Returning readers know the score, go straight to the story, don't pass Go and certainly don't collect any money! We're getting there.
For my new readers, and I hope there are some, please read this intro.
This is a series of exchanges written by an aunt and her eighteen year old nephew following them having sex. It looks at that incestuous relationship from both party's perspectives, examining their doubts and concerns and their pleasure and thrills.
It is a complicated story and will be told in numerous parts. It is obviously advisable to start at Part 1 and read through each part savouring how their relationship develops and changes. However, for those unwilling to go back, each part does stand alone.
Thanks and enjoy
Cat
*
I got up from the bed probably rather more quickly than was ideal, especially after such a momentous experience for you. I shrugged into the shorty, mid thigh, white silk robe that I had earlier hung on the back of the door in the spare bedroom where we'd had sex.
I was feeling terrible. The effects of the wine had worn off and the aftertingles of my orgasm had finished. The enormity of what we, no me really, had done was hitting me and hitting me very hard.
How had it come to this? How had my need for sexual experimentation plummeted to the depths where I had to fuck an eighteen year old? I know I had been tempted, but for fuck's sake, surely I should be able to resist a kid, my nephew an adolescent shouldn't I?. What was it? Me showing off, what a woman I am, what a sexual adventurer I can be? Was I so turned on by showing my nephew what a great fuck I was? Or was it the desire to teach you? Come on don't kid yourself, I thought as I stood up.
"I'm going to bed, I'll see you in the morning."
"Oh Cat, no, please?"
"Goodnight Matt, I am going."
"Please stay, I need to talk."
"I don't think you need to, you might want to, but I don't, I can't," I said rather snottily, showing the pedantic side of my nature as far as the use of words is concerned.
"What do you mean, can't?"
"You wouldn't understand."
"I might, why not try me?"
"I don't want to," I said, pulling the robe tighter round me, forgetting that the thin silk would cling to my breasts, emphasising their size and showing the bumps of my nipples..
"Please?"
"Oh for Christ's sake Matt, leave it."
"No, I don't want to leave it. Why should I?"
"Look, I'm tired, I've been half pissed, I've had several orgasms and I've been fucked. I need to go to bed."
"Can I come with you?"
"No, go to your own room."
"I'm not tired."
"Oh for fuck's sake, stop acting like a child."
I stormed out and went to my room and shut the door.
I showered, quickly, locking the en-suite bathroom door. Why? I didn't know, it just seemed the thing to do, after what had happened earlier that had been the start of all this.
As I dried myself, I looked at the place on the floor where I had lain earlier. The spot where I had sunk to the ground, naked, my hands urgently exploring my body, my fingers attacking and stimulating my breasts, my nipples, my thighs, my lips, my clit and my cunt. I looked at the area where I had fucked myself as you looked on. I stared at it visualising the sight you had that had triggered the remarkable events of the afternoon and evening. Bollocks, I thought, if I had resisted then, I would not be in the emotional pickle I'm now in.
Bastard, bastard, bastard, bastard, I thought, feeling in the cold light of day slightly put out with my privacy so invaded.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, I muttered, wandering into my bedroom naked. As I got into bed it felt as if I had a massive cloud hanging over me. I got up, went to the wardrobe and rummaged around in the drawers for something to sleep in. God knows why, but for some reason, nudity seemed inappropriate. But equally, so did the frilly, lacy, revealing nightdresses. I found a pair of thin, cotton, sleeping shorts and a singlet, a bit like a man's vest, and slipped those on, the vest outside the pants, not tucked in.
Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks, bollocks, I sighed wondering how the hell I would cope. Shit, shit, shit, shit I thought wondering how I could be in the flat with you alone, wondering how I would be when I saw my sister and how I'd feel seeing my prick of a brother-in-law. I reserved the cunt, cunt, fucking cunt for when I thought how the hell would I cope with being here with you and Sara?
I heard you moving around downstairs, modern apartments, even expensive ones aren't very well insulated. I could hear music, probably you were playing the stereo. No, more likely the TV, your music is so awful and loud, I thought feeling old at the fact I can't appreciate the music you and Sara like. I can fuck him, but can't like his music, I mused.
I flipped the TV on. It was that awful, sodding thing, Big Brother, it matched the sound from downstairs, you were watching that. Bloody kid, I thought, now quite strongly regretting what I had done.
I tried to sleep, but it was impossible. First, my mind was in a whirl. So much, guilt, so much remorse. So much fear, so many what ifs. What if, your mum and dad found out, you were mouthy as most kids, especially young blokes are, or Sara heard about it? Oh shit, I said out loud as the other reason I couldn't sleep became more apparent, the loudness of the TV. Are all fucking teenagers deaf, I wondered, getting up?
"Matt would you turn the TV down please, I'm trying to sleep," I said walking to the top of the open staircase.
The apartment is very open plan. Basically one large room, about 45 by 30 feet with, as the architects love to call them, separate 'areas.' Dining one end, seating around a fire place the other. Two alcoves, one a kitchen 'area' and the other, the smaller one, the 'study' area. The mezzanine upstairs sleeping 'area' was about two thirds the area of the downstairs. Here there wasn't 'areas, but rooms, the master bedroom and two more smaller ones each about the same size. There was a twelve stair staircase linking the two, so the link from one to other is easy. This split level is replicated on the balconies which run almost all the way round the apartment, or duplex as it is now called.
I couldn't believe what I saw. You were lying on the six-seater sofa, naked. There were several bottles of beer on the floor and you were smoking; and they were my fucking fags as well.
"What?" You slurred.
"What the fuck are you doing?"
"Nothing."
"What you mean nothing, you idiot."
Sounding like Kevin Kline in A Fish Called Wanda, you said. "Don't call me an idiot."
I was too pissed off to be discrete. "You are an idiot and acting like one, smoking and drinking in my lounge."
"Stop it, Cat."
"What do you mean, telling me to stop it, it's my fucking apartment you're trashing"
"I'm not trashing it."
"Well you're acting like a spoiled child."
