Bryce Connor was restless.
He was down the beach on the usual family summer vacation, in the cottage by the ocean his parents rented. Various family members would stop in for a night or two, a grandmother, uncle, cousin. This year it was Aunt Margaret, aka Auntie Mags, who was there the whole week.
When he was a kid, it was fun. But now at 18, with far better things to do with his time than hang out with his parents, and domineering older sister, it sucked. It sucked big. It sucked worse than anything else had sucked up to this point in his young life.
He swam, played Frisbee with some kids on the beach, fucked around with his phone, texting friends at home about how dreadful his life was at the moment, how bored out of his fucking mind he was.
He tried hanging out with his older sister, Brie, a name he never forgave his parents for laying on her because who the fuck wants to be named after a cheese, but mostly because he detested being part of what relatives would call 'The B&B Kids.' Pissed him off no end.
Auntie Mags was a nice enough lady, loving, caring, doting even. But boring. She was 68, widowed, her own kids and grandkids living on the other coast, so this time with the family meant a lot to her.
Bryce went along, enduring her pinches on the cheek as if he were still five, and her kisses and hugs, but it was wearing on him. It couldn't be a hot cousin cozying up to him, and he had a few and always felt guilty about leering at them and jacking off to the image of them bouncing their tits all over the beach, no, it had to be ancient Auntie Mags.
She had short-cropped gray hair, dyke like, a thick-built body, freckled and tanned, which for some reason she insisted on stuffing into a too-small one piece, her fleshy boobs erupting from wrinkled cleavage, and a shapely but rather large ass pushing the boundaries of her suit bottom.
They were the second day into their vacation and Bryce was going out of his mind. His parents, Lindsay and Bob, had taken off for the day, shopping, antiquing, doing whatever it is that boring parents do when they have their kids with them.
"Want to go with us, hon?" his mom asked at breakfast that day as Bryce sat morosely on the cottage sofa, playing with his cell phone, texting misery to his buddies back home.
"Fuck no," he said in a whisper, shaking his head at his mother without looking at her.
Brie bounced by, in her snow-white tiny bikini, and busting his balls.
"S'matter, Brycie Wycie, don't wanna go shopping with Mommy and Daddy?"
"Fuck off, bitch," he snarled.
She laughed and walked away, their mom scolding the boy for language. He let it ride. He knew better than to pick a fight with Brie. For one thing, she was much bigger than he was, and stronger, standing nearly six-feet tall and lean and muscular, a college long-distance running star. He was a scant five-foot-six, skinny and weak, having no interest in sports that couldn't be played on a computer screen or cell phone, and as kids, she'd constantly beat him up and pin him down, laughing in his face.
For another, there was that time she caught him whacking off a few months ago.
She'd come early from soccer practice and found him on the living room couch watching porn, jacking away and even snapping a few cell photos before he knew she was there. She constantly held that over his head, threatening to show her friends his "needle dick," as she laughingly called it, if he gave her too much shit. Worse, she started calling him "Short Stack," which friends thought had to do with his height.
So he gave the bitch a lot of leeway.
The morning droned on at the beach, Bryce going out of his mind trying to think of something, anything to do. There was no one in the cottage now, so he toyed with the idea of going back up to tug one off. He hadn't for days. There was always someone in the cottage, it seemed, a place of no insulation and very thin walls. Even the gentle squishing of lubed dick in the bathroom would be heard in the adjacent rooms.
So he thought better of it, not wanting to take the chance of going at it and having his fucking sister walk in. Again.
And not making it any easier were the Delaney twins from the cottage down the beach, Laura and Cassandra, two identical and stunningly beautiful blondes who loved parading up and down the sand driving all men crazy. Every time they strolled by, giggling, waving, those luscious young, 19-year-old tits bouncing, Bryce's cock would go rock hard, not that it took much to make an 18-year-old boy's dick stiff.
And now they went by again, stopping and playing paddleball, all long legs and bouncing tits making Bryce seriously reconsider his jerk-off options.
"I think I'll go make lunch," Auntie Mags announced around noon, picking her fleshy body up off her blanket and brushing the sand from her thighs, the meat of them quivering. "Anyone want anything? I'll be happy to bring something back, or would you like to join me?"
Great, Bryce thought. There goes that plan.
"No, all set, thanks," Brie said as she sat in a lounge chair, reading. "Go, relax, enjoy, you should get out of the sun for awhile anyway."
"What about you, honey?" Auntie Mags asked Bryce.
"No, thanks," he said softly, hardly paying her any mind as he looked into his phone at some porn he called up, praying he'd just cum in his trunks and get it over with.
She left and Bryce turned just in time to watch her plucking the fabric that had crept up her ass, the flesh there dimpled and white. He gagged and looked back at his phone.
