I'm A Bad Aunt, But Not Really An Aunt: Part 2 free porn video

The first day or two, or three for that matter, with Thomas around was rough. My body and my mind were locked in a constant battle. That isn’t correct! My body and mind were in simpatico, wanting him. My conscience, on the other hand, kept belaboring the reality that he was not only my friend’s stepson, which made him too much like real family to even think about that way, but also that he just viewed me as his aunt.

The age difference didn’t bother me at all; he is in his twenties, and I’m in my thirties. I have a very casual lover in his fifties, and I’d recently tried my hand, and other things, at a barely-twenty guy. Too bad that youngling only talked a good game but didn’t have the bite to back up his bark. After the initial ‘getting to know you’ phase with Thomas, though, we settled into a sort of routine, comfortable with each other’s company. On the surface, it was pleasant and easy-going; just beneath that calm, my heart and imagination waxed naughty and perverted. I was in a constant state of arousal but refused to let it show. The forbidden desire was so strong, though, that I gave myself a masturbation workout every night, and sometimes during the day as well.

Tommy would get up very early every morning and go through his morning exercise routine. Sometimes I’d join him; sometimes I’d watch from my window, thankful that I was covered from the waist down, lest he see how I had been keeping my hands busy. I was determined to keep my forbidden lust to myself, to never let it show.

Many were the times I went through my entire wardrobe to find something not-sexy so as not to give him the wrong idea. I had enough wrong ideas, myself! So rather than spurring myself into a sexual frenzy I started dressing more conservative and plain. That didn’t help at all. My more conservative dress only served as a constant reminder of my forbidden lust.

He’d go into the city for his internship most mornings, and I would attend to my business. Then he’d show up in the late afternoon, sometimes with food, always beaming over the things he had done or learned. On the weekends we’d work around the house, Thomas making good on his promise to earn his keep.

Sometimes we’d go sightseeing or into the city. Young women and girls would swoon over his rugged good looks from afar; women my age or older would shoot slut-daggers at me with their eyes. I knew exactly what they were thinking because I was thinking the same exact things. No, slut-shaming, as it is currently called, doesn’t faze me in the least. The only reason those prurient-seeming women were throwing me those evil looks was because they thought that Thomas was my own personal trophy boy. They were jealous, and both they and I knew it. Too bad the truth didn’t match their suspicions; I’d have been absolutely glowing at their hatred!

We quickly grew at ease around each other, my constant lusting after him notwithstanding. I tried to be on my best behavior and to keep naughty thoughts of him from my mind, but being around him was so enjoyable that I soon forgot myself in his presence. Beneath my aunt-like exterior, I was a raging orgy of forbidden desire.

Thomas was intelligent, jovial, opinionated while being respectful, and very empathetic. In short he was charming. He also had a way of making everything he said allude to the sexual urges inside me. He also made me feel like the only woman in existence. He was seemingly unaware of this effect as he was never anything other than the proper gentleman. It was a huge contrast to his rugged handsomeness; he was the beauty and the beast all at once. Meanwhile, my lust grew into an obsession, a secret obsession. If only he saw me with the same lust and passion that I viewed him. If only he weren’t sort of my nephew.

My mornings were brightened by watching him writhe around in his workout attire. My days would be spent thinking lusty thoughts about him. Our evenings would be filled with company and laughter. Once, while out in the city, I saw a young man that strongly resembled Thomas. He didn’t see me, or didn’t react if he had. I couldn’t help but fleetingly touch myself, right then and there, while I viewed this young man. I made a quick glance around to see if anyone had noticed me with my hand up my own skirt—nobody had, people are so oblivious—but by the time I turned my eyes back to Thomas’ doppelganger, he had disappeared.

Struggling in vain to not be the wanton whore I really wanted to be, I tried to never let things show on my exterior. This was my heavenly, but still frustrating, existence for two weeks. I adored Thomas, and I loved his company. He just moved me in ways I hadn’t expected. I resolved to do my time without taking advantage.

Don’t get me wrong; people always tell me that I’m pretty. Well, ladies tell me how pretty or beautiful or gorgeous I am. Men like to use the words hot, fuckable, and sexy, among other, less-polite terms. I can get sex, if that’s all I want…well, usually. I’m always amused at how most men say that they want a woman that embraces her body and her sexuality, one that isn’t afraid to be sexually aggressive—but then cower and run when they actually encounter one. But with Thomas it wasn’t just primal lust that made me fantasize about using him like a sex slave many times over and then restart. He was actually somebody that I would love to have a relationship with; if only he weren’t my best friend’s stepson! So I fought my urges.

