My young aunt

I was already past thirty when my aunt became a widow. Aunt—well, she's more of an aunt by title, of course. She's four years older than me, we grew up together because she lived with us and was more like an older sister to me. We went to school together, did homework at the same table, ran around outside together. So what kind of aunt is that?

She lived in a village on the edge of geography. A house, a farm, a couple of kids. Even though her husband was a bit of a lousy fellow, he was there. In the house, in the field, in general. And they lived so-so, more poorly than well, but still. And suddenly she was alone. It was tough. I took a vacation and went to help a relative. More than

nine months had passed since her husband's death. During that time, I'd visited occasionally, with one-off help. But now it was summer, and we had to prepare for winter: hay, firewood, other things. She sent the kids to a pioneer camp so they wouldn't be underfoot. So we threw ourselves into work. The vacation was only a month, but the work was endless.

Before haymaking, we decided to fix a few things in the yard, do some minor repairs in the house. After about a week, I started feeling uncomfortable. I'm a young man, I need a woman, and here's my aunt, practically considering me a brother, flashing her bare ass, ignoring panties because of the hot weather. And there's plenty to look at. She's petite herself, but curvy, all plump like a sweet bun. There's something to hold onto and something to lie on. Her breasts, her ass, everything else. And on top of that, physical hunger. So it all adds up.

I remember when we were in the taiga for two months, I was ready to drag a she-bear out of her den and take her from behind. This isn't the taiga, and my aunt isn't a bear, but the desire doesn't go away, it only gets stronger. We're working, or she's doing something in the yard, she bends over, and her dress barely covers her ass. So it rides up, and everything's out. And her buttocks are plump, and the fold of her cap, and the hairs on her labia. My underwear is about to burst from the tension, I might as well jerk off to relieve the pressure. There's a ringing in my ears, stars in my eyes. And I'm not a boy anymore, but look at me. No, I won't last long like this.

We washed up in the bathhouse, resting under the canopy. She has a little canopy right by the bathhouse, a bench, a table. And a bird cherry tree covers it all with its branches, hiding it from prying eyes. And what prying eyes, since the bathhouse is deep in the yard. On the table, there's a little homemade infusion, snacks, we eat, washing down the food with a sweet drink. After the bath, auntie didn't put on anything under her dress at all, her body shows through. The dress is thin, and worn out from time, the fabric has become like gauze. We're already a bit tipsy, talking.

No matter what the conversation was about, it always veered onto the well-trodden path: the topic of sex. It all started innocently. I just asked if she had anyone in mind for a shared life. She couldn't be a widow forever. And she answered that in the village, such a person was unlikely to be found, because everyone was taken. And there's an excess of women here, and men are in terrible shortage. And to become a fling just to satisfy the body, well, you'd never wash off the bad reputation afterwards. She, of course, would be glad to find someone, but how would the children look at it, and where to find a man, and her body, damn it, demands it, she's not even forty yet.

Then we switched from the topic of aunt to the topic of my family life. We talked. Then we drank a little more and the conversation became completely free. Auntie laughingly recalled how we fooled around as children, our pranks and how we got punished for them. Because daddy, may God rest his soul, considered aunt his eldest daughter and therefore whipped her just like me. He'd lift her skirt, pull down her panties, and whip her bare ass with a belt. And then we'd show each other the belt marks, feel sorry for each other, and hatch plans for revenge. Not against father, but against the one we thought got us in trouble. And auntie said that, in her opinion, she still had scars on her buttocks from father's belt. And without any fuss, she showed me her ass as soon as I asked. And that was it!

Leaning her chest on the table, lifting her dress, she showed me her buttocks. Only a dead man could have resisted. And even he, most likely, would have gotten hard for such an ass. White, plump, buttocks slightly parted and between them a little spot of anus, and lower—what a delight!—the closed lips of her pie. Barely whispering in a hoarse voice: "Let me comfort you!"—I kissed her ass, grabbing her hips, and my hand itself started searching between her legs, penetrating deep into the pie, feeling on my fingers the heat and moisture of a yearning vagina. In childhood, we comforted each other like this after a spanking, blowing and kissing butts. Auntie didn't say anything about needing to let her go, that it wasn't proper for a nephew to rummage in auntie's pussy, let alone stick fingers in it. Instead, she spread her legs even wider and lay more firmly with her chest on the table, moving the drinks and snacks aside. Her ass lifted by itself, opening the bud. I could have held back if I were a bit more sober. But now instincts were working. My tracksuit pants and underwear flew off in an instant and now the head

was seeking entry, greedily preparing to frolic in auntie's cave.

