Chapter 1
THE CIRCUMSTANTIAL SEDUCTRESS
"The room seemed dark and strange to me and I wondered how long it would take to get used to this new home-and to this new person, my aunt. It was such a peculiar feeling, being uprooted from one part of the country to another, almost overnight. But, as it had been explained to me, it was the only plausible solution after Mom's death.
"Aunt Martha seemed to think it was a good solution, too. Judging by the way she talked, this enormous rambling house was just plain misery for her during the long months when her husband was out to sea. He was an oceanographic scientist and sometimes their surveys required trips lasting up to a year. And, according to Aunt Martha, a year's a long time to 'rattle' around in a huge home alone.
"Which sounded rather strange. Even to my fifteen-year-old ears, it was perfectly obvious that Aunt Martha needn't have been alone. It must have been by choice, or perhaps even untrue-or maybe this was one of those neighborhoods where people just were not able to do as they wished. But such thoughts saddened me. Even at fifteen, I was a free soul, fully convinced of such things as individual choice.
"For reasons unexplainable, I was suddenly aware that something had changed during the last few minutes. The way the room was constructed, I could not be sure if the door had opened or not. No light had been evident, nor had there been any sound, yet I knew there was now another presence in the room. Realizing it could not very well be anyone except Aunt Martha, I was not especially apprehensive, but on the other hand, I could think of no reason why she should be so stealthy and secretive. I decided to play it dumb. I remained motionless.
"She apparently was tiptoeing and practically upon me. I had tangible proof of her presence now, in the form of breathing. I could even feel it. She must have just then been bending low over my face to determine if I was asleep. I maintained my position and made sure to breathe evenly and deeply, just as sleeping people really do.
"I felt a light touch upon my lips. I thought for a second it might be her fingers, but then I became aware of the odor of alcohol and I could just barely sense the washing of exhaled breath on my cheek. Then she kissed me a bit fuller, and I had to be careful not to respond. Her lips were soft, full, and warm, and the light stickiness of the lipstick seemed to fuse our skin together just a bit as she tried to withdraw. I laid there in rapt anticipation, wondering what she might do next.
"The bed was depressed by a weight. She had lowered her body, as carefully as possible, into a sitting position very close to my head. Very gently, she began to touch me, first about the face, and then on the neck, all with the lightest of finger touches, almost as if it were her intention to awaken me by tickling. It was a delightful and most sensuously delicate way for a person to have his skin and contours explored, and even as I wondered what sort of move would be next, I could not help but conjure up a vision of this magnificent woman. I recalled the vision at dinner, how she towered in Junoesque grandness as she walked to and from the kitchen, her cinnamon hair flowing in drifts behind her, a strand or two even falling into the sharp cleft between her high, taut breasts.
"I could feel the covers lightly being drawn down and then I could feel those same light fingers toying with my chest and as she did that she also leaned close to me and nuzzled against my ear, just grazing her teeth against the lobe and then letting her tongue dart two rapid swiping licks against the orifice, just enough so that a drift of warmish breath entered my ear and caused me to reflexively shudder.
"She withdrew a bit, as if in fear of being discovered. But I immediately recovered from that one shudder and then continued on as before. Soon her confidence was restored. She approached my ear with that snaky tongue again, only this time she preceded her lick with a whisper. 'Are you awake, Dave?' she asked, the warm breath again almost causing an involuntary reaction, held back only by my forced resolve. She became more daring when I refused to answer.
"She was unbuttoning my pajama top and then her deft fingers were exploring and toying with my midsection and belly button. It was as if she wanted to knead the stomach muscles, massage me, examine my structure completely, but that it was too soon and too dangerous. But I knew she was leading to something like that-I was certain something grand was about to happen.
"Once again she touched my ear with her tongue, but this time not so tentatively. With a distinct lapping motion and with a. purposefully exhaled stream of hot breath directed into the ear itself, it seemed that her design was to wake me. Again she asked, 'Are you asleep, Dave?' Again, I feigned unconsciousness, although by this time I was curious beyond all description and-well, feeling feelings my fifteen-year-old virginal mind could not really define. My body was becoming liquid and jelly and hot and a lot of things....
"Her hand was now exploring my lower abdomen, kneading sometimes, playing, tickling, just barely touching-and yet all of these things with a sense of insistence. Then she leaned forward a bit, no longer interested in my wet ear, and applied light licking touches of her tongue about my rib cage and abdomen. As she did this, her hands crept ahead of her-lower-to the flat groin area where my sensitive lower abdominal area and upper thighs lay waiting. As she brushed her fingertips across these areas, she also allowed her straying fingers to brush briefly with nearly untouching touches against the upper sac of my balls and even a part of the lower stalk of my prick, which I only then discovered was metallically rigid.
"It seemed to me she was only holding back for fear that I either had awakened or would awaken. Several times she stopped dead still from her kissing, licking, and fondling, and seemed to just listen in the air for signs of awareness from me. But I went on with my pretending.
" 'Dave,' she said very softly, testing again, 'do you like what I'm doing to you right now with my tongue? Don't you think I've got a nice touch with my tongue?' It was one of those low sibilant whispers and I'm certain it wasn't intended for my ears, not really, and I very nearly answered her-out of curiosity more than anything else. I was burning to know what would happen if I were to 'wake up,' but I was even more curious to find out what would happen if I didn't.
"Next her hands descended to my thighs, no longer tickling but actually massaging. When her hands struck the inner thighs, she added a slight pressure outward, as if to separate my legs. By reflex, I almost assisted, but caught myself in time. Now her nose was in the curling, patchy, wispy hairs above my prick which only short years ago had started to fill out.
