("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._ `6_ 6 ) `-. ( ).`-.__.`) (_Y_.)' ._ ) `._ `. ``-..-' _..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,' (((' (((-((('' (((( K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N _________________________________________ WARNING! This text file contains sexually explicit material. If you do not wish to read this type of literature, or you are under age, PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!! _________________________________________ Scroll down to view text -------------------------------------------------------- This work is copyrighted to the author © 2007. Please don't remove the author information or make any changes to this story. All rights reserved. Thank you for your consideration. -------------------------------------------------------- Aunt Maria by J.J. Lemmings (address withheld) *** Aunt Maria is quite the looker: proportioned practically perfectly in every way, and with beautiful obsidian hair to boot. When my father's brother died, my parents invited Aunt Maria to stay with us until she could find an apartment. (F/m-teen, ped, 1st, mast, rom) *** My name's not particularly relevant to this story, but my Aunt Maria's is. My father's brother married her when I was thirteen; he was twelve years younger than my father, and so when he was first married at twenty- two, my father was thirty-four and had been married fourteen years. Maria was a raven-haired beauty. She wasn't particularly large or small; and everything was proportioned just-so. Her bust was on the small side – grapefruits, not watermelons – but it was balanced by wide hips, a flat belly, and a smooth, rounded behind. Her lips were full, but not too full; her eyes were wide and liquid without seeming childish. Her nose was proud, but did not dominate her face. In fact, the only thing about her that I did not think perfect when I first saw her, through a thirteen-year- old's perpetual hormonal mist, was her hair. I thought her hair was beyond perfect. It was jet-black, shone in the light, but a closer examination (taken in retrospect after I hugged her to welcome her into the family) revealed that it was not greasy. When she first married Uncle George, her hair reached down to her waist, an obsidian waterfall. Later on, even after she had shorn it so it hung just below her perfect ears, I still thought it was the best thing about her, just ahead of her firm ass. Needless to say, Aunt Maria figured prominently in my fantasies for months afterward. Since she and Uncle George lived two hundred miles away, though, I eventually forgot about her except at family get- togethers; whenever I saw her, I would remember my earlier fantasies and have trouble getting them out of my head. She was taciturn and withdrawn at the Christmas, Thanksgiving, and Easter reunions, although she would laugh at jokes and crack very subtle ones herself every now and again. The only person she ever smiled at was Uncle George, except for my baby brother. In short, she was an unreachable, untouchable idol for my teenage self. Then, when I was sixteen, Uncle George was killed in a car accident. I was absolutely devastated: he'd been my favorite uncle, the one who always took me out fishing, the one who would joke and mess around with me when all the adults were busy. He was that family uncle who isn't really an uncle, but another kid you can play with. At the funeral, I didn't think at all about Aunt Maria; looking back, I remember that she sat alone, off to the side, waving away anybody who came to try to comfort her. She looked (in my memory) like a woman carved from ice. At the time, though, I saw everything through a fog of bereaved grief. Several months after my seventeenth birthday, my parents announced that Aunt Maria was going to live with us for a while until she could find a job and an apartment. It was a few months before she moved in. Of course, I helped her move the two and a half hours from her old home to ours, and in the course of the drive, I found myself sitting alone in a car with her. Old fantasies came crowding up, and I found myself surreptitiously adjusting my pants so my penis wouldn't stick out at odd angles. She said nothing, and we just regarded the passing cornfields in silence, not attempting to make small talk. Looking back, I think I detect a slight smirk creasing those perfect lips, but perhaps it's just imagination coloring a memory. She moved in with us, and everything was good for a month or so. Now for embarrassing incident #1. I was still in the habit of masturbating nightly into my sheets, rather than doing the nasty deed with my hand. Every now and again, when my parents were out of the house with my younger brother, I would permit myself the luxury of spreading my comforter on the ground and humping it until I came. Naturally, when Maria and my parents were out of the house one Saturday afternoon, I jumped at the chance, pulled the comforter off my bed and was face-down, feeling the rough carpet texture through the smooth down-filled blanket, fantasizing about – who else? -- Aunt Maria. I heard a door shut, and I froze in mid-thrust, listening for footsteps. Before I knew what to do, I heard my door squeaking, and I looked forward. Behind the swiftly-closing door, there was a pair of bare feet and wide hips – and that's as far as I got before the door shut all the way. Someone had been standing there staring at me, completely naked, with my hands under me and my ass ridiculously clenched, for God only knew how long. Of course, it wasn't my mother – I knew her too well, and I knew Maria's body too well. That night at