He tried not to stare at her body. He tried, unsuccessfully, not to imagine her from the picture or imagine her in pink panties. He tried, mostly successfully, not to let his arousal show, though there were times when his cock, half erect, pressed against the front of his swimsuit. When her nipples, hard from the water or the cool breeze, pressed through the front of her one piece he tried not to stare, but when she was looking away, his eyes would roam over the feminine curves of her body.
Aunt Dee complimented him on his form several times. Simple compliments about his muscles, about his overall appearance. As usual, she found multiple excuses to touch him. She had her hand over his biceps, gave them a little squeeze. She admired his shoulders, broad and muscular, running her hands across them. Once, as they sat side by side at the edge of the pool, she seemed to unconsciously drop her hand to his thigh, caress it once or twice, and give it a small squeeze.
In the pool she was even more physical. Swimming up to him and playfully trying to dunk him under the water, her body rising and then sliding down his as she tried to push him down. Coming up behind him and mounting his back, her breasts pressed against him, her thighs wrapped around his waist, asking him, no, commanding him, to give her a ride while swimming. As they mock wrestled in the pool, her hands roamed over his slick form, seeking purchase, and caressing him. Several times she brushed against his erection, hidden under water, but she never mentioned it. Once she lingered, pressed against him, his erection pressed against her ass, and then slowly slipped away.
While they wrestled in the water, she twisted and slipped, trying to pull away, and he ended up with his hand firmly grasping her by her soft left breast. She gasped as he squeezed hard, trying to get a purchase on her, and realizing that he had her full breast tight in his grip, he swiftly let go. She pulled away for a second and, seemingly embarrassed, adjusted her suit and regained her composure, looking slightly flustered.
After the evening of swimming, after they had watched a movie, and both gone to their bedrooms to sleep, he lay awake and quietly, soundlessly, masturbated twice. His imagination was rich with the bodily contact of the swimming session, with images of her, wet in the one piece, her honey blond hair slicked down. He came the first time, found he was still erect, and came a second time.
Later in the night, somewhere around 2:00 AM, something woke him up. Uncertain, he lay there in the darkness, wondering what had pulled him from his sleep, and he swore he heard a single, deep, protracted moan, and then silence. He wasn’t sure if he had heard anything or if it had simply been his imagination. He strained against the silence, listening carefully, but no other sounds echoed through the house. He masturbated a third time. This time, when he came, he moaned once, soft, and deep.
Saturday dawned bright and clear. When he woke, showered, and ventured downstairs, Aunt Dee was already up and making breakfast. She was dressed for the sunny day, wearing a light, gauzy, wrap and a two-tone pink bikini, the top cupping her breasts and the bottoms barely visible through the translucent fabric. Breakfast was strawberry waffles, eggs over easy, bacon and toasted English muffins, with butter and jam. He’d dressed that morning in khaki shorts and a faded black T-shirt.
Over breakfast conversation, Aunt Dee mentioned that she had started his laundry and she had a question for him. When he told her to go ahead and ask it, she disappeared into the laundry room for a minute and then came back, holding something behind her.
“Why,” she asked, a sly grin crossing her face, “did you not wear these yesterday?”
She pulled her hand from behind her back and held up his competition speedo. She hooked a thumb through each leg and spread them out. She looked from the speedos, to him, and back again with a slow, deliberate expression. Then she quizzically cocked one eyebrow.
He blushed uncontrollably.
“I didn’t want to scare you,” he replied, unable to look her in the face.
Her laughter was light and musical. “Well,” she said, “when we finish breakfast go put them on and let’s hit the pool for a morning swim, it won’t be the first speedo I’ve seen.”
He nodded in agreement, still blushing.
“You’ve got a beautiful body,” she told him, “Don’t be afraid to show it to the world. Trust me when I tell you that, though some women will voice some puritanical displeasure, they’re all going to be looking. Besides, you never know when you’re going to take a place in some idle, married, bored woman’s fantasy line up.”
