Jeri Ryan

Authors Note:

This story was inspired by several people. The first and hence most important person is Jeri Ryan. She plays the role of the Aunt in this story, and just to warn you, it gets hard. I use the word hard in reference to my own sliding scale, so it may not turn out to be as hard as you are used to. This is my first story with a theme of control/rape/power. I won't spoil the plot, but if you're only used to vanilla sex, prepare to have your boundaries tested. Remember that this is a fantasy story and some of the sexual acts depicted in this story are dangerous, far-fetched and unrealistic…but then again, so was the last

Die Hard

movie and it turned out okay.

*

Chapter 1: Chicago Blue Socks

If Ruslans parents had asked for the reason of his trip to Chicago he would have told them a lie. Something very crafty like: 'to see the Bean' or 'learn to sail' would have been enough to fool them. But the truth about why, just two days after graduation, he packed three suitcases and loaded himself on a plane bound for O'Hare was simple.

Pussy

.

He chuckled, everything boiled down to pussy and he imagined his parents were too far gone from the modern world to understand that. His mother had insisted he not stay in hostels and his father had said that his trip would not be funded in any way by his college fund.

"Your sister is there," Ruslans father mentioned to his wife, shoveling down a forkful of green beans. "She's still with that banker, um, what's his name?" he prompted her to fill in the blank.

"I don't know. I never met him." She shrugged, "They did get a divorce though, about six months ago. She won't even say his name now." Another forkful of beans disappeared as Ruslan shifted his weight and looked at the clock. His mother continued, "Anyways, she got the house in the settlement, it's on the north shore. Of course a big bank account and a nice car came with the settlement too. Ruslan can't stay with her."

"Why not?" Ruslan's attention was grabbed by the though of staying in a banker's house and driving a banker's car (probably a convertible) and being located in the hottest spot of Chicago. "Is she gone?"

"No," his mother shook her head with a pity-filled laugh, "Jeri never goes anywhere. She's such a hermit."

"Sounds fine," Ruslan said, "I'm only going to be spending my nights there anyways."

His mother looked at her plate, obviously not wanting to hear of the idea.

"Fine," Ruslan said, "I'll stay with the murderers and rapists in the hostel."

"Oh Ruslan," his mother was very worried about hostels, "Don't you have any friends who can go with you?"

"They're coming," he lied, "just not until later in the week."

For a moment Ruslan observed a fierce, unnatural battle on his mothers face. "You have to be polite," she warned, "and do everything she says."

"I'm not a child, mom," he smiled, "I know how to be a good guest."

The next day the door slammed behind him and he was out of Seattle without even a casual look back over his shoulder. More pressing things were on his mind…

For the large part of what Ruslan thought had been a productive youth, he had been a sexual deviant. It hadn't been a conscious decision, more of a gradual fruition, like a crab molting into its adult shell. Some women might have called him a man whore, other men might have called him a player…both may have been right. He wasn't inept with women; he wasn't really inept at anything. His friends described him as 'the most annoyingly confident douche bag' they had ever known.

The development of his reputation was possibly punctuated the day he was caught on Principle Shields desk with his fingers inside Tammy Shields pink, unbroken pussy.

Even after switching schools his game didn't mist up and float away with the winds of time. During the seven-hour graduate party he fucked (without the help of pills) six girls, two of which were most likely on their way to fuck their boyfriends in the back seat of some seedy sedan.

His was a glamorous youth, the kind dreamt about by Start Trek nerds and bragged about in college when both the girls and the game had changed; when old high school flirtation wasn't enough and it was either adapt or jerk off to old memories. Sometimes, lying back on his bed and staring at the posters of rock bands tacked to his ceiling, he would think of his hero and be proud to be a cock-man.

Hugh Hefner was ancient, old as a Philadelphia sidewalk and shriveled to a point that would dry up any woman's twat, and he was still chasing pussy.

That meant one thing to Ruslan, the game was eternal, and if he played it right he could be rolling in pussy for the rest of his life.

And now he was going to Chicago, a city of blues, community and fine women. It was once the home of Playboy, the birthplace of his hero's dream.

He too would make Chicago his home and conquer as many of its female citizens as he could.

