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1{HYYZ[[\[1]
THE GUARDIAN
Everyone had
nothing but sympathy for Alan. What a way to be left an orphan. He guessed that
things had been going badly for his parents for over two years but the end was
as dramatic as it was tragic.
The Inquest
report concluded that his father had returned unexpectedly early from a
business trip, discovered his wife in bed with her tennis coach, bludgeoned
them both to death with a golf club before gassing himself in his garaged car.
The Headmaster at St Fort's who broke the news to Alan later described it as
the most harrowing task which he had faced in thirty years of teaching.
Even greater
anguish was caused by money worries, both Alan's and the School's. His father's
life insurance was invalidated by his suicide and business debts consumed what
little money he had left including the value of the house. There was barely
enough left to settle the funeral account.
The Governors
at St Fort's thought long and hard about the difficulty but there were already
so many financial pressures. They concluded that it would be impossible to keep
Alan at the School without payment of fees for another three years.
As an only
child with few relatives, the only suitable candidate as guardian was his
father's sister. After the early death of her husband, she seemed in many ways
to be a model guardian. She had been a Classics and Art teacher at a highly
rated grammar school but had taken early retirement after her husband's death.
It was rumoured that her pension and a huge inheritance in excess of one
million pounds, she would never need to work again. Her life was now devoted to
books, painting and animal care, especially horses.
Initially, she
was reluctant to disturb her ideal, tranquil existence with the care of a
young, very vulnerable and potentially disturbed teenage boy. She had no
children herself but her brother had been such a dear brother to her. Two years
her elder, he had always looked out for her and her regard for him knew no
bounds. Her late husband had been a darling but in truth, there would never be
a man to compare with brother. To have the care and instruction of his son
would keep his memory alive.
Alan finished
the session at St.Fort's, said his farewells and headed south to live with his
aunt in a leafy Berkshire village. He had only met his aunt before in the
company of his parents. Then she came over as quiet, demure, not at all like a
bossy schoolteacher. But now her character seemed to have expanded.
Her lovely large villa was beautifully
decorated and furnished but to say the least, her tastes were exotic. Alan
remembered that she had taught art but it was not the sort of art that pupils
at St. Fort's were encouraged to paint. The walls of her house were adorned
with paintings and sketches of nudes, both male and female. At home in the
evening after their meal, she would draw the curtains before retiring to her
room to change her clothes. Her evening outfit always seemed to be monochrome,
usually a white silk blouse with a black leather waistcoat, a short black and
white or just plain black tight fitting skirt and long black boots which came
up to her knees.
Alan's perceptions of the world were
changing almost daily. Only weeks earlier, his voice had started to break and
he had discovered the pleasure to be had from playing with his wee wee. There
were boys at the school who were coarse and called it a cock. Some of the
bigger boys would try to touch his. They would promise to show him theirs if he
hopped into their beds.
He did not
know any girls to speak to. The only girls he had ever seen were girls on the
street or pop stars on television. Some of them were really nice to look at but
he would not dare try to speak to any of them. It was funny how when he was
lying in bed at night, his thoughts of Aunt Joan in her evening outfit made his
wee-wee stand up. And it just would not sit down. It made him feel restless and
unable to sleep. But pulling the skin on his wee-wee definitely helped. If he
did it vigorously enough. A white milky fluid would spurt out. O dear, what a
mess it made but it made him feel so good, relaxed and ready to sleep.
Aunt Joan
could be quite bossy. After his week in her house, she remarked that she knew
about boys' aversion to hot water. But he really must make more of an effort to
keep himself clean. She stressed the importance of personal hygiene and how
Alan was not smelling too fresh. She insisted that before his bedtime, he
should take a proper bath.
The bathroom
was like the rest of the house, in perfect order; fully tiled and fitted with a
long deep bath. Alan admitted that it was vastly superior to the facilities at
St Fort's and way better than the simple bathroom at his old home.
Just as his
mother used to do, Aunt Joan helped him undress and slide into the foaming hot
water. As she picked up his clothes to take them through to the washing
machine, she told him to ring the little brass bell at the side of the bath
when he was ready to have his hair washed.
He set to
scrubbing off the layers of sweat, grime and the rest. Leaning over to recover
the soap, he smelt his groin and knew what his aunt had meant. Application of
some soap definitely improved matters. A ring of the bell brought his aunt back
into the bathroom. She was now wearing a white nylon tunic like a nurse. It was
to protect against water splashes was her explanation when she saw the boy
gaping at her. The shampoo was applied to his greasy hair and her long fingers
massaged the soap into his scalp. Alan liked the tingle it gave down his spine.
