass. I sat in my room and solved some
routine physics problems, then picked up the sports section. The Browns
were seven-and-two; if they beat Dallas tomorrow, they were a cinch for
the conference championship. I paced the room, then read an article about
the escalation of U.S. involvement in Southeast Asia. My mind drifted to
war, to the R.O.T.C., which I was thinking of joining to ease the family
finances. I calculated my chances of surviving combat as a second
lieutenant of infantry. What IS the half-life of a second lieutenant in
combat? Hours? Days? Morbid thoughts crept into my head. I wondered if I
could even get it up later tonight.
With a final splash of “4711” cologne on my cheeks and neck and chest, I
nervously padded down the passageway to her bedroom. Polite as always, I
knocked. “Come in, dear” was her reply.
O.K., now it’s time for the obligatory seduction scene, right? With the
heroine prancing around wearing two hundred dollars worth of lacy, silky,
underthings from Victoria’s Secret, right? WRONG. Aunt Betty, as usual,
had her own ideas. First of all, Victoria’s Secret didn’t exist at that
time. But mainly, she didn’t intend to parade around in newly purchased
exotic lingerie, because she damn well didn’t have to. She had already
seduced me, many times over. I was ready, had been for weeks. Keen as
mustard, your hero, Brad.
What happened was this. She came out of the bathroom with freshly brushed
hair and perfume, but a perfectly mundane, loose cotton nightgown which
revealed nothing but her nicely turned ankles. She read my puzzlement and
disappointment in an instant, and said, “Brad, tonight we are going to
have a cozy, domestic night…domestic as in husband and wife. In real
life, husbands and wives don’t automatically make love before going to
sleep.”
Well, I was still confused, as you may imagine, but by now well trained
to obey her, so I said, “Sure, Aunt Betty” and leaned over to sniff her
shampooed hair. “You really smell great.”
Later, much later, Aunt Betty told me that in her experience, most men
are sexually stronger in the morning than at bedtime, and that’s why she
insisted on turning in that first night without making love. She had
everything figured out!
In her teasing seduction of me, Aunt Betty had one more card to play: I
slept under the bedsheet while she slept between the sheet and the
blanket. To the very last, I was in some slight doubt about her
intentions. Was this the ultimate tease, or did she just enjoy control
over the situation, over me? So, with many layers of cloth between us we
kissed goodnight, at first chastely, then with more urgency. “Oh Brad,
dear boy, give me a kiss that I’ll remember in the morning!” We kissed
with mouths open, she grasped my upper, then lower lips with both her
lips, then let me do the same for her. I kissed her nose, then licked her
eyebrows, then licked just below and behind her ear, right and left.
Hell, I didn’t know what I was doing, but I sure was enthusiastic!
“Oh Brad, are you glad to be here with me?” Her question put an end to
our passionate kissing.
At this point I had the nerve to say, “I’d rather you be all the way
under the sheets with me.” “Just wait,” was her reply. “And, Brad
dear?–if you get up in the middle of the night, remember to empty your
bladder, and the mouthwash is right on the sink.” From then on I always
tried to stay a little dehydrated before sexual relations in order to
avoid a semi-full bladder at the wrong time. And I always remembered that
Aunt Betty served me one glass of water and no tea or coffee that night.
My stiff cock finally wilted and let me sleep.
The house was totally silent. I awakened, but it wasn’t due to any
discomfort. The tabletop alarm clock read 2:30, but all my senses were
alert as they had been that night in front of the tv. Oh, God, she was
actually under the sheet with me, holding my left arm across her naked
thighs! I reached higher, holding her soft waist, with my arm grazing her
pubic hair. I nuzzled her neck, then her ear. She murmured a soft sound
of pleasure. Then I remembered her last minute instruction. “Please
excuse me for a moment” I went to the bathroom for a splash of mouthwash,
didn’t have to void because of my dehydration, and had the presence of
mind to shed my pyjamas on the way back to bed. I purposely left the
bathroom light on to illuminate Betty’s opulent curves.
“Oh, it’s wonderful being so close to you at last, Aunt Betty”
“Don’t say anything now, Brad, just touch me.”
She was on her back, one knee gracefully bent. I started where I had left
off, at the waist and hips and for the first time explored her breasts. I
tore the covers off us and straddled her waist, kneading her massive
breasts, each of which was almost two hand-fulls, then bending over to
lick her nipples with circular and back and forth motions. I was so
aroused I felt like the top of my head would blow off. Was this what high
blood pressure felt like? Aunt Betty squirmed with pleasure, cradled her
boobs in her arms to keep them from sagging against her sides and
offered them to me. “Now suck on me hard, Brad!” With a good will I set
to the task until the pink areolas puckered and her nips stood up a good
half-inch.
