Retired Aunts

by Kellis

Fall, 2016

 

The weather had improved enough for the old men’s patio table to fill up again.  When the conversation flagged, Don said, “It’s time for a new fuck story.”

“A new one?” repeated Jenkins.  “Everyone has told his.”

“Except you,” said Corey.

“Me?  As I said: nothing special about how I learned.  When I was 17, I worked one summer as a construction helper and blew a month’s wages on a whore almost as old as my mother.”

“When was that?” said Marco, interested.

“I just told you: when I was 17.  That was my first fuck — blowjob too, for that matter.”

Marco appraised him.  “In the early 50s?”

“Let’s see: that would’ve been 1953.  Plenty of construction work for dumb teenagers.”

“You must’ve told it before I joined the group.  I’d like to hear about it.  At 17 I was too chicken to ask a whore.”

Jenkins grinned.  “I wasn’t lucky as you: no curious sister.”

Marco looked around.  “You other guys mind hearing it again?”

“Hell no,” said Don.  “Fuck stories are never boring.”

“In fact there’s more to it,” said Jenkins, “now that I know you guys better.”

 

 

My coworkers were talking about a woman in the neighborhood who would fuck you for twenty bucks.  At 17 I was so full of jizz that my dick leaked if I didn’t jerk off twice a day, so you bet my ears perked up.  I saw the straw boss at the water cooler and hurried up.

“How do you …” I started then changed to, “What do you say to that woman Bert called Abigail Hot Tail?”

“You could say, ‘Good morning!’”

“I mean, to ask her to, uh … to …”

He grinned at me.  “Ready to lose your cherry, Jenkins?”

“Oh, god, am I ready!”

He laughed but shook his head.  “With those shoulders and that tan you’d have to beat off the bobby soxers with a stick.”

“You gonna tell me?” I asked sullenly.

“You know which house on Bertie Street?”

“They said the one with the yellow shutters.”

“Right.”  He chuckled.  “I think you really are interested.”  His eyes looked sly.  “Just knock on her door, real polite, and say, ‘Is this where you go to get laid?’”

“Is that all?”

“She’ll take it from there.  And good luck!”

That night right after supper I walked to the house with the yellow shutters, maybe half a mile.  My stomach was full of butterflies but my balls were fuller.

I knocked on the door and a woman opened it.  It was still light enough for us to see each other.  She wasn’t bad looking, kind of average, I thought, with short brown hair and blue eyes, wearing a housecoat.  Some of the guys who knew her had said she was 32.  At that time my mother was 38.

She looked me up and down through the screen door.  I had showered and put on clean jeans.  She said, “Yes?”

My tongue felt thick.  I said with a stammer, “Sh-Sharpie said to ask if this is where you go to get laid.”

Her eyes flashed but then they softened.  “Sharpie works for Davis Construction, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She lowered her voice and said testily, “That son of a bitch!”  In those days women didn’t cuss in public.  She grinned sourly and added in a normal tone, “But he’s right: this is the place, if you’ve got what it takes.”

In addition to showering, shaving and shitting, I had removed my cash from under the mattress.  I showed her the roll, a twenty on the outside, and said, “I’ve got this.”

“And obviously everything else.”

She flipped the inside latch and turned away, saying over her shoulder, “Come on in.”

She led me through to a bedroom and pointed to a chair.  “Hang your clothing there.  You’re about to get laid, my dear — that is, if you will be kind enough to pass me that top bill.”

I peeled it off.  She stuck it in her housecoat pocket and stepped close to me.  “Want some help?”  Without waiting for my answer she lifted the T-shirt over my head.  While I was hanging it on the chair her hands were at my waist.  Down went my jeans.  Her thumbs jerked my briefs down.  She stooped to inspect my dick at close range.  Of course it was already standing tall.

“That’s a nice one, dearie.”  She looked up at me.  “How old are you?”

I’d thought about that question.  “Twenty-five.”

“Bullshit!”  She cocked her head.  “I’d say seventeen, maybe eighteen.”

“I’m old enough.”

“Very true.  That big hard dick is what my lawyer calls sufficient evidence.”

“And you’ve got my money.”

She grinned.  “Are you worried I’ll cheat you?  I probably like fucking more than you do.”  Her hand caught my dick and milked out a white drop.  “Look at that, will you?  I’ll say you’re ready!”

She squatted close, grabbed my ass cheeks and wobbling her head to fit, pulled my dick straight into her mouth.  I tell you, it was a shock.  I’d dreamed of this but never imagined $20 could be so immediately persuasive!  Her mouth was warmer than a wet fist and I could feel her stroking tongue.  The sight of half your dick in a woman’s mouth can really fix your attention!  My balls felt like they were boiling.  I think I lasted about five seconds.

She was game.  No doubt she was well acquainted with quick-popping teenagers.  She quit sucking, just held me in her mouth, and swallowed every drop.  I was too inexperienced to appreciate her finesse.  When she resumed sucking, I also failed to appreciate the after-shot thrills and pulled out.

She licked her lips and said, “Tasty stuff, dearie.  Wish I had a pint of it.”

