Gearing Up

"A good pair of boots is more important to an adventurer than a sword or a gun. And these will serve you quite nicely." Aunt Mirabelle said, stepping back to critically assess me.

The boots in question were of sturdy brown leather, and laced up almost to my knees. The soles were heavy and lugged, and at a press of one of the cleverly recessed buttons just above the ankle, spikes would extend downward to serve as hobnails. Another button would extend spurs from the heels, and the one above that would extend a wicked blade forward from the toes.

But pressing the buttons in certain combinations would provide much more spectacular effects: one produced a sound-nullifying field that would make allow me to move silently along, even at a full gallop. Another would activate a set if springs that would allow for prodigious leaps and bounds: I had been able to leap from a standing start onto the roof of the stable. And the final one was by far the most miraculous of all: a pair of small, magical wings would sprout from the ankles, and small jets of some steamwork manufacture would shoot from the soles, and I could fly.

Not terribly far, nor terribly fast, mind you- and not even with anything vaguely resembling the grace or dexterity of an AEfrican Swallow. But I could FLY, dammit!

"I don't know how I'll ever be able to thank you, my dear auntie." I said, staring down in admiration at the remarkable things.

Aunt Mirabelle giggled as she reached out to catch my half-engorged prick: other than the boots, I was quite naked. "Silly boy: a full share of the treasure will repay me handsomely. That, and a taste of this, that is."

I should probably mention here that Aunt Mirabelle wasn't really my aunt. Well, I don't think so, anyways. She was some sort of distant relative- a third cousin or some such. Those sorts of things get complicated in my family.

We did share a few family traits in common: long, curly blond hair, remarkably brilliant blue eyes, and – if I do say so myself- a certain aspect of beauty to our features. And, most evident of all at the moment, a lusty and hearty sexual appetite.

She dropped to the plush carpet in front of me. At somewhere in the vicinity of forty, she was easily twice my years, but in our family that was hardly a quarter of the way along the path towards middle age.

She stared deeply into my eyes as she took my yard into her mouth, and her expert ministrations soon had me growing turgid again, despite the fact that I had already had the pleasure of three earlier orgasms this afternoon alone.

She pulled off me and smiled wickedly. "I think its time to see if the final toy I ordered for you is ready."

That said, she rolled onto her back on the floor and threw her legs up into the air. I smiled bemusedly down at her, unsure of her meaning.

The sight of her womanhood thrown open to me was appealing, make no mistake. Her bush was trimmed into a triangular shape, but the hair within that small area was long and shaped into curls that were several inches long: she had wrapped these around my member earlier in our coursing to interesting effect.

Her exposed sex was puffy and engorged, and glistened wetly. I started to kneel down between her legs, but she drummed her heels and gave me a faux pout. "No, my gallant ravisher: lift my heels up over your shoulder and take me as you stand there."

I grinned and followed these instructions readily. Aunt Mirabelle was no small lady: not many in my family were. Few- male or female- are less than six feet tall, and most are well above it. And Aunt Mirabelle was no waifish, thin-limbed courtesan either: she was full-figured with plenty of delicious curves and mounds in the right places.

But I have always been a strong lad, and I reached out and hoisted her up by her ankles quickly bringing her cunny up to the vicinity of my rock-hard manhood.

I entered her rather roughly- I had found that she liked a bit of force in her rogering, and I stroked her legs as I fucked her invertedly, her massive tits jiggling with each powerful thrust I made.

I watched her with interest as after a few moments she turned her attention to my boots, and she stroked them lovingly before her fingers moved to the trio of buttons on each. She tapped out a quick sequence, and I suddenly felt a tingle of electricity go up my spine.

More than a tingle, actually- more like a bolt of lightning, so strong it was actually painful for the briefest of moments. I opened my mouth for what I thought must be a final scream, for I thought for just a moment that I had been assassinated.

But the instant passed quickly, replaced by what can only be described as a humming sensation that permeated my entire body. With a certain special concentration centered on the shaft of my penis.

I could feel the humming going on in Aunt Mirabelle's legs as well, and as I looked down at her she opened her mouth wide just as I had a moment ago, but she did in fact scream- a clear soprano note of ululating pleasure.

The next thing I clearly remember is collapsing right there on the carpet on top of her between her breasts, gasping for breath, both our bodies drenched in sweat, and with the servants- apparently summoned by repeated screaming and moaning- standing there with expressions of shock and awe on their faces.

"Oh my," Said Auntie Mirabelle. "I do believe I shall have to increase the tip to the shoemaker."