Aunt Jane Ch 3

Two days passed routinely with nothing more than a regular smile and an occasional peck on the cheek from Aunt Jane. At times I began to wonder if any of the images that filled my mind so frequently had really happened at all. Then Thursday afternoon rolled around.

My class ended a little late, so my usual leisurely stroll home took on a little more urgency, stimulated by my hunger. I entered the townhouse noisily by the front door, but there was no reply to my cheerful “Hi!” I walked into the kitchen and immediately noticed a large yellow “sticky note” on the refrigerator door. Aunt Jane’s familiar script read, “Lunch is in the frig. Bring it up to the deck, and let’s eat.”

I opened the refrigerator door, and sure enough, a tray was laden with sandwiches, chips and soda cans. I dropped my knapsack to the floor and slid the tray from the refrigerator. Closing the door with my heel, I turned toward the stairs. Taking the stairs one at a time, I was careful not to spill or drop anything from the tray. I entered my bedroom to obtain access to the deck.

Aunt Jane was fully reclined on one of the chaise lounges on the deck. I stopped quietly at the sliding glass door to take stock. She was wearing one of the tiniest bikini’s I had ever seen. It was crocheted, and the “cups” of the bra did little more than cover the areolas and nipples on each of her firm, round breasts. The bikini bottom formed a small triangle at her crotch, covering only the absolute minimum and leaving little to the imagination. Aunt Jane was wearing a large pair of sunglasses and was reading a magazine. I bit my lip as I surveyed her firm, tanned figure and wondered how I could appear “casual” as I walked out the door.

When she heard the door slide open, Aunt Jane looked up with her usual great smile and chirped, “Hi, I was wondering when you would show up. I’m starved!”

“Class ran long,” I replied, “and my stomach is eating a hole in my backbone.”

“Let’s eat!” she said, raising the back of her lounge to a near vertical position as I approached with tray in hands. She motioned to the small table between the two chaise lounges, and I sat the tray down. I sat on the edge of the lounge opposite her.

Aunt Jane went about removing the plastic wrap from the tray, showing no signs of self-consciousness over her appearance. She handed me half a sandwich with a smile, taking another for herself and biting off a corner of it with enthusiasm. “Yummmm,” she almost moaned, “this probably wouldn’t taste so good if I weren’t so hungry.”

I alternated among bites of my sandwich, handfuls of chips, and gulps from a can of Coke, all the while discretely drinking in her body. A light gold chain around her neck and two clips in her hair were all that she wore besides the few square inches of bikini. She had a uniform tan that obviously covered her entire body, and a few beads of sweat glistened on her forehead and breastbone. The sound of the waves and the scent of the sea breeze made positive contributions to the near idyllic scene.

After finishing two sandwich halves, Aunt Jane pulled the dark glasses halfway down the bridge of her nose with a single finger. She stared at me over the tops of the sunglasses and asked in an almost menacing tone, “Are you staring at me, Barry?”

My gulp was almost audible, and I lied unconvincingly. “No. No!”

“Don’t you fib to me,” she hissed. “I could see you staring at me.” She paused long enough for my embarrassment to become patently obvious, then added, “Don’t be embarrassed, honey, I don’t mind. In fact, I kind of like it.” She grinned with the last remark, pushed her sunglasses back up, and reclined the back of her lounge about 45 degrees. “You haven’t asked me for any help lately, honey. Are you o.k.?”

Her question threw me off balance again. I cleared my throat and said, “Yeah, I’m o.k., I guess.”

“Would you like some help right now?” I barely paused before nodding my head in the affirmative, and she responded by gracefully turning knees and ankles together, putting her feet to the deck and standing. She reached for my hand, pulled me upright, then led me toward the house. She slid the screened door to my bedroom open, leading me inside and closing the screen behind us. She walked straight to the side of my bed and sat down midway between the headboard and the foot of the bed. She pulled me, still standing, to a position directly in front of her.

“Well, these have to come down,” she said, pulling my shorts and briefs down together, letting them drop around my ankles. My cock was already fully rigid, and she made a low whistle as it bounced into view. She looked up at me and smiled as she wrapped the fingers of her right hand around it, squeezing it softly. “Oh, baby, you do need help,” she said very quietly, but not in a whisper. The fingertips of her left hand slipped beneath my balls, touching them lightly, as her right hand began sliding up and down the length of my shaft.