His feet hit the concrete walk just outside the gate of his Aunt's mansion. He knew it was a mansion because it had a gate, and a wall, and lots of green ivory crawling up the gray stones. He couldn't see the house proper; a thick and aggressive wall of trimmed vegetation blocked all but the narrow cobble stone road.

"Thanks dude," he said, tossing the cabbie back a tip for unloading his suitcases. Things were shaping up to be a lot better than he had expected. Down the lane, which was shared by only three other driveways and a couple service roads, was a spread of beach that looked very promising. The sky overhead was clear and hot, sticky with something fresh smelling; probably fresh cut grass.

He stepped to the front of the gate, admiring its wrought iron design or twisted vines and broad-leafed flowers. There was a single white pearl button in the middle. He pressed it with the eagerness of a seagull taking fries from tourists.

A buzzer sounded deep in the bush on the other side of the wall and a black bubble containing a video camera pulled him into focus.

The gate jerked and rolled back.

With a glance back down to the shore, Ruslan pulled his suitcases down the driveway to meet his Aunt.

The woman who greeted him at the bottom step of the entrance arch was without a doubt the ugliest woman on the face of the planet. Her face was old and looked smashed up by an invisible blast from a jet turbine. She looked like a pug dog. Her thin, cracked lips were snarled and lifted on one side and had the mottled color of rusting railway iron. A snaggle tooth, stained yellow and slightly chipped flared out. She was nearly a complete hunchback as well, and to add insult to this already marvelously hideous woman, one leg was shorter than the other was.

"Good Christ, Aunt Jeri, you really hit the wall."

The woman's jaw flapped, jowls giggling and ballooning like a puffer fish.

"Ruslan, mind your manners," a voice came from the shade of the arch; a sweet, husky voice that held more amusement then would be considered polite. "Apologize to Rosemont."

"I'm sorry Rosemont," his smile, practiced for hours in front of a mirror to always melt the iciest of hearts, shone on the insulted house cleaner. She took his bags with a snarl of heels on concrete and lugged them around back.

Master, master. The bells!

"She's putting you in the guest house," His true aunt, Jeri Lyn Ryan, stepped out to great him formally. "I hope you don't mind."

As she came out of the shadow Ruslan was caught off guard. This was mostly because he had just had his eyes on Rosemont, who was the absolute complete cosmic opposite of the woman who was now stepping down to great him. The dichotomy was like a scorch from a welder's torch. He couldn't possibly have recognized her by the tiny family pictures his mother kept on top of the television. His aunt was not a little girl anymore.

She was tall, thin (where it counted) and looked groomed in the ways of pilates and aerobics. She was wearing a snug black chiffon halter-neck dress that hung loosely around her strong neck column and draped over a swelling breast line that wasn't in the family genes.

Ruslan strongly suspected surgery was to thank for her appealing bosom. A wide charcoal gray sash was cinched tight around her narrow waist, making the flare of her hips and the taper of her legs pop into focus like an elastic band. Her legs, long and cut with lines of muscle, were clearly meant to be on display, and he was not above noticing. His aunt, despite being his mother's sister, had managed to come out the other side of turning thirty-five looking like a pin-up.

"Guest house?" Ruslan blinked, removing his eyes from his aunts unnaturally alluring body and looking around, "You're really moving up in the world."

"It's who you know," she smiled, flashing radiant white teeth in healthy pink gums, "What you know is just a bonus. Right?"

"It would seem so," he said in a low whistle,

"I'm sure you've heard all about my antics from my sister."

"My mother's a gossip," Ruslan admitted, "but I don't think she likes to talk about you. "

And then, stepping up a step and he whispered, "I think she's jealous."

And by all accounts, she should be. The mansion her sister had won in the settlement was nothing short of spectacular, a real gem of Midwestern Gothic architecture. It was a tall, narrow building complete with two pointy spires, arched stain glass windows and heavy wooden doors the color of wet earth. Around the left side of the house was a lush and overpowering garden full of exotic trees and a low carpet of shrubbery. Cobble stone paths weaved in and around these growths like a fallen string.

To the right side of the building, a long emerald-colored pool sat as still and smooth as his aunt's skin.

He couldn't see the guest house but he supposed it was in the far corner of the property. "This is an amazing place," he said, walking through the front door.

