My Two Aunts

And that was the way my holiday continued at my two aunties. Daily doses of punishment, followed by lots of fucking. I soon found out that I was, in Aunty Carol words "a true sub" – which I guess meant I loved playing the submissive.

And I also loved fucking them! But towards the end of my stay, something happened that changed everything. I was introduced to Caren. And from then on my life was no longer the same.

I'd been at the spacious San Diego mansion for about three weeks, when Aunty Chrissy – the 40-year-old – came into the kitchen where I was enjoying a pre-breakfast mug of coffee. As usual, I was stark naked, a state that both Chrissy and Carol insisted on.

Chrissy wasn't exactly fully dressed, either. She was wearing a little black satin push-up bra, and her upper breasts mounds glowed tanned and shiny. Fuck, she had great boobs! On her hips were slung a pair of matching black satin panties. On her feet, her customary high heels. She looked fuckable –

very

fuckable!

After pouring a mug of coffee for herself, she settled beside me on the couchette in a nook of the kitchen and placed a smoochy kiss on my mouth. My cock started to move skyward.

Just when I reached peak erection, Aunty Carol, aged 37 but looking like a twin version of her older sister, marched into the kitchen, also dressed like the fuck machine she was. Her outfit was a replica of her sister's, but for the fact that the push-up bra and panties were bright red, not black. Either way, the garb had me hungry for her.

Carol settled down on my other side and stroked my thick hard-on.

"Shall you tell him, or me?" she asked Aunty Chrissy.

"You can," smiled Aunt Chrissy, "I'll just watch his reaction."

Carol grinned and looked me in the eye. "You're gonna put on a show today," she informed me. "Play your part well and there'll be something in it for you."

"What part?" I asked, curious to hear more about this "show".

"We've got a client, her name's Caren," said Carol, "and she's loaded. Not just in the tits department, either, you fucking pervert, Roger. She's mega rich – or, let's say her husband is."

"I didn't think you took masochist women for clients," I said. Both my aunts roared with laughter.

"She's no masochist," laughed Chrissy. "Far from it – in fact, she's a fuckin' ball breaker! She's 44, she works out, she runs marathons and she's stacked."

I nodded, slowly. I was starting to get the drift.

"And she likes watching us working over our men," said Aunt Carol. "Usually, we choose the younger of our clients – men in their 40s, some even in their late 30s. She doesn't go for older types.

"And when she heard we'd been turning you into our teenage slave, well, she just had to pay us a visit. And as I said, she's loaded, so play your cards right and you might find yourself on a nice pay day."

"What do I have to do?" I asked my aunts, now super curious about this Caren woman.

"Well," said Carol, "you put on a good show, lots of winces, lots of shouts, cries, sobs, call for mercy, you know the sort of stuff. And when we've worked you over for an hour, maybe less, then you go to her. You'll pick it up very quickly, I'm sure."

I sipped on my nearly finished coffee, and nodded. "She pay you for this?" I asked.

"Yep," said Aunty Chrissy. "And very well. And if she likes you, well, there will be something to put in your hip pocket. OK?"

I gulped down the coffee and nodded. "Fine – when does she arrive?"

"She'll be here in an hour," said Aunt Carol. "You will answer the door for her, and you'll be naked. We'll truss your cock and balls so you provide a pretty picture. Now, breakfast, and then we'll get you ready."

And that was how I answered the door bell chimes 60 minutes later, after a cleansing shower and a fresh shave to remove all body hair from my chest, nipples, back, thighs, calves, cock and balls and backside. I was nude, and a shiny black leather ball divider strap had separated my bunched balls and was tied tightly around my shaft. I was thick and hard, the strap serving as an engorgement device.

When I answered the door, I panted at the sight that greeted me.

Standing there, dressed in a crisp white shirt and a tight black leather miniskirt was a woman who was absolutely stunning. She had lovely brown hair, brown eyes and was the most beautiful creature I'd ever laid eyes on – and she was built! Her breasts looked large, her thighs were bronzed, her calves strong but finely shaped. And she was pretty.