"She started lightly blowing into those same hairs at this point, while at the same time making another effort to get my legs spread wide apart. I wanted so much to help, and didn't quite know how to pull it off. And then a thought hit me-daringly, I rolled to one side imperceptibly and then coughed lightly while my legs fell apart, much as I imagined a sleeping person might actually have done it. At once her hands began again, now on the inner thighs and working their way up each thigh toward the underside of my balls. And even though I was expecting the feathery tapping feels by the time they actually touched the scrotal sac, I nevertheless came close to jumping out of my skin when those touches actually occurred. The sensation was intense, nearly electrifying, and I'm sure that's the point where I betrayed myself.
" 'You're not fooling anybody now, Dave,' she said, no longer whispering in that low sibilance. 'You're awake and I know it. Pretending won't do any good any longer-and it won't do any harm either. I promise I won't quit.' Her voice was full of a chuckling-like undertone. She knew that I knew; and also she knew I knew she knew. The game was over.
" 'Yes,' I acknowledged, and that simple word seemed to be enough. Even as the sound escaped my mouth, she was proceeding with her work-using ten teasing fingers on my balls, ranging in scope from up to the base of my cock and all the way down to my ass-hole. She seemed to enjoy running quick fingers across the bridge of my anus-across the rigid puckering.
" 'Well,' she went on, 'if you're really awake, the least you can do is tell me how it feels-ever have your ass-hole strummed like a guitar before?'
" 'No,' I answered, grinding my teeth together to keep from screaming. It was both maddening and delightful and when she attempted to insert a finger into my anus, my sphincter muscle spasmed into a tightly closed ring, almost as if clutching at the finger. She laughed at this, and for some reason her laughter transported my mind away from the intensity of the moment and helped me form another mental picture; one of Aunt Martha's perfectly formed white teeth partly covered, yet accentuated with fully stretched rose-lips.
"Now she hooked her elbows under my knees and forced them wide apart, exposing my balls and ass-hole and the little wisps of fine hair that ran between them, and then she raised herself up quite high so as to give her head room to dip down low between my legs. As she did so, I could sense that she also moved her ass into position just above my face. I could see the vaguest outline of contours in the dark, draped, it seemed, in some kind of filmy material. Just as she was dipping her head low underneath my bails, I reached up a tentative hand to feel the inside of her thigh, which was textured like the skin of a baby and both cool-ish to the touch and lightly damp-but she seemed not to notice it. Her only reaction was to complete the motion she had begun, allowing her flickering tongue to finally come into light contact with my impossibly sensitive ass-hole. It was like an ice-water splash and an explosion and an electric shock all at once. I wanted to loosen my bowels and shit all over the bed and yet I had to tighten up as if to protect myself from more of this unbearable ecstasy. But I could do none of these things; her insistent tongue continued bathing my ass-hole, forcing a bit now and then as if to promote some kind of entry. Then she murmured, 'Why'd you stop feeling me, Dave? There's a nice warm cunt up there somewhere. It won't bite.'
"I followed her advice and let my hand go to the inside of the damp-cool thigh again, this time going upward with confidence and anticipation. I didn't have the slightest idea what I was to really find, or how to make it good for her after I'd found it. Actually, my whole awareness was centered in the tonguing I was getting, and although I was curious to find out if Aunt Martha had one of those big bushy black things between her legs like I'd accidentally seen on Mom a couple of times, I was perfectly content to wait a while to find out. Somehow Aunt Martha sensed that it was becoming all but impossible for me to concentrate on anything other than what was happening down around my balls and ass-hole.
" "That's all right, Dave. Let it wait a minute. I want you to put your whole mind on what I'm about to do. You might discover a brand new "biggest" thing in your life.'
" 'Okay,' I responded. 'Go on; do whatever it is. Tongue my ass-hole some more. That's great. Do anything. It all feels great!'
"She seemed to twist herself somehow and her head was now all the way down between my legs, so that if there had been light I know I would have seen her looking up at me. Then she applied that gorgeously talented fluttering tongue again, this time rapidly working it up from my balls to the base of my cock, around it somehow, and then she inched little-by-little upward, leaving warm spittle everywhere she licked, making my prick warm and slick and tingly. My prick was so hot and sensitive by now that I thought I could detect the spittle evaporating as soon as applied, but, of course, it was not, and anyway, she just kept giving it more and more, just as someone might swirl a brush around a barber pole while painting it. Then she began taking long, loving, vertical strokes, reapplying new moisture all the way from my balls to the head of my prick, but not quite engaging the head itself, as if it were a dessert to be saved for last. Frankly, I didn't care what she was doing, or was going to do, because my senses were by now only an extension of me, off somewhere else, floating up to the crests and down to the troughs of a sea of quicksand waves, tingling, pulsating to my toes.
"She paused, as if for breath, but I could tell that her head was raised directly above the head of my prick. I knew from my limited experience in such matters that from the way my balls felt-so full and knotted into a funny ache-there was undoubtedly an accumulating pearl of white sticky stuff right on that slit that's on top of the head. She must have known that too, because I could feel her pull her arm forward, and wipe across the slit with her index finger. Then her arm moved again and I knew she was putting her finger to either her nose or mouth.
" 'Smells wonderful,' she muttered to herself. Then there was another slight movement and I could hear the modest sound of lips and tongue going through tasting motions. 'Ummm! Tastes great, too.' Then she spoke louder and directed herself to me. "Think you'd mind giving me a whole mouthful of that wonderful stuff?' Then she sort of chuckled and tackled my waiting prick in earnest.
" ' ... A hell of a piece of meat for such a young kid,' she mumbled to herself, and then I heard, 'and I'm going to get some beautiful fucking out of this thing, too.' She fixed a thumb and forefinger around the base and began s slight-up-and-down, very slow massage, and with the onset of that motion I was transfixed, even paralyzed, to attention. Already, I knew what was going to happen, and I was just hoping that my boyish inexperience wouldn't ruin it-for either of us. Already I could feel the welling load of sticky cum gathering in my full nuts, ready to explode upward and shoot out of my boiling cock. I was past caring or even wonder. At this point nothing else really mattered-I was melting from heat and wanted only to be hotter.
