"I'm sorry, sir, there have been severe thunderstorms in Chicago, and O'Hare airport is closed for the day. All flights in and out are canceled" The flight attendant was really tired of this. She'd been saying the same thing for an hour. It was hard to relate to the bad weather; here in Atlanta it was warm and sunny. Some people acted as if it were her fault, others were more sympathetic, but they all had the same questions. "City of the Broad Shoulders! Hah! Why do they let a little rain stop them?" "Can I get on a different plane, direct to [insert Denver, Minneapolis, Toronto, etc.]" "I expect the airline to reimburse my hotel bill!" And so on.
At least some of the passengers were cute. Like that boy she just talked to. Cute face, pretty good build, probably on the swim team, pleasant to talk to. Couple of inches taller, he might be really hot. He also looked broke, poor kid. He'd probably have to spend a miserable night here in the airport, then half the day tomorrow. At least he didn't have to change planes again. Chicago was his destination.
Like I said, he was cute, but not so cute that she wanted to grab him, hustle him off to the local digs for flight attendants, fuck him into a daze and then pass him around to any other stews who shared the same place. Even if it had occurred to her, she was due to fly out to Philadelphia in a couple of hours, where her husband would meet the plane. So, yes, this is a porno story, but it doesn't involve sexy flight attendants.
The boy, Carl Baldwin, really wasn't all that young; he'd turned eighteen just last week. And 5'8" really isn't all that short. Otherwise, he would have agreed with her appraisal. The way he thought about it, he was good-looking enough that a girl wouldn't kick him out of bed, but she wouldn't knock herself out to get him into bed in the first place. That was the story of his life, anyway. He was a virgin, though not for lack of trying. He'd get shy and tongue-tied. His buddies even set him up once with a known pushover, but he botched it. (She was nice, though. She never told the guys what hadn't happened.) The funny thing was, he had a solid, forceful personality in everything else he did, and even funnier, his schlong was a good inch or more longer than average, which looked huge hanging from his sort-of-short frame. He knew these things could be sexy assets, but he just couldn't close the sale on a date. You've known guys like him. You might even be one. Mostly, he needed some self-confidence.
He was also broke. It was his fault; two days ago, the night before his buddy's wedding, he'd gotten drunk and gambled his cash away in an Indian casino that wasn't too diligent about examining his fake ID. He had no credit card, which was probably just as well. His parents were camping in Canada. They'd deliberately left their cell phones behind, but what could they have done anyway?
His only alternative to spending the night in the airport was to call his aunt -- his mother's oldest sister, who lived somewhere in the Atlanta metro area. The problem was that she was a large, domineering, bitch, and a borderline alcoholic as well; a thoroughly unpleasant woman. Her husband was worse. They had a daughter a couple months older than Carl, but he hadn't seen her, or any of them, in years. He assumed his cousin was the defeated, crushed soul typical of such families.
Still, it was only for one night. He'd call. The worst that could happen was that they'd turn him down. Heart in throat, he used his AT&T card to call information. Luckily, their number was listed, and yes, he'd pay the extra fifty cents to be connected. His aunt Hildy -- Hildegarde -- answered on the second ring. "Hello?"
"Hello, Aunt Hildy? This is Carl Baldwin, your nephew. . . Yes, it has been a long time, how are you?. . . What do I want?" He explained his predicament. "I know it's a lot of trouble, Aunt Hildy, but I wouldn't have bothered you if I weren't desperate. . . No, my mom doesn't go around badmouthing you. . . She says she wishes you two got along better. . . I know she's the only family you've got, but . . . Well, thanks; I appreciate it a lot. . . Lower level, USAir? Black BMW, ten years old? Forty minutes? . . . I'll find it. And thanks an awful lot." She'd hung up. 'And goodbye to you, too,' he thought.
He hoped she wasn't drunk, not yet. Twenty minutes later, he'd found the rendezvous, but she was there first, standing by a car answering her description. It was lucky she'd done so, because he'd have never recognized her. He remembered her as huge -- six foot one, his mother once told him, and about that much in diameter. Standing there, she seemed way over six foot one, and statuesque, or Amazonian, not obese. She was no supermodel, but she'd done some serious work on her physique; slim, for a 50-year old woman, and strong. She reminded him of an extreme version of those before and after pictures in the windows of Jenny Craig stores. Maybe even a boob job; those orbs jutted straight out from her chest. If she were standing in the noonday sun, they'd give shade to her entire belly. Her outthrust gazongas also reinforced her whole aura of sexiness, written large. Long ponytail, past her shoulders, red with henna. Her face -- well, it was easy to see that she must have been a beautiful girl, but all those years of hard drinking and hard partying had left it weathered and lined. Overall, though, a very handsome, if scary, woman.
