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Doris and Grace had not crossed paths, expect for telephone and email exchanges, for almost half a decade. That said, as sisters, they remained close; it had been that way since their earliest c***dhood days in England. The two women had both 'married well' and settled into their lives on opposite sides of the Atlantic -- Doris in Los Angeles; Grace in Paris. They had both managed successful careers and the demands of being both wives and mothers. When Doris's marriage had ended in divorce several years ago, it was Grace who first reached out to make sure her older sister was alright. So when Doris received the silver embossed invitation to Grace's daughter's wedding that Summer in Europe, it genuinely lifted her spirits. For Doris, it would be a welcome excuse, after too many cancelled or deferred plans, to spend some happy times with her sister and her sister's family.

True to Grace's penchant for opulence, the wedding was to be a very tasteful but expensive affair. Rather than settling on Paris as a setting for her daughter Amelie's wedding, the family had arranged for the ceremony and reception to take place on the sunny, Mediterranean coast of southeastern Spain; in the pretty, sun-soaked city of Vera. Although sparing no expense on the wedding itself, the relatively small guest list ensured that it would also be a pleasantly intimate one. As event planner extraordinaire, Grace had arranged for all the wedding guests to be housed in the same gorgeous resort hotel right on the coast; each guest house facing the ocean.

After her very long, transatlantic flight, Doris arrived in sunny Spain and checked in. Her private and spacious guest house, with its elegant decor and spa-like amenities, was a welcome oasis of calm after numerous connections and time-zone changes. She called her sister from her room, announced her arrival, and arranged to have dinner with the family that evening in one of the resort's restaurants. After unpacking, she slipped under the luxurious sheets of her king-size bed for a delicious midday nap.

She awoke an hour later feeling refreshed; further supplementing her recovery with a restorative shower. Afterwards, standing in just semi-sheer bra and panties, and while gently applying moisturizer to her legs, Doris eyed her reflection in the floor-length bathroom mirror. Doris had always been the brainy beauty of the family; combining a formidable intellect with an equally formidable figure. She had always struggled with having to reconcile a bookish shyness with a body that drove men to distraction. Even as a young girl, she possessed a very large bust for her age; a fact that no number of baggy sweaters could obscure. With her then raven-coloured hair, cantilevered chest, preternatural, womanly hips, and fecund, pillowy lips, she never quite knew what to do with all the male attention she received. The black-rimmed glasses and standoffish demeanour only succeeded in exacerbating her predicament and the air of mystery she evoked in the eyes of the opposite sex. Imagine a young, very top heavy Page Three Girl with a satchel full of Proust books and the mind of a pointy-headed intellectual, and you begin to form an accurate picture of her younger self. Admirers from behind never failed to notice her almost rudely sexualized gait -- the natural and unaffected result of a narrow waist, relatively wide hips, and a curvy, fleshy behind.

Now, at fifty-eight, the hair had graduated to a rather chic salt-and-pepper (though admittedly more salt than pepper). The hips and derriere were decidedly larger -- post birthing of her now three adult c***dren -- and though the tummy was relatively trim, there were beachheads of cellulite she could no longer deny. Good genes and the combination of swimming and Pilates had kept the worst of gravity's effects at bay. Most mercifully of all, considering her bra size, Doris's heavy bust remained relatively buoyant. Requiring a size 30D bra by the time she was fifteen, Doris had continued to blossom well into her late twenties. Post pregnancies, and now in her late fifties, she now shopped in specialty lingerie shops for bras size 34GG.

Refreshed, she met and double-kissed Grace and her family in the restaurant a little while later. Having married a Frenchman and raised several c***dren in France, Doris's younger sister had long since fully acclimated to her adopted country across the Channel. Grace was a fluent Parisienne now, and France was her home. Like her older sister, she exuded an understated sophistication in style, manners, and carriage.

Having not seen them in almost five years, Doris almost felt like she was meeting Grace's c***dren for the first time -- such was the degree to which they had grown up and matured. Amelie, the eldest, with her fiancé by her side, was a beautiful woman in her own right; Margot, the middle c***d, and in her mid-twenties, was equally lovely. But it was their youngest, Tristan, who truly caught Doris's eye. Tristan had been adopted from Easter Europe when he was a baby. Now eighteen, he had morphed from a shy, gangly pubescent boy into a conspicuously handsome and well-spoken young man. With his native Romanian colouring -- jet black hair, angular features, brooding green eyes, and sensuous lips -- and the heavily French-accented (albeit fluent) English, he was clearly going to cause a great number of women to swoon in the years to come.

The group of them enjoyed a lovely dinner together and the wine flowed freely. Grace and her family had often holidayed in the area, knew it well, and the conversation turned to the sites worth seeing and the surrounding areas. Doris's sister offered up her young son as her own private tour guide during her two week stay. Doris took pity on the young man and said it wasn't necessary -- that he likely had a lot more fun things to occupy his time than to tour around with an old lady -- but Grace would have no part of it.

"I would love to show you around, Auntie Doris," offered Tristan, with a slightly shy but disarming smile. "Yesterday, I rented a scooter for the week. Tomorrow's the wedding, but after that, we can explore the area together -- it's so beautiful, and I know all the best places."

Doris was flattered and happily accepted her handsome nephew's kind offer.

The next day, the family were abuzz with the excitement of Amelie and her fiancé's big event. Amelie looked absolutely beautiful in an understated white wedding dress and delicate baby's breath flowers in her hair. Doris had chosen a simple, tasteful A-Line dress in a Summery, mauve chiffon. She worried that the synched belt and slightly lower cut drew too much attention to her bust, but the dress was mercifully cool to wear in the Spanish heat, and it made her feel attractive. The flowy hem made her less conscious about what she perceived to be a larger behind.

The ceremony felt intimate and was as beautiful as the blushing bride. Afterwards, the thirty or so guests congregated in a lovely reception room with an expansive patio overlooking the ocean. Once again, the champagne flowed freely, and everyone in attendance seemed to be enjoying themselves immensely. Doris loved weddings because they were such happy events -- people looked their best and everyone was in a good mood.

Music was provided, and people soon began to take advantage of the dance floor. In deference to the older members of the group, the music began with was an assortment of jazz and Latin tunes suitable for pairs. Doris was happily chatting with her sister when she felt a soft tap on her shoulder. She turned around in her chair to face a beaming Tristan.

"May I have this dance, Auntie Doris?" he asked, ever the polite gentleman.

Doris had found herself admiring her young nephew from the moment he first appeared that morning in his slim-fitting black suit. He really was a gorgeous young boy, and in addition to being fairly tall, he looked like a young movie star in that well-tailored suit. For some women, a man in a suit holds the same level of appeal as a woman in lingerie does for a man, and Doris counted herself in that number. So when Tristan offered Doris his hand, she smiled and accepted.