I got in immediately and sharply, so she gasped, I entered. And auntie's ass, not waiting for my movements, sharply and quickly started moving, impaling itself on the tip, with moans, sighs, groans, and gasps. Auntie set a frantic pace and finished long before me. And as soon as her vagina stopped contracting, her ass started working again, impaling itself on the tip. Now she moved calmly, trying to impale herself deeper, to enjoy the foreign but so desired object in her pussy. And I didn't disappoint her expectations.

Slipping my hands under her dress, I found her breasts. She lifted herself slightly, then lowered herself, and her breasts ended up in my palms. Auntie's height allowed me to drill her hole and squeeze her tits at the same time. And we, breathing heavily, moving unhurriedly, enjoyed the process. Auntie shook her head, moaned, her hair spread across the table like a black train. But then her ass started moving faster and I couldn't hold back, shot my sperm. Before the tip went soft, auntie managed to catch up and also froze, pressing her ass to my stomach, only an occasional tremor running through her body and the muscles of her vagina contracting slower and less frequently.

No reproaches, no empty talk. Everything was simple and mundane, as happens between husband and wife. Holding her hem with her hand, flashing her bare ass, auntie went back to the bathhouse, beckoning invitingly with her hand. If she calls, I must go. Leaving my clothes on the bench, I followed. The evening chill cooled my bare ass. Still, the body doesn't react to the chill like the ass does. It's always hidden under underwear, pants, and God knows what other clothes. And auntie was already washing, bending her legs and thrusting her pubis forward, and water flowed down her hair, down her legs, splashed on the floor.

— What are you staring at? Wash up!

— You wash me.

In childhood, auntie had to wash my business. No point in hiding it: we fooled around a bit, and the result of this fooling around was traces of sperm on her and my bodies. So nothing new or special happened. We just plunged back into childhood. Only back then I didn't penetrate her, everything was on the edge, between thighs and between buttocks. Auntie soaped me up, started rinsing off the foam, pouring water from a ladle.

— You've grown such a handsome one! It was so small, like a finger, well, a bit bigger. Wow, what a sweetie! Let me kiss it.

Kneeling down, she placed the head in her mouth and sucked it with pleasure, then released it, kissed it, placed it in her mouth again and continued sucking, purring with pleasure like a cat over sour cream. Clearly, the body, having gone so long without female affection, reacted correctly. That is, the penis began to swell, increase in size, and rose to the very ceiling. Auntie contentedly released this pacifier from her mouth.

— Can you still? Mine, the deceased, wouldn't come near for a couple of days now.

No time for talking when it's standing. This is such a matter, requiring decisive and quick actions. And I laid auntie's body on the bench, spread her legs apart and leaned over her body.

Real women don't shave their pussies. They don't have time for such nonsense. What nature gave is what is. Well, maybe she'll trim the growth a bit with scissors when it gets too overgrown, but otherwise no one ever shaves. Only if she's going for an abortion. Then yes, then necessity forces it. Black, slightly curly hairs covered her pubis, timidly ran onto her lips, a few really bold ones surrounded her anus. Auntie, spreading her legs, pressing them to her chest, which made everything open up, expected some actions from me to continue what we started outside. Spreading her labia with my hand, I leaned even lower, kneeling, and inhaled the scent of auntie's pussy into my nostrils. It smelled delicious: fresh body, soap, a slight musk. The lips, which seemed so large, parted, revealing the inner contents to the world: the pink flesh of the inner lips, the bluish bean of the clitoris, the slightly open entrance hole. And all this was covered with moisture, lubrication, everything glistened in the light of the bulb. Impossible to resist.

— I have my other hand free!

The well-lubricated hole easily let a finger into her ass. And now my fingers were drilling auntie's holes from both sides. To endure such a thing is beyond human strength. Almost breaking my neck with her tense thighs, she screamed, simultaneously releasing the tension with her cry. Her muscles inside her vagina and anus clenched, trembled, her thighs squeezed my head tighter and she froze.