I felt weak-kneed but a lot more.  In fact I was overcome with feeling.  I said, “Abigail, I love you.”

She smiled.  “Of course you do.  Nobody ever treated your dick so sweet before, did they?”  She stood up but her hand caught me and jacked a little.  “Stamina, I love it!”  Her hands rose to my shoulders.  “Come on.”

In addition to the bed, the room contained a settee.  She backed up to it, pulling me by the shoulders, and sprawled on the settee, hands dropping to my hips.  Her legs spread incredibly wide and her hairy pussy gaped at me.  It was obvious what she wanted me to do.  I sagged between her legs, took hold of my dick and guided it to the red gash.  Misaligned, it impacted her flesh but drove on in regardless.  She grunted.  Her hands on my hips urged me in and out.

“For your information, dearie, were using the couch so you can prop yourself up on the back and keep your weight off me.  I expect your second shot to last a good while, long enough to do me some good.  What do you think?”

Actually I was disappointed we weren’t on the bed.  I said, “Maybe you could get on top.”

“In the bed?  Dearie, I’ll tell you the honest truth.  In 45 minutes I’ve got an appointment and the bed has to be fresh.”

I had dreamed of skin on skin but had to agree that dick in pussy was thrilling enough, especially considering that this was its first pussy.  I took careful note of how it felt: wet, warm and slippery with some interesting lumps.  Her hands stroked my belly and chest.  The construction work had left me with well-defined pecs and abs, which she seemed to like.  We fucked on and on and she began to moan.

“Oh, god, yes!  Yes, yes!”  Her pussy got wetter as her moans got louder and her hips began to twist front and back.  A minute of that fetched me again.  I shot her cervix with what little I had available and just kept fucking.

Of course she felt it.  Her hips stopped and she glared at me.  “Didn’t you just come?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She giggled.  “And you’re still pumping.  Dearie, you’re a wonder!”

I kept fucking but she didn’t.  Pretty soon I got the idea and pulled out.

“Now, dearie,” she said with a wry grin, “I don’t want you to think you didn’t get your money’s worth.”

“Oh, no, ma’am!”

I leaned over her with my hands on the couch back.  She wiggled out from under me and stood up.  “Give us a kiss.”

We kissed in each other’s arms.  It was also my first taste of somebody else’s tongue.

She said, “I’m your first woman, ain’t I?”

“Yes’m.”

“Well, don’t tell anybody you kissed me.”

“Why not?”

“For your fucking education, you should know that men don’t kiss sluts like me.  It’s too much like kissing a dick.”

“Huh?”

She sniffed.  “Think of all the other dicks that’ve been in my mouth.”

“Okay, I won’t tell, but kiss me again.”

This time I made sure to mash her tits into my chest.

“Dearie, you’re a wonder,” she repeated when we broke.  “Now get out of here.”

“Can I come back?”

She grinned at me.  “Think I’m worth it?”

“Told you: I love you.”

“How about the same time tomorrow?”

“I’ll be here.”

And I was, damn near every day until she earned my whole roll.

 

 

“You weren’t kidding!” declared Corey.  “That was a lot more than you told the first time.”

Jenkins grand. “Now I know how you guys will take it.  I think my start was pretty ordinary.  I’ll bet most guys start off with whores.”

“Not that ordinary!  She, a whore, actually came?”

“Who knows about women?  I just told it like it happened.”

“It’s not impossible,” Don said, “and you are still luckier than most.  Abigail was a teacher as well as a fuckstress.  You tell a good story.  How about your further adventures?”

“Well, I did have one situation that might bear telling.”

“‘Situation?’”

“For sure it was no one night stand!”

“Sounds interesting.”

 

 

This tale needs a lead in.

While I was in the Army my daddy found himself a hot chick who loved his cock enough for Mama to divorce him.  She couldn’t keep the house so when I mustered out, I had no place to go.  That’s when she told me about my aunts.  Seems I had two of them: daddy’s sisters, Milly and Tilly.

“Milly’s a year or two older than Tilly,” Mama said.  “They’re a little younger than your father but in their forties, or almost.  They own a house in the next town over.  They never married so their last name is Jenkins too.  The operator will give you their number.  I’ll bet they’d let you stay with them while you find a job.”

“Why aren’t you staying with them?”

“They’re the Jenkins’ black sheep.”

“Wh-what?”

But she would say no more.

I demanded, “Why am I just now hearing about them?”

“Like I told you: they’re black sheep.”

I spoke with Tilly on the phone.  In a sweetly feminine voice she declared herself delighted to hear that her blood nephew had been honorably discharged from the Army and promised to meet me at the bus station.  So I gathered my stuff and took the bus.

Two neatly dressed women were waiting for me as I swung down from the transport.  As agreed, I wore my corporal’s uniform, which grabbed their attention.  They were much alike, fortyish, the same size, build and brown hair color although clearly not twins.  They rushed to me directly.

“Freddie!” said the nearer with a big smile, eyes alight.

Frederick is my name.  I’ve always hated it and all its nicknames, probably because the school bullies taunted me as “Frederick the Great.”  Nevertheless I smiled, which must have been answer enough.  They both rushed into my arms and kissed me on either cheek.

