Auntie and I Ch. 03

My summer in Maine with Auntie was more than half over when my mother visited. The days leading up to her weekend with us were a little tense. Art class had become a live sex show, so Auntie decided we should abstain from sex for the rest of the week after the Tuesday class before Mom's visit. It seemed like trying to quickly turn boiling water cold again, but I agreed it was probably a good idea. The class had been fun, Auntie sitting up, riding me cowgirl style, slow at first and then all-out with tits bouncing until we both had nice orgasms. The women liked it because they had a full class to draw her tits. Some of the renderings looked nicely three-dimensional. Abigail said they were the nicest tits she'd seen, but then Meredith reminded her of the night they all drew Maria. Maria was embarrassed by the revelation and blushed, not knowing I already knew of those sessions. Auntie confessed to them that she'd shown me all those drawings, and some of the others blushed, too. Soon all the images of their lovely breasts were spread out all over the work table again, and the women all looked pleased when I gazed upon them approvingly.

"He's an artist, girls," Auntie said, proudly. "He sees the beauty in every woman."

Something else happened right before my mother's visit. I don't know if it had anything to do with Auntie's abstinence, but it may have contributed a little. I fell into an affair with one of the women; a married woman, as they all are. I'm not proud of it, and still wish it hadn't happened.

If you'd asked me the week before who I was most likely to end up in bed with, I would have said Maria, but it wasn't her I fell in with. It was Phoebe who seduced me. She was the quietest of all the women, and possibly the loneliest. Her husband worked on a boat that fished George's Bank, an area of the North Atlantic that used to be rich in cod fish. These days it's a struggle to catch many, and the boat stays far out to sea for long periods of time. Phoebe was lonely, and she said watching me with Auntie on Tuesday nights had stirred up so much horniness she could hardly stand it. She didn't seduce me with that line, though. It was later that I found out about all that. No, the seduction was artful. Literally. 

I was walking down Main Street the day after art class, the week my mother was to arrive. I had my sketch pad under my arm and a small backpack with my supplies. I was way down the far end of the street, near where it dead-ends at the old abandoned sardine packing plant. That's where I was heading, an old broken-windowed building with colorful graffiti on it's flanks, some of it fading, maybe older than me. I wasn't too far away, on a stretch of road that had sand and gravel on it from disuse. That's when I heard Phoebe's voice.

"Hi Jon!" she said. "Mind if I join you, or would you rather be alone?"

She was scurrying along at a good clip, with a sketch pad of her own under her arm. It was a warm day by Maine standards, and I immediately noticed she didn't have a bra on under her t-shirt. The breasts that I'd admired in the drawings on the worktable had come to life, with hard nipples the same as they were that night she posed for the women. It's hard to judge such a thing, and impolite, but if I was asked I'd have to say they were my second favorite pair of breasts from that group of women, based solely on the drawings, of course. Even in real life, with all their shirts on at the art class, I'm pretty sure I'd say second only to Maria, not counting Auntie, of course. So, seeing Phoebe out in the world, on a nice sunny day, trotting toward me with the lively bounce of bralessness, it was a pleasant sight for sure.

"Yeah, you're welcome to join me," I said. "You ever poke around this old factory?"

"A little," she said. "Not really inside, but...I've been in the parking lot a few times."

I wondered why, but didn't ask her to elaborate. 

"Your drawings are really good," I said. "Were you interested in it before you took Pamela's class?" 

"Yeah, I took a bunch of art in high school," she said. "Drawing was my favorite. Got a Gold Key award in that scholastic competition one time."

"Oh, nice. Yeah, me too."

We walked over to where a big overhead door used to be and we went inside the old building. It looked like an ancient ruin in a lot of ways, with bricks scattered on the floor from a toppled wall, broken glass all around the perimeter and debris everywhere you looked. We could have stopped and sketched anywhere, it was all visually interesting, but I wanted to look around and get a feel for the old place.

"I never knew they made sardines around here," I said. "I thought they all came from Italy."

"Really?" she chuckled. "They don't make 'em, Jon, they catch 'em. This is where they cleaned 'em and put 'em in cans. Everybody calls it The Cannery. Lots of the old folks worked here."

