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It was a cool summer late Saturday afternoon in 1970, about a month after I’d passed my driving test, and we’d just completed a mixed doubles friendly tennis match. Aunt Ave and I had lost to my real cousin Graham and his friend Trudy. We’d played on the village court, which meant any showers or post game baths had to be taken at home.
“Close game” Graham called adding for my assurance “better luck next time with a younger partner eh.”
I laughed and nodded, replying “Luck of the draw, but you two were very fortunate.”
Neither he nor I made any mention of the delightful short pleated tennis skirt Aunt Ave had been wearing, and if Graham had had a brief but heart stopping view of the frilly knickers she’d worn underneath her tennis skirt, Aunt Ave and I would have won. The ladies joined us; Aunt Ave (Averill) asked if Trudy, Graham and I wanted too come back and freshen up at hers. Trudy and Graham both declined saying they were due back at her parents too go out for a meal. I on the other hand appreciated and accepted her offer; Aunt Ave had a strong hot shower and she no doubt had some superb apple pie awaiting some cream.
Aunt Averill was not really a relative, she was a close friend of the family and was a very athletic woman in her mid forties, she had permed brown hair, a matronly bosom and stocky thighs and a totally teasing nature towards me. Ever since becoming a teenager she’d used every opportunity to adjudge my growth and tell me how handsome I’d become, also teasing me over girlfriends and such. Whilst I was a spotty eighteen year old, I was blessed with a good knowledge on pleasuring girls through my long standing relationship with Susan Beales a healthy farmers daughter, with a very grown up attitude to the pleasures of the flesh. We’d both indulged reading and thoroughly practising techniques from the new publication the Joy of Sex together with a tattered copy of the Karma Sutra, but I was also a young gentleman, who was somewhat shy in the presence of my elders.
Graham and Trudy had brought Aunt Ave too the courts, so it was for me to take her back. I opened the door for her to slip into the passenger seat of my crock of a Mini, having taken her kitbag too store on the back seat. Aunt Ave shuffled onto the seat and her already knee high tennis skirt rode up too an appreciable level. We drove the short distance too her house with Aunt Ave encouraging me in my tennis, a few little pointers and that my forearm would improve, whilst I should try and practice my back hand. In fairness as a local school gym teacher she was giving me good advice. Then she was back teasing me about girls and if she were a young girl my age she’d be very pleased to be in my company, which made me blush. I was so used to it, and looked upon it as harmless teasing, till she stroked my flannels, just a little as she emphasised the word ‘company’. When we got too hers she, went to open the door whilst I got our things. The drive had been empty, and it turned out ‘Uncle’ Dave her older and more refined husband was away on a golf weekend with some work buddies.
“I need a good dash of gin, too drown my sorrows”, announced Aunt Ave “would you like a beer or gin or anything?”
“A cold beer and a warm shower, would be heavenly Aunty” I mumbled somewhat shyly.
“You know where the shower-room is dear” she urged “you can have a shower, and a beer.” She stopped then added “You’ll stop for a bite won’t you dear boy, you’d not leave a poor Lady who’d lost a game, without a little comfort?” her eyes sparkled “Would you!”
“I’d love too stop for a bite” I stumbled out, more for the consideration of her fine cuisine than anything that might be on offer.
Then she did it, and my world and hers changed, not quickly or earth shatteringly, but enough to make the events of that evening imprinted on both our lives for a couple of years. She dropped the tennis ball from her hand, it thudded into the soft resplendent carpet and bounced thudding a wall to then drop and roll behind a chair. Aunty Ave had scurried after it and once by the chair she bent over to retrieve the dissident ball. I was treated to a panoramic view of her frilly panty clad bum, with all of its roundness and succulence. I don’t think she’d given me this view deliberately; perhaps I was naïve, but she’d bent over similarly when we’d being playing earlier, no it was the fact that here my concentration was not distracted by winning the game. Instead I saw something of Aunty Ave that aroused me. Rising with the ball firmly in her hand Aunty Ave urged me to go and shower, saying she was going to bathe her aching joints and I could get a beer and watch some telly in the lounge, then she’d call me for a bite too eat.
I padded on the luxurious carpets down to the shower room, near the utility room of the house. I stripped and was enjoying the hot water beating against my body, the pressure dropped a little, and I new ‘Aunty’ was running her bath, thinking of her, and her round plump bottom, made me aroused. My shyness began to peel back, and I was getting a boner, so undertook a bit of manual relief with Aunty as the subject of my fantasy. This inevitably meant I was longer in the shower, but also made me think of her as a sexual equal for the very first time. Before then she’d been an older escort kocaeli woman, which my young mind had never contemplated as being a possibility of convivial coitus with. I was just beginning to express my more devilish streak and having fantasised about this full woman, I felt a hormonal urge to do something about it. I was even tempted to sneak a look in her bedroom as she finished her bath. Instead I vowed to ‘chat her up’ sometime. I went to dress, and realised that I’d not intended to have a shower, and all I had with me was a loose tracksuit, no underpants and no change of clothes. I shrugged my shoulders and strolled into the kitchen.