His mother never washed his hair like this. And then Aunt Joan hosed away the
shampoo with a shower attachment before asking him to step out of the bath. A
sudden flush of embarrassment swept over Alan. Aunt Joan would see his wee-wee.
She read his
thoughts and told him that she had seen naked young men before. And she saw
them every day on the walls of her house. It wasn't the same, thought Alan.
With head bowed, he stepped out of the bath into the towel held out by her.
Then she placed slippers before him and handed him a smaller towel to dry his
sopping hair. She then told him to follow her through to a back room where the
electric fire was turned on.
In the back
room, she sat down on a dining chair by the fire. Alan was instructed to stand
between her and the fire and to dry his head and shoulders thoroughly with the
small towel. While he did so, his aunt dried his legs and bottom, the sensation
of her fingers through the bath towel took all of his attention.
'Now turn
around so that I can do your front,' she commanded.
Alan obeyed
and to hide his embarrassment, buried his head in the small towel. O God, the
towel was coming up there. She was drying him ever so gently, her fingers
moving ever so slowly behind his balls. She adjusted the towel. Holding both
ends with one hand at his waist, it was her free other hand which gently
stroked his balls and groin. Alan could not bear to look but he knew that his
wee-wee was standing up. A hard-on, the boys called it. The shame of it all;
having a hard-on in front of Aunt Joan.
His sobs of
shame were muffled into the towel. 'I'm so sorry, Aunt Joan.'
She gave no
reply. All Alan could feel was her finger and thumb gently pulling at his tight
foreskin.
'I don't mean
it, honestly. I'm so sorry. Tears choked the words in his throat.
She maintained
her silence and Alan felt her grip tighten as she pulled harder and faster on
his wee-wee.
He continued
to bury his head in the small towel, sobbing at the humiliation. His aunt's
silence added to his shame. She must be mortified. He was certain that he would
be asked to leave in the morning. Out on the street with nowhere to go. It
would be better to get it over quickly. While his mind reeled, he let his body
take over and pushed repeatedly against her grip. Within a minute, the
pressurised pumping brought about release. His head still covered, he had no
idea where the milky stuff was going. At last, it stopped and his wee-wee
started to soften. But still, Aunt Joan had not said a word. He fell to his
knees, still weeping and gingerly pulled the towel down below his eyes. Aunt
Joan sat there, dabbing at her tunic with a handkerchief. Her eyes met his.
'Who's a messy
young pup, then?'
The tears
started to well up again in his eyes. She let the large towel drop to the floor
and took the smaller towel from his frightened grasp.
'Come along
now, it's only virgin spunk. It's sure to clean off.'
She stretched
out her arms and beckoned him to her.
'Give your
aunt a hug. You can do that even though you've shown that you're a big boy
now.'
Alan was
overcome with gratitude and seized the offer. He rested his head on her chest
where his sense of smell picked up on three powerful scents; her sweet perfume
which she wore in the evenings , the warm exotic smell of her leather waistcoat
and a much less pleasant fishy odour. She held him tightly and ran her long
fingers up and down his back.
After a few
minutes, she pushed him to his feet. 'Right, time to have you tucked up in bed.
First of all, go and dry your cock, darling.'
Alan beamed
although slightly puzzled by her use of that bad schoolboy word. As he emerged
from the bathroom, she led him up to his room and proceeded to sit on the edge
of the bed.
'Before you
put your pyjamas on, I want you to stand straight in front of me.'
Alan followed
her order but his head was bowed. He knew that she would be staring at his now
little wee-wee.
'Look at me
directly, darling and give me a smile.'
He slowly
raised his eyes and forced a weak grin.
'That's
better.' She again looked down at his wee wee. 'Put your pyjamas on and we'll
have a little chat.'
Alan promptly
obeyed. She just commanded obedience more than any teacher he'd ever met. Even
his father and mother never had this sort of authority.
She sat back
down on the bed and clasped his hands. 'Now darling, all I insist upon is the
absolute truth.Is that understood?'
The boy nodded
earnestly.
'What you did
by the fire, when did you start doing it?'
After
Christmas,' replied Alan.
'How often?
Most nights? More than once?' The questions were insistent.
'Not every
night, he answered, 'but sometimes four times.' He worried that this sounded a
lot.
'Jolly good.'
