Aunt Max Comes Home Pt. 02

Literotic asexstories – Aunt Max Comes Home Pt. 02 by Rimbaud17,Rimbaud17 They cruised up a couple of country roads, then hit the main highway, and Billy gunned the motorcycle, accelerating up to nearly a hundred miles per hour in a few seconds before backing down to a more sane speed. It was terrifying and exhilarating. It made her glad to be able to cling tightly to Billy’s back, to become comfortable and comforted there, to forget for a second how terrifying and exhilarating it was to simply be so close to him, her breasts crushed against him and her thighs open around him.

And the vibrations between her legs! Maxine suddenly understood why some people found motorcycles sexy. What was that song that her son was always singing? Heavy metal thunder indeed. She had never thought of herself as Born to Be Wild, but… talk about Get your motor runnin’…

After a few miles he pulled off the highway, and headed toward a curving road that hugged the bank of the river. Here they rode at a more leisurely pace, although he would still accelerate through curves and make the bike lean frighteningly to one side, making her press her body into his with greater urgency.

Eventually he slowed down and pulled off the road, and parked the bike at a little clearing with a view down to the bank of the river. He suggested they get off and walk down to the pebbly beach and watch the water for a while. Maxine was ready for the break, and surprised at how wobbly she was on her feet.

He actually had a little towel in the storage compartment under the seat, and carried it down to the bank for her to sit on, which she found pleasingly gallant. Whether he was just being polite or something more, it felt like he was courting her. Which was sweet and a little exciting and a whole lot wrong, because Billy was twenty years old and Maxine was thirty-five, and his mother’s baby sister. His aunt.

“So, are you looking forward to the new life?” he asked, referring to her impending relocation, her husband’s new job.

“I don’t know. I suppose. I keep having to make new friends.”

“Well, at any rate, it’s gotta be better than here.”

“I love coming back here,” she protested. “I grew up here. This is home.”

“You’re so smart, though. You’d be bored here.”

“You think I’m smart?” she asked, blushing.

“Yeah. Mom says so. And she shows me your letters, or some of them, sometimes. I’ve never known anyone who could write like that.”

“Hmmm,” she said. “Well, I have a lot of time to practice.”

“And you read a lot, too,” he continued. “And not just Argosy.” She chuckled. He was right, of course. But she wondered if he imagined that she read The Sensuous Woman..

“Are you bored here, Billy?”

“Me? Nah. I like it here. But, you know. The kids who go to college… or even join the Army… never come back.”

“Well, the important thing is, if you’re happy.”

She paused, hoping he wouldn’t ask if she was happy.

She wondered what else he might wonder about her life. She didn’t really have to wonder about his. She knew it backwards and forwards. You graduate from high school, you get a job, you work fifty weeks a year for fifty years, the men hunt and fish on the weekends; you have kids and watch them play Little League and high school football and then you raise your grandkids. It wasn’t the life she wanted for herself, but she realized she didn’t really know what kind of life she did want. At least Billy seemed to know what he wanted.

She asked him about work, about his brothers and sisters. She avoided asking him about Roxanne. She was curious, but she realized… she didn’t want to remind him of her right now.

He started looking for flat rocks within reach, to skip across the water while still sitting beside her. She watched his powerful muscles ripple under his simple cotton shirt, a size too small, like Li’l Abner. Li’l Abner and Elvis had the same hair. And, she realized when he got up to find more rocks, the same impossibly tight rear end.

How did he get to be so damn handsome, she wondered? He sure didn’t get it from his father; she had never found George very attractive, even when Peggy was dating him in high school. Of course, Max had always thought Peggy was prettier than she was herself back then, before Peggy had five kids and twenty years of being worn down. And Peggy’s daughters were certainly good looking. Maybe good genes ran in her family. Maybe she wasn’t the ugly duckling she had always felt like when she was younger. Maybe she had more going for her than just a comfortable life with a good provider who bought her tennis lessons and salon appointments.

She watched him skip rocks and thought about how much she wanted to see more of the body she had been gripping for the past twenty minutes, how much she had been fantasizing about intimate activities with him. The river bank was private for the moment, but certainly not remote enough for any al fresco sexual encounter. A stolen kiss, perhaps; a brief grope of her breast. She would pretend to act shocked, she knew, but she would accept either. But he didn’t seem inclined to pursue it, and she found herself vaguely disappointed at that.