We found some stairs and went up. Fewer windows were broken, but it was just as much of a mess. A hallway led to a big open office space. There were old wooden desks scattered around, and an old couch. Its cushions were some kind of plasticy vinyl, a sickly yellow color, sort of like mustard.

"What are you looking to draw?" Phoebe asked.

"Oh, I don't know," I said. "Something nice."

"Am I nice?" she asked. "Wanna draw me?"

She set her sketch pad down on the old couch and pulled her t-shirt off over her head. Her nice breasts caught in it and they wobbled when they went free. She looked just like the drawings I'd seen of her — the same interesting, curious, sort of surprised looking face, and the same hard, pink nipples that looked like they wanted a mouth on them.

I watched silently as her white sneakers came off and her bare feet made footprints on the dusty floor. Her bluejeans were off next, and then her panties, plain white ones that looked nice on her narrow hips. She used her bluejeans to wipe decades of dust off the mustard-colored couch, and then she sprawled herself on it, naked, looking at me with hopeful eyes.

"Tell me how you want me," she said.

My cock, chubby and awakening when she disrobed, was fully hard, straining the zipper that contained it. Phoebe looked at my lump. She didn't smile, but her face lit up as if she had, her eyes bright, with excitement behind them.

I asked her for a pose and she got herself settled in it, on her back, one leg crooked at the knee, her arms draped languidly over her. She looked amazing lying there, with sunlight streaming in through a hundred panes of dirty glass. I pulled a wooden desk over where I needed it, brushed it off with my hand and sat on top of it, with my sketch pad on my lap. Phoebe and I talked while I drew.

She was a bookkeeper and tax preparer for many of the small businesses in town, Auntie's included. She made her own hours and worked at home quite a bit. She laughed and looked a little sad when she said she knew everyone's secrets but didn't have any of her own. "Art class," I said, and she smiled. It was a lovely smile, tinged with loneliness. She was thirty-seven, the same age as Auntie. The two of them looked very different but Phoebe was beautiful in her own way, with a quiet sexiness that, once I got to know her, I found irresistible.

When the drawing was finished I sat on the arm of the old couch and showed it to her. I signed it and said she could have it. She was thrilled, but said she'd have to keep it at the gallery, with the other drawings she'd done at class. And then my cock was in her mouth.

It happened quickly. For weeks I'd been trying to stay cognizant of the married women thing, telling myself over and over again that all the women at art class were off limits even though I'd grown to desire each and every one of them. But, it turned out my good intentions were nothing more than that; any one of "the girls," as Auntie called them, could have had their way with me. I was a nineteen-year-old boy, after all, with hormones raging and a cock that had a mind of its own. I was lucky that Phoebe was the only one bold enough to make a play for it. The village might have been a scandalous shambles if all hell had broken loose with the others.

Phoebe and I spent a blissful hour on that mustard-colored couch. Our excitement echoed through the big, sunlit space, a thrilling sound that added to the intensity of the experience. My cock seemed to barely fit inside her, but she loved having it there, and I did, too, the extraordinary tightness taking us both higher. She said I was twice as big as anyone she'd ever been with, but that must have been an exaggeration. My big cock did make her fly, though. She came in a way I hadn't seen before, laughing all through her orgasms in a crazed kind of way, her whole self vibrating like jitterbug. It was thrilling and adorable. And addicting.

When the married woman problem consumed my thoughts the next day, I calmed my nerves by telling myself it was a one time thing, an afternoon fling that got me out of Phoebe's system, but the day after that, the Friday of my mother's arrival, I was back on that mustard-colored couch and Phoebe was riding me again, all the way to one of her incredible, laughing orgasms. Two more of them rang out in the quiet Cannery that morning, Phoebe swallowed a big helping of my cum, and the next thing I knew I was kissing my mother at the airport in Portland, wondering, in the back of my mind, if my breath smelled like pussy.

"Hi sweetheart!" she said, hugging me tight. "You look so good! You've become a man when I wasn't looking."

"You look good, too, Mom," I said. "How's Smoky?"

"He's good. I didn't realize how much work a big dog is, but I love having him around. Is your Auntie Pam being good to you? She must be feeding you because you look even taller. I think you've filled out a little, too."

"Yeah, she's good. We eat."

