Ron Taylor - Naughty aunt Susan

Why stop at half-measures, Pamela Crosby? I asked myself, and there was no viable answer forthcoming. I stood up and let my jeans drop to the floor. They're tight, and I had to wiggle to make them fall, and the clanging of the belt buckle sounded as loud as a hammer on an anvil. I held my breath for a minute, wondering if Aunt Sue had awakened, but she didn't call out so it must have been all right.

It was better than all right when I took off my panties and settled my bare butt onto the soft cushion of the chair.

I touched my pussy, a soft testing touch, and found that I was warm and velvety. A little smile curled my lips. My snatch wasn't quite so raw and tender this evening, and I didn't jerk spastically when I fondled the lips of my cunt. A sure sign that my period was drawing to a close. And thank God for that! No wonder we call it the curse!

The warmth began to spread as I touched and rubbed my gash with a bit more vigor. Hush-a-bye, I thought, hush-a-bye, Susie. Her bedroom was here, on the ground floor, and if she wasn't sleeping soundly, she might come strolling out when I least expected it. So I wished her sweet dreams and myself something even sweeter.

Oh, fuck! I shouldn't trust it to chance. I stood up and got into my panties and shirt and went tiptoeing down to her door. Gently I opened it, peering inside. A shaft of moonlight arrowed through the open window, outlining and revealing her face where it lay on the pillow.

Her hair was loose and flowing, her eyes shut in dreamy sleep, and the cover lifted and fell in a soft, almost imperceptible motion as she breathed in her repose. Funny thing about moonlight, I told myself. It was very kind to Aunt Sue's plain face. She looked almost pretty asleep, with her glasses off and her face relaxed. Or maybe it was just the relaxation. She wasn't engaged in presenting a desired image to the world at large. Her guards were all down and I was seeing the natural Susan. Such a shame. If she really wanted to, if she were willing to work on herself… Oh, it was her business, not mine! If she wanted to be dowdy and ugly, she could be as dowdy and ugly as she fucking well wanted. All I'd come for was to find out whether she slept or woke.

I closed the door and went back into the living room. As I passed the wine bottle, I picked it up by the neck and tilted it to my lips for a cleaning-up job on the final droplets left inside. A taste of wine tinged on my tongue, but only a taste. It had been half-full when Aunt Sue brought it out this evening, but it was empty now.

For a moment I stood on the floor just holding the empty bottle. My fingers slid mindlessly up and down the long swanlike neck, onto the belied jug. It was a long-necked bottle indeed – seven or eight inches of glass crafted into a thin cool tube. Seven or eight inches. A lot of guys didn't have cocks that long. Seven or eight inches.

I unbuttoned my shirt and let it drop to the floor. The room was dark except for the TV. No one could see me. I rubbed the bottle up and down my breast, between my tits, across my nipples. It was cool at first, the glass of it, but it warmed as it touched and was touched by my skin, and when it was nicely warm, I pressed it with my lips.

You're crazy! I told myself, but I wasn't really listening to me at the moment.

I put the bottle down for a sec, and took off my panties. Now I stood naked on the floor, and if Aunt Sue happened to come in on me now, I'd have some explaining to do, straight on. But I felt giddy and sexy and all woozy inside, and if I'd been called on for excuses, I could have come up with some zingers.

There was a car chase happening on TV – cops chasing the mob, one gang pursuing another – who cared? Some nice thirties' style suspense music accompanied, full of clashing cymbals and string teasers, and I started into a brand-new boogaloo that fit the movie tune. As I danced, I swooped low, bending to the floor and picking up the bottle where I'd placed it while unpantying.

Everyone says I'm a good dancer, and they must be right. I enjoy doing it, and I was enjoying myself right now. The music stopped, but I didn't heed it as long as I could keep to the beat I'd set for myself.

I began to play with the bottle while I danced and swayed. I stroked my face with the neck and the bell, passed it round me from front to back and all the way home, slid it up and down the flatness of my tummy, the neck's end reaching low into the curly fluff of my reddish beaver.

The nozzle poked through my hairs like a big glass finger and scraped the slightly prominent lips of my cunt. It also touched the string of my tampon, which I'd almost been lucky enough to forget about. Still moving in my boogie, I drew the bottle back and forth between my thighs, letting it tickle my cunt, and then I put it down.

I removed the tampon and wrapped it in tissues, then positioned myself above the bottle and started to lower away. Its tip touched my squishy slice, tipped momentarily, then caught itself and began to push its way inside my cunt-hole. I held my breath as the bottle end slid between my twat-lips, and I sighed happily when it was wedged fast.

I stood up then, supporting the bottle with my hand and holding it in place with my cunt muscles. Being screwed when you're on the rag is a whole different trip, even if it is only a glass bottle that's doing the deed. A cunt feels alive and throbbing in every nook and cranny, and to take something solid inside it makes for an incredible, intense feeling. Especially something as hard, as solid as the thick glass neck of the wine bottle.

I pushed it up into my hole, bouncing softly in place, and my tits swung and jiggled. When the bottle's end hit the end of my snatch, I thought I'd burst apart in orgasm, and I could smell the sizzling mixture of cunt juice and menstrual blood that was making my snatch a swampy bog. Some of the scummy mess was dripping onto my fingers as I fucked the bottle and to feel it was a new turn-on. I bent my upper body forward so I could hump my glass prick just a bit more forcefully.

Slowly I dropped to my knees, but only as a preparation for moving backwards onto the floor with my shoulders down and my knees high. Careful, Pamela! Glass can break!

If Aunt Sue should come out – perish the thought – I'd be up shit creek. This was too heavy to be explained away. So if she did, I'd tell her the fucking truth and let her do as she pleased. She was sleeping like a baby, anyway. Instead of worrying, I raised my butt from the floor and tried to shove as much of that glass cock up my hole as I could manage.

My cunt seemed to stretch out a bit in this position, and I got a little more of the bottle into my twat. It was thin admittedly, not as bulky as most of the pricks I've allowed to enter my pussy, but it had a wonderful rigidity, too. It stayed there, hard, long, penetrating. It didn't go soft too soon, it didn't waver in the firmness of its presence.

I began to twist the bottle around in the wet maw of my cunt. My knees swayed and my tits heaved as I gave myself over to the fantastic stimulation, and my menstruating cunt felt bathed in a warm, red-glowing aura of excitement.

Lilly, I thought. Lilly would love this bottle the way my mother loves my father. It would be the perfect answer for my girl friend. She'd never need a man if she had a long-necked bottle she could thrust up her pussy whenever she felt the need for something beyond the excitations I could give her.

What about me? I was getting off on it, too. In fact, this Goddamned bottle had more style, more personality, than half – no, three quarters – of my most recent male lovers. But if I closed my eyes, I could taste Lilly's sweet breath on mine, feel her lips chewing my lips, her fingers twinging through the coppery hair that fringed my slit. I could sense the invisible presence of her body close to mine, smell the wonderful fragrance of her cunt as we moved even closer. I wondered if she were thinking about me right now. From Ohio to Maryland. If I tried, if I really tried, could I reach across that distance and catch hold of her soft hand?