But then, finally, he asked her if she would like to see his house. Ah. She gulped and said yes. And fifteen minutes later, they were back in town, parking in the gravel driveway beside a little gothic frame house, with an oil tank beside it and the broken remains of what had once been gingerbread lattice-work around a sagging front porch.

He held the door open for her and she stepped inside. It was hot, even with the windows open — no air conditioning, of course — and she could smell a slight mustiness underneath the sharp smell of cleaning solution.

She looked around the room. The walls were badly in need of paint, the furniture was all second-hand and worn; a small TV with rabbit ears sat on a peach crate. But she could see why a young man two years out of high school would be pleased with it. Anyway, she had grown up in houses like this.

“So this is it,” he gestured. “Living room, kitchen.”

She looked into the kitchen, with its mismatched appliances from the fifties and countertops that were older than that, and could definitely smell the disinfectant. He had cleaned in preparation for her. She liked that.

“Bathroom, if you need it.”

“Yes, thank you,” she said, and stepped into the tiny room with a pedestal sink and a clawfoot tub; original, she thought, not “retro.” And again, recently cleaned. She closed the door and relieved herself, then washed her hands and retrieved a brush from her little handbag and brushed her hair out. And exhaled deeply.

When she came back out, Billy was in the kitchen, with the refrigerator door open.

“Beer?” he asked.

“Sure,” she agreed. He took out two bottles and opened them, and came back into the living room as she approached the only other door in the room.

“And what’s in here?”

Bill cleared his throat. “Bedroom.”

She stood in the doorway, surveying the scene of the potential crime. It was as tired and sad as the rest of the house. A fitting setting for the debauchery that she was ready to experience.

She looked at the bed. Just a double, not a queen, but neatly made, another sign of her nephew’s intentions. Or hopes. Ambitions.

It was the bed that she knew Bill surely had recently shared with his girlfriend, this Roxanne, whom she had never met. Young, cute, tiny, strawberry blonde. A keeper. She felt irrationally jealous, and strangely excited to be in competition. Well, she thought, it was only fair. She was about to break her marriage vows. Might as well even the playing field.

She wouldn’t, couldn’t seduce him. But at this point she wanted to make it as easy as possible for him to make the first move. She stepped into his bedroom.

***

Bill set the beers down on the dresser and stepped behind Maxine, who was looking at herself in the free-standing mirror. It was a gift from his girlfriend, although one she had obviously bought for herself once she started staying here several nights a week.

His aunt was was standing erect and stiff, still not relaxed. Her hands were clasped in front of her thighs, just below the crotch of her sky-blue slacks. Resistant, or compliant? He still couldn’t read her.

Their eyes met in the mirror. “You’re beautiful, Aunt Max.”

She blushed. “Don’t… call me that,” she whispered.

He placed his hands on her bare upper arms, moved them gently up and down. He understood. It was an acknowledgment that they were past any place that an aunt and nephew should go. But he also always had the same reaction when a woman said, “Don’t.”

He reached around and undid the top button on her pale blue sleeveless blouse.

“You shouldn’t,” she murmured.

So he undid another one, revealing the lacy edge of her bra, and the amazing cleavage between her firm breasts, so magnificent on her small frame. She didn’t move. He reached a few inches further, his right arm around her now, his fingers slipping inside the cup of the bra. Her breast was so full, soft and warm. He brushed across her nipple, hard and the size of a thimble, which intrigued him. He wanted to see it, to take it into his mouth. He wanted to explore every inch of her, of her forbidden, unattainable thirty-five-year-old body.

He felt her leaning back now against his chest, relaxing, or at least surrendering. He smiled, and undid the last two buttons on her blouse, letting it fall open, revealing the full swell between both breasts. He nudged her forward just enough to ease the blouse over her soft, rounded shoulders and let it fall to the floor between them. Then he reached down and unfastened the button on the hip of her stirrup pants, and began to slowly pull down the zipper.

“Billy…”

“Shhh,” he said. It wasn’t a no, and at this point he knew it wouldn’t matter if it was. In a flash of wicked inspiration, he leaned forward and kissed her neck, right where it met her shoulder. Then he subtly parted his lips and let her feel his teeth close lightly on her flesh. His show of dominance. She moaned, and he felt her knees buckle.

A minute ago he still wasn’t sure if his aunt was even going to allow him a glimpse of her breasts, and he would have counted that a victory. Now he knew he was going to be getting a lot more.