The actual massiveness and roundness of her boobs in my hands surpassed
all imagination. Pushing them from the side in a rhythm set up fluid
wave-like motions. After about ten astonishingly exciting minutes
fondling her boobs every way, I knelt at her side and gently stroked the
outermost portion of her pubic bush, where it met the creamy white
hairless thigh. A minute later, under Aunt Betty’s expert guidance, I
stimulated her clit, watching her pull strongly upwards on the skin just
above the clit. I think what this accomplished was to put the nerve
endings on stretch and make the clit itself extra sensitive. Learning
quickly, I pulled the mons skin taut and tried different motions on her
clit, being guided by her audible murmurs and moans of pleasure. Later
she told me that she actually came after a couple of minutes of clitoral
stroking, but I kept it up much longer.
“Come closer, let me admire you, Brad. What a fine, strong-looking
member you have.”
None of the furtive fumblings in the back seats of cars with teenage
girlfriends had prepared me for that kind of talk. She rubbed the
glistening bead of pre-cum over the head of my cock until I gasped with
pleasure. I dared to hope she would now take me in her mouth, and I
pushed my cock toward her mouth. But she was as always in control of
the action. She grasped my shaft, which was about as stiff as a birch
dowel, and pulled gently backwards on the skin, stretching the nerve
endings on head and making it incredibly sensitive. Now she rubbed the
lubricated head and glans with a gentle rotary motion which drove me out
of my mind. “Ohh…oooh, YES, yesss, that’s perfect, oooh, I’ve never
felt anything like that before.”
“Now, Brad, settle down a bit and stroke me down there, as I showed
you.” She stopped stimulating me and although I was ready to collapse
with the intensity of the pleasure, I mustered enough concentration to
stroke the folds where her thighs met the pubic bush, then gradually
moving closer and closer to the midline, where her inner pussy lips were
swollen and protruding. I tried pulling on the inner lips and elicited a
few gasps of pleasure from Aunt Betty.
“Oh, dear Brad, my Brad, touch my clit NOW.”
Aunt Betty was making slight rocking motions with her hips to help me
out. I tautened her skin just north of the clit, and moistened my
fingertip with saliva and touched her lightly right in the center. She
pushed up against my finger, and I backed off teasingly. She pushed her
hips higher, seeking my finger, and I gave her clit some nice rotating
motions at medium pressure.
“Brad, come inside me NOW.”
The moment of truth had arrived. It was actually my first time with a
totally naked woman in the privacy of a bedroom, and the thrill of that
moment beggars my powers of description. Aunt Betty was a snug fit for
me, as her tight muscles and prolonged engorgement made for a narrow
entry, but the lubrication was copious, and as I glided into her slowly,
we groaned together with a pleasure intensified by our abstinence from
“self-abuse.” I kept up a very slow rhythm at first because I wanted to
savor every moment and not come too quickly, but soon Aunt Betty pressed
me with a barely audible command “Deeper, deeper, faster now, Brad, yes,
yesss.”
Then a minute later, “Are you close?”
“Yes.” At this, Aunt Betty pushed my hips away, guided me down to
lie next to her.
“I was very close too, Brad, my sweet child. Let’s relax a little,
and you’ll see, the intensity will be much greater. Trust me.”
I was so aroused I couldn’t speak, and although my member remained fully
erect, my nervous system ebbed away from the brink of orgasm. I caressed
Aunt Betty starting at her muscular calves, up to the full smooth thighs,
once more grazing her pubic bush, then concentrating on those great
rounded breasts, then her neck. I stroked her slightly parted lips with
a very light pressure that had the effect of tickling.
“Oooh, that feels nice, where did you learn that?”
“Just thought of it, Aunt Betty”
After a few minutes, we went into a final cycle of mutually stroking each
others’ genitals, until Aunt Betty commanded me to enter her. This time
she maneuvered us so that her head was half hanging off the edge of the
bed away from the wall.
“Brad, are your feet against the wall now?”
“Yes, Aunt Betty”
We were in the homestretch now, Aunt Betty’s powerful legs were wrapped
around my back, and she signaled for a stepped up rhythm by digging into
my upper arms with her fingernails.
“Deeper. deeper, Oh Brad, oh my sweet lord, yes!”
Having my feet planted firmly against the wall gave me immensely
effective leverage for the final thrusts which brought on her gushing
orgasm. Not thirty seconds later my inarticulate gasps told her I was on
the edge myself.
“Slower, Brad!”
She reached down and firmly grasped the base of my cock, holding it to
arrest my impending orgasm. I groaned from the excruciating discomfort.
“Trust me, Brad!”
Two seconds, three seconds, four seconds, holding back the tide while she
brought me off with her hip movements. Then she let go of my cock and the
dammed-up fluids gushed in a series of intense spasms which made me
almost faint with pleasure. “Pleasure” is too watery a word for what I
experienced in those unforgettable seconds. Since that night I have
never been able to recapture that sweet, painful intensity.
