Aunt Nancy
V 1 / Ch 29
When Jane Calls
By the time Gordon and Uncle Rich walked back in through the front entrance of the cabin, my aunt was fully re-dressed. The two of us were cleaning and dusting away, 409 spray bottle in one hand, paper towels in the other, as if nothing unusual had just happened... as if only minutes earlier her fully-bared smooth-skinned body had not been tumultuously shaking up there in the loft, where her fingers had not been disappearing into and then reappearing, in and out of her wet, glistening, raw exposed, womangirl slit, while I had not been dutifully and obligingly sucking on and mauling her big, heavy, swelled, titjuggs.
No, anyone just coming in from a walk out in the woods, like my uncle and cousin had just done, were they not in fact, them, would not suspect at all what'd just happened. But it was them. And so I had no doubt that roughly a half hour earlier, while commencing their sojourn outside, they did find odd, and disturbing, how inadequate the thin band of clothing was that my aunt had employed as "a top", for it allowed some 75% of her juggular titmeat to conspicuously be exposed. Nor did I doubt how obnoxiously evident, and how apparently strangely developed, they had found her large, conicular, areolic swell - how it capped and protruded from her unusually large breasts, into the inadequate band of clothing - before they left, especially because some of the top parts and some of the bottom parts of her twin conicular swell notably exceeded by a few millimeters the upper and lower boundaries of said band.
Now though, with her sweater on, over the band, after my uncle and cousin's return to the cabin, none of that areolic swell, or nippular engorgement, was in play, for she now merely appeared matronly; yes, she was ample, to be sure, now, in the breastial department, like before, but it was only in a pleasantly smooth fulsome way, and not at all in the in-your-face, on-fire way, she was, before, seconds prior to their departure, and all during our time together, in the loft, where she deftly introduced me to her unct, where her stimulation of same, while she suckled me, literally almost sent her through the roof, of our lovely rustic cabin, which my aunt, one could say, had just duly christened.
I wondered afterwards, during the years that followed this first episode of my exposure to my aunt's orgasmic volcano that day, if my uncle, being her mate, her husband, her man, for several years, knew this about my aunt, as in, knew her psychosexual ways, knew when she was about to blow, so to speak, and thus, could sense, and see, the signs, such as they were, that she would exude visible and behavioral signs, minutes prior to when she was about to erupt, when nothing could stop it her from ultimately doing so. And so, wisely, he fled, quickly, with Gordon in tow, concluding she would lack the wherewithal to stop herself, when this phenomenon came over her, had they remained in the cabin, for she might have very well engaged in soliciting all three of us, not just me, in the servicing and suckling and rapacious engorgement and rendering of her sensual sexual self in those moments when he, my uncle, perhaps rightly believed nothing could hold her back from it, even if Gordon were present, even if I were present... which explains why he suggested I leave the cabin with them, leaving her alone there - but she held me back, intentionally, indicating no room for negotiation on the topic. Still, I didn't quite know then the extent to which she was going to have me, if not participate, at least be allowed to facilitate and observe her brief but dramatic journey to kingdom-come and back.
My uncle, though, might have known what I was about to experience, and therefore, later, he might have surmised what I DID therefore experience, that afternoon out in the cabin,though I still don't believe he was aware of how she had taken to actively suckling me, for weeks and weeks by then. Still, I wondered what he thought about the possibility that I'd therefore indeed been present to observe, had she allowed it, her sexual tumultousment. But we - you dear Reader, Aunt Nancy, and I - know to this day it was actually quite more than merely Observation. She'd facilely recruited and enlisted me to participate in and be seriously felicitous and wholly involvedof in, and quite an integral part of, her cataclysmic sexual engorgement and explosive release.
Gordon's eyes, meanwhile, upon his return, were red and wet, as if he'd been crying. I felt bad for the kid. The spoiled munchkin got his way though. Within a half hour, the car was packed and we were back on our way to civilisation. Everything was quiet in the car on the way back. The following week was quiet, in the house, as well. My aunt was sweet and demure and loving. She was not demonstrative nor mammariffic with her powerful potential sexual mastery, at least not over me, nor of us as a group, as she had been for those many cascading minutes at the cabin.
Gordon had made up his mind, however, that he was going to go to summer camp for the rest of the summer, after which, in late August, he'd have another week or so back at the house, and then, in September, he was going to enlist in the Army. My uncle was crestfallen over his decision not to stay the summer at least, but he also seemed a little proud too that his son was ostensibly choosing the military life. My aunt was sympathetic, but I felt no genuine disappointment resided in her own heart over it. At best, I think she was neutral. Overall, in truth, I sensed she even might've been glad. I think she wanted the 2nd floor of the house back to herself again, without the knowledge that Gordon was there, right across the hall. In the end, I don't think she trusted him.
Anyway, whenever my uncle was away, she'd quickly dispatch Pele' to her sister's in town, and she'd relieve Emjay of any maintenance obligations around the house. I think she liked her privacy. So with Gordon away at summer camp or at boarding school, a sense of peace and quiet could infuse the house again. Apparently, she didn't see me as a violation of that privacy she so treasured. If anything, I seemed to accommodate and nurture it - I was, in other words, a part of her privacy, or at least, I liked to think so.
The next few weeks, as concerns Aunt Nancy and me, were rather calm. Whatever it was that happened up in the loft at the cabin, she seemed to settle herself right down into a more or less normal, calm, wife/aunt/stepmother role. There was no suckling of me at night when tucking me in for the night, and no wearing of overly revealing outerwear. Yes, one could still see, by her choice of clothing - roomy tops, large button downs - that she'd developed by this point to become a large-breasted woman, indeed, but it was a softer more sanguine presentation of her buxomity and herself, which she gave to the world those days and weeks following her sexual denouement at the cabin.
Meanwhile, Jane'd called me, telling me she was due to leave for France soon, in days, and that she'd text me when an opportune time came for when her mother was out of the house.