She smiled. How encouraging to hear that the family gun is fully loaded.'
Alan did not
really understand but he smiled back.
'I'm pleased
that you're being so truthful. I may not have children but I know a great deal
about teenage boys. Tell me, what do you call it?'
And with that
question, she slipped her hand under the duvet cover and prised open the fly of
his pyjamas.
Alan was
rather taken aback but he had promised to tell the truth. 'It's my wee-wee.'
'Yes.' said
his aunt but she looked disapproving. That however is a childish word which you
will stop using. The proper name for it is your penis although when we are
together we will call it your cock. Is that understood?'
Alan nodded.
He knew that word. If Aunt Joan wanted to use the same word as the big boys,
that was fine by him.
'Now what you
did by the fire, what do you call that?'
Alan
hesitated. He did not have a name for it. It was so secret. He shook his head.
'O come along.
The boys at school must have called it something.' The way she looked at him
demanded an answer.
He came over
all flustered. 'I don't really know. When some of the boys talked about their
wee-wees, sorry, I mean their cocks, they talked about wanking it but I don't
know what it means.' He looked worried and apprehensive.
'Well my boy,
now you do . By the fire, you had a wank or to be precise, I wanked you. Either
way, that makes you a wanker. The word is often used as a term of abuse among
men which is typical of their contradictions because for most of his life,
every man is a wanker.' It is a natural need like sneezing or coughing. There
is another outlet but we can discuss that another time. These next few years
will be your main wanking years although I know that men continue doing it
throughout their lives. Do you understand?'
Alan was
thoughtful. So he was a wanker. 'I think so.'
'You must know
the proper name. To wank is to masturbate from the Latin Masterbatius, a
masturbator. Can you remember that?'
Alan replied,
'Yes, he would remember that he was a masturbator.'
'Very well.
The reason why I am explaining this to you is that after tonight, there will be
no more masturbation in my home without my permission. On any occasion when you
and I are in this house or out together, you will seek my consent before you
touch your hard cock. Is that understood? And do not think that you can do it
out of sight. I have a wanker sensor which picks up any man masturbating within
one hundred yards. I put that sensor to very good use at my school with the
most surprising results. And another thing, I still have my school cane and
horse riding whip for boys of all ages who disobey my rules.' She smiled to
reassure her nephew.
Alan quivered.
He had never been caned never mind whipped but he had seen the bruises, blood
and tears of those who had.
'It's been a
full day, nephew. Lie back and sleep tight. She bent over and kissed him on the
forehead.
After she had
switched off the light and left the room, Alan lay still, his brain swimming
with what he had learned. She knew everything about him including what he did
under the sheets at night. He had done it when his father and mother were alive
but they had no idea. Aunt Joan seemed so much smarter than his parents or
anyone else that he knew. Fancy knowing what boys talked about and having a
sensor that found you out. And there was something else; when you saw her,
especially in the evening, she made you want to masturbate. She just did.
Looking at her made your cock go hard.
Alan awoke to
a lovely summer's morning. The shafts of sunlight streamed in through the gap
in the curtains and lit up the room.
He felt his
firm cock but mindful of last night's warning, he jumped out of bed and busied
himself with dressing. That took his mind off it and it quickly settled down.
While his aunt
served breakfast, he gazed at her as she stood by the sink. She looked much
more like the Aunt Joan that he remembered, smartly dressed in a cream blouse
with pale green slacks over ordinary black shoes. With her slim figure, small
bosom and long slender legs, she looked so different from his mother. It came
back to him that his mother used to complain that Joan was like that because
she never had any children and smoked cigarettes. He wondered what caused her
to say that. It was certainly true about the cigarettes. He regularly saw her
smoking long thin brown cigarettes.
She joined him
at the breakfast table, set in the middle of this vast immaculate kitchen.
'Well young
Alan, I have decided that we should go into London today. I have been entrusted
with your care and in my book, that means educating you in mind, soul and
body.'
With this announcement, she smiled at Alan who, in no
position to argue, smiled back.
'We'll start
with the Renaissance exhibition at the Royal Academy, have some lunch and then
fit in a little book shopping.'
Alan could
only nod in agreement. He found that with Aunt Joan, her word was law.
'Be ready for
the off in fifteen minutes.'
His aunt was
waiting by the door as he came down the stairs. Now she was wearing a pale
green jacket which matched her slacks. Boy, did she look like a film star.
