Aunt Ann on Display

And I felt something I had never felt before, the soft kiss of air on my cervix and uterus.

"Relax now," he said, his voice carrying an urgency, "just relax, don't pull back."

"Oh God," I cried out, and jerked, involuntarily, pulling away from his touch where his fingertips had brushed against my uterus, my womb, and felt a sudden odd pressure as things retracted.

"What?" I started but a cough cut me short causing another sudden contraction deep in my belly and another odd twisting sensation.

"Jesus, Davey, what did you do to me?" I managed this time.

He was chuckling, a sound from deep in his throat. He kissed me a dozen times, my forehead and lips and eyelids and cheeks.

"Prolapse is such a harsh word for such a beautiful thing," he said, "for an instant, I could touch your very core, that thing that is the center of your sex."

I giggled as he went on, almost waxing poetic.

"Aunt Ann, the core of a woman isn't her boobs," and he kissed each nipple in turn, "although they are beautiful and fun, and it's not this little button," and he touched my clitoris, still hard and sensitive, making my hips jerk in response, "it's inside, where you can accept a man's gift and create a human being," and his finger penetrated where I was still slick and relaxed, and touched my cervix, "and if you push hard enough, I can hold it, hold your core, hold the very essence of your sex."

"Did I, well, did I hurt anything?" I asked although as I asked my mental inventory was telling me the answer was no, that far from hurting anything I had found a new sensation that I wanted to experience more.

He grinned and kissed me. "You tell me," he said, "did you hurt anything?"

"No," I said with a sigh.

His hand drifted down between my legs, covering where my labia were still swollen and tender.

He smiled and said, "push."

"Oh God," I moaned and looked for those muscles, but I couldn't find them.

"It's okay," he said, kissing me, "we'll explore later."

"That's good," I said, and just like that, I slipped into a deep, dreamless, restful sleep.

I woke and stretched and felt a twinge deep in my belly but when I reached for those muscles, wanting that sensation again, they weren't there.

I rolled out of bed, peed, and went looking for David. For the first time in my life, I just padded around the house nude, figuring I sure didn't have anything anymore that he hadn't seen and there was no way there'd be anyone else in the house.

I could smell the bacon as I started down the steps and when I got to the kitchen I had to giggle. He was wearing my apron. One of those old-fashioned things that loop over your neck and then tie in the back, moving around the kitchen as if he knew what he was doing. There were two cups of coffee on the table and so I sat at one of my hard wooden kitchen chairs, the cold paint feeling odd against my bare ass, and took a sip, just watching him.

He broke a half dozen eggs into a bowl and added a splash of milk before starting to beat them with a fork. He set the bowl aside and then four slices of bread into the toaster. He pushed down the little lever on the toaster, starting it, found the orange juice in the refrigerator, poured two glasses, and set them on the table. Then it was back to the skillet where he slowly poured the eggs in.

Five more minutes and he was setting loaded plates on the table, kissed me, and spoke for the first time.

"Good morning Aunt Ann," he said, "I thought you might need your energy."

"Plans?" I asked around a mouthful of fluffy eggs.

"I intend to burn a LOT of energy today," he said, making me smile.

This was a level of intimacy I had never imagined, eating breakfast cooked by a man, naked, and having a casual conversation. I liked it. I liked feeling my areolas and nipples tighten. I liked the sudden rush of pressure deep in my belly when I thought about what he had in mind to burn a "lot" of energy.

"What?" he asked, startling me.

"What, what?" I asked.

"You're somewhere in a galaxy far, far away," he said.

I giggled and tried, desperately, to change the subject.

"Are you sure I was your first?" I asked.

"Yes," he said, "nice deflection. Now, where were you?"

"Davey, my mind was just wandering," I said.

"Oh," he said, forking a bit of egg into his mouth, holding my eyes, and chewing contemplatively as he held my eyes.

"I'm not interesting enough to hold your attention?" he said, finally.

My bowels suddenly went hot and liquid. I was in a panic. I couldn't tell if he was joking and the thought that I had offended him absolutely terrified me.

"NO," I said, standing, pushing my chair back with a clatter, "no," I said again, moving to him, getting to my knees, and taking his hands in mine, "no, Davey, just the opposite."

He was looking down at me, frowning, and I was panicking.

"NO, Davey, no," I said again, turning his hands over and kissing his palms, "no, honey, I was just imagining what you had in mind to use that energy you promised."

When he said nothing I lost my control. I don't cry easily, but suddenly I was crying.

