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This is a series of exchanges written by an aunt and her eighteen year old nephew following them having sex. It looks at that incestuous relationship from both party’s perspectives, examining their doubts and concerns and their pleasure and thrills.

It is a complicated story and will be told in numerous parts. It is obviously advisable to start at Part 1 and read through each part savouring how their relationship develops and changes. However, for those unwilling to go back, each part does stand alone.


Fuck it; look where your hand is. Your fucking hand is on my leg. YOUR FUCKING HAND IS ON MY FUCKING LEG AND MOVING UP, was screaming in my mind!

I was acutely aware of its movement. But was it deliberate? Obviously it was fucking deliberate that you had got you hand on my leg, but did it mean anything? Fuck knows. Did you know what you were doing? Did you have any idea how this confused me? I had gone from my boyish world filled with silly fantasies through seeing my first naked woman, who was not only naked, but also provided me with a sight and experience never to be forgotten. My fun aunty, who until this visit used to laugh and joke with me, Now you were not aunty, you were Cat. Aunty was family, Cat was a woman, a woman who I had seen naked, who I had seen in the shower, a woman who I had seen masturbating, and now a woman who had seen, acknowledged and was acutely aware of her nephew’s hard cock.

I still wasn’t sure whether I wanted to run, cry or… well I didn’t know. All I did know was that my heart was pounding and my pulses were racing as I had never experienced them before, well other than when we went shoplifting. Funny that two such diverse actions should create such similar sensations; I even got a hard on when pinching stuff!

“It’s alright, it’s perfectly ok,” your voice was saying breaking through the fog of confusion within me. You know how sometimes your mind is elsewhere and you then become aware, I suppose it is a narrowing of perception, I was no longer aware of the sounds of the city before me or the lights across the river, I was aware of you, nothing else.

I looked at you, your head tilted slightly to one side as if contemplating something. I took in your grey hair. ‘Grey?’ I asked myself, ‘She can’t be grey, not real, old person grey. It must be dyed. Yes that what is was, it was grey blonde, maybe champagne blonde as I had heard film stars described.’ It was framing your face down to your shoulders emphasising the creamy complexion of your skin. I noticed how your green eyes had both a look of comfort but also something else, possibly mischief? They were kind and smiling but with a shine. Your full lips were slightly parted and your head was bent forward a little. I was acutely aware of your slender shoulders covered in a light weight, dark material, probably silk, giving way to the pale skin of your chest and then on down to your tits. I could still make out your nipples through the material. I could still the creamy swells of each tit and the dark, deep cleavage between them. I could still see the black edging, possibly lace, of your bra. And I could still bring back the image of those gorgeous lumps of flesh being moulded and kneaded in your hands as you masturbated; a vision I knew would never be erased from my memory.

All this was going through my mind as your hand continued to stroke, higher and higher.

And then there was a touch, the lightest touch, I felt your nails. They did touch me there didn’t they? Or did I imagine that they brushed the end of my cock bunched up tightly inside my jeans. But through the thick denim it felt as if an electric shock went through me. I felt it twitch, but with just a couple of millimetres of cloth between your nails and my scrunched up hardness it couldn’t grow any more, it was too restricted by my clothing, fuck it, or was that a good thing? Who the hell knows? But I felt it swell just a little more. It felt like it was on fire, it was almost painful how hard it had become and I could feel it straining to stand upright, to rear majestically up my flat, taught stomach.

Gone was any idea you were my aunt, you were barely Cat, you were all woman. Your nails had brushed my cock; I thought I was going to cum there and then, my balls felt full, overfull really. It was an experience I’d had whilst with my mates watching porn with a cushion across my lap, then having to go home with no opportunity to relieve any tension, an enormous desire to cum, to pull my cock out and furiously wank, fast and hard until the thick white cream shot from the end. My knees would go weak and I’d feel my balls expanding and contracting as each jet spewed from the deep reddened end of my cock. It was a full and uncomfortable ache like that I had now.

My sudden jerk as you touched me made you stop. I saw a different look in your eyes, but I wasn’t overly drawn to it and did not realise what it meant. No, instead I watched as if almost outside of my body, my right hand reached görükle escort out. My mind was screaming “No, this is not right” to me, but I didn’t listen, I couldn’t listen, I didn’t want to listen. I just watched as my right hand reached out toward and then slowly cupped your left breast, your beautiful, full and available and big left tit.