Still my urges all but consumed me. At night I couldn’t sleep due to hopefully wondering if he felt the same attraction. My mind kept wandering back to that first night. Had he snuck outside and watched me from the bushes as I got myself off over and over again? I’d find excuses to footpad past his door or stalk outside of it, listening for him making any sound that would even be remotely sexual.

I had constant dreams and fantasies about barging in to find him masturbating with my soiled panties wrapped around his manhood. The fact that I knew I couldn’t do anything about it and that he just didn’t view me sexually made it all the more desirable to me. There is no fruit as sweet as the forbidden. But then, at the end of the second week, I finally caught him!

Caught is, perhaps, too strong of a word. I caught him staring at me. It was my fault. Well, not exactly.

The spring didn’t gently roll into summer; summer came abruptly as if the goddess herself had thrown a switch. As happens too often with expensive things out of warranty, my central air was not up to the task. It hemmed and hummed for a few moments and then nothing, dying off with a mechanical cough and a sputter. My knight in shining spandex shorts, Thomas, said he’d take a look at it, being an electrical engineer, after all, he proudly added.

He grabbed some tools and headed out to the central air unit, and deftly dismantled it. He quickly proclaimed the culprit to be a capacitor. I said that I’d call the repair guys, but he waved it off and said that he’d order the part and have it in in a day or two; that would save me several hundred dollars. That was if I didn’t mind the heat. He said, with a seeming glint in his eye, that he could always just take his shirt off if it were too hot; that is, if I didn’t mind.

I didn’t mind at all. I even thought about turning the heat back on to ensure it happened. Minutes later, with me leaning over him, my hands resting on his strong shoulders and fighting the urge to caress his flesh, he showed me the parts website and ordered the part. I laughed when I saw the price and recounted when it had happened before that they charged my ex-husband almost six hundred more dollars!

After some more chit-chat, the temperature increased along with the humidity to the point that we were both sweating a little. Thomas bade me a good night, and I decided to retire as well. He stripped off his shirt, blushing in front of me, and it was like he was sculpted out of bronze. He was well-formed, extremely toned, and I could easily visually trace the outline of each and every muscle in his torso. I wanted to trace those lines with my fingers and tongue, but I kept my perverted hands to myself. My clothes were plastered to me from my perspiration, my body flushed at the sight of him, and my nipples sprung to life. I could tell by the way my now-quickened pulse made them throb and tingle with every beat of my heart.

“Well, uh, erm, goodnight, Aunt K,” he said, bringing me back to reality.

I told him to sleep well and watched him slowly retreat to his room. My hand immediately went down south but then I thought better of it. Despite the heat, I ran up to my own room, stripped nude and jumped into the bed. With the fantasy of me reaching out and pulling his shorts down while I took his manhood in my mouth playing in the theater of my mind, I brought myself close, but the stifling heat in the air was starting to get to me.

Then I had a naughty idea. I had been masturbating myself into a frenzy nightly, either keeping quiet in my own room so he didn’t hear, or going outdoors because I love orgasming when I’m clad by only the sky. I wanted to do it outdoors in the breeze, and some ice cubes would help to take the edge off the humidity. I quickly pulled a thin, threadbare crop top out of my lounge-around drawer and then put on a pair of very short shorts.

My butt cheeks ended just beneath the hem of the shorts; the crease where my thighs ended and my behind began was visible beneath the shorts, along with the beginning swells of my cheeks. If I bent over in these shorts, several inches of my ass would be visible from space!

I knew from experience that if I raised my arms way up high that the bottom hem of my shirt would just barely reveal the bottom swell of my breasts. The fabric was so thin and threadbare that the cloth didn’t hide the roundness of my breasts, it merely accentuated them. As aroused as my nipples were, they stuck out prominently. My panties, soaked with my sweat and lust, could lie right there on the floor where I kicked them off. I hate panties anyway.

I tiptoed past his room and paused, like always, to listen. I so wanted to hear him moaning my name accompanied by that slap-slap of him pleasuring himself. No avail this time either; he just didn’t see me like that. Thus far, the closest to being lusty he had come was when he offhandedly mentioned that I was his “prettiest aunt.” Prettiest aunt? Hmmph! I want to be mysterious, alluring, and sultry. Pretty, indeed!

