Summer Holiday

Every summer holiday, I would be sent off to visit my Aunty Ellen in Bournemouth. This had been our family's tradition ever since I had turned 12, and I think it was as much for my mother's sanity as for my sake. This summer was different: I had just turned 18, and I was going into my last year of private school. What the future held, I had no idea.

Aunty Ellen wasn't actually my Aunt, of course. She was my mothers' best friend. They had served in the A.T.S. together during the war, and had stayed in close contact ever since.

Summer holiday was absolutely my favorite. It got me away from dirty, close, hot London, and out from under my mother's strict and watchful eye. Not that I ever got into much trouble around home. I was a good girl to the outside world; to all appearances butter wouldn't have melted in my mouth.

Ellen was a handsome woman in her middle or late thirties. She was a professional woman, a solicitor, in an age when the only careers deemed acceptable for females were teacher and nurse. I had always wondered why she had never married. I thought she was quite pretty. She was tall, like me, with thick brown hair and piercing sea-blue eyes. And a generous bosom. I aspired to have a bust just like Aunty Ellen's someday.

I was a shy girl. I found most of my joy in books. I always have had a hard time making friends, so I generally amused myself. I would go for long walks, or go down to the pier and lose myself in Dickens or Bronte, and not get in till dark. Ellen never questioned me about my doings; she seemed to understand that I was a private girl, and trusted me to take care of myself.

I had, by the age of 16, made the remarkable discovery that certain reading material made wonderful companionship for masturbation. I had discovered wanking about age 12, and it had become my favorite activity (a close second to reading. The two combined were pleasure beyond measure!) Now at 18, I usually wanked 24 days out of 28; sometimes several times in a single day. I knew of course that all boys were wankers; but I had never really suspected that other girls did it too. I always thought that I was just strange. But there was something else that I had discovered all by myself.

There were certain shops in Bournemouth that sold, along with cigarettes and newspapers, certain books and magazines. Every now and then, when I was feeling particularly brave and randy, I would go into one of these shops, trying to look confident and mature, and make a purchase. I would rush it home in a brown paper bag; hide it under my bed for masturbatory pleasures to come late at night when I could be assured of privacy. I would look at the dirty pictures, and read the racy stories, and rub myself until I was too tender to touch. I think I learned more from those forbidden magazines then I ever learned at school.

Now, it is a fact about me (and it can be awfully embarrassing), that when I get physically excited, I quickly become ungodly wet between my legs. I have been known to soak all the way through a pair of trousers. That summer was the first summer that I had started to consciously think sexually about girls (I have had sexual thoughts about boys basically as far back as I can remember); and just sitting under a tree, watching pretty girls strolling along the beach was enough to get my juices flowing. I soiled many a pair of knickers that way.

So I always tried to be careful about my pussy juices when I wanked off in bed. Usually, I was fairly successful. But early one hot morning in August, I woke up feeling exceptionally randy, and indulged myself in the trashy paperback I had purchased the day before. The plot, such as it was, revolved around the misadventures of an innocent young girl kidnapped by an outlaw biker gang. It was pretty trite stuff (I think I realized that even at the time), but the sex scenes went straight to my clitoris. I kept picturing it being me forced to have perverted sex with these tough dirty men, and I kept getting more and more turned on. My favored technique at the time was to tease and pet myself, avoiding my most sensitive parts as I got more and more excited; and then when I really couldn't stand it any more, tearing loose and rubbing my clitty like crazy. Sometimes I would shove my fingers, or the handle of my hairbrush, up my pussy; once in a while, if I was feeling particularly brave, I would stick the handle of a toothbrush up my ass while I wanked; it felt deliciously nasty (I have been fascinated with that particular part of the anatomy ever since I became sexually aware; to this day I still am). On this particular morning, I got on a roll: four or five body rattling orgasms right in a row. I ended up on my stomach on top of the sheet, one hand reaching around my backside with two fingers buried deep inside my pussy; the other hand busy with my little button, thrashing around in a veritable lake of my own juices.

Well, there was nothing for it but to try and hide the mess until tomorrow, which was laundry day. I made the bed as neatly as I could, so that Aunty Ellen wouldn't notice. Then I took a shower and went out, fresh and sated, to enjoy the gorgeous summer day.