Her hand moved very slowly up and down the length of my iron-hard cock. Her touch was both delicate and firm, stimulating chills or bolts of energy that cascaded up and down my arms, legs and backbone. My hips began rocking back forth involuntarily, moving in time to the strokes of her hand on my cock. “Feels good, doesn’t it honey?” she stated more than asked. I answered with only a low moan that was a clear affirmative. “You have such a beautiful cock, baby. It feels so good in my hand.” She tightened the grip of her fingers each time they approached the swollen head of my cock, generating a soft moan from me with each circuit.

Her incredible breasts rose and fell on her chest with her breathing, and I could see the nipples and areolas both swelling beneath the thin crocheted fabric of her bikini top. I bit my lip and allowed the fingertips of my right hand to slide along the outside of her left breast. When she made no move in response, I began lightly caressing the soft and very warm skin on the outside of her breast. She seemed to increase the tempo of her strokes on my cock as I moved my fingers over the side of her breast. Emboldened by this, I slipped my hand down over the top of her breast, sliding the tips of my fingers under the tiny patch of fabric that covered her areola and nipple.

She abruptly halted her strokes on my cock, moving her hand quickly to grasp my wrist, pulling my fingers from beneath her bikini top. She replaced my fingers at the side of her breast, saying nothing and resuming her strokes on my cock. I was disappointed but gratified myself with continuous caresses to the side of her firm breast.

The movements of my hips became more urgent. She looked up at me and smiled, then lowered her head, pressing her lips to the head of my cock. I watched through wide eyes as her lips slipped slowly down over the head, then sucked it gently. The feeling was beyond incredible, and the visual was beyond belief. This beautiful, bountifully blessed woman had the head of my cock between her lips, sucking it with apparent relish. My reaction, entirely automatic, was to thrust forward.

Aunt Jane responded to my thrust by moving both of her hands to my ass. She gripped the cheeks of my ass and pulled me toward her, forcing my cock to thrust fully into her mouth. She took its full length, the head undoubtedly pressing back into her throat, holding me there briefly, then allowing me to stroke outward. She moved her head back to get her lips tightly around the head of my cock again, sucking there briefly, then using her hands on my ass to push me full-length back into her mouth. The fingers of both my hands now caressed the outside of both her breasts, and the thrusts of my hips – propelled along by her hands firmly gripping me – became more rapid and urgent.

She pulled her mouth away from my cock just long enough to whisper, “Let it go, baby, cum for me.” Her lips closed tightly around my cock again, and her hands pushed at my ass to drive my cock deep into her mouth and throat. The idea of cumming in her mouth seemed outrageous, but the instincts that I was feeling overcame any sense of outrage.

The impending explosion began as a tightening sensation in my balls. I could feel the build-up to an orgasm, and I also knew there was nothing I could do to slow it down. I moved my hips faster and harder, and Aunt Jane seemed to sense what was happening. Her lips tightened around the head of my cock with each outward stroke, and she pushed me inward, almost with ferocity.

The eruption began in my balls, the cum bursting rapidly up the length of my cock, the first installment splattering into Aunt Jane’s mouth. I could feel her swallow and sensed the increased urgency with which she both sucked at my cock and pushed on my ass. The second blast of cum spurted into her mouth, followed by a third . . . and maybe a fourth. The bolts of energy fired up and down my body and seemed to energize every cell from my toes to my scalp. Just as quickly the energy seemed to drain from me, and I felt like I might fall down.

Aunt Jane continued to suck at my cock, then slowly pulled her mouth away from it, letting the head rub down over her chin as it dropped away. A glob of cum rested at one corner of her mouth, and she moved an index fingertip to push it into her mouth as she smiled broadly at me. “Baby feel much better now?” she intoned, almost in baby-talk. I grinned in a very languid way and put a hand on her shoulder to support myself.

She leaned forward to plant a firm kiss in the middle of my belly, halfway between my navel and pubic mound. Then she slipped around me, standing up, and whispered into my ear, “Go get cleaned up.” She walked through the door of my bedroom into the hall, and I heard the door to her bedroom close behind her. I dropped to the bed and lay there for five minutes or more before deciding I had better follow instructions. I dragged myself into the shower, and as the stimulating spray from the showerhead restored me to a fully conscious state, I replayed the events of the past twenty minutes in my mind. By the time my shower was concluded, my jaw literally ached from smiling too much and too long.

END OF CHAPTER THREE