Unfortunately there was no beer in the fridge, but I knew ‘Uncle’s’ supply was in the shed and thus I was distracted for quite a while, bringing a back through to the house; as a regular visitor I knew where most things where and had enough sense to stock up as required. On my return to the kitchen Aunty Ave was stood there, her cheeks pink from her hot bath, she looked radiant and fresh. She had a light but full summer frock, which ended about mid calf, and buttoned down the front from her ample chest, which I was subsequently to establish as a 36D, it had wide straps and her shoulders were bare, showing a good tan. The frock looked good on her, and her waist looked trim, well she was an athletic woman even though she was of a stocky build, I also noticed she had chosen too wear hose, probably her own way of making herself feel dressed properly for a guest.
“Good boy David, you found the beer, I’ll get a salad together sweetheart.” With that she urged me to go and watch telly whilst she attacked the fridge with gusto.
Soon Aunty Ave called me to the kitchen where a simple salad was presented for consumption on the kitchen table, and with yet another beer and Aunty had a very large gin; we sat down to eat. We chatted, or rather Aunty chatted, mainly the inane gossip of the village and our respective families. The beer flowed and was beginning to liberate my senses. We’d finished our salads, and Aunty mentioned she’d some cold apple pie in the fridge; as she got up to clear my plate away, I unzipped my tracksuit top; I was somewhat hot, and had forgotten I had no t-shirt underneath. Back then, I had a firm chest for a youth, being a keen athlete, whilst I was not a man; I was not all skinny boy with jutting out ribs.
Aunty was standing beside me leaning over to pick up my plate, when she teased me saying “Stop flaunting your youthful naked flesh before me Dave”. Then the matronly tone of her taunt rose “I can not understand how any young girl could not resist your charms.”
I looked her in the eye, my button pushed too far with all her teasing I spoke calmly but firmly “Aunty stop teasing me” I rapidly continued, words jumbled from my mouth “I have no problem with getting girls.” I stopped scared to brag of my so far conquests, but perhaps at the back of my mind that would lead to an adult inquisition of who and what, so instead I blurted out “So stop all these puerile jibes,” then hesitatingly I stuttered “or I’ll tickle you till you yield!”
OK it was a meek and silly challenge but Aunty Ave’s eyes twinkled wickedly, a switch had been flicked somewhere inside, as she let go of the plate she’d been about to side, and instead put her hand on her hip.
Aunty spoke, but for me it sounded like the voice of a peer, a girlfriend with whom I could roll about with in mock battle, a girly lilt “You wouldn’t dare!”
“Wouldn’t I” I said firmly with wicked leer, and began to rise from my chair to meet the challenge.
Aunty Ave looked at me and squealed like a schoolgirl and dived away from me, skipping through the door into the lounge, the chase was on, and I raced after her. My intent firmly upon tickling her or whatever till she yielded in the manner I’d get the girls of the village to admit my boyish strength, not through pain but either through tickle torture or exposure! Entering the lounge Aunt Ave was a few paces ahead of me and she dived behind the large settee, with its extreme floral print and soft sumptuous cushions. Her eyes were on mine, sparkling with the thrill of the chase, fully animated, her mouth wetly open. I darted one way and she trilled her voice and went the other.
Taunting me she said “You can’t catch me” words shrill with excitement her chest heaving far more than the exertion of her run would have made her be, it was the galvanizing goad of a girl who wanted to be caught.
We danced about the couch for a very short period, then I fainted to go left, Aunty Ave took the faint and I soon caught her arm and pushed her onto the couch, she was squealing delightfully, whilst kicking out with her legs and arms. I used my body weight to pin her down, grasping both her wrists in my arms firmly pressing them into the soft couch material above her head.
“Yield” I offered gentlemanly, though hoping she would not; my prick was sensing the fun and was already urging more.
Aunt Ave giggled “No way”, but neglected to say ‘get off’, or ‘enough’, she was enjoying this.
I wrested her slender wrists together, and my large right hand easily grasped and controlled both of them, my body across her thighs stopped her kicking so all she could do was squirm and laugh. kocaeli anal yapan escort I began to tickle her stomach, which made her cry out, and attempt to fight against me.
