“Yeah,” Taylor replied curtly, trying not to show any reaction, to betray nothing about how her presence made beats skip in a heart already fluttery from earlier events.
“I heard quite a commotion,” Bella continued unabashedly. “You always were Auntie’s little troublemaker though I never thought I’d still hear you getting spanked at your age.”
Taylor set another nail with more force than necessary, the thud vibrating up his arm matching turbulence swirling deep inside where mortification mingled with something else; something undeniably darker yet enticing thanks to Bella’s insinuations.
Her laughter danced airily around him, a sound familiar yet transformed somehow by age and circumstance.
“Need help from your big cousin?” Bella flicked her hair over her shoulder in that nonchalant way she had—her tone laced with mischief as each word dripped like syrup, slow and taunting.
Taylor grunted in response, keeping his eyes locked on his work. “I’ve got it under control,” he said tersely, hoping his voice didn’t betray the uncomfortable shifting inside him.
But Bella wouldn’t be deterred easily. With each step closer towards Taylor, every sway of her hips in those cutoff shorts seemed deliberate—a silent siren call stirring things within he would rather leave undisturbed while under Aunt MJ’s watchful eye.
She picked up a stray piece of wire as if inspecting it curiously before giving Taylor a look that could only be described as impishly provocative. “Looks like you’ve got quite the… stamina for work.” Her eyes momentarily darting down past his waist only to meet his gaze again with feigned innocence twinkling there brightly with mischievousness.
Their banter, while reminiscent of their youth, was pulling at threads unwinding the familiar dynamic underlaid with currents that neither fully acknowledged nor pushed aside completely.
However, their playful exchange was cut short when MJ found them together; Taylor standing rigidly trying focus amidst distraction while Bella leaned much too close for mere innocent conversation.
MJ’s disappointment echoed through her stern tone, a clear indication that Bella’s antics had not gone unnoticed. “Seems like you’re craving some attention—disrupting Taylor’s work. Meet me in my room after you help him finish this fence,” MJ instructed firmly, signaling that the day’s lessons were far from over.
In the waning light, Bella assisted Taylor with reluctant hands and silence heavy between them. As they worked side by side, the playful tension that had been building between them now smothered under the impending certainty of consequences waiting in the quiet solitude of MJ’s bedroom. Taylor couldn’t resist taking advantage of the quiet to land a subtle jab at Bella’s expense. He leaned in slightly, his voice a low murmur meant only for her ears. “Remember Bella, what goes around comes around,” he teased with a hint of challenge in his tone.
Later, as twilight settled over the farmhouse like a soft blanket, soft murmurs and creaks could be heard from behind MJ’s closed door. Taylor found himself drawn there by an insatiable curiosity, creeping up to press an ear against the weathered wood.
“Undress,” came MJ’s voice from within, a command both stark and serene. There was rustling followed by Bella’s protests muted yet tinged with trepidation: “Momma, you can’t be serious! I’m too old for this!”
“The more you resist, Bella dear,” MJ replied evenly but with an underlying steel that brooked no argument. “The harsher your punishment will become. I’m ready to go as far as tying those wrists if necessary.”
Shivers ran down Taylor’s spine at these words; his mind suddenly awash with images he shouldn’t be entertaining, imagination painting scenes that had his heart drumming with a mix of guilt and desire. He envisioned Bella, defiant yet subdued, her wrists bound tightly by the same rope they used to secure the fence posts, rendering her completely at MJ’s mercy. In his mind’s eye, he saw Aunt MJ towering over Bella—her dominance unyielding as she prepared to deliver discipline.
The thought made him shift uncomfortably; guilt gnawed at him for conjuring up such an intimate scenario between his aunt and cousin.
Clothes fell to floorboards; soft thuds marking each piece discarded until nothing remained save vulnerability.
Taylor strained to hear every nuance, the sound of skin-on-skin contact resounded sharply across air once still, now vibrantly alive with tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Bella whimpered softly, almost rhythmically, discordant sounds mixed pain and pleasure.
Taylor’s heart throbbed in his ears; each beat an echo of the sounds from within MJ’s room—muffled spanks segued into comforting whispers. His curiosity was a living thing, an unruly creature that pressed him closer to the door as he strained for every word and breath shared between mother and daughter.