"Talk about a boner killer," he growled to himself, switching to a video game.
He was bored, even more than before, and after 10 or so minutes, started to get hungry.
"Gonna go get some food," he told his sister.
"OK, Short Stack," she said with a laugh, not looking at him. "Don't go whacking off with Auntie Mags in the house, you fucking perve."
"Oh, go fuck..." He started to say.
She just smiled, held up her cell phone and waved it at him. He shut up and stormed away, walking up the curving path through the prickly rosa rugosa beach bushes that led to the family rental, about 50 yards back, nestled amid other similar hovels.
He walked up the planked walkway to the cottage and heard moaning.
"What the fuck?" he thought.
He stopped, hand on the stair railing. More moaning. At first he thought Auntie Mags had fallen, busted a hip or whatever it is old people break, and was about to rush up to help her.
Then he heard a soft, urgent, "Oh...oh..God..."
He froze. The sound was coming from Auntie Mags bedroom, which was right next to the porch. The old bitch was playing with herself, he realized, blanching at the thought, and jealous that it wasn't him alone taking care of business.
He weighed his options. Go back to the beach, hungry, waiting for her to finish, or go in, make some noise, she'll stop, he'll eat and look at her funny as he did.
The third option didn't really enter his mind until he realized her moaning was making his dick move in his bathing suit.
"What the fuck?" he thought.
He hadn't cum for days and was horny as shit. In an almost out-of-body sort of way, he watched himself now slowly, stealthily, creep up the stairs.
He looked around furtively to make sure no one in the other houses was watching him, or worse, his bitch sister wasn't coming up behind him. The coast was clear. He made his way to Auntie Mag's window, back to the wall, breath coming in short pants. Wondering what the fuck he was doing.
'Fuck it', he thought, this has been a kill-myself-it's-so-fucking-boring vacation, may as well get a laugh out of seeing old Auntie Mags ripping one off, and tugging one off himself in the process. Any mastubatory fodder was better than none, he figured.
He carefully peered around the window frame, listening to her increasing moans - and the grotesque squishing sounds.
He was at that fine line, that blurry juncture of being grossed out and being intrigued.
He looked in, peering every so carefully into the open window, covered by a screen that waved gently in the slight breeze.
She was on her bed by the window, suit off, pulling one of her massive, white titties up to suck the nipple, slobbering over it, the other hand between her spread, chunky thighs, ramming her unbelievably hairy old cunt with four fingers, the thumb rubbing the clit like a lizard tongue.
He stared. Then pulled back, leaning against the wall, breathing heavily, again looking at the other houses to see if anyone was looking. They weren't. He gulped. And then realized his dick fully erect, hard as a rock.
He stared out at the ocean visible past the short bushes and sand dunes. He listened to her groans, more fervent, getting a bit louder. And the squishing sound was driving him crazy.
He looked back again. She was still at it. She was now grunting instead of moaning, those pudgy fingers flashing in and out like four juicy pistons. She tucked her head down to suckle that big fat tit, her neck wattle pressing out in a meaty, wrinkly flare of flesh.
He felt his cock twitch.
'No...no...no...' he thought.
The cottage was quite old, and so were the screens, there for decades, the old thick-mesh kind that had oxidized, all making it hard to see with any clarity. He squinted, trying hard to make out what he knew he shouldn't be seeing. He couldn't, and he was frustrated, so he shuffled along the wall, palming the screen door handle, and very slowly pulling it open. It creaked, everything fucking creaked in the old building, and the creaking door sounded to him like a crack of thunder. He stopped, waiting.
The grunting and squishing continued.
He very, very slowly opened the door, slipping inside, heart pounding, cock aching, mind racing, and just as slowly pulling it shut as gently as he could.
He walked carefully, on tip toes like a burglar in a cartoon, down a short hall that led to a longer hall. To the left of the long hall was Auntie Mag's room, where the grunting, squishing sounds grew louder. To the right was the back door. He peeked around the corner, eyes wide, cock threatening explosion in his baggy bathing suit.
She'd left her door open, to catch the breeze coming through the house on this hot day. He couldn't see her face. It was hidden by the right side of the door frame to her room, so all that was showing was her lower face, which was madly suckling her big titties, slightly puffy white belly, her fleshy thighs spread wide, the meaty interiors quaking as those fingers flashed in and out of her insanely hairy, wet cunt.
Her entire fleshy body was coated with sweat, glistening, gleaming, glowing.
He couldn't look away. It was like a bad accident, a bloody scene in a horror movie, like watching a kid on a skateboard falling balls first onto a handrail he was trying to slide down. It was gruesome, it was gross, it was ghastly.