Involuntarily I held my breath. I didn’t know what to expect or what to do next. Maybe you would push me away, maybe say ‘No Matt,’ maybe you would be annoyed, maybe pleased, I just didn’t know. My mind was on other things, this was a tit, a breast. It was your tit and was the first I’d ever held. In one second I felt its weight in my palm, so heavy, so big and then I felt your nipple pushing against the base of my index finger. It was the most amazing sensation I had ever experienced and I thought to myself ‘If it’s like that when covered, what will it be like when I feel it naked?’ I shuddered at the prospect.

At that moment, that very second you let out a slight throaty noise as I felt a familiar tingling in my balls and knew I was about to cum.

It was your voice that brought me back to attention as you said.

“Matt, this is so very wrong, you do realise that don’t you?”

Not surprisingly, you could hardly speak; you couldn’t compose a sentence or find the correct words. But then, are there any correct words when a forty three year old woman is touching a boy’s erection and he is holding her breast? None that come to mind easily or that I can conjure up.


You just looked at me. Partly with lust, partly with fear and partly with tenderness in your eyes and on your face. You didn’t move. Your hand was on my black silk shirt holding my left breast. I didn’t move either. I stayed leaning forward from my seated position on the table, the back of my white, varnished at the tips, fingernails touching the cylinder of flesh inside the harsh denim. It was an awkward position, a clumsy one, a pose that no film-maker or photographer would have chosen in a million years. But it was a natural pose, an impromptu position, a spontaneous couple of gestures.

As I looked at you, I knew we had crossed a bridge; well we were half-way across it at least. The decision was whether we should go on or go back.

My mind, my alter ego, my sensible, mother, business woman and middle class, golf club member self was screaming ‘Stop. Go back be sensible.’

My womanly needs, my body, my sexual persona were not so sure. They were not confident enough to tell me to go ahead and undo your jeans and plunge my hand inside. They were not sure enough of the situation and us, I suppose, to urge me to undress you, maybe masturbate you or, unthinkably, go even further with you.

We were in a cul de sac, a quandary, we were almost up shit creek and definitely I was without a paddle.

So we stayed like that for what seemed an age. My hand was on your most evident erection, yours on my breast inside the black, silk blouse. Again my mind was working feverishly like a computer, analysing and organising data, which at that moment were my thoughts and desires, fears and wishes.

Of course it was wrong. There is no defence for an older woman ‘sexually assaulting’ as it would be termed, a young man, even if he has grabbed her breast. But how wrong? That was the question.

Was it wrong that I was your aunt, a blood relative? Who better, in some ways, to ease a youngster through the horrendously difficult, emotionally and physically complicated induction into sex?

In some cultures that was an aunt’s duty, alright they do inhabit the jungles and live in huts, but they consider it normal. Was our civilisation so different? Wasn’t incest being considered wrong more a religious convention? Wasn’t the point of banning it to stop the mixing of similar bloods and thus avoid the proliferation of webbed feet and six fingers? Wasn’t that why it had become a taboo? But now, with advanced birth control and enlightened thinking did it need to be taboo? Certainly not in several European countries and parts of the US where it had been decriminalised.

In any case who was thinking of having full sex? That hadn’t entered my mind that probably was a bridge too far.

On top of all that, I also fed some further data into my mind to compute. What did you want? At first my computer rejected that data on the grounds that it was too obvious a question; it couldn’t be bothered considering it, after all you are male and are holding my left tit. I inputted more data. You were so young and so inexperienced. I may have been leading you on, inadvertently showing out to you, flaunting myself. Maybe I had scared you into what you were doing? Maybe, if I intimated that we should go further, you would reject me. That, I couldn’t take. Rejection always hurts, but to be turned down by an eighteen-year-old kid, would devastate me. Perhaps I shouldn’t take the risk?

So, as we held the awkward pose all those eskort bayan thoughts got computed in my mind.

At last I broke the silence. At last I moved. The computer reached a decision. It was down to me. It was my duty, my right, my position to lead and direct, control and, if necessary, manipulate the situation. I was the older, more mature person, yes I was the aunt and the ball was firmly in my court.

