This true story continues. Having discovered how much woman my aunt really is, and how often I can get it up for her, we go out on the town for a special night together, but there's a surprise to come. Enjoy.
*
After I made myself presentable for the finest of the city's restaurants, and to meet Suzanne's expectations (I must say myself that "I looked damned good!" I just hoped she agreed.)
Her instructions had been to bring the car around to the front of the students' residence and wait for her to come down. I had rushed a bit to get ready just so I would be waiting when she came out. I needn't have worried. Suzanne, it seemed, understood the value of anticipation. Anticipate I did, for over 40 minutes! 'Where in the hell was she?' I kept wondering. Had she changed her mind? Had something gone wrong? Could she simply be that slow?
I had parked so I could watch the entranceway almost directly ahead, slightly to the driver's side. I saw a movement in the lobby β there she was! Nope. It was a very young looking coed heading out for a run... she looked I stared at her every step she took, and then she was gone β perfect butt and all. It was a wonderful moment, but I really did want Suzanne.
And then she was coming out of the door. She walked slowly, almost carefully, taking each step very intentionally and giving me every opportunity to appreciate why the wait had been worthwhile.
Suzanne wore my favourite look β how had she known?
Her outfit defined 'business sexy' in a way that I had never experienced. Sure, I had seen lots of very sexy women dressed to impress in work suits and heels, but this was something altogether different.
I stared, mouth agape she told me later, starting from the top of her head. She had brushed out her hair until it was fairly glowing in the light of a waning sun. As she moved her head, her hair cascaded across her face and she'd flick her head slightly and it would all be in place perfectly again.
Her face was made up just right so as to look fantastic without being obvious. She wore some very stylish and very expensive looking sunglasses that perfectly suited her face. (This woman understood fashion, and her own appeal β she knew just how to create the look she wanted.)
Suzanne was wearing a short, tailored jacket that just reached her belt. The colour was a deep, rich burgundy that brought out the red in her hair and the glow in her skin. The jacket was designed to stay open to highlight what was underneath. Good thing, too, as she wore a very pale, loose-fitting blouse with a collar but worn open-necked; there were at least three buttons not fastened which gently teased your eyes down from her throat to the luscious two-string pearl necklace and past down to a beautifully tanned cleavage. I could almost tell that she wore no bra, nor a camisole. I did not expect auntie Suzanne to be taking her blazer off in public, not with those amazing nipples of hers that would certainly raise their heads at any whiff of freedom.
The matching skirt to the suit blazer was also simple but perfectly fitted. Styled as a modified pencil skirt there was a slight tapering near the waist and the length a bit on the short side; about four inches above her knees. Over the right thigh was a slit that went up her leg, stopping just below the fold of her hip.
Suzanne wore no stockings β her perfect tan was all she needed for colouring. Her legs were as smooth as I remembered them under my hands.
And like any perfectly presented business woman, Suzanne wore the perfect fuck-me pumps. They were a brilliant red that demanded attention. A sexy stiletto heel of about five inches tightened her calves and pushed Suzanne's buttocks into a bit more prominence. Toe was strongly pointed removing any suggestion that this pump was a conservative shoe. These most definitely had the 'come hither' look of great women's shoes. (Suzanne later told me they were Louboutin's and had cost almost eight hundred dollars. Fuck me indeed!)
As Suzanne approached the car she paused briefly, but only to pirouette for my benefit, showing off her perfect look. My mouth went dry, "could this really be mine for the night?"
I jumped out of the car and raced to the passenger side so that I could help my Suzanne into the seat. She reached out and gave me a peck on the cheek, "thank you, Paul. You are indeed a gentleman."
She sat carefully as I held the door for her. With almost no effort, she swivelled her hips, knees tightly together and placed her perfect legs and shoes carefully into the car. "Thank you, young man," she added.
I tried my best to be nonchalant as I walked around back to the driver's side. I could not tell if she could see my bulging pants, but I somehow hoped not (yet).
We arrived at the restaurant and were seated right away. On our way through the room I could see that almost every eye followed her all the way, including more than one woman, too. As we walked, she reached back to take my hand, claiming me, I suppose.
We spent the next two hours having a delicious dinner with great service and most surprising to me, wonderful conversation. My aunt was really quite well-read and easily balanced my every contribution with her own.
"I don't think I have ever had such a terrific date, auntie Suzanne," I told her.
"Me too, my young nephew," said, very quietly.
As we stood up to get going a boorish drunk from a nearby table made his way towards us. Not quite slurring, he said to my aunt, "what are you doing with that boy β you need a real man!"
"Like you, I suppose," she responded with a smirk on her lips.
"You bet, honey," as he leaned in to plant a kiss on Suzanne. I would not have guessed in a hundred years what would happen, but apparently my aunt had received some self-defense training. She simply moved to her right, took his extended arm and with a smooth, swift move, had him on his butt on the floor.
Then, standing over him, she took my face in both her hands and planted an amazing, wet and sloppy kiss, tongue and all, on my mouth. Looking down at the bum she let him know she'd already decided who would walk her out: "... you never had a chance, you lush!"
Leaving the restaurant hand in hand, I told Suzanne that she had really impressed me with that boor, but even more with her personality and intelligence.
"Wait 'til you find out what else I can do," she responded.
My pants tightened slightly, yet again. (For anyone wondering about these constant erection challenges I faced, just remember, I was a healthy, virile 20-year-old. Hardons were simply part of life!)
We walked a few blocks over to a club I was sure Suzanne would enjoy. It had an amazing DJ and what could be the perfect dance floor: large, lit perfectly, and sprung for really wild antics. The music was mostly contemporary but the DJ occasionally threw in some great jazz and other less mainstream hits. The effect was always a good time for everyone in the club, plus lots and lots of amazing women dancing their asses off. Suzanne would fit right in.
It was already late in the evening, but this club had hours to go before lights out. We settled down at a small table, ordered drinks and jumped on to the dance floor right away. I don't think we left for at least an hour, except to get an occasional sip of a drink β we were there to have fun, not get drunk so mostly, we danced.