dinner, Maria smirked at me, and I didn't look at her again the entire meal. I had my computer in my bedroom, and I had made the tactical mistake of facing the monitor toward the door. I couldn't look at porn unless I constantly glanced back over my shoulder to make doubly sure the door was still closed. Unless, of course, everyone was out of the house. I should have learned from Embarrassing Incident #1 that Aunt Maria was apt to come home early or unexpectedly on Saturday afternoons, but it had been a month, and when you're seventeen, humiliation wears off quickly. Thus, Embarrassing Incident #2: I was streaming some porn and had my dick in my hand, with a bottle of lotion to the side for lubrication, when someone behind me yelled “YAH!” and clapped hands to my shoulders. I must have jumped thirty feet, although I don't recall my head hitting the ceiling. When my heart rate had slowed enough to permit movement without bursting it, I turned my head. Maria, her body shaking with laughter, was walking out of my room. The last glimpse I had of her before she closed the door was her wide, firm ass. No jacking off then, naturally: I had lost every inch of that erection, and it seemed like my penis wanted to crawl back into my belly. The first thing I did was put clothes on; the second was move the computer so I could see the door over the monitor. That night at dinner, Aunt Maria was smirking at me again, and I didn't even try to make eye contact. If I had, I think I would have noticed that there was no accusation in those wide, beautiful eyes; there was only mocking laughter. Time passed; three months later, Aunt Maria moved out into her own apartment. I was now two and a half months shy of my eighteenth birthday. The email came as a surprise to me, four months later. It was from Maria, and invited me out to her apartment for a movie. Half my current fantasies began this way, but I shoved them out of my head. She was just a friendly (ex-)Aunt, wanting to spend time with her nephew, right? I didn't bother to tell my parents where I was going: they were out of town with my brother for the weekend. It was, of course, a Saturday evening. They wouldn't be back for twenty-four hours. Aunt Maria's apartment was small and sparsely decorated, with a three-cushion couch lining one wall of the main room and the television on the other. She was wearing a loose, knee- length skirt and a blouse that didn't quite show any cleavage: conservative wear, overall. Things were definitely not going according to fantasy. She put on The Departed, hit the lights, drew the blinds, and sat down next to me. After taking off my shoes and socks at the door by her request, I had plopped down right in the middle of the couch: the better to sit square in front of the TV. Matt Damon was just graduating from the police academy when I felt her scoot over closer to me. Her thigh was firmly against mine. I felt my heart palpitate, and I wasn't sure what to do with my hands. For a while, she did nothing; then, as Leonardo DiCaprio was being grilled by the jackass assistant to Martin Sheen, I felt her gently rest her head against my shoulder. Oh God. This was weird. What to do? After another ten minutes, she solved the problem by grabbing my arm and putting it around her shoulders. There should have been no doubt as to her intentions, but I was freshly eighteen and doubt was bubbling up like Saudi oil. I kept my arm limp, afraid that if I moved, I'd ruin the nice dream. Maria sighed, and if I'd been looking, I suspect she was rolling her eyes. Then she put one hand on my opposite cheek, turning my head toward her. I regarded her for an instant, and she looked solemnly at me, then seized me with her other hand, lunged forward, and planted a kiss squarely on my lips. I was startled out of my mind and toppled backward – which was along the length of the couch. Maria followed me, and a second or two later, was lying on top of me with her lips pressed against mine. I could have moved her with some effort, but I didn't – why the fuck would I have wanted to, anyway? I knew how to kiss, but wasn't an expert by any means; it was enough for Maria, regardless. She was hot in my arms and squirmed against me, moaning into my mouth. Her eyes were closed. Then – wonder of wonders! -- I felt her hands at my waistline undoing the clasps to my pants. My penis was quite erect. In fact, it was more erect than I think it had ever been before. After my little warrior sprang free, lying flat pointing toward my belly button, she reached up under her skirt and pulled her panties down. At least, that's what I assume she was doing; I was simply kissing her back as best I knew how. She sat up, straddling me awkwardly on the cramped couch, threw her underwear over her shoulder, and began to grind her pussy against my penis. It was wet and I could feel soft hairs against my own pubic hair to the side. There was also the little knob of her clitoris rubbing up and down the length of my shaft. She was leaning forward, back arched and head thrown back, lips half-parted in an endless gasp. I responded with enthusiasm, moving my hips against hers as I caressed her lower back and sides. She bent down to kiss me, then began moving her hips faster, almost bouncing up and down. Throwing her head back, she let out a strangled breath, then slumped down on me, panting. By this time, I was breathing heavily, and I moved to try to enter her; but she stopped me by standing up. Her hair was wildly disarrayed, and she seemed to be glowing. Wordlessly, she took my hand and led me back toward her bedroom. The Departed was still playing. When we got there, she drew the