“I’m Tilly,” said the one on my left, “and she’s Milly.  May I have a better kiss?”

She planted her lips on mine.  I bent my head so that she didn’t have to stand on tiptoe.  The kiss was so full-mouthed that I nearly stuck in my tongue.

“Me too!” cried Milly and her mouth joined her sister’s.  That was my first three-way kiss.  It was not to be my last.  They both smelled of lavender.

When we broke, Tilly said, “Let’s get in the car and talk!”

At the car she said, “You drive.  Milly will sit in the front with you.”

It was a Buick roadmaster with power windows and far more bells and whistles than the jalopy I’d sold going into the Army.  But with an automatic transmission it was a cinch to drive.

On the telephone I had summarized my life to date.  Now they wanted to know about life in the Army.  Had I gone overseas?

“Korea and Japan,” I said, “fortunately after the armistice.  No combat.”

“Then what did you do with your time?” asked Tilly.

I grinned.  “I was a radio operator.  We sent test messages.  In my free time I chased girls.”

“Foreign girls?  Did you find them easy to know?”

“Some of them were very easy.”

“No language problem?”

I had to chuckle.  “No problem where it mattered.”

Ah, yes.  They knew that boys and girls could always communicate.  “Especially where it matters,” said Tilly with a grin.

Millie said, “You have the USO dances on most bases, but we got the impression it was never enough.  Those poor boys in the barracks!”

“You know something about military bases, Aunt Milly?”

“Oh, yes!” said Tilly.  “Milly and I worked near them for years, especially during World War II.  You wouldn’t believe how many soldiers we befriended!”

“Were you in the USO?” I said, surprised.

“No, but we often went to the dances.”

“Those poor boys,” said Milly sorrowfully, “especially the ones shipping out the next day!”

“I can imagine,” I said, “in World War II.”

“The Korean War too,” said Milly.

“Even the peacetime,” said Tilly.  “You just get to know them and — swish — they’re gone!”

Milly said glumly, “Forget peacetime!  Nothing to do in peacetime.”

I sympathized.  “The army slimmed down a lot from ’46 to ’50.  What did you ladies do for the army?”

“Everything!” declared Tilly.

They both giggled.  Milly added stoutly, “Nothing was too good for our boys.”

“Turn left here,” said Tilly.  “Our place is at the end on the right.”

They lived in a white shingled, two-story house with large, well trimmed grounds and a paved driveway that curved into the side of the house.  As we approached, the garage door started to rise.  I eased the car into its stall and looked around in vain for an attendant.

I said, “Who else is here, Aunt Tilly?”

She giggled.  “To open the garage, you mean?  The car’s weight did it — on a contact in the driveway.”

I began to understand: these old gals were not hurting for money!

That opinion was reinforced when we went inside.  It was carpeted wall-to-wall, including a knotty-pine den.  Large paintings hung on the walls and the rooms contained tastefully blended furniture — all very impressive to a 21-year-old ex-soldier.

“This is a great house!” I told them in awe when they led me through the ground floor.

They nodded with pleased smiles.  “Thank you,” said Tilly.  “Come on upstairs to your bedroom.”

It was more than adequate and very clean.  They watch me hang up my spare uniforms and tuck underclothes into drawers.

“Now you’ll need civilian clothes,” said Tilly.

“What I had before the Army is too small.”

“We understand.  May we take you to buy some tomorrow?”

“Sure.”  I smiled at her in pleased surprise.  “I’ll pay you back soon as I get a job.”

“Well, you don’t have to be in a rush.  We’re gonna love having you here.  Isn’t that right, Milly?”

“Oh, yes.”  Milly sidled next to me and actually put her head on my shoulder.  “We so need a live-in man!”

I chuckled at the warmhearted courtesy.

“Not that a uniform doesn’t become you,” said Tilly.  “You’re a good-looking boy, Freddie.”

“Thank you,” I said, looking at her curiously.  “On the subject of looks and all, how is it that two such sweet ladies never got married?  Or did you?”

I wouldn’t have called them beautiful women, but I’ve seen a lot of  worse-looking wives.  They were shapely and maybe a little plump but far from fat.  I recognized the blood kinship.  Tilly had my daddy’s eyes.

“Two problems with marriage,” said Tilly, cocking her head: “we couldn’t marry the same man.”

“Couldn’t be separated?” I said with a grin.  “You said two problems.”

“They also wouldn’t let us marry all of them.”

I had to chuckle.  “The movie stars seem to.”

“Just one at the time.  That’s not nearly enough, wouldn’t you say, Milly?”

“Not nearly.”

Their answers intrigued me.  I said, “I knew a Mormon in the service whose wife’s sister lived with them as another wife.”

“Religion, pah!”  Tilly’s lip curled.

I gestured at the house around us.  “Guess you ladies did pretty well without marriage.”

“We’re comfortable,” said Tilly, turning away.  “Come on to the kitchen.  I’ll bet you’re thirsty.  Would you like a beer?”