"Again she approached my prick, this time with a low, almost inaudible moan coming from her throat. This was it. Serious business this, now that all the preliminaries were out of the way. I could even sense that it was all seriousness with her, too. Again she cupped my balls with gentle fingers and began a kneading massage. Again, her tongue made its way to the underside of my prick and then she accommodated the sides and back-ridge. Her earlier stimulation, plus this, had been so gradual, so complete and artistic, so fulfilling in a partial way, that I had by this time reached a point of excitation and anticipation far exceeding that normally required for orgasm, though at that time I didn't realize such things. Also, as I later found out, Aunt Martha was a master in such matters, and knew perfectly well what she was doing when she held me just barely in check, just below the level of explosion.
"She reached the underfold of the glans where the smallish bundle of flesh from my circumcision scar formed a rounded ridge, and for a short moment she lingered there, toying with that particular flesh, salivating deliberately and delivering spittle to it, using her tongue like a trowel. Wetter and slimier my cock became, until the whole of it was sopping, dripping, very slippery, and hotly pulsing. Then she went on to the entire glans, applying saliva to the whole head.
" 'You like?' she asked.
" 'Oh, Jesus,' I cried. 'Go on, do more, do anything. But hurry!'
" 'Don't be impatient, darling. You'll get it all. It's always best if you make it last.'
"But as if to contradict herself, she now went forward with her plan. I guess she just wanted to let me know that I was in the hands of an artist, and that the best was always worth waiting for. Up to now, only her expertise had managed the withholding of my orgasm, but even though I was beside myself with ecstatic heat and burning concupiscence, I was fully aware that I was receiving a ministration utterly unique, an experience never to be relived, even with her, because there is something-so indefinably singular about the element of 'firstness.'
"Now Aunt Martha left the minor leagues entirely. She raised her head again, hesitated, and then descended upon my prick, her mouth open, ready, perched; much as an albatross descends upon a hapless fish. Since I had many times before been told by the school coach and that guy down at the YMCA that I had a very large cock for a boy my age, it was very much to Aunt Martha's credit that I felt no teeth at all. Her tongue had been in flashing motion even before contact had been made. Just as she touched home and began inserting the whole of it into her mouth, she began a full, openmouthed, forced breathing which bathed my whole prick in gushes of warm air, bringing on another new sensation. I tensed to hold back the approaching surge. The throbbing of my cock and the new rhythmic puckering of my ass-hole had now become involuntary. My nerve ends were loosening just as Aunt Martha finally made full, deep, enveloping contact with that over warm and liquid mouth of hers and busily swirling tongue, and now I could not deny those vague inner juices which were rushing up, and to hold back these near-spasms I had to force myself into deep inner muscular contractions. I think I even clenched my teeth.
"The insertion of my prick into her mouth became the primary thing at this point; the forced breathing stopped, the darting and playing tongue retreated deeply to its natural cavern and now became a loving trowel which swirled and teased and massaged the head of my prick, molding its contours to that same prick. She caressed with long, swallowing, deep strokes and alternately teased with quick short strokes. At the deepest insertion, she put her tongue into a circular bathing motion upon the glans, which was up deep into the tongue-bed, and then she added a munching kind of suction.
"She emitted low murmuring sounds of contentment. I could visualize how there must now be streaks of lipstick up and down the whole of my cock. Her downstrokes now were bringing her lips and nose into full pressing contact with my pubic hairs and I'm certain that the main bulk of my bulbous head was lodging easily into her upper throat, and then it seemed to go even further. With great artistry, and defying all the explanations of measurement, she increased her downstroke and added great force so that she was taking absolutely all of it-and I had been told in school that eight-and-a-half inches was remarkable for a fifteen-year-old boy-which was proven by the strange feeling I got every time my cock brushed up into her hot throat, past her tonsils, flattening her vulva, and on into her receptive and waiting esophagus.
"It required my whole will to resist culmination-I clenched together every set of muscles I owned, from eyelids to curling toes, but it was a losing battle. The inevitable approached.
"She was taking it all. Now a new set of muscles was being brought into play and I didn't understand for a second. Then I caught on; she was taking the whole cock and as soon as it was firmly lodged in her throat she would stop momentarily and start swallowing-flutter-swallowing, actually-and they were rapid, reflexive, not-quite-gagging, fully muscular swallows. It was a milking-like suction and it was the strangest feeling in the world, and one I have never experienced again in the years and years of blow jobs that have followed.
"She sensed how close I was. She increased both the tempo and the suction. Her head was now a piston, a blurred piston, and the strokes were full and hard and straining. I knew that had I been able to see her in the light, her hair would be flailing the air.
"The first rush of spurting semen came up in a geyser gush. It was almost pure pain, but it also bordered on pure ecstasy, even rebirth. It hit the back of her throat and triggered an even more frenzied tempo of that pistoning head as well as a new and furious swallowing that was clearly audible as the hot gobs of sticky sperm lubricated the whole peristalsis mechanism-I could actually hear the contractions carrying the copious nutrient to her stomach. She would have taken any amount of cum I could have shot down her throat, even to the point of her not being able to move without producing an audible 'splash' from her abdomen.
"She milked on and on even after I was totally drained and dry and tenderly limp. And even then, after it was decidedly over and done, and there was absolutely nothing left, she kept returning to my prick, time and time, saying that it had to be 'carefully cleaned off.'
"And then, when at last she decided that the act was concluded, she lay down next to me and draped an arm over my chest, apparently as exhausted and drained as I was. It seemed she was purring. At length she asked, 'Dave, darling, are you still awake?'
" 'llh-huh,' I grunted.
