Aunt Janet's Dirty Boy Ch. 04

Suddenly, the atmosphere between us felt thick and heavy, charged with sexual tension. My aunt must have seen something in my face or intuited my need because a few seconds later, without me even knowing how we came to be that way, we were groping and grasping each other, kissing with that urgent hasty desire which can only be cured one way.

Overwhelmed by incestuous desire for Aunt Janet, I just about destroyed her blouse so I could get at her breasts. I freed her boobs by hauling them out of her bra, then snuffled and gasped around a mouthful of breast-flesh, sucking her nipples while I squeezed those big orbs together, the weighty texture arousing me so much I grunted my pleasure. While I feasted, my aunt unzipped me and freed my dick. Janet jacked at my length, her own arousal apparent in the way she groaned and muttered about, "This gorgeous big cock."

Moments later I had my aunt on the table. She boosted her rump onto the horizontal surface after yanking up her dress and hauling down her underwear. Seeing her shove her knickers down with such eagerness is an impression that will stay with me forever. It told me Aunt Janet's desires were as strong as my own. In an almost indecent display of wanton fervour, Janet's sat on the table and opened her thighs, the scarlet slash of her cunt wet and glistening through the dense foliage of her pubic bush.

"Put it in. Fuck me," my aunt said through a groan. She splayed her folds and slid a forefinger over her clit while rolling her eyes. "Mikey, just hurry up won't you. I'm so randy, sweetheart. Please, put it in and do me. Don't be soft about it. Just shag me."

We went at it like that, me standing with my jeans at my shins, my hands moving over my aunt as we coupled in bestial frenzy. No style or finesse, completely selfish and uncaring to other's needs. It was a vehement fuck, with both of us striving to peak. Aunt Janet snorted and moaned and rubbed at her bean, boobs swaying, her tits spilled over her bra.

It got so heated I managed to get my knees onto the table, Janet on her back, legs wide. The firm surface beneath us meant I could really go at Aunt Janet's body, and I fucked at her like I wanted to pin her to the oak with my cock.

"Dirty boy," groaned my aunt. "Dirty, naughty boy. Just listen to that, Mikey. It's so bloody obscene. Listen to my twat, darling. It's so fucking juicy for you."

She was talking about the liquid squelch coming up from where my girth split her open and my length probed deep. My aunt Janet was sodden, her lust a physical manifestation which slipped from her sex and lubricated our joining.

"Aunt Janet," I moaned, the surge rising through my core. "I love you. I never want to stop doing this with you."

And then we were both groaning, semen gushing from me in a great rush of joy. I grunted and gasped and kissed my aunt's mouth, her breath bursting from her while her fingers kept busy down between us, the digits working her clit.

My aunt came a few seconds after my climax erupted. She sobbed at me and told me she loved me, too, her hips shunting back and forth in her efforts to keep her orgasm going.

"Oh, God, Mikey," Aunt Janet mumbled when it was done.

I slid out of her body and found my feet once more, my cock slick with our mingled desire. I watched, fascinated as cum seeped from Janet, jism a pool on the table top after the goo dribbled through the crease between her buttocks.

My aunt levered up onto elbows and forearms. She blinked and exhaled, cheeks ballooning before she asked, "What are we going to do about your mother? We can't carry on this way if it's going to cause upset."

A long, shivering string of cum dangled from my dick, its own weight eventually breaching Newtonian law so it plopped to the tiles next to my feet.

After watching the blob spatter onto the tiles, I looked at my aunt, desire resurgent when I saw her there in lewd dishabille, boobs on display, pubic hair matted, her eyes slowly clearing after being glazed with lust.

"I ... I don't know, Aunt Janet," I stammered. "But I know I want to keep doing this with you. I can't help it. I love you."

My aunt smiled, an odd expression that looked to be tinged with regret.

"Sweet boy," she sighed as she came up off the table. Eye-to-eye, Aunt Janet gazed at me, then ducked in to kiss my mouth. "You shouldn't say that, Mikey. I doubt it's love. You're just a randy young man."

I thought different, but kept my mouth shut. My aunt had unlocked deep and tender emotions and I wanted to be with her on a more serious level. Not that I could have accurately articulated the feelings at the time, everything was still too new, too confusing and crazy, but I had formed a strong attachment to my mother's sister. One which went beyond the bounds of what would usually be considered as normal.