They too her
car to the railway station. It was 7 series BMW, black with matching leather upholstery. Alan was mightily
impressed. His father used to have a Rover but by the time he died, he was
reduced to a rusty, old Ford.
The exhibition
was quite interesting with lots more nudes. After lunch, some of the bookshops
they visited were rather strange. One in particular, had mostly books of naked
men. The two men behind the counter also seemed odd. They wore jewellery and
leather trousers. He was sure that one of them was Mr Collins, the art teacher
at St Fort's but he kept out of sight in case he was recognised.
For Alan, the
best parts were the train journeys. Getting on and off the Tube and the funny
things you saw on the streets of London. He was tired out by the time they
arrived home and Aunt Joan sent him for a nap before their evening meal.
At the table,
Aunt Joan produced a bottle of wine and explained that as this had been their
Italian day, it was an Asti, a light sparkling white wine. Learning about wine
and drinks should be a part of his education. Alan took a gulp only to be
reprimanded by his aunt.
'Wine is to be
sipped, not guzzled,' she spoke like the school mistress she used to be.
Nonetheless, Alan immediately took to the bubbly, sweet taste. After two full
glasses, he felt relaxed and cheerful.
After the meal
was finished, he was asked to do the washing up and readily agreed. His aunt
disappeared upstairs but from the kitchen, he knew that she was back in the
lounge when he heard the sound of some old pop music coming from the home
entertainment system. He finished his kitchen chores and came back into the
lounge where Aunt Joan was standing by the fireplace, her back to the room,
gazing at the huge nude painting above the mantel. She was swaying to the beat
of the music, almost dancing.
Alan sat down
on the long settee and stared at his aunt who seemed oblivious to his presence.
His jaw sank as he sat still, transfixed by her outfit. Her long, shiny black
boots now came up over her knees. The short black skirt which she had worn
before had been replaced by an even shorter leather one. Her upper body was
covered by a skin tight short black leather jacket which only just reached her
waist. She seemed to be wearing matching leather gloves.
Her swaying to
the music caused the sharp creases in her skirt to move from side to side . Alan
sat perfectly still and stared. Nothing moved except for his groin which sprung
into action. He wriggled around in his seat, crossed and uncrossed his legs but
the thing just grew and grew until it was rock hard. He sat back in the seat
panting, taking in short gasps of air. His tongue was hanging out as he tried
to push his cock back down but it proved impossible. It was insistent, bursting
to get out of his trousers. His breathing grew heavier and heavier and then the
music stopped. Aunt Joan turned around, faced him with her legs apart and her
hands on her hips.
''You don't
look well, darling. Is something wrong?'
Alan did not
know what to say. But quickly he remembered that she knew everything.
'It's my my my my cock,' stammered the boy.
'What's wrong
with it?'
'It's hard and
it won't go down.'
'In that case,
take your trousers down and let me see.'
Alan did not
hesitate. There was no embarrassment this time. His aunt knew all about his
cock and his hard-ons. Within seconds, his trousers and underpants were around
his ankles. His aunt sashayed across and sat beside him. Her next order was to
remove his socks and shoes and to take off his trousers completely. While Alan
did so, she unbuttoned his shirt and eased his arms out of it.
He sat back in
the settee, stark naked but relieved that his full cock now had room to
'breathe'.
I think I see
the problem,' announced Aunt Joan. 'Are you remembering the house rules?'
'Yes, aunt,'
replied the boy breathlessly, 'Please, please, may I have a wank?'
'You'll want
my assistance.'
Alan readily
agreed. Anything to get a hand on his cock. 'O yes please. Please wank me.'
His aunt
snuggled up alongside him, putting her left arm around his shoulders. The smell
of her perfume and the leather was intoxicating. She flicked her fingers across
his balls and gently brushed his proud cock. Each slight contact of her leather
glove was ecstasy. He pumped back and forth in his seat, straining to get more
contact. It seemed like the more he strained, the more she moved her glove
away. By now, he was pounding up and down in the seat, getting faster and
faster all the time. In his frenzy, he barely noticed that his aunt's hand had
moved away for a moment and come back to place some sort of ring over the tip of
his cock. And with a great surge, it burst out. All that milky stuff. Alan
looked down and saw that it was flowing into some sort of rubber tube. Now his
aunt had a full grip on him and was vigorously pumping him up and down.
He felt her
lips at his ear, softly whispering , 'Excellent darling. Keep it coming. Give
me lots of your come.'