That evening when I got home, I found my bed freshly made with new sheets, and a new box of tissues next to the bed. At supper, I thought Aunty Ellen might have looked at me funny, but I wasn't sure.

I tended to lose track of the days when I was on holiday. I knew that my days in Bournemouth were coming to an end, and soon I would be back at school. I was determined to enjoy every last minute that I had left.

Ellen (She had asked me to call her by her first name now that I was "of age"; but it still sounded strange to my ears) normally left for her office around 7:30, leaving me to my own devices until supper time. I would sleep late; have a wank (or two) if I felt like it; eat the breakfast that she had left for me; and spend a lovely day in the shade of a tree, or down by the beach, reading a book and watching the cute girls and boys walk by. I loved the summer holidays.

On this particular morning, I woke up from a sexy dream and found myself already wet and slippery, my clit hard and ready for attention. Stretching like a cat, I rolled out from under the sheets, and spread my legs wide apart. I grabbed my trusty hairbrush off the bedside table. I intended to enjoy this.

I had been having a confusing dream: I was being fucked, deep and hard, by a big fat cock (I love that word, cock); but at the same time it was my Aunty Ellen. I pictured her lying down on top of me, kissing me, squeezing and sucking on my tender tits, fucking me.

I was close. It felt so good. I pictured Aunty Ellen naked, taking me, using my body, fucking me with a big hard cock, her large breasts shaking with every powerful thrust. I pictured her pussy, hot and wet and slippery. I wondered what it looked like, tasted like. I had read quite a bit by this time, including stories about girls licking each other down there. I thought about doing that to her, and I got even more turned on.

I guess I must have heard her knock, but I was too far gone to stop or even to say anything. It was Saturday morning, and Ellen didn't have to go to work. She had poked her head in to see if I was ready to come down for breakfast.

What she saw when she opened the door was me: completely naked on top of the sheets, my legs spread wide apart, the arched toes of my right foot pointed straight at the ceiling, shaking and sweating through a powerful orgasm. I had the handle of my hairbrush jammed up my pussy; my toothbrush was buried deep in my sensitive anus; and my fingers were a blur on my clit.

She waited for me to calm down. As my orgasm subsided, I became aware that I was being watched. I thought I would die from embarrassment. I didn't even make an attempt to cover my lewd nakedness; what was the point? I waited for her to yell at me, to scold me, to express her horror at what she had just seen.

"Victoria dear, when you are cleaned up and dressed, breakfast is on." And with that, Aunty Ellen closed the door and went downstairs.

I didn't know what else to do. I showered and got dressed, and headed sheepishly down to the sitting room, my heart heavy and full of guilt.

"I thought we might go for a sail today" Ellen was saying over her tea "We can rent a little sail boat and explore the port. It's a beautiful day for it, don't you think?" "Yes" I said, not daring to look up at her. "Victoria, are you alright?" "Yes" "Do you want to talk about it Dear?" I said nothing. "Vicky, you were masturbating. That's nothing to be ashamed of. Everybody does it. I certainly do, all the time." Well, that wasn't what I had expected. "Victoria, what you do in your bedroom while you are in this house is entirely your own business. I thought you knew that. Please, wank off all you want, be my guest. Maybe I could even teach you a few things about it, though I must say you seem to have things pretty well in hand." "Really Ellen? You mean it?" "Of course I do Vicky. Now buck up and finish your toast. We have a big day ahead of us."

We spent the whole day playing around the busy coastal waters in a small sail boat. It was dead fun, and there was no more talk of masturbation or sex; we were too busy keeping our little craft from capsizing or getting run down. I laughed so much my stomach hurt, and got a little sunburned. By the end of the day, we were both hot and dry and hungry. We returned the little boat, and got ices and fish and chips, and sat by the water and ate our supper.

"Ellen" I ventured "Why didn't you ever get married?" She laughed, and I relaxed a little. "Oh Victoria, I don't know that you'd understand." "But you're such a pretty woman" I said "You're beautiful." "Well, I'm glad you think so, Dear. That is a real compliment coming from you. But I've never had any desire to get married." "Really? Why not?" "Well Vicky, some women don't feel the need to have men in their lives." She laughed "At least, not on any terms but our own. Some women prefer the company of other women."

I had heard of this before. I had even heard a whispered word associated with them: lesbian. I wondered if that was what my Aunty Ellen was. I wondered if I was too.