All the while I asked her to “Yield” or “Submit”.
Each time she giggled and said “No way”.
Now as an ardent tickler of girls, and boys, for that matter, I knew there was a limit, and we’d reached the point were in my youth, different tactics were called for. Aunt Averill was had a devilish look in her eyes, willing me to break her, a mischievous Miss, not a woman in her prime.
“Right then lets see if your thighs are ticklish” I spoke emboldened by the moment, and from the experience knowing that most girls disliked showing their knickers and would often yield.
“David, don’t you dare” teased Aunty, her legs clamping down tight and straight.
With all her writhing Aunt Ave’s full skirted frock had already ridden above her knees and the folds were too the top. I felt Aunts’ hands attempt to push against my constraining hand, as my fingers began to ruck up her skirt, I looked at her face, her eyes gleamed mocking defiance, so I quickly pulled her dress skirt up, letting the floral material drop at her waist. The sight I beheld is imprinted upon my memory, being a teenage boy, the girls I’d up-skirted in the past either had no hose, or wore tights, so my mouth watered and my prick stiffened even more into Aunt’s hip, as a gazed down on her sturdy stocking clad legs, the dark band of the tops contrasting with smooth whiteness of her thighs, rising form this colour and texture contrast where white straps which ended on the lace trimmed edge of her panty girdle, its crossover’s creating a micro skirt, under which peeped the smooth shiny paleness of the garments gusset, from which a few stray brown hairs wisped in freedom.
Aunty Ave’s legs began to kick as I drank in these new delights, and I turned again to ask her to yield as my fingers tickled against her smooth oscillating thighs. To gain better control, I pushed hard against her wrists and slipped over her body, so now my knees where fully astride her, then I levered my self up to be hunched over Aunty Ave’s prone body all the while still asking her to yield as I lent down and changed hands, thus now securing Aunty Ave’s hands above her head with my left hand. My prick was hot and throbbing in my tacky bottom tenting them out, Aunts’ head was above the pillow and looking down beneath, us, with me sat on her ruffled skirt. Her knees began to knock against my back and I was forced to ease back enough to stop this, and this made me crouch onto her, with my straining dick now obviously pressed against her tummy. Once satisfied I was again in a stable commanding position I repeated my request for my Aunt to give in.
“No way sweetie” she stated breathlessly, her chest heaving invitingly beneath me.
My plan changed and with my freed right hand I began to undo the top button of Aunts’ dress, again my ploy was to get her to yield, girls usually disliked the bra’s being exposed, and I had even got as far as scooping my hand under the edge of a girls bra before she submitted.
Undoing the first button brought a glimpse of Aunty Ave’s white bra, “Do you submit”.
I offered as my finger hooked the next button, which because of the frocks full design would in essence allow me to reveal her chest.
“No!” Aunty stated emphatically as she struggled against me.
Quickly I released the next fastener and unveiled the new prize of her bra; my teenage mind was filled too overflowing at the in the flesh sight of the two white dome shapes below; bra design was only just changing in those days, and Aunty favoured the fuller all covering version with good bone upliftment. However I did notice two peaks Aunts’ own bulges of excitement. I’d wanted to sit up and admire my handy work, as I would have done had it been some girl from the village, but something stopped me, making me want to give these lovely woman a chance.
So I leaned close to her face, my words, whispered slowly, and demandingly, “Do you give in”. My face was directly into hers, I’d found that girls would also yield if there was a hint that kiss might be stolen from them, so I was just far enough away to lower my head and steal a kiss.
As Aunty mouthed yet another “No!” she tilted her head up, and using the ‘o’ kissed me, lusciously temptingly fully and passionately on the lips.
This was not a kiss of “Aunty” it was the kiss of a woman aroused, wet and full, her lips lush and red with excitement. I have wondered since if it was meant to scare me off, too make me give in, which to some extent it did, but in perhaps in a manner Averill preferred. The kiss grew, her tongue sought entry and filled my mouth, and I accepted her hot exciting penetration. Her head fell back against the cushion, and she looked into my eyes questioning me, was I man or boy, was our game over, or had the rules changed. This time I leaned down, easing my weight from her slightly as I kissed her with equally fervent zeal, my turn to dance my tongue in her mouth, to glory in the luscious juices. I broke away kissing and nibbling her chin, down too her neck as my hand crept between us following her upper chest izmit yabancı escort and snaking towards the upper reaches of her brassiere; her hands free Aunty grasped my head stopping my advances. My heart skipped a beat, was our game up, had this grown decided enough was enough, had I failed another test of life, too soon, too slow, wrong touch. Aunty Averill had my attention; her hands now grasped my shoulders.