"Aunt Hildy?" he asked, still not sure it was her.
"Yes, Carl, I'm your Aunt Hildy, and I wish you'd been here when I arrived."
"Sorry, Aunt Hildy, but didn't you say. . . " He let it go. "I'm sorry; I should have hurried. Should I put my stuff in your trunk?" He had one suitcase, because his tux for the wedding couldn't go in an overhead-compartment sized bag. That and a thick book, the second of Shelby Foote's three-volume history of the Civil War. Maybe not the best book to be carrying around Atlanta, come to think of it. He stuffed it into the bag.
She opened the trunk. "In here." He guessed she meant the suitcase, not him, and hoped he'd guessed right. As she went around to the driver's seat, he sat in front; she didn't object. She started to drive. He didn't think she was drunk.
"What are you doing in Atlanta, anyway?" she snapped.
"I went to a friend's wedding in Jacksonville. I was supposed to change planes here." He'd explained all this on the telephone.
"Well, you're lucky I was home. Otherwise you'd have gotten Rachel" -- his cousin -- "and she'd have gotten lost three times on her way here."
"How is she?" Carl asked. "And Uncle Bill?"
"Fine, fine. Bill's away, though. Some remodeling contractors' convention in Nassau. Probably just drinking rum and chasing girls," she chuckled without mirth. "And the girls are probably running."
Carl gulped. "You look great, Aunt Hildy. Have you been. . ."
She gave him a sidelong, hey-kid-what's-your-angle look. "Quit drinking, and smoking. Doctor's orders," she interrupted. "Four, four-and-a-half years ago. Couldn't stand A.A., and I had to do something, so I joined a health club." She smiled her first happy smile for him. "Gyms are just as addictive as booze. Don't say I didn't warn you."
"Well, if you live a lot longer, and feel good and look good too, it sounds like a win-win."
Another appraising, sidelong look. "You look pretty good yourself, Carl. Kinda short, but cute." 'Thanks, I guess,' Carl was thinking. 'I guess to her, a lot of men are short.' She smirked, but in a friendly way. "Another tip: you probably date mostly short girls. Be bold. Go the other way. A lot of tall girls are pushovers for short guys."
"Thanks, I guess," he said. At one level his feelings were hurt, at another he was thinking maybe that was good advice he ought to try. His mouth started to speak without waiting for him. "You know, Aunt Hildegarde, I never thought of tall girls that way. I figured they'd want tall guys. But you know, I'll give it a try when I get home. I promise." As he was speaking, he was confessing to himself how turned on he could be by tall girls. Not 50+ year old inconsiderate dowagers, though. He'd stick to his own kind.
The trip was mostly boring chit chat, how's this person, how's that person, Braves vs. Cubs, weather, all interspersed with nasty little comments about Carl's parents, especially his father, and her own husband. No wonder he hardly knew her or her family. Who'd want to? But all the put downs were making him angry.
They arrived in her driveway. It was a good-sized house, no mansion. You could tell it had been extensively remodeled, probably by Uncle Bill's company when business was down. Carl just sat in the car, thinking.
"C'mon, boy, out. No Rottweiler or pit bull here. I'm the only bitch in the family."
He gathered his courage and opened the car door. Leaning on it, he stared at his aunt. "Listen, some of the things you said about my father, and even my mother, are true. But I'm not going to spend the evening listening to you badmouth my folks. I'd rather sleep in the park."
Her expression went from annoyed, to enraged, to 'what the hell?' "Okay," she growled. "Now get your bag and come on." She unlocked the door and took him straight to the guest room, an unused room on the main floor of the house. "In there. Did you get any supper?"
"No, but that's okay. I can make a sandwich or have an apple or something."
"Don't get like that, boy," she snapped, drawing up to her full height, filling the doorway. "You've used up your one wish. Me, I wish you hadn't bothered us, but now that you have, we'll do the Southern hospitality thing. Now, have you eaten?"
"No ma'am," Carl almost grinned. "But please don't go to a lot of trouble on my account. Leftovers would really be great."
"Bathroom's over there." She pointed. "I'll have Rachel get you some towels." His aunt marched down the hallway, then shouted up the stairs. "Rachel! Rachel!" Carl could hear his cousin's voice, but not her words. "Come down her and meet your cousin and get him some towels from the linen closet. . . Yes, now, Rachel. Were there any calls while I was gone?"
