Aunty's Naughty Niece

That night, we cuddled together on the couch, drank too much wine, ate too many chocolates, and watched the two videos that Lucy had checked out of the local sex shop. Strangely, after my experience earlier in the day of my first "water sports" games with my 18-year-old niece I didn't find them as offensive as I'd feared.

"Did many people at the place you worked request those?" I asked Lucy, after paying an urgent call to the toilet, thanks to the two bottles of sweet wine we'd polished off.

"A surprising number, aunty," she said, snuggling back up to me. "For a submissive being showered on, or made to drink their mistress's golden nectar from a doggy bowl is one of the highest forms of submission and humiliation they can go.

"Just wait – I'll train you!"

Then she gave me a big kiss and hug, warned me "Tomorrow it's black PVC bikini day, remember?" and skipped off to bed.

I hadn't forgotten, I was even looking forward to it, although I knew I'd have to be careful not to let prying, snoopy, nosy neighbours catch sight of me during whatever Lucy had planned for the day. But the mere thought that she was going to continue her domination of me was exciting.

The next morning, after my shower, I pulled on the bra and bikini bottom and inspected my reflection in the wardrobe mirror. I've never really been a fan of PVC, it looks somehow cold, even though it gives off a sexy sheen, but I soon found that the confines of the slippery material became warm on my flesh and I was soon bathed in sweat beneath the bra and panties.

I went downstairs for breakfast, being careful to duck going past any windows which could give people outside a view of me. I just prayed that on the day I was in sexy lingerie or, worse, naked, that Lucy would allow me to draw the curtains closed. What would the neighbours think if they saw me!

Lucy was lolling around in a black bra and matching bikini briefs, both made of shiny satin. I wanted to eat her! Instead, I made do with toast and marmalade, then Lucy helped me with the washing up – what a strange sight we must have made, an aunt in a black PVC bikini, her niece in black lingerie doing the dishes!

After that, Lucy gave me a peck on the cheek, said "Put a dress on to cover that lovely little outfit, we're going shopping" and we went upstairs and made ourselves "respectable".

First, Lucy dropped off the two sex videos we'd watched the day before. Even that simple act was laced with humiliation for me, though.

"Thanks for those water sports movies," Lucy told the young man behind the counter – obviously the one she'd dealt with the day before. "They gave aunty here and me lots of filthy ideas."

The young man's cheeks reddened appreciably, then Lucy kept up my humiliation. "Tell me, you look like a man of the world,"

she addressed the poor youngster – he could only have been 25 or 26! "Where can aunty and I shop for some bondage gear – I'm having a job keeping up with her kinky tastes!"

Two middle-aged men browsing the adult videos on display turned their heads sharply to look at us. When they saw Lucy – her black T-shirt straining against her magnificent 38-inch breasts – they both gave indecent leers. I wanted the shop floor to open up and swallow me.

The young man behind the counter took what appeared to be a deep breath and handed Lucy a small printed card. "This place might cater to your requirements, miss," he said, in a mumbling Devon accent.

Lucy read the card out loud, only increasing my misery.

"The Bondage Shop – making your slave uncomfortable makes us feel comfortable," she announced, so the entire shop could hear. "Terrific, I'm sure we can find something there to cater for your disgusting desires, eh aunty?" she said, far louder than was necessary.

Outside, my ears were red with embarrassment. "Lucy, really," I protested, "that was so humiliating."

She grinned at me, her lush young breasts bouncing as we walked along the street. "Precisely, my dear aunty," she laughed, "and I bet you loved it!"

"Now," she said, perusing the card, "where's this shop."

I inspected it and told her it was in a cobbled arcade, full of trendy eateries, wine bars and disgracefully expensive boutiques.

"We need to drive, it's down in town," I told her. "We'll go and get the Rover, and Lucy? Can I please get out of this PVC bikini? I'm boiling, I can feel the sweat running down my bum."

Her response was a loud laugh. "Shouldn't have told me that, aunty," she said, "now you're definitely going to stay in it!"

We drove downtown in my old Rover, Lucy again making derogatory comments about one of the loves of my life, and parked in a building opposite the arcade.

We had both chosen high heels, not very practical for walking on the cobbles, and many men cast leering glances as Lucy, in her tiny little faux leather black mini, clip-clopped her way into the arcade.

The sex shop was on the first floor, where at last we could walk normally. It was just on 10.30 when Lucy walked in, with me in tow. The shop was, thank goodness, deserted, except for a blonde-haired woman sitting on a high stool behind the counter.