I softly cantered to the stairs, noting how my breasts are still high and firm and how obvious my nipples were through the thin shirt. I’m not huge-breasted by any means, only a 36 and barely a C-cup, but they are very round and sit high up. The crop top molded to the side-swell of my breasts quite nicely. I smiled to myself as I wondered what effect it would have it were soaked through.

I went to the kitchen and grabbed a plastic tumbler. Opening the freezer door, I was pleasantly assaulted by ice-cold air wafting all over my body. The light of the freezer compartment painted me in soft shadows and lowlights. I wanted ice to cool off with as I got off. The freezer-induced air made me shiver, and as hard as my nipples already were, the freezing air made them even more prominent. Goosebumps erupted on my body, and I languished in the cool air.

Filling the cup with ice, I paused with the door open and slowly ran an ice cube over my forehead, across my cheeks, and down my neck. I closed my eyes as I enjoyed the sensual sensation. My skin was so hot that the ice melted and dripped almost instantly. The droplets headed down and sent little mini-shivers across my flesh as they traveled. Just as I was moving the cube down my neck towards my chest, I heard something and opened my eyes.

Thomas stood on the staircase with his mouth agape and his eyes as wide as saucers. It was too dark for me to be certain, but I like to think that his impressive package had grown even more impressive. The angle of his vantage point would have backlit me in profile painted in an almost candle-dimness. I had my back arched, which would have made my breasts stand out to the point that my nipples were probably arched upwards. The shorts had ridden up a little, so he could probably see a good bit of my ass, from the side, in the glow.

After a micro-second of being startled, I smiled at him, forgetting my adopted innocent aunt act. “Hi Tommy,” I said, intentionally not calling him Thomas. “It is sooo hot and muggy in here I thought I’d go cool off in the midnight breeze.”

With the door to the freezer still open, the dim light shone on my barely covered flesh. I turned towards him and took a couple steps in his direction. I made certain to give my breasts a bit of bounce.

“Care to join me?” I knew that I looked wanton wearing almost nothing and flushed from both the heat and my recent self-fingering to almost the point of orgasm.

“I, ah, I just came down for some, umm, water,” he stammered out. He stood stock-still, and it was too dark to make out all the details, but I could see his eyes fairly clear. His eyes were huge and wide.

“Oh, water,” I smiled. “Ice?” I asked him, plucking a cube out of my cup and giving it a not-very-subtle suck before plinking it back into the cup.

He slowly nodded as if in a trance. It was good to know that I still have it. I was beginning to have doubts. I was overcome with the need to pay him back for all the unintentional torture he had rendered unto me. Emboldened, I stretched up, with the light from the freezer still glowing behind me, knowing that my shirt would rise up very high, and plucked a cup from the top shelf of the cupboard even though there were perfectly good cups on the bottom shelf in easy reach.

I arched my back steeply, causing the hem of my crop top to rise up even more. I could feel the loose fabric of the hem just barely beneath my areolas. I grabbed the glass and then went back from all stretched up to flat-footed quickly. I knew that it would give my breasts the slightest bit of bounce. They jiggled nicely, I thought.

I then turned my back to him and gave my hips just the slightest bit of extra wiggle as I opened the refrigerator door and bent into the fridge, slowly pouring him some water from the pitcher I keep in there. I stayed bent over, feeling the cold air waft around my bare flesh. With my legs slightly spread and the backlighting from both the open compartments, I knew that he’d be able to see the shadowy form of my almost half-exposed behind, plus the swell of my mound from behind.

It also helped that the hem of my crop was loose. With me bent over like that, he could maybe just barely see the underside of my breasts. Even in the cold air for the fridge, I could feel my blood begin to boil. I then stood up and almost slammed the refrigerator compartment closed.

“Oops,” I said and then thrust most of my body towards the freezer. I pulled out three ice cubes and dropped them, one at a time, slowly into his cup.

Holding it before my breasts, with my nipples standing up proudly, I sauntered up to him and presented his water. I swear his hands shook as he took the glass from me. Up close now, I could tell that his face was flushed crimson, and I victoriously noted that his impressive package was incredibly impressive now. I almost reached out and gave it a pat. I triumphantly turned and strode back to the kitchen and closed the freezer door, exaggerating the sway of my hips. I then grabbed my plastic, ice-filled tumbler and bade him a good night. Finally he had looked at me like a woman and not like an aunt!