He eased the open slacks over the curves of her hips, and then dropped to his knees behind her and lowered them down her lovely thighs, as she wriggled her body to assist him, signaling her acquiescence. She kicked off her flats and he helped her step out of her pants, still behind her. She was nearly naked in his bedroom now, wearing only her matching bra and panties — only beige, not sultry red or black, but still lacy and pretty, and somehow more intimate and real because of their everyday color. He leaned forward and kissed the small of her back, drawing a gasp from her.

Her panty-clad bottom was in front of him now, round and womanly, the only part of her body, he thought, that belied that she was more than maybe twenty-five. There was a tiny gap in the elastic waistband over the small of her back, where her cheeks stretched the fabric away from the indentation of her spine, and he playfully took that between his teeth, causing her to giggle.

He unbuttoned his own cotton shirt, discarding it behind him, still licking at her lower back, drawing pleasing sighs from her. He placed his hands on her hips and turned her around, and when he straightened up, still on his knees but no longer hunched, he was almost at eye level with her breasts.

He looked up at her and she was smiling down at him, gently. She reached out a hand and stroked the back of his head.

“We can’t,” she whispered, but he knew that her protestations now were for her own benefit, because she was reaching behind herself to unfasten her bra. It fell forward and she subtly squeezed her breasts together with her upper arms, making a presentation of them for him. They were superb. Not overly round, but so firm, standing out so proudly on her chest, topped with those stunning rose-colored nipples, the nubs larger than the surrounding areola. He sucked one into his mouth, and felt her hands again on the back of his head, drawing him in, inviting him to taste her, to devour her.

They may have remained there for several minutes, luxuriating in the sensation, but now Bill needed to continue to explore, to lay claim. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her panties and drew them down. Her pubic bush was thick and curly, the same rich honey-brown as the hair falling over her shoulders, and he inhaled deeply, taking in the womanly scent, rich and thick from an hour on a vibrating motorcycle seat and especially now from her obvious arousal.

He drew his right hand up the length of her right leg, feeling her calf, the back of her knee, how the flesh on the inside of her thigh changed from firm and toned, to impossibly soft at the very top, where his fingertips came into contact with her soft pubic hair and the crease where her thigh met her bottom. He rotated his hand, palm up, and found the opening between her moist labia and teased it open with his middle finger. She gasped and put her hands on his shoulders to steady herself.

He wriggled his finger up inside her, inside his aunt’s body, into the impossible soft wetness of her most intimate place, the place where he suspected no one but her husband had been in fifteen years. It was his now.

He withdrew his hand and stood up, both to remove his own boots and pants, and to take a step back to admire her in her full lovely nakedness. She stood there for him, her arms loose at her sides now, waiting to be taken.

He stepped toward her again, noting that her eyes had darted down at his erection, arching up hard now against his belly, but then he was embracing her, pressing his cock into her belly beneath her soft breasts, running his hands down her back, cupping her delicious bottom, kissing the top of her head.

“I want to go down on you,” he said. It was a statement, not a request.

“You shouldn’t,” she said. But he knew that was more theater. He picked her up and put her on his bed.

***

And that’s how Maxine Reynolds ended up on her back on her nephew’s bed, grasping the headboard and writhing through a quick explosive little orgasm on her nephew’s tongue, and welcoming his naked body on top of hers afterwards.

He was nuzzling her breasts, sucking on the hard nubs of her nipples, nibbling, verging on biting them. She felt gratified, proud of her body, maybe more than at any time in her life.

I know baby you can’t lick it, she heard Elvis crooning. I’ll make you give in, every minute, every hour you’ll be shaken, by the strength and mighty power of my love.

He was so much taller than her that, even with her thighs wrapped around his torso, she couldn’t feel his penis. His cock. But she knew it was down there, bobbing around, rigid, dangerous. With nothing between it and her moist, ready, open pussy.

She realized that she hadn’t even touched it, had barely seen it. Only a glimpse, to see that it was hard and smooth and straight. And circumcised. Well, she knew that. Twenty years ago she had changed his diapers. God.

He moved up again, and now she was looking straight up into his dark, smoldering eyes. Yeah, darlin’, gonna make it happen. Take your aunt in a love embrace… She was dimly aware that her mind was mixing musical genres, but she wasn’t exactly thinking straight right now.