" "Tell me, darling, did you like it?'
" 'Oh, God yes! I've never known a feeling like that,' I replied, wanting even in my soporific state to sound enthusiastic.
" 'Good. Wonderful. Just great.'
"I waited for her to go on. I knew by her tone she had something to add to that.
" 'Dave, I think you're going to make me the happiest woman in the world and from now on I don't care if my husband goes for ten years at a time. I'm going to put you to sleep with a good blow job every night, and I'm going to wake you up with an even better one in the morning-every morning. And school isn't very far away. You can come home for lunch every day and I can give you a proper sucking then, too. And I'm going to teach you to eat my cunt so good that you'll be the most sought-after man in town when you grow up. And then there's more.' " 'More? What?'
" 'Fucking. Have you forgotten that?' she laughed.
"I laughed too. 'Yeah, almost. When can we start teaching me that?'
" 'Well, you're shot for now. Let's make it tomorrow.'
"I was very agreeable to that. I grunted my approval.
" 'But, Dave, I want you to know something in advance. I can be a little bitchy. Especially when I like a cock as much as I like that monster you've got. And especially when someone's cum tastes as great as yours does. It's both sweet and sour, a little like liquid aspirin, and tangy-God, but that was the greatest. And so much, too . ... '
"And I suppose she went on like that for a while. But I don't really know. About that time I fell asleep."
The foregoing account sounds very much involved in psychodynamic elements above and beyond the obviously incestuous. A thoroughgoing delineation of this case, in fact, has presented fierce topical debate between the three men who finally became involved in it: the husband, the therapist, and the analyst who was brought in to mediate the whole thing.
At first, this seemed to be a case that might reach the courts. Fortunately, it never got that far.
As we continue with this taped narrative (all of which is in retrospect from a man now in law school and with a promising career in the offing), it will be seen that a wise choice was made by all parties, and that a stroke of luck entered the picture, too, in that farseeing medical authorities were able to circumvent a legal involvement.
At root, we are dealing here in three planes: the incestuous, the pedophiliac, and the compulsively oral. The husband could not immediately see, of course, that multiple elemental psychodynamics were tugging Martha in several directions at once, and that not least among these was the age-old marriage-wrecker: forced role-reversal. When her husband was awav, Martha was forced to become the decider, the dominant force, the "rejected" (this term used in the grander sense), and finally, a woman who had to accept personal responsibility for "self-determination-within-marriage"-an unnatural condition.
Martha's existence was one which promoted an overripe social and sexual want, and in time, her personal ideals were compromised in such a manner that she became sexually pliable, or, restated, she was in perfect stance and condition to yield to the fruition of her most basic desires. One might ask why a great many war widows (this term meaning women whose husbands are absent for military reasons for long periods of time) do not become pedophiliac or enter into incestuous liaisons. It would certainly seem that similar forces apply to those general cases as evidently apply to Martha's. The essential difference obviously does not lie in the structural or circumstantial domains, else incest and pedophilia would be rampant, which they are not (on the increase, yes; better understood, perhaps; rampant, no). By virtue of sheer mechanical subtraction, we arrive at the conclusions that the areas confronting us here are psychologic first, and all other things second.
This was an instance of maternal-aunt incest. Generally, this is regarded as the more potentially traumatic of the two for the acceding male. Being Dave's mother's sister, Martha in some degree represented a mother-surrogate, and the identification was- likely as not physical as well as emotive-reactive. So then, Dave was symbolically performing maternal incest, which, by any standard one wishes to use, is the most catastrophic sexual incident which can be visited upon a barely pubescent male. (Further, as will be seen in our ongoing narrative, the ideas formulating in Dave's awareness during coitus with Martha become more and more oriented toward the understanding of the symbolism, and Martha therefore takes on the dimension of a "true" mother.) As for true maternal incest, those few documented histories in the medical archives dealing with actual consummation indicate that the males usually mature into psycho sexually inadequate persons who require extensive analysis. All too often these males never become able to cope with society.
And yet, Dave prospers today and is a promising student of law on the brink of graduation. He gives every appearance of good adjustment and is engaged to a fine girl. Most importantly, he is able to speak openly and candidly of his experiences with Aunt Martha.
How can all of this be?
For the answers, we must retrace the steps of psychologic reasoning to their source. When one reads Freud's Totem and Taboo, he learns of the maniacal fear of close-breeding inherent in primitives. He learns that all consanguineous incest carried the death penalty because it was the first taboo in all primitive cultures, even though these cultures had radically different origins, were continents apart, and materialized in stages of periodicity measured in the thousands of years.
It took a Freud to first postulate and then unravel the mystery of infantile sexuality. His work deals with the methods and reactions by which each of us garners and nurtures and then hopefully resolves an incestuous desire for the mother. Consider his words (from General Introduction to Psychoanalysis: A General Theory of the Neuroses, Lecture XXII): "The first choice of an object among human beings is regularly an incestuous one, in the man directed toward the mother and sister, and the most stringent laws are necessary to prevent this persisting infantile tendency from becoming active."
If one is familiar with the later writings of Freud, he will be quick to wonder about the moralistic undertones implicit here, which are significant by their absence in his later writings. Freud in late life developed the aloof view that man is not necessarily well-equipped to govern himself. But whereas he came to disparage the legalistic community, he did retain his view that incest, consummated, was a blight upon the social institution and an especially dangerous private experiment-the eventual cost to the psyche being enormous.
In what has been construed to be an antithetical statement, Freud later on tells us (from Sexuality and the Psychology of Love): "Whoever is to be really free and happy in love must have overcome his deference for women and come to terms with the idea of incest with mother or sister."