I could feel the heat through the thick denim. I could see your swollen shape. I turned my hand round and softly and slowly ran my fingertips, not my nails over what was clearly the bulbous head.

“You do realise, don’t you Matt that no one must ever know?” I persisted, looking you right in the eye and shuffling my bottom across the table so I was nearer to you. “Don’t you Matt?” I repeated sharply in an effort to make you talk.

You avoided my gaze and mumbled. “Yes.”

You still didn’t move your hand either, to remove it from my breast or, to caress me. You simply remained gripping me.

It was then that I made my decision. Maybe a fateful decision, possibly even a life-changing one.

“You know that you must never, ever tell anyone, anyone at all about this, don’t you?

“Yes, yes of course.”

“Not your school friends, not your mates, anyone?”

“I won’t, I wouldn’t do that.”

I ran my fingers up and down the respectable length of the outline of your cock.

‘God what was I doing? What was I about to do?’

This was insane, it was madness. I was lusting after a boy over twenty years younger than me. He was sexually, totally inexperienced. He could provide me nothing that would add to my sexual repertoire, he couldn’t supplement my bank of experiences. He probably wouldn’t have any idea what to do; it was likely that he wouldn’t even be able to make me cum. Yet I wanted him. No, not wanted. Needed? No that wasn’t right either. I wanted to teach him, that was it. Help him, guide him counsel and educate him. That’s what was motivating me, wasn’t it? It surely couldn’t be the kick of taking a boy’s virginity could it? I wasn’t lusting for the rampant taughtness of a young buck was I? It wasn’t the mind-shattering and cunt expanding hardness of a young cock that I was after, the firm body and the rippling muscles? I wasn’t seeking the energy, recovery powers and stamina that only teenage boys possess was I? It wasn’t the flattery of ‘pulling’ a teenager was it? The fact that I could still do it, still appeal to a young man? Surely not, that just wasn’t me.

I managed to get up from the table and sit beside you as I continued.

“You do promise me that don’t Matt?”

“Yes aunt, er Cat, I do, honest, my deepest promise.”

I hedged my bets on some of my other concerns.

“And Matt,” I said, pushing my breast more firmly into your hand and squeezing your cock through the material. “Do you want to go further?”

Your reply was a choked. “Yes,” a deep moan of “Oh no,” a massive jerk of your cock and a much tighter grip of my tit. I wasn’t totally sure, but I strongly suspected that I knew what had happened.

“Don’t worry, baby, it happens, it’s perfectly normal, you will be ok next time.”


You do promise that don’t you Matt?” Your voice was steady, your eyes looking directly into mine. As you drew closer, seating yourself alongside me I felt myself shaking, I couldn’t help it. It was lust, excitement and anticipation amongst other things, but what they were I had no idea.

The feelings travelling from my cock through my balls and along the nerve pathways were exquisite. I desperately wanted release but I didn’t want to cum, I knew I was close; I was on the edge of cumming. It was the most wonderful of tortures my young body had ever felt

And when I replied to your question it was the most sincere answer I have ever given, you were no longer my aunt, mum’s sister, you were Cat, Cat the beautiful, Cat the naughty and Cat the teacher.

“Yes aunt, er Cat. I do, honest, my deepest promise.”

Your eyes twinkled with a new look, a look I didn’t recognise, it wasn’t until later that I realised it was arousal.

I could feel your nipple pressing through the flimsy material of your bra and blouse, I wanted to see it. I wanted everything and I wanted it now. I was panting, sort of breathing in spurts. I was a boy, albeit an eighteen year old one, who wanted to become a man. Who wanted to lose his virginity, not to some scrawny, spotty kid of a girl in her bedroom one afternoon when her parents were out. No, I wanted it to be with a real woman, a woman like you, beautiful, experienced and sexy with big tits, an arse I could grab hold of and a cunt I could plunge my cock into as I became a man.

“And Matt… do you want to go further?” You had said.

What sort of fucking ridiculous question was that? ‘Of course I fucking do’ I thought of saying, but knew that would have been as inappropriate as it would have been disrespectful

The altıparmak escort thought put me over the edge. I had no idea that a bloke could think his way to a climax. But as you asked if I wanted to go further and gently squeezed my bulge through my jeans, I couldn’t help it. My head suddenly started to spin as I groaned. “Yes, oh yes.”