Doris loved to dance, and it had always been a source of frustration that her ex-husband so obviously did not. On occasions such as this, she would have normally spent the night sitting at her table, so it was a welcome and genuine pleasure that she found herself with such an eager young dance partner. Tristan was quite adept, too -- so much the better. They danced together for several songs, and Doris enjoyed the closeness and her nephew's lovely-smelling cologne.

In truth, it wasn't just dancing that Doris missed. Since her divorce, there had been only intermittent dating, and nowhere near the amount of affection, romance, or zesty lovemaking that she craved. She had always been somewhat frustrated in that regard, since her husband's sex drive never came close to matching her own. But having already been formidable in her forties, her sex drive now seemed only to be increasing in intensity into her late fifties. That being the case, take a fifty-eight year old, sexually ravenous older woman, dress her up and make her feel sexy, add a few too many glasses of champagne, and put her in the arms of a handsome young man on the dance floor (albeit an adopted nephew young enough to be her grandc***d), and you have a recipe for some inappropriately flirtatious comments.

"You look so beautiful, Auntie Doris," gushed Tristan, with innocent, disarming sincerity.

"Well, young man," countered Doris, with a mischievous smile, "I thank you for your lovely compliment. Let me tell you, if I were forty years younger -- you would be in a great deal of danger!"

"Oh?" he said smiling; his face going a bit flush. "What do you mean?"

"Well, let's just say that if I were your age, the chances of you getting inside my panties tonight would be very, very good."

A broad, bashful smile formed across Tristan's mouth, and he blushed conspicuously in reaction to her rather forward, champagne-induced comments. This only succeeded in endearing him to her even more.

"So, in summary," added Doris in mock thought. "You're drop dead gorgeous, tall, charming, mature beyond your years, you're a wonderful dancer, and you seem to have a way of making women say things they shouldn't ... I can only hope for your poor parents sake that you have a penis the size of my ex-husband's, as in rather small; otherwise, women will be breaking into your house in the middle of the night just to get at you."

Tristan could only smile at his Aunt's comment.

Afterwards, and feeling a little light-headed, Tristan escorted Doris out onto the patio for some fresh air. Doris thanked him for the dances and gently kissed him on the cheek; wiping a little lipstick smear from his cheek like a mother.

For Doris, the excess of champagne meant the rest of the night was all a bit of a blur to her the next day. Indeed, she did not remember returning to her guest house at all that night; yet awoke to find herself under the sheets of her own bed in just her lacy bra and panties -- her heels, dress, and jewellery, all neatly assembled across the loveseat by her bed.

Coffee and croissant restored her. Yet despite her foggy head, she was not so wanting in terms of memory to forget saying some naughty and inappropriate things to her nephew. Slightly horrified upon reflection, she sighed and committed herself to making amends later that day. She only hoped that she hadn't embarrassed herself too greatly, and that no one else had heard. Hopefully, young Tristan would take pity on his poor, horny Aunt and say nothing to his mother.

She had just exited her suite, dressed in sandals, Capri pants, and a relatively low-cut blouse, when she heard a honk from the steps below. It was a smiling Tristan, perched atop his shiny Lambretta scooter.

Oh dear, thought Doris -- but before she could offer a word of apology for the night before, Tristan launched into his plans to take her along the coast to a lovely seaside restaurant for lunch. Grace and the rest of the family would be busy getting Amelie and her new husband ready for their honeymoon departure the next day, and Tristan's mother had asked him to take his Aunt to see a bit of the beautiful coastline. Ready for her morning adventure, Doris straddled the scooter behind her young charge and off they went.

The coastline was indeed stunning, and the feeling of the salty breeze in her hair was exhilarating. She indulged herself in a quiet little tease by pressing her large bosom firmly against Tristan's warm, strong back. After touring around all morning, they found a lovely little spot for lunch. The restaurant was in an old, stone house that overlooked the ocean, and it was impossible to overlook the understated romance of the setting. The smell of flowers and citrus permeated the inside of the house.

Sitting across from each other, Doris finally offered a heartfelt apology for her behaviour from the night before. Again, ever the gentleman, Tristan assured her there was no need; that he'd had so much fun dancing with her. A few buttons of his shirt were undone, and she couldn't help but admire the suggestion of his strong, hairless chest. Truth be told, she had practically drooled at the view of his sculpted behind in his tight white jeans as they'd entered the restaurant together -- that underlying horniness had returned.

They enjoyed their lunch of sangria and tapas, and Doris genuinely delighted in her nephew's gracious company and charming conversation. Looking back after admiring the ocean view, she caught him looking at her in a way that was not like she had been looked at in some time. Above her low cut neckline, a healthy amount of deep cleavage and the top of her bra had become visible. Although he quickly averted his eyes, there was something incredibly and transparently sexual about how he had looked at her. When she realized how much it had excited her, she tried her best to suppress the feeling. There was no harm in thinking it, she thought to herself, but feelings could be dangerous, and she did everything she could to put the moment behind her.

Perhaps to overcome the awkwardness of the moment, and to lighten the mood, Grace began quizzing Tristan about his teenage romantic endeavours and his youthful experiences with members of the fairer sex. Tristan was slightly chagrinned by her motherly inquisition and blushed, which Doris found all the more endearing, and only made her want to hug him.

When pressed, he confessed to having had very little success with girls his age; at least beyond the initial crush stage. Doris found this difficult to believe, but he was clearly being genuine, even a little melancholic. He claimed not to be able to relate very well to girls his own age, and that he found them immature and superficial.

"Have you ever been in love?" she asked with maternalistic softness.

Tristan answered that he had -- just once -- and Doris was curious to hear what was doubtless a touching story of the girl who'd stolen his heart for the very first time. She expected it to be a young girl in her teens, but was shocked in the extreme when he revealed that it had been a woman in her early fifties!

Absolutely stunned by the revelation, Doris felt compelled to press further. Did his parents know about it -- no. Who was she -- the wife of a friend of his mother (my god, she thought to herself, married no less as well)! How long did it last -- several months, was his reply. Did she break his heart -- very much so. On that note, Tristan's face appeared quite forlorn. Doris reached across the table and placed her hand gently against his cheek.

"Oh, darling, I'm so very sorry."

Finally, she had one last question -- had they been intimate?

"Yes," he answered. "It was difficult at first, but then we made love so much."

"Difficult?" asked Doris, not understanding what he meant.

Her nephew was clearly reluctant to say more and averted his eyes. Doris placed her hand on his, leaned forward, and looked up into his downcast eyes.

"You can tell me, darling -- I'm your Auntie" she said tenderly. "Please ... don't be shy."

