A Summer Holiday

Over the next few days, however, I had no opportunity to pursue this much desired course of action because my aunt and uncle were always present. They were doing their best to entertain me by introducing me to neighbors and friends who came to their estate for teas, dinners or picnic lunches. I felt this loss not as much as might be supposed; for although the desirable and willing Linda was a treat indeed for a man at the peak of his sexual urges, the focus of my lust increasingly became my Aunt Martha. I realized the enormity of the possible repercussions that could ensue should I manage, in spite of the multitudinous obstacles to it, to vent my passion on the delectable body of my mother’s sister. This did not diminish my fantasies one iota, and I was continuously weaving and rejecting possible scenarios for her seduction.

One evening Aunt Martha gave a dinner party for a small group of friends. It was a warm and sultry evening with a slight breeze that made it quite comfortable. There was a young woman my age with whom I flirted pleasantly for a good deal of the evening, under the approving eye of her mother who was no doubt quite willing to make her daughter a match with the heir of a substantial commercial concern. When the evening drew to a close and we were saying our good-byes alone in the entryway, the young lady leaned forward and gave me a kiss and embrace of some passion, which she did not end until footsteps sounded in the hall. She withdrew with a smile and turned, exiting by the front door and descending the steps with a saucy bounce to her step. I turned with a pensive demeanor and said good night to the other guests as they appeared.

When the guests were gone, Uncle John asked if Aunt Martha and I would like to join him in a nightcap.

“No thank you, dear,” Aunt Martha said to him. “I’m a bit tired so I’m going to go to bed. You and Alfred go ahead.”

We said our good nights and Uncle John led me to the terrace where he fixed drinks for us, the servants having been let go after dinner had ended. We sat down in two well-padded and extremely comfortable chairs and sipped our drinks.

We spoke of this and that: of what I would do upon graduation (take a trip to see a good part of the world before joining my father in his business); of the possibilities for underwriting ships through Lloyds (he was against it); and of the plans of Otto Von Bismarck for his newly amalgamated Germanic state (he thought that Europe had nothing to worry about because Bismarck would be too involved in consolidating his gains, and I thought that he should be watched carefully, especially once his consolidation began to obtain completion.)

I had noticed that Uncle John’s capacity for liquor was quite remarkable, and he refilled his glass with some regularity while I sipped parsimoniously at my first. Eventually the conversation lagged, and we sat companionably in the cooling evening air. After some little time, I heard a noise from uncle’s chair and turning to look at him, saw that he was asleep. He appeared to be comfortable, so I left and went up to my room without disturbing him.

As I undressed, my letch for my aunt, never far from the surface, arose with a noticeable urgency. I quickly completed my undressing and entered the closet; I closed the doors behind me and pressed my eye to the hole. The lamp was extinguished, so I gave a silent prayer of thanksgiving that the moon was near full and was shining into the room, casting a pale silver illumination on the figure of my aunt lying in her bed. She was on her back with the covers pulled down and wore a thin sheath that showed clearly the swells of her luscious breasts and mound; it came down no more than a third of the distance between her the Y of her legs and her knees.

I watched her soft bosom rising and falling for a few minutes, then she turned onto her left side facing me. With her right hand, she reached down her leg, pulled the sheath up to the top of her thigh and scratched. She let her hand fell in front of her with a sigh, leaving her beautifully sculpted thigh and a small portion of her dark public hair open to my scrutiny. As my eyes drank in the lewd scene in the next room, a plan occurred to me that was so audacious that I had to pause for a moment to question my own sanity at considering it. Although I could come to no conclusion regarding my sanity, I determined to put the plan into action.

I stole quietly from the closet and went to the bedroom door. Peering carefully into the hall, I saw that it was empty. Exiting the room, I crept to the end of the hall and looked out the window that overlooked the patio. Uncle John was sitting right where I had left him, to all appearances still fast asleep. I drew a deep breath and exhaled silently, then slowly walked over to the door to my aunt and uncle’s bedroom. I grasped the doorknob, pulled the door slightly toward me and slowly, ever so slowly, turned the knob. When it reached the full extent of its play, I pushed the door open a few inches and paused. No sound came from the room. I pushed the door open further. The hallway was almost completely dark so that it was likely that even should my aunt look my way she would be unlikely to discern me at the door. I took no chances; when the door was open sufficiently for me to slip into the room, I did so and slowly closed the door, allowing the knob to silently return to its rest position.