My mom looked at me silently for a few moments, sadness and happiness both mingling in her eyes. "Not seeing you for a while, it makes me notice how much you look like your father. Has Auntie Pam mentioned it? It's really kind of amazing."

"Yeah, she said some of me looks like him."

"Some of you? All of you. You're the spitting image. I think it's wonderful, but you know me, all sentimental."

We had dinner in Portland and then drove east up the coast, arriving in Toad Harbor just after nine. Twilight was still hanging on.

"You made it!" Auntie said, out on the street to greet us. "Is my car still in one piece?"

"Hi, Pam!" Mom said, hugging her. "Jon's a good driver. He's good at everything. Have you taken advantage of his skills? I hope he cooks and cleans for you when you need him."

"When I need him he's right there. It's been a joy having him here."

"Oh, good," Mom said. "I miss him, but...gosh he looks good. So confident and manly. I was telling him how much he reminds me of Jonathan. Don't you see it? When he was Jon's age? 

Auntie looked at me and smiled. "I see it, yeah, everything about him. I feel like I'm sixteen again."

"Auntie's got lots of stories about Dad," I said. "When they were teenagers she caught him in the bathroom." Auntie and I gave each other a quick look, me a smirk and her a flash of surprise. 

"He had his magazine in there," she said.

"Oh!" Mom said. She laughed nervously. "Ha ha! My, you're getting into all the dirt. That's good, though. I was hoping this summer would be educational. Are you teaching him all about the gallery business? It looks just wonderful," she said, looking at the nice window displays.

"I think I'm giving him some good life lessons," Auntie said. "He's really so good at everything."

I leaned against the car, listening to them talk about me, wondering when it was going to stop.

"He helps me with art class, too. All the women love him."

"Oh, good," Mom said. "He was always shy with girls. Being around females is good for a young man, I think."

"You guys know I'm standing right here, right?" I said, shaking my head.

Mom was tired from travel so we all went to bed early that night. I tried to give her my room, but she insisted on taking the couch. The tiny apartment felt very full with three adults living there. Auntie kept the windows open as much as she could, worried Mom would smell all the sex. I thought she was being paranoid, but I must admit the place did smell that way sometimes. Auntie loves it when my cum flies, and we didn't always get all of it cleaned up the way we should. One day, a couple weeks before Mom got there, Auntie said the place reeked like an adult movie theater. That's pretty bad, I guess. I never did ask her how she knew.

Mom was only with us for three nights and a two and a half days or so, a quick trip because Smoky was in the kennel. It was just as well. I love her dearly, but with everything going on it was kind of a relief to see her go. I could tell Auntie felt that way, too. If she'd stuck around until Tuesday I don't know what we would have done. She'd have wanted to see the art class and meet the women. I don't even like to think about how awkward that would have been.

So art class happened as usual on Tuesday, the ten of us holed up in the back room with the doors shut, drinking wine and playing with sex in artistic ways. Auntie announced she was super horny and asked if a sixty-nine pose would be okay. Everyone agreed it would be. Auntie was unsure of the viewing angle, so she decided two drawings would be made — one with her head, her hands and my cock as the subject, and then we'd turn around and my head, my mouth and her pussy would be front and center. It all happened so easy and relaxed, for me anyway. The women seemed very casual about it all, too. There was still plenty of excitement, but it was odd how we'd all fallen into a 'this is just art class' frame of mind, like what was happening was almost normal.

The first viewing angle was fun. It was the first oral sex in front of the women. I think Auntie had avoided it because it seems even more carnal than fucking. More personal. And with me being her nephew and all, she didn't want to put it out there in front of everybody. But her exhibitionist desires had grown as the weeks went by, and so there we were, me on my back on the daybed, with my legs spread open to the women, and Auntie on top of me with my almost-too-big-to-swallow cock sliding down her open throat like a fish down the gullet of a Great Blue Heron. Her hand was on my balls, too, for a little added visual effect.

"Good...Goddd!" Ginette said, watching close-up from the front row. I could hear a little heavy breathing, and then the comforting sound of charcoal scratching on rough paper. 

Auntie couldn't very well hold a pose like that, with me deep down her throat, so she asked the women what they wanted to draw. There was a split decision, four voting for deep throat, and four for showing the length of my cock.

