Aunty Caroline, at 38 two years younger than her sister, my mother, Carolina, called out from downstairs that she was off into town to the supermarket to do some shopping. I was upstairs unpacking after the train ride from London to Brighton and I called out "OK, aunty", then I heard the front door slam.
I was looking forward to a fortnight's holiday with aunty, suggested by my mother as a well-earned break from my university studies - I'm studying human sexuality.
When I had unpacked, I stripped nude and studied myself in the long mirror of the wardrobe. I'm a rather dumpy five feet two inches, but my height helps make my 34-inch breasts look larger than they really are. I tweaked my nipples, enjoying the slight pang of pain and the way they became hard.
I've got a taut little belly and a nicely trimmed pubic bush, trimmed back so much that you can see my piss flaps clearly. I've got a rather prominent backside, and one of my lecturers has described it as "eminently spankable" - I'm sure she's a lesbian!
I'm quite proud of my figure, but I'd be the first to admit it's not a touch on Aunty Caroline's, who was - about 10 or 12 years ago, I guess - a Penthouse Pet of the Month.
She's tall, about five feet 10 inches, with lovely lush, firm 36-inch breasts and legs that go on forever, as they say. She's got raven-black hair, cut in a severe bob, and her pussy hair, although severely cut in the Penthouse spread, is also jet black. All right, I confess, I rather fancy her!
After putting all my clothing for the holiday away, I decided to explore. Wearing only my red leather platform shoes, I clopped my way across the landing into aunty's bedroom.
It was much bigger than my guest room, with a large bed covered in shiny black satin sheets, with matching satin-covered pillowcases. At the foot of the bed were two high posts - ideal for bondage, I thought. Hey, I'm a student of sexuality, right?
Along one entire wall was a large walk-in wardrobe. I thought I'm here, I'll walk in. Why not? I'm nosy, OK? As I opened the door, bright strip lighting lit up the wardrobe's contents.
In the first section hung dresses, slacks, overcoats, raincoats, all the usual stuff you'd expect to find in a wealthy woman's wardrobe. But in the far end, it was something else again! I'd describe it as a collection of erotic clothing that would be a pervert's paradise!
On the racks hung PVC corsets, playsuits, leather bras and panties, crotchless panties, quarter-cup bras, lingerie in silk, satin, PVC, you name it. Then there were paddles, whips, even a rubber cat o' nine tails.
Suddenly, my exploration was brought to an abrupt halt by the voice of my aunt. "So, Samantha, I see you've discovered my little secret!" I turned to face her, noting that she didn't sound pissed. "Er, hello aunty, I thought you'd gone shopping?" was my lame response.
Aunty Caroline grinned: "I had, but half-way to the shops I realised I'd forgotten my list - and I'm useless without my list." Then she asked sweetly: "And tell me, my dear, what do you deduce from my little collection here?"
I gulped and said the first thing that came into my head - and it was the truth: "Well, aunty, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were a practising dominatrix and these are the clothes and the tools of your trade."
Aunty Caroline looked at me with a somewhat sly smile and began to give me a slow handclap. "Well done, my dear Watson," she replied, "you've solved the case in one. And tell me, you clever little student of human sexuality, you, what do dominatrixes do?"
She still sounded completely at ease, not cross, so I responded: "Well, a dominatrix is someone who dominates people, males mostly, who ..." And then my voice trailed away as I saw a sudden look of temper light up my aunt's face.
Moving close to me, her breasts heaving in the taut red satin blouse, her thighs strongly outlined in her black leather mini, Aunty Caroline flashed out a beautifully manicured hand and grabbed me by the ear.
"A dominatrix doesn't always dominate males, you snooping little trollop," she snapped, cracking the words out like whip strokes. "Sometimes they punish people they catch prying into their private business."
Aunty then proceeded to drag me out into the bedroom, where she threw me face down onto the bed. "Now stay there till I get back, you little bitch!" she spat, as I lay on the satin sheets, heart thumping, breasts heaving.