Carl retreated into the guest room, and looked around. It was the usual guest room, half taken over by projects; music stand and dusty violin case in the corner, sewing table, boxes of jigsaw puzzles. Outside the window, though, he could see the back yard. It was dominated by a swimming pool, but not your ordinary household pool. The lot was much longer than normal, and the pool was long and narrow. An exercise pool. Twenty-five yards, he guessed, and two lanes. High hedges for privacy. Wow.
A knock on the open door turned him around, to see the girl who was obviously the principal user of the pool. His cousin tall, like her mother, and had the shoulders of an Olympian and the boobs of the proverbial brick shithouse. And legs to match, he imagined, through her tight jeans. Pretty, in a way, but probably hardly anyone looked at her face, anyway. They'd be drooling over her body. Still, decent makeup and a better hair-do would help a lot. Even so, no bag over the head for this girl.
"Rachel?" he asked, extending his hand.
"Who did you expect!" she snapped, throwing his towels on the bed. "I assume you're my long-lost cousin Carl."
'Whoa!' he thought. 'What's with the women in this house?' He smiled, though, determined to face this one down, big and cranky as she was. "Why yes," he replied. "Who did you expect?" He'd opted not to use the correct form, "whom." No sense in pouring gasoline onto this fire. Before she could speak, he added, "That's a great pool out there. Did your dad install it for you? You look like you get a lot of use out of it."
"No, it was here when we moved in. Yeah, I do use it. Mom was bugging me to join her health club. Can you imagine! I started swimming to shut her up. It gets boring, but I'm good at it. Done wonders for my bod." She pointed her finger almost in his face. "I saw you looking!" Almost to herself, she went on: "Swimming'll get me into college. Then I can quit." She apparently heard herself grousing and added, "Sorry I'm not more gracious, cousin, but you wrecked my plans. When you called, Mother said I had to stay home because you'd be here. So I'm pissed off, but not really at you. It's not your fault." She didn't need to add, "Except for being such a dumbshit as to blow all your cash in a casino," she transmitted that part without words. She gave a huge obviously fake smile, an air kiss, pumped his arm in an exaggerated handshake, and left the room without another word.
'I guess I'll get plenty of sleep tonight,' Carl thought. 'Just to keep out of the way.' He found his aunt in the kitchen, throwing together a salad and warming up some broiled chicken.
"When the cat's away, the mice eat healthy," she said. "Bill only wants steak, pork chops, steak, bacon, pork chops. And bourbon. Jim, Jack, Kroger brand, he doesn't care. You want some? There's a case around here somewhere."
"So he's not your gym partner?" Carl grinned. He was nervous, but he'd decided that it reflected poorly on his mother to let himself be pushed around here.
"Him!? Two hundred eighty pounds, none of it muscle except in his head. I'm almost afraid to f-- to make love because his cardiac arrest would mean Hildy's actual arrest."
Aunt Hildy quickly laid out a place setting, complete with supper, on the kitchen table. With brusque politeness she used the good ol' headache excuse and disappeared. As Carl ate, Rachel came in. She invaded his comfort zone, looming over him. She probably did that a lot. Daughter of a bitch. Looking down over her tits, she growled, "Mother has a headache. She sometimes gets migraines. She says I've gotta keep you company." Exaggerated martyrs' sigh. "Here I am."
Carl was getting annoyed. He didn't need this. Not from either one of them. "Hey, it isn't my fault, not even a little bit. I didn't ask her to bother you. But if you're stuck here with me, we may as well chat. But sit down so I can see your face. You've got great tits, but I don't want to talk through them." There was no way to tell which of them was more astonished by this outburst, but she sat.
He ate a few more bites of his dinner, letting the silence stretch. She was giving a crummy performance of bored drama queen. Then without warning he started yakking. He gave her an upbeat account of his life -- he was no jock, but he had played JV soccer and track and had tried out for his high school teams. He was a good swimmer but something was wrong in his middle ear – he couldn't flip turn. He was going to Southern Illinois University in the fall, at the other end of the state from his home in Rockford. He was in between girl friends, and played the drums in a garage band. They stunk, he admitted, but it was fun. Bashing drums is good therapy.
She didn't thaw, exactly, but even sullen, minimum politeness required her to reciprocate. She had a boy friend, whom she wasn't seeing this evening, thanks to Carl, which was too bad because she needed a good fuck. School was okay, but it'd be swimming, not her grades, that got her into a good university. She was a year behind because of being sick in bed for almost a year, when she was nine. She was looking forward to crushing all the other girls in the next swim season. She wanted to go to Georgia Tech, close to home and boyfriend. Abruptly, she asked, "Are you finished eating? Here, let me take care of your dishes."
