Literotic asexstories – The Devil In Aunt Dee – Seduction by Paul_Chance,Paul_Chance
Aunt Dee was his mother’s younger sister, younger by three years. She’d moved east from their small midwestern town in Illinois in her late teens following some indescribable scandal, and so was a distant figure through his youth, spoken of, seen in pictures, heard on the phone. When the relatives gathered and talked of Aunt Dee, at some point in the conversation someone would say, “Well, she had a devil inside her, that’s for sure.”
He’d always wondered what that meant. When he’d left home, he’d gone to a private college just outside of Boston. Aunt Dee lived three small towns over, an hour’s bus ride away, and she made it a point to invite him over for lunch or dinner on weekends, or to spend the night when his roommates were away, so he wouldn’t be lonely or homesick. He’d grown to love those weekends.
Aunt Dee was a physical force, from the sweet scent of her honey blond hair on down. She stood just a hair over five foot four inches, all feminine grace. Her body was full and sensuous, always well-dressed, always moving in small, graceful ways that draw the eye and fire the imagination. Her shirt was always open that one extra button, showing a few inches of warm and inviting cleavage.
When she hugged him in greeting the embrace was always tight, enveloping him in her scent and the warmth of her body. When she walked beside him, she would loop her arm through his, so that she was pressed against him, her body bumping into him, or sliding along his. When she sat opposite him, she would watch him speaking, giving him her full attention, seemingly basking in his presence. When she sat next to him, she would sit close, sometimes leaning into him, so her softness was always present. When they were together, she would always find an excuse to touch him, to place her hand upon his knee or his thigh, to pat his chest, to rub his stomach, to caress his hands.
She was a gracious host. On one of the early visits, she’d given him an album of family photos. It was mostly innocent. Pictures of her and his mother growing up, pictures of the extended family, pictures of small-town life. One night, back in his dorm room, as he sat watching TV and casually looking through the album, he discovered a lone picture. It was tucked in behind another picture, as if it was left behind accidentally when the album was loaded with family images.
It was a picture of Aunt Dee standing there, head tilted down and to the side, a sly look on her face. She was gazing directly into the camera, as if she was challenging the unseen photographer. She was wearing a faded blue denim shirt, tied at the waist, otherwise open down the front. The full curve of her right breast could be seen, a beautiful globe, tanned and luxurious. Her left breast was similar, but more exposed. The hard point of her brown nipple peeked out from the open front of denim. The smooth and muscular planes of her abdomen were taut, the ridges of muscle slightly shadowed. She was wearing a pair of simple white lace panties. The dark shadow of pubic hair visible, the faintest outline of her pussy lips a tantalizing promise of sexuality.
It was the sort of picture taken by and shared with a lover. The pose was sexual and defiant. That night, in the quiet darkness of his college dorm room, he masturbated to the picture. As he lay there stroking his cock, long, thick, and hard, he imagined himself fucking his Aunt, his mother’s sister, in the missionary position. In his imagination he could heard her voice, moaning in pleasure as he impaled her, pumping in and out, his cock slick with her juices. When he came, he shot streams of white sperm across the planes of his own abdomen, a thick load, creamy and full.
For three nights, the picture of Aunt Dee was his last night companion. Each night he would masturbate before he fell asleep, imagining her body as revealed in the picture, twisting, and turning under him. He would imagine her voice, whispering “Fuck me.” softly in his ear, or moaning into the night. He would imagine the feel of her nipple, the softness of her breast under his hand, or her taste upon his tongue.
When he first went to visit her after the discovery of the picture, he’d found himself acutely aware of her sensuousness. He found himself blushing without warning. She caught him once and asked him about it. He never could remember what he told her, but he made some innocent excuse and blushed deeper. She thought it was cute. He couldn’t be sure it wasn’t his imagination, but he thought she started teasing him a bit more. More lingering touches. More casual brushes of her body when she moved past him, lingering a bit longer when she hugged him.