He leaned down to kiss her, and she realized that they hadn’t done that yet. She shouldn’t kiss him. But then his lips were on hers, full and thick but nonetheless firm, hard, insistent, and she was meeting his with her soft, vulnerable ones, and parting them, and welcoming his probing tongue. God, he could kiss too.

And he was so tall. She still couldn’t feel his penis. His cock. His bare cock.

There was no question where this was leading now. She managed to break away from the kiss and breathlessly ask, “Condom?”

“Huh uh.” He didn’t look as concerned as she thought he might. He hadn’t been planning on using one.

She nodded. “It’s okay. It’ll be okay.” She had already mentally checked her calendar. She wondered if she would still be making the same decision if she was at her most fertile time, instead of a week past it.

She still should have put in the diaphragm. Oh well.

And then she felt it, the warm velvety blunt head of his cock, nudging between her labia, parting them as easily as she had parted her lips for his tongue. Neither one of them had to reach down to guide it. He knew what angle to use, she knew how to tilt herself to accept it. They were made for this.

Then it was moving up inside her, soft and spongy at first as his knob squeezed into her, then the shaft, smooth and hot and so, so rigid, moving past the sensitive opening to her vagina, into the place where all she felt was pressure and fabulous fullness.

She heard herself uttering a stifled moan, and then realized that she didn’t have to mute herself. So she threw her head back and released a deep and satisfying “UUNNNGGHHHH.”

And then Billy was fully inside her, his pelvis flush against hers, the famous Elvis’ Pelvis; his full scrotum tickling her bottom, and he held still for a moment.

“You’ll have to pull out,” she whispered, putting her last token of feigned resistance on the table.

“‘kay.”

She knew he wouldn’t. She didn’t want him to. But she had to ask. Now she could just enjoy it.

And there was so much to enjoy. He was pulling back out now, then pushing back in again. His face was too far above hers to continue kissing, so she buried her face in his neck and inhaled his fresh, masculine scent, and luxuriated in the sensations… his arms under hers, one hand tangling into a fist in her long hair; her shoulders under his smooth, hard hairless chest; her thighs embracing his hips; his firm belly slap, slap, slapping against hers.

Time stopped registering to her. There was just rhythm, just pleasure. She had always found intercourse pleasant; it’s why she got pregnant when she was just nineteen. But it had always been too brief, the final inevitable flurry of motion leading up to male orgasm. Never like this.

He pushed himself up off of her, sat back on his haunches without disengaging, so they could look at each other in satisfaction and lust. He continued to thrust, and now she felt him moving inside her in a different way, dragging against the inside of her pubic bone. Oh, this was good. But she wanted to feel him on top of her again, and she was glad when he lowered himself, adjusting her legs around him just so, and then settling into another amazing rhythm.

Oh God, she realized. He knew what he was doing. In this position his pelvic bone was hitting her clit on every stroke, his glans massaging her g-spot on every withdrawal. She felt something rising in her that she had never felt before. It’s coming closer, the flames are now licking my body. Won’t you help me, feel like I’m slipping away. It’s hard to breath, and my chest is a-heaving. Lord, have mercy, Burning a hole where I lay.

Oh. Fuck. She was going to Cum. On. His. Cock.

It was the first time in her life she had had an orgasm that didn’t come from having her clitoris manipulated, by herself, or her husband’s fingers or tongue.

It was glorious. It was spectacular. It was like a summer thunderstorm, building, darkening her world, frightening, menacing; and then it broke, shattering in its power, like hail on a tin roof, long and deafening to her senses. She never wanted it to end.

And when it did, receding the way the storm gives way to a gentle rain afterwards, her body still rocking to his rhythmic thrusts, feeling herself enveloped in his arms and his chest and his lean pistoning torso, she wanted to experience it again.

And she felt like she just might, because her young lover seemed to be as tireless and relentless as that rumbling engine on his bike. And he seemed to have a full tank of gas.

She wanted to please him. She wanted to get on her knees and take his smooth hard penis into her mouth. She wanted to give him every gift, try every technique in The Sensuous Woman — the Butterfly Flick, the Silken Swirl. She wanted to be the best he had ever had.

She wanted him to erupt into her mouth, cover her tongue with that slippery, pungent stuff that she had never before tasted except by accident, and which had never appealed to her before. But she wanted Billy’s. She wanted to taste Billy’s, and roll it around in her mouth, and swallow it.

