Aunt Anne and Her Friends Ch. 01 - Sex Stories

Aunt Anne and Her Friends Ch. 01

... small-breasted body was my aunt's. And -- I'm ashamed to admit -- I found myself masturbating to the very explicit sight of my &#034aunt&#034 having sex with a lad my own age. Of course, in my imagination the bloke in the movie was me. I freely admit that it felt terribly dirty and shameful. And I should say that, of course, if I had chosen to, I could have stopped entertaining such thoughts. But I was enjoying my growing fixation upon my aunt. The mere fact of being alone with her in the house took on an erotic significance. I was almost painfully aware that only a thin wall and a few yards separated us when one of us was dressing or undressing. One night when I was lying on my bed jacking off to naughty mental images of her, it suddenly occurred to me that I was doing so in very close proximity to her. She was lying on her bed just six feet or so from where I lay masturbating to thoughts of her, with just that wall between us. Guilt and shame made me start to go limp. But then -- I'm ashamed to admit it but would plead that it's simply an indication of how fixated I was becoming -- that very thought started to make me hard again. And -- I know this sounds pathetic as well as obscene -- I found myself shuffling onto my side to face to the dividing wall, as if secretly facing my dad's s****r. And I brought myself off in that position. Quickly. And copiously. When she was out at work I longed to rummage through her wardrobe and her dressing table, but was too afraid of being ...

... spotted by a neighbour. I contented myself with admiring and stroking her clean clothes on the clothes maiden downstairs where she left them to air off before ironing them. ____________________ Over the following few days I started to feel a bit strained when I was with Aunt Anne. Embarrassment at having been caught jacking off haunted me. The mere fact of being alone with her was both embarrassing and arousing. Added to this was the fact that I had started jacking off to mental images of her in her sexy ivory nightdress. I wondered whether she was conscious of my blossoming awareness of her and desire for her. If she was, she didn't show any sign. Something else happened. It may have been coincidence, but three days after that Aunt Anne wore a black skirt and a closer fitting top for work. The top wasn't really tight or low cut. But it did show the shape of her small breasts. I found it hard not to keep looking. I was fascinated by the small, rounded orbs and by the outline of her bra through the pink top. The smallness of her breasts meant that virtually no cleavage was visible above the neckline. This made it almost a challenge to me to try to spot it. I tried to be discreet, but it seemed when she was kneeling down to lift the washing from the washing machine that she spotted me a couple of times. But she gave no sign of embarrassment or anger and said nothing. The risk had been worth taking. I had managed three brief glimpses of the greater part of one little orb inside ...