The Other Realm

The house was quiet and Aunt Hannah wouldn't be home for a few hours. So I lazed around, hesitated, and finally went to the bathroom, where I sat on the loo and whipped out my flaccid cock. I couldn't help but look at the mirror. Was there anything weird about it? And where should I spurge my joy juice for maximum effect? As I mooted the various possibilities I noticed a black wire coming out of the base of the large frame. I concealed any outward affectation and thought of my aunt's perky tits. She went around braless most of the time, and she was no prude about her wear. Often she'd just walk around in a short cotton mini-shorts and a loose t-shirt that hung off of her puffy nipples. It was not the first time that I caught her roaming around in nothing more than pants; when she spotted me, she'd slowly cover her tits with an arm, like an afterthought.

It took a long time, but when I came, I sprayed long curves of sticky semen right across the spot I had planned to jizzbomb. Bullseye. I wondered at the seemingly endless supply of ejaculatory material that had exited my fuckstick since that woman had set her hands on me. Wouldn't I, like, get dehydrated or something? Probably not. I mixed a milkshake and sat down to watch some mindless reality show on the dinner TV. And I drifted off...

...waking with a start when the 7 o'clock news jingle came on with a fanfare. It was morning, goddammit! Christ, I had slept through the night and forgotten the second part of my task (Task? Was I already so far gone to think of it as a task, as homework, back then?). So I ran to my aunt's bedroom and flopped down in front of her computer. It was quieter in here, and there was a faint smell of something peculiar which I couldn't quite place. But nevermind, there was no time to investigate.

The machine whirred on and, woah, up came the desktop, just like that--not even a login screen. No password? Even I had a password. It was almost like she didn't give a shit if I snooped around. File browser icon, double click, up it comes, My Machine, C:, D:. X:. Double click on X.

And there it all was, a vast folder structure containing a smorgasbord of depraved pornography. There was, to my recollection, at least 2 terabytes of videos, organized by category, score, tagged with various labels. The whole works. A hundred lifetimes' worth of perverse kinks, including--not that I was shocked, given my own proclivities--a delectable collection of scat, piss, vomit and other extreme fetishes. My Aunty was as twisted as they came--as twisted as I was. At least. As I sifted through it I got incredibly aroused at the very thought that my own flesh and blood got off of this depravity, and in such close proximity, probably at the same time as I was wanking off to much the same material! My shaft was already getting tough-rubbery when I found a subfolder called "Incest". Holy smokes, she got turned on by all sorts of mom-son, aunty-daughter, father-daughter combinations. Family orgies, nudist families, swinging sisters, the list was endless. Did she get turned on by me?

I was browsing one-handedly when I saw it. A subfolder, "Our Bathroom", nested within nests of subfolders, all inside a top folder called, simply, "x". The motherlode. I opened it to find hundreds of videos taken through the bathroom mirror. Of me, jerking off, pissing, wiping my ass, taking showers, flexing and making faces. Shit. All of it. My own aunt was filming me, it was confirmed. Sometimes she was even in direct control of the camera, zooming in on my dick as I squirted cum between fingers. Aunt Hannah was one depraved, lewd beast. No two words about it.

I left the folder open and left the video player running a three-hour best-of compilation by some Aschti BDSM producer, just for fuck, and got up to leave. This should be enough. On my way out I noticed a transparent bag beneath the mattress: on close inspection, I realized to my delight that it was filled with dirty underwear. No, that gives the wrong impression: it was filled with damp lace thongs and cotton panties that had obviously been worn past their due wash date. I put one to my face and breathed in. Fuck. It reeked of piss and cunt juice. Aunty was wearing them dirty, probably masturbating through the cloth too. Turned on by the simple act of wearing dirty underwear to work.

What was I getting into, you may ask. Sure, it's a reasonable question--but a sex-starved virgin who discovers his horny Aunty's secret porn stash and pile of cummed-upon thongs doesn't question these matters at more than a superficial level. I simply followed the call of lust, postponing the questions even if I registered them.

I took one of the thongs, tied the smutty thing around my dick and, standing up, jerked off in it. I was so horny that I blew my load in less than five minutes, soaking the thong through and splattering cum all over the Hannah's desk. With a smirk I left the thong in a puddle of semen next to her keyboard. If my challenge might have looked like an accident, before, now it could not.