He'd wanted more salad, but he let it go. She scraped, rinsed and put the dishes in the dishwasher, then with a wrist-flip of a wave, left the room. Carl wandered around the main floor, inspected the spines of the few books on a bookshelf, ran out of sights to see. Rather than invade the family space upstairs, he found some paper and a large book for a base, sat on the couch and began to sketch some of the things in the room. He was no artist, but he'd found that sketching forced him to look closely at things, and notice their details, which he'd never done before, for any purpose. It also helped pass the time, and you could find a piece of paper almost anywhere.
At a few minutes before eleven, he rose to get ready for bed just as Aunt Hildy came down the stairs. "I'm sorry, Carl," she said, meaning it this time, "I did have a headache, but also I had to call my husband."
"How's he doing?"
"He wasn't in his hotel room, the fat bastard. Off spending Rachel's college money on some whore, probably. I got so mad that I lay on the floor to do my relaxation exercises, and fell asleep. Not a very good hostess tonight, I'm afraid." She put a hand on his tricep. "Please forgive me?" Carl noticed without understanding her change in tone, from bitch on a broom to friendly, even flirtatious. 'What was that about?'
"But at least you're feeling better?"
Aunt Hildy didn't answer. Carl started to think she was nervous about something. Or else she thought she needed a drink and was battling with herself about it.
She spied his drawings. "Oh, an artist!" she cooed. "You're so fortunate to have such talent."
In fact, he didn't have much talent, but after a lot of practice he could draw a mantelpiece that looked like a mantelpiece and gewgaws that looked like gewgaws He started to explain, but checked himself. What was the point? So he just said, "Thanks, Aunt Hildy. It's just something I like to do when I have a free moment."
"And I rudely left you with too many free moments," she replied, then lapsed into an awkward pause. "I'm even going to take a moonlight swim." She leaned over him to whisper in his ear. "Whenever I feel like drinking, I exercise. Like right now." She stood up and resumed a conversational volume. "Care to join me? It's a warm night, even for June in Atlanta, and I'm a lot more fun and vivacious in the water than out of it. Besides, Rachel says you admire our pool."
Carl loved to swim. In fact, he'd been swimming just that morning, at his hotel before leaving for the airport. He'd also left his wet swimming trunks hanging in the hotel bathroom. "I'd love to, Auntie, but I left my trunks in my hotel room this morning."
"'Auntie?'" she echoed, eyes amused under raised eyebrows. "Well, Nephie, I think we can fix you up. That fat husband of mine thinks some day he'll lose a hundred pounds, and keeps all his old clothes. You just wait here a minute." She disappeared into a doorway, Carl assumed to the basement, and reappeared sooner than he expected. "These are the best I could do," she said. "They're ugly, but clean, and it's just us two in the dark, anyway."
"Okay, Auntie," he smiled, "I'm good to go. Let me go change and I'll meet you at the pool."
He changed quickly, grabbed a towel, made a quick pit stop across the hall, then almost trotted out to the pool. He'd expected to be first in the water, but as soon as he stepped outside, he could see ripples and hear the soft noises of his aunt, swimming far down toward the other end of the lane. Her robe was draped over a patio table. 'She must be a real quick-change artist,' he thought.
The trunks were too big, and even with the string drawn as tightly as possible, they felt like they might fall off. Just to be safe, he didn't dive in, but used the ladder. As a lap pool, it was only about four feet deep. Still concerned about losing his trunks, he used a stately breast stroke to approach the far end, where he could see his aunt's dim silhouette.
As he reached her, he was astonished to learn how she'd beaten him to the pool. She'd come straight outside from the living room and dropped her robe to go swimming in the nude. She must have been naked under her robe when they talked. 'Well, this is a pretty good surprise,' he mused, then his natural pessimism slapped him. 'Seductress or cock-teaser?' an inner voice taunted. 'She ain't Miss Congeniality, you know.'
Carl finished the last couple of strokes to where his aunt, definitely a MILF-and-a-half, lounged in the water, elbows on the edge. Her huge breasts were half-submerged, and underwater the outline of her naked body was sharp against the light blue tiles of the pool. She'd untied her ponytail, and her wet hair fell loosely in all directions, draping over the pool rim behind her, tickling her boobs in front. He gulped.
"Do the trunks fit?" she purred.
The purr pumped his erection fuller than her nudity had. Luckily, he was in the cool water, which kept his cock from being too obvious. "O- O- Okay, I g- guess," he stammered. "They're k- kinda loose, though. I- I couldn't g- get the string any tighter."
"Well, if they're too loose, just feel free to take them off," his aunt replied. With one hand, she made a sweeping gesture to her own body. "This pool is 'clothing optional' after dark." She gave a feline smile and swam away with a good, brisk freestyle stroke. The cheeks of her ass bobbed up and down as she swam.