"My ... penis ... " he whispered bashfully.

Doris felt her own cheeks flush.

"Yes?

Again, Tristan seemed hesitant to speak.

"Oh, sweetie -- don't be shy, please" she continued. "I'm older than your mother -- you can tell me. What's wrong? Is it ... a little small?"

Tristan shook his head no, and Doris suppressed a sigh of excitement when she realized what it was he had been so shyly reluctant to reveal. "Is it ... quite, um ... big?" she asked quietly.

He nodded yes, eyes shyly downcast.

"Oh, darling -- you needn't be ashamed or embarrassed about that." Once again, she forced him to look into her eyes. "Sweetie, when two people love each other, they make adjustments and find ways to pleasure each other. I promise you everything will be okay. You needn't worry about that. Besides, when girls get a little older, they begin to understand their bodies better. And by the time they're grown women ... like me for instance, or much, much younger ... they, well, they often find a large penis very, very exciting and pleasurable."

Tristan looked up.

"Really?"

"Oh yes, darling -- you mustn't worry," replied Doris softly.

"Even when it doesn't fit?" added Tristan.

"What do you mean??" asked Doris.

"It never fits ... inside ... inside the girl, I mean" he answered earnestly, albeit with some exasperation for having to stumble a bit for the right words.

"The woman I loved -- she was the first woman I could ... she was the first one I could fit quite a bit of it inside; and even then not at first, and only after I had to ... force it. I really didn't like hurting her."

Doris was truly taken aback. This latest information genuinely shocked her; what was worse, it excited her. She felt flush all over.

"Tristan, darling, please don't be embarrassed," she said sweetly. "But ... exactly how big ... is it ... I mean, when it's fully aroused?"

Doris knew she was wrong to put the question to the boy, but she couldn't restrain herself.

"Eleven inches long and seven inches around," he admittedly sheepishly.

Despite wanting to remain stoic, Doris's eyes widened and she was forced to take in a deep breath.

"I beg your pardon?!?!" she gasped. "My god, sweetie!"

"It scares girls when they see it," he added.

"I'm very sure that it does!" exclaimed Doris. "That's ... well that's ... ex-TREME-ly large."

Then, sensing an absolute absence of ego on his part, and truly wanting to reassure the troubled young boy, she explained to him that despite being so well equipped, in time things would improve, and lovers would become better and better able to accommodate him. "It's a good thing I'm your Auntie, and old!" she said with a playful smile. "Otherwise, it would be a very dangerous thing for you to tell me what you've told me."

"What do you mean?" asked Tristan innocently.

"Well ... ," she continued, smiling. "It's just that I happen to adore, um ... a very large penis on a man. I hope I'm not embarrassing you by saying so, but it's true. If you were forty years older and not my nephew, I would be trying my very best to seduce you!"

The next day, Doris was still buzzing from her conversation with Tristan from the day before. Indeed, it had been on her mind off and on ever since. That evening, after sunset, the two of them went for a leisurely walk along the sandy beach, under the stars. Sandals in hand, the warm, moonlit sand felt exquisite under their bare feet. Despite his boyish looks, Doris had to keep reminding herself that the boy was only eighteen years old (and off limits) -- far younger than all her c***dren -- such was his maturity and the degree to which she enjoyed his company. He was both a gentle spirit and an old soul. Indeed, their budding friendship made her anxious. For when completely honest with herself, she had to face the fact that she was beginning to have genuine feelings for him; feelings that went beyond what was appropriate between an Aunt and a nephew; not to mention one with a forty year gap between them.
Earlier in the day, the bride and her new husband had left for their honeymoon, and they'd all made the trek to the airport together to say their goodbyes. Margot had left as well; heading back to France to be with her friends and to begin a summer course she needed before university began in the Fall.

When it was time for bed, they finished their walk in the cool night air and Tristan escorted Doris to her guest house off the beach. They bid their goodnights, and Doris leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek. An awkward, prolonged silence followed before Doris tenderly brushed his hair from his eyes, smiled, and walked away. Unbeknownst to her, Tristan never took his eyes from her until her door closed behind her. It may also have surprised her to know that she was now the recurring object of his conscious and u*********s thoughts.

Doris overslept the next morning, and awoke to find a message waiting for her from her sister. Grace, her husband Michel, and Tristan would be spending the day at the beach, and she was invited to join them. Despite the white sand beaches and turquoise waters just a short stroll from their suites, the offer gave Doris a brief pause. Vera was home to probably the most famous clothing-optional beaches in all of Europe, if not the world, and their particular stretch of it was no exception. She knew Grace and her family had always been rather liberal-minded when it came to communal, nude-sunbathing, hence the appeal of a place like Vera where it was so common. And although the thought of an 'unveiled' Tristan was enough to render her a little short of breath, at fifty-eight, she didn't know whether she herself could (or should) pull it off with dignity.

Had she not been in Vera, or even Europe in general, Doris would have worn a more modest one-piece, especially since a one-piece would draw slightly less attention to her large breasts. Instead, and as a compromise, she slipped on a relatively daring (for her, at least) white bikini, covered herself from the waist down in a semi-sheer sarong to draw attention away from her bigger behind, put of a big, floppy hat, and headed off to join the group.

When she got there, she was somewhat chagrinned to discover her sister and her husband lying on a blanket under a large sun umbrella completely nude. Indeed, looking around, she was hard pressed to spot anyone wearing more than a bikini bottom. Being mid-Summer, like her, the pair of them was quite tanned already. Michael, also in his late fifties, and Grace a few years younger, both retained attractive bodies. Grace was certainly smaller-chested than Doris, perhaps a D cup, but obviously quite fit. Doris observed that Michel was slightly larger than average in terms of endowment, and quite thick, and she thought her sister a lucky woman.

The two sisters began chatting under the intense but dry sun, and after not too much effort, Grace convinced Doris to remove her bikini top. She had to admit it felt deliciously freeing to be topless; and though she had planned to go no further and leave her string bikini bottoms on for modesty's sake, she decided to throw caution and North American attitudes about nudity to the wind. She was grateful for having had the prescience to trim her bikini line before leaving for Europe, and the sun and warm air felt marvellous between her legs. Trying to appear disinterested, Doris asked Grace where Tristan was. Her sister pointed to the water. Squinting, Doris could just make out her nephew, shoulder-deep in the water. She also couldn't help but notice that he seemed to be chatting amiably with two women who couldn't have been much younger than she was.

Her nephew's presence at the beach that day -- and Grace and Michel's, too -- was both exciting and slightly unnerving. She was hardly a prude, but that kind of casual nudity, such an ordinary occurrence for them, did not come quite as naturally to her, and consequently it all felt conspicuously sexual. With her nephew out in the water, Doris took advantage and used the moment to apply sun lotion to her breasts and body. The warmth of the sun made the tender, sensitive skin of her large areolas tingle and become puffy.