*

Aunty Hannah got home at around ten to eight. She was a nurse at Misty Leaves Hospital, one of the main regional hospitals of Centrum, but for some strange reason I always saw her as a librarian. She had the kind of quiet composure about her that, to me, was more natural in the silence of the reading hall than the hospital ward. To cement the deal, she wore black frame glasses and liked to read (aside from watching bizarre porn, cough-de-cough). Hannah was pretty, if not beautiful. She had an appeal of her own. Her eyes were teal, her hair: shoulder-length, wavy, dirty blonde. I think she complained about it being too unruly sometimes--not that I had paid much attention. And then her tits: oh-la-la, yes, they were her major asset.

She was a tiny 5 foot 4, petite, slim to boot, not overly curvy except--wait for it--for her disproportionately large, perky tits. I mean, those things weren't huge by any objective standard, but for her body size, yes sir, they did more than just the job. I don't know if she had had them enlarged, but I don't think so. Aunty Hannah wasn't built for childbirth, that's for sure, her hips being so narrow, but, Christ almighty, the few times I caught glimpse of her bare waist, sheesh, she looked like a goddam doll, I mean absolutely tiny.

She sighed, hung her large leather bag by the front door, and made straight for her bedroom. Standing alert in my bedroom, I heard her naked footsteps whispering on the parquet floor, her rhythmic tap-tap-shwish, the creak of her bedroom door, the swelling sound of groaning and moaning from the porn flick I'd left running on her machine, and the suddenly arrested movement as she stood in her doorway. Palpable surprise. Maybe shock. I could almost hear the thoughts racing through her head. I licked my lips--I've been exposed, she was thinking. Yes, you have, and how.

After a while she would normally go downstairs to the kitchen, peck at a packet of crisps or some other unwholesome snack before turning in and, presumably, starting her steamy night. Today she took her time, so I had ample opportunity to prepare. After she quietly shut her bedroom door, I calmly and silently walked down the stairs, passing by her bedroom opposite the landing. Not a squeak. I was naked from the waist down, and my cock was already getting heavy. The simple thought of what I was about to do--well, it was arousing enough.

I quickly whipped up a cereal and sat down, my phone next to me. I browsed the web, reading up on the latest sex scandal from the high office of the Republic--the minister of education, Miss Tama Lane, had been photographed fondling a young aide with her stockinged leg in the company of her husband and the aide's partner--and waited.

Eventually Hannah did come down. Clearly, she had not bothered to change. She was still in the navy blue nurse's skirt--a knee-length affair that showed a bare hint of her small but supple thighs--and the white cotton Xian blouse, the standard for women nurses at Misty Leaves.

She must have seen my hard staff as I leaned against the kitchen's island, because her footsteps faltered. But it was momentary, and she shoved past me, went to the main countertop to prepare her meal. That she said nothing, that--for fuck's sake--she came so close to me that I could feel her breeze as she walked past, could pick a whiff of her earthy, damp smell, well, that was the twist of the night, had I been open to any more surprises so late in a day full of them. What would a normal woman have done, in the situation? Throw me out of the house in a screaming fit, that's what.

There was only one thing I knew for certain.

She wanted it.

So I started the game.

Aunt Hannah was fidgeting against the counter, moving glasses or plates, not sure. She was facing away from me. I walked up behind her and dropped to one knee, wordlessly. She kept on the charade of ignoring me. Good. With a light touch, I lifted the hem of her skirt and looked up--upskirt. Ah, the call of those thighs. I resisted the urge to grope her, out of fear of scaring her. Hannah was a shy cat, had to be treated like one.

Her white cotton panty had to go. I wanted to see her cunt.

"Take off your panty, Aunty?" I asked her.

She froze for a second then went back to her work. Okay, she was partly holding back, partly ignoring me, but mostly--I knew--she was craving it.

"Nevermind," I said.

Gripping her hand, I guided her gently to hold up her skirt, rolled up for an unrestricted view from behind. My aunt, I noticed, had a sexy, wide crotch gap, thick as three fingers. Just like that, dreams of fisting her crowded my head. Yes, someday.

Soon. I would fist her cunt to a hundred orgasms and beyond--her body practically begged for it. But not today.

She held up her skirt when I let go of her hand.

"How was your day?" I said softly. "Was it good?"

"Yes," she replied in a small voice. Matter of fact. Still facing away. Ignoring me with her face but giving me every ounce of attention with the rest of her body.