I strode out to the gazebo, smiling. I felt so naughty, finally teasing him and getting a predictable male reaction. Out there I wouldn’t have to worry about being so quiet. My nightly marathons in my room were done as quietly as I could manage, although the rooms are supposed to be relatively soundproof.

I’m not always one for nasty or dirty talk. With the right lover, I can really get into being talked to all nasty. My current lover, the fifty-plus guy, somehow can melt my mind and make me crave him calling me a slut or telling me all these filthy and nasty things. Sometimes I enjoy talking like that myself, sometimes not.

I am, however, a bit vocal when in the throes of passion. I’ll moan and curse, announcing my orgasms at the top of my lungs. This is why the walls of the bedrooms were soundproofed. With Thomas in the house, I tried to keep it down. So I had planned to go outside and literally howl at the moon as I rediscovered my infinite supply of orgasms.

My plan was quickly modified. Getting a rise out of Thomas had me in a sexual frenzy. It was snatching victory from the jaws of defeat! If you think Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, try a showoff with an unresponsive audience! Although barefoot, I ran to my gazebo, the ice in my cup rattling to the rhythm of my steps. I immediately plunged one hand under my shorts. Grabbing an ice cube and tipping the cup over in the process, I rubbed the hard cold cube all over my breasts and nipples and started moaning.

With abandon I moaned to the moon. I was a sex-goddess made flesh, hot flesh that melted the ice before it even came into contact with my burning skin. My first orgasm came on strong and quick. No edging for me this night; I needed that release badly. It wasn’t yet enough. Before the spasms subsided, I kicked off the too-tight spandex shorts. I only managed to get one leg free, but that was enough. I assaulted my soaked pussy with both hands and had a convulsing orgasm immediately on the heels of the first.

I then spied my spilled ice cup on the stone and cement floor of my gazebo. I knew what I wanted. Kicking my shorts off the rest of the way, I abandoned the bench that I was reclining on and splayed out on the floor. I grabbed one of the cubes that remained inside of the cup and pulled my crop top all the way up. Running the ice all over my nipples while I fingered myself hard and deep, my back arched to meet the freezing sensation over my now dirty and sweaty body. I kept up the pace with my buried hand as I moved the frozen cube down my body.

I had thought about teasing myself, but I wanted it hard now. I used the quickly-melting ice as a sex toy on my swollen clitoris, and I cried out to the gods of lust. I begged them to make me cum. I wanted them to fuck me, to spray me with their blessings as I sacrificed myself on the altar of flesh. I was rewarded with the triple sensation of freezing, being melting hot, and having an orgasm so strong the Goddess herself would be weak in the knees. I had to lie there, panting in reverie, for a few minutes before I could regain my composure.

Covered in my own sweat and little bits of dirt and flotsam from writhing about, I pulled the crop top back over my breasts and took my shorts in hand. I walked over to the hose and sprayed myself down, noting how the wet crop top adhered to my breasts like a second skin. I thought that if I ever enter a wet shirt contest that I know exactly what to wear.

In the moonlight, my pert, dark pink nipples and areolas were quite visible beneath the now-sheer fabric. I then strode back inside, enjoying the feel of the cold water evaporating off of my nude behind. Thomas’ glass was on the counter, and I smiled to myself, wondering if he had spied on me. I snuck back up the stairs and paused at his door once more. I almost knocked and walked in, but my conscience reminded me that fantasy is just that, and I should not cross that line.

I walked into my bedroom and flicked on the light. I caught sight of the mess I had made of myself in the mirror. I had to admit, as biased as I am about it, that I looked sexy; more wanton and slutty than sexy, but that sometimes works, too. My shirt merely tinted my breasts like wet body paint; it did not cover them at all. To my own eyes, I suddenly saw why guys go crazy over wet t-shirts.

My shaped and trimmed red pubic hair stood out stark from my pale skin, and my hair was dangling in wet ropes, giving me a very wanton and very physically desirable aura. I peeled off my dripping top and threw it into the tub, and then went to pick up the clothes I had left strewn over the floor. This time I could tell that my panties were not where I had kicked them off. I swore that they were about six inches further inside my room.

I examined them as the water evaporating off my body contrasted with the muggy atmosphere. No evidence of them being tampered with, and the only juices on them were my own. However, I was certain that my charming but respectful pseudo-nephew might have a thing for auntie’s panties.