After breakfast, they did dishes side by side. She glided around him, brushing against him, gently pushing him into the counter, bumping him with her hip to move him aside, placing her hand in the small of his back to move him this way or that. He did the same, guiding her body this way and that as they maneuvered around the kitchen sink. For the first time, he let his hands linger on her body, returned the casual caresses of her arms, her shoulders, her back. Once, he brushed a stray strand of her hair out of her eyes and for a long moment stared into their green depths. When they finished dishes she suddenly and playfully slapped him on the ass and told him to go get into his speedo and meet her at the pool.
He took the speedo into the bathroom and changed into it. His cock was three quarters erect and it was a tight fit. He looked at his reflection in the mirror. There was no hiding the prominent bulge. He tried to will it down. His cock did not obey. He took a deep breath, then another. He felt as if he was floating, his mind a tangle of arousal and adrenaline. Several deeper breaths and he was quietly, surreally, floating. He turned and walked through the house, out through the door, and into the pool area. He was immensely conscious of how he was dressed, the skintight swimsuit tightly clinging to his cock and balls.
Aunt Dee was waiting in the pool area, sitting on one of the loungers. Her green eyes watched him carefully as he strode out, crossed the pavers, and stopped in front of her. She looked him up and down slowly, carefully.
“How are you feeling?”
He took a deep breath.
“Exposed,” he answered honestly.
She laughed lightly.
“Now you know how a woman feels in a bikini,” she said, “That tangle of sexy and exposed. For what it’s worth, you’re beautiful.”
Then, she turned, dropped her wrap, and dove into the pool. He had a brief flash of her round ass and the narrow pink wedge of the bikini bottoms as she disappeared under the water. He took a few steps and dove in after her, the shock of the water embracing him and cascading over him. They surfaced at the same time and she swam toward him, stopping a few feet in front of him. Her eyes were bright, and she gave him a wicked smile.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“It’s not the first time I’ve worn them,” he said, “Just the first time I wore them in front of my Aunt.”
She treaded water.
“How does that make you feel, knowing that I am your Aunt?”
“Honestly,” he replied, “It’s a combination of self-conscious and aroused. I know you’re my Aunt and it’s supposed to be wrong, but at the same time, my body responds to your body, and I don’t think our bodies know you’re related to me.”
“Oh,” she said, “do you think my body is responding to yours?”
He started to blush then, aware that under the cover of the water his cock had gone to full erection and was straining against the tight confirms of the swimsuit. She held the silence for a long time, waiting for his answer, her wicked grin of anticipation unchanged. She closed the distance between them and pressed her warm body against him. Her slowly moving thigh brushed against his cock and he nearly came.
She leaned forward and whispered into his ear, “I imagine how hard you are right now nephew.”
Then she laughed and turned and swam away from him.
They frolicked in the pool for the next hour so, swimming, splashing each other, playing an impromptu game of tag. Finally, she turned, swam a few strokes to the ladder, and climbed out of the pool. He watched her slick body rise from the cover of the pool, the water cascading off it. He watched the slight sway of her breasts, bound by the bikini top, and the curving, flexing, hypnotic sway of her ass as she climbed the ladder onto the deck.
She picked up one of the plush, white, Turkish cotton towels and quickly dried her face, then squeezed some of the water out of her honey blond hair. She gestured to him to come out of the pool, beckoning him.
He swam to the ladder and pulled himself up with a strong flex of his arms and a few quick steps. She held up the towel.
“Help me dry off,” she said.
Was it his imagination or was there a change in the tone of her voice? Something slightly deeper and a little husky.
She turned her back on him after she handed him the towel. He hesitated for a moment and then began to wipe the water from her shoulders, all the way down to the small of her back. She held her left arm out. He carefully dried it off, then repeated the process on her raised right arm.
“Left leg,” she said. This time he was certain, her voice was different, deeper, huskier with a slight tremelo.
He squatted and, using both hands, slid the thick towel downward to her ankles, and then back up.
“Right leg,” she said. He repeated the process, slowing down slightly, making it more of a long, lingering caress.
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