The fact that at 44 she was even older than my two aunts didn't matter in the slightest – she looked younger than both of them. Fuck, she looked 10

years

younger!

I must have been gulping like a stunned mullet, because she smiled a small smile as she brushed past me and then I slammed the door shut.

She looked at me as if she owned me – and I guess she did!

"Follow me," she snapped, and her voice was almost English, only had a slight trace of an American accent. I walked behind her as she walked up the staircase, eyeing her sensational ass as it rippled beneath the shiny, smooth and obviously hugely expensive leather that sheathed her buttocks.

This glorious created opened the door to a guest bedroom, which she obviously used whenever she visited my two aunts, and walked to a chair by an open window.

She seated herself, then produced a black ivory cigarette holder from her Louis Vuitton leather grab bag and screwed a Parliament into it. "Light me," she snapped, passing me an old-fashioned, gold-encrusted lighter.

I did the job and stood patiently by the side of her chair. She inhaled deeply on her cigarette and then blew blue smoke over my hard-on and dragged a superbly manicured nail along its underside.

"That's nice," she smiled, "but I can get all the cocks I want."

And then she stood and ran a cool hand over my cheek, then down my chest, until she had cupped my balls. I was still hard as a lump of lead, and I was breathing heavily.

Caren smiled at me and then spoke softly in her near-English accent: "I like to see young men punished. I like to hear their cries. Their sobs."

Then she kissed me softly on my cheek. "I'm not wearing any panties," she said, in a matter-of-fact tone. "Know why?"

I shook my head. "No madam," I said, huskily, and it came out like a rasp. I don't know why I called her "madam", it just seemed right.

"Because when I watch a young stud get punished I get aroused, and I don't want my panties sopping wet when I drive home," she said, grinning at me, a cruel grin, but fuck, she was so beautiful I just drank her glorious looks in.

I nodded. I didn't know what to say to that.

Then she inhaled on her Parliament again and this time blew smoke over my face.

"Do a good job with your aunts. Then do a good job with me. Then I might be grateful."

Again I nodded.

"Downstairs," she snapped at me. "You know where to go. I'll be along when I'm good and ready."

I nodded again, and moved quickly from the bedroom. I knew where I had to go, and when I entered the games room I found my two aunts waiting, both in their domination gear.

Aunty Chrissy laughed when I entered the chamber. "Well, hello, hello, you young slut," she smiled. "Look at him, Carol, harder'n a SDPD officer's nightstick. Fancy her, do you, stud?"

I nodded at my aunties. "She's gorgeous," I murmured, and again Aunt Chrissy laughed.

"Just wait till she rewards you, Roge," she said, "then she'll be even more fuckin' gorgeous. OK, sis, time to get him ready."

The "Torture Twins" as they billed themselves on their DVDs, swung into well-oiled action. Soon, they had me standing in the center of the room, my ankles thrust wide by a chrome spreader bar. I had been ordered to bend over and place my hands on the plush shag pile carpet, with my fingers extended. It exposed my ass for attack and was a position that strained my muscles.

But from that position I could see my aunts, who stood in front of me, smiling with content. Both wore matching black satin quarter-cup brassieres, with gleaming black satin garter belts, which held up black, seamed stockings. On their foot were high-heeled "Fuck me" stilettos. Their pussies were bare, their gashes gleaming in the harsh light. Despite my position of submission, my cock was still erect and throbbing. They looked lovely – nothing as sexy as Caren, but still fuckin' good!

And speaking of Caren, the door to the torture chamber opened and in she walked. I couldn't see her, but I could hear the door open.

She walked off to one side and sat down in a padded leather easy chair and then I heard her.

"He looks ready – still hard I see," she said in her ultra-cool voice. "OK, let the fun begin."

Aunt Chrissy moved in front of me, really close, then widened her stance until her feet were on either side of my bent body and she lowered her pussy until it pressed down onto the nape of my neck. Aunt Carol moved behind me and I felt the coolness of a leather crop laid on my bare butt.

"Whoooosh!" The leather cracked onto my ass and I yelped. I wasn't acting either – Aunt Carol used a lot of force.

And so my aunt-torturesses went to work.