Now I absolutely had to find out for certain! I told myself that it was wrong, that I was crossing a line that I should not cross. I tried to reason with myself that I was putting a decades-long friendship at great risk. But I knew that I was going to find out for certain. Jen would probably even understand; after the required awkward silence that must accompany the “you teased my son, you fucking whore” revelation.

The thoughts of what I now wanted to do got me fired up even more. As I pulled out a long rubber dildo, my new plan began to take shape. My recent ex-boyfriend bought the toy, thinking it would be hot to use it on me. It was, but he soon became jealous that I also enjoyed the toy. His loss, I guess. Besides, the toy stays hard forever, which is much longer than the twenty or so seconds he lasted.

In my mind I already had the panties picked out for tomorrow to set my new perverted plan of discovery into motion. My silky deep-emerald green thong should do nicely. If I wore my jean cutoff shorts with the wide leg holes, he’d get a glimpse of them every now and then as we spent the day together. They were just enough on the short side that they were alluring, but not so short as to be overtly slutty…suggestive, not wanton. The legs were loose enough that if I didn’t keep my legs close together that one could see right up them with an unobstructed view of the promised land.

I discovered that entirely by accident, one mid-summer afternoon when my ex-beau and I had gone wine tasting. He harped on me to keep my legs together because guys were straining to look up my shorts to see my panties. I knew that; I was enjoying the attention. I didn’t bother to tell him that I hadn’t been wearing any panties that day.

I got myself off, silently, once more and then just laid there smiling while I imagined all the things I could do. I left the dildo out in case I wanted more orgasms during the night. That was a wise choice. When morning came, however, I was far less certain that my evil seductress plan was a good one.

I, instead, chose more conservative clothes than the innocent but so-sexy outfit I had planned and went downstairs to greet Thomas. I had admonished myself to the point of not moving on my desires; I renewed my resolve to be the good Aunt K. I justified it as me simply having an overactive imagination.

Thomas hadn’t given me any signs that he saw me in a sexual way; I had to dress like a slut and brazenly provoke him before he even noticed. It was better to remain family-like, I was convinced. Thomas was nowhere to be seen that morning. The coffee was on, however, and I helped myself to a cup. His laptop was on the counter, and I looked at it. There was a note typed on the screen. “Aunt K. Went to get bagels. T”

How thoughtful! Since he wasn’t around, I decided to buttress my new resolved role as a good aunt. Pulling up the browser on his laptop—it was right there after all—I began to type ‘Be a Good Aunt’. I would throw myself into the nurturing familial role. I just needed to learn how a good aunt acts. As I typed my search into the address bar, his previous browsing and search terms began to show. What I discovered rattled my heart and soul to the core.

It seems that the term “good aunt” showed up quite a bit in his browser bar history auto-complete. I clicked on one of the random links that auto-filled. I was mildly shocked to discover that my little Tommy had been researching aunt-oriented porn. My mind went blank in shock, and then I smiled and then laughed to myself as comprehension slowly flooded my brain.

I quickly closed the browser and then typed on his note, right under his text, “In the garden, mine with cream cheese.” I thought about what I had just seen. I opened his browser again and typed “panties” just to see if anything showed up. Nope. I retyped “aunt” and checked a few more of his past viewings.

That renewed resolve? It was instantly disintegrated. My mind was still lecturing me about not crossing the line that I knew for certain I was about to cross. The heat between my thighs told me that so long as I didn’t do anything and just set to find out that everything would be perfectly fine. In my mind, I had already crossed that line. It was no longer sort-of-aunt K.

It was now, at least in my mind, two adults that felt something for each other but that refused to act. I had spent two full weeks with my sex juice running down my steaming thighs out of frustrated desire. If Thomas wanted to be a panty-sniffing voyeur, I would definitely give him something that catered to his fetishes. The fact that we are in no way related, whatsoever, bolstered my naughty line of reasoning.

No, I didn’t judge him; I found it to be sort of sexy. I have my own kinks, and I own them. It was time to make him own up to his, or at least cater to them. That was it, I decided; I’m a people-pleaser! I convinced myself that I was doing this to make my nephew happy; I could even weather the torture of wearing panties for him.