"Did you see the news about unrest in the Cathar region?" I spilled whatever came to head, nonsensically.

"Yes--" she sighed. "No, not sure."

"That's okay," I said, and leaned in to smell her ass and cunt. Shit, she smelled. By the gods, she must have rubbed off a few in this very same underwear; it fucking reeked of pussy.

"Why don't we get a food delivery, hmm? I'd love to munch on burger."

"We can," she said, her voice wavering.

I slipped my hands beneath her skirt and up over the waist band of her underwear and, watching intently, pulled it down, slowly, avoiding sudden movement. Hannah did not resist. As I watched, the cotton crotch peeled from her pussy, damply. I slid it down and saw the jewel every man hopes to see when he undresses a woman: a dark wet patch, and clear lines of horny juice joining cunt and panty.

"What have we got, here," I murmured.

Reflexively, tiny Aunt Hannah arched her back and thrust her ass out. The smell was incredible. Of course. She was dying for me to plunge my face between her ass cheeks and lap her up. And I, with my cock quivering to attention, was a hair's breadth from doing just that. But I could play the long game. I would fuck her, fist her, fulfill every wicked fantasy of hers and beyond--eventually, not now. Now I wanted to prolong the pleasure, mine. Delay gratification. I did not know it would be this easy, so I had ample time before Monday. My plan was to edge her unto madness, before delivering her to the Order.

I spread her pucker, firmly driving her tight ass cheeks apart. Her thick vulva held together for a second, and then it too unfurled and gaped open. I marveled at the engorging clit and pussy lips. As I was to learn very soon, at the merest touch Aunt Hannah would go off like dynamite.

She made a nervous sighing sound and leaned forward on the countertop. She had stopped pretending to be busy.

Now, her love juice was running down her opening. I put a finger beneath the gathering drop, making sure not to touch her pussy lips. I hoisted the yolky drop to my nose, sniffed, and licked it. Sweet, almost cloying. I would soo drink from her cup. And--

Fuck. I realized that this, my own Aunt Hannah's cunt before me, was the first cunt I had seen in person, the first I was going to touch. It was all I could do not to go utterly mad and drive my tongue into her pussy, right there and then.

I gathered myself.

"Okay," I said. "I'll see you upstairs later. Don't be naughty, now."

And as I stood up, I spanked her cunt, playfully and finally--a thick schwack--as if to say see ya later, alligator. I had denied myself thus far, I could not help indulge myself a bit now. And my first pussy grab proved absolutely worth it.

Suddenly, she exploded in brilliant, leg-quivering orgasm.

It started with a wobble and an ass twerk. Understanding what was about to happen, I pulled her butt cheeks apart, and dropped down for a better view. Lord. Her cunt was beautiful. Hannah pushed her ass back and up, rhythmically. Against my thumbs, pinched into her thick cheeks, I could feel her throbbing crotch, even though I did not stray close to her pussy.

"Good girl, goood girl," I said.

Her swollen pussy lips contracted, her cunt ungaped like a petulant mouth, and down oozed love juice along her thighs. She let loose a strangled shriek.

"Goood girl, that's it honey," I soothed her.

The runnel of cunt juice widened to a small gush of clear liquid, her pussy gaped open and shut, and the stream was followed by thick, heavy drops that came less frequently. Her bucking continued uncontrollably for a while, while she dutifully held her own skirt up for my viewership rights.

"That's it, get it all out," I said, as I kneaded her trim, taut ass cheeks. I would--fuck, I will, I most goddam certainly am going to wreck her cunt, yes, with my staff, I told myself. But not now. Not just yet.

The white cotton panty, still tucked around her knees, was a mess of juices. When she had calmed down I pulled it off of her and held it by the wet crotch. It was deliciously slimy. I licked it: sweet and salty at the same time: my first cunt's whiff and taste, and boy was it worth it.

"I'll take this for my collection," I said with a chuckle. "You go to your room now."

I said it with an authority that surprised even me, and it wasn't lost on her.

Hannah obeyed with averted eyes.