In this context it becomes clear that Freud sees incest desire as a purely natural reaction to the growing and awareness-accumulation process, and that no truly adjusted person can ever come to grips with the adult concepts of male/female role-relationship until he or she has consciously dealt with the idea of incest. Usually, this is accomplished in therapy or analysis (if at all), and yet a certain inner resource seems to be lying dormant in each of us, which if activated can lead to transitional adjustments, by virtue alone of that catalyst we call intellect. Everything here seems to depend on how we approach the matter, how much of it we can dredge up from our unconscious without surpassing the psychic pain threshold by which we are generally protected. Restated, we can say that much depends on how honest we are with ourselves.
Other writers have dealt at length with this subject (recall, we are here regarding aunt-nephew incest as being the same genre as maternal incest, removed only in surrogate terms), and, for the most part, these writers agree with Freud that consummated maternal incest is a psychologic killer. The major difference is that these other men consistently insist that incest is a moral problem first and a medical problem second. From Psychopathia Sexualis by Richard von Krafft-Ebing, we read: "The preservation of the moral purity of family life is a product of civilization: and feelings of intense displeasure arise in an ethically intact man at the thought of lustful feeling toward a member of the same family. Only great sensuality and defective ideas of law and morals can lead to incest."
Whichever of these two viewpoints regarding the proper priority of the problem appeals to the reader's tastes is his option, yet we would have to question any scientific observation which assumes that everything that has gone before is correct on that strength alone.
Returning to the contention that Martha was- likely a mother-surrogate for Dave, we then see how Freud's comments apply, but we are now also faced with a two-headed hydra; was Marsha acting out a repressed and unresolved incestuous longing for a son she never had, thus becoming the aggressive force? Or did Dave, by extension of earlier actions we know nothing of, subtly promote the liaison himself-and, if not, did he perform some manner of tricky mental transmutation whereby Aunt Martha became as a total stranger? We do know that Dave has apparently survived a normally traumatic experience without noticeable aftereffect. But to examine these possibilities further, we must add to our collection of knowledge and also consider the depth (or lack of it) of emotional interplay which enveloped this relationship.
" 'Dave, get up. You'll be late for school.'
"For a second, I wasn't sure where I was. And then I remembered everything. My God, I thought to myself, I must have fallen asleep right after that wonderful sucking. I guess I just shot that big hot load and immediately collapsed-maybe, I considered, it would always be that way. I had heard stories from other boys that it was not good for a guy to get too hot, because then when you do shoot your cum, you're ruined for anything else. Then another memory came rushing in. I recalled how dearly I had wanted to learn to fuck. Suddenly I was a bit angry with myself.
" 'Last call,' came Aunt Martha's voice. 'Unless you're not going to school.'
"She didn't have to say anymore. I called back to her, 'I've got a miserable headache. I don't think I'll go.'
"She came in immediately, smiling, jaunty. 'My, my, what kind of a little man are you? One good blow job and you're shot-is that the way it is?'
" 'Hell, no,' I arched. 'I just have a real honest-to-God headache. Is that so strange?'
" 'Maybe I'd better give you a little massage.'
" 'Okay,' I answered quickly, thinking she meant to lightly rub my temples, the way Mom used to do. Come to think of it, Mom used to do that a lot, and I can remember more than one occasion when she seemed to extend her ministrations lengthily and needlessly, after which she'd sort of collapse upon me, her long black hair falling and flowing over my face, infusing my nostrils with a subtle female fragrance. But, before last night, I had never considered those moments with Mom to be anything of special significance. Now, I'm not so sure.
"But those thoughts were interrupted almost before they began. Aunt Martha did indeed apply one cool palm to my forehead, which again kindled thoughts of Mom, but with her other hand she cupped my balls and began stroking upward with light fingers, finally grasping my prick between a thumb and forefinger with a gingerness not unlike the loving obeisance an art lover would use in fondling a rarity, and then initiating a slow up-and-down stroking.
" 'I just love this cock of yours, Dave. Last night I thought you'd never stop coming. You made my little tummy very happy.'
" 'I'm glad,' I answered. 'I liked it too. But I'm unhappy with myself for falling asleep. I wanted to learn a few other things, too.'
"'Well!' she answered devilishly, green eyes flashing. "This is supposed to be a regular school day for you. If you aren't going to learn something there, you might as well do it here.'
" "That makes sense,' I told her, laughing also.
" 'Of course. Now lay back and let me get this beautiful thing nice and hard. After that, we'll try to figure out what to do with it.'
"With that, she swooped down and just took the whole thing deep into her mouth, no preliminaries or anything, none of those slow, gradual, teasing tricks of hers which had gotten me so explosively hot the previous night. She seemed to just gulp down the whole half-hard prick and immediately went into a furious sucking and piston-like up-and-down motion, all the while swirling her educated tongue everywhere. I closed my eyes and thought of the moment as a school class, since that's what it was substituting for, and wondered if this instruction period would last as long as the other. I was certain the lesson would be more lasting.
"At a moment like that, time seems to speed up; that is, five or ten minutes goes awfully fast under the artful tongue of someone like Aunt Martha. One naturally wishes to suspend time, so that the thing goes on forever, and I suppose it's quite natural to sink into an unfathomable sexual reverie, as I always did whenever Aunt Martha sucked on my prick, and often as not I was not aware of time, or other duty, or even place and circumstance; and there was no alleviating that numbness of mind until I began shooting those spurts of cum down her throat. It may have been the exquisite orgasming that brought me to, but I rather think it was also the moaning, humming, gurgling happiness of sound which emitted from her every time the cum started.
"But this time it stopped almost as soon as it had begun. She was apparently serious about teaching me something else. Aunt Martha sat up, face very happy, looking studiously at my now very hard and throbbing cock.
" "That was just to say hello and get him in the right frame of mind. If I hadn't already had breakfast, I'd finish him off, but I think we should save it for something else.'
" 'like what?' I asked, with an innocent tone.