Doris was just settling back onto her elbows when she noticed Tristan heading towards shore. By the time he was waist deep, Doris was grateful for her dark sunglasses, since they helped obscure her visual eye candy indulgence. She kept replaying their conversation in the restaurant over on her mind. Could his self-assessment really be true? Dimensions like that would make even the least sceptical suspect hyperbole.

With the water at his waist, it was now obvious that her young nephew had indeed been blessed with a slim, beautiful body -- broad-shouldered, narrow-waisted, deliciously articulated abdominal muscles. But when he emerged from the water entirely, Doris, slack-jawed and wide-eyed in utter disbelief, discovered that Tristan -- clearly a man of his word -- was conspicuously blessed in another way as well. Although he wore a very brief, narrow-sided men's bikini swimsuit, it did nothing to obscure the unmistakable largesse between his legs. The swimsuit was obviously made of a very thin, stretchy nylon-lycra, and the weighted front pouch appeared to be restraining a small, coiled arm. The thickness and size of the outline suggested a penis not out of place on a studding horse!

Indeed, she was so taken aback that, without thinking, she turned to look at her sister as if to say, 'Are you seeing what I'm seeing??' But Grace was, for obvious reasons, non-plussed about it; and her young son's 'largesse' was obviously not worthy of comment. That was not true, however, of a number of others that day, as Tristan's obvious gift garnered surreptitious glances from sunbathers nearby. It was also quite understandable; the preternaturally large bulge in the front of her nephew's swimsuit was truly noteworthy; enough to make even the most secure male wither in juxtaposition. To say that the handsome young boy had a 'big dick' was obviously an understatement. She smiled at Tristan as he approached.

"Hi, Auntie Doris," he said cheerfully, sitting down on the towel next to his mother and drying himself off. In a flash of initial bashfulness, Doris resisted the urge to suddenly cover herself. And though they both tried to appear otherwise, she and Tristan were keenly aware of each other's presence; smiling at each other several times. In truth, being completely nude in his company gave her a private thrill.

The fact that they all began to converse and drink wine together, as if sitting together in the nude was the most natural thing in the world, somehow only added to the strangeness of it all for her. Stranger still was the (albeit understandable) non-acknowledgement of Tristan's swimsuit and his apparent reluctance to join in.

Despite her initial reservations about public nudity and a clothing-optional beach, especially with family, over the course of the afternoon and after enough wine, her natural reserve began to give way to a sort of happy and confident hedonism. Simply put, the group nudity began to turn her on. She took a special delight in feeling Tristan's eyes upon her; catching him stealing a look at the dark delta between her legs.

Though she was loathe make assumptions, the thought that such a beautiful young boy might find her even remotely sexually attractive gave her an additional shiver of excitement. In truth, whether she knew it or not, despite her body's imperfections and battles with age -- the encroachment of cellulite, the slightly less buoyant breasts, the wide hips, bigger behind, and fleshier arms and thighs -- the fact was, Doris was still a very voluptuous and desirable-looking woman; a fact that was not lost on the young man in her midst.

Looking around, Doris felt an uncomfortable pang of jealousy whenever someone, usually a woman or a group of women, took notice of her handsome nephew. She decided to take her mind off it all, and to clear her head a bit after the wine, by going for a walk along the beach. She got up and, brushing sand from her behind, announced her intentions to her prone, sunbathing companions. She had just started off when she heard Tristan sidle up beside her.

"Auntie Doris, is it okay if I come with you?"

"Of course, sweetie"

It was more than okay; though his presence was beginning to make her feel a little like a silly school girl. She sighed at the slightly humiliating thought that she might have developed a crush on a mere boy. What WAS now clear was that she lusted mightily after his young body; and even what most women would surmise -- though still concealed by his swimsuit -- was a dangerously and prohibitively large weapon.

Despite feeling more and more at ease at the beach that day, it still felt a little strange (albeit exhilaratingly so) to be brazenly walking along the beach in the nude. And they made quite a pair -- she, with heavy breasts heaving and swaying as she made her way through the hot sand; her hips and ripe, fleshy behind rising and falling; he, with his brief, overtaxed swimsuit restraining a young male sex the size of a small, boneless arm.

After walking quite a ways -- far along down the beach -- and feeling a little overwhelmed by the intense Spanish sun, the two of them took refuge under a canopied, outdoor stand-up shower that was right on the beach. There were half a dozen nozzles, in sets of two, and they gladly stepped into the shade under a couple to drench themselves in the cool, revivifying waters.

"You've got sand all over your back of your swimsuit, darling" observed Doris aloud. She turned Tristan so that the water hit his back; brushing sand from the bright white material with her hands. His bum was a thing of sculpted beauty to her -- taut and small and pleasingly-shaped. She then turned him to face her, ostensibly to see if he had sand elsewhere, but took the moment to watch the water cascade over his chest and down past his flat stomach.

She looked up and their eyes met. After a few seconds of intense eye contact, Tristan shyly looked away while his Aunt softly brushed away sand from his chest.

"Wouldn't you rather take off your swimsuit, Tristan," she said. "It really does feel wonderful, and it can't be comfortable to have something so ... big ... tucked inside such a brief simwsuit."

She sensed his reluctance, but pressed on, approaching him closely.

"Here -- let me," she said with a smile.

While her nephew stood in silence looking on, Doris placed her fingers inside the stretchy waistband and slipped it off. What she saw next genuinely took her breath away, as his massive sex fell out from its constraint and slapped heavily against his thigh.

Doris surmised that it was a good seven plus inches long in its relaxed state; as thick as her wrist at its widest point, with a large vein running along its length and tapering down to a smooth, spongy-looking circumcised head. Miraculously, as big as the head was, the shaft was thicker and wider.

"Sweetie, I don't mean to stare, and I really don't want to embarrass you, but you really are an incredibly big boy," she said eyeing his manhood with obvious awe and admiration. "Clearly, you weren't exaggerating -- I've never SEEN one that large before. My goodness -- you'd tear me in two! Adding with a wink, "Oh, but what a way to go."

"And I've never seen breasts as big or as beautiful as yours, Auntie Doris" stammered Tristan.

"Oh, aren't you a lovely boy? Thanks you, sweetie," she cooed.

Standing closer now, under Tristan's shower, Doris turned and asked him to see if she had any sand on her behind. With a quick intake of breath, she closed her eyes momentarily as she felt his strong, warm hands softly brush against her naked bottom. It had been so long since she'd felt the touch of a man's hands on her body; let alone those of such as her winsome young boy.