But not yet. Because, God help her, she wanted his first powerful and dangerous eruption inside her.

She wanted him to have everything. She wanted desperately for him to be feeling as good as she was. She wanted him to want her as badly as she now needed him.

She could sense the next storm gathering on the horizon. It made her want another, and another. She wanted this to go on forever.

She didn’t care. She wanted to belong on this bed, underneath this young man, every night, and every morning. First thing in the morning, last thing at night, Elvis confirmed. On this cheap, worn-out mattress, in this dingy, run-down house, in this dead-end town. This was all she needed.

Then she was cumming again.

The second storm broke, and slowly subsided. Well, the third, counting the quick, bright orgasm he had given her with his mouth. As her senses recovered, she found herself aware of the fact that Billy’s muscles were tensing, than his pace was quickening.

Yeah, yeah, baby I want you; you’ll never get away. My love will haunt you; yes haunt you night and day. Touch it, pound it, what good does it do? There’s just no stopping…

There was only one thing left to do to complete her debauchery. She opened her legs wider, sliding her thighs up higher around his thrusting hips, and dragging the soles of her feet up the backs of his taut thighs. She wrapped her arms around her nephew’s neck, craned to place her forehead on his clenching jaw, and whispered up into his ear.

“Fill me up, Billy. Cum inside me.”

Then she felt him moving, adjusting his arms, cupping his hands around the soft flesh of her womanly bottom, pressing his smooth chest down more heavily onto her now. That’s it, she thought; fire all of your guns at once, Billy, and explode into… Aunt Max. And then he stopped thrusting, and, holding her lower body tightly against his own, he began pulsing inside her, pumping his forbidden semen into her.

***

When they got back to Bill’s mother’s house, he noticed that his red pickup truck was in the side drive. He often loaned it to his brother Robbie on days when he wouldn’t be needing it. That meant Robbie hadn’t been on the swimming picnic with his siblings and cousins.

It also meant that his last lingering tongue-twirling goodbye kiss with his aunt, his lover, had already happened.

“Robbie’s here,” he said after he turned off the ignition.

“Oh,” was all Maxine said. He could tell she was thinking the same thing he was.

She got off the bike, still a tad unsteady the first few steps after dismounting.

“Well,” she said, “Thanks for the… ride.” She grinned at her little joke, then turned toward the house.

Robbie was stepping out onto the front porch, waving. Bill waved back, but stayed on the bike, indicating that he wasn’t coming in. He looked at his brother for signs of recognition or suspicion, but saw none.

From his vantage point on the bike, Bill could see Robbie and Aunt Max exchange a brief greeting, but couldn’t hear the words. Then his aunt stepped up through the front door, her delectable ass flexing in those blue slacks that he had recently peeled off of her, and then she was out of his sight.

Bill kicked the motorcycle back to life and headed back onto the street.

***

That Saturday, Bill came by his mother’s house to see Aunt Max and her family off. He felt awkward about it, but it might have been more awkward to avoid it.

Uncle Judd was loading suitcases into the massive trunk of the Mercury, and the

boys were settling into the back seat, when Max came out of the house with her sister. She was wearing the same blue outfit, freshly laundered, of course — sleeveless blouse, stirrup pants — she had worn on the motorcycle ride earlier this week. The same ones that ended up on the floor of his bedroom that afternoon.

Her long hair was pulled back with a hairband, and she was already wearing oversized sunglasses, so he couldn’t really make out her expression when she looked at him.

Hugs all around. She didn’t hesitate to give him a squeeze when it was his turn. He resisted the urge to move his hand down to that delightful ass.

“Take care of yourself,” she murmured.

“You too,” he replied, then risked the tiniest little gesture of familiarity, a gentle little chuck on her chin with his loose fist. She smiled at him, wistfully, then passed across the front of the family car to get in the passenger door.

Bill looked at her husband. Uncle Judd. Clueless. I had her, man, he thought. But he was also jealous of the older man, about to drive off with this pretty, passionate woman, who he had only had for an afternoon.

***

By the time they reached the interstate, Maxine and her husband were small-talked out. The boys were engrossed in comic books in the backseat. Judd set the cruise control, and after a moment, turned up the radio.

Maxine was content to sit back, listen to the music, and ride along in silence, as far as conversation went. Longer, more complex talks about the next move, the next house, would follow. And she certainly couldn’t talk to her husband about every aspect of her life this past week.