I watched as she licked her lips and huskily stated to my unbelieving ears “To make me yield you’ll have to catch me and fuck me till I cry out”.
Her challenge issued, Aunty thrust me from her body. I rolled and landed in the thick pile of the carpet, is she darted away and out of the lounge door, stopping just long enough to discard her summer frock, which was flapping and interfering with her progress. I scrambled up from the floor as Aunty Ave disappeared out of the door, stunned at what I heard but also excitedly ready to give chase. As I entered the hallway, Aunty Ave was already halfway up the stairs, now in stockinged feet and fumbling as she ran to release her bra. Bounding up the stairs two at a time I was gaining on her as she disappeared of the landing into her bedroom, her brassiere cascaded behind her. Panting I entered the door way, kicking off my trainers, and then wrenching off my pants, I watched Aunty Ave unceremoniously release and tear off her stockings. As I dropped my tracksuit bottoms, I became slightly embarrassed as Aunty viewed my upstanding throbbing prick, which had drooped slightly from the loss of blood being used to provide nutrients for my speedy ascent of her stairs; Aunty Averill had unhooked the rear eyelets of her panty girdle and was wriggling it over her hips, the shear white material left a red mark where it had been clinging to her body, but my attention was diverted from that blemish to the wonderful mass of brown curly hair that was the cushion of her newly exposed mott. I crossed the small threshold between us both, and wrapped my arms about her, clutching her too me, my prick happily pushing hard against the fuzzy matt. Aunty and I kissed again, fervently we sought each other lips and tongues, our hands roaming about are respective backs, rubbing the heat between us.
Again wishing too control the situation, I pushed her onto the bed, bravely uttering “Averill I will enjoy fucking you into submission.”
These words flew out of my mouth and as Averill grinned too annoyingly reply, “You think you’re man enough Dave?”
Then she welcomed my lips again on hers; I realised the transition in our relationship, she was now Averill no longer Aunty, she was now a woman who wanted me to prove myself. Laying to her side and rubbing my prick into her naked hip, I kissed her, as my right hand mauled and massaged her breasts, feeling their weighty fullness, their ample ply ability, amazed at their volume curving back against her body, her nipples rose firm and high like to raspberries in a nest of swirled strawberry cream, and the felt so good as my mouth chewed on one, my thumb squeezed another. Averill’s breathing was heavy, encouragingly so, her hand was not idle she found my tool and was deliberately milking it as best she could. With my mouth I engorged my self on her full womanly tits, and stroked my finger down her belly in sweeping wide circles, so I would soon feel the wiriness of he minge thatch.
Not wishing to waste any time, probably the innocence of youth, my fingers were soon stroking the doors to the cave of carnal concupiscence, her quim was wet and willing, and as I drove past the guardian flaps Averill sighed appreciatively, then she fidgeted her legs wider to improve my access. I soon had to fingers gliding in and out of her wetness whilst my mouth was enjoying exploring the treasures of her chest. At last my youthful curiosity made my need to explore Averill’s anatomy further, I’d only had the opportunity to munch pussy a few times, and I was dying to see her cunny. So I kissed my way down Averill’s belly whilst she encouraged me to slide my throbbing knob nearer her mouth.
Averill suddenly twisted causing me to sprawl onto my back, carefully she straddled me, her tits sagging sensually into my hips, but above me her Venus slit gapped scrumptiously, and I reached my hands up, to cup the glorious peach of her bottom and guide her down onto me. Her hands held my prick rolling my juiced foreskin back expertly I jolted as her hot mouth engulfed my glans sucking in my dribbling juices, then the hot moistness of her mouth embraced me her tongue flicking against my shaft. I savoured the sensation momentarily but was determined to ‘win’ and so applied my lips and tongue to the task ahead. I probed the wetness of her pleasure folds, lapping at the oozing juices, to be rewarded by more flowing. Then as I parted her blood engorged petals, the tip of my tongue encountered her stiff love bud, a gentle flick caused Averill to moan around my throbbing prick. A tickled licked and lapped the little boatman swirling and twirling it with my tongue and Averill’s mouth left my prick to stand and be chilled by the air, as she began groan louder, concentrating on the feelings in her groin. As I slipped a finger into her now dripping quim, Averill began to grab my thighs her fingernails digging into my flesh, I continued to tongue her clit, harder and faster, my chin pushing hard against my fingers whilst I patted against the soft flesh walls in side her. Averill’s body tensed then shook delightfully whilst she uttered a gasped whispered cry; that buried as I was in her garden of delights I couldn’t hear.
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
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