Carl tried to follow, but his swimming trunks kept sliding off his hips. He was standing in the middle, readjusting them for the third time, when Aunt Hildy approached on her return lap. He heard her coming, but he kept his back turned so as not to stare. He'd already been caught staring at Rachel.
There was a brief silence as Hildy dived underwater, only to surface right behind the confused boy, her own strong hands on his hips, pulling him toward her. "Silly boy," she giggled, "stop fooling with that string." She dove downward, sliding her hands along his body, easily slipping the swim suit down to his feet, then pulled his feet out of the tangled cloth. Her arm broke the surface, almost in his face, flopping the sodden trunks on the edge of the pool. Only then did she come up for air, passing face to face with his swelling hard on, to rise right in front of him. "I'm a mother, remember?" she giggled. "You ain't got nothin' I haven't seen. So you just relax, nephew, and enjoy some skinny dippin' with this old lady." With that, the old lady dived under the water again, her sleek form looking anything but old. As she kicked, he finally got a glimpse of her legs. They were fabulous.
Carl was still standing in the same place, mouth agape, eyes following the naked Junoesque body, and it wasn't her swimming skill that impressed him. She reached the end, flipped, and she swam toward him again, doing the backstroke now, breasts thrust aggressively skyward, alternating: right, left, right, left, right. Her hair floated around her like some kind of halo. As she passed Carl, she squeezed his ass cheek, without breaking her rhythm.
This time, Carl followed, using a moderate freestyle crawl. He'd been cock-teased too often to assume he was being offered anything but an opportunity to look foolish. As he caught up, he timidly clutched her toe, then tickled her instep. His aunt shook his hand off her foot, then flipped to fast breast stroke in the other direction. Carl finished his lap, then turned to follow, still doing freestyle. His aunt reached the other end and did the same, except that she did a graceful flip turn, staying with the breast stroke. As they were about to collide, she rolled over and down, underwater, passing directly under Carl and his disobedient cock, which was now approaching its full size despite the cool water. As she passed, she gave his member a tight squeeze, which didn't quite explode. Not yet.
They passed a few more laps, playing this game. At least, Aunt Hildegarde was playing the game. Carl was still trying to figure out the rules. She pulled up behind him once, standing, and wrapped her arms around his waist, pulling him to her in an iron grip, guiding her boobs to brace his neck. Heart in throat, he lifted his hands to caress her nipples, which snapped his prick to its fullest, biggest erection. She shimmied a little, at the sensation or just to be playful?, and kissed the back of his neck. She slid her hands down to test his erection, then let him go. He turned around, resolved at last to kiss her, but she was gone, gliding away to the far end, that is, the end of the pool farthest from the house. Carl just stayed where he was, trying to look cool, not overeager.
All this was happening without any conversation, and with remarkably little sound; their swimming strokes were skillful and smooth.
Aunt Hildy saw he wasn't following, so when she reached the end she stood up and looked his way, hands on hips, legs apart, water dripping off her mammaries. She blew him a kiss, and waited. He grinned, caught it, and dived underwater. No guts, no pussy. No sense in pretending to be cool when you're obviously burning up with lust. She could see him approach through the clear water. Still underwater, he caressed her ankles with both hands, then stood, running his hands along her legs. He was focused on landing within kissing distance of her boobs; running his nose and chin along her labia and mons was accidental. But from where Hildy stood, it looked deliberate and confident, even suave. Would he spear her with his prick as he came up for air? The thought alone was delicious.
Nothing of the sort had occurred to him. He was flustered by his brush with her bush, and botched his attempt to kiss her tits en passant. So, as he stood, and clumsily tried to embrace her and to kiss her mouth. She ducked his kiss, however, and bent to bathe her face just underwater, where she could and did wrap her lips around his erect cock. That was too much for Carl; as her mouth touched his cock, it exploded in a white underwater cloud. His aunt reared back in surprise, looking to Carl to be seven feet tall. As she rose like some sea goddess, Carl's dick had shot back to attention, never mind that premature explosion.
With one look at Carl, she understood everything. Carl's aunt pulled him close, her hands joined behind his neck, eyes blazing with giddy lust and mischief. Voice pitched low, she murmured, "You're a virgin, aren't you, Carl." A statement. Carl blushed, thought about lying, then nodded. He couldn't speak. She gave a little bow from the waist. "I can't tell you how pleased and proud I'll be to be your first." Then she took his head in her hands, pulled it to her, and kissed him, mouth open, tongue reaching for his tonsils.