"Ellen" I whispered "Are you a lesbian?" She laughed again, a friendly, open laugh. "Oh, I don't know if I'd go that far" she said "Lets just say I'm a free spirit."

As we walked back to her house, it started to sink in that the summer holiday was almost over. Tomorrow, Sunday was my last day in Bournemouth. The very next night I would be taking the train home to London, back to Mum and school and my humdrum life. My heart felt heavy in my chest.

By the time we got back to the house it was dark, and the stars were out. You never got to see stars like this in London. It was a warm night, and Ellen asked me if I would like to join her in a glass of wine before bed.

She poured me half a glass and we sat together on the front steps watching the night deepen around us.

"Ellen" I ventured hesitantly "Do you really... you know, wank?" She stirred as if shaken from some private reverie and took a drink of wine. "Well, of course I do Victoria" she said lightly "Everybody does it, you know. I'm sure even the prime minister wanks off once in a while. Your mum does" she smiled "I know that for a fact." It was hard to imagine my strict and no-nonsense mother frigging herself off. "The thing to remember, Victoria, is that it's really nothing to be ashamed of, or embarrassed about. The better you are at pleasuring yourself the better off you'll be when you find yourself in bed with someone else." "You said before that you might teach me something about... wanking. About masturbation?" "Oh Vicky" she sighed "I probably shouldn't have said that. Anyway, I don't know if there is very much that I could teach you. From what I saw, you know your way about your body pretty well." "Well" I said, emboldened by the wine "Then maybe you could teach me about some other things." She gave me a sharp look. "I don't know... if that would be a very good idea." We drank the rest of our wine in silence, and with a kiss, retired to bed.

I lay awake in my bed for a long time by the light of the bedside lamp. I was in a very confused state. I was randy, desperately turned on, but every time I started to wank, the image of my Aunty Ellen came into my head. I couldn't keep her away. I kept picturing her, imagining what she would look like naked, imagining her touching me, doing things to me. I felt horrible and guilty for thinking these thoughts, and forced myself not to masturbate to them; but I only got hotter and wetter and more frustrated.

There was a tap on my door. I looked over at the alarm clock on the bedside table, and it read a little after midnight. "Come in" "I saw your light on" Ellen poked her head through the door "I guess you couldn't sleep either."

She came into the room and sat down on the edge of my bed. "Victoria, my Dearest Heart, are you attracted to me? Physcially, I mean?" "Yes Ellen" I barely dared whisper it "I really am." She took my hand and gave it a squeeze "You really are so very sweet. Let me assure you that the feeling is mutual, very much so." "Really?" "Oh yes Victoria, oh yes. I have been thinking that perhaps, if you still wanted me too, I could teach you a thing or two about being with a woman." "Oh Aunty Ellen!" "Now understand Dearest, that a lot of people would think that is would be very wrong for us to do things together... physically" By 'A lot of people' I understood that Ellen meant 'Everybody in the world'. "Especially your mother" she went on "She'd kill me if she ever thought I... "I understand" I broke in. I pictured my mother walking in on Aunty Ellen and I right in the throes of lovemaking. It wouldn't be a pretty picture. Hopefully the shock would kill her before she killed Ellen and me "I won't tell anyone. It'll be our secret, just you and me."

At the point Aunty Ellen bent down and kissed me on the lips. She had, of course, kissed me a thousand times before that, but this time it was different. Entirely different. Before, when she had kissed me goodnight, or welcomed me off the train, or wished me a happy Christmas, it had been nothing more than a quick peck. Now, when she pressed her lips against mine, I felt electricity course through my entire body, stiffening my nipples and curling my toes.

It wasn't as if I had never been kissed before; there had been Tommy MacLean at the Guy Fawkes party last year, and another boy called Roger who was a friend of my friend Anne at school who I had ended up snogging on at her house last April. Both these incidents had been scary and exciting, and had left me soaking wet and filled with an urgent need to masturbate.

This kiss was different; it was of an entirely different order of magnitude. Ellen's lips were soft and confident against mine. I felt myself falling, falling into her. She ran her fingers through my hair, and her tongue slipped into my mouth. My own tongue met hers, and they danced and wrestled, exploring each other. Every time our tongues touched, it sent a shiver through my entire body. Every time she started to pull away, I pressed back against her. I wanted that kiss to go on for ever. My pussy was leaking; I could feel the sticky wetness collecting between my thighs, running down onto the sheets. My nipples felt like they would burst out of my nightie.