Milly was the cook, and a good one too: round steak, thick gravy and buttery potatoes for dinner.  They served wine but of course I was too inexperienced to appreciated it and drank a Coke instead.  I dried the dishes for them.  We played Monopoly after the meal.  My sweet, old maid aunts proved to be conniving bitches who bankrupted me in under an hour, at which point they quit immediately and agreed that Tilly had won.

They served me another beer.  Tilly said, “Do you have a girlfriend, Freddie?”

“Well … no.  Not now.”

“You had to break up?”

“Poor boy!” chimed Milly.

“Not exactly, but yes.  You could say that.”

“How not exactly?”

“Tilly,” warned Milly, “don’t get so personal.”

“Oh, you know how boys love to brag.  Was she good to you, Freddie?”

“Yeah, she was good to me and my pals.”

Tilly’s eyes narrowed.  “Who are you talking about, a bartender?”

I shrugged.  “All right, I’ll lay it out.  Me and three buddies, maybe four, shared a girl.  We supported her and we each had our own night of the week.  But I didn’t just leave her,” I hastened to add at their frowns.  “I got her a replacement before I left.”

Their frowns vanished.  Tilly said to her sister, “Like Helen.”

Milly mused, “Until Helen got knocked up.”

“She was always careless.  Freddie, that arrangement is unusual but not uncommon at army bases, especially among the cadre, but it needs a special kind of girl.”

I nodded in agreement.  “Susie was special, all right!  You don’t … don’t object to it?”

Tilly said with a shrug, “A girl can share a lot more men than vice versa.”

Her apparent indifference strengthened my curiosity.  “You ladies know a great deal about the Army.  Which base did you work on?”

Tilly grinned slyly.  “Not on, Freddie; near.  Lots of them, all over the country.  Those were the days, eh, Milly?”

“Mostly the nights.  Such sweet boys!”

A thought occurred to me suddenly.  “I get it: you were nurses!”

They both chuckled.  Tilly nodded.  “We nursed a few, now and then.”

Milly said something under her breath.  It sounded like, “Through hangovers.”

“Not nurses?  Well, I guess you’ll tell me when you feel like it.”

Tilly chuckled confidently.  “Oh, you’ll figure it out.”  She glanced up at the kitchen clock.  “Hey, it’s time for Superman.  Come on into the den!”

“‘Superman?’” I repeated, getting up obediently.

“What a man!” cried Milly.

Leaving the room, Tilly grinned at me over her shoulder.  “We just bought a 21 inch color TV.  Superman is about the only thing on in color.”

So we watched television.  That is, they did.  Mainly I watched them.  They had changed clothes after supper.  Now they were barefooted in housecoats under which flesh flopped.  Apparently girdles and brassieres had been discarded.  At one point, when Milly leaned forward for a drink on the coffee table, an entire big tit fell out of the poorly buttoned front: gleaming round flesh with a brown nipple.  She tucked it back in absently.  I was glad to see that Helen was not the only careless acquaintance of Tilly’s.  For the first time, I think, I conceived of my aunts as desirable.

When Superman had saved the day, they stood up and I quickly followed.

Tilly said with an effacing grin, “To our surprise since we retired, we no longer sleep late.  It’s our bedtime.”

Milly added, “Give us a kiss, sweet Freddie.”

We indulged another three-way kiss.  This time I dared to put my tongue between Milly’s lips.  After all, she’d asked for the kiss.  Unfazed, her tongue stroked mine, so I dared further to transfer it to Tilly.  She responded the same way.  Up sprang my dick.

“Whew!” sighed Milly with a smile, eyes alight.

Tilly nodded as if in confirmation.  “Sharing a girl is good for the boys.”

That night I jacked off while recalling Abigail Hot Tail and wondering if a dick had ever been past my aunts’ lips.  As I drifted off afterwards I wondered what they would make of the stains on the sheet.

The next day we went clothes shopping.  We spent the whole day.  Tilly said with a giggle, “We’ll show you how women shop.”  They bought me two complete suits, shoes and underwear plus casual clothes and jeans.

 

 

“From the Army to pig heaven!” commented Marco.

“More than that,” said Don.  “Your aunts were obviously retired whores.”

“‘Obviously?’” said Marco.

“Hanging around army bases during the wars, otherwise unemployed but retiring loaded?  What else?  Are you trying to tell us, Jenkins, that you never figured it out?”

“They were my blood aunts, for Christ’s sake!  If you want to hear it, let me tell it my way.”

 

 

I started making the rounds, looking for work, but I had lots of competition.  The military was winding down again.

My aunts had a little paved patio off from the kitchen.  I was standing in the open kitchen door for some fresh air one morning while they drank their coffee on the patio.  I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.

Soprano female giggles used to always get me in the balls.  Milly had such a giggle.  It got my attention that morning.  She followed it with, “So you liked my little show!”

Tilly said, “Oh, yes.  Flopping out your boob for Superman was artfully done.”

“Thank you,” said Milly, “but it didn’t work.”

“Oh, I think it did — a start, at least.  That was a pretty good kiss afterwards.”

“We need more.”

“Did you call Brighton?”