She did his laundry over the weekend. While she did, he imagined her finding his fitted cotton boxer shorts and found himself blushing again, imagining her holding them and raising them to her face to smell them before throwing them in the washing machine. He wondered if he was going crazy as his sexual obsession with her took hold. He still hadn’t seen or met the Devil in Aunt Dee, but her sexuality was like her perfume, always present, always a beautiful distraction.
On the bus ride home after the weekend he convinced himself it was all his fevered mind working overtime, that he was becoming obsessed with her because he was a young man and the tangle of lust and desire was never far from the forefront of his imagination. He managed to chuckle at his own folly when he unpacked his bag, placing his clothes back into the dresser and wardrobe in his college dorm room.
Something small and delicate and pink fell from his laundry bag. He bent over and picked it up. It was a pair of soft pink French cut panties, with a tiny rose at the front. He was instantly hard. He glanced nervously around to make sure no one was watching. Then he unfolded them and held them up to inspect them closely. How had they ended up with his laundry? Had they been in the washer or dryer and inadvertently become tangled with his clothes when she repacked his bag?
He held them to his face and drew in the scent. They smelled of Aunt Dee, faintly, her perfume and some other, muskier scent. He imagined her standing in the laundry room, glancing out to make sure he was still in the living room, and then swiftly pulling them down and stepping out of them before slipping them in amongst his clothes.
That night, as he lay in bed, stroking his cock, he imagined that scenario, over and over, her peeling her panties down, slipping them into his bag, until he neared his orgasm. Then, holding them to his face, inhaling that faint scent, he came and he came hard. His cum was a jet of warmth that shot up across his chest before pulsing again and again onto his stomach.
It was three or four weeks of preparing for spring finals before he made it back over to see her. During that time, he thought of her almost constantly, so much so it distracted him from his studies. It took all his willpower to put the panties and the picture away and focus on the upcoming tests. With finals week fast approaching she invited him over for the long weekend before they started. He almost didn’t go, but convinced himself he needed the break. When he called her to confirm he was coming, she told him to bring a pair of swim trunks because, with spring unfolding, she’d opened her pool. She told him that she’d enjoyed doing laundry for him on the previous visit, so to be sure and bring his dirty laundry.
He spent that night imagining her, in a variety of swimsuits, swimming and lounging about. The mental images distracted him and aroused him. At near midnight he found himself laying on top of his sheets, naked, his lean body trembling, panties in his fist and his fist wrapped around his cock, again, slowly stroking it, feeling the silk slide over his cock, just barely grazing it in his loose grip.
So engrossed in the sensation was he that when he came, he came with little or no warning. One moment lost in the feel of her panties, the next pulsating waves of cum pouring from his cock. Without intending to, he came on the panties, accidentally staining them with a healthy spurt of sperm.
The next morning, as he packed his overnight bag and his laundry bag, he remembered to slip his swim trunks in and, on impulse, a pair of his competition speedos. He stood over his laundry bag for a long time, holding the cum-stained panties. Part of him wanted to slip them back into his drawer. Part of him said it was an innocent mistake and she’d see what he had done to them, find it weird and creepy, and cast him out of her life. Another part of him said no, it wasn’t a mistake, she’d wanted him to find the panties, she’d deliberately slipped them into his bag. Returning them in their cum-stained condition would tell her he’d found them and used them to pleasure himself.
He’d managed to convince himself to leave them behind. Then, at the last moment, impulsively, he neatly tucked them into the corner of the laundry bag, zipped it shut, and headed out the door for the short walk to the university bus depot. On the hour-long ride over he obsessed about the panties and at the last minute, pulled them discretely out of his laundry bag and slipped them into his jacket pocket.
That evening, once they’d had a simple pasta and chicken dinner, they took a swim. The swimming pool, in the backyard of the house, was small. The water was warm and comfortable. He wore the swimming trunks he’d packed, black and boxer style. Aunt Dee wore a pale blue one piece. They spent the evening around the pool area, laughing, talking, and periodically slipping into the pool to splash around as the evening slowly faded to night.
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