No, it was more than that, I was bawling. I was sobbing, kissing his hands, babbling, "it was you, I was thinking of you, Davey, please," stuff like that.

When he smiled my sphincter control almost failed I was so relieved.

"I'm sorry," I said, standing and walking to the bathroom. I couldn't run because I had to concentrate on squeezing, "I love you," I added as I turned the corner, hoping I could make the last dozen steps to the bathroom.

I made it, barely. The diarrhea was explosive and the stink was awful. I wasn't surprised, I guess I was beyond surprise, when he walked in and kissed me as I sat, still concentrating and pushing.

"Oh, God, Davey," I managed before another watery gusher splashed dirty water up onto my ass.

He did that two-fingers-under-the-chin thing all men seem to learn with puberty and lifted my chin, forcing me to face him.

When he kissed me I reached up and wrapped my arms around his neck, clinging like a lost baby monkey. When I relaxed I felt my bowels and bladder emptying and there was something so perfect about the physical release that I held the kiss and felt my nipples tighten even more.

I have no idea how long that lasted, him bent over in an awkward posture that had to be bothering his back, me sitting, relaxing, letting my body do what it needed to do.

He finally broke the kiss and, surprising me, got to his knees in front of me and took my hands in his.

"It was a joke," he said, smiling up at me, "I'm so sorry you didn't understand that."

Then he grinned, that well-practiced grin of his, and said, "but it did give us this interesting moment of intimacy."

That made me giggle and I waved my hand in front of my face as if I was trying to wave away the stink.

"Is that what you call this?" I asked, my composure back now.

"Good sex is often messy, but never dirty," he said.

"This ain't sex," I said, "and it IS dirty."

He laughed softly at that and said, "it will be fun, cleaning you up though."

I felt the final need to push and grunted, holding his hands and his eyes.

When I reached for the toilet paper roll he caught my hand.

"That would be a waste," he said, "come on," he added, standing and offering his hand.

"Oh God," I sort of groaned, but stood. I was aware of the mess on my ass but I accepted his hand and followed him to the shower.

While the water was running he took me into his arms for a kiss and when his hands roamed down to cup my ass I giggled and said a soft "ewwwwwwwwwwww."

He smiled and kissed me again, deliberately lifetime my butt cheeks with his hands.

God help me, I liked it.

In the shower, he started with the handheld shower head and hosed the worst of my ass mess off. Then he hung the shower head and started washing me.

It felt funny. In my, well, let's say my, well, let's just say in my not-yet-50 years, I had never showered with a man. Hell, except for my time in high school gym class I had never showered with anyone. But I was enjoying it.

He started with my face. His fingertips were light, gentle, and very careful as he did my eyelids and then scrubbed my forehead and the rest of my face. He shampooed my hair, using the simple Head-and-Shoulders shampoo I preferred. He rinsed and worked some conditioner in.

Then he did my body, He did each hand individually, washing each finger separately, giving me shivers up and down my arms. He did my arms, making me giggle and squeal when he did my armpits. He spent more time and energy than was strictly necessary on my boobs, but I wasn't complaining. He did my belly, making me giggle when he carefully cleaned my deep innie.

Between my legs, he walked a fine line between sensual and sexual. He surprised me by taking a little dab of the Head and Shoulders and working a lather into my pubic hair. He used the washcloth, well lathered with the body wash between my legs, and then surprised me again when he got to his knees and started on my legs and feet.

For my legs, it turned into a soapy massage. His hands were strong and once he got me all lathered up he turned the washing into a massage, his strong hands starting at my ankles and working up my shins and thighs, always toward my heart, protecting the delicate valves in my veins. Later he told me he didn't want to cause any varicose veins.

I wound up laughing so hard I peed a little when he took my foot in his lap, washed it, and then started doing the piggies to market on my toes.

He turned me around and then, and started up my back. He started at the heels and did the same deep massage up my calves, making me squeal when he found that spot at the back of my knees that made my nipples hard and my clitoris throb, and up the backs of my thighs.

When he got to my ass I wasn't surprised to feel his hand spreading my cheeks and then a soapy finger penetrating a little, making me clean all the way. I relaxed and accepted what he was doing.

He stood and did my back then, the same way. Strong hands, the washcloth, little kisses.

Hands on my shoulders turned me and he kissed me.

"Your turn," he said, handing me the soap and washcloth.

So I mirrored, as well as I could, what he had done. I washed his face and shampooed his hair. When I rinsed him he sneezed and we both giggled at that.