She turned again to face him directly; meeting his eyes with her own while running her fingers through her wet hair under the shower. Affording him a purposeful and prolonged view of her matronly yet voluptuous figure, she took unspoken delight in his nervous but failed attempts to avoid gazing upon her large breasts, or the dark but trimmed pubic triangle between her legs. Even more delightful was the look of quiet panic on Tristan's face when his huge organ began to thicken and lengthen noticeably. Before the situation got out of hand, Doris took pity on the poor boy, turned off their shower, and encouraged him to wade out into the water -- ostensibly to determine whether that area of the beach had a sandy bottom or not -- before they set off back towards where his parents were.

As they stepped out, Doris overheard a woman in the stall next to them whisper to her friend in English, "Pssst, Helen -- don't be obvious about it, but look at the size of the thing between that boy's legs!"

She lingered at the shoreline until sufficient time had passed for Tristan's embarrassing 'swelling' to abate. Clearly relieved, he emerged a few minutes later and the two of them made their way back. When at one point Tristan briefly slipped his hand into hers, she didn't know whether it was the European in him or a sign of deeper portent. Regardless, his gentle touch elicited a warm shiver, and she brought his hand to her lips and kissed it.

Later that evening came the news that Grace and her husband were planning a four day excursion of their own to Madrid the next morning. Grace seemed a bit puzzled by her sister's reaction to the news -- that perhaps it wasn't a very good idea. But she assured her that Tristan would be fine on his own in their guest house for a few days, and that they needed a little time on their own. In truth, Doris found the thought of she and her nephew left alone dangerously alluring. So much so that she had tried several times to convince her sister not to leave. But Doris's argument made no sense to her sister and they persisted with their plans. When she bade Grace and Michel goodbye the next morning, Doris felt a mixture of wariness and excitement -- like boarding a train not knowing what the final destination might be. The only thing she WAS sure of was that the thoughts and feelings she harboured for her nephew were both strictly forbidden ... and deeply beguiling.

The morning passed without incident, then early afternoon. As the hot Spanish sun began its first, late afternoon move towards early sunset, Doris spotted Tristan through the vented shutters of her suite, wandering back from the beach.

He had his swimsuit on again, but looked so beautiful still; so sexy and windswept. Doris might have swooned were it not for the fact that the same woman that had joined Tristan in the water the day before was walking next to him again. She was indeed roughly her age; rather handsome-featured, with a lovely figure. It was clear to Doris that the woman was rather taken with the young boy. Tristan's pleasant and innocent demeanour, and sweet manners, made it difficult to tell whether he felt the same way or was even aware of the woman's doubtless lustful interest. But seeing them together, apparently talking quite happily, forced Doris to acknowledge a twinge of jealousy. Something about that realization wore down her last shreds of familial morality, discretion, and restraint, and she found herself reaching for her mobile phone; heard herself inviting her very young nephew out for a candlelit dinner later that evening ...

Later, the dusky, early evening sun was still sufficient for her to dress for dinner without having to turn on a light. In her mirror, the black panties (drops of perfume in the front panel) contrasted starkly with her smooth, bronzed skin. They were delicate and very brief, and given her fleshy hips, the very narrow sides created a slight bulging, though not enough to dispel her courage to wear them for what was a very special occasion. The matching bra (with perfume in the large cups) was efficient for someone her size but still pretty. Cocking her head, she approved of the way it supported her balcony of formidable cleavage.

Garterless thigh high silk stockings were next, followed by the final, potential obstacle to feeling genuinely sexy -- the relative fit of her rather snug (lately, at least), rather short, and rather low cut black cocktail dress. She shimmied with some effort and drew it down over her womanly hips and ripe behind. Zipped up and assessing herself in profile, she was grateful for having had the will to resist too many tasty indulgences that week. Although there was definitely a bit of a feminine belly, her tummy was still relatively flat, which only made her cantilevered bust to waist ratio even more pronounced -- the kind of ratio that prompted both men and women alike to wonder to themselves, 'How does she not fall forward??'

Perfumed, with well-coiffed salt-and-pepper hair, earrings, open-toed heels, and lipstick in place -- the wrinkles around the still luminous eyes obscured as best as possible -- she took one last look and then froze.

"What ARE you doing??" she thought to herself; staring at her provocative reflection in the mirror. "He's an eighteen year old boy, for god's sake -- and he's your sister's c***d!" A brief, momentary crisis of conscience followed. She sighed and stood in pensive silence, looking over at her chic purse; remembering her trip to the 'farmacia' earlier that day, and the awkward conversation with the young female pharmacist behind the counter. The girl had tried so hard to understand Doris's limited Spanish and be helpful -- "Tiene ... condoms? Condoms ... muy muy grande? Tiene lubricación para ... el sexo? "Um, el ... pene de mi amante es ... gigantesco." In the end, the girl had discreetly directed her to a shop for lovers across the street, and the extra large condoms and lube were now tucked inside her small purse.

Finally, after much agonizing, she defaulted to the broadest of rationalizations -- life was short, he was adopted, she cared very much for him, and passionate lovemaking had been too long denied to her. If it happened at all, it would be because they were two consensual people who both wanted physical intimacy. She grabbed her purse and left for the restaurant.

She arrived to find her handsome young companion for the evening already seated. The ambience in the restaurant was as she's hoped -- intimate, quiet, elegant, and darkly lit. Tristan looked so boyishly handsome in his black blazer, stylish jeans, and v-neck shirt. He held the chair for her, obviously impressed with the way she looked. She smiled at him like a beaming mother and kissed him softly on the cheek.

"You look ... unbelievably beautiful, Auntie Doris" he gushed.

"Why thank you, kind sir," she replied with a warm smile. "You look positively good enough to eat, but I think I'll have a salad just the same."

They ordered cocktails to start, and Doris felt immensely more relaxed once the gin began to take effect. They ordered, and, sitting closely, enjoyed a lovely dinner, several glasses of wine, and delightful conversation, for what seemed to both of them like an hour but was actually almost three. The signals were there in spades -- intense eye contact, flirtatious hair touch-ups, knowing glances, and warm smiles. Doris placed her hand atop Tristan's a number of times, and restaurant staff would be forgiven for being confused about the true nature of their relationship -- mother and son? Teacher and student? Grandmother and grandson? May-December lovers?

Despite his boyish innocence and latent shyness, it would have been clear to any observer that Tristan was absolutely smitten with his Aunt. He listened intently to her stories, laughed at her amusing anecdotes, and was often gushing in his praise. After more wine than he was used to, he also became increasingly transparent in the way he looked at her; admiring the agreeable way she filled out her tight dress.
For Doris, the confluence of romantic forces was irresistible -- the wine, the romantic setting, the enchanting conversation, and the gorgeous and doting young man who made her feel like the centre of his world in that moment; made her feel sexier than she probably ever had. It was a lethal mix, and her panties became so wet during dinner she worried Tristan might detect the strong feminine scent emanating from between her stockinged thighs.

