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As you can imagine, I had an entire week of masturbatory bliss after teasing my nephew mercilessly to consider what would happen next. I didn’t waste a minute in considering all of my options.
Yes, I knew it was wrong. Yes. I knew I should put a stop to it. Yes. Yes., Yes.
But despite that, I simply was having too damn much fun. This was like being back in high school, teasing, pleasing a little, teasing some more, without really knowing how far I would go before yelling, “Chicken!” as loud as I could.
Despite everything, I still considered this to be innocent fun. Nothing overtly sexual had happened. I hadn’t fucked my nephew. I hadn’t taken him into my mouth, sucking every last drop from him. I hadn’t even touched him _ or let him touch me. In my mind, it was still very, very naughty, but innocent. As President Bill Clinton had noted, it’s all a matter of how you define sex. I liked his view. It seemed to fit the situation _ and my mood.
And there hadn’t been the slightest hint my nephew wanted me to stop. Au contrair …
He was sending every possible signal he was enjoying this as much as I was, maybe, even more!
I actually needed his help the following weekend. I had some serious yard work I needed to get done. Hot, sweaty yard work.
I figured I could offset the unpleasantness by carefully choosing my work clothes: Tight shorts. A low-cut top. No bra. If I gave him something good to look at, I figured he might work harder (no, silly, NOT that way!) and we would get done quicker.
I wasn’t wrong!
When he came into the kitchen, Saturday morning I knew instantly I had done the right thing. His eyes nearly popped out. Did I say these were TIGHT shorts? Cut high? Very high? They did seem to get his attention. And in nothing flat, looking at him looking at me made my nipples quite obviously hard. Even if he couldn’t see how wet I was getting from his looks, I knew I couldn’t hide my nipples, and didn’t want to, from his overt gaze. And he couldn’t hide the bulge growing in his jeans, which I took great pleasure in noticing. .
It was immediately obvious this would be a most enjoyable day from a purely erotic standpoint, work or no work. And, that, after all, is almost as much fun as cumming!
I must admit, however, I was a little surprised by just how overt he was in looking at me.
He didn’t try to pretend he wasn’t looking. If I looked at him, he didn’t look away. That was new.
He obviously was enjoying himself _ and equally obviously had concluded that I wasn’t going to object. He hadn’t missed what I had said last weekend when I came down off the ladder. He knew I had been putting on a show … just for him. And now he bostancı escort looked like he intended to enjoy it.
Which, of course, was just fine with me.
We worked hard. In fact, hard enough, that after awhile, neither of us was thinking about sex, only getting the work down. We were covered in dirt and sweat, hardly sexy. It was 2:30 when we finally finished up.
I suggested we both take time for a shower before getting something to eat, first, because we were filthy, and second, because I hurt all over from the bending, pulling, twisting and stretching. He quickly agreed, heading off for his room while I went to mine.
After a long hot shower, I gave some serious thought to what to wear. After all, I would never have gotten the work done if my nephew hadn’t been there to help. So, I fugured, he deserved a reward. I chose a short skirt and scoop top. No bra. I would let him peek to his heart’s content, I decided.
Frankly, I WANTED him to peek to his heart’s content. That very hot thought was sufficient to soak my panties.
I had planned what I was going to wear for the yard work quite deliberately. I wanted to arouse him _ and I had. Not to mention that I managed to arouse myself at the same time. But I really hadn’t planned beyond that and had no idea how the rest of the day and evening would progress. Right now, I was sore _ and hungry, and I imagined he was too.
I had made some lobster salad and some shrimp salad the night before, and, since I was enjoying a very nice Riesling, I poured him a glass as well. After making short work of the salads, I poured both of us another glass of wine. I knew we weren’t going out again, so I figured, “What the hell!”
Then, intending nothing, I mentioned how sore I was from all the yard work.
He asked if a back rub would help.
Before I could think, I felt the tingle shooting through my body. My brain seized on the potential immediately after my body already had grasped the possibilities. My mouth was far behind … slowly, way too slowly, agreeing, “That’s a great idea. I’d love it!”
Then, he told me he was pretty good at it, or at least his mother said so. He immediately had my attention, and not just for the massage. I wondered about his mother, in fact, and her back rubs _ and what she might be thinking.
My sister-in-law is a beautiful woman. She has a magnificent body. And once, in my kitchen, not too long ago, when she was seriously inebriated, she asked me what it was I really liked about sleeping with other women. She made very clear that she was curious. I told her. And I even kissed her, on the lips. She didn’t pull away.