Tangential thoughts popped into my head. I pulled up my underwear and jeans and shuffled around to restore my modesty while, at the same time, asking, "Why do you think my mum ... well, you know, snuck into my room that way?"

When Aunt Janet scooped her breasts back into her bra, she grimaced and shrugged and said, "It's likely to be the jealousy again, Mikey. Me and you ... Your mum has a notion I'm going to take you away from her. That you'll move on with me and leave her behind. It's very complicated," she finished.

"What can I do?"

My aunt heaved a sigh. "I don't have a bloody clue."

***

I hesitated some four feet from her bedroom door. Did I really want to do it? Could I face her knowing what I knew? The visit from my mother the previous night had altered everything about my perception of her. In that moment, she was a stranger to me.

Eventually, finally, after I'd dithered and turned away twice, I steeled my resolve and approached the door. I knocked, fear clogging my throat.

Her voice sounded weak, emotionally drained. She asked, "Who is it?"

"Me, mum," I said, my face up to the wooden panel. "Michael," I added, unnecessarily.

All I heard was silence.

When it stretched on for thirty seconds or more, I knocked again.

"Mum," I said, putting some force in my tone. "Can I come in? I ... I think we should talk."

"Leave me alone," she said. "Go back to your aunt."

The petulant reply brought on a hot rush of anger, and I muttered "Stupid, jealous bitch," before I opened the door.

I saw the shock in my mother's expression. She was in her bed, under the covers, her face turned towards me, eyes and mouth wide.

My mother blinked several times, then cried out, "Don't you come in here!" She sat upright, the covers falling away to show her bare shoulders and upper slopes of her breasts. "I can't look at you, Michael. Not after what you've done with her. And not after last night."

You made last night happen, mum," I said, ire still bubbling.

That little truth made my mother close her eyes and tilt her face towards her lap. "Oh, this is such a mess," I heard her mumble.

She looked so forlorn the irritation I felt melted away. She was still my mother and I loved her. The thing in the 50s with her brother didn't matter to me. Not at that time. All I wanted to do was to make her feel better.

"We can fix this," I said.

My mother sighed and looked at me, expression distraught. Her voice was a croak when she asked, "How, Michael? How can we fix it? You and that bloody sister of mine ... The bitch," she added in an aside. "She always was a mucky cow. Mad for the men. Mad for cock," she finished, spitting the last word.

"I know about Uncle Simon," I said.

My mother's eyes went wide again, huge and round, her jaw hanging slack.

A pause of a few seconds followed. Then my mother exclaimed, "God, the big mouth on her! I'll swing for her! See if I don't!"

I wished I could suck those words about Simon right back into my mouth. But I couldn't, they were out there, loose in the wild.

Trepidation griped in my guts, insides twisting with the fear I'd made everything so much worse. I took a pace towards the bed.

"Mum, please," I said, moving closer. "Don't be like that. Can't we just try?"

She watched me, wary, like I might plunge a knife into her throat. I made it to the bed and, after a brief hesitation, sat on the edge.

My mother continued to stare, face tight. The way she lay half-reclined gave me the impression she was wound up with every muscle humming, sinews vibrating with the effort not to run from the room. I looked at her while she gazed at me. I don't recall any sense of time passing. It could have been seconds. It could have been minutes or hours. Then, with a hiss of air through her nose, my mother relaxed.

"I can't believe what I did. Last night with you and all that time ago with Simon. God, what do you think of me, Michael?"

"I love you," I said, simply. "You're my mum. That won't change."

It seems I said just the right thing. Couldn't have phrased it better because my mother asked, "Will you hug me? Can you bear to touch me?"

And when I did, when she held out her arms and I saw her bare breasts -- which were the equal of her sister's impressive frontage -- a quiver of yearning pulsed down in my cock.

We cuddled, the heat of her body making me harder.

Then we were kissing. It was Aunt Janet in the kitchen all over again, only this time I had my hands on my mother's breasts while she gasped into my open mouth.

"God, Michael," my mother groaned. "What...? Do you want to? I mean, Janet is here."

In response, bold as you like, I pulled back the covers and saw my mother's naked body for the first time.

"Oh, mum, I want to," I said on a moan.