" 'Don't be coy with me, Dave. Whenever you and I are talking about sex, and you have a question to ask, say what you mean. Even if you haven't experienced it, you should know by instinct that a good suck should always be followed by a good fuck. That's what I had in mind last night, but I got carried away. But don't think it's going to be like that with all women. I happen to be one of those rare women who gets a terrific charge out of giving blow jobs, and especially out of drinking cum. There have been times, frankly, when it's been so good it's made me completely forget about fucking, or getting eaten, or anything else.
" 'Yes, I did get the impression you like it.'
" 'And how about you? Didn't you get much out of it?'
" 'It was the greatest thing that ever happened to me.'
" 'Well, that can only mean that you're going to be in for a pleasant surprise.' Now, I want you to do everything I tell you, step by step.'
" 'Sure, anything,' I responded. 'What do I do first?'
" 'Well, first I want you to forget that we've already had a personal relationship. I want you to consider me as a girl you've just gotten into bed and more than anything you want to make me so hot that I can't resist that nice big prick of yours. Now, with that in mind, go to work on my breasts. Use your tongue with imagination, the way I did mine when I was sucking on your cock just now. Later, I'll teach you what to do with your teeth, but for now I just want you to lick and tongue my tits. Go hard, then easy, and so on.'
"I bent my head to her right breast when she lay back down, kneading the other breast with a thumb and finger, and alternately, with my palm. With my mouth I licked up the sloping underside of the firm breast, which would have seemed more natural on a sixteen-year-old. Then I reached the areola, but did not linger upon it. I now tackled the top slope of the same breast, feeling its barely-yielding firmness beneath the alabaster skin. Then I began again toward the areola, and finally arriving, I brought it into my mouth with considerable suction and then flayed the tip of my tongue across the nipple in a fast, whipping fashion.
" 'Oh, yes-God yes,' she moaned.
"I kept this up awhile and then switched to the other breast where I began the same process. Sensing that one hand was free, she said, 'Dave, please, stick your finger in my cunt.'
"I obeyed instantly. As I did so, it occurred to me that just the simple act of doing what Aunt Martha asked, regardless what her request might be, gave me a great deal of pleasure. In itself, act or no act, pleasing her pleased me. What a fine basis for a relationship! Right at that moment I could not conceive of not obeying her. I lowered my hand to that mysterious patch of hair and then let my fingers twirl through it for a moment, mesmerized by the feel of it; its silky curls, both fine and coarse. I knew that before long I would be even closer to the same hairs, and frankly, I didn't have any idea back in those days just where things were located-but Aunt Martha sort of got the idea across by lifting and twisting and spreading her legs wide, each of those moves at the proper moment and in perfect sync with my fumbling. Then, finally, I felt a bit of moisture, and parting the hairs at that point, I discovered a warm pool of it. God, but her cunt was wet! And warm! The hairs close to the opening were soaked, making some of the hairs long and stringy, even dripping, filaments. I dipped my middle finger into the well where it all seemed to be coming from and it seemed my finger was grabbed up and sucked in a little further.
" 'Oh, Jesus, sweet Jesus,' she cried, squirming on the bed, "That's so good. Stick your finger way deep in my hole, Dave. Lower. Yes, oh yes, in hard now! Jam it in. Jam two fingers in! Oh, my Goddam your whole hand in!! '
"I was following every instruction, even though Aunt Martha was by this time rolling and tossing furiously, making it very difficult to keep up. Somehow I managed to keep one finger, and sometimes two, going in and out of that liquid well, and usually with that hard, deep, fast speed she needed so badly. When she implored me to put my whole hand in, I tried, but that turned out to be just wishful thinking on her part.
"Then she sat up, holding her legs together, letting me know it was time to stop. 'So much for that,' she said with forced calm, though her voice betrayed her passion, as did her seductive smile. 'Now, honey, get up here.' Then, after a quick glance at my raging prick, she seemed to have a second thought and added, 'No, wait!' She then bent over close to examine my prick for rigidity, though that condition seemed not in question. Then she murmured, 'Well, just to be sure ... ' and swooped right onto it, gulping it deep in one motion, and gave it about thirty seconds' worth of quick sucking. Afterwards, she commented, "There, that's going to be just fine,' and then she patted the head of my cock, as one might the head of a child. 'Now, Dave, you can get up here-just lay on my stomach and I'll show you what to do.'
"I turned toward her and she sort of helped me climb between her legs. It was a wonderful feeling with those pointed full breasts acting as pillars to hold me up in the air. My knees were implanted firmly between her upraised ones, and my prick was jutting straight forward, proudly, a single drop of gleaming cum riding on the tip. Aunt Martha lifted her head a bit and reached forward, grabbing my cock by the stalk and laying it lengthwise in her palm as one might aningot, to test the weight. Then she instructed me, 'Just come forward now as I guide it. When it touches the hole, you'll feel it. I'll let go and then I want you to drive it all the way home with one hard lunge. Most women don't like that, but I do. Try your damndest to hurt me. Try to jam it all the way up to my heart!'
"I lowered myself little by little and then, aided by unerring guidance, my prick touched the outer lips of her gaping, dripping cunt. She let go and I rammed the whole thing into her with all the strength I had. My groin hit hers and I could nearly sense that the two sets of pelvic bones had ground together. My balls had flown back, pendulum-like, just as my ass had begun its forward heaving, and then when the jolting stop came when my prick dug up into her cervix, certain laws of engineering and gravity took over and my balls arced down in a heavy swing and slapped audibly into the crevice of her ass.
" 'Oh, yes-yes, now, yes! All the way out, Dave, so only the tip of the head is in me, and then jam it in me again-just as hard as you possibly can.'
" 'I'll try,' I answered, almost reflexively, barely understanding her words. The feel of this wonderful boiling spongy cunt with its oiled, slippery muscles grabbing at my prick in a thousand ways was almost more than I could stand.