“Yes.  He’s coming tonight.”

“The timing will be the trick.”

“I’ve given that some thought.”  Milly leaned towards her sister but looked up and spied me at the door.  “Oh, hello, Freddie!”

Tilly smiled invitingly.  “It’s a lovely morning.  Get yourself a Coke and join us.”

I turned to the refrigerator in a daze of wonderment.  That tit fallout had been deliberate?  Why?

Seated with them, I said, “Do I know Brighton?”

“No, but you might meet him.  He’s a friend of Milly’s, works for the town.”

I grinned at them.  “Is Milly into politics?”

“Not exactly.”

Milly said, “Politicians,” under her breath.  At least that’s how it sounded.

Tilly said, “Wearing a suit, I see.  You must have an interview this morning.”

“A couple of them across town.”

“You’re welcome to take the car.”

“Thanks.  You ladies are the greatest!”

“You know where we keep the keys.”

That night after supper I retired to the den, newspaper in hand, to review the “Help Wanted” ads.  Both aunts joined me, again barefoot in housecoats.  Tilly picked up her knitting basket and began to ply her needles.  Milly sat with her, discussing knitting.

The doorbell rang.

“That’s him,” said Milly.  She got up and passed out of the room.

I heard voices in the foyer, one of them male.  Footsteps sounded then quieted.  I gathered Milly had taken her friend into the living room.  Tilly kept knitting.  I returned to my want ads, marking the interesting ones with the pencil.

After hardly a minute Tilly said, “Freddie, would you do me a favor?  If I put this down I’m sure to drop a stitch.  Please be kind enough to fetch the pink yarn from my basket in the living room.”

“Wouldn’t I interrupt Milly?”

“She won’t mind.”

With a shrug I rose and meandered through the house to the living room — but stopped in the doorway.

Milly and her visitor were sharing the couch — except he was straddling an arm with his torso curved to lean on top of the back.  He had grey hair at the temples and the red nose of a drunk.  His coat, pants and necktie were puddled on the floor beside him.  Milly was sitting twisted sideways close to him, leaning over, her head bobbing above his lap, one bare leg extended for balance.  At least half his cock was in her mouth.  Her arm, bare in a short sleeve robe, rested on his thigh while her hand cupped his balls.  Her other arm was behind his butt.

That’s an arresting sight: the lips of your sweet aunt, for whom you are beginning to have great affection and which you French kissed last night and this morning, alternately concealing and exposing a thick cock between them.

It was a substantial cock, nearly as long as mine and probably thicker.  Her lips puffed around it attractively while fingers twiddled his hairy balls.  I must have gasped.  His eyes opened, found me and he grinned.

“Join the party,” he invited.  “I won’t be much longer.”

I started to explain the reason for my entry, but two and two was finally adding up.  I guessed this was the result of the thought Milly had failed to elaborate on the patio, and realized I was meant to see it.  So I simply drew close to observe the action in better detail.

He thrust out his hand.  “Call me Jerry.”

“I’m Frederick.”

We shook briefly.  Milly’s head never faltered despite twisting to look up at me, but I was too close.  She did produce a nasal giggle while continuing to bob all the way from bottom to nearly top on a very considerable amount of dick.  This was before deep throating was an art form.  I watched in awe, hardly believing my eyes.

“Tilly’s around here somewhere,” said Jerry helpfully, “if you can’t wait.”

“I can wait.”

I bent even closer.  On the downstrokes she was engulfing the entire organ, which had to be at least six inches.  I said, “How in the world does she do it?”

He chuckled.  “These girls are very talented with lots of practice.  I met them at Camp Gordon 14 years ago and Milly could already do it then.  You’ll be glad you waited.  You’re in for a treat.”

“I’ll admit I’ve never seen the like.”

Her hand left his balls, darted out, deftly unzipped my fly and found my dick, already half hard.  She played with it, a couple fingers twiddling my balls, pumping it right up.

“Hey,” said Jerry, “you like a three-way?  Milly, open up your wrapper and give him something better than a hand.”

Her hand abandoned me in favor of hitching the housecoat around on her other side.  I had not appreciated that it was fully unbuttoned.  She twisted her hips and brought her knees up on the couch, with her very naked round butt elevated.  All the time her head kept bobbing.

Should I ask her if she was willing?  Hell, no!  Raising that naked butt gave me her answer in spades!

Off went my suit pants, still covering my ass since the last interview that afternoon.  I knelt on the couch behind her.  Her hand left Jerry’s butt, sneaked up under her bush, caught me and guided me in — an absolute sign of willingness if any were needed!

And so I fucked my Aunt Milly for the first time.

 

 

Don said, “But not the last time, I’ll bet!”

“You’d win.”

“Come on,” urged Corey.  “I want all the details, like how easy did it go in?”

 

 

 

Like into butter.  Nothing dry about this one.  She was slippery inside but with a nice grip.

Jerry said, “I gather this is your first visit.  Let me tell you, you’re getting a first-class piece of tail.  No baby’s head has ever pushed through that sweet little cunt.”

“I believe you,” I said.

Milly giggled and her ass began to roll.