The pumping
and flow of the milky stuff seemed endless. This was fantastic, miles better
than ever before. What was it about Aunt Joan? She was all powerful, all
knowing, like one of these goddesses they had in ancient Greece. He would
worship her, do absolutely anything she wanted.
After it was
over and the flow of stuff ended, she told him to go to the bathroom and clean
himself up. When he came back, she would have a present for him. The evening
air was still warm and so he did not feel chilled as he walked naked to the
bathroom, chuckling at the mirror images of naked youths which hung on the
hallway walls. It was a house where nakedness was everywhere and made welcome.
Ambling back through the hall, he revelled in this sense of freedom, the air in
touch with his whole body.
Aunt Joan sat
curled up on the settee. It seemed impossible to believe that she was nearly
fifty; she appeared so playful and girlish.
As he sat down, she produced a small packet, urged him to open it and
try it on.
'It's a
dressing robe,' she explained. 'I think it will suit you.'
He shook it
out and slipped it over his shoulders. It was nothing like the beige woollen
dressing gown that he had at school. It hardly reached his knees and was made
of some very soft material. There were no buttons, only a tie around the waist.
Embroidered on the back was a picture of some bird with huge colourful
feathers. There was some writing on the front, Chinese, he thought.
'Japanese,'
said Aunt Joan as if reading his mind. 'Made of the purest silk.'
'It's very
comfy,' he said resuming his seat.
His aunt had
poured herself a drink which was placed on the table in front of them. It
looked like a long drink of Coca cola.
'We can share
it if you like,' she offered, 'but no more than a sip at a time.'
After his
exertions, he needed a refreshment. Picking up the glass, he took a full
mouthful. It was Coca cola but there was a strange aftertaste. Still, there was
something nice about sharing things with his aunt.
His aunt was
gazing at him in profile. 'I'm so pleased it looks good on you. Just let me
sort out your collar.' As she ever so slowly adjusted his collar, her gloved
fingers gently stroked the back of his neck. He closed his eyes as her roving
fingers sent a tingle down his spine. Her leather skirt and jacket squeaked as
she moved alongside him. The fingers on his neck were now replaced by her hot
lips while her gloved hands wandered over his body, gently squeezing his
hairless chest.
It was
happening again. This time, there were no trousers to impede the swelling of
his cock. As soon as it popped out through his new gown, his aunt's hands
descended around him and pulled the robe apart. His full frontal was totally
exposed. Her right hand slipped underneath his balls and her forefinger rubbed
lightly back and forward. Her left hand came round to the far side of his face
and turned his head towards hers. She started kissing his cheek with soft
pecks, edging across his face until their lips met. He offered no resistance,
not having any idea what to do. After a few moments, she pushed what must be
her tongue into his mouth, the tip seeking out the tip of his tongue.
By now, his
cock was back hard again. This time, there was no flicking as his cock strained
for contact. Her leathered hand or at least two forefingers and thumb were
clamped around it, pulling and pushing it ever faster up and down. Their lips
still bonded, he swung round in his seat so that he could feel her gorgeous
leather skirt and jacket. His tongue came to life and intertwined with hers.
Her grasp of him tightened and now it felt as if her whole fist was furiously
pumping him. There were almost too many sensations for Alan; the sweet perfumed
moistness of her kiss, the erotic feel and sound of her soft leather clothes
and her firm wanking of him which would shortly lead to another eruption.
Wanting more
of all of these sensations, he pulled her closer to him but she broke off their
kiss to give him encouragement, not that he was in need of it.
'That's
wonderful darling. Let me feel that passion.'
She'd slipped
another of these tubes over him and with perfect timing to catch another burst
of milky stuff. With his head rested on her shoulder gulping in the waft of
that soft leather, he could see the power she was expending, her forearm
swivelling up and down as if hammering in a nail and all for the purpose of
draining the milky stuff out of him. She was wrong about one thing; sneezing
and coughing did not remotely compare to this.
As his cock
softened, he flopped back into the seat. His aunt stood up, smoothed down her
ruffled skirt and went through to the kitchen to dispose of the tube. On coming
back in, she faced him, picked up the glass and stood drinking, her free hand
resting on her hip. Hard to believe but it was stirring again and so, as a
distraction, he stood up and asked to go to bed.
'Of course you
must, but do remember the house rules.' She missed nothing and he started to
wonder if she had some mystical power, some way of reading his mind.
On the following day, the fine weather broke. As the rain
fell steadily. They passed the day quietly reading. At various points, Alan
retired to his room to practise the guitar which his father had given him on
his last birthday.
