Young Nephew - Sex Stories

Young Nephew

... having already been formidable in her forties, her sex drive now seemed only to be increasing in intensity into her late fifties. That being the case, take a fifty-eight year old, sexually ravenous older woman, dress her up and make her feel sexy, add a few too many glasses of champagne, and put her in the arms of a handsome young man on the dance floor (albeit an adopted nephew young enough to be her grandc***d), and you have a recipe for some inappropriately flirtatious comments. "You look so beautiful, Auntie Doris," gushed Tristan, with innocent, disarming sincerity. "Well, young man," countered Doris, with a mischievous smile, "I thank you for your lovely compliment. Let me tell you, if I were forty years younger -- you would be in a great deal of danger!" "Oh?" he said smiling; his face going a bit flush. "What do you mean?" "Well, let's just say that if I were your age, the chances of you getting inside my panties tonight would be very, very good." A broad, bashful smile formed across Tristan's mouth, and he blushed conspicuously in reaction to her rather forward, champagne-induced comments. This only succeeded in endearing him to her even more. "So, in summary," added Doris in mock thought. "You're drop dead gorgeous, tall, charming, mature beyond your years, you're a wonderful dancer, and you seem to have a way of making women say things they shouldn't ... I can only hope for your poor parents sake that you have a penis the size of my ex-husband's, as in rather ...

... small; otherwise, women will be breaking into your house in the middle of the night just to get at you." Tristan could only smile at his Aunt's comment. Afterwards, and feeling a little light-headed, Tristan e****ted Doris out onto the patio for some fresh air. Doris thanked him for the dances and gently kissed him on the cheek; wiping a little lipstick smear from his cheek like a mother. For Doris, the excess of champagne meant the rest of the night was all a bit of a blur to her the next day. Indeed, she did not remember returning to her guest house at all that night; yet awoke to find herself under the sheets of her own bed in just her lacy bra and panties -- her heels, dress, and jewellery, all neatly assembled across the loveseat by her bed. Coffee and croissant restored her. Yet despite her foggy head, she was not so wanting in terms of memory to forget saying some naughty and inappropriate things to her nephew. Slightly horrified upon reflection, she sighed and committed herself to making amends later that day. She only hoped that she hadn't embarrassed herself too greatly, and that no one else had heard. Hopefully, young Tristan would take pity on his poor, horny Aunt and say nothing to his mother. She had just exited her suite, dressed in sandals, Capri pants, and a relatively low-cut blouse, when she heard a honk from the steps below. It was a smiling Tristan, perched atop his shiny Lambretta scooter. Oh dear, thought Doris -- but before she could offer a word of apology ...