Lucy marched up to the blonde, who looked to be in her late 30s and was the spitting image of that woman who played Rose in the old BBC comedy Keeping Up Appearances, except she was much bustier.

"Hello dearie," said the busty blonde, in a decidedly un-Devonian accent, "my name's Brenda, only my friends and some of my customers call me Bondage Brenda, or BeeBee. How can I help?"

Lucy leant on the counter, allowing Brenda, or "BeeBee", a great look at her weighty boobs. "We want some bondage gear, BeeBee," she said, already going on as if she and Brenda were bosom pals – pardon the pun!

"And who's the domme and who's the subby?" asked Brenda, with a leer. "As if I couldn't guess."

Lucy grinned. "Right on, BeeBee, I'm the bossy britches, Aunty Linda here's the slave."

Brenda looked at me with what I can only describe as a lecherous leer. "Lucky old tart," she sneered at me.

"Old tart?" I protested. "I bet I'm younger than you, BeeBee." And I put a sort of sneer on the word "BeeBee".

"I'm 38 and proud of it, you lucky

younger

tart," she smiled.

Then she stood up off the stool, displaying herself to be a quite tall five foot eight, or so. "OK, bondage gear, darlings," she said. "You want it, we've got it. What are you after, you bossy little domme, you," she added, looking now at Lucy.

"Let's start with a spreader bar," said my niece, "something to keep her in place while I'm disciplining her."

Brenda walked from behind her counter, displaying a pair of black leather hot pants. She may have been 38, but her buttocks wriggled and writhed in the tight confines of the gleaming black material in an extremely cheeky display. I felt an urge to kneel behind her and worship her arse – an urge I instantly felt guilty about!

From a rack of display items, she produced a gleaming chrome bar, with velcro-fastening straps at each end. "Here you go," she said, thrusting it into Lucy's hand, "try it out on Madam Muck here in that dressing room."

Brenda steered us in the direction of a room in the far corner of the shop, and on the way, Lucy said: "Oh, and have you got anything to keep her hands and arms away from trying to stop me doing what I want to do when she's in the spreader?"

"Leave it to me, dearie," said Brenda and we entered the changing room.

"Strip," ordered my niece, placing the spreader bar against a wall of the dingy little room. While it was an order that brought me relief from the sweat-inducing PVC, it also caused me apprehension, but soon I was standing nude in front of the 18-year-old, save for my high-heeled stilettos.

Lucy knelt, and strapped the spreader bar to my ankles, an action which caused me to stand with my feet more than a yard apart. The pose I was forced to adopt, bearing in mind the way my thighs were now splayed, made my pudenda thrust forwards in an extremely wanton display.

After getting me into the bar, Lucy stood and as she did, the curtains to the changing cubicle were thrown back and there stood Brenda, holding another chrome metal implement.

Her gaze was fixed on my crudely exposed pussy and she wasn't backwards in coming forwards with her comments. "Shit, that's a wet-looking minge," she said, more to herself than to me or Lucy. "Is she hot to trot, or what?"

Lucy laughed. "Wanna taste, BeeBee?" she asked.

I looked in desperation at my niece, but Brenda's voice rang out "Do I fucking what?" and in a flash she was on her knees in front of me and her mouth was hungrily fastened to my minge, lapping and sucking avidly on my sex juices.

At first I was appalled at what Lucy was allowing the woman to do to me, but gradually, as what was obviously a mouth well-versed in the art of cunnilingus worked along my sex trench, I began to respond to her muff-diving expertise and soon to my utter shame but increasing pleasure I ground my minge onto her mouth.

After about a minute, the sex shop worker stood and smiled at me, and I could see the glistening gleam of juice on her lips where she had enjoyed muffing me.

"Thanks, you lovely old tart," she smiled, "you're not so dusty after all." And with that she gave me a slow, smoochy kiss full on my mouth, her lips tasting tangily of my juices. They tasted lovely!

"Now, dearie," she said, again addressing my bossy britches niece, "have a look at this little number." With that, she picked up the other chrome bar she had brought into the cubicle.

"This is a lightweight yoke," she told Lucy, "it's easy to transport, takes up hardly any space and is easy to attach. And it's so much better than cuffs on her wrists attached to a throat collar. Let me show you."

And Brenda stepped forward, gave my left nipple a saucy tweak – tight enough to make me wince, but not painful enough to make me shout – and placed the chrome bar across my shoulders.