After the
evening meal at which wine, a French Graves, had been served, Aunt Joan left
the room as she always did. She was more reserved in her dress this evening,
just her long boots and waistcoat. There was no leather jacket and the black
and white checked skirt was back in use. The toning down of her appearance did
nothing to dampen the young boy's ardour. He tried to concentrate on the
television film but it was impossible. He wriggled in his seat, got up and
walked about the house aimlessly, then tried to read again but it was hopeless.
Aunt Joan was engrossed in the film but of course, noticed his discomfort.
'Rather
restless tonight, aren't we?'
'Sorry,'answered
Alan sheepishly.
' Can you tell
me your problem?' asked Aunt Joan as if she did not already know.
Alan's voice
faltered but the words finally came out, 'I need to masturbate, Aunt Joan.'
'You're just
like your father,' she said with some exasperation, 'If you can't wait for an
hour until this film is finished, then go and fetch a large bath towel.'
A puzzled Alan
did as we was ordered.
'Spread it out
on the carpet there,' she instructed, pointing to a space in front of her. 'Now
remove your clothes and lie on the towel.'
Alan did as
bidden but nothing more was said as the film reached an exciting part of the
story. The sound of the action going on behind his head was meaningless as he
lay on his back on the towel, gazing at his aunt. Meantime, her eyes looked straight
over him, absorbed in the film. When the exciting scene finally ended, she
looked down and asked him to move himself and his towel a bit closer. He now
lay within inches of her feet. All the time, his cock remained as rigid as a
flagpole. He was ordered to close his eyes and stretch his arms outwards.
Nothing happened for a minute or so and then he felt something touching his
cock. Something hard was forcing the skin up and down. He pushed himself
against it to step up the pressure. It was not the familiar warm feeling of his
aunt's hand or glove but it had the desired effect and within minutes, the
milky stuff skooshed out, some landing on his bare chest, some squirting up
past his shoulder onto the towel behind. He opened his eyes to see his aunt still
engrossed in the film but the tip of her beautiful, long leather boot was
firmly wedged against his cock and pumping the last of the milky stuff as if
she were tapping her toe to a fast rock and roll record.
When the last
drops had dribbled out and his cock had started to soften. She withdrew her
boot and sat primly, knees together, engrossed in the film. The boy no longer
had to be told to clean himself. Without a word, he left the room to place the
towel in the laundry basket and clean himself before returning, now dressed in
his silk robe. They sat quietly, watching television until bedtime.
Alan slept
fitfully until 2am when he found himself fully awake. It was all the fault of
his cock. It would not settle down. He tried to avoid thinking about it but it
seemed so restless, as if crying out for attention. Admittedly, it had had less
exercise today than previously. His parents used to talk about the need to tire
the boy out before bedtime. But he dare not touch in case this activated the
sensor. After an hour of frustration, rolling from side to side, he decided he
would have to tell his aunt.
He tiptoed
through to her room although there was no one else in the house to disturb. The
door of her room was ajar. He poked his head around the door and whispered her
name. She switched on her bedside lamp and blinked at Alan. Did he know the
time? He did and he was so sorry but he knew the house rules. His embarrassment
returned as he falteringly explained his need to masturbate. She sat up in bed
and stared at the protuberance in his pyjama trousers. She looked rather small
sitting there in the middle of her large bed, dressed as she was in her black
silk nightdress.
'Very well,
take off your pyjamas and come into my bed.'
She told him
to close his eyes and try to sleep, No sooner had she switched off the lamp but
she got up, went to a chest of drawers and brought something back with her.
Alan was
ordered to face away from her as she snuggled in behind him. Obviously, the
nightdress was not very long as he could feel the warm flesh of her thighs. A
hand slithered over him and her thumb and forefinger held the base of his cock.
O good, she's wearing the glove, thought Alan. He stretched out his hands as
she pulled hard on the skin of his cock a rhythmically rocked back and forward.
Her own body was wrapped around him, her lips lightly kissing the back of his
neck. She rose up briefly to lean over with her other hand t o place a rubber
tube on him. This time, she rolled it right down his cock. She was becoming active and Alan felt her
pushing against his bottom with her waist. That was nice too. After a while she
pushed her knee through his thighs, her right arm under his waist lifting him
into her. Alan put out his hands on to the pillow to steady himself because she
was almost on top of him. In the ecstasy of the wank, Alan did not really
notice but it sort of felt like something was going in and out of his bottom.