Already my balls were beginning to recoil into a pair of bunched high-pressure receptacles, just waiting for my mind to turn the spigot and loose a damburst of frothing cream into my aunt's waiting cunt. My whole being was now in my sensitive, feeling, stabbing, proud, and regal cock. But Aunt Martha was saying something. 'What, Auntie?' I asked.
" 'Do what I said, Dave. Pull it all the way out like you did the first time. You must keep the cycle going, darling. Pull it out so it's just barely touching the lips of my cunt and then shove it in hard. Hurt me if you can. And then do that whole thing over and over as fast as possible-please, Dave, please. I want a hard fuck so bad!!!! '
"My own passion made it difficult for me to comprehend the true need and entreaty in her voice, the imploring plea for release. But within my own limits, I did what she asked, though it was obvious I would not last long at that pace. And then a very funny thought crossed my mind: once, several years ago, when my father was away on business, I had heard my own mother from her bedroom one afternoon asking the very same thing of a young man she had with her. I remembered peeking in the door and seeing his hairy balls swinging up into the air as he prepared to drive his cock into her. Why did I recall that scene just now? And then, quickly, as if part of the same thought, I looked down at the writhing face of Aunt Martha, and even the cut of her brow reminded me of Mom's. So strange. Aunt Martha didn't really look much like .....
" 'Harder, faster, deeper,' she was insisting. Her voice was a hard but limp replay now; drained, near exhaustion, ebbing.
"I realized that I had to pay more attention to what I was doing and so I pulled my ass up high so that I could just barely feel the edges of Aunt Martha's cunt lips licking at the head of my prick, and then I sent it into her with full force and with the same insertion characteristics as an Apollo spacecraft as it jabs into the void; having first gathered and set and bunched together every muscular strength available to me, and then allowing it all to fuse into one recoilless, catapulting, and volcanic thrust. This time everything hit at one: my cockhead against the bottom of her pussy, our pelvic structure and muscles, and my arcing balls against her ass-cheeks. She gave a loud but dull grunt and in a worn voice begged for a repeat. 'Harder, you wonderful boy-hurt me, hurt my cunt; tear it apart!'
"I had strangely cooled and gotten hotter at the same time. The great physical ness probably had something to do with this, but all of the impacts on my senses were now producing different responses. Oddly, it was now Mom lying under me. I could imagine her nice thick black bush of cunt hairs that she was so proud of when she paraded around the house. She thought I hadn't seen her . ... Then the idea of fucking Mom hard like this was suddenly intensely appealing. The huge load of foamy cum compressing in my nuts should be for her .....
"But Aunt Martha groaned or mumbled or something and I immediately found myself back in the here and now. A new heat was overtaking me and I knew I couldn't last much longer. That was fine. I felt very adequate already. By her reactions I knew I had passed my test, exceeded Aunt Martha's expectations. Such good feelings served to egg me on, too, and now, suddenly, I was back up to peak performance, jamming it into her at about one full deep-bore stroke per second, and, brother, I have since found out that's quite a pace to maintain. No wonder Aunt Martha was now actually screaming a sore scream and clawing at my back with delirious nails.
" 'Oh, my sweet God in heaven, make it last,' she was murmuring, lowly, to herself. 'Let me die like this-fucking-forever-'
"And then my balls tightened into clenched sacs in that way I have since learned to know signals the opening floodgates. As if in reflex, the gobs of pressured cum were released and propelled under painful force up the rifled shaft of my quivering prick. The first torrential spurt rushed up the tube and found freedom and dispersion in a waiting warmth; it was then I first understood the grandness of hot, releasing euphoria. Again my balls recoiled for the strike, another gush of hot egg-white splattered Aunt Martha's in-sides; once more I felt the trembling untensing of knotted, wanting nerves.
"Further ejaculations of good strength hit and sprayed the whole interior wall structure of her vagina, mixing with the female juices already frothing in there. I kept the full-bore strokes going as hard and as fast as possible.
"This time Aunt Martha's voice was a barely perceptible whisper. 'I can't believe it,' she exhaled, cloudily. I looked at her and saw that the long silken hair of her head was soaking wet. I ran combing fingers through it for her, stranded and fanned it so it would dry upon the pillows. Her face was flushed and her breathing shallow. I bent and gave a soft, lingering kiss. A smile tried to form. I laid down beside her and we joined in efforts to regain our strength.
"We hadn't been like that for five minutes when the back doorbell rang.
" 'Oh, my God,' Aunt Martha exclaimed. 'I completely forgot. It's the milkman.'
"She got up hurriedly, then noticed the warm cum running down her inner thigh. Quickly grabbing a kleenex from a box, she wiped the sperm from the inner leg and then stuffed the tissue in between her legs and up into her cunt a little. Throwing on a robe, she started for the back door, but then had a second thought and came back to the bed.
" 'Dave,' she exclaimed in a rush, T just had a brainstorm. There's still one thing you don't know how to do, and here's a chance for you to learn it by observation-if it's my regular milkman, that is. Get in the closet, quickly, and keep the door ajar just enough so you can hear and see. I'm not sure this will work out, but we can-try.'
"Grumbling a little to myself because I was so damned spent, I nevertheless did as she had instructed. In the closet, all I could think of was laying down and sleeping. My eyes were heavy.
"After a wait of several minutes, I heard voices. It seemed they were in the living room-she must have been having trouble getting to the guy. Then I heard Aunt Martha's voice clearly, 'I don't usually have a drink this early either, but I had a restless night, what with my husband away and all. How long have you been assigned to this route?' The milkman seemed to make some light reply, and then there was silence. Another heavy minute went by and then they were walking hand in hand into the bedroom.