When I did his hands, washing each finger separately, I understood why he had done it that way. It was such a delightfully intimate, such a specially personal thing I found myself getting aroused much more than when he had gone over my body.

I used a dab of shampoo on his armpits. He wasn't hairy enough to mess with his chest although I did make sure his nipples were VERY clean and couldn't resist nipping each one when I was done with it.

I did his flat belly, probing his belly button and making him squirm, and used another dab of shampoo on his pubic hair. I used some conditioner there too before soaping the washrag and very VERY thoroughly cleaning his erection, making sure I got the ridge where his glans, the little head, met the shaft. He squirmed a LOT when I did that. I took my time with his scrotum, the skin very loose in the hot water.

I couldn't resist kissing it when I got to my knees, but with an amazing display of self-control, I did not let it turn into a blow job, no matter how much I wanted it to.

He didn't react when it was my turn to do the piggies to market but almost fell when I drug a sharp fingernail across his arch, If he hadn't grabbed my shoulders he would have.

I turned him, as he had turned me, and started up his legs, beginning at his heel.

At his ass, and he had a beautiful round ass, I spread his cheeks and cleaned thoroughly, including the soapy finger insertion thing. I liked the way his body sort of twitched and couldn't resist pushing deeper until I found the firm little ball of his prostate. When I pressed it he went rigid.

But this was a shower, not sex I told myself, more of that amazing self-control being used, and pulled my finger free. I washed my hands and finished his back before turning him, throwing my arms around his neck, and kissing him.

It was a good kiss with the hot water running over us.

Drying each other was almost as sensual.

I squealed when he scooped me up, hls left arm behind my knees, his right behind my back, leaving me no choice but to wrap my arms around his neck or have my head loll like a ragdoll.

He laid me on the bed, rolled me over so I was face down on, patted my ass, and said, "hold that thought."

I relaxed.

"If this is wrong," I thought to myself, "fuck it, I don't care."

He was back in under a minute and crawled onto the bed next to me.

I jumped a little at the first touch of the scratchy loofah sponge between my shoulder blades.

"Relax," he said, kissing the back of my neck, "and enjoy."

He continued with the loofah, its scratchy touch light, almost gentle as we worked it down, each stroke a foot or so, the next starting just a little below where the previous one had started. He was gently abrading my skin until there was just a single cell thickness between the world and my nerve ending.

When he had finished, making a line from the base of my skull to my tailbone he laid the loofah aside and in one long stroke drug his fingernail, slowly, barely touching, the length of the hyper-sensitive strip he had created. My back arched and the soft little keening sound was me, as my fingernails scrabbled at the sheet.

"Oh JESUS," I breathed into the pillow.

"Feel good?" he asked, doing it again.

"Yessssssssssssssssss," I hissed, my whole body tingling.

I wasn't surprised when he moved around to sit on the backs of my thighs. He spread my cheeks and started with the loofah on that tender, sensitive skin he exposed. It took all of my self-control to remain still. The biggest problem, besides the amazing sensation as the stiff bristles gently abraded skin, was the sudden rush of pressure deep in my belly.

When he parted my cheeks even more, pulling me open, his palms flat right where I sit, and then he leaned forward and blew softly on what he had exposed, and then touched it with his tongue, I came. I felt the orgasm deep in my belly and I concentrated on not moving, on just allowing my internal muscles and plumbing to do the work. I felt the mucus membranes lining my vagina flowing, and the glands, the Bartolins and Skenes glands, that helped make me ready for sex were working. I could feel myself flowing, feel the way I was running down my thighs.

He took me anally then, and I welcomed it.

There was a slight pressure as he entered, a mild stretching, and then that wonderfully full feeling only being taken anally can give a woman. I was cumming before he was completely inside of me, and it didn't stop.

This wasn't multiple orgasms.

This was one orgasm that kept going.

I was aware of his hands on my hips, his fingers digging in hard enough that I expected to find ten matched bruises later. That pain just added to the sensation and made me cum more.

I was aware when he leaned forward, and when I had to stiffen my arms to carry his weight, That new tension made me keep cumming.

I was aware when his hands cupped my boobs, fingers squeezing hard enough to make me cry out and then pulling my nipples hard enough to make me cry out again. I kept cumming.

Finally, I collapsed, spent, exhausted, drooling and gasping for air as I felt him finish.

I'm not sure if I went to sleep or just passed out. I suppose there's a difference, but I couldn't tell you what it is after that.

And that is how my first breakfast of my new life ended.