He did not mind as it felt quite good but it was strange hearing his aunt
giving out little high-pitched gasps. She had always been so quiet when she had
wanked him before. After the eruption came the wave of relaxation although his
aunt riding his bottom as if he were a horse went on for a bit longer and only
stopped when she gave out a long sigh. He skipped back to his room and slept
soundly.
At the
breakfast table, Alan sat and watched his aunt prepare some toast. She looked
as fantastic as ever. Her tight white jeans showed off her long legs and on her
feet were a pair of little black boots with high sharp heels. He wriggled in
his chair on account of his sore bottom before asking his aunt for some remedy.
She left the room momentarily and on her return, asked him to take down his
trousers and pants. As he stood there in the kitchen bare from the waist down,
his aunt knelt beside him, carrying out her examination. On her finger was a
lump of cold cream which she proceeded to stick up his bottom. Without obvious
reason, his cock sprung up and remained firm. Aunt Joan laughed.
'You're as bad
as someone else I used to know.'
The boy was
growing in confidence, 'Do you mean dad?'
She looked
thoughtful, 'your father was your age once, fractionally older perhaps.'
He looked
puzzled, 'Do you mean there was a lady who wanked dad?'
'In a way.'
'It can't have
been you because you were his little sister.'
'You will not
know this but little girls grow up more quickly. I may have been younger in
years but I knew a lot more than your father. The girls at my school were well
informed about these things. Your father was rather naive, did not know what
was happening but as we were always close, he told me all about the changes in
his body. He was shy at first but when I threatened to tell mother about it, he
gave in very quickly. Up in the hay loft, he showed me what he did and I
threatened to scream if he did not let me try. Like you he became hooked on my
attention. But that's enough, pull your trousers up and we'll go to the
supermarket.'
She never
leaves the house without looking like a star thought Alan, admiring his aunt in
her tailored leather jacket over a cerise silk blouse and these white jeans
with a gold necklace and rings. He was happy to be putty in her experienced
hands, moulded in any way she wanted. Pushing a trolley for her at the
supermarket would never be a chore.
Later that
week, Aunt Joan received a phone call which seemed to distract her. It was the
only time he had not seen her looking cool and unruffled. She did not bother
with dinner but paced up and down in her private study. Alan was reading in the
lounge when she came in and announced that would be going out this evening. He
had her permission to wank himself tonight. As she went out of the door, Alan
peeped through the curtains as she made her way through the rain to her car,
dressed in a long black raincoat. When she reached the door of her car, she
stopped to adjust something in the waist band of her leather trousers. The
light was fading and she was twenty yards away but it looked to Alan like the
handle of a gun, a revolver. After she drove away, he tried to read but
concentration was impossible. He gazed at the fire, confused and slightly
afraid. Why did she have a gun? Was she a spy, a female James Bond? She looked
the part. On the other hand, she might be a gangster going out on a job. Alan
resolved to say nothing about what he had just seen.
After the
excitement of the past couple of weeks, a wank under the sheets seemed so
ordinary but it was enough to send him to sleep. There was no sign of his aunt
until lunchtime the next day when she returned and headed straight to her room.
Some time later, she came into the lounge.
'Be a darling
and pour me a long vodka and coke. That's a tall glass with two inches of vodka
and the rest is coke with ice.' She slumped into an armchair and closed her
eyes.
Alan
discovered unknown skills as a drinks waiter and fulfilled her order. Three
more were ordered and drunk within half an hour. She turned and fixed a look on
Alan.
'And how is my
dear nephew?'
I'm very well,
Aunt Joan,' was the hesitant reply.
'And your
cock? She leered at him. 'Not been overdoing the wanking in my absence, I
hope.'
'Just the
once.' answered Alan truthfully.
'Good. So
there'll still be some juice in the tank.' She stood up and faced him, her
hands on the hips of her tight leather trousers. The way she sidled over to him
fired Alan's loins immediately. She bent over him, placed her hands on his
shoulders and pushing him back into the seat, gave him a long kiss full on the
lips.
She took his
hand and led him up to her room where he was ordered to undress. 'A little
something different this time, darling' on making this announcement, she placed
a blindfold over his eyes. Next she ordered him into bed and put his hands up
against the brass frame. Alan was nor sure how it had happened but somehow, his
wrists were manacled to the frame. His
vision removed, he heard his aunt slip through to the adjoining dressing room
and the opening and closing of wardrobe doors. He did not know what to think of
when Aunt Joan came back into the room. What plan did she have for him this
time?