Actually, she thought, she felt much less unsettled and guilty now that she had done it, had broken her wedding vows, had steamy and illicit sex with another man, her own nephew no less, than she had in the twenty-four hours when she was just considering it. It was over. It had been great, incredible, really; but it was, in fact, like the books and the gossip insisted, just sex.

Really, really good sex. That was the other thing. She had to wonder, whether Billy had developed a singular technique in the two or four or six years he had been sexually active, or whether it was the absolutely thrilling illicitness of their encounter; but she knew now that extra-marital sex could indeed be mind-blowing instead of just “different.”

Surely Billy wasn’t the only man capable of making sex feel that way for a woman. But at the moment she felt like she had slaked her curiosity, a curiosity that she didn’t realize she had; and furthermore, it gave her kind of a warm feeling to pretend that maybe Billy was the only man with that capability. To pretend that it was something more than it was; and so she wouldn’t start itching to try it again with someone else, so she could keep her impulsive, shabby behavior as just a memory, contained in that shabby little house a few hundred miles away.

In a couple of weeks she would be packing, she and Judd would be moving to yet another new town, she would be getting the boys enrolled in a new school, she would be back to spending her days writing long letters to her sisters and meeting other stay-at-home moms to trade afternoons on the public golf course for afternoons of after-school duty.

Eventually she would get to know her new friends well enough that they would begin to share gossip and salacious secrets. No matter how close they got, Maxine knew she would never admit to any of them about that time she let her handsome young nephew take her to bed. But she would have a better sense of which of their stories about earth-shattering orgasms were in fact possible.

Her husband had his eyes fixed on the road. She looked out the window and smiled.

She kept thinking about how completely she had surrendered herself, not only to physical ecstasy, but to preposterous fantasies, that she could recall having raced through her mind as her orgasms had mounted.

She remembered how loud she had been, how freeing that was, even if it wasn’t a good idea.

She heard herself moaning out loud again, having abandoned herself, and how she had relished it. She hadn’t cared if the neighbors heard. She wanted the neighbors to hear. The neighbors. The people in her hometown. Old boyfriends. Her high school English teacher. Miss Jacobsen at the post office. “Wasn’t that Maxine Cumberland with Billy?” “Yeah. Maxine Reynolds now.” “Judd Reynolds’ wife?” “Uh huh. Well, for the time being.” “Sounds like she’s having a good time.” “Sounds like Billy’s having a good time.” “Wait, isn’t he her nephew?” “Yep.” “Wow.”

She had spent the last three days amazing herself with where she had let her mind go in those moments, more outrageous even than the mere act of allowing her nephew into her body. How good it had felt to feel the desire for more. To want to be in that lumpy little bed every night and every morning.

She had allowed herself absurd fantasies about leaving her husband and being Billy’s woman. Her sister’s absolute shock and outrage. They couldn’t stay there in town. But Billy could get a job as a mechanic anywhere. She could get a job in retail anywhere, maybe even a nice little bookstore. And come home every night and make him dinner and get back underneath him. She couldn’t allow herself to include her children in the fantasy; that was too complicated, too real. But she could imagine herself, round, huge, pregnant with Billy’s child. That, of course, was even more problematic to think about. But it had been good for a couple of self-induced orgasms the last couple of nights, alone in her sister’s house, in her niece’s bed.

She wondered if Billy was thinking about her. She wondered if she would miss him.

Maybe she would be back at Christmas; maybe not again until next summer. She and Billy would exchange knowing glances, but nothing more. He might be married to his little Roxanne by then; based on what she knew about his disregard for condoms, the strawberry blonde would probably have a little baby bump.

Maxine doubted she would be invited to the wedding.

No, she had concluded. Life was going to go on for both of them as if nothing had ever happened in that little house in those couple of hours on an August afternoon. And besides being a sexy secret that only the two of them would share, no one would ever know.

***

That evening Robbie showed up at Bill’s house to return the pick-up truck he had borrowed. Bill offered to give him a lift back to their parents’ house, but Robbie assured him he didn’t mind walking the mile. Except, he didn’t start walking.

After an awkward moment of standing in the driveway, Robbie revealed why he was lingering.

“So, did you fuck Aunt Max?”

Bill twitched visibly, then stammered out, “What the hell are you talking about?”