"This is so nice, I don't want this evening to end," said Tristan.

Doris paused for a moment, and then threw caution to the wind.

"Well, it's doesn't have to, you know," she said, and then paused. "Would you like to come back to my room with me?" she asked.

Tristan blushed so deeply it was apparent even in the dim candlelight.

"Of course -- it's late," he stuttered. "I would be happy to ... to walk you back to your suite."

If it was possible, in that very moment, Doris found him as sweet, innocent, and adoringly cute as she did irresistibly sexy. She leaned forward, took his trembling hand in hers, looked at him with a warm, affectionate smile, and whispered softly.

"No, silly -- I meant so that we can make love."

He swallowed hard. She gripped his large, warm hand; his nervousness brought out the nurturing mother in her.

"Oh, sweetie -- it's okay. I promise. Please don't be shy or feel bad or afraid. It's just two people who care very deeply for each other, wanting to express that intimately. The best sex really is love and physical pleasure, you know. It will be our little secret, darling. I promise. No one else ever need know."

She placed her hand gently under his chin and lifted his bashful, downcast eyes up to hers.

"Don't you want to go to bed with me, darling?" she asked.

"Oh my god -- yes, so much," came the quick response. "But ... "

"But what?" she continued, with tentative excitement.

"But, I ... I don't want to hurt you, Auntie Doris."

His concern was so genuine, it was all Doris could do not to smother him with tender, motherly kisses.

"Oh my darling, please don't worry your pretty little head about that, okay?" she said, playfully tapping the end of his nose with her finger. "You let me worry about that, okay?" After Doris signed over the bill to her room, Tristan gallantly held her chair for her. The sight of her from behind -- the narrow, cinched waist, wide hips, and voluptuous derriere -- made his young heart quicken.

"My sweet," said Doris. "I'd like to go back to my suite, freshen up a bit, and change into something a little more comfortable. Would you be a very kind gentleman and allow me about twenty minutes before you come round?"

"Of course!" stammered Tristan.

"Thank you, sweetie -- I know, we women are so silly sometimes, aren't we?"

Doris kissed Tristan on the cheek and left.

Back at her suite -- half nester, half seductress -- she quickly set about creating the proper atmosphere for a deliciously romantic evening that would, hopefully, end in each other's arms -- large, scented candles; soft, Brazillian bossa nova music in the background, chilled champagne, and large throw pillows s**ttered all around the spacious sectional sofa and her king-sized canopy bed. For the final touch, she slipped into a very short, semi-sheer black baby doll and matching panties. The colour of her baby doll matched her silk stockings, so she left them on. The lingerie was delicate and light; the semi-sheer fabric revealed the dark shadows of her trimmed maidenhead and the saucer-sized areolas of her breasts.

Doris had just touched up her lipstick when there was a soft knock. She took a deep breath and opened the door. Tristan stood tall before her holding a bouquet of roses.

"Oh, you dear! That's so sweet of you, thank you," gushed Doris. She found a vase by the window for the flowers, and Tristan seized the opportunity to feast his eyes upon the line down his Aunt's womanly bum.

Doris poured two glasses of champagne, handed one to him, and then sat down among the pillows on the expansive sectional sofa.

"Mmmm, yummy," she cooed, taking a first sip.

Doris smiled and patted the spot on the sofa next to her. "Why don't you take off your jacket and sit down?"

Tristan, still looking a little bashful and awkward (which Doris found ridiculously cute), did as she asked and settled in beside her. He found her perfume intoxicating and somehow so 'adult'.

Doris set their glasses down at their eyes met; one of her eyes partially and seductively obscured by her stylish, grey-streaked hair.

"I would like to thank you for your lovely flowers," she said with allure. "But before I do, I want to make sure it's alright if I thank you with a kiss."

Tristan, worried he might actually not be able to speak, merely nodded.

"I'm very glad you don't mind," she winked; moving in close and pressing herself against him. "And you must promise me -- no 'Auntie kiss' this time?"

Before Tristan could nod his head in agreement, his eager Aunt cupped his face in her hands and pressed her pillowy lips to his. It was a kiss both had been fantasizing about for some time, and it did not disappoint. What began slowly, softly, and tenderly, soon became wet and hungry and passionate; their breathing pronounced. Tristan had never been kissed quite like that before, not really. It was so hungry, so wanton. He was inspired to return the passion. Their kissing got him over the worst of his nerves but he still couldn't quite believe what was happening. Her warm, wet tongue groped his, and he could feel the sleeping giant between his legs awaken in earnest.

"Hold me in your arms, darling," said Doris. Tristan took her soft, voluptuous form and held her to him. She adored being held in a man's arms -- it had been so long she thought she might melt.

After a long, sensual snuggle, Doris got up and straddled his hips. Tristan could feel the heat of her sex through her flimsy panties and his pants. She took his hands and placed them on her soft, curvy behind, then drew her manicured nails across the front of her brief panties, drawing his attention to the visible outline of a dark, trimmed triangle beneath.

"Do you like the pretty little bow on my panties?" asked Doris coyly. But before her handsome boy lover was able to comment, she pointed to the one that tied the top of her babydoll.

"And what about this one?" she asked. Tristan nodded in the affirmative.

With that, Doris slowly untied the drawstring. A heartfelt "Wow" was all he could manage when her heavy breasts were unleashed.

"Bit large, aren't they?" she said.

"No!" he shot back. ""They're unbelievably beautiful."

She cupped a heavy breast in her hand and with the other behind Tristan's neck, brought his sensuous lips to her swollen areolas. Though daunted by their size, he eagerly kissed and suckled, first one then the other; causing them to swell and puff up like large conical caps.

Doris let out a soft moan, tilted her head back, and closed her eyes.

"Ohhhhhhh, that feels wonderful, darling," She purred. "I love the way you kiss and suck my breasts. Please, darling ... suck them harder."

Tristan obliged like a hungry, nursing c***d. Doris groaned and gasped whenever he gently drew his teeth across the swollen tips. He marvelled at how weighty and firm they felt in his hands.

A ferocious hunger came over her, and she felt a warm tingling developing in the pit of her belly. She cupped his face in her hands once again and kissed him passionately.

"I can't believe how gorgeous and sexy you are, and how wet you make me."

She climbed off and sat next to him; pressing her large breasts against her young conquest. Gently tracing his ear with the fingers of one hand, she slowly drew her other hand down over the inside of Tristan's pant leg.

"My god, Tristan -- is that all really YOU??!!"