"Are you tired from the trip?" She closed the door behind him and clicked across the foyer in her narrow toed, high-heeled black shoes.

Ruslan shook his head, "Fuck no, I'm primed to go out."

"Do you talk like that at home?" Jeri asked with a light chuckle.

"No," Ruslan apologized, "My mother said you were pretty loose."

To this she nodded, bouncing her great golden curls. "I am. But normally I wait until after the family hug to drop the f-bomb."

"Oh," Ruslan threw his arms wide open, "Family first, right?"

She didn't so much hug him as she slipped into his arms. She was just as tall as her nephew was, a shade above six feet was and as solid as a British lamppost. Her arms snaked around his sides as his went over her shoulders; his face was lost in the scented forest of her hair. Through the hair he spotted oases of her soft, pale skin, tight as spandex over her muscles and bone.

The little horny boy inside of Ruslan took special interest in the way her breasts pressed into his chest, the way they mashed and moved in the embrace. It didn't matter that she was his aunt, to his horny mind a great pair of tits was a great pair of tits.

"How long are you staying?" she said as the hug broke, "A week?"

"How would you feel about all summer?"

"Your mother didn't mention that." She frowned, "How long does it take to learn how to sail?"

"I'm not going to learn how to sail." Ruslan laughed, "She just needed to hear something that wouldn't make her worry."

"Your grandpa died at sea." Jeri reminded him with a flippant smile, "You're mother's probably on her knees praying for your soul right now."

"Oh yeah," Ruslan said, "I forgot."

"How old are you now?" Jeri asked him as they walked through the kitchen, "Drink?"

"Not right now, thanks," he shook his head, "Eighteen going on twenty-two."

She smiled, walking to the fridge and selecting a long, thin-necked bottle of beer from the door cubby, "Are you sure?"

"I just said I was eighteen."

"Right," Jeri cracked the top and slid it across the red tiled countertop into Ruslans open palm, "Going on twenty-two. Don't be a pussy, drink it."

Rosemont had dumped his luggage directly in the doorway and he had tripped over it all when he entered the guest house. His aunt hadn't stopped serving him beers until he had insisted that he was starting to feel weary from the flight. She had smiled sweetly, rinsed his three empties and pointed the way.

After he had shuffled the luggage away from the door he picked out an outfit and went straight to bed after setting his alarm clock for 11 PM.

He figured he would be able to sneak away from the mansion without any trouble. Rosemont wasn't a live-in and Jeri had said her room was way up on the third floor of the mansion. He was sure he wouldn't need the skills of Sam Fisher to get away.

He collapsed on the bed and let thoughts of sexual adventures and new friends warm his mind until he finally fell asleep.

The sun set over Chicago-land only an hour before Ruslan stirred awake. His alarm clock was five minutes away from the noisy conclusion of its countdown and he flicked the OFF switch as he rolled from the queen-sized bed. Without turning the lights on he dressed. He had placed his most irregular accessory, a pair of bright blue socks, by his bed. They were his lucky socks. He had worn then just before he lost his virginity and had worn them before or during just about every one of his sexual encounters. Once he had them on he slipped on his shoes and tied the laces. He palmed the slim cell phone his parents had got him for graduation and checked the charge. Two days ago he had programmed it with a bunch of cab service numbers.

He thanked god he had buzzed most of his hair off, it made getting ready so much easier. Quickly he lifted a slat on the blinds and looked up at the third floor of the mansion. All the windows were dark so he left the front door and strode quickly down the narrow, fern-lined pathway to the pool.

Something was wrong though, he heard splashing. Taking a knee behind a particularly large fern he tried to look at the pool. He had to push some of the leaves aside, but finally he caught the object of the noise.

Shit,

he frowned,

what's she still doing up?

Jeri was knifing through the water, her arms in a powerful opposite tandem. She was doing laps down the near side of the pool, her golden hair trailing along behind her like white sea-grass. The pool was lit from beneath the choppy water, and it sparkled and fractured like a million tiny mirrors. Her long, sleek form was like a black bullet in the blue water, fast and lethal.