Although this was certainly not some whore shared behind a bar, it felt like it — along with an unaccustomed guilt.  Fucking my blood aunt was incest without a doubt.  I actually even hoped the reason no baby had ever stretched this pussy was that she couldn’t conceive.  But to hell with all that; I was fucking a willing woman and my dick felt great, which at such a moment is all that matters.

I bent over her back to squeeze those beautiful tits, one of which I had admired in front of Superman.  They were heavy and sweet with lumpy nipples.  I deepened my thrusts and she began to moan, an odd rhythm through her nose.

“Listen to that!” said Jerry.  “Milly always did love a threesome.”  He laughed.  “When she couldn’t get four.”

His eyes drifted shut and his expression became more intense.  “Oh, yes!” he said.  “Yes!”  Apparently he also liked threesomes.

I knew he was coming, which was fascinating to watch.  I had never even imagined watching another guy’s face at such a moment.  His cheeks clenched up and his lips drew back, exposing stained teeth.  “Oh, god, Milly!  Swallow hard, you sweet bitch!”

Suddenly she felt wetter and her moan became a nasal scream.  I had enough experience to know what that meant.  I had jacked off the night before but in those days a new load didn’t take long to boil.  I shot my aunt’s pussy full.  My feeling of strangeness was now pure affection, even love.  I backed away enough to kiss her ass on both cool cheeks, got off the couch and found my pants.

Jerry was pulling on his clothes too.  Milly was sitting up on the couch, the tail of her housecoat tucked into her crotch, big tits hanging out, licking her lips, smiling and watching me.  Jerry was the talkative one.

“God, baby, just like old times!  Took me right back!  Honey, do you recollect the V-E Day party at Fort Bliss?  You and Tilly handled the whole headquarters company.”

“Only the officers,” said Milly, smiling smugly.  “I sure remember you.  We made a foursome!”

“Twice!  I was good to go in those days.”

“You were sweet.  What was his name, the one who liked the back door, uh, Darren?  What do you hear from him these days?”

“Nothing, I’m afraid.  He went MIA in Korea.”

“Always the good ones!” she declared with a snarl.

“But he was fun that night!  Remember him that way.”

“I do.”  She smiled again.  “Lots of good memories.”

“Especially of you and Tilly.”  He looked at me.  “These were the happiest gals in the world.  You couldn’t help but feel good every time you got near them.”  He laughed.  “Hell, they made sure of it!”

“I believe it,” I said.

Milly said, “Stick around, Jerry, and I’ll prove you’ve still got it.”

He had finished dressing, including the knotted tie.  “Sorry, Honey.  You know my situation is different now.”  He chuckled.  “You play cards with the difference every month.”

“Give Nelda my regards.”

“I will not!”  He added over his shoulder as he marched past me, “You won’t be disappointed, Milly; this young stud is full of stamina.”

“I hope so,” she said, winking at me.

We heard him close the front door.  Her smile vanished.  “Freddie, did Tilly send you in here for something?”

“You know she did.”

She pointed.  “There’s the pink yarn.  I’m sure she’s expecting it.”

“I’m sure she isn’t.”

“Take it to her anyway.”  She stood up.  “I’m for a shower.”

“Milly — Aunt Milly, I can’t believe what just happened.”

“Can’t you?  Take Tilly her yarn.”  She walked past me, smelling of sex, the housecoat hanging off her shoulders and trailing behind, tits bouncing.

I found the pink yarn and took it to Aunt Tilly.  She accepted it, dropped it into her basket and regarded me askance.  “Did you enjoy meeting Brighton?”

“Jerry,” I corrected.  “Yeah.  He had a lot to say.”

“He always does.  Turn on the television, will you?”

Instead I sat down beside her.  “How about spilling the beans?”

“What beans?”

“Well, who is Jerry Brighton?”

“I told you: works for the down.  He’s the building inspector.”

“He claimed to have known you two for 14 years.”

Her lips moved with the arithmetic.  She said, “Yes, about that.”

“One of your first customers?”

“Oh, no, not hardly!”  She frowned.  “Freddie, do I hear just the faintest trace of contempt?”

I shook my head.  “Curiosity.”

“I think it’s contempt.”  She put down her knitting and got up.  “Another time, my dear.  I’m going upstairs.”

As she padded out of the room I noted that her housecoat was buttoned all the way up.  I felt oddly disappointed, like Christmas had been put off a week.  I pulled out my dick, turned it this way and that and said whimsically, “You may not look like it now, but you’ve made a mess under your aunt’s belly, every inch of you, you dirty, incestuous dog!”

 

 

His listeners laughed.  “You should’ve called it a lucky shit,” said Marco.

“Go on, pal,” urged Corey.  “Fucking Milly was just getting you started, wasn’t it!”

“I can imagine them flipping a coin for you,” Marco added.  “Tilly was pissed she lost.”

 

 

At breakfast the next morning they didn’t speak of Brighton so I didn’t either.  They shared the paper and hardly talked to me after I mentioned a 9 o’clock appointment.  I was free that afternoon, came home for lunch, stripped, put on the lounging robe they had bought me and ate sandwiches with them on the patio.  I had decided to play the same game, if they would.  I was pleased to see that their housecoats were only half buttoned.