She knew of my interest çeliktepe escort in women. Unfortunately, the opportunity had not presented itself again. But I would be a liar not to admit that I had wondered, to a wet pussy, what it might be like to sleep with my brother’s wife.
I also knew that her curiosity very likely implied she was a horny lady. And now, I wondered, just what might her interest be in her son?
The thought was deliciously tantalizing. In fact, it made me immediately more conscious of my wetness.
By now, I was settled on the couch, with my nephew seated behind me. I almost immediately felt his hands on my shoulders. It was electrifying. Little shivers ran through me, as he gently kneaded my shoulder muscles.
An involuntary little moan escaped me. It felt so wonderful. His hands were strong, but gentle, as they worked the muscles and tendons.
I felt myself enjoying it … too much.
In fact, so much, that I asked him to let me lie down on the couch while he continued. I also knew that working behind me now, with me down, he would have a much better opportunity to admire my legs. And my thighs. And my ass, which I always felt was one of my best features. In fact, the position afforded him an excellent opportunity to look up my skirt, be he so inclined. He really had nice, strong hands and fingers. I wondered what those fingers might feel like on, and in, my pussy! He worked my muscles like an expert. I felt myself relaxing, surrendering to his touch. My neck, my shoulders already felt much better. I encouraged him to move lower on my back.
He was quite enthusiastic with his massage, but I slowly became conscious of the fact that he wasn’t taking full advantage of the situation. His hands would brush my sides, come close to the sides of my breasts, but no further. His hands would slide down to the small of my back, but always stopped before venturing lower, into more interesting territory.
I began to wonder what was wrong with me. I had given him my wet panties. I had let him stare up my skirt to his heart’s content. I had encouraged him to jerk off _ and made sure he had a hard-on _ fairly frequently. Yet he wasn’t taking a single liberty. Despite the fact that I was here, resting on a couch, bra-less, in a short skirt, showing a lot of thigh _ and quite wet.
Now this was a dilemma for me.
How did I get him to take the next step, get him to be deliciously frisky, get him to take advantage of me, without me having to make all the moves? I wanted HIM to make the move.
So I compromised.
I made a move, providing another opportunity.
I suggested he massage my cihangir escort legs, because they, too, hurt. He moved down, and I shifted enough on the couch to get my skirt to ride a little higher on my thighs. Maybe a lot higher, but I couldn’t tell for sure. And then I put a leg in his lap.
Well, THAT move sent shivers racing through my body, because my foot was now resting on his very obvious hard-on! I moved my foot. His hard-on jumped. And he very quickly took my foot away from the trouble spot and started massaging it.
If I had questioned his interest in our little game, that thought was gone for good. But he was interminably slow. He worked my foot. First one. Then the other. He moved to my calf. First one. Then the other. He moved ever so slowly up past my knee, but well below where I would have liked his hands to be. He worked the muscles. He worked them so well, I felt obligated to shift a little more, opening my legs, and my thighs, just a little more, hoping he might notice how wet I was, how much I wanted more.
Unfortunately, he got 6 inches up my thigh … and stopped. He actually stopped! My brain was screaming: “Take his hands and put them on your pussy! Do it now!” But I couldn’t. And I didn’t.
Instead, I turned over, on my back, and asked him to do the fronts of my legs. And now I could SEE him staring at my exposed panties! And I could see his hard-on. It looked so delicious. He started slowly, moving up one leg, just up to my inner thigh, and then to the other.
I opened my legs just a little more.
His eyes were transfixed. Right were I wanted them to be, but his hands kept stopping short.
I managed to move a foot back into his lap, making contact with his hard-on. I touched it with my foot. He jumped, but he didn’t stop me. I moved my foot. He groaned. His eyes remained fixed on my panties, with the growing wet spot quite visible. He made no move. I shifted my foot against him again.
And he came. Cum oozing through his jeans. A gasp escaping his lips. His body shuddering with pleasure. My foot was in his cum, still moving. He said nothing. I sat up. I kissed him, first on the cheek, then the lips. I kissed him again, and he responded.
Returning the kiss, I moved my hand down to the mess in his jeans. I told him I was a very naughty aunt to have done that to him, but I hoped he enjoyed it as much as I did. I kissed him again.
And then, ever the businesslike aunt, I told him to get up quickly, remove his jeans and underwear and let me get them into the washing machine “so there wouldn’t be any stains.”
He blushed, but he let me unsnap and unzip his jeans, and slowly slide them down. He was still hard, obviously so, and initially stopped me when I tried to remove his briefs. But as I slipped them down, and as his cock sprang out, he seemed to relax a little. I touched him, his hardness, stroked him, looked right at him, and suggested that after dinner, he had to tell me more about his massages of his mother …
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