Indeed, it was. Doris ran her fingers along the length of his pant leg a good half way to his knee. At the halfway point, she gave the fat shaft a gentle squeeze.

"Woooaaahh," she said slowly, genuinely wide-eyed.

Tristan carefully assessed her reaction, for this was the moment when most women blanched at the idea of continuing much further; such was the degree of nervousness and fear that invariably followed a closer, more firsthand inspection of his expanded endowment. His albeit limited sexual experience had taught him that a woman's eyes were almost always bigger than her pussy at the moment of truth. But he would not have to wait long for his fears to be dispelled.

"Can you grab Auntie's purse, sweetie?" she asked, motioning to it sitting by the sofa.

Doris then took Tristan by the hand, led him into the bedroom with her purse in hand, and sat him down on the edge of the bed.

"Can I see it?" she asked, pointing between his legs.

Without waiting for an answer, and while her young charge silently looked on, staring at the breasts he had just tasted, she knelt before him and removed his shoes, socks, and unbuttoned his shirt. Then, unzipping his pants, she reached up and pulled down his pants.

Eleven, stiffening inches of forearm-thick cock dropped out between his parted thighs, bobbing rigidly.

"Pardon my language, dear, but good fucking GOD!!"

"Does it turn you off or scare you?" he asked sheepishly.

"Oh, my darling -- no, it doesn't turn me off; quite the contrary."

"It makes me a little nervous, I'll admit to that," she added breathlessly. "You have by far the biggest cock I've ever seen in my life. I mean it's positively GIGANTIC. But no, it's definitely NOT a turn off."

She moved in closer, still on her knees, forcing his thighs apart. Grasping the shaft with both hands, she gasped out loud once more.

"My fingers don't even reach all the way around it," she observed incredulously, as if she were speaking to herself. She began to lovingly draw her grip up and down the immense length of it; staring at it, amazed.

"My goodness, you're beautiful," gushed Doris. "Would it be alright if I tried to put it in my mouth?" she asked. Tristan nodded, and Doris leaned closer still; first kissing the side of the shaft, then enveloping the massive head with her sensual lips. His head arched back when her warm mouth and wet tongue first tasted the tip of his hardening monster. The head was so big she had to be careful not to draw her teeth across it.

Watching his reaction, she suckled the huge head then spread her lips and attempted more. With her lips stretched rather comically, and her tongue forced against the bottom of her mouth, she managed several more inches. Tristan looked on in quiet admiration; at his Aunt's willingness to repeatedly gag herself on his erection.

With both hands pumping the shaft, she began sucking his giant cock in earnest. Saliva began to build up in her mouth, and his size was such that she was rather helpless to do anything about it. Consequently, a sticky mixture of lipstick and spit began oozing from her lips and trickling down over her fingers. Her pace quickened; her head began to bob; and the head of Tristan's erection began bumping against the back of Doris's throat. She moaned as she tried valiantly to accommodate more and more of him in her mouth without gagging. Despite her best efforts, though, she could only manage a small fraction of it. Still, her wanton enthusiasm continued to shock Tristan. He'd never experienced a woman so eager to pleasure him orally. He did not think her 'old', but somehow the site of his Aunt, a woman approaching sixty, sucking his cock so hungrily, left him in awed rapture.

"As much as I want you to cum on my face and breasts, sweetie, I want sex," she said, panting and catching her breath. "I need you to fuck me, darling."

Something in her unfiltered and naked lust emboldened him. Like the gallant young man that he was, he took his Aunt's hand and helped her up; his giant, rigid prong bobbing straight out and down from between his legs.

"Can I take off your panties, Auntie Doris?" he asked ever so sweetly.

"Of course, my sweet," she replied eagerly.

Angling her shoulders, she removed her opened babydoll. Her young lover approached and gently traced her naked shoulders with his fingers; softly kissing her neck. Doris closed her eyes and gasped when she felt his heavy, hard sex brush against her side; when his thumb brushed across her swollen nipple. Then, without warning, Tristan picked her up in his arms, took her to the bed, and gently laid her down. Kneeling before her at the end of the expansive, king size bed, he raised her knees, reached under her behind on both sides, and gently removed her tiny, sexy panties. Doris parted her legs and watched as the young boy slowly kissed the insides of her fleshy thighs; thighs already damp and sticky from the excess wetness between her legs. He briefly sat back on his heels; bringing her wet panties to his nose.

"God, you're so incredibly sexy," purred Doris. Then, pointing down to her exposed pussy, added, "Auntie Doris wants you to kiss her here."

Requiring no further direction or encouragement, he gently pressed his mouth to her warm labial lips, eliciting another intake of breath. Soon, as Tristan's tongue began to circle and pass over his Aunt's clitoris with ever-increasing pressure and frequency, she began to swoon.

"Oh, darling, yeesssssss," she groaned.

Gripping his hair roughly between her fingers, she pressed his face forcefully between her thighs.

"That's it, sweetie ... Don't stop ... Oh, god, I love the way you lick my pussy."

Despite being such a young man, Tristan's oral talents were beyond reproach. And with the warm, tingling sensation approaching a crescendo in the depths of her belly, Doris soon cried out, arched her back, and roughly gripped his hair with clenched, sweaty fingers, as wave after wave of a tsunami-like orgasm rippled though her body. After her groans and contortions had abated, the two cuddled together once more; suckling each other's tongues. Still kissing and biting each other's lips, Doris reached down with her hand and gripped the rock hard monster that had likely caused more than a few women to walk awkwardly for several days. She didn't know which to be more incredulous about -- the incredible length or formidable girth. The smooth skin was taut now. It felt like a warm club. She knew it was soon to lay waste to her delicate nether region, and the nervous excitement made her tremble.

She held his face with her hand and drew his eyes to hers.

"Sweetie, I want you to put that inside me ... now," she said.

Tristan, though sexually primed as only a young man can be, still did his best to restrain his lust. This was his Aunt. He cared for her very much. His unusual size was ruinous to women's pussies -- this he knew -- and he did not relish the idea of causing the object of his newfound affections pain.

Are you sure?" he asked one last time.

"Get Auntie's purse," she whispered softly.

She had him reach inside for the lubrication, telling him to disregard the XXL condoms.

"Smear that all over that giant cock of yours," said Doris.

When she practically begged him to make love to her, he positioned himself between her legs and laid his enormous weapon across her belly. Her eyes widened yet again when she looked down and observed that it extended beyond her navel. From that perspective, the incongruity of something that large fitting inside her was all too apparent. With his strong hands resting atop her raised knees, she reached down and stroked it lovingly; marvelling at its punitive dimensions.