"I guess you get both," she said, "and Jon gets a half-hour blowjob. Think you can handle it, stud?"

"Yup," I said, from the comfortable warmth under Auntie's pussy.

"I'm beginning to think he can go all night," Meredith said. "And I'm not disliking the idea."

The others laughed. I smiled and relaxed for a few moments, getting used to the glorious feel of Auntie's mouth on me again. It felt even more electric that usual, no doubt due to the eyes on me, and I knew I'd have to get my mind off things if I didn't want to make a quick mess. Giving my attention to Auntie's pussy seemed to be my only option, even though the women weren't drawing that angle yet. I latched on with my open mouth and tickled all around her clit with my tongue. She threw her head back, her sweet groan echoing off the ceiling. 

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph," Ginette said quietly. "I think I married the wrong man."

Auntie repaid me with a downward plunge of her head, taking me deep in her throat again, her lips tickling the balls she held tight against the root of my cock. It was game on. The most exciting, visceral bout of sixty-nine of my life was underway. I made her cum three times, even more would have been easy, and she took me to the edge so many times I literally ached. After a long, glorious session, we were both so wound up we were deliriously unaware of our surroundings again — there was just the two of us, the perfect pair of lovers, going all out.

I'd lost all track of time, but maybe Auntie hadn't. She drove me to the edge again, and that time she let me fly. As my excitement built she had another orgasm, her hips furiously grinding her pussy on my face. My own orgasm hit hard. I screamed into her softest flesh, her hand lost control of my slippery cock and my gushing cum splattered her face. I couldn't see it when it happened, but Ginette's gasp and some of the other women's exclamations gave me a pretty good idea of what had happened. Auntie stuffed me into her mouth again and drank what was left in me, moaning deeply, milking the last drops like she couldn't get enough.

"Messy," Meredith said. "I'll get you a towel."

I heard her feet scurrying across the floor and I smiled. She loved being our helper.

I still couldn't see from down where I was, but I could tell Auntie was cleaning the mess off her face with the towel Meredith had handed her. She laughed and said she was going make me pay for it later. A hush fell over the room for a moment. It was her first slip up that I could remember, cluing them all in that some after school activities were happening upstairs. I was surprised it wasn't common knowledge at that point. I'm sure they all suspected, and maybe even talked about it.

After a short wine break, Auntie was back on top of me on the daybed, both of us turned around so her lovely ass and spread pussy were on display. I could tell showing off like that made her horny, because she moaned and nibbled on my cock with her teeth the way she does when she's extra randy.

I had my hands on her waist when I started in with my mouth on her pussy, but I got some direction from the women.

"Your hands should be on her ass," Abigail said.

"Yup," Meredith said. "And keep your head to the side a little, we need to see that tongue."

I did as asked and swirled my tongue all around everything soft, licking up through the juice and tickling Auntie's asshole. She nearly came.

"Jesus. I definitely married the wrong man," Ginette said.

"Aw, but Frank's a sweet guy, Ginette," Meredith said.

"Sweet don't keep me warm in the wint-ah," Ginette said. "Lotta cold night's around these parts. Jonny, honey, wanna spend the wint-ah with us? We could work out some kinda lendin' system."

"Sorry, Ginette. I've got to get back to school."

"Less chatter, girls, more drawing," Auntie said. "Jon, get back to your...modeling."

I smiled and concentrated on my work again. Auntie came a few more times, the last orgasm a full-on leg shaker. Her hand stroked my cock, slippery from the cum that was oozing out of me. I felt her tongue on me, swirling the mess around, licking me clean. 

Phoebe and I got together here and there. My favorite place was the small state park just east of town, facing open water with no close boat traffic except for a lobsterman who checked his traps once in a while. Fucking her against the huge rocks on the beach, both of us totally naked, was a dangerous thrill. We were seen that way at least twice, but Phoebe was pretty sure they were tourists. One couple watched us for a while from a distance. I used my posing knowledge and angled us so they could see my big cock going into her. Her narrow hips and small ass make me look even bigger, so I think they got a pretty good show. Sex with people watching had become normal for me, but I knew it was dangerous, especially with a married woman.