On Tuesdays and Thursdays I went to karate class at Emjay's, by myself, without Gordon, who'd departed for summer camp, or my aunt, who had her real estate job, and nothing notable happened at Emjay's dijou, except that the redhead, Jacque (pronounced Jackie), seemed to be looking at me a lot, during class - not smiling, just observing - and I couldn't tell whether she felt contempt for me, or liked me, or something else. She was just difficult to read, except that she was definitely reading me.
She was severely toned, muscularly, for a girl, and I could tell by the respect she received from the other students, that she, well, that she could be dangerous, despite being only about the same height as my aunt. From what I could see, she could hurt a guy, most guys, physically, if and whenever she wanted to. I figured that her boyfriend would have to be tougher than her, else how could she respect him. At the end of class, the black belts would spar, between themselves, and with the students, and it was a delight to see her hold her own with the male black belts, and dominate the students, without causing them too much pain, though you could see she easily could, if she wanted to. Now and then you could see, in her sparring against other black belt guys, that if her opponent were to make a mistake, she'd quickly capitalize and strike rather potently.
A few weeks later, outside one time, she caught up to me, and said, "Hey, you like to come over some time?" I didn't know how to answer. I was 18, and she, in her mid to late 20s, was also a sensei black belt. I was surprised, and honored, by her invitation. "Sure..." I finally managed to blurt out, nervously. "I teach you some, you like, we cook some dinner after," she said. "Okay," I said, eagerly. She handed me a slip of paper. "You call sometime, kay?" she said. "Okay," I said. "Avoir!" she said, giving a rare though faint smile. "Bye," I said, trying not to look at her body as she turned away, but failing. She had a strong, confident, feline walk. She had tight black leather pants on with boots, and her butt and thighs seemed to be made of pure, rounded, female muscle. I stood there, staring, my head buzzing with bats.
On a Wednesday afternoon, Jane texted. "Come over...now! She's gone but'll be back soon! Hurry!"
I rushed over there, going via the backyard clearing in the trees route, wearing shorts, t-shirt and basketball sneaks no socks. She was sitting there on their back porch patio, legs crossed, her upper bare leg swinging. She'd wooden clogs on, faded high-up cut off jeans shorts, dark sunglasses draping a pale, small red cheeked face, big pile of short cut thick cinnamon color hair surrounding it, and a pastel green tank top that left a few inches of her waist showing. She had two glasses of cold iced tea for us on the small round outdoor glass table.
I sat on the patio chair, and we made idle chit chat. She told me they were leaving that weekend, and could be gone "for several weeks, maybe months."
We were close in age, she 19, me 18. She - her presence - felt older than me though than just a year, and she certainly looked older than the girls in my class I was used to seeing. Hell, she looked older than she did a few weeks prior. Maybe it was the makeup, I don't know. But she looked lady-like. Sophisticated.
Accompanying her newfound maturity, I couldn't help but notice her nipples puggily making conspicuous inroads into her top. I just stared, at all of her, as she chatted away. I didn't remember her having nipples, from before, that last time I was over, several months prior, at least not the kind of nipples that were doing what her big things were doing. But sure, she was looking bigger, again, chest-wise, than before, but I was having that realization every time I saw her, since she was 13. Now though she was a freshman in college going on to her sophomore year, where I was still just a high school kid, having just graduated. I guessed I was no more than a little toy to her, some guy she could call on a whim and have him over house in less than 5 minutes, to have fun with, and admire her proliferating assets.
As I sat there while my organ engorged, I considered how she'd grown these past few years to become bigger busted than most any of the other girls in my high school She was definitely, easily, larger than her mother, or most mothers in the neighborhood for that matter, and she wasn't even wearing a bra under that tank top. A dizzy haze clouded my mind, and I could feel my vitals begin to press against my Hanes.
Her tank top was loose enough, though, that some of the thick pale white titmeat of each of her young-girl big-breasts was showing on each side of the outer perimeters of the unconstraining fabric. It was practically as if she'd worn the top as a loose bib rather than something to cover and appropriately cover and secure her big ones. I wondered how or why her mother let her dress that way, even though it was only in the house when no visitors were over, I supposed, but I pictured them arguing over it, while Jane's breasts now were at a stage where they were easily three or four times larger than her mother's. I imagined them, during such confrontation, Jane messing with her hair, to accent and taunt her mother with the unusual thrust, size and development of her scantily clad hooters, while her mother plaintively whined and even screamed at times shrill, defeated, exhortations, to stop dressing in so blatantly a voluptuous manner.
Her size was surely getting to me. How could a girl have become this big, I wondered. It wasn't like she was like my aunt, in her mid 30s. Jane was only 19 and was exhibiting world class volume. Covered all her chest down to her waist. At one point, she leaned forward, putting her forearms on her bare spread thighs. Her eyes were big, round, young, compassionate, and cute in that fleeting way only a young teenager's could. Her breasts, likewise; big things unto themselves, hanging down between her thighs, pushing down now, with the gesture of leaning over, they moved beyond the lowest hem of the tank top, outrageously, her circles ovular, some two to three inches in the longest direction, width-wise, suddenly showed, with a number of inches of cleavage showing above the top of the tank top, and now, a few below, till they ended and parted just before their culmination lower than the bottom of her thighs.
She seemed pleased with herself, at what she was doing, smiling devilishly, not at me, just nowhere, out into the yard. I guess she knew she was big and liked how it enticed me.
She had no tan. The girl avoided the sun at almost any cost. I took a glance down between her spread legs at the lower third of her upside down M-shaped floppers. She sat up, covering her big tits once again with the bib-tank top and I could see that her faded cutoff jean shorts were so short that only a bare tuft of denim covered her nether area. But it was obviously failing at that for it was off to the side just enough for me to see she'd no underwear on. Her bared, shaved lovely smooth line of slit boldly presented itself. The cloud grew thicker in my brain. I was in over my head, into something beyond my still untried years.
The slit was long, like my aunt's - two, three inches, and pinkish and raw looking. I knew I was no match for it. It portended things and thoughts and events I was not at all equipped yet to deal with. And still, there the thing was, practically daring me, from a slightly older girl who was gingerly leading me by the hand to it. I quickly looked away. What was going on in my life, I wondered.