Relaxing and releasing me into freedom, she dropped her legs to the sides of the bench. Her body still shuddered, sobs were heard. I started getting comfortable, burning with desire to get my share of pleasure. And suddenly a stream shot out of auntie's pussy. Hot urine hit my chest, flowed down my stomach, and the stream still didn't end.

Everything comes to an end. The stream also dried up. Auntie lay relaxed, tears flowed from her squeezed-shut eyes, her body shuddered from sobs. I, sitting at her head, kissed her eyes, cheeks, forehead, lips, calming and persuading her. The sobs subsided. Auntie sat up sharply on the bench.

— Well, why are you crying? Did I offend you?

— Such shame! I peed myself!

— It happens, nothing terrible.

Her index finger poked my chest, her voice became accusatory. Like a prosecutor at a trial.

— It's your fault!

This is from her childhood. Whatever happens, everyone is guilty except her. The accusatory speech didn't last long. Glancing at me, at what was standing below my stomach, she silently threw her leg over the bench, stood up, thrusting her pubis into the face of me, kneeling. Pressed my head to herself, imprinting my nose into her pubic hair, released me and sharply turned around, bent over, resting her hands on the bench, sticking out her ass.

— Come on!

What to give was clear without clarification. Well, I gave.

Auntie's pussy was impossibly wet. I didn't feel anything, sliding in this accumulation of moisture. Her ass, relaxed, shamelessly displayed the brown spot of her anus.

— Why not? There was a finger there.

I extracted the head from her vagina, pressed it to her ass. Auntie tensed up, clenched.

— It will hurt!

— Endure. I'll be careful. Better you do it yourself. I'll hold it, and you do it yourself.

We sit on the bench, resting. Auntie sits next to me, I hug her.

— How are you? Does it hurt?

— It's fine.

— Sorry that I'm like this. Is this your first time?

— What makes you think that?

— Your husband?

— No.

Frankly, I'm not at all interested in who and when fucked auntie in the ass. I'm interested in the present moment. For now, I'm the master of all her holes, starting from her mouth and ending with her ass.

We went to bed together, in one bed. Hugging and pressing our naked bodies together, we kissed a little and fell asleep. We were both tired after all.

Long live the morning erection. That's when you're not really awake yet, but you're already hard and demanding relief. And there's somewhere to relieve. There she is, auntie, snoring, curled up in a ball, comfortably settled under her nephew's side. But I had her from behind yesterday and more than once, but in a human way, looking into her eyes, that needs to be done. And the sooner, the better. As soon as I touched her pubis with my palm, she turned onto her back by herself, spread her legs, lifting and bending them at the knees, resting them on the mattress and lifting her ass. And all this with closed eyes. An invitation more than obvious. I took advantage of it.

As soon as I fell aside, splashing out the morning portion of sperm, she jumped off the bed and ran, pressing her hand to her pussy. She returned after a while, climbed into bed, pressed against me.

— I almost peed myself. Such shame, if anyone saw.

— What shame?

— A naked aunt sitting to pee by the porch.

— Well, no one saw.

— Good thing it's early.

We lay there, cuddled. I kneaded her wet pussy, covered in my sperm and her secretions, she massaged my dick, played with it. Yesterday's reaction didn't come, and I had to get up.

At lunch, after a snack, we started the motorcycle left by her brother-in-law and went to check the hayfield. We checked it out. And there were such bushes! Mmm! How could I not lay auntie out in these bushes? Well, I did. We're riding back. She's sitting behind, pressed against me. The motorcycle is rolling slowly.

— I've gone completely crazy. With my nephew. And I'm not ashamed, not a bit.

And her hand slid lower, found something interesting and tried to extract this something from my pants.

— Sit normally, or we'll crash somewhere.

— Let's pull over to the side. Just for a little while. I'll just play. Really, really.

What can you do with this child? She wants to play.

— I really don't want to yet.

— And you don't have to. I'll play, and you can rest.

Sitting me down on the grass and pulling my clothes down to my knees, she played with the limp tool, which tried to show signs of life but couldn't. Completely exhausted. She kneaded it, and kissed it, and sucked it. No way. Timidly looking into my eyes, she asked

— Can you... well... like yesterday?

— With my mouth?

— Yes!

And before the client changed his mind, she quickly pulled down her