***

Physically, there's not much between my mother and aunt: same ripe figure and rounded curves. My mum might be a little thicker around the middle which, if anything, made me hotter for her. There were differences facially, but it was obvious they were sisters, the resemblance there in the eyes and the shape of their mouths. The similarities had a strange effect on me. I'd become familiar with my aunt, so much so I had the confidence to do what I did with my mother. The lines were blurred, the relative newness of being with mum making the boundaries indistinct. Where I might have hesitated in touching my own mother in such intimate places, the times I'd shared with her sister seemed to make it easier to push down the walls between a mother and son.

As we kissed, I eased my mother down onto her back, a hand sliding over her stomach, my fingers finding the crinkly thatch several inches below her navel. When my middle finger found her bean, my mother moaned and spread her legs in what appeared to be automatic response to my touch.

"Oh God," she sighed, squirming. "Michael, are you sure?"

I replied by kissing her again. My tongue slipped into her mouth, a finger going inside her body in search of that place which so excited my aunt.

When I found the spot, my mother gasped and pushed at me. She stared at me, eyes round with surprise, her legs folding at the knees while she spread her thighs even wider.

"Ugh," my mother grunted. "Oh, shit. That's lovely. Don't stop. Don't stop rubbing me there."

Encouraged by her vehement response, I went up onto my knees, getting more comfortable so I could angle my wrist and hand and continue to work at that place. My mother's response was to let out a long, curdled groan, a sound of absolute delight while she slumped back onto the bed. She mauled at her breasts with one hand, the spare hand going to my wrist, her fingers holding me tight, like she was worried I'd stop.

While I rubbed at my mother, I also studied her body and face, soaking up the detail of her features twisted up with the pleasure of it, her tit-flesh rolling, her movements jerky as she shoved herself onto my fingers.

I managed to get my jeans down with one hand, a bit of a struggle because I had to concentrate on giving my mother complete attention and, when my cock was free and out in the open, I started to jack at its length.

"Let me do that for you," my mother put in. "Let me do it, Michael."

The reality of who she was hit me like a near physical blow when my mother's fingers closed around my girth. The dark, taboo feelings swirled through me again. "Mum," I groaned, fucking her fist. "It's you. It's really you."

"Shush. Not now," my mother replied. "I can't think about it now, Michael. It's too sordid. First my brother, now you." She paused and winced and sucked in air, head lolling back before she let out a moan. My mother's hips moved quickly, little squeaks and squeals coming from her mouth, her chin on her chest, eyes set on where my hand worked her body. "That's so fucking lovely," my mother informed me. "Keep going. Don't fucking stop. I'll get there, Michael. I'm so bloody close..."

Over several moments of a strange detachment, I watched my mother while she rocked and thrust and grunted through her climax. She came, hard. My mother let go of my dick when the force of the orgasm hit her. She let out a yelp, eyes open and staring before they glazed over and she let it all go. For me, it was perfectly clear, an indelible image: her tortured, joyful grimace; the sounds she made; her boobs shivering and rolling and the spasmodic jerk of her hips. My eyes and ears and sense of touch were tuned to the input. Every detail is etched in the crystal hall of my memory palace.

I took it all in, staring in fascination while the orgasm boiled through my mother. Then I heard a squelch from where my fingers were engaged in their work, my mother's flesh slick and wet on the digits until her sex made that liquid sound and squirted what I thought was piss onto my palm. The stuff didn't gush out in a torrential stream. It was just a squirt, the same as I'd seen when my mother cooked pancakes and then used one of those plastic lemons to flavour it up. At the same time the hot burst splashed against my hand, my mother blurted a sob and bent almost double at the waist. She grabbed my arm and held my hand in place while smearing her cunt over my fingers. My mother babbled nonsense about how she felt in the moment, most of it in single words until she finally managed to groan, "Oh ... Oh, God ... Michael. Baby ... Oh, sweetheart..."

When she eventually calmed, I examined my hand, certain she'd peed on me.

"It's cum," my mother informed me, breathless and gasping. "Lady-cum, Michael. It happens sometimes."

I had questions about that, but didn't get to voice them at the time. While my brain worked over this new phenomenon, my mother rolled onto her front and reached for my dick. Then she was up on her knees, leaning in low to suck at my cock.

It occurred to me my mother was licking her sister's essence from the shaft and swollen bulb. I had a couple of seconds to wonder if she could taste Aunt Janet on my flesh, and then the rush of delight swept me away. My mother was sucking my dick. I knew we were going to fuck.