My balls spasmed once, twice and then again and again as I felt my orgasm hit me. I felt light headed but this couldn’t be happening, it was fucking amazing, but also bloody scary. It couldn’t be happening to me, it just couldn’t, it would spoil everything. But it was bloody well happening.

‘Oh fuck, fuck, fuck no,’ I groaned to myself. And then my body convulsed as I felt my spunk leave my cock seep into the wall of my boxers.

As you told me it’d be Ok I could see with horror a large wet patch appearing on my jeans.

“I’m …. er … sorry” I pleaded as my senses came back to earth after the most wonderful, but also terrifying sensations.

“Hey, don’t worry about it, I’m glad I made you cum.” You said lightly almost as if I had just spilled some water or something minor like that.

You looked much more relaxed than at any time since we had been together this afternoon. It seemed as if you had overcome some internal conflict, answered some questions or come to terms with something. But I had no idea what they might be.

On the other hand, I felt enormously humiliated by the damp patch that was getting ever cooler and stickier.

I didn’t want to let go of your tit, a big part of me was thinking ‘Well, that’s it, you had your chance but you literally blew it!’ And that thought really pissed me off.

“Come on baby, let’s get inside and get you cleaned up,” you said again in a light and easy way as though nothing untoward had happened. ‘I’ve just cum in my pants as I held onto your tit and you treat it as nothing,’ I nearly said, but of course I didn’t. I did think, though, ‘What the fuck is going on?’

With you getting up, my hand automatically left your breast, my mind immediately missing the feeling of its soft and full fleshiness.

My mind also recalled your words, what did you mean by “It’ll be ok next time”. When was next time, now, tonight, another time, with you or next time I’m with a girl? That could be bloody ages, years even sod it.

As you stepped inside the apartment I knew I wanted that ‘next time’ very badly and more, much, much more I wanted it now and with you.

I followed you in and as I closed the door you said in a very matter of fact way.

“Matt, get out of those clothes and have a shower, I’ll put them in the washing machine.” As I started to walk towards the bathroom you said continued “Not in there, take them off here… come on” You started to walk toward me. It’s strange but I started to panic, I got really worried. You were going to see me naked if I got undressed where I was standing. Although I’m full of the bravado and machismo of most eighteen year olds, much of it with me, was only surface deep. Under that, I was shy and introvert in many ways, particularly about my body. I hated anyone, apart from mum, seeing me undressed and I felt embarrassed and awkward even in swimming shorts. The prospect of undressing so you would see me was mortifying; it hadn’t yet registered with me that if I wanted to ‘go further’ with you that would involve being undressed.

“But, but… but.” I couldn’t think of how to say it, I didn’t quite know what to say, I felt like I was before the school nurse being asked to strip off, but then I hadn’t cum only a couple of minutes before with her hand pressing my cock.

You sighed, smiled and said “Right, Matt. Let’s be honest and say it as it is, ok?”

When I didn’t answer you just repeated “ok?”

“Er, ok” what did you mean?” I stammered.

“Good. So earlier this evening you saw me naked, you saw me masturbate? Spewed so easily from between your lovely lips. Fuck hearing a woman talk about her nudity and more incredibly masturbating was a major fucking turn on for me. I loved hearing you speak like that and the inevitable started again. Wryly, but still hellishly nervously I thought ‘There are some advantages to being a kid.’

You continued “Now, you have just… ” you hesitated and I wondered if you really was going to say it as it was, “Cum and made your jeans all messy” You answered my thoughts by adding. “Let’s get you out of them.”

My panic increased.

“What everything?”

You smiled.

“Yes of course, they all need washing………,” then paused before saying with a big smile and a twinkle in your eye. “For a variety of reasons I imagine.

“Oh Cat,” I groaned.

I think you may have guessed about my reservations for your voice took on a gentler tone and the look on your face was very sympathetic. You smiled and tried to relax me by making a joke.

“It’s only fair Matt; after all, you have seen me naked I think it’s only right for me to see you naked”.

I was frightened by the thought but felt such a thrill. After what had happened between us I suddenly felt more than a kid, not yet a man but as if I was half way through a transition; the caterpillar was about to become a butterfly!

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