"Should we go inside?" she asked, breaking me out of my reverie. "She might be back soon."
"Sure," I said, hesitantly.
We went into their screened porch abutting the back patio; like all rooms in Jane's house, it looked like a flea market. There was however, incredibly, an open space on which lay a pad, about 7 x 7 in size.
"Yoga pad," Jane said.
"Right," I said.
"Come on, my hero, you can ravish me here. If you hear my mom, just bolt out of here through the backyard." She took my left hand with her right.
"Ok," I said, suspecting I wasn't the first, lately, to ravish her, but one should not look a gift horse in the mouth I'd heard my uncle say more than once.
"She'd ground me if she found out you were in here alone with me, especially while I've got my "ho" outfit on." She put the palm of my hand on the front side of her tank top and moved it around.
"Um, I think you look nice," I said, trying to be polite.
"Oh, you're sweet," she said.
"Yeah," I said.
She let go of my hand, which I let drop down into nothing, and she reached across with her right hand and slipped the left tank top strap off of her left shoulder. She pulled it down and slipped her arm out of it; then she pulled the fabric of the left side of the top out over her breast, and then pulled it down below the huge mound of girltit to her waist, enough to display its unusual parameters, including the brash few-inched diameter rosy looking circle with the fat pug nipple in the middle of it apparently looking like it'd been having a helluva good time growing while we'd been talking.
I stared of course. This big fat pile of young woman boobtit (her left side/my right) had suddenly been revealed to me.
"Do you still think I look nice?" she asked, a smile on her young pale angelic looking face, womanly and girly at the same time.
Other than a grunted "Yeah," I couldn't respond. She was way too big for girls our age. But then I remembered, again, she was 19, going on 30. She was far bigger than most women I knew. It was all pale and round and soft and heavy and virginal. She seemed proud of it. Like, "Look what I made!"
I just turned into her and pulled her to me, laying my palm squarely on her large bared jugg, our faces brushing as the two of us slunk down onto the yoga pad. Facing each other, lying on our sides, I saw how the upper, exposed, big left tit just went downwards towards the yoga pad. I began kissing her and mauling around that big huge left tit of hers with my right hand.
Her mouth and lips felt fuller, softer, bigger than it had the last time I'd kissed her, a few moons ago. Lots of cushion, that my own mouth seemed to fall within.
In between kisses, I heard her whisper, "Touch me Daniel."
"Okay," I said, not sure what she meant, since I already was. And then it occurred to me. She really wanted me to touch her, as in, down below
"Do you think I've gotten bigger?" she asked quietly.
"Oh yeah," I said, feeling the heavy fullness of her. Even bigger than she was the last time I saw her, April I think.
"I'm always buying new bras cuz the old ones feel too tight," she said, breathing hard with anticipation.
"Mmm."
"Lick my big titties, Daniel."
I didn't answer. I just scooted down some, while she turned some, so as to lay on her back, and as she arched it, she began to suckle me. She was now the second woman to suckle me, and both women were substantial, to say the least, in the tit department. I pondered the possibility that I may have found my calling in life: Lick the titties of women who are big there.
Still, up till this time in the few years I'd known Jane, all I'd done with her was kissing and petting, but not to the point where she'd fully bared a tit out into the open, and definitely not to where she was suckling me. It was as if she'd always been holding out on me, not wanting to give too much. Still, all the while, I could see she was steadily growing larger and larger. Maybe it was because she was leaving the country soon.
"Ohh," I heard her murmur quietly as my tongue sensed her nipple grow bigger, harder. She had the palm of her right hand on my neck, soothing it, and had her left hand on the back of my head, nudging it into her large rounded breast as I sucked her.
"Touch me Daniel," she said again.
I still wasn't sure what she meant by that, till I felt her hand take hold of mine, and move it towards her high cut jeans shorts.
"I want you to be the first," she said.
"Mmm," I murmured. First for what?, I wondered. Did she mean, first for, touching her there, under her shorts, or, as I was finally beginning to put two and two together those days, touching her as in, putting my thing inside her? I sort of knew, that's where it went, but hadn't really saw it as something I might get involved with, anytime soon. There didn't seem any reason, that I could see, at that time in my life, to put my thing inside something that was, or was really near, the thing that is a girl's pee pee hole. Plus, I had some vague concern that even if I barely touched it with my thing, bam!, she'd get pregnant, just like that.
I was still coming to terms with what my aunt had showed me, at the cabin. Apparently, my sucking on her overdeveloped tits, plus the thing she was doing with her fingers in her pee pee hole, or some other hole besides her pee pee hole, took her emotional state to a whole new level.
"It'll be like a bond between us, for while I'm away," she said.
"Mmm," from me again, not sure where it, or she, or I, were all going. I was still in the moment, of enjoying the hell out of being privileged to mess with her pubescently large mammaries - a thing I knew most boys my age wanted but were solely bereft of - while she was fussing about emotional bonds, and memories to have, mixed in with prodding me to explore a part of her which I knew was vital, in the whole scheme of things, to having babies but also exciting the hell out of her - the area under that thin denim flap over her crotch - but for which little warnings in my brain were saying that I, Daniel, didn't necessarily have to get involved with, out of obligation or need or curiosity or want, but that if I don't, well then we can't be quite the man we think we are, can we...
Nevertheless, as I drank from her prematurely developed, newly exposed mammary gland, with her subtle prodding, my fingertips found the thin strap of fabric which formed the crotch of her jeans shorts. I knew what was next to it. I saw my aunt's fingers do her thing, there. I realized I was going to have work to do there, else, I'd be letting her down, though the nature of the work I only had beliefs, assumptions, suspicions, as to what the work entailed.
So I touched her. There. With my young man wide but smooth fingertips. "Go boldly where no man has gone before," said the voice on Star Trek. "Because it's there," said Sir George Malloy, just before he set out to climb Mount Everest. So I moved the little strip of fabric aside with the fingers of my right hand, while I sucked and licked on her big tit. Her head was back, to the side, and she was uttering sweet little girl moaning sounds. My fingertips then touched her sensuous raw area there. It was soft skin, shaved, supple, giving, moist.