***

Our first time, or at least it was our first time in my mind, the nocturnal encounter didn't count as far as I was concerned. Although, I suppose it did, but this second time with my mother was fundamentally different. For one, I could see her. I actually knew it was her, with all the emotions and feelings involved at such a momentous occasion.

So, for what I came to regard as out first real time together, we were coupled together in the missionary style, me up on straight arms so I could watch my mother's body accepting my length. We started slow with long, languid strokes. I savoured the moment. My experience with Aunt Janet had taught me that the first couple of times are the most intense emotionally. Not that subsequent sex with my aunt was any less exciting, but the newness of the first few times together had their own special flavour -- the taste of sin.

My mother looked so beautiful, laid there as she was, thighs wide in invitation. To see her so uninhibited in front of me, her own son, sent a jolt of desire through my core. Her voluptuous body was mine to possess. I was inside my mother; I was fucking the woman who birthed me.

While I worked my dick in and out of her, my mother looked up at me and asked, "Are you all right, Michael? You look very serious there."

"I ... I think you're wonderful, mum," I mumbled in reply.

"That's good, baby," she said, stroking my face. "I thought you were having second thoughts. You looked worried."

"It's just incredible, mum. Doing this with you. It feels so good. You're so beautiful."

I saw her eyes soften and realised it was love in my mother's expression. Then she reached up and hooked her fingers at the nape of my neck, her torso angled so she could kiss my mouth. A moment later we were loving, making true, emotional love, the natural filial connection changing, growing stronger, altered forever.

We moved together for a very long time. I lost all sense of the present, overwhelmed as I was by being so intimately joined. My mother murmured endearments in-between kisses, our bodies constantly moving, love blossoming.

Then, when I went up on straight arms again, the sight of her body brought out the beast. Hunger for my mother's flesh brought forth a growl. She seemed to get caught up in the feeling as well, shunting her hips to take me deeper and harder.

"Fuck me," my mother snarled. "Smash me, Michael. God, it feels so lovely."

I went at her like I was intent on shattering her pubic bone with the force of my lunges. We grappled and gasped, kissed and moaned, both of us moving towards the pinnacle.

My mother shifted around and moved from under me before I came. She rested her weight on a hip and an elbow, eyes on me while she fingered her sex. Eyelids heavy with whatever it was she was feeling, my mother asked, "Can I get on top?"

Aroused as I was, I cranked at my dick to prolong my pleasure. I nodded and said, "Anything, mum."

A second or two after that, with eager haste my mother scrambled upright and clambered over me. She knelt, knees either side of my hips, a hand at my dick to hold me upright. Her chin was on her chest when she looked down past her shivering breasts and her hand worked my length. My mother's boobs jiggled and swayed in response to her movements, her sex enveloping my cock in its molten embrace as she sank down onto it.

My hands were full of her body. Buttocks and hips and tits, my mother starting to ease herself up-and-down on my length.

She went at it in a robust style which had me close to the edge almost straight away. "Mum," I grunted, afraid I was going to come. "I ... I don't think I can take this for long."

"Do it if you have to, Michael," she gasped. "I've already come, baby. Don't worry about me. You can do it inside me. In fact, I want you to do it inside me. I want my boy's cum."

Our flesh slapped together while her boobs swung and swayed. My mother loomed over me, her arms outstretched, hands either side of my head while I held her waist and watched the metronomic swipe of her tits, the things smacking together at times, sometimes swinging in unison.

Then it began. The pleasure got too intense and I came. I groaned out words about loving my mother and then felt the rush, my dick letting whatever goo I had left after squirting cum into my aunt.

As I moaned in delight, my mother let out a squeal, levering upright and massaging her breasts while also rubbing her bean.

Then it was over and I lay on my back, gasping at the ceiling while my mother collapsed alongside me. And, when things had cooled down, that's when I experienced the squeeze of guilt in the pit of my stomach. I'd been so carried away being with my mother I'd forgotten my aunt.

***

1981

As it happened, any concerns I had about my Aunt Janet's reaction turned out to be unfounded. She knew where I'd been, and with whom. Later that same night I had another visitor. I'd been with my mother and had snuck out of her room, anxious not to bump into Aunt Janet. But, an hour or so after I'd gone to bed, drained by emotional strain and the excitement, not to mention coming twice on the bounce, Aunt Janet came to my room.