I didn’t bother to tie the belt on my robe so when I sat between them, it naturally fell open and my dick flopped out.  I looked around; bushes and trees gave us fair privacy.

“Freddie,” said Tilly, “how did you make out at Delta Construction?”

“Said they’d let me know, which is typical.”

“Isn’t that where Abrams works?” asked Milly.

“It is,” Tilly answered.  “Maybe we can put in a good word for Freddie.”

“That’s an idea,” I said, grinning.  “Maybe Brighton could get me something to do at City Hall.”

Tilly nodded.  “I hear he liked you.  Scoot back just a little, will you, Freddie?  I think I see something.”

Something on the ground?  I scooted back.  No.  Something between my legs.  Her hand darted out and grabbed my dick.

“Whatever will you do with it?” asked Milly, blinking her eyes at me like a teenager.

Tilly was pumping.  “Would you look at that, it’s growing!  But not in the best place.”

At the last word, she bent over and sucked up my floppy cock with a distinct slurping sound.

Milly produced her soprano giggle and said, “Freddie, I wish you could see your eyes!  You do understand, don’t you: it’s her favorite kind of lollipop?”

“What did she mean, not growing in the best place?”

“Don’t you think dicks grow best in girls’ mouths?”

“I like that.  It’s your favorite lollipop too, as I saw last night.”

“Last night was nothing.  How far back can you remember?”

I pretended to be searching my mind but in fact I was concentrating on how I felt in Tilly’s mouth.  She had swallowed me whole.  I was fast firming up, already in too deep for her tongue to stroke the head, but something in the back of her throat was imparting special thrills.  I was already certain no previous blowjob compared to this one.  Her head was so far down on me that her fingers could pull my balls up against her cheek.

“Good god!” I said.

“We do love our lollipops,” said Milly.  Her hands were busy with her housecoat buttons.  “How old were you in your earliest memory?”

I took a breath and paid her some attention.  “Maybe three?”

“Too bad.  You’d like it if you could remember being two.”

“Why?”

That giggle again.  “You’ve been our lollipop before.”

“I have?”

“In 1938.  We kept you a few days while your mother nursed your grandma.”

“Did you?  I never heard a word about it.”

“Well, we discussed it just last night.  When your mother got back, she changed your wet diaper and your little cock popped right up.”  Milly giggled again.

“So?”

“Not so little anymore, that’s for sure!”

“So what difference did a two-year-old hard-on make?”

“You said, ‘Want Milly.’

“Your mother glared.  “Why is he asking for you with a hard-on?’

“‘He likes a little suction,’ Tilly said.  She opened her mouth and picked you up to demonstrate, but your mama snatched you away and we never saw you again.  Until now.”

“Tilly sucked my dick at age 2?” I asked wonderingly.

“And you loved it.  We argued about whether you could come.”

“Why would she suck a baby’s dick?”

“And lick a clit.  Nothing stops a baby crying faster.”

“No shit!”

“Right.  Except you clean that off first.”

But I barely heard her.  I had measured my dick to be six and three-quarter inches.  Tilly was taking all of it.  I could feel the tissues parting in her throat.  I thought to warn her.

“Tilly, dearest, I’m about to strangle you.”

Milly giggled.  Tilly raised her head.  “Then turn your chair!”

It was facing into the table.  I hitched it parallel.  She sidled around, took hold of me, opened her mouth, cupped her tongue, laid the head in the groove and began a fast stroke.  Milly leaned further around, her elbow on the table.

I tightened up, grunted and spewed white pulsing streaks into her dark throat.  The ending dribbles puddled in her tongue.  Her brown eyes locked onto mine.  It was the sexiest act I think I ever saw.

Milly giggled and said, “We argued then but it sure is no doubt now.  Nice load, Freddie!”

Tilly squeezed and licked out the eye, swallowed and lightly took me back into her mouth.  Since Abigail I had learned to enjoy that, especially when the woman’s mouth is gentle.  The final, diminishing thrills have their own charm.

When I started to relax, Tilly released me, stood up, opened her housecoat fully and hopped her round ass up onto the plenty-strong outdoor table.  For a moment she let me admire tits as big and belly as smooth as her sister’s.  Her heels rested on the table edge with knees splayed wide.  Brown eyes flashed at me from above while a red slit gaped from the dark furry bush below.

At that time I had not done it often but I knew what was expected.  I hitched my chair closer, buried my face into the pungent bush and began tonguing around the prominent clit.

From the corner of my eye I saw Milly clap her hands.  “That’s the way, sweet Freddie!  Tilly, I told you he knew his way on a twat.”

“Even an aunt’s twat,” said Tilly.  I looked up through the bushy tangle.  She was smiling.

Her face tensed up in her eyes drifted closed.  “That’s it,” she said.  “Now right in the center.”

My tongue moved directly onto the clit.  Her thighs closed on my ears.  I stroked harder and dimly heard loud moans.  Suddenly she pushed my head back.