"You've gotten me all wet... my Daniel," she said quietly, rhapsodically, in a tone of voice a girl had never spoken to me before with. I've no words to describe it, sorry.
It, she, was in fact, moist. In no time she was beyond moist and was wet. As my tongue flicked around and teased her bulbously filled irreverent nipple, my nostrils picked up a different kind of fragrance in the air, something they'd not yet encountered, a bit different than my aunt, something fruity, girlish, but biological, and musky. I kept moving my fingers around her, down there - mainly my middle finger - and some with my index finger. I remembered my aunt's fingers, just disappearing, just going in, to, herself. I wondered if that's what would happen to my fingers. I kept probing, kept moving my fingers along her there, and then, there, just there, was a small place that had more give than other areas, and my finger just slid into her, there, farther, like when you're treading water, and just let go and sink and allow your head to submerge and get all wet.
I only slid it in an inch though, worried I'd hurt her, and pulled it out. I slid it back in, though, a little farther that time, and Jane gasped, this time with a deep moan. Her right hand eagerly with some urgency pulled the right strap of her tank top down, and she took a handful of part of it and pulled her whole other tit out, and she began mauling it with her palm and fingers, with an urgency showing a strong need on her part to have the big thing out and naked and being roughly messed with in a bad way.
Jane was really in high gear now, like I'd never seen her. She seemed in pain, but in a sweet pain, a vulnerable pain, a wanting pain, to be ravished and penetrated. And she had me doing it all to her, or at least being there with her, participating in this early in life ravishment of her body and soul. I wondered why I'd been shown this opportunity, given it, presented it, when I really hadn't gone out of my way to, as they say, court her. I hadn't pined for her, longed for her, or wrote silly love notes to. I just happened to be living next door to her by some strange set of circumstances, and she liked me enough to invite me over now and then to play games with her, like that day.
And then all hell broke loose. Her mother. Screaming. Hitting both of us with a broom. Where in hell did she come from! Yelling at me like a crazy banshee, morphed into a psst off mama feral cat gone nuts. I ran past her, and didn't look back. Went out through the sliding glassdoor, which thankfully the woman had left open, through the backway, through the slit in the trees, ran through my backyard, still hearing the woman screaming, at me, at Jane, to the back patio, to the stairs leading up to the glassed in porch. Ran through the door leading into the kitchen, and there she was, suddenly.
"She" was my aunt, wearing her smooth work slacks, and three inch heels, with an off-pink faded short sleeved snug top. I was barefoot, she a bit taller than me. Braless - she must've taken it off when she got home - her big pug nipples making a huge rude fuss into the top.
Seeing the look of fear and distress on my face - my eyes feeling wet - I heard her honey and nectar voice - "Oh, honey..." - as she held me to her, my face going into just where her cleavage began, her big breasts in her top smushing into each of my shoulders, respectively. She just held me close, soothing me, me putting my arms around her, she patting the back of my head with her palm. No other sound. Uncle Rich probably not home yet, I hoped, and Pele' not in sight.
After much time, she then held me away from her at arm's length, her palms on my shoulders. She turned her head obliquely, saying loudly, "Honey?", loud enough to be heard through the house. Nothing. Seeing if by some chance Uncle Rich had come into the house, I guessed.
"I don't know why sweetheart, but my nipples have been feeling strange all day. Are they showing into my top?"
"Oh yeah," I said, not taking my eyes off them.
"They've just been feeling so hard, and large."
"Mmmm."
"I yanked off my bra first thing I got home."
"Uh huh." I loved staring into her tops when her nipples would be astoundingly conspicuous. Virulently sexual.
"It's my new 38J cup satin. It's a whole lot more comfy than the I cups I've gotten used to lately."
"Right."
"Sometimes I wish the cups had holes in them, though, for my nipples to fit through."
"Yes, they should," and as I said that she nonchalantly lifted her top up over her big naked tits, and then lifted the thing over her head and off, tossing it onto the kitchen counter, making her knockers jiggle very slowly, given their size and weight.
Her circles - so much bigger than Jane's - were perhaps five inches wide, swollen and inflammed, whereas Jane's were only half as big, flat and unremarkable. Likewise, my aunt's nipples pugged out ferociously, menacingly, as if, were I to stare too long, they'd fire on me.
She let me behold her, and them, knowing how much I liked to stare at and ogle her. Then, once satisfied my eyes and mind had been exposed to her visually, sufficiently, she brought me close to her again, only that time, she lifted, one big breast-tit at a time, each large, heavy, full, fleshy thing, letting them lie on top of my shoulders, rather than against them. She'd decided to use my shoulders as a shelf for her big oversized titties. For a five foot four woman with a size 26 waist and 36 inch hips, a pair of 38J tits are going to be incredibly noticeable. Other than for her face, they'll steal the show.
But she wasn't done. With both hands pressed into the outer sides of them, she gently pushed them into my cheeks and the whole of each side of my face, massaging her big bosomy breasts all around my face, skin on skin, something I was sure she could not physically do, when I was 8, but could now, some ten years later, she having become so much more developed, for she now could do this rather simply, enveloping my head within the fulsomeness of her overdeveloped bosomry.
Holding us like that, she walked us backwards to the sofa in the all-windowed porch, where she sat herself, while I descended to my knees, on the floor, between her thighs, and as she leaned back, she took my head into her bust, into her large wonton breadbasket, continuing to massage my head, a heavy breast on each side of it, but after a bit, she wanted to suckle me as well, such that I then eagerly licked, drank, and worshiped, her superior nipplehood. After a while she raised both hands for some reason, stretching them behind her head, as she slowly arched her back, till she was quite acutely arched, pushing all of her bared bosomhood outwards, more and more, with her eyes closed, and her breathing rapid.
In the home she shared with her husband, in the afternoon, suckling her 18 year old nephew, bare from the waist up, her body began to reverberate rapidly, for she came, and later I realized she'd done it without she nor I having touched her below.