I didn’t know exactly when he left, so he could be back any minute now. I stripped out of my conservative aunt K clothes and put on a barely-there bra for the sake of pretend modesty, knowing fully well that it neither restrained nor subdued my breasts. The bra was more a piece of enticing lingerie than it was a functional undergarment. It was sheer, thin, and so wispy that it added no support and didn’t hide a thing.

I covered that token bra with a threadbare concert shirt, again from my lounge-around drawer. It is a faded black to the point of being mottled charcoal, torn in a few small places that show my flesh off nicely. The hemlines are frayed into fringe in most places, and the material is now so thin that it should have been demoted to a rag years ago. But I love that shirt, and the band, so I keep it for grunge-wear.

It was perfect because I think I look fantastic in it. I especially love the way the flecking and cracked green dragon graphics match my red hair. My green thong went over my nude bottom and then my ragged and stringy faded denim cutoffs. Open-toed sandals finished my attire. Mission accomplished! I looked enticing and sexy but also dressed down in my heavy-metal, shabby-chic attire.

I ran down the stairs, almost tripping, only stopping to refresh my coffee, as I headed out to my little garden. I had barely settled in to weed when I heard Thomas pull up in my car, one of my hair metal CDs at almost full blast. He appeared a few minutes later with plates of bagels in either hand. He wore his standard uniform of long shorts and a tank top.

I had strategically positioned myself so that I was on my hands and knees as he turned the path; his first view of me would be of my frayed-denim-clad ass. My position caused the tattered hem of my shirt to ride up, exposing my back a little and the waist of my shorts to pull down. I knew that my contrasting green thong was just barely visible. I was between the morning sun and him, knowing that my body would be haloed by the light.

As soon as I heard his approach, I waited until I knew he was close and had seen me, and I swept myself back on my haunches so I was on my knees, twisting my upper body around so I could smile at him over my shoulder. I knew it would look innocent as well as showing off my calves, my behind, and making my breasts jut out, all silhouetted by the sun.

“Oh, Thomas, “I smiled. “How thoughtful of you. I hope you like getting dirty.” I pointed to my already slightly soiled shirt, right between my breasts. His eyes followed my pointing, and my nipples poked out, just barely. “It’s going to be a hot one; we’ll probably have to cool off under the hose all day.”

I turned so that I was facing him straight on, rather than twisted about. At least I was finally on my knees in front of him. Suppressing a girlish giggle, I made certain to accidentally spread my legs a little too wide as I knelt in front of him. I wasn’t absolutely certain, but I would have sworn that his eyes darted right to the gaping leg hole of my shorts before he caught himself and stared at the plates in his hands.

Over breakfast we fell into mostly our now-familiar routine. Conversation flowed, laughter came easily, and we both had a wonderful day. There was one glaring difference, though. That day I didn’t dress down to hide myself or my sexuality. That day I also took out all of my pent-up frustrations on him. I was relentless but not merciless.

If Thomas had a thing for panties, then he definitely got to see me in enough potentially compromising poses that he knew I was wearing them. The first time I went and hosed off, his eyes nearly popped out of his head. My worn shirt glued itself to my torso, and my barely-there bra is so thin that I might as well not have worn it at all. My ragged shorts adhered to my body, and the weight of the water pulled them down so that the waist of my thong became visible.

Soaking myself, I, again, looked more like I was wearing body paint than clothing. I smiled and pretended not to notice. We weeded the garden; he even dug some new holes for some flowering bushes I wanted to plant soon, and then tidied up the house. Suddenly, my bra was just too confining, so I had to reach up under my shirt and discreetly pulled it off.

We sweated out the entire day, stopping every now and then for some water or a Popsicle. Yes, I know I’m an adult, but I still love them. Plus it gave me something phallic to suck on teasingly. I didn’t outright tease him and constantly retained an impenetrable barrier of plausible deniability.

I’ll be perfectly honest. At first, I felt that my efforts were neither noticed nor appreciated. Thomas was mostly his usual self. I began to convince myself that I was deluded, but still I soldiered on. But as the day passed I would occasionally catch him leering at me when he thought I wasn’t paying attention.

Night eventually came, and with it came a moist and cool breeze, almost cold. We cooked outside once more and talked for hours. He was still charming and assertive when he spoke, except when the subject of women or sex came up. Then he’d revert to the bashfulness of his youth and quickly change topics. I let it be as we lounged, but allowed my legs to part just enough as I reclined so that he could see my panties up the frayed opening of my shorts.