I licked my drooling lips while she leaned back on her hands and stared into my eyes.  “Fuck me, Freddie!  I want a good long one.”

But Milly’s hand fell on my shoulder.  “No, kids.  A good long fuck in this bright sun will burn you up.  Let’s go in the house.”

In five minutes I was fucking Tilly missionary-style in their downstairs bedroom on a king-size bed, the first one I ever saw.  Milly started out crouching beside us, one hand squeezing my balls while the other’s fingernails twittered on my back.  Tilly was soon moaning again.  She went, “Unh, unh, unh,” in time with my thrusts.

Milly wanted some of the action.  She crawled up beside our heads, turned on her back, caught my head in her hands and pulled it down to her slit.  Of course I started to lick.

“Ooo, Freddie!” she muttered.  “You are such a sweet boy.”

When she moaned and threw one leg over my back, Tilly took notice.  “She needs a whoopee.  Poke her a while.”

With a slight rearrangement I was fucking Milly with Tilly scratching my back and squeezing my balls.

This was my first time with two women together, the first of many during the next week.  That night I slept, when they finally let me, in their big bed.  Around the house I began wearing nothing or only that belted robe, next to nothing.  We fucked after every meal and again at bedtime plus the occasional unscheduled poke.  The insisted on being together.  One of them was always feeling of me while I fucked the other.  One advantage of frequent fucking is improved control.  I could usually save my pop-off for the second sister.

Often we did the necessary house chores together fully nude.  I loved to pull them back against me, reach around and play in a bounty of bouncing, bubbly boobs.

 

 

“I can just imagine,” said Don dryly.

“Nice alliteration,” noted Corey.

 

 

They were Tilly’s words.  She looked down at my roaming hands, said it and added, “Why do you love it so?  They’re just boobs.”

I said, “The same reason you two love to play with my cock.”

Which they sure did.  A lot of the time one of them had it in her mouth, especially when we were supposed to be watching TV.  Let me correct that: then it was usually in Milly’s mouth.  Tilly loved to talk too much.

You ever hear the saying, “Too much of a good thing?”  After about a week I began to realize that it applied to my current situation.  My dick was often sore when it got hard and sometimes it took an embarrassing amount of suction to reach that state.  Fortunately Dixon Builders offered me a pretty good job.  They thought corporal’s stripes represented enough experience to make me foreman of a work gang.  Also the YMCA, where I could get a room for a dollar a night, was across the street from the main gate of Dixon’s warehouse.  This was doubly fortunate because I, like most young men, didn’t have enough sense to turn down pussy.

I think another week of that would have just about killed me.

 

 

“What a way to die!” declared Corey.

“I don’t know,” said Don more introspectively.  “Reminds me of the honeymoon with my first wife.  After 10 days I didn’t care if I never saw another pussy.”

“I’m sure that attitude didn’t last,” said Marco dryly.

“Well, no.  A little separation, like going to work, is good for the enthusiasm.”

 

 

Which is what happened to me.  My aunts said they were very sorry I had to leave but understood I couldn’t take their car every day.  Nice of them.  But after the first week of work I had recovered.  A telephone call was all it took; Milly was sucking my cock in that big Buick while I drove them home.

Saturday morning at breakfast with my cock in her left hand while she ate cereal with her right, Tilly said, “Freddie, will you let us get you a car?  Our good friend Jason owns the Oldsmobile agency.  He’ll make us a good deal on a convertible.  What do you say?”

An Olds convertible!  I don’t know if you guys recall how beautiful the cars were then, but in my opinion the 50s and 60s were when American cars looked the best.  I’m sure my cock twitched because she giggled.  But I knew what it meant: I’d have to move out of the Y, and after one night with them my dick was sore again.

“God, Tilly, I’m sure I’d love it, but I can’t afford it yet.”

“You can pay us back when you can.”

“I already owe you for my clothes.”  I pulled her to me and kissed her.  “I thank you both very much but I have to tell you: I won’t take on a lot of debt.  And one more thing: you two are the greatest aunts any guy ever had!”

They frowned but with my dick in them soon recovered.

 

 

“You left out a lot of details,” observed Marco thoughtfully when Jenkins fell silent.

“Don’t we all!” said Corey.

“Isn’t how you get started fucking the most interesting part?” asked Jenkins.

“Well, yes,” said Marco, “but in this case —  Did your aunts ever get drunk and babble about their time as whores?”

“No, not to me.  They didn’t drink much, a little wine with meals.  And their whoring wasn’t quite finished then.  One or two guys visited them every week, friends from the ‘old days.’  Always older guys, big shots in that town.  I was their only young stud.”  Jenkins chuckled.  “I learned more of their history from the visitors.”

Don nodded and said with deliberately irony, “Yeah, whores don’t seem very proud of what they do.”

Marco shook his head.  “For sure I would be!”

Corey asked Jenkins slyly, “Did you ever help them with their visitors?”

“Already told you about Jerry Brighton.  But, yeah, I met others, even that first week.”

“Great!  Let’s hear the tale.”

“That’s another story.  And didn’t the dinner bell just ring?”

 

END
Contact: kellis@dhp.com