*

At a quarter to eleven that night in my bedroom, after I had set up the mirror, computer monitor and camera just as I needed them, I sent Aunt Hannah a message on PrivyZee. Come and put ur eye to the keyhole. I waited and, worrying that she was getting cold feet, fidgeted on my expensive Oxfame seat. That seat, I realised, had cost me half of my allowance, which I had collected studiously from the academy ever since the outreach programme had been started by the current Urbian administration. A seat and computer--the other half--paid for by a government on the premise that young people should have better access to technologies of self-improvement. And here I was, I chuckled, making the utmost of it: gaming, pornography, and, soon enough, a live me-made sex show. I heard a rustle of feet on the fitted carpet and saw a shadow moving across the image on my computer screen. Yes, it was her.

She hesitated, as if about to knock on my door, then silently knelt and bent to watch through the keyhole. The setup was quite elaborate, so allow me to explain: In the hallway, I had placed a cheap old wifi desktop cam I had had from my old system on a bookshelf in a gap between books on the artistic nude and sexual mysticism (of all things). It was pointed at my bedroom door. I had moved the mirror strategically so that through the keyhole it reflected my image at the desk, seen sideways. My computer screen was also visible through the keyhole. In short, she could watch me watch her watching me. I had tested it all out.

So there she was, on all fours in hyperreal glory on my enormous 16K screen, in long white stockings like a schoolgirl's, a short plaited red tartan miniskirt, and a blue-gray crop top. I suppose her perky tits were a sight to behold in that slutty getup, but I could not see her front. I would have to do with her tight ass instead. As for what she saw, let's just say that it gave her a start: she pulled away from the keyhole as soon as she put her eye to it, and glanced around, searching for the camera. When she saw it, she frowned, if only for a microsecond. Perhaps she was a bit unhappy that I would be recording her, but--elostia, as they say. Karma. Then she gave me her neutral, demure face, that unflappable, pleasant look that she always carried--as if her thoughts were an endless source of amusement. And they probably were, wink wink.

She turned back to the keyhole and, thank Christ, arched her back to present her ass. She had a polka dot panty on, under her mini. Her ass---I had never given it enough attention. Since she was so petite, it didn't quite stand out as her tits, but at this angle, at least, I could see how tight, round, and absolutely goddam enticing it was. Like a horny siren's call for a night of lurid, kinky sex. And her pussy, pointed straight at the camera, bulging beneath her panty, almost hairless but for a warm fuzz I could make out around the edges. Most of all I loved the adorable thigh gap that she flaunted unapologetically, parting her legs just enough to present her crotch beautifully, statuesquely, reminiscent of those Indivar carvings that were often suspected to belong to some ancient coven of sexuality. How I wanted to fill that gap with my fingers, my dick, my fist, my pumping, punching fist--my everything.

And it showed. So as I stroked my 10-incher going on 11, Aunt Hannah saw everything. She saw me stroke my hardness as she saw herself larger than life, on screen, ass to the camera, the folds of her miniskirt barely covering the top of her butt cheeks. And she liked what she saw. She watched me intently watching her body, her body barely moving except for movement I almost imagined, beneath the surface, a violent, sexual, tearing, lustful oozing of flesh. And as she watched I pistoned my cock, and spread my legs so she could see better the full size of my manhood, and my engorged balls. So that she could see how I lusted for her lust.

As she lusted after mine, her own nephew's lust. Even as she peeped through the keyhole, one hand of hers had traveled to her crotch and was distractedly touching the thin, warm fabric there, hesitatingly, as if prolonging the pleasure by simply watching and not acting. She didn't make any sudden motion--she just watched, and in the rising heat of our lusts sometimes she let loose a small moan, even while I pumped my dick and spanked it for her pleasure. I came soon enough: a fucking flood that gushed through my fingers as I kneaded my dick's head.

And when I came she came. Oh, she was a gusher, alright. I had a horny nymphomaniac of a gusher for an aunt. Aunt Hannah. Who would have known? So even as I spattered semen all over my chest and navel, there, on screen, Hannah's pussy bulged thickly beneath the tight polka fabric of her panty, and a patch of wetness appeared, suddenly pierced by a thin, vertical streamer of sticky juice. She was cumming. Her thighs trembled, tightened, released; her fingers, which had been circling her swollen clit through the fabric, twitched and squeezed until, in a frenzy of unstoppable lust, they pinched the oversensitized nub and rolled it this way and that, working her cunt's juice into a foamy mess that begged my imagination to lap it up if I could. From outside my bedroom door, a deep, feline wail made it to my ears through the double channel formed by the door and the camera. I was mesmerized.