V 1 / Ch 29
When Jane Calls
By the time Gordon and Uncle Rich walked back in through the front entrance of the cabin, my aunt was fully re-dressed. The two of us were cleaning and dusting away, 409 spray bottle in one hand, paper towels in the other, as if nothing unusual had just happened... as if only minutes earlier her fully-bared smooth-skinned body had not been tumultuously shaking up there in the loft, where her fingers had not been disappearing into and then reappearing, in and out of her wet, glistening, raw exposed, womangirl slit, while I had not been dutifully and obligingly sucking on and mauling her big, heavy, swelled, titjuggs.
No, anyone just coming in from a walk out in the woods, like my uncle and cousin had just done, were they not in fact, them, would not suspect at all what'd just happened. But it was them. And so I had no doubt that roughly a half hour earlier, while commencing their sojourn outside, they did find odd, and disturbing, how inadequate the thin band of clothing was that my aunt had employed as "a top", for it allowed some 75% of her juggular titmeat to conspicuously be exposed. Nor did I doubt how obnoxiously evident, and how apparently strangely developed, they had found her large, conicular, areolic swell - how it capped and protruded from her unusually large breasts, into the inadequate band of clothing - before they left, especially because some of the top parts and some of the bottom parts of her twin conicular swell notably exceeded by a few millimeters the upper and lower boundaries of said band.
Now though, with her sweater on, over the band, after my uncle and cousin's return to the cabin, none of that areolic swell, or nippular engorgement, was in play, for she now merely appeared matronly; yes, she was ample, to be sure, now, in the breastial department, like before, but it was only in a pleasantly smooth fulsome way, and not at all in the in-your-face, on-fire way, she was, before, seconds prior to their departure, and all during our time together, in the loft, where she deftly introduced me to her unct, where her stimulation of same, while she suckled me, literally almost sent her through the roof, of our lovely rustic cabin, which my aunt, one could say, had just duly christened.
I wondered afterwards, during the years that followed this first episode of my exposure to my aunt's orgasmic volcano that day, if my uncle, being her mate, her husband, her man, for several years, knew this about my aunt, as in, knew her psychosexual ways, knew when she was about to blow, so to speak, and thus, could sense, and see, the signs, such as they were, that she would exude visible and behavioral signs, minutes prior to when she was about to erupt, when nothing could stop it her from ultimately doing so. And so, wisely, he fled, quickly, with Gordon in tow, concluding she would lack the wherewithal to stop herself, when this phenomenon came over her, had they remained in the cabin, for she might have very well engaged in soliciting all three of us, not just me, in the servicing and suckling and rapacious engorgement and rendering of her sensual sexual self in those moments when he, my uncle, perhaps rightly believed nothing could hold her back from it, even if Gordon were present, even if I were present... which explains why he suggested I leave the cabin with them, leaving her alone there - but she held me back, intentionally, indicating no room for negotiation on the topic. Still, I didn't quite know then the extent to which she was going to have me, if not participate, at least be allowed to facilitate and observe her brief but dramatic journey to kingdom-come and back.
My uncle, though, might have known what I was about to experience, and therefore, later, he might have surmised what I DID therefore experience, that afternoon out in the cabin,though I still don't believe he was aware of how she had taken to actively suckling me, for weeks and weeks by then. Still, I wondered what he thought about the possibility that I'd therefore indeed been present to observe, had she allowed it, her sexual tumultousment. But we - you dear Reader, Aunt Nancy, and I - know to this day it was actually quite more than merely Observation. She'd facilely recruited and enlisted me to participate in and be seriously felicitous and wholly involvedof in, and quite an integral part of, her cataclysmic sexual engorgement and explosive release.
Gordon's eyes, meanwhile, upon his return, were red and wet, as if he'd been crying. I felt bad for the kid. The spoiled munchkin got his way though. Within a half hour, the car was packed and we were back on our way to civilisation. Everything was quiet in the car on the way back. The following week was quiet, in the house, as well. My aunt was sweet and demure and loving. She was not demonstrative nor mammariffic with her powerful potential sexual mastery, at least not over me, nor of us as a group, as she had been for those many cascading minutes at the cabin.
Gordon had made up his mind, however, that he was going to go to summer camp for the rest of the summer, after which, in late August, he'd have another week or so back at the house, and then, in September, he was going to enlist in the Army. My uncle was crestfallen over his decision not to stay the summer at least, but he also seemed a little proud too that his son was ostensibly choosing the military life. My aunt was sympathetic, but I felt no genuine disappointment resided in her own heart over it. At best, I think she was neutral. Overall, in truth, I sensed she even might've been glad. I think she wanted the 2nd floor of the house back to herself again, without the knowledge that Gordon was there, right across the hall. In the end, I don't think she trusted him.
Anyway, whenever my uncle was away, she'd quickly dispatch Pele' to her sister's in town, and she'd relieve Emjay of any maintenance obligations around the house. I think she liked her privacy. So with Gordon away at summer camp or at boarding school, a sense of peace and quiet could infuse the house again. Apparently, she didn't see me as a violation of that privacy she so treasured. If anything, I seemed to accommodate and nurture it - I was, in other words, a part of her privacy, or at least, I liked to think so.
The next few weeks, as concerns Aunt Nancy and me, were rather calm. Whatever it was that happened up in the loft at the cabin, she seemed to settle herself right down into a more or less normal, calm, wife/aunt/stepmother role. There was no suckling of me at night when tucking me in for the night, and no wearing of overly revealing outerwear. Yes, one could still see, by her choice of clothing - roomy tops, large button downs - that she'd developed by this point to become a large-breasted woman, indeed, but it was a softer more sanguine presentation of her buxomity and herself, which she gave to the world those days and weeks following her sexual denouement at the cabin.
Meanwhile, Jane'd called me, telling me she was due to leave for France soon, in days, and that she'd text me when an opportune time came for when her mother was out of the house.
