Aunt Anne and Her Friends Ch. 01 - Sex Stories

Aunt Anne and Her Friends Ch. 01

... evidently, easily twice that age! I watched part of the first chapter then skipped to my most watched one. It had fewer exaggerated moans and groans than the others. This was part of the reason I preferred it. The other was that she was naturally busty, with slightly sagging breasts that showed no surgical scars. I should say that I've nothing against enhanced boobs, it's just that I prefer the way natural ones move. I imagine that enhanced ones feel less natural to the touch, as well. I wouldn't know. Anyway -- then it happened. My headphones had blocked out all other sound. Aunt Anne had come downstairs for a drink of water but came into the lounge to check on me (after all, it was gone midnight). My hand was inside my trousers and, although I was not too far gone, I could not both withdraw it and kill the power to the television quickly enough. I whipped off the headphones and switched the television off, but my aunt -- my dad's s****r! -- had already seen what was on the screen -- and my self-pleasuring hand down inside my trousers. I wished the ground could open up and swallow me. I blushed bright red and hung my head in shame, but not before I saw her look at the DVD cases on the floor beside my chair. She shook her head in disbelief. &#034bl**dy hell, James! bl**dy hell! I... I'm surprised at you! bl**dy hell!&#034 was all she said. I started to blurt out an apology and an attempted, stammered excuse, but she had already headed out of the door to go back upstairs. ...

... I glanced at her long, ivory, satin nightdress. It swished enticingly against the backs of her thighs and hung deliciously over her shapely backside as she left the room. Suddenly I had noticed her. I had sexually NOTICED her. She made no mention of it the next day. I almost wished that she would, to give me chance to clear the air, but I lacked the courage to raise the matter myself and felt that if she did not raise it, it was better left alone. After that I contented myself with watching my porn on my laptop in my room after she had retired for the night. Then the thoughts started. I wished they hadn't, but they had, and it was hard to stop them. And I found that I didn't really want to. I began to think of Aunt Anne in her sexy nightdress, and the fleeting glimpse of her ample, shapely bum under the thin, shiny fabric. I wished I had got a glance of her small breasts through it, and wondered what they would look like naked. I began to think of her dressing and undressing on the other side of the wall that separated her from me. I began to fantasise about her walking in on me again and asking if she could put her hand inside my trousers and bring me off as I watched my porn. I began to watch the scene in the movie that I had usually skipped until then. It featured a slimmish, small-breasted woman with a young lad of a similar age to me. Despite berating myself with all sorts of abusive names, I found myself blocking out the woman's face and imagining that the mature, ...