My constant teasing had put me into a state of high arousal. I neither care nor know why it does, but it always does. I wondered if he could see the wetness on my panties or smell my aroma of arousal. As I sipped my wine, properly matched to our grilled burgers this time, I declared that it was time for me to strip out of these nasty clothes.

“I’ve been sweating so much today my panties must reek of me!”

“Good night, aunt K,” Thomas said. “I’ll hit the hay as well.”

“Leave the wine, sweetie,” I cooed to him. “I think I’ll take a glass on the gazebo after I clean up and reflect on the day.”

We cleaned up our dishes and made sure the coals were quenched, and then went upstairs together. I went into my room and intentionally left the door open and the light on. I heard him wish me a nice night as he strolled into the bathroom. As soon as I heard the door close, I opened the drapes so I could see in and very unhurriedly picked out a nice frock to wear while I enjoyed the evening air. I very carefully undressed and placed my clothes in what I hoped was a strewn-about-looking clump further into my room this time. I made certain that it was right in line with the view into my window from the gazebo.

I had intentionally put the gazebo in a spot where one cannot see into it from the inside (or vice-versa), and that was shielded from view from just about every vantage point. I wanted it to be my private sanctum where I could enjoy peace and quiet in isolation from the rest of the world. Still, though, one can see a bit into the house through the windows if the drapes are open and the light is on.

I checked my panties, and they weren’t nearly as soaked as I had hoped. The constant hosing off during the day had removed most of my personal aroma from them. That was easily rectified. Leaning back, nude, I caressed my body all over with my panties and then got them all but soaked with my own juices. Once I was satisfied that they were soaked with me, I laid them down in a very specific position so I would know for certain if they had been moved.

I took in the image and burned it into my mind. Hem exactly parallel to the pattern in the rug; directly in the middle of that circle in the pattern; exactly three of my small feet distance from the bedpost to the crotch. My bra is flat, the bottom strap perfectly in line from the corner of my bed to the left edge of the window trim. I memorized the layout of each article of clothing. If he was fondling and moving my clothes, I would definitely know for certain.

Covering myself with only a light and gauzy summer sundress, I skipped down the stairs and out to my outdoor sanctum, only stopping to grab my wine. While I had anticipated touching myself over the thought of it, I actually just sat there relaxing. It felt so good to do nothing after such a long day that I just found myself sitting there, looking at the light in the bathroom window, enjoying the cool breeze. My dress was little more than a gauze cover-up and the cool night air penetrated the wispy fabric easily. I enjoyed the sensation of the cold on my flesh, contrasting with the sweltering humid heat of the day.

The bathroom light eventually went out, and the light in Thomas’ room lit up. I felt naughty; I felt dirty. I honestly felt like the nympho aunt in some cheesy porn movie. About the time I had convinced myself that I was over-imagining things, I saw some movement from my bedroom window. I strained my eyes and stood up to get a better vantage. The angle was still too steep, so I couldn’t see clearly, but I could definitely see shadows of movement. Somebody was definitely milling about in my private boudoir. I reflexively silenced my breath, although I was scores of yards away from the area.

I fought the urge to sneak inside of my own home and catch him in the act. I simply sat there, sipping my wine, taking pleasure in the fact that my suspicions were proven to be correct. When I saw the light go out in my houseguest’s room, I then very quietly made my way back inside, careful not to make a sound. I snuck up the steps, feeling like an idiot, and definitely heard some sounds from Thomas’s room. I listened intently—some bed rocking, some sighs, and then quiet. Smiling to myself, I went into my chamber and closed the door. I crossed my room and closed the drapes, and then examined my meticulously laid-out clothes. My panties and my bra had most definitely been moved.

I just stood there, dumbfounded. My brilliant plan was to get Thomas to fixate on my panties and then find out, once and for all, whether I was the victim of my hyper-sexual over-imagination or the victim of a voyeuristic quasi-nephew with a panties fetish. I hadn’t thought of what might happen afterwards. I had reached the end of my diabolical plan. Now I was curious about what he was doing with my panties.

Was he using them to masturbate with? Maybe he was sniffing them as he stroked himself. Did he hold them balled up in his fist or wrap them around his manhood? I giggled at the image of him stroking himself with my soiled panties. I saw nothing wrong with that; in fact I had masturbated myself with my own panties just a couple of weeks prior; judge not and all that. I held them up to my nose and didn’t smell anything other than myself on them. I must have looked ridiculous but my body felt that it was incredibly sexy to be desired so secretly. I was so turned on by the fact that my little nephew had the hots for me that my juices began dripping down my thighs.