On Tuesdays and Thursdays I went to karate class at Emjay's, by myself, without Gordon, who'd departed for summer camp, or my aunt, who had her real estate job, and nothing notable happened at Emjay's dijou, except that the redhead, Jacque (pronounced Jackie), seemed to be looking at me a lot, during class - not smiling, just observing - and I couldn't tell whether she felt contempt for me, or liked me, or something else. She was just difficult to read, except that she was definitely reading me.
She was severely toned, muscularly, for a girl, and I could tell by the respect she received from the other students, that she, well, that she could be dangerous, despite being only about the same height as my aunt. From what I could see, she could hurt a guy, most guys, physically, if and whenever she wanted to. I figured that her boyfriend would have to be tougher than her, else how could she respect him. At the end of class, the black belts would spar, between themselves, and with the students, and it was a delight to see her hold her own with the male black belts, and dominate the students, without causing them too much pain, though you could see she easily could, if she wanted to. Now and then you could see, in her sparring against other black belt guys, that if her opponent were to make a mistake, she'd quickly capitalize and strike rather potently.
A few weeks later, outside one time, she caught up to me, and said, "Hey, you like to come over some time?" I didn't know how to answer. I was 18, and she, in her mid to late 20s, was also a sensei black belt. I was surprised, and honored, by her invitation. "Sure..." I finally managed to blurt out, nervously. "I teach you some, you like, we cook some dinner after," she said. "Okay," I said, eagerly. She handed me a slip of paper. "You call sometime, kay?" she said. "Okay," I said. "Avoir!" she said, giving a rare though faint smile. "Bye," I said, trying not to look at her body as she turned away, but failing. She had a strong, confident, feline walk. She had tight black leather pants on with boots, and her butt and thighs seemed to be made of pure, rounded, female muscle. I stood there, staring, my head buzzing with bats.
On a Wednesday afternoon, Jane texted. "Come over...now! She's gone but'll be back soon! Hurry!"
I rushed over there, going via the backyard clearing in the trees route, wearing shorts, t-shirt and basketball sneaks no socks. She was sitting there on their back porch patio, legs crossed, her upper bare leg swinging. She'd wooden clogs on, faded high-up cut off jeans shorts, dark sunglasses draping a pale, small red cheeked face, big pile of short cut thick cinnamon color hair surrounding it, and a pastel green tank top that left a few inches of her waist showing. She had two glasses of cold iced tea for us on the small round outdoor glass table.
I sat on the patio chair, and we made idle chit chat. She told me they were leaving that weekend, and could be gone "for several weeks, maybe months."
We were close in age, she 19, me 18. She - her presence - felt older than me though than just a year, and she certainly looked older than the girls in my class I was used to seeing. Hell, she looked older than she did a few weeks prior. Maybe it was the makeup, I don't know. But she looked lady-like. Sophisticated.
Accompanying her newfound maturity, I couldn't help but notice her nipples puggily making conspicuous inroads into her top. I just stared, at all of her, as she chatted away. I didn't remember her having nipples, from before, that last time I was over, several months prior, at least not the kind of nipples that were doing what her big things were doing. But sure, she was looking bigger, again, chest-wise, than before, but I was having that realization every time I saw her, since she was 13. Now though she was a freshman in college going on to her sophomore year, where I was still just a high school kid, having just graduated. I guessed I was no more than a little toy to her, some guy she could call on a whim and have him over house in less than 5 minutes, to have fun with, and admire her proliferating assets.
As I sat there while my organ engorged, I considered how she'd grown these past few years to become bigger busted than most any of the other girls in my high school She was definitely, easily, larger than her mother, or most mothers in the neighborhood for that matter, and she wasn't even wearing a bra under that tank top. A dizzy haze clouded my mind, and I could feel my vitals begin to press against my Hanes.
Her tank top was loose enough, though, that some of the thick pale white titmeat of each of her young-girl big-breasts was showing on each side of the outer perimeters of the unconstraining fabric. It was practically as if she'd worn the top as a loose bib rather than something to cover and appropriately cover and secure her big ones. I wondered how or why her mother let her dress that way, even though it was only in the house when no visitors were over, I supposed, but I pictured them arguing over it, while Jane's breasts now were at a stage where they were easily three or four times larger than her mother's. I imagined them, during such confrontation, Jane messing with her hair, to accent and taunt her mother with the unusual thrust, size and development of her scantily clad hooters, while her mother plaintively whined and even screamed at times shrill, defeated, exhortations, to stop dressing in so blatantly a voluptuous manner.
Her size was surely getting to me. How could a girl have become this big, I wondered. It wasn't like she was like my aunt, in her mid 30s. Jane was only 19 and was exhibiting world class volume. Covered all her chest down to her waist. At one point, she leaned forward, putting her forearms on her bare spread thighs. Her eyes were big, round, young, compassionate, and cute in that fleeting way only a young teenager's could. Her breasts, likewise; big things unto themselves, hanging down between her thighs, pushing down now, with the gesture of leaning over, they moved beyond the lowest hem of the tank top, outrageously, her circles ovular, some two to three inches in the longest direction, width-wise, suddenly showed, with a number of inches of cleavage showing above the top of the tank top, and now, a few below, till they ended and parted just before their culmination lower than the bottom of her thighs.
She seemed pleased with herself, at what she was doing, smiling devilishly, not at me, just nowhere, out into the yard. I guess she knew she was big and liked how it enticed me.
She had no tan. The girl avoided the sun at almost any cost. I took a glance down between her spread legs at the lower third of her upside down M-shaped floppers. She sat up, covering her big tits once again with the bib-tank top and I could see that her faded cutoff jean shorts were so short that only a bare tuft of denim covered her nether area. But it was obviously failing at that for it was off to the side just enough for me to see she'd no underwear on. Her bared, shaved lovely smooth line of slit boldly presented itself. The cloud grew thicker in my brain. I was in over my head, into something beyond my still untried years.
The slit was long, like my aunt's - two, three inches, and pinkish and raw looking. I knew I was no match for it. It portended things and thoughts and events I was not at all equipped yet to deal with. And still, there the thing was, practically daring me, from a slightly older girl who was gingerly leading me by the hand to it. I quickly looked away. What was going on in my life, I wondered.
