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Aunt Edna's Needs

by David Witheld about a month ago in social media / relationships / fetishes / erotic
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Chapter Two

Chapter Two

I slipped out of bed the next morning and dashed into the bathroom to pee and brush my teeth. She was still asleep when I snuck back into bed and I laid there, propped on my elbow, just watching her sleep. And I was remembering that crush I had when I was 12 and puberty had struck with a vengeance.

I couldn’t resist lifting the covers to peek and was, I must admit, disappointed, to see that her nightie was still modestly around her ankles.

And so I laid there, settling onto the pillow beside her, our noses almost touching, and wondering what the day would bring.

I was torn.

I wanted her. I wanted her very much actually. But I didn’t want to be taking advantage of her.

And so I waited, just letting the time pass and feeling the warmth of her closeness.

Her eyes fluttered open and when they focused on me they got big, but she smiled.

When I kissed her softly she kissed me back.

Suddenly she rolled over and literally jumped out of bed. “Beer,” she giggled as she hurried to the bathroom.

I chuckled and followed at a more leisurely pace.

When I walked into the bathroom she was sitting down and I could hear that little “hiss” of a woman peeing. Her eyes got big when I walked in and she said “DAVEYYYY.”

I chuckled and loaded my toothbrush again and began brushing my teeth. She was blushing as she finished and I watched as she carefully folded a pad of toilet paper and wiped. She wouldn’t meet my eyes as she flushed and then scooted in front of me to wash her hands. Then she started brushing her own teeth as I rinsed and spat and put my toothbrush up.

When she was done and turned I put my hands on her shoulders and smiled.

“Now that wasn’t too bad, was it?” I asked.

She looked up at me and said “well, it was a first anyway.”

I led her into the kitchen and had her sit while I put the coffee going in her old-fashioned glass percolator.

Then I sat across from her and, once again, covered her hands in mine.

“Okay,” I said, holding her eyes with mine, “cold sober here. What do you think you want? You need?”

She couldn’t keep looking me in the eyes and dropped her eyes.

“I don’t know honey,” she said in a very small voice. “God, when I saw you, and when we were dancing, and then, when I was thinking about sleeping alone I just felt so bad. I just………” and her voice sort of trailed off.

I gave her hands a squeeze. “Just what Aunt Edna?” I said.

“I just, well, just wanted to be treated like a woman, “she said and when I started to respond she said, “no, that’s not it really. I want to be treated like a lover but, Davey, oh God, I don’t know how.”

That took me aback and fortunately the percolator was perking away so I stood and poured us coffee, getting my own thoughts in order.

“Okay,” I said, setting the cup in front of her and going to the refrigerator for the half-and-half I knew would be there and getting the sugar from the cupboard and setting it in front of her beside the cup.

Then I sat down myself.

“Okay,” I started again, “what do you mean you don’t know how?”

“Davey,” she started and drew a deep breath and started again. “I was what you’d call a child-bride today. I was 16 and a virgin when John and I got married. That first night the lights were off when he came to bed with me and it was over in about two minutes. And that is the story of my married life. God, Davey, I never even saw him naked.”

I didn’t really know what to say about that and so I sat there and thought for a minute.

She sort of giggled as she sipped her coffee, looking at me over the rim of her cup. And I smiled over mine.

We sat in silence, sipping the coffee and kind of looking at each other. Not an awkward silence, but companionable.

When my coffee was done I took her hand and led her back into her bedroom. She didn’t seem at all reluctant to follow.

Standing beside the big feather bed I said “let me guess, he never saw you naked either?”

She sort of giggled softly and looked down and murmured “no.”

“Well then,” I said, stepping closer to her and reaching down to grab her flannel nightie just below her hips, “arms up.”

I started pulling the nightie up.

Her eyes got big and she hesitated but when I nodded she lifted her arms and I peeled her like a little girl getting ready for her bath.

I tossed the nightie onto her chair in the corner and wasn’t surprised when her arm went automatically to cover her breasts and her hand to cover her crotch.

“Oh no,” I said with a chuckle in my voice and I took her hands and gently moved them to her sides.

I loved that she blushed as I stepped back and made a production of just looking at her. Deliberately looking her up and down.

And she was really pretty spectacular. That wonderful hair was down. Her skin was milky white and reasonably smooth for someone looking pretty closely at 60. Her breasts were large, I guessed a D or maybe a DD cup with small nipples so hard that I’m sure they ached right then. A slight belly pouch gave her a mature woman’s thickness. Her legs were a bit on the thin side and her feet were long and shapely.

