Ron Taylor - Naughty aunt Susan

The fantasy faded in and out. I'd never fucked a black guy – I don't really like black guys, not on a one-to-one basis.

I covered my snatch with my hand again, the grip even more powerful, the ball of my finger joints pressed down hard upon the slitted opening. I felt the string of my tampon catch between my fingers, and I nearly jerked it right out of my streaming hole.

My fingertips strummed the furry curve of my pubes, making the clitty inside dance and jiggle in happiness. The radio was playing still another song by now, one with a slow, offbeat rhythm, and I tried to match the drum strokes pat for pat.

My toes wiggled with the music and I went pit-a-pat-pit-pat on the hillock of my cunt. The hair forest was damp and so was I, everywhere, and I found myself making little chattering sounds as my fever built and peaked.

Lee Kinloch, I thought again, recalling Aunt Susan's platonic friend. How would he be in the sack? Honestly? Guys my age, the only kind of guys I'd fucked around with so far, were interesting, and they did fun things to me and with me, but there was a distressing sameness about it. That had been bothering me ever since my little visit with Lilly the other night.

Guys would eat my pussy, they'd suck my tits, they'd feel me from head to toe and rub their naked bodies against mine, but their main interest was in getting a herd cock shoved as far up my cunt as it would go, then humping up and down, in and out, back and forth, till their nuts let go and they dumped a gallon of jism in my snatch. And that was okay. I'd enjoyed fucking ever since the very first time, else I'd not have kept on doing it. But I had a feeling it might be possible to find something more than those basic acts and reactions in sex.

With a more mature man, perhaps. Someone like Lee. He might be a real tiger between the sheets. Why not? He was a man, not a boy proving himself on a girl's body. A man to make me feel like a woman instead of a girl who knew the score. A real, fully grown woman.

The image titillated me, Lee Kinloch between my legs. His shaggy head bobbed in my mind's eye as he drank at my seething twat, and I could almost feel his tongue on my puffy gash, with long, slow, careful swipes that turned me on and sent me screaming into the clouds before he'd really begun to do me.

With him sex could be an adventure, a challenge, not just a contest to see if I could enjoy a nice come before my partner lost control and shot his load inside me. Oh, Lee, I thought, you have to be a dynamite lover! Appearances couldn't be that deceiving. And if he was only half as good as I knew he must be, he'd be out-fucking-rageous! And if Aunt Susan wanted nothing more than his mind, Goddamned if I'd let the most interesting part of him go to waste.

I strummed harder, playing my cunt like a ukulele. The song on the radio had changed its beat, doubling up on the rhythm, and the musicians were all cooking. I had to work furiously to keep up, and I couldn't, but by then I was involved in musical improvisations of my own, and my tits heaved with the big gasping sighs that rolled from my lips.

"Is something wrong, Pam?" a voice wondered. A female voice. Who else's? There were only the two of us in the Goddamned house. Oh, shit, I thought, not even bothering to let go of my cunt. Not again.

Aunt Susan rattled my doorknob. "Are you all right, dear?" she wanted to know. The handle turned. Was she going to come in on me?

I struggled to catch my breath. "I'm okay," I said.

Aunt Susan pushed the door open a hair aria looked around it. What must she think of me now? I was lying naked, clutching my pussy with one hot little hand, and my nipples were sticking out a mile. Or could she see anything? She wasn't wearing her glasses. In fact, she appeared to be dressed for bed, and her mousy hair was down, hanging on her shoulders. If she hadn't been so painfully plain, she might have been almost appealing with her hair untied.

"Are you sure?" She seemed uncertain. "I heard you calling out."

"It's my period," I said, "and I'm just having a little trouble with it. Nothing to worry about. Honest."

"Do you always go to bed naked?" She'd finally noticed.

"Uh-huh," I said absently.

"Well," she said, "if I can be of any help…"

She could only be of help right now if she called her good-looking friend and told him to get his ass out to the old farmhouse for a little screwing. "'S okay," I panted, feeling dangerously warm as my hand lay relaxed on my cunny.

"Well, good night, then," Aunt Sue said, "and if you do need some help or company or anything, holler." She closed the door and I heard her slippers patting on the floor.

As soon as she was gone, I tightened the clasp of my fist and I humped my cunt upward into that clutching grip. Keep it low, I warned myself. Don't yelp so loud or she'll be back. And if Aunt Susan got flustered when asked if she was living with a guy, what would she do seeing ire breaking in my visitor's bed?

I squeezed and fondled, not caring how loud the radio was or what was playing. My hand twisted and jerked on the hairy thrust of my cunt-mound and I rolled on the bed, letting my body move as it wished. One of my fingers lay right along the crease of my slit, pushing at the gashed fish, thumping on the end of my inserted tampon, and I shook in abandon, knowing that the time was nearly here.

My come hit me splendidly, knocking me first in the gut and then spreading through my body like a fire out of control. I moaned and sighed with the joy of it, turning my head to let the big soft pillow muffle my cries of release, and I clutched my gash as it dripped a thin, hot mixture of cream and blood. I could smell it, the heady, cunty aroma of a menstrual come, and I wished I could smear my fucking face in it, that I could be the slut I felt in my delight.

The fever began to pass, slowly but not slowly enough, and I purred in dismay to feel myself coming to earth once more. Well, my raw cunt was certainly not ready for more of the same, and I had a growing sense of weariness in the marrow of my bones. Maybe I'd close my eyes for a few moments, then snap to and diddle some more. Wouldn't that be nifty? Just for a few minutes. Not to sleep, not to dream – just a bit of time-out. Just a bit…

When I opened my eyes again, the room was bright with sunlight and my radio hummed static. I stretched and yawned, still naked, still atop my sheets. I'd slept the whole night. What time was it, anyway? I hopped out of bed, grabbed up my clothes, and went into the bathroom.

The clock in the living room was chiming eleven o'clock, and I'd slept half a Sunday morning. Aunt Sue was in the kitchen, and though she'd long since eaten her breakfast, she ordered me to sit down while she fixed mine.

I don't eat much just out of bed – coffee, toast and jelly – and Aunt Sue drank a cup with me while I dawdled. She wanted to know if I was feeling better this morning, so I made up some shitty excuse about menstrual cramps and she swallowed it hook, line and sinker. No sense upsetting her so early in the day.

"Well," she said with a smile, "how'd you like to come into Athens with me? I always do my grocery shopping on Sundays – the stores aren't so crowded." I didn't think I wanted to be seen with her in public, not even on a Sunday. Aunt Susan had to be at her worst right now. She didn't look well-dressed or presentable enough to plow corn.

"I don't think so," I replied, touching my tummy where it shone bare and golden between the bottom of, my tied-up shirt and the low-slung waistband of my jeans.

"Well," and she looked a bit downcast, "I shouldn't be gone too long. No more than a hour or two. Oh, I might stop by the library, too. I need to check the street layout of Copenhagen for a chapter coming up. But I won't be too late."