This was definitely a night that called for some of my more active toys. I went to my toy drawer and grabbed one of my favorite battery-operated boyfriends. It rotated and sucked in all the right places. I decided that I would do this outside again, justifying it with the fact that I had left a perfectly full glass of wine out there. I stopped and sat on my bed and used my panties to wipe the dew from my thighs. I decided to leave the light on and the door open. I then strolled downstairs and opened the outside door, stopping as I realized that I had left my toy on my dresser. I closed the door and foot padded back towards the stairs. Halfway up, I heard Thomas’ door open, and I stopped moving, almost in a panic.

I heard him call out, “Aunt K?” in a soft voice.

I remained silent and frozen in place, ducking my head to make certain that my silhouette didn’t rise above the top of the stairs. He stood there in the hall, not moving. I couldn’t see him at all due to not being high enough on the steps, but I guessed him to be right in front of the bathroom door. I wanted to climb the next few treads so I could see, but I was afraid that a random stair squeak would reveal my position.

Instead, I waited until I heard his footsteps. He didn’t enter the bathroom; he didn’t go back to his room. His footsteps receded from my position, headed towards my room. I held my breath, afraid of making any sort of sound. I felt almost ashamed of my behavior. This is not how a grown woman of my experience and sexual experience acted! I felt like a guilt-riddled teenager. It all seemed so taboo. I was even more ashamed that I liked the taste of this forbidden fruit more so than I love most others.

He took maybe five or six more steps, and then I could no longer hear him. I held my breath and crawled as silently as I could muster towards the top of the staircase. I hugged the far wall and took half steps until I could barely just see into my room. Thomas was nude, and he lay on the floor of my room on his back. Maybe it was because I hadn’t been with a man for months, or maybe it was due to the heat of the moment, but his cock looked gorgeous. It was thick and long with a well-defined head. On his thin but muscular body, it seemed huge. I could see it twitch as he stroked it.

I watched as his hand furiously pumped up and down on it. I could hear him grunt quietly, which emboldened me to take a few more steps towards the door. His other hand held my panties pressed tightly against his face and mouth. His body was humping up and down and his back arched. My pseudo-nephew then came for my viewing pleasure. Great spurts erupted from his manhood and sprayed all over his chest. I wanted to run in and lick it off of him. Instead, I watched, enthralled, at the volume of his orgasm. He squirted at least seven times all over himself. It shot high and far with the force of his orgasm, reaching up to his chest almost to his neck. Then he just lay there rubbing my panties all over his face.

I quietly retreated back down the stairwell and barely got my head out of sight before I heard him raise himself upright and head back to his room. He muttered, “never again, never again. She’s your aunt. Stop it, you pervert,” as he went back to his room.

As dumbfounded as I was, this only added to my confusion. I was literally flabbergasted. Forgetting all about my toy, I went back outside as soon as my feet touched the solid floor. I closed the door a little too loudly, but at this point, I wasn’t thinking about being quiet. There was a fire I had to put out. You know exactly what I went out and did, but you don’t know how many times I did it. Honestly, I don’t either. I didn’t count; my mind was on other things.

I replayed each and every event of the past couple weeks in my mind. Looking at it from this new perspective, several dozen things he said and did suddenly made perfect sense. By far, the most vivid event in my mind was what I had just witnessed. Such a beautiful, handsome, muscular, yummy young man coming all over himself over me was empowering.

Over the past two weeks, I had more than half convinced myself that I was insane. Now I felt mentally vindicated. I also felt emotionally elated. I don’t consider myself vain or even a cock-tease, for that matter (I follow through after the fun of the seduction). I embrace my sexuality and my desires.

However, not seeing any of the attraction I felt being reciprocated had really done a number on my self-image. I thought that he just merely saw me as the doting aunt I was trying to be. Now I knew better. If there’s anything that makes a woman feel sexy and desirable, it is to be seen as sexy and to be desired. At least now I knew. The question was, what was I going to do about it?

I didn’t know. I hadn’t thought that far ahead. What if Jen found out? I wasn’t really thinking about that. My mind could only think of his hard cock throbbing over me and how luscious his cum looked as he sprayed it all over his tightly muscled torso. I didn’t know exactly what I was going to do, but I had more than a good idea of how I was going to dress in the morning.