I pulled the flat sheet and blanket over Betty and me, placed a hand
between her thighs to catch the sticky juices (ours!) from her sheath,
and we went to sleep.
******
We slept until nearly noon. Sunlight filled Aunt Betty’s bedroom. There
seemed to be no dry areas on the fitted sheet. Aunt Betty was sleeping on
her side, away from me. I eased out of bed and sneaked an admiring look
at the nicely rounded buttocks of my lover, my cousin, my aunt. Betty.
Then I covered her well. I felt protective and full of gratitude at the
same time. Was this romantic love? How could I know, not having any basis
for comparison?
By the time I brought Aunt Betty’s breakfast to her bed, she had already
put on her loose cotton nightgown. I bent over and gave her a big hug.
“Good morning, my sweet, sweet Betty.”
“You are an adorable boy, Brad. Are you getting horny, again?”
“Why don’t you open a few buttons on that nightgown, and you’ll see.”
“All in due course, Brad. I need to get freshened up a bit. The car
keys are in the usual spot, why don’t you get us a newspaper and another
quart of orange juice, and then we’ll go back to bed.”
At the word “bed” I felt a stirring in my loins, not dissimilar to the
conditioned response of Pavlov’s famous dog.
Back home. Aunt Betty was tidying up her little house, wearing a satiny
maroon robe with the waist-cord tied really tight, emphasizing the
abundant curves north and south. Her face looked a bit tired and puffy,
showing her age, but I quickly banished that thought. Lovers aren’t
supposed to notice those things, are they?
“Brad, get yourself comfortable; I want you to admire me as if you’re
seeing me for the first time.” At her command, I lay on my back, head
propped up on two pillows, to get a good look at Betty. First she pulled
a bottle of baby oil out of a dresser drawer and set it down on the bed,
next to me. She slowly untied the waist cord of her robe; the silky robe
made an an audible sigh as it slide off her buxom body. It was actually
the first time I had seen Betty standing in the nude, up close, in full
daylight. As she spread the mineral oil on her shoulders and arms, her
big, soft breasts jiggled with a fluid motion that mesmerized me. As she
continued to massage the oil into her skin, I observed that the lower
curve of each breast was close to her waist, but her deep pink areolas
were not sagging toward the floor, but were pointed right at me! This
perspective of “tits-from-below” is a major feature of breast fetish
videos, according to a porn photographer I met once in Los Angeles. Even
with a fair amount of sag, the preponderant mass of flesh is pointing
toward the camera lens, as Betty’s abundant flesh was now quivering in my
face.
Then she turned around and handed me the baby oil, so I could rub the oil
into her back and buttocks, and the back of her legs. My eager, oily
fingers lingered between her thighs, and pressed upwards against the
valley between her outer lips. In response, she pressed downward against
the edge of my index finger, and I kept up the pressure with some sliding
motions. And couldn’t resist kissing her generously proportioned buttocks
and nibbling on her soft flanks. I’m sure Aunt Betty would not have
qualified as a swim-suit calender model, but to me she was just right.
Abundant flesh has always been a metaphor for generosity and warmth, more
than a metaphor, really, more like an incarnation.
There is nothing special about precisely what we did next, back in the
bed. You’ve done it yourself, or seen it or read about it . All I wish to
say is that we did it with tremendous joie de vivre, and on that Sunday,
and the many days afterwards, we never held back from each other
anything pleasurable or exciting to the senses. Not that she stopped
teasing me or stopped being unpredictable. I learned to love her
surprises more and more. I also learned to emulate Aunt Betty’s
generosity as a lover, and her use of intelligence to figure out how to
maximize pleasure. The lessons I learned from Aunt Betty served well in
all my later years.
——AUNT BETTY 3——
(concluding episode)
A few days after my initiation, Thanksgiving weekend arrived, a welcome
respite from the pressures of our respective academic and other tasks. I
well remember that the late afternoon was actually hot that day. We sat
on the living room sofa, I nuzzling her neck, she digging into mine with
her fingernails
“What would you like to do tonight, Brad? What would be special?”
“It seems like such a warm evening, itÕd be really special if we were in
the pool…and beside the pool on a towel.”
“Mmmm. Yes. Sounds nice Brad.”
Dusk came early. The warm nocturnal breeze caressed our bodies. I wore
loose-fitting sweat-shorts, Betty was in a terry cloth robe with nothing
under it. There was something about her quietness and her body language
that told me she didnÕt want to be in control tonight. I was reclining on
a poolside lounge chair.