Carl at least knew how to kiss. He kissed her back, tentatively, then just as voraciously as she was kissing him. Poor Carl! He still wasn't getting it right. She let go of his head, without breaking the kiss, and grabbed one of his hands, pulling it off her ribs and placing it on her tit. He got the idea, finally, and brought up his other hand, caressing some, kneading some, and simply enjoying the sensuous heft of the massive globes. All natural, by the way, although he had no way to tell.
Apparently she liked it, because as she cooed her pleasure, she drew her body up tight against her nephew's. His cock lay on her thick, mature, unshaven bush, extending upward to her navel. Carl's timidity was draining away like the water from his aunt's hair. As she pressed against him, he grabbed her ass with both hands and pulled her in harder. As they writhed in that position, Aunt Hildy maneuvered in a circle so Carl's butt was up against the side of the pool. Then she rapidly broke the kiss and the clinch, slid her hands to Carl's ribcage, grasped him in her strong hands and lifted him up and out of the water so he found himself sitting on the edge of the pool. His cock gave up all thought of deflating, ever, ever, with that Amazonian demonstration of her strength and power. He was totally, literally, in this woman's hands, like it or not. He liked it. He loved it; might as well admit that to himself.
His cock was big, but so was her mouth. She pushed his body back, past his balance point, requiring him to prop himself up with his hands on the rough concrete. And unavailable to interfere with her as she blew and sucked him past any jacking off orgasm he'd ever had.
She started by swallowing his organ. It was gone. Maybe an inch and a half of the shaft was exposed to the air. Even his bigger-than average cock was just a morsel to this giantess. She didn't suck, though, not yet. Her tongue played around it, licking, pressing, exploring the loose skin and the hard helmet and even inspecting the length and width of the slit, forcing it open. Her lower lip went back and forth with a small biting motion, pressing her chin into his balls.
Then she began to suck. Her mouth's grasp of his cock made her hands unnecessary, which was a good thing, because there wasn't enough of his engorged shaft for her hands to grip. One hand gently squeezed his balls, the other was braced against the rim of the pool, holding her up, although Carl gave that one no thought, then or later.
Hildy knew that as a virgin, Carl might cum if a girl smiled at him, so she expected to feel the cum rolling up the chute at any time. When it did, she breathed a smug, dominant chuckle through her nose, and with lips cushioning her teeth, bit down gently, but hard enough to dam the cum from rising any farther. She kept sucking. Carl's cock head was orgasming, contracting and pulsing to pump his seed out, but there was no seed to pump. He understood, for the first time, the idea of agony and ecstasy. He wanted to beg her to let him cum, but he also wanted to beg her not to stop. These two thoughts twined together to emerge from his mouth as "uuuuhhh--nnnggg-ttthhuuuh-mmmm," and so on.
His aunt understood his moans perfectly. She gauged the right moment, made sure her mouth was in position, then released her grip on his shaft, allowing his cum to complete its futile journey into a hot mouth, not a hot uterus, all while sucking hard. The pent up pressure behind the dam shot his cum forward and out, faster, hotter and harder than masturbation possibly could. His semen slammed into the back of her throat, then down, where she hastened it along with a disciplined swallowing motion. It tasted good. She took every drop.
Even then she didn't let go. There was always a second, slower batch behind the first. It wouldn't shoot out, but as it passed through his cock head he would feel a searing pleasure soaring off the charts, even compared to his first orgasm. Patiently she played his cock like the skin flute the dirty jokes call it, coaxing out that second mini-load guaranteed to drive the boy out of his mind.
Carl had stopped moaning, and when this new sensation passed through his cock head and out into his aunt's roomy mouth he couldn't moan. He did emit a strangled cry that I won't even try to write down, until Aunt Hildy tapped a finger on his lips, a silent order to be quiet. The spasms peaked. As they subsided, Hildy popped her mouth off his deflating member, passed some of his cum back to him with a deep kiss, then carefully helped him collapse to the pool deck.
He was panting like a marathoner. She was rarin' to go, just getting started. She climbed out of the pool and stood over her gasping nephew, so her cunt and the bottom of her boobs were in his line of sight. Her boobs jutted out so far that he couldn't even see her face. "My turn," she commanded, reaching down to haul him to his unsteady feet. She lay down on the single chaise lounge at this end of the pool, legs splayed over either side, pussy wide open. Carl got the hint, he thought, and carefully climbed on top of her body, kissing her tits and fumbling to get his cock into position.