We'd go to the old cannery on rainy days, up on the office level, on our mustard-colored couch. Sometimes we'd use the old desk, either with Phoebe bent over it or with her lying on her back on it so I could fuck her standing up. She liked it that way, with me holding her slender legs up against my chest. I loved the way her tits moved when she was in that position.

She got kind of sex crazed and we did it every day her husband was out to sea. She wore her glasses sometimes, instead of her contact lenses. She looked so sexy when she was naked with her glasses on.

When she got real comfortable with me she told me about her past affairs. She'd had quite a few, with various men. The janitor at the school; a welder who lives in a nearby town; a local lobsterman. It was the welder who used to meet her in the parking lot out behind the Cannery. They'd do in the back of his van, amongst all his tools, with her lying on his leather welding jackets. She said they felt like suede.

Auntie found out about us, but she never said much about it. I guess maybe she felt guilty because she knew she was doing wrong, too. So I had two lovers for the last few weeks of the summer of my nineteenth year, both thirty-seven years old, and both of them made me crazy with desire in their own unique way. There were quite a few nights when I woke up dreaming of a threeway, but it was never brought up by any of us. Auntie and Phoebe having to share the same small village made it too risky and complicated, maybe. Or maybe they didn't want to get their hands on each other the way they wanted to get their hands on me.

As my time in Toad Harbor grew short, the art class poses cooled a bit, simmering down from the wild heat of full-on fucking and the shockingly messy facial the night of the sixty-nine. A pose with Auntie on top was slow and delicious, her weight on me nice and relaxed, her body moving fore and aft, my cock warm and cozy in her pussy. It was the way we sometimes did it up in the apartment if the day had been long and we both were tired. I have many memories of that summer, but that may be what's burned the deepest in my mind — Auntie's weight on me, her warm body fucking me slow. There were some beautiful drawings made that night — the curves and shading of the way her big breasts pressed against my chest, the way her hair lay on her shoulders, the sexy curves of her beautiful ass. Neither of us orgasmed in front of the women that evening; we saved it for later, when we were alone. I never asked her but I've wondered if she planned the mellower poses on purpose so she could have me more to herself in those final few weeks.

The next class was a stand up pose, what seemed to me like it must be a classic of erotica — Auntie standing full frontal with me behind her; my hands reaching around, cupping her big breasts; my head tipped one way, hers the other; my lips kissing her neck. 

The drawings that evening were just lovely. Auntie's teachings had really taken hold, and nearly every drawing of us in that pose was special. I was particularly taken with Phoebe's. She'd done a lovely job and then smudged a veil of blurry haze over it, turning it into a dream. She gifted it to me the day I left Toad Harbor, and I cherish it. It hangs in my home office amongst a collection of nudes, a genre of art I seem drawn to.

For my final full weekend in Maine, Auntie and I decided to drive up to Acadia National Park again. She closed the gallery and we spent two blissful days and nights in a small cabin she rented for us, tucked privately in the edge of the woods, with a hot tub on a deck and a long view of the distant ocean. We walked some more of the wonderful carriage roads, took some difficult hikes up craggy mountainsides, and ate some incredible meals in wonderful restaurants. She admitted she was trying to spoil me so I'd want to spend the next summer with her, and the next. She needn't have tried so hard. The simple sight of her rising up out of the hot tub, walking dripping wet to our bed was more than enough to make me want to return.

We had lunch in Bar Harbor one day, at the same restaurant were I'd fallen in love-at-first-sight with the Japanese girl. She wasn't there. The day I'd seen her seemed like a lifetime ago, back when I was just a boy with his mother and his aunt. As Auntie and I ate I tried to conjure a vision of what I'd do if the girl walked in the door. There was nothing clear. Even the memory of what she looked like was fading. She was my innocence, and it was gone.

When we were leaving the restaurant, I was standing alone just inside the front door, admiring an old MG sports car parked at the curb. The hostess saw me and scurried over, her face looking confident and nervous all at once.

"Are you staying nearby?" she asked. She put a piece of paper in my hand. Her manager gave her the evil eye because there were customers waiting. "Text me," she said. "I'm just here for another week."