Letting my eyes adjust to the illumination in the room, I saw that my aunt had resumed her position on her back but the sheath was still pulled up to the top of her right thigh and her legs were slightly apart. This gave me a view of almost all of her pubis. I stood there for a few moments drinking in the sight, sans pants and quelled a momentary quiver of fear at my exposed position. Praying that my uncle was a sound sleeper, I crept toward her. When I reached the foot of the bed, I carefully put a knee on it and lay down on my chest, slid my hands under the bottom of her thighs and pushed her shift up over her hips. This was the crux; if she believed I was Uncle John, I was in (literally); if she recognised me, all was lost. I used my thumbs to gently separate her labia, then began to slowly lick her clitoris. A deep chuckle came from her throat and her hand came down to the back of my head. I thanked anyone who was listening that my uncle was a vigorous man who had not started to lose his hair and that it had a texture similar to my own. My tongue made circular motions over her love button and I periodically took it between my lips and played with it. When I did this, tremors ran down her thighs and she arched her back, rubbing her heels against my back. I continued the circular motions of my tongue, increasing the speed and pressure applied. She grasped my hair tightly but not painfully and began moaning, interspersing the moans with sharp inhalations. Within moments she reached down and grabbed me under the arms from the back and pulled me toward her. Not averse to this direction, I slid up on my knees between her legs. She reached down and grasped my member, guiding it toward her love canal and inserting the head. Remembering her thrust last night as uncle’s manhood began its entrance, I made a convulsive thrust of my hips and drove my root in to the hilt. She gasped in pleasure and I wasted no time in establishing a rhythm that brought more and deeper moans from the back of her throat. She wrapped her legs around my waist, giving maximum exposure of her quim to my penetrating organ.

“Yes, yes, yes,” she began to whisper. “Yes, yes, yes.”

She squeezed me with her arms then lightly dug her nails in as her moans became practically continuous. The pain was exquisite and increased my pleasure immensely.

“Now, now,” she moaned as she began to quake from the orgasm that was racing through her body. Pressure was building up in my loins and my climax was quickly approaching. All at once she grasped me with a vigor that was hitherto unknown to me and gave a deep moan as she reached the climax of her pleasure. My pleasure peaked a few strokes later and we held that tableau for a long moment as the quivers and quakes subsided in our bodies. She collapsed slowly back onto the bed and I lay atop her supporting myself on my elbows and knees. She ran her hands through my hair and pulled my mouth down for a long, slow kiss that sent a slight quiver through my shrinking manhood. She felt it for she gave a little giggle and squeeze. I returned the favor with a slight thrust of my hips.

Another crucial moment was at hand. Was it reasonable that Uncle John would get up and leave his bed after making love to his wife? I could lie beside her for a time, but this would increase the chances of my discovery. It was a quandary that I had been aware of but had not considered carefully before, having had other things on my mind. I decided on a bold approach. Sliding off to her right side I sat up partially, gave her a deep kiss and a few caresses, and got up as though I had to use the chamber pot. She delicately turned her back toward me and I used the opportunity to slip over to the door, open it and leave. The hall was empty with no sounds of anyone approaching and I went back to my room with no one the wiser.

I checked on Aunt Martha through the hole when I returned to find that she had apparently already fallen asleep. I returned to my bed knowing that there was still the possibility of my discovery. Uncle John could wake up, come to bed and find his wife lying in a pool of love juice. Or she could mention their supposed lovemaking to him the next morning. Or he could mention that he spent all night asleep on the patio. Or, or, or. I decided that there was nothing for it but sleep and lay there in sated exhaustion, pushing all else from my mind.

My apprehension over the possible discovery of my surreptitious coupling with my aunt diminished over the next few days as no cries of outrage occurred. As my fears diminished, they were replaced by urgings for a reprise of my carnal episode with Aunt Martha. Knowing that a repeat of the circumstances that produced my previous opportunity would not likely recur brought naught but frustration.