"Oooohhh, no, bucko," she said, pointing to her pussy. "Hold it, Nephie. First, you eat. Dessert for us both." Carl was too overwhelmed to say yes or no or even to think he had a right to an opinion. She said eat, he would eat. He scurried down so his face was level with her cunt, wondering what to do. He'd seen the diagrams, but he'd never seen the real thing. His aunt, abruptly realizing what was taking him so long, reached down and yanked his head around into position. "Muff-diving lesson. Tongue out as far as you can, lick the top part of my cunt. You're looking for a hard button of flesh, sort of like the pearl in the oyster. You will lick that pearl firmly but gently until I tell you to stop. Now and then you may push your tongue into my cunt, and enjoy your first taste of a woman." She really wasn't that into domination, but it was a role to play that went well with her height, muscles, and boobs. Role play or not, though, she was never shy about demanding what she wanted, ever, and she could tell that Carl was responsive to the tone.
Carl did his best, gradually getting it right, then snacking away like an old pro. She was right, he found her juices delicious, with just the right hint of salt. He felt the tremors of her orgasm before heard anything. He kept right at it; he wasn't going to stop without permission. Her clit and whole cunt were vibrating now, he could feel it in his lips and tongue. He stuck to his task. Without warning, she let off what could only be a scream through jaws clamped shut, and her pussy began to thrash around. Carl stayed with her, keeping his mouth planted on her vulva, even as it writhed around, finding it impossible to believe that he, shy, clumsy Carl, was the one causing all these earthquakes.
She could take no more. Even though the spasms hadn't yet stopped, she pushed Carl's head away, gasping. Carl, lacking instructions, opted to climb up and kiss his aunt's tits, then her chest, working his way up to her mouth, which could wait until she'd caught her breath. After half an eternity with their lips locked together, kissing, not tongue wrestling, Hildy disengaged and gave him an indulgent smile. "And that, my student, is how it's done. There will be an exam in the morning."
Her hand verified that Carl's cock was erect and ready to go. "Okay, young man, now you may fuck me. Or rather, we will now fuck each other. Better still, now I will fuck your brains out."
Carl whispered as if awestruck. "Yes ma'am. Whatever you say, Auntie. Whatever you say." He inched forward until he felt the tip of his cock touch her labia, gateway to her pussy. The cleft was built on the same scale as the rest of her body: XXL. He eased his big cock into the crevice, slowly, savoring the moment. Even he didn't fill her up, but Aunt Hildy felt fuller than she had in years. She really wanted his whole cock, deep as it would go, NOW. Twice she extended her arms to plant her nails in his butt, dragging him in by force if she had to, but she realized what a significant moment it was for her virgin nephew, and contained her frustration.
For a little while. Once he was a couple of inches in, however, Hildy couldn't stand it any more. She thrust her hips forward and down, at the same time using her hands to pull at his ass, until he was up to the hilt in the steamy depths of her birth canal.
At least she didn't have to prod him to start rowing. He figured it out all on his own, easing his rod in to the hilt, pubic bone bumping pubic bone, then almost all the way out, in, out, in, out, long powerful strokes, comfortable, a good base rate, then faster, urgent, almost violent; now she matched her rhythm to his and gradually took over as conductor of this piece, lento, andante, allegro; fortissimo, mezzo, piano. She flexed her glutes, forcing her loins up to crash into his, thump, thump, thump, their togetherness achieved by moving in opposite directions. She'd drained his virgin balls twice, in advance, to prepare for this symphony, hoping she could make him last long enough for her own powerful crescendo to rise and burst.
He did, with only small manipulations by his aunt. In fact, aunt and nephew came at almost the same instant. Each one wanted to howl in pleasure, but they locked their mouths together, sucking each other's tongues as if there was milk or brandy inside, damping their screams into modulated squeals.
And just like that, it was over. Hildy's strong muscles went slack, just as Carl collapsed onto his aunt's big, strong body, and lay there like a kid seeking conventional comfort from his conventional mother. His dick slowly shrank down and out of her cunt, draining out its last juices onto the pool deck.
They lay there, uncomfortably, for about fifteen minutes, as a bizarre, perverse idea struck Hildy. She never figured out why she did it, but it was the perfect gambit at that moment. Her nephew had plenty of physical stamina, she was sure. He'd recover soon. Was his cock ready for another couple of rounds?
She rolled him over, so he was lying in the chaise lounge, and kissed him. He smiled, and his dick stirred. Carl was fully awake and alert; he was simply storing up some rest, figuring he'd need it for the next round. His aunt slid her hand down his torso, then down his leg as far as she could reach, then back up to fondle his balls. His cock snapped to attention; she bent it this way and that as a test; not maximum hardness, but neither was he getting maximum stimulation, yet. He'd be good for two or three more times, at least. Gotta love these teenage boys.