I was whipped across my buttocks, then my upper chest, my thighs, back and front. I was ridden. Given cock and ball torture, and pressed between the aunts' lovely thighs to worship at their musky minges.

I sobbed and pleaded and put on a great act of being a sobbing slave but, apart from some of the cock and ball torture, it was all stuff I was used to.

Then, about 25 or maybe 30 minutes after they'd started on me, I heard the words I'd been waiting for. A deep, husky, almost English voice panted: "Bring him to me, I want him!"

The aunts half-dragged, half-whipped me across the floor until my face was a foot or so from Caren's glorious pussy. She had removed her miniskirt, but not her high heels. Her white shirt was now unbuttoned from throat to hem, her large breasts – or at least the inner mounds of her globes – were bronzed and bunched, only the shirt still covered her nipples. Her face was flushed, as if she had been drinking. She was half-purring, half-panting.

I gazed at her light-brown pussy, the thick sex lips apparent and peeping from a trimmed thatch of fuzzy pubic hair. Her lovely lush thighs were draped over the arms of the chair.

"Pleasure me, slut," she snapped, and I moved my face to her stunningly perfumed minge. My tongue flicked out and I tasted her wetness, then went to work to satisfy her.

It didn't take long. Soon she was grabbing my head and thrusting her crotch onto me as I brought her to completion. Then her upper body fell back against the back of the chair and she calmed down.

Next she stood, still gripping my head firmly so it stayed in place between her fantastic thighs. From above me I heard her snap to my aunties: "Does he drink?"

One, or both, of them must have nodded, because I didn't hear a word spoken, but instinctively I placed a lip seal on her pussy lips and as soon as she realised I was in place, she pumped her piss down into me.

It was hot, salty and tasted awful – I thought it was wonderful!

After relieving herself, the lovely woman ordered: "Clean me, slut!"

I obliged, then she dragged me to my feet, by grabbing on my ear.

"Come upstairs to my room," she hissed, and I followed her, my thick cock still swaying in a semi-erection as I gazed this time at her naked buttocks as she led the way before me. They were bronzed, beautifully rounded. I wanted to kiss and lick them.

Back in the bedroom, she went to her Louis Vuitton bag and took from it a pair of red leather gloves. She pulled them onto her hands, smoothed the leather over them until it shone, then snapped: "Against the wall, cunt, hands behind your back!"

I obeyed. Then she gave me a face slapping, starting with her left hand – backhands, forehands. Then she switched to her right – she was stronger with the right. My head rang. As she cut into me, the shirt fell open, and I saw her large, brown nipples. They were erect with arousal.

Satisfied after raining 25 or more blows onto my reddened cheeks, she pulled the gloves off and held up her holder, with a fresh cigarette screwed into it. "Light me," she commanded, and I obeyed.

As she dragged on her cigarette, she pulled her miniskirt back on, buttoned up her shirt and took an envelope from her bag and tossed it onto the bag.

"It's your's," she said, sweetly. "Check it."

I did. Inside lay 30 snug, crisp, brand-new notes. Each had the almost sneering face of Benjamin Franklin on them - $3000 dollars!

Caren saw the surprise on my face as I counted the money. "My husband's worth 50 mill," she said, in her upper-class accent. "And there's more where that came from."

Then she picked up her bag and moved to the door. "Stay here, slut," she ordered. "I need to talk business with your aunties."

Then she was gone. I went to the door and listened. From below, I heard Caren's voice. She seemed to be at the front door. "He amuses me," she said. "Bring him to me at 10 tomorrow morning. If there's a change of plan, I'll call you at 9. I'll need him until 4 or 5."

And then she was gone. I ran to the window and looked down onto the driveway below. I saw the woman I was in love with climb into a gun metal grey Aston-Martin and drive off.

For the rest of my holiday, I was taken to Caren's La Jolla home each day by one or other or my aunts. I spent hours with her and at the end of each session there, in a white envelope, 30 Benjamin Franklins were waiting for me.

I still have holidays in San Diego. Only now, I visit the adorable, imperious Caren.

Not my two aunts.

The End.