Voluptuous aunt and the college student having a great sex
By: Date: 2024.02.21. Categories: Just Incestuous Stories Tags: , , ,

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?

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