He knew this was his time to move; her head was down and she was always coming up for breath to the far side, where the house sat, and he could easily get around her. His feet scraped only a little when they hit the gravel path and took him onto the grass and through a cluster of bushes. The pool was only a few feet from him, but the bushes were thick and lush. Even if she was—oh, there she goes.

Jeri was pulling herself up on the rails, water cascading off her body and smacking on the cool concrete. A billow of fog seemed to follow her for a second until it was blown away by a breeze. Despite his plan of escape and the promise of Midwestern pussy, Ruslan just had to stop.

This moment was better than every one of those slow-motion captures he had seen in the movies.

She was wearing a dark blue two-piece outfit, not one like Jessica Alba would wear to the beach, but an athletic looking one. It had black mesh racing stripes down either sides of her ribs and waist. The outfit was not made to be eye-candy, but on her body it hardly seemed to matter. When she turned just a little he saw that her hard, round ass cheeks were hiding the dark blue thong as well as any Reef Girl's ass could have. She gathered up her soaking hair and squeezed the water from it.

Ruslan was trapped behind the bushes, he couldn't go left or right because there were gaps in the bushes which would leave him in Jeri's line of sight. A single blaring light mounted high up on the corner of the mansion would catch him perfectly if he chose to move.

She was still wringing her hair, but when she finished that her hands moved to her chest and she did something that Ruslan would never have dreamed possible.

She took off her top.

He was only ten feet or so from her and even in the dim light he caught the full brunt of her nudity. It was fucking astounding. Her breasts, warm, pleasantly molded swells of wet flesh, were only the final additions on her already stunning body. Her nipples were a dusky pink and seemed to point directly at him like watching eyes. They were large, he could have guessed at the size, he was terrible at such things, but they were more then a handful a piece and looked very firm and young. She had to have had work done, maybe not implants, but for sure a lift. They looked marvelous.

Holy fuck, my aunt is smoking.

Ruslan chuckled inwardly, feeling partly like a peeping tom and partly like a bum dropping his last dollar in a slot machine and winning the jackpot. She wandered a couple feet closer and used her toe to flick on the jets of the hot tub which was countersunk into the concrete next to the pool. She was done squeezing her hair and he watched her cast a quick glance at the guest house.

She must think I'm asleep,

Ruslan thought.

What's she going to do?

She sank into the frothy hot tub water and splashed her breasts and neck. Ruslan licked his lips, feeling shameful and dirty for not being able to keep his cock from stiffening down his leg.

After a couple of silent minutes Jeri dimmed the jets and shuffled around the underwater bench until she was facing the guest house. Her wet hair dangled over the edge of the tub and cooled on the concrete, steam was rising from it like a grey, bubbling aura.

And then she started to finger herself.

It was subtle; Ruslan barley caught it at first. She wasn't making many motions, just a flutter of the eyes as her head sank back against the concrete and a slight roll of her muscular shoulders as she worked her fingers between her thighs. But after a couple of minutes her knees rose out of her water and soon her feet emerged as well, sticking strait up like chopsticks in a bowl of wanton soup. And then her mouth started to open and close and her elbows began to vibrate as she ramped up her diddling. The faster she sawed her fingers in and out of her pussy the more Ruslan was turned on and the more he wished he had the freedom to jerk off too.

This is so wrong,

Ruslan thought,

this is so wrong and so fucking hot!

Apprehension flooded him but the thrill of watching his aunt rub herself was so hot it evaporated all thoughts of modesty and he began to touch himself through the fabric of his jeans.

She was starting to make small noises and began to curl her toes and paw at her super-heated nipples. She must like the heat on her nipples because she was careful to make sure they were always underneath the bubbling surface.

Her motions suddenly calmed, turning almost meditative. She must have been looking at the stars because she kept her head tilted and eyes open until her orgasm subsided.

She didn't bother putting her top on again once she left the hot tub. She did take a moment to adjust the landing strip of her bikini bottom, but her wet thighs and the bubble of her ass hid from Ruslans eyes any glint of her pussy. She pulled a towel from a nearby lounger and walked into the house.

Ruslan stalled, looked down the path to the gate and then back at where Jeri's pert ass was vanishing behind the doorframe.

Fuck the club; he followed Jeri.

She walked from room to room and he followed her, peering into the brightly lit glass until she climbed the central staircase.