The centre of the bar was U-shaped, and in the "U" piece it was lined with quite thick, absorbent rubber, which made it fit on me very comfortably. Brenda then took my left arm and placed it beneath the left arm of the bar and strapped my wrist to it, then my upper arm, just by the armpit. She proceeded to do the same with my right arm until I stood before her and Lucy, feet spread wide, arms attached to the yoke – and completely helpless!

Both women looked at me and Lucy, clearly, was delighted.

She planted a kiss on Brenda's still-sex-smeared mouth and remarked: "Fucking sensational, BeeBee, we'll take it." Then she looked down at the bar between my feet.

"Hold on, what's the D-ring in the middle of the spreader bar for?" asked my niece.

"Depends," said Brenda, "on whether your slave is male or female. For males, they have to wear a tight-fitting rubber punishment pouch and a cord is then threaded through the D-ring to make it even tauter. Quite painful, I'm told, although our gay friends reckon it's as sexy as hell. But for ladies, well, you can put clamps on their clits or labia lips and run the cord from them down to the D-ring. The clit clamp's my personal favourite."

"Add a clit clamp," said Lucy, with obvious delight.

I began to feel slightly uncomfortable – which, I guess, was the entire point.

"Want nipple clamps?" asked Brenda, obviously relishing the way her "sale" was going. "We've got these new throbbers with batteries in 'em and they set off irregular pulses which I'm told give the slave a lovely vibrating jolt – nothing severe, of course."

"Add 'em to the list, BeeBee, you smooth-talking slut you," grinned Lucy. "Oh, and I want a pussy flogger. Got any?"

Brenda grinned an evil grin. "A superb rubber thing, lots of strands and it makes a nice splatting sound when it hits but it doesn't tear the pussy to pieces, just makes it tingle a bit. She'll love it."

Finally, I was freed from my dressing room bondage, and allowed to dress. Outside, Brenda was wrapping everything up in shiny black plastic wrapping.

"Tell you what, BeeBee," said Lucy, as the sex shop lady continued with her bundling up of the purchases. "Rather than us traipsing all the way back to the car, how about dropping round to Aunt Linda's place later on, when you've finished work and dropping the stuff off. Then you can help me put her through her first bondage session. What do you say?"

"I'd say it was Christmas come early, dearie," she said. "I'm knocking off early this afternoon, so pop your address down on this pad and I'll be around as soon as three o'clock rolls round."

Outside and back in the street, I told Lucy I was in urgent need of a drink, so we went into a trendy bar, I had a massive Beefeater gin and tonic, Lucy a glass of white wine.

"Really, Lucy," I said, when we'd found a table away from prying ears, "what a performance. A woman I've never met and you allow her to go down on me!"

"Oh, Aunt L," she laughed, "I saw the look on your face after your initial shock and you were lapping it up!"

"On the contrary, dear Lucy," I replied, "

she

was lapping it up."

Lucy grinned. "There you are, aunty? See, you're making a joke about it already – a feeble joke, I know, but a joke nonetheless. You'll lap it up even more when Brenda arrives with all your prezzies."

"Prezzies?

Prezzies

?" I said. "Hardly 'prezzies' my dominating dearest Lucy – it's set me back about 300 quid that little lot. Not exactly my idea of presents."

Lucy overrode my protests. "Nonsense, aunty, you're going to get so much fun out of that box of goodies you'll thank me for the rest of your life. Now, take me to a decent restaurant and buy me a lovely meal. All that shopping has made me famished!"

After a nice lunch – I paid, of course – we got back home and Lucy stripped off to her black lingerie, and made me strip down to my PVC bikini and high heels. Very shortly after, the front door bell rang. "That'll be Brenda, I guess," said my niece. "Let her in."

"But what if it's a total stranger, or worse, someone I know?" I protested.

Lucy laughed: "Tell 'em it's so hot you're lounging around the house in a bikini. Now, Aunt Linda, get the door."

I walked to the door, and on opening it was partly relieved to see it was, indeed, Brenda, standing on the step with her large parcel of what Lucy had referred to as "prezzies".

She stepped inside, kissed me on the cheek and asked: "Aren't you hot and sticky in that PVC?"

I nodded, scared and yet incredibly excited at the sight of her.

"Don't worry," she laughed, "we'll soon have you out of it! Take me to your leader."

I led the way into the lounge where Brenda plonked the big package on the table, then kissed Lucy.

"Crikey," exclaimed the sex shop woman, "doesn't anyone wear any clothes around this house? I feel over-dressed."

"Well get your gear off, then," said Lucy, and as Brenda was doing that, Lucy introduced herself: "I don't think I told you my name – it's Lucy and I used to work in a domination parlour."