The atmosphere in MJ’s room shifted from one of discipline to nurturing as the ache of Bella’s spanking slowly ebbed away. “Come here, baby,” MJ’s voice coaxed gently—a velvet balm soothing over earlier sharpness. Despite the stern punishment, MJ’s heart was never far from compassion.
“There now, baby,” MJ murmured, her voice now soft and embracing as she cradled Bella against her bosom. “Let Momma take care of you.”
On the other side of the door, Taylor listened intently, each sound painting a vivid picture in his mind. He could hear the rustle of fabric shifting as MJ rearranged herself on the bed into a more comfortable position.
Bella’s sniffles filled the quiet room as MJ guided her daughter’s head towards her now exposed breast with gentle insistence. “Come on darling, you need this… Just relax and let it out,” she cooed. There was a momentary stillness before he heard Bella latch on with subtle sips that soon grew stronger and rhythmic.
Taylor’s breath caught in his throat, the scene before him dredging up memories he’d long buried. He remembered vividly those rare times of vulnerability when Aunt MJ had offered him comfort at her breast. The deep rumbles of thunder that shook the house when he was seven, leaving him quaking until her calming presence and nourishing warmth had enveloped him.
Then there was the searing pain in his wrist at nine, bones fractured from a careless tumble out of the hayloft, pain that had been eased by the same maternal succor. And again, when he was thirteen, heartbroken over the loss of his childhood dog; it was MJ’s gentle embrace and soothing whispers that had helped dampen his grief as he suckled solemnly.
As a child, he had accepted Aunt MJ’s comfort without question, it was just another facet of her boundless care. But now, with years stretching between those distant days and this moment, doubt crept into his mind.
How could she possibly still be lactating after all these years? Nineteen years had passed since Bella came into the world; did she never cease to produce milk? Or had Aunt MJ found some farm secret to induce lactation solely for moments like these?
The mystery deepened the chasm within him, a jumble of childhood trust clashing against an adult’s skepticism and curiosity. It gnawed at him: the notion that something so nurturing might be shrouded in secrets he wasn’t privy to, an intimate bond that excluded him yet exercised an unfathomable hold over his senses.
MJ sighing brought him back to the present—a deep sound laden with relief—and there was tenderness infusing every word she whispered next: “Good girl… that’s right… just like when you were little.” “Yes, just like that… drink up,” encouraged MJ softly, words tender and tranquil restoring balance to the chaos brought from her corrective punishment.
Taylor felt like an intruder to this sacred ritual but found himself unable to move away. Through the barrier of wood between them, he remembered vividly, the comfort drawn from warm milk flowing freely from MJ’s large and plush breasts.
From inside came softly sweet sounds, murmurs nestled amongst suckling noises, echoing harmonious within the confines of Aunt MJ’s bedroom.
He visualized Bella nursing contentedly at MJ’s breast—each pull drawing forth both sustenance and solace while easing not just physical sting left behind, but also emotional turmoil stirred throughout shared ordeal prior…
The rhythmic suckling slowed; Bella’s breaths grew deep and even, a testament to the tranquility that had settled over her. MJ’s hand gently stroked her hair in a repetitive motion that was as soothing as the milk being drawn from her.
“That’s it,” MJ whispered, her voice barely audible through the door to Taylor. “Let it all go.”
After a few more minutes of peaceful silence punctuated only by faint gulps and soft coos of contentment emanating from within the room, there was a shift in energy—a signal that their private moment was drawing to an end. The soft sounds of Bella detaching, and MJ readjusting clothing indicated that reality was inevitably filtering back into the space they had temporarily held at bay.
Feeling like he had overstayed his time eavesdropping on such privacy, Taylor knew it was time to retreat before anyone became aware of his presence. He backed away slowly from the door, every nerve tingling with caution not to make a sound.
His feet moved almost instinctively; finding silent paths across well-trodden floorboards avoiding spots he knew would betray him with creaks or groans underfoot, a dance familiar enacted often during stealthy nocturnal quests for late-night kitchen raids but never under circumstances quite like this.
The sun had fully surrendered to the night by the time dinner was ready, casting long shadows through the cozy farm kitchen. Inside, MJ was the conductor of clanging pots and sizzling pans, her figure silhouetted against the stove light.
At the oak dinner table sat Taylor and Bella, each subtly shifting in their wooden chairs trying to find a position that didn’t press too harshly against their tender bottoms. A quiet understanding passed between them; a shared discomfort known only to those who had recently been at the receiving end of MJ’s stern hand.
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