She was beautiful and luminous, a girl my age. When Auntie rejoined me the girl said, loud enough for her manager to hear, "I hope you enjoyed your lunch," and then she was gone, ushering another couple to an empty table. I felt a powerful jolt. Was it the strange coincidence of two stunningly attractive girls talking to me in the same restaurant, or was it something more?

The drive back to Toad Harbor was bittersweet. Phoebe's husband was in town. The last art class and saying goodbye to the women was looming. The warm comfort of Auntie's apartment was ahead of us, but most of all I just wanted to hole up in that cabin in the woods forever. No more school, no more pressure to succeed, no more search for the perfect woman. I'd already found her and her name was Pamela. I pictured a quiet life, running the gallery together, making art. Being art.

Back at the apartment we fell into our old routines, just like an old married couple. A happy old married couple. We did laundry, and we fucked. We cleaned the kitchen, and we fucked. We worked in the gallery, and we fucked. We drew each other, and we fucked. I'd never felt so happy, so fulfilled. 

Tuesday came too quickly. I was hoping Monday would happen over and over again, like Groundhog Day. At the wine table there were gifts, wrapped in nice paper, like my birthday when I was a kid. The women must have spread the word, because each of them brought me something. A bottle of my favorite wine, a box of my favorite drawing paper, a book about Ferrari's. Dina made me a beaded necklace. Leah gave me three jars of jam she made from wild blueberries she picked by the shore. All the gifts were heartfelt and I had tears in my eyes looking at all the beautiful happy faces surrounding me. Auntie was misty-eyed, too.

My robe came off one last time and Auntie surprised me. She put a chair in front of the bed and asked me to sit, all alone, for the final session. She pulled an easel over next to the women and got herself set up. I sat there for almost an hour, relaxed and comfortable, my cock just a soft penis. The drawings amazed me. There was life in all of them. I was real.

My last days with Auntie didn't register in my memory. It's just as well. I do remember helping her frame that final drawing she did of me. It still hangs in her gallery, but it's not for sale. She told me she's had many offers to buy it, one of them from Phoebe. Phoebe is divorced now, living alone and doing well. Auntie tells me she's got two boyfriends and both of them are crazy about her. I'm not surprised.

According to Auntie, Ginette's got some new action, too. She talked her husband Frank into watching porn with her and their sex life has blossomed again. She even draws him nude. Auntie's seen some of the drawings, but Frank doesn't know it.

I sometimes think of the quiet drive with Auntie to the airport in Portland. While we cruised down the highway with the city almost in view, I texted the hostess from the Bar Harbor restaurant. She was packing up to leave Maine, too. Auntie glanced over at me, silently, as my thumbs typed out messages. 

The hostess's name was Tara, a student at a college a hundred miles away from my school. We agreed to meet halfway between for pizza. We were married three years later, right after graduation.

I never did go back to Maine, until after I was married. The temptations would have been too great, and I didn't want to cheat on Tara. Auntie understood. I saw her at my Mom's house a few times in those ensuing years, and we fell right back into our perfect friendship, without the sex. She loves Tara as much as I do.

Auntie visited us in California recently. I gave her a tour of the house, and we spent quite a bit of time looking at the collection of female nudes that hang in my office, paintings and drawings and etchings I've collected over the years. They're all quite good, some of them very expensive works by well known artists, but I could see her eyes drift back to Phoebe's drawing, the one of Auntie standing full frontal, with me behind her, holding her breasts in my cupping hands, my lips kissing her neck. It still looks like a dream. 

Memories well up in me once in a while. Memories of a tiny apartment in Maine. No air-conditioning. Sweaty, shiny skin. Big tits slapping me on the chin. Auntie is on top, her beautiful, blissful face hovering over mine. Her body is alive, moving in primal ways. Rhythmic. Athletic. Exclamations are grunted and moaned. She's fucking like a woman fucks. Strong and experienced, no holds barred. A woman with a lust for life who shepherded me into the life of a man. I can still hear her breathy, urgent, insistent voice, "Oh yeah! Fuck me! Fuck me harder!", and her orgasmic scream still rings out from time to time, deep inside my memory. Every time I hear it, I smile.

18:25 Gepost door Pé de Cenoura | Permalink | Commentaren (0) |  Facebook |

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