Brenda stepped out of her leather hot pants and shook her long blonde hair. For a 38-year-old she was certainly well built. Her big breasts were strapped into a shiny red satin bra, the tops of her mounds gleaming – she obviously sunbathed a lot.

On her hips was a tight-fitting red satin thong, which revealed beautifully suntanned buns, and I noticed she had strong, sturdy but well-shaped legs. To my shame, I started to feel my sex juices running - she was turning me on!

"I like what I see," said Lucy, in admiration, as the sex shop lady folded her clothes on an armchair.

"So, a domination parlour, and here I was trying to educate you about spreader bars and punishment pouches," smiled Brenda.

"Don't worry," said Lucy, "in the domination business you can always pick up new tricks and, anyway, the place I worked in until it got closed by the fuzz specialised in the domination of females. I don't do men."

"Luvverly," drawled Brenda, "I can't stand 'em either. Now, where are we going to play with this little princess?"

"Upstairs in her bedroom, it's so much more intimate and I have a funny feeling we're going to get intimate," Lucy told Brenda.

"I certainly hope so, Lucy," said the blonde, and with a snapped "Package upstairs in your bedroom, slut, come on, quick about it" my dual domme friends followed me up the stairs to my room.

Inside, Lucy shut the door, switched my bedside radio on to a non-stop pop station – "We don't want to annoy the neighbours, do we?" – and then the pair opened up the package.

"Strip!" snapped Lucy, as if to reassert her authority over me, as she and Brenda placed the result of my expensive shopping that morning on the bed.

"Leave your high heels on," Lucy said, after I was nude, "it makes your legs look better."

They then proceeded to get me totally immobilised in the spreader bar and yoke, then Brenda produced a metal clamp, attached to a long piece of twine. Kneeling in front of me, she placed a kissed on my clitoris, teasing it from its hooded hiding place, then clamped the metal over it.

"Ouch," I exclaimed as the cold metal embraced my little love nubbin.

"Keep still," said Brenda, firmly, "and it won't hurt so much."

And with that, she looped the twine through the D-ring in the centre of my spreader bar and tied it, making the length of cord twangily taut. The clamp was sending little shoots of pain through my clit and pussy.

But Brenda hadn't finished contributing to my discomfort. From the package she laid the rubber flogger on the bed and watched intently by Lucy, she placed two metal clamps on my very erect nipples. From each clamp hung a six-inch length of wire and at the ends of the wire were two little metal cylinders, like small batteries.

"Now all we do it switch them on at the base here," she said, showing Lucy what she was up to, "and the vibrator sends irregular pulses into her nipples, which will give her quite a thrill. Watch."

I held my breath, not daring to make a sound and them my left nipple received a jolt – not a big one, quite small, in fact, but large enough to make me stiffen. As I did so, the effect was to drag on my clit clamp, causing me some more pain there, and my breasts swayed, adding to the aching already being caused by my nipple clamps.

Then another jolt hit me, as I said, not severe, but it sent a little vibrating shock through me, Again my breasts juddered.

Then Brenda turned to Lucy, who was watching my sweet suffering with a look of fascination. "Let's leave her for a while, darling," said the sex shop woman, "and get better acquainted."

And the two busty beauties tumbled onto my bed and as I stood naked before them, clit and nipple-clamped for their amusement and my discomfort, they rolled into each others arms and began a snogging session.

This soon developed into a removal of brassieres and I saw that Brenda's were big things – she had a 40 inch bust measurement, I discovered later – and soon Lucy was licking at her large, dark brown nipples, sucking at them like there was no tomorrow.

Occasionally, they would look at me and after a vibration had run through my nipple – or nipples, sometimes the little jolts came simultaneously! – either Lucy or Brenda would inquire as to my health, then laugh and carry on with their love-making.

The next stage of their frolicking in front of me involved the removal of their panties and I saw that Brenda's pussy was shaved, except across her mons, where a light brown thatch of pubic hair nestled. But her labia were among the largest I had ever seen – thick, lush lips, not gross, but a dark brown in colour.

Soon, Lucy had Brenda on her back and she was muff diving the 38-year-old, eagerly sucking and licking at her pussy, Lucy's own pussy pointing back at me as I stood helplessly in front of their wanton display of sapphic sex. Then, Brenda began to gasp as Lucy's minxish little tongue brought the blonde closer and closer to her Big O, until with a roar of approval the sex shop woman came. All I can say is, it was a good job Lucy had put the radio on!