'Darling, I'm
going to let you have a little peek to see if you like it.' she declared. Alan
blinked as the blindfold was removed. Then he gulped on seeing her outfit. The
black leather boots were almost the full length of her legs; the leather skirt
only came down a few inches at most and the black leather jacket was barely a
jacket at all. It seemed to be cut off below her breasts to show off her
smooth-skinned bare midriff. Long black gloves climbed up to her elbows. She
posed at the side of the bed, one hand on her hip before climbing in and
straddling the boy.
'Keep that
picture in your mind, nephew while we have some fun.' The blindfold was
replaced on the shackled boy.
Alan felt
nervous but his blindness heightened his sense of smell and that wonderful
combination of her perfume and leather usually meant nothing but a good
feeling.
Now darling
we'll have a little foreplay and when I say the words, you start thrusting your
cock up and down. Very slowly to begin with . Listen always to my instructions.
Alan nodded
and asked 'What are the words?'
'The words,'
she repeated, 'the words are fuck me darling.'
Alan knew that
word. It got two strokes of the cane at St. Forts if a master heard anyone use
it.
She kissed him
long and hard, stroked his balls, then brought her boot up to his mouth so that
he could plant a kiss on it. What followed led Alan into a new world of
excitement. To start with, he could feel his rock hard cock being steered under
her short skirt. The tip was in contact with something hot and moist. It was a
land of mystery. He instinctively
started to push but she drew back until she had rolled another of these tubes
on to his cock. This time, she rolled it all of the way down but without delay,
it was drawn back up under her leather skirt. Her long boots pinned his thighs
together as her weight descended upon him.
'Wonderful.'
she whispered huskily, 'now fuck me darling, fuck me for all you're worth!'
The boy too
his cue and thrust upwards. His cock felt like it was disappearing into some
hot damp canal where the walls were so tight that he was wedged in. He pulled
back slightly then pushed again. It felt good, more work than a wank but even
more exciting. With each push, he seemed to go further in until he sensed that
his whole cock was in there and there was room for more. The walls held him
tightly and soon he and Aunt Joan were pushing in rhythm. Her hands were
everywhere; caressing his balls, stroking his unseeing face, tweaking the
little tits on his chest.
Alan strained
at the manacles but they were unyielding. He had to put everything into
expressing himself through his cock. His aunt remained in full control. At one
point, she required him to slow down and did so by squeezing his throat. He
obeyed instantly. Then after Aunt Joan had increased the tempo, she let out a
long moan and her whole body shuddered. She slowed down after that but Alan
felt an eruption coming and speeded up again. At school, they had been taught
about thrust in physics. Now he felt what it meant.His cock was like a rocket
trying to take off but always coming back down. That is until the final thrust
when he sensed that he had achieved lift-off; the thrust from his cock and
groin forced his aunt up into the air. Well, she was a star. She should be up
there with the other heavenly bodies.
He suspended
her up there, defying gravity for a full minute until what she called the tank
was drained of all the milky stuff. She sank down on top of him and he kissed
and licked any part of her which came close to his lips.
At breakfast
the next morning. Alan could not contain all of the questions spinning around
in his mind.
'When I go to
my new school, will other boys have stories about masturbating like I'll have?'
'I would hope
not,' answered his aunt firmly.
Is that
because they don't have a beautiful aunt like me?'
She smiled at
the compliment, finished her food preparation and than came over to sit beside
her nephew.
'Listen to
what I have to say very carefully. We are enjoying being together but this must
remain our secret for the rest of your life. The reason why is that if you ever
tell a soul, even your best friend or even some day, your wife, it will somehow
get out and be used against you by the police. It is a very serious matter
indeed for a young man to show his cock and then to fuck an old lady. If this
ever came out, you would go to prison for many years. I know this for certain.
Do you understand?'
Alan turned
very grave, 'I'd go to prison?'
'Undoubtedly.
That is why it is a secret to take to the grave. I certainly will and I am sure
that your father did too. We look after each other in this family. Never
explain to anyone; a lover, a doctor, a policeman. It will always be turned
against you by some one you thought you trusted.'
The boy nodded
sombrely. A lasting impression had been made.
'To seal our
pact, come and sit on my knee and give me a big kiss!'
Alan
immediately complied and as their lips came together, he realised that he had
entered his lifetime secret world.
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