"Should we go inside?" she asked, breaking me out of my reverie. "She might be back soon."
"Sure," I said, hesitantly.
We went into their screened porch abutting the back patio; like all rooms in Jane's house, it looked like a flea market. There was however, incredibly, an open space on which lay a pad, about 7 x 7 in size.
"Yoga pad," Jane said.
"Right," I said.
"Come on, my hero, you can ravish me here. If you hear my mom, just bolt out of here through the backyard." She took my left hand with her right.
"Ok," I said, suspecting I wasn't the first, lately, to ravish her, but one should not look a gift horse in the mouth I'd heard my uncle say more than once.
"She'd ground me if she found out you were in here alone with me, especially while I've got my "ho" outfit on." She put the palm of my hand on the front side of her tank top and moved it around.
"Um, I think you look nice," I said, trying to be polite.
"Oh, you're sweet," she said.
"Yeah," I said.
She let go of my hand, which I let drop down into nothing, and she reached across with her right hand and slipped the left tank top strap off of her left shoulder. She pulled it down and slipped her arm out of it; then she pulled the fabric of the left side of the top out over her breast, and then pulled it down below the huge mound of girltit to her waist, enough to display its unusual parameters, including the brash few-inched diameter rosy looking circle with the fat pug nipple in the middle of it apparently looking like it'd been having a helluva good time growing while we'd been talking.
I stared of course. This big fat pile of young woman boobtit (her left side/my right) had suddenly been revealed to me.
"Do you still think I look nice?" she asked, a smile on her young pale angelic looking face, womanly and girly at the same time.
Other than a grunted "Yeah," I couldn't respond. She was way too big for girls our age. But then I remembered, again, she was 19, going on 30. She was far bigger than most women I knew. It was all pale and round and soft and heavy and virginal. She seemed proud of it. Like, "Look what I made!"
I just turned into her and pulled her to me, laying my palm squarely on her large bared jugg, our faces brushing as the two of us slunk down onto the yoga pad. Facing each other, lying on our sides, I saw how the upper, exposed, big left tit just went downwards towards the yoga pad. I began kissing her and mauling around that big huge left tit of hers with my right hand.
Her mouth and lips felt fuller, softer, bigger than it had the last time I'd kissed her, a few moons ago. Lots of cushion, that my own mouth seemed to fall within.
In between kisses, I heard her whisper, "Touch me Daniel."
"Okay," I said, not sure what she meant, since I already was. And then it occurred to me. She really wanted me to touch her, as in, down below
"Do you think I've gotten bigger?" she asked quietly.
"Oh yeah," I said, feeling the heavy fullness of her. Even bigger than she was the last time I saw her, April I think.
"I'm always buying new bras cuz the old ones feel too tight," she said, breathing hard with anticipation.
"Mmm."
"Lick my big titties, Daniel."
I didn't answer. I just scooted down some, while she turned some, so as to lay on her back, and as she arched it, she began to suckle me. She was now the second woman to suckle me, and both women were substantial, to say the least, in the tit department. I pondered the possibility that I may have found my calling in life: Lick the titties of women who are big there.
Still, up till this time in the few years I'd known Jane, all I'd done with her was kissing and petting, but not to the point where she'd fully bared a tit out into the open, and definitely not to where she was suckling me. It was as if she'd always been holding out on me, not wanting to give too much. Still, all the while, I could see she was steadily growing larger and larger. Maybe it was because she was leaving the country soon.
"Ohh," I heard her murmur quietly as my tongue sensed her nipple grow bigger, harder. She had the palm of her right hand on my neck, soothing it, and had her left hand on the back of my head, nudging it into her large rounded breast as I sucked her.
"Touch me Daniel," she said again.
I still wasn't sure what she meant by that, till I felt her hand take hold of mine, and move it towards her high cut jeans shorts.
"I want you to be the first," she said.
"Mmm," I murmured. First for what?, I wondered. Did she mean, first for, touching her there, under her shorts, or, as I was finally beginning to put two and two together those days, touching her as in, putting my thing inside her? I sort of knew, that's where it went, but hadn't really saw it as something I might get involved with, anytime soon. There didn't seem any reason, that I could see, at that time in my life, to put my thing inside something that was, or was really near, the thing that is a girl's pee pee hole. Plus, I had some vague concern that even if I barely touched it with my thing, bam!, she'd get pregnant, just like that.
I was still coming to terms with what my aunt had showed me, at the cabin. Apparently, my sucking on her overdeveloped tits, plus the thing she was doing with her fingers in her pee pee hole, or some other hole besides her pee pee hole, took her emotional state to a whole new level.
"It'll be like a bond between us, for while I'm away," she said.
"Mmm," from me again, not sure where it, or she, or I, were all going. I was still in the moment, of enjoying the hell out of being privileged to mess with her pubescently large mammaries - a thing I knew most boys my age wanted but were solely bereft of - while she was fussing about emotional bonds, and memories to have, mixed in with prodding me to explore a part of her which I knew was vital, in the whole scheme of things, to having babies but also exciting the hell out of her - the area under that thin denim flap over her crotch - but for which little warnings in my brain were saying that I, Daniel, didn't necessarily have to get involved with, out of obligation or need or curiosity or want, but that if I don't, well then we can't be quite the man we think we are, can we...
Nevertheless, as I drank from her prematurely developed, newly exposed mammary gland, with her subtle prodding, my fingertips found the thin strap of fabric which formed the crotch of her jeans shorts. I knew what was next to it. I saw my aunt's fingers do her thing, there. I realized I was going to have work to do there, else, I'd be letting her down, though the nature of the work I only had beliefs, assumptions, suspicions, as to what the work entailed.
So I touched her. There. With my young man wide but smooth fingertips. "Go boldly where no man has gone before," said the voice on Star Trek. "Because it's there," said Sir George Malloy, just before he set out to climb Mount Everest. So I moved the little strip of fabric aside with the fingers of my right hand, while I sucked and licked on her big tit. Her head was back, to the side, and she was uttering sweet little girl moaning sounds. My fingertips then touched her sensuous raw area there. It was soft skin, shaved, supple, giving, moist.