blinds, then turned and regarded me, smirking. I looked down at myself – ridiculous! I was wearing shorts and a T-shirt, except the shorts were undone, and my penis was poking half- erect out of my boxers. It wilted a bit more under her gaze, until she came forward, and, again without saying anything, pulled her skirt down, then her blouse off. The only thing she was wearing was a white bra, which she expertly snapped off. I remember noting the afternoon shadow in her armpits as she reached back. There in front of me stood a naked woman. I looked at her, and suddenly realized I was almost panting with desperate desire. My penis was almost vertical and quivering. I pulled off the T-shirt, and then as fast as possible, pulled down the short and worked my penis through the boxers. Then I encircled her with my arms and kissed her, kissed her hard. She responded, of course; her nipples were hard against my chest, and as I leaned into the kiss, I couldn't help but rub my penis against her smooth belly. She smiled at this, then grabbed my ass and pulled me closer, hungry for more. I leaned into her, and she arched her back until I was supporting some of her weight with my arms – one around the small of her back, one around the shoulders. One of my legs found its way between hers, and as I humped gently into her belly, she started to grind against my thigh once more. The sensation was exquisite. I pushed her back toward the bed, and she willingly went, and dropped back, pulling me onto her. Her legs were spread, and I pushed my penis against her swollen pussy. It didn't go in, but angled up and over her clitoris. I pushed against her, and she pushed back, sopping wet and cradled in my arms. Her breasts were firm and pert, with dark brown nipples standing out. I bent down, pulling my dick back for a minute, and gave attention to her tits for a little bit. Taking them into my mouth, rolling them with my tongue, then gently scraping with my teeth left her moaning and arching her back, squeezing my torso between her thighs. She was raking her fingers across my back, and I could feel the hair in her crotch grating across my belly, along with the wet, hot spot. I moved my grasp down to support her lower back, which she was arching off the bed; she held herself on her shoulders. After both nipples were soaked and looked to be standing painfully, she pulled my head forcibly up to hers, and we kissed, long and hard. I was desperate with lust; she mirrored my desire, and as we ground our mouths against each other, our tongues lashed. Then I felt her reach down, grab my penis, and put my head at the entrance to her vagina. It was wet, wet – I instinctively pushed. She squirmed, moaned, and then I slid in as easily as I could slide into my hand when I masturbated. I gasped. But this was not masturbating! Warm, wet, uniform tightness surrounded me; I felt the almost- peeing sensation already, that always preceded orgasm in masturbation. I couldn't think, couldn't feel; everything was wrapped in the bundle of sensation from my penis. Looking down at her, I saw her eyes were closed, and she was breathing shallowly. Rosy blush covered her face, the tops of her breasts. I pulled out, pushed back in, and her eyes opened, fixed on mine. Her half-open mouth curved in a smile, and she wiggled her hips. I held my weight on my arms, ignoring the muscles already screaming. Out – in – out – in – the rhythm was endless, and I tuned everything out, everything except the feeling of hot, wet sliding tightness surrounding my penis, pulling it; everything except the gasps and moans and panting, the urgent grinding of two sweating bodies pushing against and into each other. She moved her hips up to meet me, ground her clitoris into the base of my penis at each thrust; I, for my part, pushed in and pulled out, over and over again. My abdomen burned, but I didn't care; my triceps were sore twice over, but I didn't care. In and out, in and out, grunting with the effort and the pleasure. Sweat dripped from my forehead down my nose; when I kissed her, I could taste our mingled saltiness. Her eyes were closed; mine were too, most all the time. As the rhythm, with halting stops now and again to adjust or take a quick breath, increased, she placed her hands on my butt-cheeks, pushing, urging me into her. I held her shoulders and pulled myself; her legs, her perfect, beautiful legs were locked around the backs of my thighs. We were both gasping for breath with each thrust. I couldn't think of anything except the next push, felt the tightening in my penis, the testicles rising toward the crotch. At the top of the next thrust, she arched her back convulsively, held me inside of her as she twisted her hips and ground her clitoris into the base of my penis. I could feel the muscles in her vagina contracting, an exquisite sensation – and then she collapsed, went from taut desire to languid rest. But I pushed on, near the edge – a couple of more thrusts, and my world vanished in light for an instant. The contractions wracked my whole body, were immense, world-changing gongs sounding one after other. I collapsed onto her, feeling our bodies slide in the slick sweat, exhausted. In what must have been less than a minute, I was asleep. END *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* The author does not condone child abuse, this story is meant as an erotic fantasy not real life. Anyone acting out such scenarios in "real life" can look forward to many unproductive years getting it up the butt by a fellow convict in their local prison. *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* Kristen's collection - Directory 51