"He was a large man, perhaps in his thirties, clean-cut as they come, and wearing one of the standard white milkman uniforms. He had a smile-no, a part-leer-on his face, and I immediately knew that those few silent minutes in the living room had been both productive and decisive. As I later found, Aunt Martha was not the least backward when it came to sex.
"Without a word, Aunt Martha stepped out of her robe and stood there proudly before the milkman. It seemed to me then from my peeking position, that that was the first time I had noticed what a fine, sturdy, thoroughbred body she had. Her breasts were firm and jutting, her stomach flat and her legs shapely and long. Her pubic bush was springy and full. It gave no indication of having been just fucked with good fervor, and I had to look a second time before I could locate the telltale corner of kleenex peeking out.
"The milkman needed no more encouragement. He stepped toward her and kissed her, letting his mouth disengage and drop quickly to her breasts, which he hungrily slipped into his mouth, first one and then the other. He seemed to suck voraciously, then tenderly, and then only with small light licks. Whatever he was doing it must have been right, for Aunt Martha was responding visibly. She reached down and felt his cock through his pants. A small frown of disappointment registered on her face, and by the motion of her hand, I could tell that this hulk of a man actually had an inadequate prick. Later in life, I have found out how traumatic this can be to some men, and I really feel sorry for them. Anyway, I sensed that Aunt Martha had suddenly lost interest in fucking this guy, and probably in sucking him, too. Well, I didn't really have much idea of what else could happen, but I soon found out.
"Aunt Martha pulled the milkman close to her, put one arm around his neck and pulled so that they both fell down upon the bed. As soon as they hit, Aunt Martha's free hand was busy digging the kleenex out of her cunt. Then she said, loud enough for me to hear, 'You know what I want, don't you?'
" 'I think so,' he answered, and raised himself to unbuckle his pants. She immediately put a hand on his arm to stop him and said, 'Oh, no, I can't do a thing like that. It would be cheating. The only thing I would consider is-if-you wanted to kiss me a little-down there.'
" 'Oh! Well, why didn't you say so? That's my specialty, baby.'
"Aunt Martha was stretching out on her back now, with her knees up and apart and the milkman was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at her cunt, which had recovered rapidly and now appeared to be fluffy, dry, unused, antiseptically clean, nearly virginal.
"He began by kissing her knees and then progressed to one of her inner thighs; licking and kissing alternately, cupping a hand under each buttock, all the while rearranging his own body by stages so that finally he was lying prone before her, his legs dangling far over the bottom of the bed. Little by little he approached her cunt, still alternating between thighs, and occasionally dipping low to plant a light kiss at the juncture of thigh-back and buttock, scant inches from her ass-hole, which was now visible as Aunt Martha stretched her legs straight up high. Once when he moved his shoulder a bit, she looked down and caught my peeking eye and gave me a big wink. Also, her lips formed a message which I think was 'watch carefully.'
"Now the milkman was blowing little gushes of breath into Aunt Martha's cunt hairs, laying them lightly apart, so that the pink slit lay there in what appeared to be waiting innocence. Looking at it, one would never suspect its recent workout, nor the copious load of cum it contained. Then as I watched, his head dove in further, blocking my view a bit even though Aunt Martha had positioned herself as favorably as possible. She must have realized that I could not see well, so she pretended to squirm a bit and finally I could see perfectly. The milkman's light licking and tonguing and kissing had now all blended into one action-a long lapping tonguing of the cunt hole itself. As he started this, Aunt Martha began beseeching him to 'lap me up,' all the while responding very ardently. Even as he was lapping her cunt in long swipes reaching from her ass-hole all the way to her clitoris, Aunt Martha sat up a bit, supporting herself on extended arms, enlisting gravity to help the cum run out of her cunt and into the unsuspecting mouth of the milkman. He seemed to pause and lick his lips once in a while, but he always resumed his work. Finally, Aunt Martha was applying pressure with the palm of her hand to her lower abdomen and then rubbing downward hard, squeezing out all the remaining cum. On and on he licked and lapped, thinking apparently that Aunt Martha might orgasm that way.
"Aunt Martha played the game. After a suitable period had elapsed she began the 'throes' of orgasm. A few minutes later, the self-satisfied milkman was dressed and gone, still licking his lips in such a way that one would think his taste buds had been introduced to some unforgettable treat.
"Aunt Martha called me out of the closet and beckoned me to take off the robe and join her on the bed. I snuggled up close.
" 'Now that that's over, what would you like to do?' she giggled.
" 'Anything,' I answered.
" 'All right, Dave, anything it is.'
"Which is precisely what we undertook to do: anything-and everything."
The remaining history contains almost endless repeats of this and similar performances, and in the ten months which elapsed between Martha's first enjoying Dave and the return of her husband, the two had coitus two to three times a day plus countless acts of oral sex in-between. Martha developed the habit of fellating Dave to sleep each night and awakening him the same way each morning. One might suppose that Dave would have tired of such attentions, but the opposite is true. Dave later declared that he would never thereafter consider marrying a girl who did not emulate Aunt Martha in this respect.
A very messy situation developed when the husband returned. He caught them, literally, just as Dave was depositing a quantity of semen into Aunt Martha's mouth.
Thus ensued a problem, which, as stated, might have had to be resolved in court. Fortunately, cooler heads prevailed, therapists were called in, and finally an analyst's views were sought. In the long run, all charges were dropped, the divorce was granted, and Martha and Dave (through dangerous maneuvers and at great risk to Martha, who stood to be prosecuted for it) got together in another city, whereupon she put the boy through his remaining schooling. These days, as an honors candidate in a prominent law school, Dave is engaged to a fine girl and is making preparations for an early marriage. Very few people are aware (most especially his fiancee is not) of the keen anticipation with which Dave regards both the Easter and Christmas vacation periods, at which time he travels to an obscure town to spend the time with "a relative."