But what really drew my eyes was her magnificent thatch of pubic hair. It was thick and curly and ran from her belly button (a cute little innie) down to an inch or so down her thighs. She was absolutely the most generously-endowed-with-pubic-hair woman I had ever seen.

I held out my arm, forefinger pointed down, and did the twirling thing, the universal “turn around” gesture.

She moaned softly, deep in her throat, and slowly turned.

And damn if she didn’t look just as good from the back.

She had no particular waist, what we call a thick chick, but her skin was smooth. Her ass had soft wrinkles right at the gluteal sulcus, that line where the ass meets the tops of the thighs, that I found kind of cute. And that thick pubic hair ran around as well, giving the bottom of her ass a fine downy look that I found amazingly sexy.

Her legs were skinny, and her feet were long.

And it struck me that she had evidently never shaved. When I got close enough to touch her I lightly brushed her back where there was very soft and very fine hair.

I took her hand and lifted it and sure enough, while the hair in her armpit was not as thick as her pubic hair, it was long and soft and ran down almost to the top of her ribs and down the insides of her biceps. I wanted to lick it.

I realized as I was inspecting her and she was blushing, that her body hair was much finer than it would have been if she had been shaving all those years.

“You are absolutely gorgeous,” I said and she giggled.

And then she looked me in the eye.

“Your turn buster,” she said and her grin was absolutely predatory.

So I took two steps back and pulled my T-shirt over my head. I’m not a bodybuilder or anything, just one of those guys who got lucky in the gene pool. It’s a swimmer’s body, not a weightlifter's, but it’s not bad if I do say so myself. The gym rats always told me I had a good cut which was, again, the result of luck rather than work.

Anyway, I smiled and struck a pose, the simple bicep pose you see in so many magazines, arms out and bent at right angles to flex.

She was smiling and said, “take it off, baby, take it all off.”

So I got my hips to working, in what I imagined was a passable version of a stripper’s bump and grind and worked the boxers down and kicked them to her.

It would be hard to miss my interest. My erection pointed straight up my body.

And oh my, she did stare.

I’ve been through basic training and been with my share of women. It takes a LOT to make me blush.

I blushed.

She giggled.

I closed the distance between us and put my hands on her shoulders.

“Are you certain this is what you want?” I asked.

Her smile said it all, but I wanted the words too.

“Are you certain this is what you want?” I asked again.

She met my eyes and said, simply, “yes.”

So I took her in my arms and kissed her.

It was a terrible kiss.

Her lips were puckered into hard little cones. The kiss was, effectively, a mother-son peck that lasted a little longer than usual.

It was a terrible kiss.

So I talked her through it.

“Relax,” I said softly, “part your lips and meet mine.”

The second kiss was marginally better, but only marginally.

“Relax,” I said again, “it shouldn’t be a chore, it should be nice.”

The third kiss was better still, she was starting to relax now, to kiss rather than just to peck.

My fingertips traced down the line of down at her spine, very lightly, stroking her gently and she was starting to mold herself to me.

The fourth kiss wasn’t bad at all. She was learning and my probing tongue found hers. I felt the sudden tension in her body at the unfamiliar touch and then the acceptance as hers sought mine.

My hands moved slowly over her back, my palms flat, the sensitive nerves testing the new sensations of skin covered virtually everywhere with that soft, fine hair.

The fifth kiss was pretty good. Her arms were around my neck now, pulling me down, her mouth was soft and seeking, her tongue a living thing, yearning for more.

My hands found the great mass of the hair of her head, loose and flowing well down her back, and I dug my fingers in, twisting slowly, applying pressure that demanded, and I was enjoying the soft moan deep in her throat.

The sixth kiss was very good indeed. Her tongue was probing and her fingers were digging into my hair. Her back was arching, pushing herself, her breasts and her belly and that wonderful thatch of pubic hair, against me. My right hand remained entwined in her hair, twisting and drawing a moan from her, while my left tracked down until I cupped her left ass cheek, oddly small in my hand, and squeezed softly.

“Say it,” I said when we broke for air.

“Yes,” she said with a hiss.

“Say it all,” I said.

“I want this,” she said, holding my eyes with hers.

“Tell me you’re certain,” I said.

“I’m certain,” she said.