"My god, I so want you inside me," she gushed, as if surprised by her own courage. "I don't know if I can handle all that, but I so want to try. I want it to fit; and as long as we're patient and take our time, I think it will," she said. "But even if I cry out, please don't stop. Promise me that if I cry out that it's too big, you will keep trying, darling. There will be pain. But don't let that stop you."

She briefly placed his thumb inside her mouth, suckling it with raw passion. Then, taking his hands in hers, she spat several times into his palms. Tristan worked her spit over the already well lubricated shaft of his gigantic cock, making it glisten.

Doris's breathing became more pronounced in anticipation of what would doubtless be a difficult penetration; her large-breasted chest rose and fell as the young boy, gripping his penis with both hands, pointed the tip towards her narrow point of entry. Tristan slowly began drawing the tip up and down between the petals of her moist flower; gently priming it for the onslaught to come.

"Are you ready, Auntie?" he asked. Doris nodded and, gripping the front of the shaft tightly, Tristan leaned forward and slowly started trying to push the head inside.

Not immune to signals or body language -- in fact being quite sensitive to them -- he noticed that Doris began clenching the bed sheets tightly with both hands right away. He heard the quick intake of breath, and watched as she closed her eyes and tried to focus on her breathing. After three of four unsuccessful attempts, Doris managed to relax enough that the head finally disappeared between her stretched labia.

"Holy FUCK that thing is huge," she whimpered; no longer mindful of sounding like a proper lady. "Go slow, okay, sweetie? That thing could really hurt me."

Despite not wanting to inflict pain, and going out of his way not be a brute, Tristan still quietly enjoyed the rush of being able to overwhelm women like he could. His Aunt was no exception. Forty years older and far more sexually experienced, yet clearly still dizzy and breathless from his size.

Having gained the head, Tristan began slowly applying more and more pelvic force to his probing and stretching. Doris's labial lips were soon stretched taut; dilated to the max by his 'pop can' girth. With gentle rocking, and slow, incremental gains, he eventually fit a respectable fifth or sixth inch inside her.

"OH. MY. GOD!" gasped Doris; mouth agape; eyes rolling back in her head. "You feel like a bloody baseball bat!"

Doris continued to whimper and pant as her young charge gained more and more ground. Each time progress was made, he would stop and allow her to breathe and relax. At one point, she raised her head and looked down, wincing, to observe the intensely erotic site -- her lover's enormous cock slowly disappearing between her matronly thighs. His young body was so tight and beautiful.

In truth, even at that moment, she still felt somewhat self-conscious about the fleshy deposits in her thighs, hips, and behind in comparison to his young body, but they were beyond that now. Lovers.

"Oh god," she hissed though gritted teeth. "You're so fucking DEEP."

By about inch nine, with Doris sounding almost faint, and after what seemed to them like an eternity of slow, measured progress, Tristan felt the head bump against her cervix. She had topped out with only about two solid inches to spare.

Feeling more confident and excited that they might actually be able to make love properly, Tristan became more verbally expressive. After allowing his Aunt time to adjust, he withdrew to the tip then buried his fat battering ram back inside her snatch in one full, nine inch delivery. He knew just when to pull back to avoid hitting her cervix again, but Doris still almost barked from the greater force of it.

"You feel that, Auntie," said Tristan. "Feel ALL that cock inside you?"

"Oh god, yessss," groaned a weakened Doris in response. "I've never ... It's so ... You're stretching my pussy, filling me -- feeling like a young girl again!"

On each in-stroke, Tristan's cock was so thick, Doris's labia lips folded inward, almost disappearing, and causing her clit to rub against the top ridge of his shaft. Conversely, with each out-stroke, she felt as though he might take her delicate insides with him.
Like a train leaving the station, his pace began to build momentum; his in-and-out thrusts becoming faster and more forceful. Doris's manicured nails dug deeply into Tristan's forearms and made him wince.

"Good girl," he offered encouragingly. "Take that huge cock like a good girl."

The pain came in waves, but Doris was determined not to surrender. With Tristan's cock-pumping now reaching battering ram force, she bit her knuckle to avoid crying out and signalling that she really couldn't handle him; that he was just far too big; that her little sheath was no match for it after all.

"Oh ... god," she whimpered; barely audible and swallowing hard. "Oh ... my ... you're splitting me in two ... "

Tristan was grunting now, the Mediterranean heat causing beads of sweat to form on his brow.

"You're as tight as a vice, Auntie" he hissed.

Still, as their lovemaking continued unabated, Doris began to reap the benefits of mind over body. Forcing herself to relax and not panic, the pain slowly began to morph into pleasure. An intense endorphin rush of primal pleasure. She was just beginning to be engulfed in the euphoria of it when Tristan withdrew and directed her to get on her hands and knees. With her vagina stretched and fixed into a temporary 'O' from the size of Tristan's cock, she obliged and braced herself against the bedpost like someone bracing themselves against impending hurricane-force winds.

She closed her eyes as he re-inserted the head of his massive weapon between the lips of her now raw slit. Somehow she felt even more vulnerable on her hands and knees; facing her pillow; her fleshy behind and tender pussy exposed and vulnerable to the inevitable assault. Her pussy now a temporarily stretched canal, Tristan was soon pounding into her again with long, forceful, relentless thrusting. Her large breasts pressed into the pillows, she could feel her slightly Rubenesque derriere jiggle with the v******e of his pounding.

"Holy FUCK!!!" she panted. "That thing is so ... FUCKING ... HUGE!!!"

With his hands tightly gripping her waist now, Tristan began bucking into her with complete abandon; a first for him. It was then Doris was hit with the first of several teeth-jarring, vaginal orgasms (firts for HER). They came in waves; making her dizzy with a euphoric cocktail of complete release and grinding pleasure.

"That's it, sweetie!!!" she shrieked almost hoarsely. "Don't stop!!! Please don't stop!!! FUCK me!!! FUCK me with that giant dick!!! Oh darling, you OWN Auntie's pussy!!!"

He grabbed her hair roughly and grunted; mercilessly assaulting her overmatched maidenhead with extreme force and size.

"You're pussy feels so amazing, so tight," moaned Tristan, adding, "I think I'm going to cum ... "

He withdrew and stepped off the bed. Doris let go her tight, sweaty grip on the bedpost and sat facing him on the edge of the bed; watching him stroke his delicious, eleven inch monster.

"That's it, sweetie -- good boy," cooed Doris. "Cum on Auntie's face and in her mouth.

Vigorously pumping his long shaft with both hands, his sac tightening, Tristan grunted a final, deep grunt; his butt and tummy tightening as fishing line stream after fishing line stream of hot white cum jettisoned from the head and splashed across her face and breasts; hitting the back of her throat; and laying in streaks across her chin.

Doris drew her fingers across her breas