He looked up at her, seeing the animal contentment in her eyes, still with that little glint, though. What did she want now? He'd keep it up, and fuck all night, if she wanted; he was loving it, and even if he ran out of gas, his pride would keep him going. She gave him a motherly smile, if "motherly" is the right word, as his hand caressed her tit.
"That was fantastic, nephew," she said. "Are you sure that that was your first time?"
He gave a happy smile. 'Praise from the master! Or mistress! Or giantess Amazon! Whatever!' "Yes, Aunt Hildy. It was my first time. I'm- I'm glad it was with you. You're fantastic. I hope I did it okay."
She used the finger and thumb of the hand she'd been using to caress his dick, to flick it twice, chiding him. "Once for flattery," she smiled, "and once for fishing for compliments. Young Mr. Studly, you have a very distinguished fucking career ahead of you. The girls of Rockford, Illinois, ought to dancing with joy."
He kissed the boob he'd been stroking. "Now who's flattering?" He paused. "I don't suppose I can move down here to Atlanta and practice on you," he said, a little sadly.
She gave a sad snicker. "'Fraid not. Like it or not, I have this husband, and I'm a Catholic, too. I could divorce him for cruelty or syphilis or something, but not to trade up to a bigger cock. The priest wouldn't understand. At least, I hope he wouldn't."
"Then we should make the most of this night. Are you getting a little chilly? Maybe we should move into my room, away from Rachel's room." A thought dawned. "God! Could she have been watching?"
"Relax. Her room's on the other side of the house. But speaking of Rachel, teaching time is over. It's time for your final exam. You ready?"
"Yes, ma'am. Bring it on." 'Rachel? What could she have in mind?'
Aunt Hildy gave it one last thought, then made committed. "Okay, Mr. Young Stud. You see this look in my eyes? That you put there? The look of a well-fucked, satisfied woman?"
"Yes ma'am. Did I really do that?"
"You did. Here's your final assignment. Your senior thesis. I want to see that same look in Rachel's eyes in the morning."
Was he hearing right? He didn't want to mess with Rachel. He was happy where he was. "Um, did I hear you right? Me and Rachel. . . "
"Yes. I'm assigning you to go to Rachel's room, you can clean off in the pool first, but go there just as you are, naked, and tell her, don't ask her, that you are going to fuck her. No rape, of course. If she really fights, you flunk the exam. You have to persuade her not to fight you. She's no virgin, but she'll require some persuasion. How you do it is up to you. But I'm sure you'll succeed. Hah! Actually, I'm sure she'll be the one to suck seed."
Carl could scarcely believe his ears, but he was game. He'd rather annoy Rachel than deny his goddess anything. So, before he lost his nerve, he kissed his Aunt Hildy one more time, dove in and swam the length of the pool, quickly toweled his skin, then walked, naked, hair still dripping, into the house. He didn't look back, or allow himself to falter. 'You can do this, Carl,' he thought. He climbed the stairs. Rachel's door was closed; before he turned the knob, he turned on the hall lights so he'd be strongly back lit.
He pushed Rachel's door open, wide, and stepped into the room. He'd advanced another step when she awoke and sat up, taking in the outline of her cousin's physique, his nakedness, and above all the dim apparition of the rock-hard, swelling member whose head was level with his navel. Reflexively, she jumped out of bed and shoved him; he stepped back. "Get out of here!" she snapped. "What's the matter with you! Get out of here before I call my mother!"
"She knows I'm here. She sent me."
Rachel was dumbfounded, but only for a moment. "My mother sent you in here, naked, to wake me up? For what?"
"She sent me in here to fuck you. She says that both of you needed a good fuck. You said so, yourself. Your mother's had her turn. So, she said I should do the same for you."
"That's sick!" Rachel said, but with less conviction. She could feel that little itch in her pussy, growing. "Get out of here!" She went to push her cousin again, out of the room this time. She had four inches of height advantage, and she was strong, but her heart wasn't in it. He held his ground, reaching around her oversized Georgia Tech jersey, bunching the cloth up in one hand, to give her bottom a love tap with the other. As he slapped her naked ass, he could feel the rising, unfiltered heat of her tits; she slept without underwear. He pulled her body away from him, a little, using the leverage of the cloth of her jersey, still bunched in his fist. She was blushing with desire. He looked into her eyes with a friendly smile, a smile that said, "C'mon. You're horny, I'm horny, I'm leaving tomorrow and can't fuck up your life, let's do it." As he did, he slowly tugged on her jersey, upward and off.
He passed the exam.
Carl flew home the next day feeling a completely new man. He left behind two completely new women.