“Come here a stand in front of me, Betty” I said in as commanding a tone
as I could muster. She stood there, her shoulders a little stooped, her
arms limp at her side. I started to gently stroke her thighs. First the
mid thigh, than the fleshy upper inner thigh and then the entire length
of the back surface of her leg from the calves to the lower curve of her
buttocks. A couple of times she melted towards me and started to caress
me, but I told her to stand straight and then I grasped her hands and
placed them behind her back, as if they were tied there. Her standing
there in that vulnerable posture, immobile under my stroking and
fondling, remains one of the most erotic sights in my memory. I parted
the lower half of her white robe, exposing the dark mass of her pubic
bush, letting my thumb and forefinger graze her outer labia while I
watched her breathing pattern betray her intense arousal. My cock
throbbed as it tented up the loose fabric of my shorts. I could have come
in thirty seconds, but that we were in no rush. I jumped up, slid into
the five-foot section of the swimming pool,and called Betty to join me.
She let the robe slide over her abundant curves until it lay on the
concrete, and she stood over me like a statue, a fertility goddess, for a
full minute before joining me. We embraced, somehow avoiding the genital
contact we both urgently wanted. I dropped my head below the surface and
held my breath while BettyÕs massive breasts, in neutral buoyancy,
caressed my face. The sensuality of the moment was so exquisite I could
have died happily at that moment, at the age of eighteen. Still avoiding
genital contact, I caressed her hips and rounded buttocks, gently pinched
the slight bulges of fat just above her hips. The warm water swirling
around our bodies was like a tide of eros.
Now I held Betty’s body apart from mine while we kissed each other with
great passion and depth. “God, how I love you, Betty. There’ll never be
another moment like this with anyone else.” At this she kissed me harder
and dug her fingernails into my neck until driblets of blood dissolved
into the water. The pain awoke a fierceness in me that surprised me, and
I pulled Betty to me, supporting her legs and soft buttocks with my arms
and hands. I walked to the shallow part of the pool holding her this way,
then, out of the water I let her gently drop on a towel at the poolside.
On it we urgently coupled. My arms lifted her legs, spread them, pinned
them back and up. She moaned my name again and again.
“Brad, oh yes, Brad, oh my, deeper, yes, Brad.”
The unseasonably balmy night and the sensuality of being surrounded by
the warm water combined to evoke in us both the starkest intensity of
desire. The harder and deeper I plunged my member into her, the deeper
she dug her nails into my lower back—or was it the other way around?
She arched her back in abandon, causing her wondrous breasts to spill
upward toward her shoulders; her cleavage shifted all the way up to her
neck. That erotic sight brought me to the edge: “I’m ready to come–are
you?” “Soon, my dear Brad.” I held back somehow, looked up and away from
that Earth-Mother body to reduce the visual stimulus.
I withdrew my member and tongued her inner lips and clit with long, slow
strokes. Then she helped herself along by fingering her clit vigorously
while I nibbled gently on her inner lips. The smooth skin of her thighs
were still cool from the water, but her engorged genitals gave off a
palpable warmth–the first time I ever noticed this phenomenon.
“Now come inside me–right now…oooh…mmmh”
A dozen more strokes and with a shudders and gasps of pleasure we dropped
over the orgasmic edge together, and lay together until our breathing and
heart rates ebbed.
Moving away so I could admire her curvaceous form from a little distance
I caressed the backs of her thighs, then the inner thighs and her convex
belly. With the other hand a gently pushed her breast high up on the
chest wall, then watched it droop to the side with a jiggle that
mesmerized me. Soon we were both aroused again.
“Brad, let’s do it in the pool.” I mumbled agreement, too aroused to
think of any words…
Once more I supported her by her upper thighs while she wrapped her legs
around me. Somehow she guided me inside her. Our bodies were again
surrounded by the warm water, which buoyed us up, swirled and splashed
around us, magnifying our sensory stimulation . There was barely enough
light for me to see the water dripping and coursing over Betty’s soft
white shoulders and the tops of her floating breasts. We kissed with
abandon and I pumped for all I was worth, but this time she came without
me. Despite the overflowing sensual pleasure, it was just too close in
time to my last orgasm.
I grabbed a dry towel and we collapsed on it.
“Do you think you’ll get tired of…of this…of me, Brad?”
“Betty, I just adore you, you stimulate me in so many ways, isn’t it
obvious how I feel about you? Umm, do you think I’m not demonstrative or
expressive enough?”
“Gee, none of them could hold a candle to you. I haven’t thought about
anyone else since the first week I moved in here.” Which was true enough.
Hardly a normal adaptation to college life, as I well knew, but I was
thoroughly besotted by her and she enjoyed my young manÕs body as much as
I enjoyed her mature woman’s body. We each knew that the other wasnÕt
holding anything back. Our existence grew closer and more sealed-off from
the outside world. In what direction were we headed?