Robbie smirked, and looked off toward the horizon. “Don’t hear a ‘no’ in there.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Yeah? Well, I saw you with her on your bike. And I saw your bike here from, like, eleven to two. And I saw you bring her home, so…”

Bill clenched his jaw. “So?”

“So? So what did you do for three hours, play Yahtzee? Plus that, I was there when you dropped her off at home. You know the term ‘well-fucked look’?”

Bill snorted, looking away. But he couldn’t deny that he was getting hard with the thought that his little brother knew. And the notion that he had left his aunt looking well-fucked.

“Your aunt?” Robbie was going on. “Mom’s little sister? And she’s a married woman. Man, that’s just wrong.”

Bill scowled. But he knew he was busted; might as well go on the offensive.

“Didn’t feel wrong when I was balls deep in her.” He instantly regretted it, but it was too late to take it back.

“Damn! I knew it! You fucked Aunt Max!” Then he elbowed his big brother in the ribs. “Way to go.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious. I’m proud of you, man. I mean, she’s hot.*”

Bill finally looked his brother in the eyes, and arched his eyebrows in agreement.

“So, how was she?”

“Robbie…”

“C’mon, you can trust me. I’m not going to tell anyone. I’m not going to say anything to Roxanne. You didn’t say anything to Debbie when you found out about me and Marjorie McVey.

“And, uh, I’m sure not saying anything to Mom.”

Bill finally laughed at that.

“So…. didja use a rubber?”

“Robbie!” Bill kicked at the rocks in the gravel driveway. Then he muttered, “Nah,” and suppressed a smile as his brother pumped his fist in vicarious celebration.

He had planned to keep this as a secret, probably to the grave. Probably not the only secret of this sort he would ever have, but maybe the most shocking. Now, part of him wanted to tell his brother everything.

Tell him how he had undressed her, while she kept saying they should stop but kept not stopping him. Tell him how she almost broke his nose bucking in orgasm when he had his tongue up inside her. Tell him how slick she had been when he slid up into her for the first time, how enthusiastically she had moved with him, how hard her pussy had gripped at him during her orgasms, how she had first told him he would have to pull out, but then later had urged him to cum inside her.

How they had sat together naked on his bed and drank the two room-temperature beers that they never got to earlier, while she babbled on about who-knows-what while he stroked her hair and played with her breasts, and those amazing nipples, which got softer or harder but never smaller. How halfway through a second beer, this one cold, she had got down on her knees between his legs and taken his cock, long since hard again, in her pretty mouth. How she had told him about this book she had been reading, that talked about techniques, butterfly this and silky that, and how she could do so many incredible things with her tongue and even her teeth beyond simply sucking.

How he had pulled her back up on the bed again and she had been on top this time, sitting upright, moving in circles on him while his cock stirred her insides, and he fondled those perfect breasts. How he put her on her hands and knees, taking her from behind; how she somehow got even wetter then, how when he wrapped his hands around her waist to draw her back onto him vigorously and repeatedly, she bit her lip and whimpered and clutched at the sheets until the bed came undone. Like maybe this was something she had never done with her husband.

How, as much as he loved that position, he had pulled out before he unloaded in her, and flipped her back over; because he just had to finish off the same way he had earlier.

But he couldn’t bring himself to go into that kind of detail. He never did when he was talking about some waitress from the Dairy Barn in Bartonsville; he wasn’t going to now in regards to his special afternoon with his Aunt Max. Even though he really, really wanted to.

He also wanted to tell his brother about how exciting it had been to simply be on his knees behind her as he lowered her slacks and revealed her lovely panty-covered ass, knowing at last that he was indeed going to score, because it was so wrong. Because she was his aunt.

And then how exciting it was to finally be on top of her and inside her, totally covering her, her legs wrapped around him and her soft breasts and tummy quivering under him and her forehead pressed against his collarbone, clutching the back of her head to him with one hand while he clamped the other around her luscious ass, holding her in place so he could be as close to her as possible when he came inside her again, feeling something different than he was used to feeling, an unprecedented combination of lust and adoration. Because she was his aunt. And it was so right. It was so goddamn fucking right.

But he didn’t have the words for that.

“All right.” Robbie seemed to realize he had got all the titillation he was going to get out of this conversation. “Well, then. Okay. Damn, though. Damn.” And he scuffed off, leaving Bill standing alone, also still looking at the horizon.