"You've gotten me all wet... my Daniel," she said quietly, rhapsodically, in a tone of voice a girl had never spoken to me before with. I've no words to describe it, sorry.
It, she, was in fact, moist. In no time she was beyond moist and was wet. As my tongue flicked around and teased her bulbously filled irreverent nipple, my nostrils picked up a different kind of fragrance in the air, something they'd not yet encountered, a bit different than my aunt, something fruity, girlish, but biological, and musky. I kept moving my fingers around her, down there - mainly my middle finger - and some with my index finger. I remembered my aunt's fingers, just disappearing, just going in, to, herself. I wondered if that's what would happen to my fingers. I kept probing, kept moving my fingers along her there, and then, there, just there, was a small place that had more give than other areas, and my finger just slid into her, there, farther, like when you're treading water, and just let go and sink and allow your head to submerge and get all wet.
I only slid it in an inch though, worried I'd hurt her, and pulled it out. I slid it back in, though, a little farther that time, and Jane gasped, this time with a deep moan. Her right hand eagerly with some urgency pulled the right strap of her tank top down, and she took a handful of part of it and pulled her whole other tit out, and she began mauling it with her palm and fingers, with an urgency showing a strong need on her part to have the big thing out and naked and being roughly messed with in a bad way.
Jane was really in high gear now, like I'd never seen her. She seemed in pain, but in a sweet pain, a vulnerable pain, a wanting pain, to be ravished and penetrated. And she had me doing it all to her, or at least being there with her, participating in this early in life ravishment of her body and soul. I wondered why I'd been shown this opportunity, given it, presented it, when I really hadn't gone out of my way to, as they say, court her. I hadn't pined for her, longed for her, or wrote silly love notes to. I just happened to be living next door to her by some strange set of circumstances, and she liked me enough to invite me over now and then to play games with her, like that day.
And then all hell broke loose. Her mother. Screaming. Hitting both of us with a broom. Where in hell did she come from! Yelling at me like a crazy banshee, morphed into a psst off mama feral cat gone nuts. I ran past her, and didn't look back. Went out through the sliding glassdoor, which thankfully the woman had left open, through the backway, through the slit in the trees, ran through my backyard, still hearing the woman screaming, at me, at Jane, to the back patio, to the stairs leading up to the glassed in porch. Ran through the door leading into the kitchen, and there she was, suddenly.
"She" was my aunt, wearing her smooth work slacks, and three inch heels, with an off-pink faded short sleeved snug top. I was barefoot, she a bit taller than me. Braless - she must've taken it off when she got home - her big pug nipples making a huge rude fuss into the top.
Seeing the look of fear and distress on my face - my eyes feeling wet - I heard her honey and nectar voice - "Oh, honey..." - as she held me to her, my face going into just where her cleavage began, her big breasts in her top smushing into each of my shoulders, respectively. She just held me close, soothing me, me putting my arms around her, she patting the back of my head with her palm. No other sound. Uncle Rich probably not home yet, I hoped, and Pele' not in sight.
After much time, she then held me away from her at arm's length, her palms on my shoulders. She turned her head obliquely, saying loudly, "Honey?", loud enough to be heard through the house. Nothing. Seeing if by some chance Uncle Rich had come into the house, I guessed.
"I don't know why sweetheart, but my nipples have been feeling strange all day. Are they showing into my top?"
"Oh yeah," I said, not taking my eyes off them.
"They've just been feeling so hard, and large."
"Mmmm."
"I yanked off my bra first thing I got home."
"Uh huh." I loved staring into her tops when her nipples would be astoundingly conspicuous. Virulently sexual.
"It's my new 38J cup satin. It's a whole lot more comfy than the I cups I've gotten used to lately."
"Right."
"Sometimes I wish the cups had holes in them, though, for my nipples to fit through."
"Yes, they should," and as I said that she nonchalantly lifted her top up over her big naked tits, and then lifted the thing over her head and off, tossing it onto the kitchen counter, making her knockers jiggle very slowly, given their size and weight.
Her circles - so much bigger than Jane's - were perhaps five inches wide, swollen and inflammed, whereas Jane's were only half as big, flat and unremarkable. Likewise, my aunt's nipples pugged out ferociously, menacingly, as if, were I to stare too long, they'd fire on me.
She let me behold her, and them, knowing how much I liked to stare at and ogle her. Then, once satisfied my eyes and mind had been exposed to her visually, sufficiently, she brought me close to her again, only that time, she lifted, one big breast-tit at a time, each large, heavy, full, fleshy thing, letting them lie on top of my shoulders, rather than against them. She'd decided to use my shoulders as a shelf for her big oversized titties. For a five foot four woman with a size 26 waist and 36 inch hips, a pair of 38J tits are going to be incredibly noticeable. Other than for her face, they'll steal the show.
But she wasn't done. With both hands pressed into the outer sides of them, she gently pushed them into my cheeks and the whole of each side of my face, massaging her big bosomy breasts all around my face, skin on skin, something I was sure she could not physically do, when I was 8, but could now, some ten years later, she having become so much more developed, for she now could do this rather simply, enveloping my head within the fulsomeness of her overdeveloped bosomry.
Holding us like that, she walked us backwards to the sofa in the all-windowed porch, where she sat herself, while I descended to my knees, on the floor, between her thighs, and as she leaned back, she took my head into her bust, into her large wonton breadbasket, continuing to massage my head, a heavy breast on each side of it, but after a bit, she wanted to suckle me as well, such that I then eagerly licked, drank, and worshiped, her superior nipplehood. After a while she raised both hands for some reason, stretching them behind her head, as she slowly arched her back, till she was quite acutely arched, pushing all of her bared bosomhood outwards, more and more, with her eyes closed, and her breathing rapid.
In the home she shared with her husband, in the afternoon, suckling her 18 year old nephew, bare from the waist up, her body began to reverberate rapidly, for she came, and later I realized she'd done it without she nor I having touched her below.
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