He was kneeling on the carpeted floor in her bedroom, still in his clothes, his face between her legs, licking at her closely trimmed pussy with those slow movements that she preferred. She was half on the bed, green dressing gown open from the waist down, her smooth legs on either side of him. When she was ready her hands went quickly to her snatch and clit, rubbing herself to an orgasm. As she screamed, she placed her naked feet steadily on the floor, buckled, and held him firmly between her thighs. Then it was time for him to start again.
His mouth hurt, but he couldn't stop. Not now.
His aunt had sent his cousins away to summer camp. They were a distraction, she said. They would stay there until after his mother came to pick him up.
"That will give us a couple of days," she said, stroking his chest on the porch. His cousins were in the car, screaming with excitement.
He mumbled something, couldn't even hear himself, but she nodded, her eyes like a predator. Licking at her dark red lips she pushed him back inside the house, away from her children's eyes. There, grabbing a fistful of hair, making him cry out in pain, she fondled his crotch. She left him with his cock in his pants, walked away like nothing had happened.
When she returned, he was still on the ground floor. He hadn't been able to move much, just go back and forth across the living room. To the couch, where it had happened. He stared at it. That was yesterday, he thought with a terrible excitement. Only yesterday, and his life wasn't the same anymore. Once upon a time he would have missed her when she was gone. This time he dreaded her return, imagined what she would do to him. He jerked himself off several times, but never enough. And he felt filthy afterwards. He knew that she wouldn't like that, so he washed himself closely every time. He'd scrubbed himself pink.
When she returned, she walked in and sat on the couch and asked him to show her how grateful he was.
"Yes," he whispered, and with jerking motions he stepped across the floor.
"Not like that," she said.
He stopped, shivered. He had done something bad again. "H-how?"
She spread her legs a little, pointing at the floor. "Down there. On your knees."
Looking all around him, he did as she said. The floorboards were painful against his knees, cold against the palms of his hands. But at the same time, they reminded him of the first time. He looked up at her and felt himself grow hard again, painfully because of all the times he had stroked himself to an orgasm today. But that didn't seem to matter. Only she mattered, looking down at him, dragging him one crawling step at a time with the point of her finger.
He rested his head on her thigh, sighed against it. He was so tired, just wanted to give up, finally. As she petted him, he cried against her pants. He jumped, but she pressed him down again.
"It's okay," she whispered. "You are ashamed. I can understand that. You behaved very badly yesterday, my little prude."
He turned to look up at her, eyes streaming, big and wet. "I am so sorry."
She smiled, stroking his cheek, dragging away the tears. "Call me auntie. Like you used to, remember?"
"Yes," he said with a trembling smile and a hiccup. "Auntie ..."
"Feels better, doesn't it?"
He nodded, smiling through the tears. "So ... You aren't angry with me anymore?"
At first, she didn't answer, continuing to look down at him, an enigmatic smile playing on her dark red lips. Then she waved him off her, and as he obeyed, again terrified, she unbuttoned her pants and pulled them down, showing her black cotton panties. She asked him to put her pants on the comfy chair.
Then she spread her legs again. "Show me how grateful you are."
Moving with a desperation that came from deep inside of him he pressed against her crotch, like a kitten, dragging his whole head against her. He could feel the hairs moving between her skin and the cuddly underwear. Soon enough, the air was full of her scent, drowning out the sweeter notes of flowery perfume. She smelt like something dangerous, something wild.
He pressed his open mouth against her, breathed it in.
"That's it," she said, caressing his head. "You really are grateful, aren't you?"
He didn't look up, but moved his head up and down against her. It was smooth, and something else too, something wet. He licked at the dark stain and shivered all the way down to his cock.
"You want to taste me?" she asked.
"Yes ..."
"Yes, what?"
He looked up at her, mouth open and tongue still pressed against her cottony wetness. He felt himself drooling, wiped himself off. "Yes, please, auntie?"
"God boy."
It started then. For two whole days she made him do things for her, lick her, stroke his cock. Most of the time she would do it for him. When she let him cum, she raised her dripping fingers to his mouth. He felt his own bitter taste on the sweet skin of her hand.
But she never used her mouth on him again, and he caught himself staring at that dark red mouth, wishing that he could feel her lips wrap around his cock again, feel her smooth tongue. See it! He never dared to ask, but she smiled a wicked smile at him, curling her lips in ecstasy as she came in another glorious orgasm.
And never did she let him finish her. Her hand would push him away, sometimes painfully, and he would stay between her legs, eyes held tight on her slippery fingers moving in and out of her, flipping across her clit, faster and faster. He held his mouth open, waiting.
It always felt like a punishment, another sign that he was worthless. All he was good for, he felt, was licking her clean afterwards. He was happiest when she told him to do it, when she stroked him all over his face with her dripping hand, shoved her fingers down his throat.
She was his aunt, and she loved him. Even though he was useless, she loved him. When the night came, when she was done with him, she would let him curl up against her on the bed and whisper, "Good boy, good boy."
It was the third day after the two most intense days of his entire life. He was only an open mouth for her by then. She could smile and talk about ordinary things as they sat down to eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner, but it was harder for him to concentrate as he knew that she would soon spread her legs under the table. She didn't have to tell him to go down there anymore. She would expect, him anticipate. As he found his place beneath her again, in the dark, chin dragging against the hard chair, she would sit back, finish a glass of water in comfort.
She had taken him upstairs after dinner.
"Now," she said, as he continued to lick at the less sensitive parts of her pussy, like she always wanted him to do after an orgasm. "Your mother will pick you up tomorrow."
He moved his head to look at her. All he could see was the smooth green dressing gown dragging across her taut upper body. He could see her fingers waving in the air far above her head. Then they stopped. Her face came up to glare at him.
"Did I tell you to stop?" she asked.
"No!" He buried himself in her pussy again. Still, it was uncomfortable her talking about his mother at a time like this. It made him conscious of the situation he was in, similar to the first time. He remembered when he had said hello to his aunt as his mother dropped him off. She had stayed to talk for a while. All he could think of, back then, was how closely they resembled each other.
Now, one of those bodies meant a completely different thing. The other was still something ordinary. Pure. He started to cry again.
He missed his mother.