“Tell me you’re certain,” I said again.

“I’m,” and she kissed me quickly, a good kiss but a quick kiss, “certain,” kiss.

“God help me,” she said and kissed me again, “I’m certain,” kiss.

“Now please, Davey,” kiss, “take me to bed.”

The next kiss was spectacular. Our lips met and I bent and scooped her up like the husband carrying his bride over the threshold. We held the kiss as I carried her to the bedroom. She’s a bit thick, but I’m pretty strong and her arms around my neck helped carry her weight. At the bed, I stood her on the floor while I yanked the covers and the top sheet down.

Then I did the two hands on her hips thing and lifted her onto the bed and gently laid her back before running around and climbing in with her on the other side.

It took a LOT of control to not just take her immediately, but I sensed, somewhere below the level of true thought, that she needed to be shown tenderness, that the foreplay needed to last. And it’s not like exploring her front was an unpleasant task.

Her nipples were circled with a halo of that soft hair and this time I did not try to resist the urge to lick. I licked and sucked and kissed and did it all over on the other breast and then back to the first and back to the second. I liked the way her breath caught, especially when I latched on like a hungry baby and nursed for a few seconds.

I captured her wrists with mine and pulled her arms straight over her head. Again, I let my urge to lick run free. I licked her armpits and then brushed the silky hair there with my forehead and cheeks. I liked the faint taste of salt sweat I found there.

I latched onto her breast again, and my hand traced down her belly, making her squirm when I probed her belly button with my little finger, and then down, dragging my fingers through that thick mat of silky hair. When I touched lower she was soaked with her natural lubricant and when I probed under her clitoral hood with my finger, finding her hard little pleasure button, she exploded.

Her hips were thrusting, seeking more, her legs were scissoring weakly, she almost got her wrists free from where I had them captured when she started jerking, and she was making a high-pitched whistling sound through her mouth that was wide open in an almost silent scream.

I finished her like that, masturbating her to orgasm, fascinated by the feel of her natural lubricant suddenly soaking my finger, and utterly captivated by the power of her satisfied womanscent.

I kept her going until she started whispering, well, gasping, “oh God, Davey, please honey, no more.”

I kissed her then, as she relaxed, a snotty slick kiss from the way her nose had been running and she grabbed me, her arms around my neck, pulling me to her, hard, her fingernails digging into my back.

“Oh Jesus,” she was breathing between gasps, “oh God, Davey,” deep breath, “oh Jesus.”

I nuzzled into her armpit, enjoying the feel and the salt taste along with the clean woman scent of her sweat.

And then I just held her while she got her breathing back to normal.

Finally, she drew in a deep, shuddering breath, and said, in a low, throaty voice, “yes, I’m certain.”

I chuckled then, rolled over, got my knees between hers, and slipped inside of her.

I felt her body respond, her back arching to meet me, and I said, “no, relax, let me do the work now.”

I felt her comply. Her body softened and the tension left it.

I started a very slow rhythm, slowly out until only the glans of my erection was still barely inside the soft outer lips of her pussy and then slowly in until the thatches of our pubic hair met and I was fully inside of her. I was covering her face with kisses while I did this, telling her she was beautiful, and she was responding with a steady chorus of, “oh God,” and, “Oh, Jesus.”

She was warm and wet around me, loose with practically no friction which was good because I was SO ready that virtually any added sensation would have put me over the top. But she stayed relaxed and so my control held and I made our first time last for her.

Well, okay, for me too.

When I came it was as satisfying as I had ever had with a woman. I’m blessed with an abnormal prostate gland. It’s not enlarged or anything, just abnormal in the sense that it’s oversized. In terms of sexual gratification, it just means that when I cum, I cum a LOT. My body can manage a half dozen separate pumps, the hard muscular contractions of ejaculation that push semen deep into a woman.

Her eyes were big, watching mine, as I filled her to overflowing and kept going.

Finally, I completed our coupling and kissed her, a long, lingering kiss. I held the kiss while my body, satisfied, slowly softened and, as always happens, I slipped out of her.

I had to chuckle when I rolled off of her, snuggled next to her, kissed her, and heard her say, “yes, I’m certain.”

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About the author

David Witheld

College degrees in teaching, history, and economics.

Veteran, Vietnam ERA but I never, EVER, put myself in the same league as those guys who went over there and did it. I was an Air Force analyst.

Retired now, and write for fun and profit.

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