At last she pulled away. We both had to just breathe for a few moments. Ellen took my hand in hers, and clasped my fingers, hard. "Oh Victoria My Dearest Heart" she said heavily "I've wanted to do that ever since you became a woman." "Oh Ellen" I whispered "I want you. I want you so badly." "I want you too Dearest" she kissed me again, on the forehead "Is this alright?" "Oh yes Aunty Ellen, I want it more than anything."

Her hand cupped my small breast through my nightie, and we kissed again. It seemed to last for a long time, though I don't think it went on as long as our first kiss. Ellen broke off the kiss and stood up. It felt almost surreal; I couldn't quite believe this was actually happening to me. As I watched, Ellen loosened the belt of her night gown, and let it fall to the floor. She was left standing in front of me wearing nothing but her knickers.

She was beautiful, just as I had imagined her. Her skin was soft and pale, flawless. She had lovely curves. Her tummy was soft and slightly rounded, her belly button was deep. Her breasts were just gorgeous, large and proud and symmetrical. Her nipples were big and pink, in the center of large brown aureole. They were erect, pointing out, and I was beside myself with desire to have one of them in my mouth.

Ellen climbed back onto the bed, straddling me. We kissed again, fiercely, more urgent now. I felt my hands moving as if by themselves to Aunty Ellen's breasts. When I cupped her bosom, she moaned softly into my mouth. I felt her nipples, hard against my palms, and I gently squeezed them in my fingers.

She broke off our kiss. I could feel her trembling. She took one of her breasts in hand and fed it to my eager mouth. I was in heaven! I suckled at her tit, flicking the nipple with my tongue, sucking hard as if I expected her to squirt milk into my mouth.

"Oh Vicky!" she finally pulled away "You have no idea what you do to me!"

Well, I had some idea. That little button between my legs was throbbing incessantly, and my ass was coated in sticky wetness.

With a little help form me, Ellen pulled my nightie up over my head. I hoped desperately that she wouldn't be disappointed in what was revealed beneath. I kicked the sheets away, baring all just for her.

I heard a sharp intake of breath "You are so beautiful Vicky. You are such a beautiful little woman." She was struggling out of her knickers. "You have such a lovely body. I feel honored."

Ellen's pussy was covered in a lush triangle of dark brown hair. I could make out her pussy lips, thick and puffy between her legs.

"What would you like, My Dear?" "Could I please" I asked tentatively "Please lick you? Lick your pussy?" "Oh my goodness yes" Ellen tumbled onto bed next to me, spreading her legs. I could see wetness glistening down there. "Please do Vicky, please do it."

As fast as I could, I maneuvered myself between her thighs. I could smell her sex, and it was intoxicating. I had my first close up look at a vagina, and I thought hers was beautiful. Her labia were fat and thick and purple, pouting open like a rose. Her clit, bigger than mine, peeked out from beneath its little hood, pink and swollen. Tentatively, I stuck out my tongue, touching her, tracing her pussy from where it met her ass all the way up to her clit. When I touched that button, Aunty Ellen jumped and squirmed. I hesitated, afraid that I had done something wrong.

"Don't stop girl. For God's sake, don't stop!"

I had been afraid that I wouldn't like her taste. I don't know why; I certainly didn't mind the way my pussy tasted. I was pleased to discover that she tasted, if not actually delicious, powerfully sexy. I lapped hungrily at her clit like a kitten at a dish of milk.

"Oh my God Vicky, you're going to make me come"

Well, that was exactly what I wanted to make her do. I redoubled my efforts. "Please girl, put a finger inside of me."

I pressed my index finger against her slick opening. I slid right in, much easier than I had expected. She was very hot inside, grasping and wet. I felt her pussy throbbing. I slid my finger in and out experimentally, just the way I liked to do it to myself, as I kept my tongue on her clitoris.

"Oh Vicky, Oh God, Its happening!" Aunty Ellen shook and writhed, moaning incoherently. I was surprised, a little alarmed, at the violence of her orgasm. I was a little bit afraid that I was doing something wrong, hurting her. But every time I slowed down or showed signs of stopping, Ellen pressed me back into her crotch.